Chapter XV: "thy Will Be Done."

THE morning sun was just peeping over the hills when the young teacher rose from her sleepless couch, and proceeded in a listless manner to dress herself, having an appointment with a pupil at a quarter before six. On approaching the mirror, she was shocked at the idea of presenting to any one, such a pale, wan face.

"Oh, dear!" she said to herself, with a sigh. "How I wish I could see mother. To no other person living, could I confess my foolish, ungrateful conduct. What must he think of me? When he came hundreds of miles to do a kindness to my beloved father, and then offered me the greatest compliment in the power of man to bestow, I might at least have answered him civilly. Then, too, how noble to choose a time when most men would have held aloof. How could I treat him so indifferently? But it's past now, and all my regrets at my want of even common politeness are too late. I have thought upon it all night, until I'm unfit for anything."

Yes, the poor child had revolved Mr. Lawrence's strange proposition, through all the weary hours since he left. She had thought of him in connection with her father, and the case that was pending. Suppose that by her want of consideration she had lost him, a powerful friend, and in consequence, that he should be sacrificed like Mrs. Duxbury's cousin. In that case, could she ever be happy again?

Then she thought of him as Cecilia's brother. What would she say to such conduct? Would he tell her she was mistaken in her friend, and would she withdraw her confidence?

And what would Judge Wilson think of such precipitation, which overthrew all his projects for her father's benefit? Never would she have courage to mention the subject of her father's trial again. And yet, what would he infer if she did not keep him informed of every event?

Rousing herself at last, she dashed cold water on her forehead, and proceeded to get ready for her pupil. Just as she was going to the music-room, the young scholar knocked at her door.

"Oh, Miss Washburn, I'm sure you have a headache! You are so very pale. It is not quite time for the lesson. Won't you come around the garden? It will do you ever so much good."

The morning air was clear and bracing, and Emily readily agreed to go, and was so much benefitted by the fresh air, and her pupil's lively conversation, that she went through not only with that lesson, but with all her duties of the day with comparative comfort.

Nothing occurred to change the current of her thoughts in regard to Mr. Lawrence for several days. To be sure her mind dwelt on him continually, and she wondered more and more at his supposition that she must be aware of his affection, when he had never given her the slightest reason to suspect it. Certainly, he was a peculiar man, or he had peculiar ideas concerning the manner a wife was to be won.

At the expected time, her mother's weekly letter came, always warmly welcomed, but now, poor Emily pressed the unopened envelope to her lips, her eyes dim with tears, as she said to herself,—

"No matter how foolish and stupid I am, I'm sure of one to love me. Dear, dear, mamma!"

After speaking of several items of family interest, Mrs. Washburn went on to describe a visit they had received from a gentleman, a stranger, who gave his name as Lawrence, a clerk she thought of Judge Wilson, but at any rate sent by him to make inquiries concerning her husband's trial.

"I wish you could have seen him," added the mother. "He rendered himself so agreeable that he won us all at once. Marion is in raptures about him, and so is Josey. He dined here twice; I insisted, you know, as there is no hotel in the village: and the last time he had a long conversation with your father. He offered to act as Counsel for him, and urged his services, saying that three members of the Reference were of the legal profession.

"Strange to say, your father refused, greatly to my regret. He says God knows his innocence of motive, and if he has in a moment of aberration, appropriated money belonging to the Society, he does not wish it covered up. He wants to know it, and to pay every dollar. I wish, my dear, you could hear his prayers. Mr. Lawrence was here once during family worship. He told me afterward that he had never listened to so fervent, simple, childlike a prayer. He said your father was to be envied for his perfect, childlike trust in God's loving, watchful care. I too, believe that God will bring to light all that is now so dark, and I do not doubt his power to do so without the aid of man: but I believe that it is in accordance with his will that we do all we can to aid ourselves.

"Probably we shall never see Mr. Lawrence again, but I shall always feel grateful to him for his kind interest, and also to your friend Judge Wilson for sending him."

Emily sighed more than once, after reading this letter. Then she turned back, and read again the pages relating to Mr. Lawrence. She could scarcely imagine one so grave and dignified sitting at their table, winning such golden opinions from them all. How they would blame her, if they were aware that she had returned his kindness with such cold contempt.

The letter she knew ought to go to Judge Wilson. Perhaps he was already aware that his offer of assistance through his friend, had been refused. Still, she ought to be sure that it was so. She really felt it impossible to carry the letter, and meet the bantering from the Judge, if he suspected what had taken place. After reflecting for a time upon the subject, she resolved to enclose the part relating to her father in a note to Mrs. Wilson, adding what was really the case, that for several days she had been troubled with headache.

An hour only after her letter was sent, Mark drove to the door, and asked to see Miss Washburn.

"The Squire sent me for you, Miss," he explained. "I'm to bring you without fail. That's my orders, Miss," he added, laughing. "I'm going to the store, and if you'll be ready in fifteen minutes, I'll be back then. But you wasn't to hurry yourself, Mrs. Wilson said."

She was received with true affection, many inquiries being made concerning her health.

"You don't exercise enough, child," said the Judge, tapping her pale cheeks. "You must give up your German classes. It won't do. We shall have you dying of consumption. Do you have enough to eat, child?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! We keep an excellent table," was the laughing reply, "but I confess that I haven't much appetite."

"Worrying about the trial, eh! Well that will soon be over now. I don't know what to say about your father. By the way, Frederic, Cecilia's brother, has been here. Only staid over one night, or he would have seen you, I suppose."

Emily's heart beat more freely.

"We sat up till midnight talking the case over. He'd been to Canterbury, and got hold of some facts. He's sharp as a razor. When once he's on the track, he's keen to ferret out any iniquity."

"I agree with mother in being sorry that father refused so noble an offer of assistance."

"Yes, yes, 'twas unfortunate, but I've great faith that all will come out right. Let me see, there are only three weeks before the case comes on. Now we'll have some music. If you don't come oftener, I shall have to send mother to the school to take lessons. There, child, you needn't play Yankee Doodle to-night. We'll keep that to celebrate the full and free acquittal of our honored treasurer, from all the charges made against him. Now you may select something for yourself."

Without a moment's hesitation, she turned over the book until she came to a chant, set to the words, "Thy will be done."

"'Thy will be done!' In devious way
The hurrying stream of life may run:
Yet still our grateful hearts shall say,
'Thy will be done!'

"'Thy will be done!' If o'er us shine
A gladd'ning and a prosperous sun,
This prayer will make it more divine—
'Thy will be done!'

"'Thy will be done!' Though shrouded o'er
Our path with gloom, one comfort—one
Is ours;—to breathe, while we adore.
'Thy will be done!'"

"If we can truly say that, we shall be happy indeed," remarked Mrs. Wilson, quietly.

Emily rose from the piano, and saw the Judge beckoning to her. His newspaper had dropped between his knees, and two large tears were making their way down the furrows time had graven on his cheeks. He pointed to a chair by his side, and presently took her hand in his.

"Good child!" he murmured, softly, "You've taught me a lesson, dear. Why didn't you sing that to me before?"

"I've chanted that many times," she answered, "but the words never came home to my heart as they did then."

He nodded expressively, but said no more.

Mrs. Wilson soon rose to go to the dining room, as was her custom a few minutes before each meal, and Emily followed her to offer any assistance in her power.

"Shall I tell you what the Judge said before you came?" said the old lady, with a smile.

"Yes, if you please."

"He said he wished our George was old enough and good enough to win you, he would so enjoy having you here for our real daughter. Our little Annie would have been about your age, if she had lived. We loved her dearly, and her father was almost heart broken when she died. I'm almost sure those beautiful words reminded him of the time when he tried so hard to say, 'Thy will be done!'"

At the supper table, the Judge exerted himself to be agreeable. He talked to the visitor of her home, said Frederic Lawrence had given him a glowing account of the family, that he thought her mother a wonder, and her older sister handsome.

Emily longed to ask whether the Judge or his friend had abandoned the idea of being present during the trial, but the burning in her cheeks at the bare mention of Mr. Lawrence's name, took away her courage. She learned nothing to relieve her anxiety during her visit, except what she gleaned from one fact.

Just as she was leaving, she said, "I will take mother's letter, if you please, sir. I'm going to answer it soon."

"Easier said than done, my dear," he answered laughing. "That's documentary evidence, and is filed accordingly. Don't you recollect the contract, child? I consented to take you for a client on the consideration of a thousand dollars, you said you had ready, and you were to furnish me with facts, family items, every thing that bears on the case."

His eyes twinkled, as he witnessed the astonishment of his wife at his reference to the money.

"That's a joke, Emily. He wouldn't touch a penny of your money."

"Then how do you expect me to find you in bread and butter, if you instruct my clients not to pay me."

Then he sat down and laughed till he choked. "I'd give a few hundred," he said, "to see you, child, counting out your bank bills to our Honorable member from Michigan. Ha! Ha! Ha! No, pussy, keep it to buy wedding finery, which, if all the young men weren't blind, you'd have had occasion for some time ago."