Chapter VII: The Return

"I am very thankful that I have seen my poor Sophy," said Norah Peele, as she stood with Persis by the high road, waiting for the coach which would take them back to the village. "But oh! Miss Meade, even if Sophy have the comfort of religion, if she have hope in the forgiveness and loving-kindness of God, what a dreary, dreary look out she has as regards this life! Why," continued Norah, quite appalled at the prospect, "she may have forty, fifty, sixty years of blindness in the workhouse before her, she who was so blithe and so busy. How dreadfully dull she will be! How heavily time will hang on her hands!"

"I have been thinking of that," replied Persis, while the two walked briskly up and down to keep themselves warm. "I remember that Mrs. Lane (I taught her children, you know), took great interest in a London asylum for the blind. In this asylum they are taught many useful arts by which they can earn an honest livelihood, notwithstanding their sad affliction."

"Oh! If we could but get Sophy there!" cried Norah. "She is so quick, so clever, so neat-fingered, she would learn if any one could!"

"I will go to Mrs. Lane to-morrow," said Persis, "and see if she be able to help us. I believe that Mr. Lane is a liberal subscriber, and I can answer for the kindness of his lady."

"How delightful it would be!" exclaimed Norah. "Why, why did you not cheer poor Sophy with the hope?"

"Because it is a very uncertain one," replied Persis, "and I feared to cause disappointment. Do you sleep at your mother's cottage to-night, dear Norah?"

"Oh, no! I never sleep away from Mrs. Martin's; I must be back to-night without fail."

"But the coach does not go on to your town, you'll have a three miles' walk in the dark."

"Oh! Uncle has arranged all so nicely. He is to meet us at the turn of the lane where the coach sets us down, first see you home, it is but a step, and then walk with me back to my mistress's house. I am afraid of nothing when he is beside me; he is a sailor you know, and has fought for the Queen."

"I hope that he will not fail you," said Persis, with a little anxiety for her youthful companion; "there is no moon, and the nights are so dark."

"Uncle Ned fail me!" repeated Norah, with indignant surprise. "Why, he promised to come, and he never breaks his word; I would not doubt him for a moment!"

"Would that we," thought Persis, "had the same perfect, fearless confidence in a Heavenly Friend that this dear girl has in an earthly! Her mind is at rest, for she trusts his promise; she has no fear, for she is sure that he will not fail her; while we, alas! are too apt to receive God's promises in a faithless, doubting spirit, as if He who is the Truth could deceive, or He who is Love could forsake!"

The tramping of horses feet was now heard, and two coach lamps, which to Norah looked like great red eyes in the darkness, came towards them along the high road. Persis and Norah were soon in the vehicle, which landed them at the end of the lane leading down to the wooded little dell.

"There's Uncle Ned—don't you see him by the light of the lamp? I knew he would be waiting for us!" cried Norah.

"Glad to hail you back from your cruise Norah," said the sailor, as the young girl with the help of his hand, sprang lightly down from the coach. "And hearty thanks to you for your kindness in convoying her," he added, holding out his arm to assist Persis Meade to alight.

The home of Persis was not many yards distant; Ned and his niece escorted her to the porch, where they parted, after Norah had expressed her grateful thanks to her friend.

"You will come to your mother's now, my girl," said Franks, "and warm yourself with a good cup of tea before we start on our walk to the town?"

"I should be so glad," replied Norah, whose feet and hands were numbed with the cold, and who dearly loved a visit to her own humble home; "but is not our cottage out of the way?"

"Ay, it lies a good bit to the south," answered Ned, "'twill take us nigh a mile round."

"Then I don't know—I'm not sure whether I ought to go there," said the hesitating girl. "Mistress only gave me leave to visit the workhouse, she bade me be back as soon as possible; and though Mrs. Cobb (she's the charwoman, you know), can make the tea, and clear away, she cannot read in the evening, and my lady will be all alone."

"That's right, Norah, think first of duty; always show yourself worthy of your mistress's trust."

"But if my mother should expect me—"

"You gave her no reason to do so," said Ned, "and three days will bring round the first Monday in the month, when you always get leave to come home. So let's sheer off at once, my girl, and try if brisk walking will not warm you as well as a cup of hot tea."

"I may look out for squalls for this, when next I see Bessy," thought the sailor; "but no matter, all will have blown over before Norah comes home on Monday."

Notwithstanding the darkness and the cold, North did not find her walk tedious as she tripped by her uncle's side. Her heart was very full of the sorrows of Sophy, and she was glad to speak of her to one who listened with interest, and who did not break out into abuse of the miserable girl, as it was more than probable that Bessy and Dan would have done. It was not in the nature of Franks to spurn the fallen; and he knew the evil of his nature too well to cast the first stone at others.

"Oh! Uncle, it made my heart bleed to see Sophy sitting there so wretched, so hopeless; she who had always been so full of bright expectations! She used to build such castles in the air when she and I sat gossipping together. Oh I to think of those days!" sighed Norah. "Poor Sophy seemed really to hope that she would be a lady at last; she delighted to fancy what she would do, and how she would dress, and where she would go, and what grand friends she would have! It was so amusing to hear her, and she talked of such things till I almost think that she began to believe that all would really come true. Alas! What an end to her hopes!"

"A very common end to such hopes," observed Franks; "they are like the garlands which such young lasses twine for their heads in May; gay enough in the morning, withered and dying in the evening, flung away at night. We need something stronger and more lasting, Norah, to cover the head in the long, hard battle of life. We want 'a hope' that 'maketh not ashamed.' * It is only religion that can give it; it is the Christian alone that can wear 'for a helmet the hope of salvation.'"

* Rom. v. 5.