It was not by words that they knew each other, but when their eyes met each felt that the other had passed some ordeal1 which made their souls akin2.
The stranger to whom Miss Vernon had been so drawn4, met her on the beach the next morning, and asked her to walk with her.
"I would like to tell you," she said, "of my strange experience last night; perhaps these things are not new to you," and she went on in a confiding5 tone at Miss Vernon's visible look of deep interest;--
"I was weeping, as you may have noticed, when your strange and lovely pupil came to me,--weeping for the loss of one to whom I was betrothed6. No mortal save myself knew the name which he gave me on the day of our engagement. It was 'Pearl.' My own name is Edith Weston. Judge of my emotion and surprise, when that child-a total stranger-came and spake my name in his exact tones. I have had other tests of spirit presences as clear and as positive, but none that ever thrilled me like this. Do you wonder that I already love that child with a strange, deep yearning7?"
"I do not. I have myself had proof through her that our dear departed linger around, and are cognizant of our sorrows as well as our joys."
"Perhaps you too have loved."
"Yes; but not like yourself. My mother's love is the only love I have known."
"And you are an orphan8 like myself?"
"I am."
"That is what drew us together. And may I know your name?"
"Florence Vernon. And I was attracted to you the first time I saw you."
"I cannot tell you how glad I am to experience these proofs of human ties. It is a pleasure to me to think that wherever we go we shall meet some one who loves us. I am a dependent character, as you no doubt have perceived. I need the assurance and support of stronger minds even when I see my own way clear. Some there are who can see and go forth9. I need to be led."
"I hope you are fortunate enough to have some stronger mind about you. We are not all alike, and the vine nature must have something upon which it may cling and find support, or otherwise it will trail in the dust."
"I am not thus fortunate. I have no one on whom to lean, or to whom I can look for guidance. Shall you remain long here?" she asked, fearing she had spoken too freely of herself.
"We shall stay until we have received all that this atmosphere and these scenes can supply us with. It will then be our duty to go."
"I like that. I must go away very soon to join my aunt who is obliged to remain among the mountains, as the sea air does not agree with her. But look, Miss Vernon, here comes Mr. Wyman and another gentleman!" and she seemed greatly disappointed at the interruption.
"Miss Weston, Mr. Deane," said Florence, introducing them, and the next instant she watched with earnest gaze the look of admiration10 which he gave the timid girl. It was not a bold or intrusive11 look, but such an one as a man might have bestowed12 were he suddenly ushered13 into the presence of his highest conception of female worth and loveliness.
Every line of his features betokened14 the keenest admiration, while her glance was far over the sea. Hugh saw the look, too, and was glad.
Miss Vernon trembled, she knew not why. She wished that he had not come to the sea-shore, and that the beautiful stranger was all her own.
The four walked together on the beach, until the heat of the day, and then Miss Weston withdrew.
"The finest face I ever saw," said Mr. Deane, watching her figure till she was out of sight, "and as lovely in soul as in form and features, I perceive." Then turning to Miss Vernon, he said:
"I see you harmonize. I am really glad it is so, for you can help each other very much."
Mr. Deane dropped the conversation, and assumed an air of abstraction, his gaze fixed15 on the blue waves-his thoughts none knew where.
Hugh and Florence walked to the house and seated themselves in the shade, within view of the sea. Then he told her in his clear, brief way, of what had transpired16 between Mr. Deane and his wife, with the remark that it was far better she should be informed of the true state of affairs, and thus be guarded against the evil of false reports.
"I saw your look of concern when he met Miss Weston-"
She looked wonderingly in his face.
"You feared for him, and her then. That was natural. I see beyond, and that no harm will come from any attachment17 that may arise. I hope to see them often together."
"Mr. Wyman, if I did not know you, I should sometimes fear your doctrines18."
"I have no doctrines."
"Well, theories then."
"No theories either. I follow nature, and leave her to perfect all things. Sometimes you think I am not sufficiently19 active; that I sit an idle looker on.
"What! do you know my every thought-everything that passes through my mind?" she asked, a a little agitated20.
"Nearly all, or rather that which goes with your states of progression."
She was vexed21 a little, but as the lesser22 ever turns to the greater, the earth to the sun for light,--so she, despite difference of temperament23 and mental expansion, was inclined to rest on his judgment24.
"This pure girl will give him a deeper faith in woman, unconsciously to herself, and he will become a better man; therefore fear not when you see them together, that he will lose his love for his wife. Yes, she will do him good, as you, Florence, are every day benefiting me."
"Do I? Do I make you better?" she asked in a quick, nervous way; and her soul flooded her soft, brown eyes.
"You do, Florence, and make me stronger every day; while your deepening womanhood is my daily enjoyment25. You give me an opportunity to know myself, and that there are many holy relations between men and women beside the conjugal26."
Mrs. Foster lost no time in informing the people of L--of the movements of Mr. Deane. She well knew there were persons who would circulate the report, and that it would finally reach his wife, even though she was several miles away. The report was, that Mr. Deane had brought a young lady to the sea-shore, and was seen walking with her every day and evening, and that they both were greatly enamoured with each other.
Strange to say, Mrs. Deane, weary and sad, left her parents and returned to her home just before her husband's letter reached its destination, and just in time to hear the narration27 of his strange conduct.
Howard gone, no one knew where, save from the vague and scandalous report of a few busy tongues; no letter telling where he was, and her soul sank, and all its good resolves faded away. When she left her parents that morning, she fully28 resolved to meet him with all the love of her heart, for she had found that love beneath the rubbish of doubt and jealousy29 that had for a time concealed30 it. It was not strange, therefore, that all the fond trust died out when she realized that he had gone, and the bitter waters returned stronger and deeper over her hope.
Shall we ever reach a world where we shall not have to plod31 through so much doubt and misgiving32, and where our real feelings will be better understood?
"He will surely come back soon," she said again and again to herself, while the veil of uncertainty33 hung black before her troubled vision. Every day she listened for his footsteps, till heart-sick and weary she returned to her parents, and told them all her grief and all her fears.
An hour later they handed her his letter, received an hour after her departure, and which her father had carried every day in his pocket and forgotten to re-mail to her.
While every one in L--was rehearsing the great wrong which, in their estimation, Mr. Deane had done his wife, she was eagerly absorbing every word of his warm-hearted letter, which he wrote on the day of his conversation with Mr. Wyman. Could she have received it before she returned again to her old home, how different would she and her parents have felt towards him. It was only for them she cared now. In vain she argued and tried to reinstate him in their good graces; but words failed, and she felt that time and circumstance alone were able to reconcile them.
She longed to go to him, but he had not asked her, and only said at the close:
"I shall return when I feel that we are ready to love each other as in the past. Not that I do not love you, Mabel, but I want all the richness of your affection, unclouded by distrust. We have been much to each other; we shall yet be more. When I clasp you to my heart again, all your fears will vanish. Be content to bear this separation awhile, for 'tis working good for us both."
She read it over a score of times, felt the truthfulness34 of his words, but could not realize how it was possible for the separation to benefit them. To her the days seemed almost without end. To him they were fraught35 with pleasure, saddened they might be a little with a thought of the events so lately experienced, but gladdened by the sunshine of new scenes, inspirited with new and holy emotions. It was well for her weak faith that Mrs. Deane did not see him that very evening walking with Miss Weston upon the sea-shore, engaged in close conversation. She would have questioned how it was possible that under such conditions his love for herself was growing more intense; not thinking, in her shallow philosophy, that the contrast of two lives exhibits more fully the beauties of each, and that it was by this rule she was growing in his affections.
"We must wait awhile for our friends, Miss Weston; I see they are in the rear," and he spread his shawl upon a rock, motioning her to be seated, close by the foam-white waves.
Mr. Wyman and Florence soon came along. They had forgotten the presence of every one. Nothing engaged their attention but the lovely scene before them, while the moon's light silvered the rippling36 surface of the waters. Their communion was not of words as they all sat together that lovely summer eve. Soul met soul, and was hushed and awed37 in the presence of so much that was entrancing, and when they separated each was better for the deep enjoyment they had mutually experienced.
"I may seem strange," remarked Miss Weston to her new friend, Miss Vernon, the next morning, as they sat looking at the sea, so changed in its aspect from that of the evening before, "that I should in the company of comparative strangers, feel so little reserve. I know my aunt would chide38 me severely39, but I have not felt so happy for many years. It may be that the influence of the ocean is so hallowed and peaceful that our souls live their truer lives, but I have never before opened my heart so fully to strangers. I wonder if I have overstepped any of the lines of propriety40?"
"I might have thought so once, but I see and feel differently now. I think the soul knows its kin3, and that it is not a matter of years but of states which causes it to unfold."
"I am glad you feel so. I seemed so strange to myself, ever conservative, now so open and free. I do not feel towards any of the others here as I do towards you and your friends. I regret that I have not a few days more to enjoy you all," she said quite sadly, "as my aunt has written for me to come to her the last of this week."
Miss Vernon could not help thinking how much more this fair being had to impart to her aunt, for this season of rest and enjoyment. "I wonder if the time will ever come," she often asked herself, "when we can go when and where we gravitate, and not be forced mechanically."
"I wish people could follow their natural attractions once in a while, at least," said Miss Edith, and she fixed her fair blue eyes on the sea.
Florence started; for it seemed as though she had read her thoughts.
"I suppose these limitations and restrictions41 are for our good, else they would not be," replied Miss Vernon.
"And the desire to shake them off is natural, if not right; is it not?"
"Natural, no doubt, and pleasant, if we could have the desire granted; but duty is greater than desire, and circumstances may at times impel42 us to the performance of the one rather than favor us with the gratification of the other. What I mean is, that it is our duty sometimes to take a part in scenes in which our hearts cannot fully sympathize."
"And yet you say you are attracted heart and mind to Mr. Wyman and his daughter. Is it not possible that, notwithstanding this, your duty calls you elsewhere,--that some other soul may be in need of your presence?"
"You have questioned me very close, Miss Weston, but I will answer you promptly43: I know of no one who needs me, else I should certainly go. Remember this,--in following our attractions we should never lose sight of our duties. They should go hand in hand."
"Very true. I feel that my aunt needs me, and I will go at once; this very day. I have lost a part of my restless self, and gained the repose44 I so much needed, since I have been here; and I am indebted to you and your friends for the exchange. Now I will go where duty calls."
"You have decided45 right, and I have no doubt you will be amply remunerated for the seeming sacrifice you are making of the few days of happiness you would have had in longer remaining here, had not the summons come for you to leave."
"I do not doubt it; and yet Miss Vernon, I need your atmosphere. How I wish our lives could mingle46 for awhile."
"If there ever comes a time when no earthly tie binds47 you, when duty will permit you to follow this attraction, come and live with us, and remain as long as you wish."
"With you?" exclaimed the astonished girl. "Can I? Is Mr. Wyman willing?"
"He has authorized48 me to invite you."
"But would it be right? Will it certainly be agreeable to him?"
"Most assuredly. We all love you, and as for Mr. Wyman, he never invites those to his home in whom he has no interest. So come. I know you will."
"Thank him, for me," warmly responded Miss Weston, "and I trust the time will arrive when I can more practically demonstrate how much I thank you all for your kindness."
The morning was spent by Miss Weston in packing her trunk, and making ready for her departure, much to the surprise of Mr. Wyman, and to the disappointment of Mr. Deane, who had hoped for a longer enjoyment of hours of communion with one so rich in goodness and innocence49 of heart.
In her atmosphere all his hardness seemed to pass away. She was balm to his troubled soul; light to his darkened vision. She would go that day, and life, busy life, close over the fresh, happy hours, and perchance never again before his vision would come that fair young face.
He asked permission to ride with her to the station, and see to her baggage and tickets. It was cheerfully granted, and in a moment all was over. The train came, stopped but a second, then moved on, and was soon hid from sight by a sharp curve. Then his past life came over this little break, this brief respite50, and he felt that he, too, was ready to go and kindle51 anew the waning52 flame upon his domestic hearth53.
Dawn, to the surprise of her father, was greatly delighted when she found Miss Weston was going.
"She is wanted there; some one in the air told me," she said, and clapped her hands in glee.
Her departure made quite a break in the little party, and when Mr. Deane made ready to go the next day, Florence and Mr. Wyman both felt that their own stay was about over.
Judge of their surprise two days after, to receive a note from Miss Weston, saying that her aunt had been seized with paralysis54 of the brain the day she arrived, and would not recover.
Every test of this nature strengthened Mr. Wyman in the belief in his daughter's vision, and he felt that there could be no safer light placed in his path for him to follow; a light which no more interferes55 with man's individuality or reasoning powers than the falling of the rays of the sun upon the earth.
The cry of the multitude is, that mediumship and impressibility detract from individual life, lessens56 the whole tone of manhood, and transforms the subject to a mere57 machine. Such conclusions are far from correct. Our whole being is enriched, and made stronger and fuller by true impressibility. Are we in any degree depleted58 if we for a time become messengers to bear from friend to friend, words of love, cheer and encouragement? Are we mere machines, because we obey the promptings of the unseen and go where sorrow sits with bowed head, or want and misery59 wait for relief? If so, we are in good service, and have the consciousness of knowing, that, being thus the instruments of God's will, we cannot be otherwise than dear to him.
All matter is mediumistic. Life is tributary60, one phase to another, and soul to soul speaks suggestively.
The ocean has its fullness from tributary streams which flow to its bed.
Lives alone are great that are willing to be fed.
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1
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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impel
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| v.推动；激励，迫使 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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47
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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48
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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50
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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51
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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52
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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53
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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54
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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55
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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56
lessens
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| 变少( lessen的第三人称单数 )； 减少（某事物） | |
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57
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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58
depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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59
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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