Читать книгу Dawn - Mrs. H. A. Adams - Страница 9

Table of Contents

In a few weeks the little neighborhood was duly aroused, and discussing the state of affairs at Mr. Wyman's. Each one considered herself called upon to pass judgment upon the daily proceedings.

“It's too ridiculous, right in the face and eyes of honest people, to see this woman and Mr. Wyman carrying on as they do,” said Miss Gay, a lady of forty years, whose notions of the mingling of the sexes were of the strictest character.

“Why, how? Do tell us,” chimed in her companion, a garrulous old lady.

“Why, they say that this young woman is going about with Mr. Wyman all the time. He takes her to ride almost every day, and they have interminable walks and daily confabs together.”

“Well, I should think the child's lessons would come off slim, Miss Gay.”

“O, that's only a subterfuge. They'll be married 'fore one year has gone by.”

“I do not believe Hugh Wyman will ever marry again,” said one who knew his character better than the others.

“Then what can he want of that young woman? No good, depend on that,” and Mrs. Green shook her head as though she had more in it than she wished at that time to display.

While they chat and waste the hours, let us go and listen to the parties talked of, and judge for ourselves whether two earnest souls can not approach, enjoy each other, and yet be pure and blameless.

“I can scarcely believe, Mr. Wyman, that so brief a period could work such a change in my being. Before I came here, I thought all the world cold and heartless. You have taught me that friendship, even between men and women, may exist, and that the only true relations are of soul and not of blood. I can never by words tell you how grateful I feel to you for all these teachings,” and she looked thoughtfully out on the summer scene before her.

“I am very glad that you are happy here, Miss Vernon, for when I first saw you I instinctively felt that you were just the companion for myself and daughter. I saw, too, the cloud which hung over you, and felt that my hand could lift it. You belong to Dawn and myself, and we shall keep you so long as you are happy.”

“But-”

“But what? I know your fears, and what this busy little neighborhood will say. I care no more for all its ideas of life than for the wind, while I feel right here,” said Mr. Wyman, placing his hand upon his heart. “The time has come for all to live individual lives. I would not for a moment have your name sullied, but should you go, would gossip cease? No; stay here, Miss Vernon, and show to this little portion of the world that man and woman can live together sociably and honorably. I love you as a sister; no more. My dear Alice is now my wife, the same as when on earth. I speak as I do, knowing that you will meet with many sneers and frowns if you stay, but the consciousness of right will sustain you.”

“How could you know what was in my mind? You have, indeed, expressed all my fears as regards this relation between us.”

“Will you go or stay?”

“I shall stay.”

“May you never regret the decision.”

“Now may I ask you about this strange belief, that the departed are about us? Excuse me, if I seem curious, but when you spoke of your dear wife, my whole being quivered with a new and strange emotion. I only ask from deepest interest.”

“I believe you. I wish I could transmit to your mind the proofs of my belief. I have almost daily positive proof of my wife's presence, sometimes by my own powers, and then again from those of my child.”

“Then she, too, sees like yourself?”

“She does. And every day my experiences are too real and tangible for me to deny, or even doubt that the loved, and so-called 'lost,' are with us still. To my mind, there is nothing unnatural about it. Every day my faith deepens, and not for all the glory of this life would I change my belief. Death has brought myself and Alice nearer together. But I can only state to you my faith in this, my experience cannot be imparted. Each must seek, and find, and be convinced alone by personal experience and observation.”

“I believe you, and your earnest words have sunk deep within my mind, yet in modern spiritualism I have little faith.”

“Mere phenomenal spiritism is of course only designed to arrest the attention; its other form appeals to the soul, and becomes a part of the daily lives of those who realize it.”

“But I have heard of so much that was contradictory, so much that cannot be reconciled.”

“Neither can we reconcile the usual manifestations of life. Our daily experiences teach us that seeming absurdities abound on every hand.”

“That is true. I sometimes think I shall never get the evidence which my nature requires to convince.”

“In God's own time and way it will come, and when you are best fitted to receive it.”

“But please go on, Mr. Wyman, and tell me more of your experience.”

“I would I could tell you how often when I am weary, my dear Alice comes and watches over me at night; how truly I feel her thoughts, which she cannot express in words; and how, when the poor and needy are suffering, she leads me to where they dwell amid scenes of want. When my pure child speaks thoughts beyond herself, and describes to me some vision which I at the same time behold, with the exact look and gesture of her mother, I say I believe in spirit communion. I can well afford to let the world laugh; I know what I see and feel. And well do I know how much there is mixed with this modern spiritism, which has no origin save in the minds of the persons who substitute their hopes and thoughts for impressions. On this I have much to say to you at some future period. It is well that it is so, else we should not discriminate. Life is so full of adulterations, that which the world calls 'evil' is so mingled with that it calls 'good,' would it not be strange if this phase should come to us pure and unmixed?”

“It would not take you long to make me a convert to your faith; yet I hope sometime to have my own experiences. If there was not so much that conflicts with our reason, I think every one would naturally accept the belief you so fondly cherish.”

“Without such conflicting experiences, we should be mere machines. We must grow in every direction, using every faculty for our guidance, yet ever remembering there are mightier realms than reason, and that the human soul must often go beyond that portal, to catch glimpses of the silent land.”

“Life would indeed be blessed to me, could I feel an assurance that my mother was near me to strengthen me in my hours of weakness, and that she was interested in my labors.”

“I know all our earnest longings are answered, and that sufficient proof will be given you. Say nothing of this conversation to Dawn. I have my reasons, and should not be surprised if, in a few days, she should give you a test of spirit presence.”

“Can Dawn see as clearly as yourself?”

“She can, and far better. I do not force the gift upon her, or seek to overwork her powers. I want it to be natural and to unfold with all her other capacities. Never question her, let all come freely.”

“I will remember; and here she comes laden as usual with flowers.”

“O, Miss Vernon, O, papa, I have had such a good time!” she exclaimed out of breath and almost wild with excitement.

“What was it all about, child?”

“I was on the hill out here, getting flowers, when I seemed to hear music, all at once in the air. I think I went to sleep, but if it was a dream I know it means something, for I saw a tall, beautiful lady come to me, and on her forehead were the letters, M. V. Then she took a little box inlaid with gems, and drew from it a necklace of pearls, and then she went away, and as she turned-I saw these words come like a light-'Tell Florence.' Now, papa, what did it mean?”

Mr. Wyman turned to Miss Vernon who was weeping. He waited until her emotion subsided and then said—

“Your mother, was it not?”

“They were my mother's initials. Her name was Mabel Vernon, and mine Florence.”

“How strange. And the necklace, do you recognize that?”

“My mother gave me-on her dying bed-a pearl necklace in such a box as described by Dawn.”

“And we did not know your name was Florence. We only knew you as Miss Vernon.”

“Can it-can this be true? Ah, something tells me I may believe. I am too full now, Mr. Wyman, to talk. I must go.”

“Call me Hugh, Florence, I am your brother—” and he led her gently to the house.

She remained in her room all that evening. Deep and strong was the tide which was setting into her new life. “If 't is true, 't is the greatest truth mortal has found,” she said again and again to herself, as the old upheaved, and the new flowed into her soul. Life was becoming almost too full; her brain grew fevered, but at last sweet sleep, that soul refiner, came, and after a night's repose she awoke, calm and at rest.