Family Pride CHAPTER 9.
Back to Family Pride
Early one morning, two years from the time of which General Thompson had restored Agnes to her mother, an elderly man was pacing backward and forward, with hurried steps, a room in one of the largest London hotels. He was evidently suffering from painful reflections. Sometimes he would take up from a table a small richly-set picture of a child, and gaze upon it long and earnestly; then he would lay it down with a sigh, and continue his walk, but more hurriedly than ever. At length he sat down beside the table, and again fixed his eyes upon the picture.
"Dear, dear child!" he murmured, in a low, broken voice. "Shall I never look upon your living face again? Living!" he added with a shudder, as a new thought flashed across his mind. "How do I know whether she be living or dead! Heaven be merciful!" he continued, his face assuming an expression of terror. "What if she is dead!" and again a nervous shudder went thrilling through his frame.
For some time he sat leaning his head upon his hand, as if debating some question, and still irresolute about coming to a decision.
"I have been a fool, a madman!" he at length muttered to himself.
"Yes, worse than a fool or a madman!" he added, after a few moments' pause.
"I will see my child!" he at length said, springing suddenly to his feet, as if he had consummated a growing resolution, by a sudden and violent effort.
Three days from that time, saw him on board of a New York boat, gently gliding down the Thames. His eyes were not cast back upon the mighty city he was leaving, but eagerly forward; measuring with his eye, the distance from object to object, which indicated the progress of the vessel. Now that he had resolved to cross the ocean, he was all eagerness to hurry on his way. Morning after morning, would he seek the deck of the vessel, even when but a few days out, and strain his eyes musingly, and with a vague hope of land in his mind, far over the billows. Thirty days of pleasant weather brought him safely into New York. It was but an hour before the Philadelphia steamboat was to start, when the vessel arrived; when the steamboat drew off, the old man was one of her passengers.
It was night, owing to an unusual detention on the day after, when he arrived in Bolton, and he was fast failing in strength under the powerful excitement of mind which had prevailed since he left London.
Just at nine o'clock, a carriage brought him to the door of Mrs. Watson's pleasant dwelling. He was trembling all over like a leaf.
"Where is Mrs. Watson?" he asked of the servant who opened the door.
"She is in her chamber," said the servant, in surprise at the strange earnestness and demanding tone of the question.
Without pausing, he glided by the servant, and hurried upstairs. Just as he placed his hand upon the lock of the door, he heard a voice, and he was suddenly impressed with a desire to listen.
It was the voice of Mrs. Watson. And the tones were those of prayer.
"And my dear father," she said, "wherever he may be — O send him consolation! Soften his heart, and, if it be Your will, grant that we may yet meet, before we die."
"Your prayer is answered, Emily," said her father, for it was he, throwing open the door, and staggering toward her with extended arms.
Instantly springing to her feet, in momentary alarm, Mrs. Watson turned toward the door. One glance told all — and, in the next moment, father and child were clasped in each other's arms.
"O grandfather!" cried Agnes, by which name her mother continued to call her, as soon as she perceived who was the intruding stranger, also starting forward.
"Do I indeed see that angel face again!" he said, disengaging an arm that was around his daughter, and drawing Agnes to his bosom. "I could not live without you, my dear child! and so I have come back, to go away no more."
This was said in a broken voice, while the tears wandered down his time-worn cheeks. Two years of intense and almost constant struggles of pride against affection; of reasonagainst blind and powerful passion — had done more to break down and enfeeble his frame than twenty years of a life unmarked by such fierce contests with cherished evils. His head had whitened, his cheeks had become sunken and pale, and his body was slightly bent.
How wild and tremulous was the joy that fluttered through the heart of Mrs. Watson! Two years of calm devotion to her child, so unexpectedly restored to her, with the earnest cultivation of a Christian principle, had restored her mind to a sober and rational perception of the good and the true, in all things. She was no longer the slave of passions and feelings which found excitement in false perceptions. She had passed through the fires of affliction, and out of them she had come with the dross of her character consumed, and the gold refined. Now, the joy of her heart, although it swelled almost into ecstasy, was not a selfish joy at the restoration and reconciliation which had taken place. It looked to the happiness of her father, as well as to her own delight.
"I am so happy!" she said, after they were all calmer, and had become seated, leaning her head back upon her father's bosom, and looking up into his face, while the tears of joy rolled from her eyes.
"How can you ever forgive me?" he said, "for — "
"Don't speak of that, dear father," she said, hastily. "Out of the painful afflictions of the past — we have all come wiser and better. All these things may have been necessary for our good. Let us now forget them. We have the present to improve and to enjoy. I needed only your return to be happy. May our presence restore you to all lost delights."
General Thompson did not reply, for his tongue could not have obeyed the impulse of his thoughts, but he bent down and kissed the cheek of his child with fervor.
But I will dwell no longer on this scene of joy. General Thompson had sought, in travel, to wean his thoughts and feelings from their intense and yearning desire for the presence of his grandchild, whose gentle spirit had touched his heart with unusual tenderness. But he sought in vain. Gradually, his abiding state of unhappiness purified, in a good degree, hismoral perceptions — and he was led to see and to shudder at the wickedness and cruelty he had so wantonly indulged. An emotion of pity for the child he had so injured, begat some feeble touches of affection; and these increased, until he was at last forced back, as the reader has seen, to consummate the eager wishes of himself and his children.
The introduction of Mrs. Watson into the Alms-House, under circumstances so distressing, was one among the most singular of those reverses of fortune, to which nearly all who found their way there had been subject. The knowledge of it prevailed, I believe, in certain circles; but it was not known in the city generally. Few who saw her afterward, with her beautiful daughter, moving in the most select and intelligent circles in Bolton, would have dreamed of such a passage in her life. She was ever cheerful in conversation, and pleasant and easy in manners. But the shadow which had been so long reflected upon her brow, never became entirely effaced, though every passing year softened it more and more.
Old General Thompson has been dead many years. Agnes married a rich southern planter, several years ago, and, with her mother, removed to the South. Where they are, or what is their condition — I know not.
And here the curtain drops.
THE END.
Back to Family Pride