Sweethearts and Wives CHAPTER 12.
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During the greater portion of the night that followed Mr. Milnor's departure, Grace sought in vain for rest and sleep; her mind was in too feverish a state. Backward and forward, like rebuking specters, passed continually in her thoughts, the words of her husband; and at each review, her spirits became more and more depressed. It was long after midnight before her eyelids closed, but not even then, in peaceful slumber; troubled dreams haunted her imagination, and more than once startled her into consciousness.
At length morning came, but it found her unrefreshed, her pulse quickened, and her mind in a state of nervous depression. She had said nothing to her husband about writing — still she could not help expecting a letter on that day. As the hour for the arrival of the mail approached, she became more and more restless in mind; hoping for a letter, yet fearing that it would bring her no token from her husband. These fears were doomed to be realized. When the servant returned from the post-office without anything for her, she could not conceal her disappointment, but gave way to a flood of tears.
The day rolled heavily by, and another night was passed in broken and troubled sleep. As the hour for the arrival of the mail approached on the next day, she became so anxious and restless, that she could not sit still for a moment. The hands upon the clock never seemed to move so slowly. Once or twice her eyes sought, involuntarily, the pendulum, to see if it had not really stopped; but no, there it swung, faithful to its allotted duty. At last the hour arrived, and a messenger was despatched to the post office. Grace did not leave the window which overlooked the street by which he would return, until his form again became visible. In his hand he held a letter! How instantly did her heart grow still, and then bound on again with a heavy throb, which sent the blood rushing through every artery, as the letter caught her eye! It was soon in her hand. She trembled so violently, as she broke the seal, that she could scarcely hold the letter steadily enough to read it after it was opened. But she was soon as calm as a frozen lake. Its, to her, icy contents, instantly congealed her feelings. It ran thus:
"Dear Grace — I arrived here safely yesterday, and at once called upon Mr. Goodlow. The business he wishes me to engage in, involves his interests deeply. It will require my undivided attention, and for a much longer time, I am inclined to think, than I at first supposed. I had no idea that he reposed the degree of confidence in my legal abilities that he does. I must do my best to meet and sustain that confidence. I have but a moment in which to drop you these lines. Excuse, therefore, their brevity. Remember me kindly to Aunt Mary. Let me hear from you often. Your affectionate husband, Lewis."
When Mrs. Ellis entered her room, about ten minutes afterward, she found Grace weeping violently. She asked no questions, but lifted the open letter of Milnor, and ran her eye through it hastily.
"Cold enough!" she mentally ejaculated, and then sat for some minutes lost in thought. From this revery she was aroused by Grace, who said, with bitter emphasis,
"He does not love me!"
"In that, you do him injustice. I know that he loves you with great tenderness," Mrs. Ellis instantly replied. "His letter is brief, and seems cold and formal; but you must learn not todraw hasty conclusions from mere appearances."
"If he had really loved me, aunt, he never could have written me such a letter!"
"I do not see why."
"It is as cold as an iceberg!"
"It was only intended to convey to you certain information, and written under circumstances which would not permit the penning of a mere love-letter. Duty first, my child. When a man's mind is in eager pursuit of any important end, the gentler affections retire into purer regions for protection; whence, when duty is done, they flow down again to bless their object. Your husband is a man of talents and ambition. The sudden reverses which have come upon us have quickened these into vigorous activity. A deep and tender love for you is the strongest of these quickening impulses. And now a spur has been given to this ambition, which has kindled all the energies of his mind, and directed them to a single end. It is for you, then, to feel with him — not to idly murmur because he does not stop, in his pursuit of a right end — to utter soft things, and make new declarations of undying affection."
To this, Grace made no reply. It did not convince her reason. She felt the coldness of her husband's letter; and she felt more — that it was her conduct which had made him cold, and that he was a sufferer as well as herself.
After the lapse of an hour, she sat down to reply to it; but, after beginning half a dozen letters, and writing half a page or so in each, she threw them all aside, and, burying her face in her hands, sat for a long time in a state of gloomy abstraction. From this, she was compelled to arouse herself by the announcement that three or four young lady-friends were below. It was fully ten minutes, however, before she could venture to meet them. When she did, not one of them could discover that anything weighed upon her spirits. Their presence and their lively conversation helped to bring back a tone of cheerfulness to her mind, which Mrs. Ellis perceiving, she insisted, after they had gone away, upon her making a few calls with her. This, Grace reluctantly consented to do. After paying the brief visits which had taken them out, they took their way homeward, and in doing so passed the neat residence of Mrs. Lawson.
"Suppose we call in for a little while upon Mrs. Williams?" Mrs. Ellis said, half pausing.
"Oh no; it was only the day before yesterday that we were there. So early a visit may be felt as an intrusion, especially as we have yet only made our first call; and besides, I do not wish to be thought too anxious to make their acquaintance."
Just at this moment Mrs. Lawson, who had stepped out for a few minutes, met them on her way back again.
"Won't you drop in for a little while?" she said, after the first few words were passed. "My daughter seems better this morning, and will be gratified to see you."
"Shall we go in?" Mrs. Ellis asked, turning to Grace.
"It would be a pleasure for me to do so," was Mrs. Milnor's reply.
When they entered the chamber of Mrs. Williams, they found her sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her eyes as bright as when they had last seen her.
"I am glad indeed to see you, Mrs. Milnor!" she said, extending her hand as Grace came up to her bedside, while a sweet smile of welcome wreathed about her lips, and then played over her whole countenance. "It is kind in you so soon to remember the weary invalid again."
"My visits to you, Mrs. Williams, will all be selfish, I am afraid, for certain am I, that I shall take away far more than I can give."
"Giving or receiving, I shall alike be your debtor," Julia said, smiling, "for I never feel happier than when conscious of having imparted something to another which will live in his mind and bless him. Though far too rarely, do I have this delightful consciousness."
"Never before," returned Mrs. Milnor, with animation, "have I understood the meaning of these words: It is more blessed to give, than to receive. They have often passed through my mind, but as a dark saying."
"They declare a pure and elevated truth. Happy would it be for mankind if it were more fully received!" Mrs. Williams said, earnestly. "To be ever receiving, and ever willing and desirous to receive from others — is not a right state of mind. Its effect is to reverse the true order of our being, to turn all our thoughts and affections in upon ourselves — instead of outwardly upon others. Each one in this state seeks to have all around him, as the ministers of his selfish gratifications — and is unhappy in the very degree that others whom he meets are as selfish as himself, and withhold what he so eagerly desires. But, in our efforts to make others happy, we find less obstruction to our desires; and if we take a real delight in this, we shall prove fully the truth of the words you have quoted: 'It is more blessed to give, than to receive.' This will be found true in every relation of life — in the common offices of charity, in social life, in friendship, in love."
"In love?"
"Yes, and peculiarly is this principle the soul and center of true happiness, in wedded love."
Mrs. Milnor was silent at this declaration, and Julia proceeded.
"True love, when it feels a reciprocation — seeks to bless its object, and to be conjoined with it. It never thinks of itself; it never stays at home in its own bosom, waiting for gifts, and homage, and offerings — but yearns with inexpressible tenderness to make its object happy, and finds its best reward in seeing that end attained."
"There is no true love in this world, then," Grace said, slowly, and with some bitterness in her tone.
"Perhaps none fully pure and true," Julia returned, as she looked at Mrs. Milnor steadily, and with an expression of inquiry, in the face. "Perfect love exists only in Heaven. But we may have it here relatively pure and true, and in that degree experience the happiness which flows from its activity. And it is only in the degree that our love is unselfish — that it is to us a delight instead of a curse. Think for a moment of the state of a married pair, each of whom thinks only of his or her own happiness, and not only seeks after it, but expects the other to be ever ministering to this happiness. Contrast this with the state of two whose genuine love leads them to seek to bless each other — to look at the same end, and pursue after it with united ardor. Need anything be said by way of illustrating their states?"
"But suppose one is selfish — and the other unselfish?"
"Let a true principle rule in the bosom of him or her who sees the truth, for only in an obedience to truth, can we find any degree of happiness. If a woman truly loves her husband — she will not be quick to perceive selfishness in him. The medium through which we see an object, modifies the appearance of that object, and sometimes reverses it. It is from this law, that an unselfish wife will see in the selfish acts of a husband a genuine affection; while the selfish wife will distrust and reverse the well-meant acts of a truly loving husband into arbitrariousness. I have seen this in many instances. I have myself, in more than one instance, suffered my mind, from this very self-love, to bring accusations against my husband — to oppose him, and render us both, for a time, unhappy." Mrs. Williams' voice slightly trembled as she uttered this.
"You!" ejaculated Mrs. Milnor, in a low, surprised tone. "Oh no! you could never have done that!"
"I beg God that I may never be permitted to do it again," Julia said, earnestly. "But it was well, perhaps, to show me my own weakness — and my husband's self-devoted affection for me."
More than one question rose to the tongue of Grace as Mrs. Williams made this confession, but she suppressed their utterance. They would have betrayed too plainly her ownstate of mind, and the coldness which then existing between herself and her husband; and pride, if not prudence, forbade that. A pause of some moments, therefore, followed Julia's last remark.
"It takes us young married folks," she at length resumed, smiling, as she gave utterance to the thoughts that were passing through her mind, "some time to get acquainted with each other — I mean as husband and wife. And not much wonder, I suppose, for we are not always as honest towards each other as we should be during courtship. As sweethearts— our lovers set us up and pretend to worship us as demi-goddesses; but as wives — they presume to treat us as equals, and our little hearts rebel. During the former period, too, we put on as much of the angel as possible — and thus favor the deception. No wonder, then, that our too sudden laying of this aside, tends to break the illusion, and bring us down upon the earth again."
This was said in a lively tone, which prevented it from depressing the spirits of Grace, who felt its truth sensibly. At this moment, Mrs. Ellis, who had been listening to Julia attentively, reminded her niece that it was time to go.
"Shall we have the pleasure of seeing you again soon?" Mrs. Williams said, with honest frankness, as she held the hand which Grace had extended towards her.
"Very soon, if I may be permitted to intrude upon you; but — "
<p align="justify">"Do not talk of intrusion, Mrs. Milnor," Julia returned, quickly. "I have often felt a desire to meet you, which has now been gratified. Come, then, and let us be friends indeed, if you can find anything in me upon which to ground a feeling of friendship."
The only reply that Grace made to this, was to press earnestly the hand which was still in hers, and then to hurry away to conceal her emotion.
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