The Angel and The Demon CHAPTER 7.
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"Florence!"
Miss Harper stopped suddenly, and looked up in a bewildered manner.
"Florence!" repeated the voice of Uncle John.
"Mr. Fleetwood!" She could only utter the kind old man's name in a low, choking voice.
"Where are you going, Florence?" he asked.
"Home," was the answer.
"Has anything happened at home? Is your aunt sick?"
"No, sir."
"Are you sick, Florence?"
"Yes, sir. Sick at heart!" was the reply of Florence, made with quivering lips.
Uncle John turned, and walked beside Miss Harper, in the direction he had found her going.
"There is something wrong, Florence," said he. "Why have you left the house of my niece so suddenly?"
"Mrs. Dainty has dispensed with my services."
"What?"
"Mrs. Dainty does not wish me any longer to hold the place of governess to her children," said Florence.
Uncle John was silent for some moments. He then said —
"How did this happen? Tell me everything freely."
Florence related what had passed between her and Mrs. Dainty at the hurried interview preceding her departure from the house.
"You must go back again," said Uncle John, after Florence had finished her brief narrative.
"Impossible!" was her firm answer.
"Say not so, Florence."
"Impossible, Mr. Fleetwood! Impossible! I am not strong enough to bear all this insult and indignity. I can suffer pain, or even death; but my spirit will not brook humiliation like this! Only for the children's sake, have I remained up to this day."
"And only for their sakes, would I still have you remain," said Uncle John.
"But the door is shut against me; and I will never knock to have it opened," said the young girl, with, an indignant spirit; "never! never!" She repeated the words very firmly.
"The door must be opened for you, and without the preliminary of a knock. Leave all that to me," said Uncle John.
By this time, they had reached a small house in a part of the city where people in moderate circumstances reside, and both paused at the door.
"Will you come in, Mr. Fleetwood?" said Miss Harper, speaking in a tone of unusual familiarity. "Aunt Mary will, I know, be glad to see you."
"Yes, I must go in, and have a little more talk with you, and a little conference with good Aunt Mary."
In the next moment, they passed together into the house — the manner of Uncle John being that of a man who was entering a familiar place. In the small, neatly-furnished sitting-room to which both proceeded, they found a plainly-dressed lady, somewhat advanced in years. She was reading in a volume which seemed to have been taken up casually, as her knitting-work was in her lap.
"How are you, Mrs. Elder?" said Uncle John, in the familiar voice of a friend; and he took the old lady's hand and shook it cordially.
"Right well — and right glad to see you, Mr. Fleetwood," was the frank, cheerful response, as she returned the hearty pressure of Uncle John's hand. "But to what cause am I indebted for this visit?" she added, a slight shadow coming into her face, as she looked more narrowly at Florence.
"A providential one, doubtless," said Mr. Fleetwood, smiling. "I met your niece, just now, fleeing from the post of duty, and have accompanied her hither, that I might hear thereport she has to make of herself."
"A good report, I doubt not," replied the old lady, throwing a kind but serious glance upon the countenance of her niece.
"When the door is shut in your face, you can hardly be blamed for leaving the threshold," said Florence, with some bitterness in her tones.
"Is it so bad as that, my child?" Mrs. Elder spoke with much tenderness, which did not wholly conceal a flush of indignation.
"Just so bad." Florence said this slowly, and with an emphasis on every word. "Just so bad," she repeated. "And yet Mr. Fleetwood wishes me to return for the children's sake."
"And is not that a powerful motive?" said the old gentleman, speaking before Mrs. Elder had time to reply. "For the children's sake! For the sake of those little ones whom the Lord, when upon the earth, took up in his arms and blessed with a divine blessing. I urged, you see, Mrs. Elder, no light motive."
The eyes and countenance of Florence both drooped to the floor, and she remained sitting almost motionless.
"I must know all the facts in the case, Mr. Fleetwood, before I can say a word concerning the duty of my niece. What she sees to be right, she has the courage to do, and, if my eyes can aid her in seeing right, I will gladly lend her their more experienced vision. Let me have the whole story of this new trouble with Mrs. Dainty."
In as few words as possible, Florence rehearsed what had passed between her and Mrs. Dainty, giving to her auditors that lady's emphatic and insulting terms of dismissal.
Mrs. Elder remained gravely silent for some minutes after Florence had ceased speaking; while Mr. Fleetwood waited patiently to get the conclusion of her thoughts.
"I don't see that it is possible for Florence to go back again," said the old lady, speaking as if that view of the case were clearly settled in her mind.
"Extreme cases, require extreme measures," said Mr. Fleetwood. "I treat my niece, for most of the time, as if she were partially demented. And so she is; for vanity and love of the world have in a measure dethroned her reason! She was my favorite when a little girl; and I remained strongly attached to her as she grew up toward womanhood — though I could not be over-patient with the fashionable follies to which she showed far too early an inclination. For some years I have been altogether out of heart with her, and see no hope of her reformation — except through virtue of some great calamity. But she has children, to whom all my love is transferred — children who may be trained to good — or warped to evil. I had almost come to despair of them, when a bright day renewed old acquaintanceship, and I discovered in your excellent niece, all the qualities needed to save these children. How wisely, lovingly, and unselfishly she has performed her task so far, I need not repeat to you, Mrs. Elder, for I have told you every word before.
"And now, do you think I can give her up? No, no. She must return. But I will make the way as easy for her as possible. All the rough places I cannot hope to make even; but she has courage to walk, if she knows the voice of duty, even where sharp stones are certain to cut her tender feet. Already she has won her way into the hearts of the children, and has at this moment more power over them for good, than any living soul. This power must not be lost."
"Every child that is born," said Aunt Mary, in a thoughtful tone, "is precious in the eyes of God, and his love toward that child is manifested in the best possible arrangement of things external to its life, in order that these may awaken in its heart emotions of kindness, mercy, and pity toward others. Such emotions, whenever excited, fix themselves as permanent things in the young immortal, and remain there like good seed that may be warmed into life and produce good fruit, when time has brought the age of rational freedom. It is by such remains of good and true things in all their varieties, which are stored up in the minds of children from the earliest days of infancy, up to manhood — that our Divine Father is able to save us from the evil inclinations we inherit, when we step forth, as men and women, self-reliant and rationally responsible. To help in the work of storing up in the minds of young children such 'remains,' as I have called them, is indeed a heavenly work; and all who engage in it are co-workers with angels."
"And to neglect such work," said Mr. Fleetwood, "when it lies in our way, and will be performed by no other hands if we refuse to do it — involves no light responsibility. The perversion, corruption, and final ruin of an immortal soul — is a fearful thought."
A deep sigh fluttered the bosom of Florence Harper; but she made no remark.
"If a mother neglects her high duties in this regard," said Mrs. Elder, "can we say that another becomes responsible in her stead?"
Florence raised her head and listened with marked interest for Mr. Fleetwood's answer to this question. He reflected a moment, and then made reply:
"For the work God sets before us — are we alone responsible. His love for his children is so great, that he is ever providing the means to help them to a knowledge of the good which is needful to secure their happiness. If those appointed by nature to do good to his little ones neglect their high trust — he leads others to a knowledge of their needs; and, if these pass by unmoved to kindness — he still offers the heavenly work to other hands."
The head of Florence again drooped, and again her bosom trembled with a sigh.
"I do not ask Florence to return to our house today," said Mr. Fleetwood. "She must have a little time for rest and reflection, and I must have a little time for observation and management at home. The meaning of this hasty step on the part of my niece, I do not comprehend. Something lies behind it, which I must make out clearly before acting."
"I will see you in the morning, Florence," added the old gentleman, on rising to go. Then, taking her hand, he said, very earnestly, and with slight emotion —
"Ever regard me as your friend — nay, more than a friend — as a father. Do not fear that I will advise you to any course of action in this matter, that I would not advise you to take, were you indeed my own child — as — as you might have been!"
The voice of the old man grew strangely veiled with feeling as he uttered, in something of an absent way, the closing words of the last sentence.
"Yes! yes! as you might have been, Florence!" repeated Mr. Fleetwood, with sudden energy, catching at the hand of the young girl and pressing it to his lips.
"Tell her all! Yes, tell her all!" he added, turning to Mrs. Elder in a hurried, excited manner. "Her presence moves me strangely, and memories of the past are too strong for an old man's feelings."
Mr. Fleetwood left, abruptly, the room, passing into the street, and so leaving the aunt and niece alone.
"Tell me all of what, Aunt Mary?" said Florence, coming to the side of Mrs. Elder. Her face had become very pale.
"A simple story of thwarted love and undying affection," replied Aunt Mary, calmly. "Mr. Fleetwood loved your mother, and that love was only in a measure returned. Your father won her heart more truly, and she decided in his favor. They were married, and you are their only child. If your mother had married Mr. Fleetwood, the current of her life might have run smoother; but whether she would have been happier, is not for me to say. Mr. Fleetwood never would marry again; and it seems that his love for your mother has been an undying passion. I will say no more than this. But he is a man of great moral worth, noble sentiments, and a true heart. His interest in you is not a passing whim or preference, but has in it such deep regard as a wise and good father knows only for his child. And so you may be very sure that he will advise you to no course of action in regard to his niece and her children, that he would not advise for his own daughter. It was his love for these children, that led him to desire you for their governess — you, whom he rightly knew only through my representation of your character. I think you will see it best, to return to your post."
"I can only go back through Mrs. Dainty's invitation, and, I was going to say, after her apology."
"Withhold for the present, that last condition," said Aunt Mary. "I doubt not, when the time comes, the way in which your feet should walk will be made very plain."
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