The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 30.
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The night that followed this solemn interview, broke not again for the wife and mother — not again in this world. To her, there came a better and a brighter morning, than dawned for the sorrowing ones she left behind.
The last act of Mrs. Wellford made the way plain for Mrs. Bullfinch. She dictated a will, by the provisions of which a generous income for life was secured to her, and in which she solemnly committed her children to her care. Mrs. Bullfinch had already given her promise that, if desired by Mr. Wellford to do so, she would meet the mother's dying wishes. That desire was expressed in language not to be misunderstood.
In a little more than a month after the death of Mrs. Wellford, Mr. Latta came home from England, with his health so much impaired that his physician said he must, for the present, give up all earnest application to business. It being necessary for the house to be represented abroad, it was determined that Mr. Wellford should take his place for a few months.
As short as the time had been since Mrs. Bullfinch assumed her new position in his family — short as the time had been, it was yet long enough to give birth in the mind of Mr. Wellford to certain emotions which disturbed and pained him. Tenderly as he loved his wife, and faithful to her in every thought as he had been — he discovered, already, a newly awakening interest in her for whom his heart had first poured out the gushing waters of affection. Not that, in any respect, Mrs. Bullfinch sought to bend a single thought to herself. Faithful to her trust, as the guardian and friend of his children, she was devoting her life to them with a tenderness and assiduity that never for a moment grew weary. Towards him, she was reserved, though not cold; deferential, but not constrained. None knew better than she, the virtues, the sweet attractions, the loving qualities of her who had been taken from him; and had she thought, that, in so brief a time after her removal, his heart was turning to her with a single pulse beating with old emotions, instantly her high respect for his character would have been dimmed.
"Mrs. Bullfinch," said he, one day, about six weeks after the death of his wife, "I shall be obliged to leave, almost immediately, for England. Mr. Latta has come home in very bad health, and the doctor enjoins positive relaxation from business. The interests of the business require a resident partner abroad; I must, therefore, take his place for a short time. It will leave on you additional care and responsibility, which I regret; but I hope to be home again in two or three months. I have concluded to take Maggy with me. She is not only old enough to enjoy a trip across the water, but to receive benefit therefrom."
An expression of regret came to the lips of Mrs. Bullfinch, but she checked its utterance, and remained silent.
"My only trouble about Maggy is, the lack of a suitable companion to accompany her. I shall, for the greater part of almost every day, be necessarily absent from her — business being the object of my visit."
"She is just at that age," said Mrs. Bullfinch, "when she ought not to be thrown among strangers without a judicious companion of her own gender."
"You are right there," replied Mr. Wellford, in a voice that showed a sudden conviction of the truth involved in her remark. "Right — right" — he added. Then he sighed, and remained lost in thought for some time.
"I wish I could take all with me," he said, in some animation, as if he were really serious in the suggestion. And, for the moment, he was.
"Had not all better remain?" said Mrs. Bullfinch. "You will not be gone a very long time. Maggy is still at school; and, though passed seventeen, but a school girl, and ignorant of the world and its wiles. Will it be wise to interrupt her studies now — in fact, to end them, for she will not be able to study again — or safe to trust her alone, as she must so much of her time be, and among strangers, of whose characters you can never be sure?"
"No, Mrs. Bullfinch, it will not," was the father's emphatic answer. "You are right — right. I thought more of myself than of my child, when I proposed to take her with me. "Well" — and he sighed, "I must go alone. The separation from my children will be painful. Yet I shall have one comfort; she, with whom I leave them, will be faithful to her trust.
"If tempted to unfaithfulness," said Mrs. Bullfinch, solemnly, "I will think of their mother, as present, and remember the hour when her treasures were committed, in tears, to my keeping."
"I thank you, in her name, for your earnest love, and untiring faithfulness," said Mr. Wellford, with emotion. "It will take away much of the pain of separation to know, that even a mother's love could not more wisely guard my household treasures."
Fortunately, Mr. Wellford had not spoken to his oldest daughter of his wish to have her accompany him to England. The more he reflected on the matter, the more clearly he saw that Mrs. Bullfinch was right; and the more thankful did he feel that his children had come under the immediate guardianship of one whose love made her so jealous over them for good.
In the short period that elapsed before Mr. Wellford bade adieu to his family, it became necessary for him to have frequent, earnest, and familiar conference with Mrs. Bullfinch. Many directions had to be given, and on many subjects information was sought. Necessarily their minds came into closer contact, and each saw, without the effort to see, more deeply into the other's thoughts.
"There is one thing that I must require of you," said Mr. Wellford, on the day he was to leave, "and that is a weekly letter, telling me all about my children. It will be some compensation for the weary absence I shall suffer."
"Maggy will write to you," replied Mrs. Bullfinch.
"True; but, she can only write her own thoughts and feelings. She can only speak of home from the point of view at which she sees it. You can tell me a hundred things of interest that she would never notice. I will write to you my views and wishes in regard to my children, and you must give me pictures of home."
Mrs. Bullfinch hesitated still, but he extorted the promise. When the hour of parting at length came, and the father, melted into unusual tenderness as he kissed and embraced his children for the last time, took finally, the hand of Mrs. Bullfinch, he said, as he grasped it tightly —
"I leave all with you — I trust all to your keeping — I do not say be faithful. The word would wrong you. Farewell!"
The close pressure of his hand was but slightly returned. She did not lift her eyes to his face, nor trust her voice in response.
"Farewell; and God bless you all!" added Mr. Wellford, with deep emotion, as he turned away, and hurried from the presence of his family.
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