“I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart.”
—SHAKSPEARE.
MR. TRAVILLA spent the evening at the Oaks, arriving shortly before tea and remaining until Elsie had gone to her rooms for the night.
He noticed that his little friend was not her usual merry, happy self. Her sweet face bore traces of tears, and as he watched her furtively he was sure that now and then her eyes filled, and that she found it difficult to conceal her emotion. Once or twice, too, she slipped out of the room for a few moments; to recover control of her feelings; so he thought.
She was very quiet, scarcely speaking at all, unless addressed, but clung to her father even more closely than usual, her eyes often seeking his with a wistful, pleading look, to which he responded with a gentle caress, while his manner toward her was full of grave tenderness.
“She has displeased him in some way (absurdly and almost tyrannically strict as he is), and is morbidly remorseful for it,” was the conclusion Mr. Travilla came to, and he quite longed to cheer and comfort her.
Elsie on her part was disappointed that she had to go away for the night without a few last minutes alone with her father. But just as she was ready for bed he came in, took her on his knee, assured her that he was now not in the least angry with her, and comforted her again with sweet and appropriate texts of Scripture, telling of God’s willingness to forgive those who truly repent of sin.
“Yes, papa,” she said, with fast falling tears. “I know Jesus has forgiven me, but it breaks my heart to think I could so dishonor him! He says, ‘If ye love me keep my commandments,’ and I have failed to-day, and yet I do love him! I’m sure I do! and you too, dear papa. Can you believe it after I have disobeyed you so?” she asked, with her arm about his neck, her eyes, dim with tears, gazing beseechingly into his.
“My darling, precious child, I haven’t a doubt of it!” he said, folding her close to his heart. Then laying her in her bed, he kissed her good-night and left her to her slumbers.
Mr. Dinsmore always kept his little daughter’s secrets even from Rose. He thought it quite unnecessary to tell of any trouble between himself and his child, and if Rose occasionally perceived that something was wrong between them, she made no remark and asked no question, noticed it in no way except by redoubling her kindness to both.
She had made the same observation that Mr. Travilla had that evening, and drawn pretty nearly the same conclusion. Her husband had been displeased with his little girl, but there had been a reconciliation, and the child would soon recover her wonted cheerfulness and gayety.
Elsie did seem very much like her usual self the next morning, and when her lessons were done joined her mamma in the parlor, bringing some needlework with her.
Adelaide had concluded her visit to the Oaks, and she and her brother had left a few moments before to drive over to Roselands.
So Rose and Elsie were alone together for a little while; but presently Mr. Travilla joined them. He and Rose fell into desultory chat, to which Elsie was an interested listener. The talk turned at length upon engravings, and Rose spoke of a small, but very fine one, lately bought by her husband, which Mr. Travilla had not yet seen.
“I want you to look at it,” Rose said. “Elsie dear,” turning to her little step-daughter, “will you run to your papa’s study and bring me his portfolio? I think it is in that.”
Elsie’s face crimsoned, and she seemed greatly confused and embarrassed. “Mamma, I—I—please don’t ask me to,” she stammered, then burst into tears.
Rose was greatly surprised. “What is it, dear?” she asked, with tender concern.
“Papa—papa has—forbidden me to go there, except when—when he is present,” sobbed the little girl, dropping her work to hide her blushing face in her hands.
“Then never mind, dear child, I should not have asked you if I had known that,” Rose said, in an undertone full of sympathy and affection. “I shall go myself.”
Excusing herself to Mr. Travilla, she left the room.
He seemed scarcely to hear her excuse, so entirely was he taken up with pitying tenderness toward the weeping, mortified, embarrassed child.
“My dear little friend,” he said, drawing near and softly touching the shining curls of the bowed head, “what can I do to help and comfort you?”
“You are very kind,” she sobbed, “but no one can help me.”
“I have some influence with your papa,” he said, “and would gladly use it in your behalf, if—if your trouble is that you have angered or displeased him. But I know he loves you very, very dearly, and surely, whatever you may have done, he will forgive and take you back into favor, if you tell him you are sorry.”
“Papa is not angry with me now,” she said, wiping away her tears, and looking up earnestly into her friend’s face, “but,” and again her face flushed crimson and her eyes fell, while the tears rolled down her cheeks—“oh, you would hardly believe how very, very naughty and disobedient I was yesterday!”
“No, I don’t know how to believe it. But your papa is—”
He left the sentence unfinished; but Elsie knew intuitively his thought—that her father was very strict and severe; and with a sudden generous resolve to prove that he was not, she told Mr. Travilla the whole truth, though deeply ashamed to have him know of her wrong-doing.
“Oh, it is dreadful, to think my dear father can’t trust me!” she sobbed, in conclusion; “but you see he was not severe with me, Mr. Travilla. If he had given me a hard whipping beside, it wouldn’t have been any more than I deserved.”
“A delicate, dear little girl like you!” he exclaimed. “I should never have respected him again if he had.” But the last words were spoken so low and indistinctly that Elsie did not catch them.
“A very bad, disobedient little girl, Mr. Travilla,” she sighed. “Oh, I couldn’t have believed I ever would disobey papa so!”
“Do you know,” he said gently, “your remorse seems to me altogether out of proportion to the offence—just reading a little in a forbidden book. Why as a boy I was often guilty of far worse deeds, yet thought myself rather a good sort of fellow after all.”
Elsie understood this remark as merely an effort to comfort her by making light of her wrong-doing, and answered it with a grateful look.
“Now, my dear, I wouldn’t fret about it any more,” he said, smoothing her hair with gentle, caressing hand. “I feel sure your papa will soon trust you as fully as ever. I should at this moment trust you to any extent; and I assure you I think you the best little girl I ever knew.”
Elsie looked up in incredulous surprise. “You are very, very kind, sir! but papa does not think so: he knows me better.” And another tear rolled quickly down her cheek.
“I hope,” Mr. Travilla said, meditatively, “he won’t think it necessary to deny you the promised visit to Ion, because of this.”
“I did not know about that,” she returned, half inquiringly. “I thought our holidays were to be over as soon as Annis comes back.”
“Yes, but we had arranged that you were to bring you books with you, spend the mornings at your tasks, and enjoy, for the rest of the day, whatever pleasures my mother and I might be able to provide. I think we could make it pleasant for you.”
“Oh, I am sure of it! and I should like to go so much!” she exclaimed, “but I don’t think papa will let me now; and I am sure I do not deserve that he should.”
“Well, we won’t despair,” he said cheerfully. “I know he doesn’t allow any coaxing from you, but that is not forbidden to me, and if necessary, I shall try my powers of persuasion.”
A call to the nursery had detained Rose, thus giving them time for this little talk; but now she was returning; they heard her light step coming down the hall, her voice and that of old Mr. Dinsmore in conversation.
“Grandpa! Oh, please excuse me, Mr. Travilla! I don’t want him to see that—that—I’ve been crying,” Elsie exclaimed, and slipped out of the room by one door as they entered by another.
Her eyes were so full of tears that she did not see that her father was near until he had her in his arms.
“What is the matter?” he asked tenderly.
Her only answer was a fresh burst of tears and sobs.
They were near the door of her boudoir. He took her hand, led her in there, sat down on a sofa and drew her to his knee.
“Tell me what ails you,” he said, and she knew by his tone that he would have the whole story; there was no escape for her; though, indeed, she was now and always ready enough to pour out all her griefs into his sympathizing ear.
So she told of her mamma’s request and the confession it had forced from her, that she was forbidden to go to his study in his absence; ending with, “O papa, please, please remove the prohibition and punish me some other way! won’t you, dear papa?”
“What other way?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, hiding her face on his shoulder.
“Shall I lock you up for a week on bread and water?”
“Oh, no, no! that would be worse; everybody would know I had been very naughty. But I—I believe I’d almost rather you—would whip me; for nobody need know about it, and it would be all over in a few minutes.”
“I shall not do that,” he said, very decidedly, and in a moved tone, pressing her closer to his breast and touching his lips to her cheek; “how could I? You must bear the punishment I have decreed, but you shall have no other; and I hope it will not be long before I can trust you as fully as ever.”
“Papa, can’t you do it now?” she asked imploringly; “won’t you remove your prohibition?”
“No, not now; not for days or weeks.”
Then she wept very bitterly.
“My little daughter,” he said, tenderly wiping away her tears, and smoothing the hair back from her heated brow, “I am very, very sorry for you; but do you feel so sure of your strength to resist the temptation before which you fell yesterday, that you wish me to expose you to it again?”
“No, papa, oh, no!” she said, with a look of new comprehension in the eyes she lifted to his; “but is that why you refuse?”
“Yes, daughter; for I have not the least doubt that you fully intend to be obedient to me at all times, whether I am present or absent.”
“O papa, thank you! thank you very much!” she said, putting her arms about his neck, while her face grew almost bright. “I thought your prohibition meant doubt that I intended to be good and obedient, but now I don’t want it removed; because—because I—am not sure I could withstand temptation,” she added, humbly, a vivid blush suffusing her face.
That evening Mr. Dinsmore told Elsie of the intended visit to Ion, adding that it was to be made the next week.
“And will you let me go after I have been so naughty, papa?” she asked, in glad surprise.
“Have I ever punished you twice for the same fault?” he inquired.
“No, sir; oh, no!”
“Then why should you expect it in this instance?”
“I don’t know, papa, only that I—I feel that I am so very, very undeserving of such a pleasure,” she murmured, hanging her head and blushing painfully.
“That question is not under consideration,” he said, gently lifting the downcast face that he might kiss the sweet lips again and again; “we all have very many blessings that we do not deserve.”