CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ANGEL STRONGER THAN THE DEMON.
“I have wronged you, Miss Harper,” whispered Mrs. Dainty.
It cost the weak, proud woman an effort to make this acknowledgment. But Madeline’s arms were around both of their necks, and the child was clinging to both with a half-trembling eagerness. This confession made all the rest easy.
“Return to us,” she added, “and be to my children what you once were.”
“Do come back again!” It was the pleading voice of Madeline. “Oh, I wish you had never gone away!”
Florence felt a shudder run through the child’s body, as if some fearful image had been presented to her mind.
“Say you will come back, and take your old place, Miss Harper,” urged Mrs. Dainty.
The arm of Madeline which was around her mother’s neck withdrew itself and joined the arm that circled the neck of Florence.
“Say yes! Do say yes, Miss Harper!” And the child’s clasping arms were drawn very tightly.
“Yes,” said Florence, as she kissed the child.
“Oh! I am so glad! So glad!” cried Madeline, overcome with joy at this concession. “If you had never gone away!”
“We will be friends,” said Mrs. Dainty, taking the hand of Florence Harper and pressing it warmly. “I did not understand you before. But I see clearer to-day.”
“Let the past be forgotten,” answered Florence. “All are liable to misconception. I was faithful to your children; and I will be so again.”
Then, whispering into the ears of Mrs. Dainty, she added,—
“I fear we are exciting Madeline beyond what is prudent.”
“You are right,” answered the mother. “We are forgetting ourselves.”
Madeline was still on the bed. Gently disengaging the arms that were around her neck, Florence looked smilingly into the face of Madeline, and said, in a cheerful tone,—
“Come, Maddy dear! you’re wide enough awake now, after a long sleep.”
“How long have I been asleep?” the child asked, curiously, glancing, as she spoke, toward the windows. “Is it morning?”
“No: the day is nearly done. It lacks scarcely an hour to sunset.”
“Is it so late?” Madeline looked serious, and her face passed from transient light into shadow.
“Yes. You have slept a long time. But come, dear, you must get dressed for tea.”
Madeline looked up at Miss Harper with a kind of vague wonder in her countenance, and then let her eyes wander slowly about the room, as if searching for some person or object.
“Haven’t I been away from here, Miss Harper?” she inquired, looking at Florence.
“Why do you ask that question?”
“I’m sure it isn’t all just a dream. That Mrs. Jeckyl! Oh, dear! I feel so strangely!” And Madeline laid her hand upon her breast.
“Don’t think of any thing, dear, but the happy present,” said Florence, smiling into the little girl’s face.
But the eyes of Madeline were filling with tears, and their expression had become very sad.
“Oh, it was so dreadful!”
“What was dreadful, Maddy?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered, in a bewildered manner. “I saw it all just now; and now it’s gone again.”
“What is gone, love?”
“I thought she was going to kill me.” The child spoke as if to herself.
“Who, Maddy?”
“It was Mrs. Jeckyl. She had me in a room. Oh, dear, mother! I don’t know what’s the matter with me!”
And the child shuddered, while an expression of almost abject fear came into her face.
“You are safe at home, my love,” said Mrs. Dainty, in a soothing voice. “There is no Mrs. Jeckyl here, but kind Miss Harper instead. And she is going to stay with us.”
“That’s best of all,” replied Madeline, partially recovering herself, and looking up into the face of Miss Harper. “I was so sorry when you went away and that dreadful woman came in your place.”
“Won’t you rise now?” said Florence, taking Madeline by the hand and drawing her gently upwards. The child yielded, and sat erect in bed. Mrs. Dainty brought a frock, and a change of under-clothing, and both she and Florence busied themselves in removing the soiled garments of Madeline and replacing them with such as were fresh and clean. The excitement of all this quickened and diverted her mind. When fully attired, and ready to join the anxious, expectant family, Florence said to her,—
“I think your father and Uncle John are in the sitting-room. Shall we go down?”
She held out her hand. Madeline drew back for a moment.
“Come, dear?” Florence spoke cheerily. “I know Uncle John wants to see his pet.”
Madeline took the hand of Miss Harper, who led her down-stairs and into the sitting-room. Mr. Dainty, old Mr. Fleetwood, Agnes, and little George were there. Miss Harper gave each a warning glance, which was understood.
“Wide awake, pet?” said Uncle John, in a cheerful, affectionate voice. “What a nice long sleep you have had!”
Mr. Dainty and Agnes avoided any remark, or, indeed, any exhibition of more than common interest. George ran up to Madeline, kissed her lovingly, and drew his arm around her waist. But he had been cautioned by his sister, and so made no allusion to recent exciting events.
“Georgie,” whispered Madeline, putting her lips close to her brother’s ear, “Miss Harper is coming to live here again.”
“Is she?” responded the little boy, with a suddenly illuminated face.
“Yes, indeed. A’n’t you, Miss Harper?” And Madeline looked up into the face of her governess.
“If you want me?” was the smiling reply.
“Oh, that’s grand!” said George, striking his hands together and jumping a foot from the floor. “Did you hear that, Uncle John?”
“Hear what?” asked the old gentleman.
“Miss Harper is coming back again!” answered the boy. “Oh, I’m so glad!”
Mr. Fleetwood threw an almost grateful look upon Florence, as he said,—
“You have friends here, Miss Harper. Children are no hypocrites.”
“If this is true, as I hope it is, let me welcome you with a most sincere welcome,” said Mr. Dainty, coming forward and giving his hand to Florence.
Mrs. Dainty entered at the moment. She had lingered in the chamber after Florence left.
“It is true,” she spoke out, with womanly frankness. “I have asked her to return, and she has kindly consented. We shall all know each other better in time, I hope.”
The flushed cheeks, drooping eyes, and unsteady lips of Miss Harper showed emotion, not triumph; and no eye that then read her countenance mistook its true expression.
Uncle John thanked his niece with his eyes, but said nothing.
“A’n’t you glad? I am!” And George danced about the room, in his wild, impulsive way. “Hurrah for Miss Harper, and death on Old Snakes!”
Young America was losing himself.
“Georgie! Georgie?” Agnes spoke in warning and reproof. Mr. Dainty raised his finger; and Uncle John said, “Hush?” But the boy’s blood was up, and he rattled on:—
“But didn’t I give it to her just now? Didn’t I make her mad, though? Old Snakes! I reckon they heard me round the corner. If she comes here again, I’ll shoot her! Old rip! Old hag! Old Snakes!”
“George! Stop this instant!” said Mr. Dainty, in a stern voice.
“Was she here?” asked Madeline, her face growing suddenly pale.
Agnes took the boy’s hand and led him away.
“Come with me to the school-room,” said Florence, with sudden animation. “I want to see how it looks there.” And she drew Madeline toward the door. “We had some pleasant times there, hadn’t we, Maddy? Do you remember the stories I used to tell?”
They were already in the passage.
“Oh, yes, indeed!” was answered. “And they were such beautiful stories!”
“Would you like to hear another? I know a great many,” said Florence.
“If you please, Miss Harper. I always love to hear your stories; they make me feel better.”
“Oh, it looks as natural as can be!” said Florence, speaking with animation, as she entered the study-room. “Here is my arm-chair, just in the old place. There! I am in it again, feeling quite at home and comfortable.”
“And I am in my little chair, close by your side, and waiting for a story,” said Madeline, who was already feeling the spirit of her companion and true friend as well as teacher.
“The story, is it?” And Florence bent down and left a kiss upon the sweet, upturned face. “Very well: my promise shall be kept. Now, let me think: what shall the story be?”
Miss Harper lifted her eyes, and sat thoughtful for some moments. Then, reaching her hand toward a table that stood near, she took up a Bible, saying, as she did so,—
“I used to read you some of the stories in this precious volume, and I think you always loved to hear them. Shall it be a Bible story now?”
Florence was looking down upon the face of her pupil. Its expression suddenly changed into one of strong repugnance, and, with an impatient gesture she said,—
“No! I don’t want to hear a Bible story!”
Florence was shocked by the tone and manner of the child more than by her words.
“Not a story from the Divine Book, Maddy dear?” she said, in a voice touched by an irrepressible sadness. “Oh, you cannot mean what you have said! Angels are present with us in the holy word; and they bring to our souls peace and happiness. Let me read to you about the birth of our Saviour in Bethlehem.”
Miss Harper opened to the second chapter of Matthew: as she did so, Madeline turned her head away. Miss Harper began,—
“Now, when Jesus was born——”
The instant these words reached the ears of Madeline, she sprung upon the volume in the hands of Miss Harper, and would have torn the open pages, if she had not been prevented. Her countenance was flushed almost to congestion, and her eyes gleamed with an evil light.
“Don’t read that! I won’t hear it! I hate it!” she exclaimed, passionately.
Florence felt a cold shudder run through her frame. Very still she sat, and silent, holding the hands of Madeline. For nearly a minute the hush as of death pervaded the room. Then she released the passive hands she held, and laid one of her own upon the child’s head, smoothing the soft hair with a gentle pressure.
“Once—it is not many years ago—there was a dear little baby.” The lips of Florence were close to the ears of Madeline, her voice was very low, the tones even and tenderly modulated. “I do not think there was ever a sweeter baby born into the world. It had the roundest of rosy cheeks, that were softer than any velvet; eyes as blue as spring’s first violets; and rich brown hair clustering, in the tiniest little curls that ever were seen, all over its head. As this beautiful baby lay in its mother’s arms, it looked like a cherub more than like an earth-born baby.”
Florence paused, for Madeline had placed both hands over her ears, so that not a word could reach the sense of hearing. She waited, with forced calmness, until the hands were removed. Madeline did not look up into her face, but kept her eyes resting on the floor.
“There were other attendants on that baby, besides those visible to human eyes.”
The hands of Madeline were raised quickly, but the closing words of the sentence arrested the movement.
“The mother did not see them; the father did not see them: but still they were there.”
The hands of Madeline began to fall, and her ear slightly turned, listening, toward Florence.
“I said they were not visible to human eyes,” resumed Miss Harper. Madeline looked up, beguiled into wonder. “But they were as really present, and as near the baby, as its parents. No,—not both of them.” The last sentence was spoken in a changed tone, as if it involved some special meaning.
“Not both? Who were they?” asked Madeline, her interest beginning to be excited.
“The one that stood near the babe,” said Miss Harper, “had the form of a beautiful woman just passed upward from sweet young girlhood. Her countenance was lovelier, and purer in expression, than that of any face ever seen by you in a picture. She bent over the babe with clasped hands, gazing down upon it with looks of wondering love; and when it smiled her face grew suddenly radiant. The other,” (Miss Harper’s voice fell lower, and took on a graver tone,) “stood in a distant corner of the room, almost crouching down, as if held there by some superior power. Very different was she from the pure being who bent over the child. Her face wore a frowning, malignant expression, instead of curling golden hair gracefully falling around her neck and upon her shoulders, dark, tangled locks stood out from her head, or crept down over her face, like serpents.”
“Who were they?” asked Madeline, now thoroughly interested.
“One was the baby’s guardian angel; the other, an evil spirit.”
Madeline raised her eyes to the face of Miss Harper with looks of deeper wonder.
“The angel’s presence,” resumed Florence, “was alone sufficient to hold that evil spirit, who wished to hurt the tender babe, at a distance; just as good affections in our hearts have power to hold the bad and selfish ones so far away that they can do us no possible harm. Day by day that infant grew larger, and brighter, and happier; but never for a moment did the angel remove, nor for a moment cease to spread around the babe a sphere of tender love, of innocent and holy calmness. And the mother, and all who drew near to look upon the babe or to hold it like a precious thing in their arms, felt this angelic sphere as something tender, pure, and loving.”
“But what of the bad spirit?” asked Madeline, with increasing interest.
“The bad spirit,” answered Florence, “remained also, and its evil eyes were always upon the babe. But the presence of that celestial being kept her ever at the same distance, and seemed to hold her there, as if by a powerful arm. She could not draw near to the babe, nor even make it aware of her presence.
“Day by day the child continued to grow and to become more beautiful, until four months of its sweet life had passed. Still the angel and the bad spirit kept unweariedly their guard over and watch upon the babe. Occasionally a slight shade would now cross the angel’s face, and always at the same instant a gleam of pleasure would lighten the dark countenance of the watchful fiend.”
“A fiend, Miss Harper?” There was a slight pallor on the face of Madeline, and the interest it expressed was verging on to the painful.
“I will call one a fiend, as I call the other an angel. To do good is angelic, while to do evil is fiendlike. None but a fiend could take pleasure in doing harm to an innocent babe. Well, as I was saying, after this darling baby was a few months old, the angel’s face would at times be shadowed; and then a gleam of malignant pleasure would flash over the countenance of the attendant fiend. And now I will tell you the reason. Do you wish to hear?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Harper! Tell me the reason,” answered Madeline, all attention.
“The babe, even as early as I have said, displayed an evil temper. It grew angry, pushed its mother away, and resisted her. This troubled the guardian angel, and this it was that gave the fiend delight. But these fits of passion were but transient, passing away as the morning cloud and the early dew, under the sunny influence of that blessed guardian angel. The fiend was still repelled,—still kept at a distance. But she wearied not with waiting. She knew that her time would come,—that the angel would not always have power to hold her in the distance.”
Miss Harper paused, and looked into the face of Madeline. There was something in its deeply-interested expression that a little puzzled her.
“Shall I go on?” she asked.
“The fiend didn’t hurt the baby, Miss Harper? The angel didn’t go away?” Her voice was earnest almost to eagerness.
“The angels never leave us of their own accord. We drive them away, and then, instantly, evil spirits take their places. This is so from childhood, even to old age. It was so with the baby of whom I am telling you; it is so with your brother Georgie now; so with you; so with me; so with every one. We choose our own companions, always; and they are evil or good. No angel can be near to us when we are angry with our brother, when we hate, when we are selfishly seeking our own pleasure in a total disregard of others; and the moment these bad affections push the angel attendants away, evil spirits draw near, and by their malignant power increase our anger, hate, and selfishness, and make us wretched in consequence; for bad passions always produce unhappiness.”
Madeline looked very serious,—almost sad.
“Is it so with all of us?” she asked, in a low voice.
“It is so with all of us, dear. But shall I tell you more about this baby?”
“Yes.”
“No, Maddy, the evil spirit was not permitted to do the baby harm: the loving angel appointed to be the guardian of its infantile life did not depart.”
“But you said that the bad spirit knew that her time would come?” interrupted Madeline.
Florence sighed. “Am I bearing her beyond her depth?” she said, questioning with herself. There was a moment or two of silence. Then she resumed:—
“The baby had a good mother, and to her mind the angel was all the while suggesting right ways of influencing her precious darling; and so, as the babe grew older, its mind clearer, and its experience wider, that loving mother was a partner with the angel in guarding it from evil and in sowing in its young mind the seeds of goodness. Now, Maddy, just think for a moment of the mind of a babe as a garden all prepared in the spring-time for seeds. If true thoughts and gentle and good affections are sown in this garden, good and beautiful plants will spring up; but, if false thoughts and bad affections are scattered upon the ground, poisonous weeds will grow. You can see that?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Madeline.
“Well, as I was saying, the baby had a good mother; and she sowed good seeds in its infantile mind, and as these began to grow the angel saw pure and beautiful things there, and so kept very near. If weeds had been suffered to spring up in this garden and hide or destroy the heavenly plants, the angel would have been repelled by these evil things, while the bad spirit, seeing in them what was delightful, would have approached, and hurt the baby by stimulating them to a more rapid growth. Do you understand my meaning?”
“I think so.”
“One of the first things that was taught to this baby, as its mind began to open, was the existence of God.”
Florence spoke low and reverently, while her eyes were fixed upon the countenance of her attentive listener. She saw a slight impulse strike the child’s features, and a flush of sudden feeling veil them.
“Of that good God who had sent his pure angel to be its guardian,” she added, in a still lower and more reverent voice.
The light returned again to Madeline’s face.
“‘How shall I do this?’ asked the mother, in her own heart; and the reply came. She did not know that it was the angel’s voice that gave the wished-for answer. So she took the little one’s hands in hers one evening, clasped and raised them upward, and said, ‘God bless little Amy.’ The baby was too young to repeat the words of her mother, or even to comprehend their full meaning; but the angel, who bent very near, breathed a holy feeling into her tender spirit, and she had a faint impression of something higher than the visible, and up to which she might look for blessing. How sweetly the angel smiled at this! how darkly frowned the watchful fiend! The first idea of God was given; and that was a great gain, for the angel could now be more intimately present with the child in this idea. So far the angel was triumphing over the fiend.”
“Are angels present with us when we think of God?” asked Madeline, interrupting Miss Harper, and speaking with the manner of one who felt an interest in the question.
“If we think of him reverently, they are.”
“How, reverently, Miss Harper?”
“As great, and good, and holy,” said Florence; “for then we shall desire to be like him, and angels are always present with us when we desire to be good.”
“And do they help us to be good?”
“Always. To them it is the most delightful of employments.”
The eyes of Madeline drooped. She sighed faintly, and remained silent. Florence waited for some moments, and then went on, speaking slowly and impressively:—
“Tenderly loved and wisely guarded, the first moons of the baby’s life waxed and waned, and at last a golden year of its life was completed. The idea of God, once conceived in the child’s mind, grew daily into a more distinct impression. Her guardian angel never let that first, best impression become dim, and the good mother was a co-worker with the angel.
“‘Mamma, read,’ said little Amy, one day. She was just beginning to repeat a few small words. The best book in the world was lying on the table, close by the mother’s side, and she turned to it and let her eyes rest upon the open page. Then a strange thing happened. Both the angel and the evil spirit drew near to the child. Tender interest and holy love were on the face of the angel; anger, hate, and fierce determination on the countenance of the fiend. The angel knew that every sentence from the holy book that entered the child’s mind and fixed itself in her memory would remain there, a link in the chain by which her spirit might be joined to heaven; and the fiend knew that just in the degree that her mind was filled with the holy precepts and divine narratives of the Bible would she pass harmless through the trials and temptations of her future life and rise superior to the powers of darkness. And so the angel bent with the tenderest solicitude over the child, while the evil spirit strove to disturb her mind or awaken in it some evil passion. But the influence of good was strongest, and as the mother read the little one leaned her head and listened with fixed attention. Thus she read:—‘Now, when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of Herod the king, behold there came wise men from the East to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born king of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.’ The evil spirit could not abide in the presence of this word of truth, as it entered the mind of an innocent little child, and so retired to a distance, almost writhing in hatred and pain. The mother read on:—‘When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born. And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet: And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda, for out of thee shall come a governor, that shall rule my people Israel. Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, inquired of them diligently at what time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child, and when ye have found him, bring me word, that I may come and worship him also. When they had heard the king, they departed; and lo! the star which they saw in the east went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child, with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him; and when they had opened their treasures they presented unto him gifts,—gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.’”
Florence had triumphed; for Madeline was listening to this story of the Nativity with deep attention. And so she kept on, repeating from memory the whole chapter.
“And now,” continued Florence, “not a day passed in which that innocent little one did not ask her mother to read; and the mother read to her, at least once every day, some story from the Bible, so that, as she grew older, her memory was full of precious histories, in the thought of which her guardian angel could be present with her. She loved to hear of little Samuel; of Joseph, who was sold into Egypt by his brethren; and of the blessed Saviour, who went about doing good.
“And the child grew, and grew, until babyhood was passed and the sweetness of infancy gave place to a more earnest life. But always the day opened or closed with some lesson from the holy book; and, when that was read, the angel drew very near to the child, while the fiend shrunk afar off. No matter how many selfish feelings the evil spirit had been successful in awakening through the day, thus grieving the watching angel; when the Bible was read her power was gone, and she shrunk away in fear from its divine brightness.
“And, still as the child grew, her mother taught her to pity the poor, the sick, and the suffering, and to find pleasure in doing kind offices instead of only desiring to have good things for herself. In all these teachings the angel was very near, helping the mother, and overcoming the fiend’s influence, which was ever active. Often it happened that the fiend would approach the child in an unguarded moment, and fill her mind with selfish thoughts or stir her heart with an evil passion. For a little while she would have power over her; but the angel had a dwelling-place in the child’s mind, and, entering, would subdue the enemy and cast her out. What was that dwelling-place, Madeline?”
Miss Harper looked lovingly into the face of her earnestly-listening pupil.
“I don’t know,” was answered.
“Shall I tell you?”
“Oh, yes. I wish to know.”
“Why?”
Madeline did not answer.
“Would you like angels to have a dwelling-place in your mind?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Harper.”
“That dwelling-place,” said Florence, very impressively, “was formed of the blessed words of truth she had learned from the Bible. Into these the angel could enter and abide; and she did enter, and by the power of celestial love drove out the fiend.”
“Long years afterward,” continued Florence, “when the child, grown to be a woman, had taken her place in the world as one of its actors, meeting its cares, trials, crosses, and temptations, she was able to overcome in all the life-battles she was called to fight. Evil spirits assailed her, and sought the destruction of her soul. They were around her in the morning, at mid-day and evening. But angels were also present with her, and present with power, for in her memory they found passages from the word of God, and they abode in them with all their protecting influence, and helped her to fight the enemies of her soul, even to their final overthrow. I very much fear that, if her mother had not filled her memory with stories and precepts from the Book of books, these evil assailants from hell would have overcome in her great life-battle. But she had angels on her side; and God’s angels are always more powerful than demons. One of these blessed beings can put ten thousand evil spirits to flight. Oh, then, let us make them our friends! Let us prepare dwelling places for them in our hearts, where they may always abide and shield us from the powers of darkness. They dwell with us in the divine teachings of this holy book.”
And Florence, speaking with tender solemnity, lifted the Bible from the table and held it open before Madeline.
“Fill your mind with its heavenly lessons. Let the angels come to you and make their abode with you in its divine precepts. Take it to your heart, dear Madeline!”
Madeline stood almost rigid for a moment or two, as if life were suspended. Then, with a gush of tears, she caught at the book and clasped it passionately to her breast.
“Amen! God be praised!” The lips of Florence parted, as her wet eyes sprung upward: there was a low murmur on the air; and these were her words of thankfulness.