Chapter XXI: Miss Goodwin's Brother

SUNDAY morning dawned with brilliant sunshine, and promised to be a perfect summer's day. Angel arose with a bad headache, no doubt caused by her fit of violent weeping the preceding night; and she was so pale and heavy-eyed when she appeared at the breakfast-table, that her father told her she had better remain at home and rest, instead of going to church. She was glad to do this, and as soon as she was alone, fetched her Bible, and settled herself comfortably on the sofa in the dining-room.

"How nice it is that father is strong enough to walk up Haresdown hill," Angel thought as she opened her Bible at a venture, and commenced to read. She found it very difficult to prevent her mind straying from the sacred volume at first to other matters; but presently her attention was chained.

"And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption."

"Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice;"

"And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

Angel shut her Bible and sighed deeply as she pondered over these verses. She wondered if her bitterness and wrath last night had grieved the Holy Spirit of God. She was not feeling nearly so much incensed against her brother to-day; the marks of his fingers on her cheek had died out, and her resentment against him was slowly dying out too. She was beginning to see that though her indignation had been only just and natural, her refusal of forgiveness, when he had been really repentant, had been very wrong. If Gerald had been unkind to her, she had been unkind to him. She had scarcely spoken to him this morning, and had deliberately ignored and refrained from responding to the few hesitating remarks he had ventured to address to her. How wicked she had been! No wonder she had been so dreadfully unhappy.

Whilst she was meditating thus, Mrs. Vallance knocked at the door, and entering, inquired how she was.

"Oh, I think my headache's better," Angel answered. "Are you very busy, Mrs. Vallance?"

"No, miss. Polly put the bedrooms in order before she started for church, and there's only cold meat for dinner," was the reply. "I was never in a house where there was less work to be done on Sundays."

"Uncle Edward says he likes Sunday to be a day of rest for every one. Do sit down and talk to me for a little while."

Mrs. Vallance willingly complied. She was a good-hearted woman, and she and Angel often enjoyed a chat together.

"I know what's given you such a bad headache, my dear," the housekeeper said shrewdly; "twas the fuss you had with Master Gerald last night."

"Yes," the little girl acknowledged, flushing, and looking confused. "But how did you know?" she inquired, with some anxiety.

"I was standing at the top of the back stairs listening to your raised voices, when suddenly I saw Master Gerald push you out of his room, and lock the door against you. Haven't you and he made up your quarrel yet?"

"No," Angel responded, relieved that Mrs. Vallance apparently was unaware of all that had occurred. "Gerald wanted me to be friends with him last night, but I wouldn't. He—he served me very badly, I think."

"I dare say he did, but I'm sure he was sorry afterwards. He's thoughtless and selfish, perhaps, but I don't like to hear of your bearing malice in heart, Miss Angel, dear. It's unchristian-like, that's what it is."

"Yes," Angel sighed, "I know, I know!"

"'Let not the sun go down upon your wrath,'" Mrs. Vallance quoted. "That's a verse from the Bible we all ought to remember."

"I used not to be so unforgiving," Angel said; "but then Gerald never treated me before as he did last night. I—I can't tell you about it, Mrs. Vallance; but I think if you knew all, you would say he had behaved very badly."

"I have no doubt I should; still, however wrong he was, don't let him believe his sister has turned against him. You must be patient with him. I know you're that, as a rule, but don't let him tire you out. Didn't you tell me once that you had promised your mother to be loving and patient with him?"

"Yes; but I forgot that last night," Angel admitted. "I don't know how it was, but I never felt so wicked before. I couldn't pray—not properly."

"No one can pray properly when angry, Miss Angel."

There was a long pause, which Mrs. Vallance at length broke by saying thoughtfully, "I don't think I ever told you that I lived in service with Miss Goodwin once, did I?"

"No," the little girl replied, rather astonished at this sudden change in the conversation; "was that long ago?"

"Yes, miss. I was a slip of a girl of sixteen when I first went to Myrtle Villa. Miss Goodwin's hair wasn't white at that time, nor her face wrinkled as it is now; but even then her youth had long passed. She's very old, you know, for all she's so quick in her movements, and clear in her intellect in most ways, except that she's forgotten her age, and seems to have lost count of the flight of time. Well, as I was saying, I was only sixteen when I commenced to earn my living, and my mother was so pleased to get me such a good place, for Miss Goodwin was always counted a rare hand for training servants, having been accustomed to have a great many in her young days. Yes," Mrs. Vallance nodded, as Angel's face expressed her surprise, "she was brought up as a rich man's daughter, but after her father's death her brother—an only brother he was—squandered all his money, and most of hers too. Then it was she came to Myrtle Villa to live, and ten years later I went there as maid-of-all-work. I knew Miss Goodwin's brother had always been a worry and trouble to her, and that after spending his fortune he had entered the army as a private, so of course I never mentioned his name to her until one day she spoke of him to me, and told me she had had a letter from some one in India telling her he was dead. What astonished me was that she didn't seem to be grieving, although I knew she had been very fond of him, in spite of his bad ways. 'Oh, ma'am!' I cried, not knowing what to say. 'Is he really dead? Perhaps there is some mistake.' 'Oh no!' she said. 'I will read you the letter.' And so she did. It had been written by an army chaplain; I forget a great deal of what was in it, but I shall always remember one part, which spoke of a message the dying man had sent to Miss Goodwin, and the message was this: 'Tell my sister that the remembrance of her love has taught me to understand the love of God. If she had not forgiven me, I do not believe I could have thought it possible God would.' It was that message which had brought a joyful look into Miss Goodwin's face, and prevented her grieving—the certainty that her love had been stronger than evil, for he had been a bad man, my dear Miss Angel; his sister knew that well, but she had always loved him, and prayed for him, and had patience with him, and though the seas had divided them when he lay dying, yet it had been her influence that had led him to repent and turn to Jesus. The chaplain wrote that John Goodwin had died a humble, repentant Christian, and, as my dear mistress said to me, she had no cause to feel ashamed of him any more. It's an old tale now, my dear, and I've only told it to you to show you how we ought to forgive those who trespass against us. Sometimes it's very difficult, just because those who have injured us are so very dear to us; we feel on that account they ought to have treated us better; but, however that may be, we should never cease to love and forgive."

"Oh, poor Miss Goodwin!" Angel cried, her eyes full of tears. "Did her brother serve her very, very badly, Mrs. Vallance?"

"Yes, miss, I'm bound to admit that he did. He not only spent most of her money—you know she has as much as she can do to make both ends meet, and I really think took up gardening herself because she couldn't afford to pay for a gardener—but he deceived her in many ways, and never showed the least consideration for her wishes."

"And she forgave him all?"

"Yes, Miss Angel, that I am sure she did."

"I think I understand why you have told me this." Angel said thoughtfully; "but I am afraid I can never be so good as Miss Goodwin."

"She is good," Mrs. Vallance agreed heartily. "I often say I never knew any one like her. I lived with her for more than ten years, and all that time, though I dare say I continually tried her, for I was a thoughtless girl, she never said an unkind word to me; and when she used to reprove me, would do it so gently that it used to make me a great deal more sorry than if she'd spoken crossly. When I left her it was to be married, and all through my married life she was my best friend; then my poor husband died, and, having no children, I thought I'd go into service again, and Miss Goodwin, hearing your uncle wanted a housekeeper, advised me to offer for the post. I'd have liked to have gone back to live with my dear old mistress, but the servant she has suits her, and—well, here I am, and here I hope to remain, Miss Angel."

"Oh, I hope so!" the little girl said earnestly.

"Now it's about time I set about laying the dinner-cloth," Mrs. Vallance remarked briskly, for the folks will soon be out of church.

Angel watched the housekeeper's trim, black-gowned figure moving quietly in and out of the room, and pondered over the story she had heard from her lips. How thankful Miss Goodwin must be that her love had never failed her brother.

"I do believe you are feeling much better, are you not, Miss Angel?" asked Mrs. Vallance, as she glanced at the little girl's thoughtful face.

"Yes, my headache is nearly gone," Angel replied, with a smile.

She sprang up from the sofa as she spoke, and, taking up her Bible, ran upstairs to her own room, where she brushed her ruffled hair, and then stood at the open window, from which she had a view of the road from the church down the slope of the hill. She meant, at the first sight of her own people, to hasten to the garden gate to be in readiness to greet them with a brighter countenance than she had shown them when they had set out for church two hours before.

Then she remembered that she had not asked God's pardon for the wicked, resentful temper she had been indulging in, and, sinking on her knees by the window-sill, she covered her face with her hands and prayed earnestly. When she rose from her knees she saw a stream of people descending the hill, and by-and-by was able to distinguish the forms of those she knew. She noticed that her father and uncle had joined Mr. and Mrs. Mickle, and that Gerald was following behind with the Mickle children. She changed her mind about going to the gate, and determined to remain where she was, for she was shy about answering the good-natured, anxious questions she knew would be put to her concerning her headache if she encountered her friends just then.

So she drew back from the window, and allowed the Mickles time to say good-bye at the gate before she peeped out again; presently, hearing footsteps on the gravel path outside, she glanced out, and saw her father.

"Well, Angel, how's the headache?" he asked, as she appeared in sight. "Better, eh?"

"Yes, father, thank you," she answered, "much better."

"That's right. We came down the hill with the Mickles. Uncle Edward wanted them all to come in, but they thought it too near dinner-time. Yes, you are certainly looking better—a little pale still, but you make a charming picture, standing there framed in roses and honeysuckle!"

She laughed, and, leaning her arms upon the window-sill continued to converse with him. He saw she was her usual cheerful self again, and was pleased that the shadow had gone from her face; he had guessed her pain had been as much mental as physical.

"Uncle Edward and Gerald have gone a short distance down the hill with the Mickles," he informed her. "Come out into the garden with me, Angel; or, do you think the sun will be too hot for you? I am considering your poor head, my dear."

"Oh, my head is all right now," she assured him.

She put on a shady hat, and running downstairs joined Mr. Willis, who had gone around to the front door to meet her. They strolled about the garden, looking at the flowers, until Mr. Bailey and Gerald returned. The latter glanced at Angel rather dubiously; but his face brightened instantly when he met her eyes.

"I'm so glad your headache is gone!" he exclaimed heartily. "It is gone, isn't it?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"We have had many inquiries to answer about you, Angel," Mr. Bailey said. "Mrs. Mickle was much concerned to hear you were not well, and suggested several remedies for headache, which I see I need not give you now. You are looking almost yourself again."

Before going into the house to dinner, Angel seized an opportunity to draw her brother aside out of hearing of the others, and said earnestly: "Gerald, will you forgive me for being so unkind and ill-tempered last night? I know you didn't mean to hurt me, and—and—"

"Oh, Angel," the boy interposed, "it only served me right! It was very wrong of me to hit you. It was cowardly, and I don't wonder you were so angry. I'll never do it again—never! I feel so ashamed about it. You do forgive me, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed I do! I didn't last night, and—oh, I was so unhappy— simply wretched!"

"I was wretched too," Gerald admitted. "I knew I had behaved badly, and it was dreadful to think you wouldn't make friends with me. But it's all right now, isn't it?"

Angel nodded. The rest of the Sunday passed peacefully and happily, the sister and brother being on the best of terms with each other. They spent the afternoon together in the garden, and in the evening went to church with their father and uncle. Gerald had a knack of dismissing his troubles from his mind if they were not directly pressing upon him; and Angel, now that she was at peace with her brother, was perfectly happy once more.

The little girl made no mention of the story she had heard from Mrs. Vallance, concerning Miss Goodwin's brother, to any one; but she pondered over it a great deal, and her liking for the old lady deepened into reverent affection as she thought of the trouble her brother must have been to her, and how her patient love had triumphed in the end.