Chapter V: An Earnest Talk

I AM not going to tell all about our doings that happy Christmastide. All I can say is, that I hope every one who listens to my story may spend this Christmas as happily as we spent ours that year. Aunt Milly duly wore the famous diamonds, and we girls as duly admired them, and wondered at their beauty.

My mother made the remark that they must have cost a fortune, and Aunt Milly said, "Yes, they did;" and laughingly added:

"They are to be part of Mildred's. She is my namesake and godchild, and years hence, when your girls, perhaps, have children and homes of their own, Mildred will be mistress here, and the youngsters will talk about another 'Aunt Milly' and her diamonds."

My mother exclaimed, "Hush, dear Milly! Please do not put such a thought into the girl's head. I should never like to think of Mildred filling your place at Denesfield."

"Not while I live, Ellen, of course. Now she is as a daughter to me. You can hardly think how much happiness she has brought to a lonely woman. You must give Mildred to me. She must be my child, without ceasing to be yours; and if she fills the position of daughter here, what would there be unnatural in her stepping into my place?"

"You are very good to her, Milly," said my mother; "but while I shall be only too glad for her to be all you wish, neither her father nor I would like you to carry out your present design. Stephen is not anxious that his children should have great wealth. We have enough to provide for them in the station of life they are accustomed to—a very happy state, as they all feel."

"Then would you have me find some stranger to bestow my wealth upon, Ellen?"

"Certainly not, Milly. If you like, I will tell you what Stephen says you ought to do with it."

"What, Ellen?"

My aunt asked the question; but I feel certain she knew what the answer would be, for that quick flush rose to her cheek, and her manner was excited.

"You will not be vexed at me, dear Milly, if I tell you. Stephen says that Edmund Dene's children are the only fitting heirs of Denesfield. He does not, for an instant, deny your perfect right to dispose of the property which is your own, as much as wealth can be, by any human law. We neither of us believe you will ever marry again, therefore the responsibility of disposing of this wealth rests upon you. But after all, dear, we are but stewards in God's sight, and this wealth is one of the talents to be accounted for."

"I am striving to use it rightly, Ellen," replied my aunt gently; "and I am thankful for advice and guidance."

"Yes, dear; and while you hold it, I shall have no fear that it will not be turned to good account."

"Yes; but I often fear for myself. I feel that I have years of indolence and neglect to regret—all that long time when I neither used the money nor gave it to those who needed it. Still, if, when I no longer want the wealth, I may not leave it to the friends I really love, but to people I have only known as enemies, my stewardship would be a burden, indeed."

"I would not say enemies, Milly. Edmund Dene, being the elder brother, thought it very hard when all the riches of his uncle, as well as the old estates, went to your husband. He had no claim to anything; but the disappointment must have been hard to bear. Think, dear Milly, had you been in his place, would you have said no sharp word—had no envious feeling?"

"It was a hard thing to bear, no doubt of that," returned Aunt Milly frankly.

"And now," resumed mamma, "the young Denes are growing up; the eldest, William, is about twenty, I believe. Stephen has heard a good deal about him from an old college friend, and he says what a fine young fellow he is, how hard he is working, denying himself every indulgence that he may not be a burden to his mother, and earning money by private teaching even while a student himself. I have told you all these things, Milly, because I want you to think of them. And, in this blessed season of peace and goodwill, remember your husband's kindred. Forget all past differences. Love and forgive, even as God, for Christ's sake, loves and pardons."

The tears were in my dear mother's eyes as she thus pleaded so eloquently; and as she ended she heard a quick sob, and saw that Aunt Milly's eyes too were wet. Then after a short silence, my aunt said:

"Ellen, you have done right to speak boldly and frankly. I will think over this conversation, and I will pray to be guided aright."

Then, with that little impetuous way of hers, she drew her hand across her eyes, and with a smile, exclaimed, "Say what you like, I will not go back from my resolution in one thing. No person but my niece and adopted child, Mildred Corsor, shall ever own Aunt Milly's diamonds."

My mother was contented with the answer; and having been allowed to speak so freely to her sister about a subject which she was at first half afraid to mention, she would not attempt to combat this last sentence. This conversation took place in my aunt's room, at the close of that happy Christmas Day, when the guests had departed and the sisters were lingering over the fire, as if unwilling to say the final good-night.

During the rest of the time that my father and mother stayed at Denesfield, no further mention was made of Edmund Dene's widow and children.