Chapter XIII: Reconciliation and Happiness

THE carriage was already at the door, and Miss Howard drove hastily to Mr. Lambert's residence. She was informed that he was stronger, had taken more nourishment, and was again asleep. The valet came from the chamber where the sick man had been carried and gave her the sealed envelope; and with this in her hand she started for Mrs. Douglass's boarding-house, scarcely daring to read the words, lest she should unfit herself for the exciting scenes she must expect. After a cursory glance at the page she thrust it back into the envelope, and endeavored to form some plan by which she might best convey to her invalid friend the wonderful discovery she had made.

Early as it was, Mrs. Cheriton had taken her boy for a walk. Mrs. Douglass sat reading by the window. She greeted Miss Howard with a smile and then, noticing her flushed face, asked,—

"Are you well, dear?"

"Can you bear good news, Mrs. Douglass?"

"Good news seldom hurts any one."

"Have you ever thought that your husband might be living near you?"

"I know where he lives; I learned it by accident while in the country and found it impossible to remain away."

"And that explains your sudden return and your watching so constantly from the windows?" Marion's tone was full of wonder.

"I never told you his name. How did you find it out?"

Marion then related all that had passed, and ended with giving the paper which the sick man had dictated when he thought himself dying.

Mrs. Douglass's countenance expressed the deepest feeling, but she braced herself against giving way to her excitement.

"I have been praying earnestly that I might be prepared for this discovery, should it take place," she said. "I will go with you and assure him of my entire forgiveness. Juliette knows nothing of her father's desertion, and she need not be made acquainted with the discovery."

"Oh, Mrs. Douglass, I am sure he will never part with you again."

She shook her head, rose, and put on her bonnet and shawl.

Marion saw that, while she was making a great effort to appear calm, her hands trembled so much that she could not tie the bonnet-strings. Unobserved by the lady, she wrote with pencil on a piece of paper:—

Dear Mrs. Cheriton,—

I have taken your mother with me. Please remain at home with Geenie till I call or send for you.

MARION.

This she left in plain sight on the table.

On their way little was spoken until they approached the door, when Marion said,—

"I hope the doctor will be there. I dare not take you to Mr. Lambert's room without his permission."

The servant who opened the door stared at the new-comer, and said to Miss Howard,—

"Mr. Lambert is too ill, ma'am, to see visitors."

"Yes, I know. This lady is going with me to the parlor to see the doctor."

She gave Mrs. Douglass her arm, and found from the manner the lady leaned against her that she could scarcely support herself.

The valet came at once. "Mr. Lambert is awake," he said, "and has been calling for you."

"I cannot leave this lady alone. Is the doctor here?"

"He's just going, miss. I hear him coming downstairs."

"Ask him to come here."

"Dr. Danforth, this is my friend, Mr. Lambert's wife. Can she see him?"

"Go and tell him she is here. He is as impatient this morning as ever old Mr. Regy was."

The doctor tried to smile, but looked anxious.

"I thought you would never come," said the sick man in a petulant tone. "I might have died without ever asking her to forgive me."

"Would you like to see her now?"

"Would I?" He gave a scream which speedily brought the valet to his side.

"Get me up! Bring my clothes! Where is she? Don't let her go! I'll be ready in a minute."

The valet was thunderstruck, and looked at Miss Howard helplessly.

"Mr. Lambert," said Marion, in an authoritative tone, "if you don't lie down and be calm I'll take Mrs. Lambert away again. There, that is right!" as he assented like a penitent boy.

"You must be calm, for her sake. She is an invalid, and has been for years."

"Will you explain to her why I can't go to her? It's my place. Are you sure she'll forgive me?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Now," said Marion, addressing the valet, who stood in open-mouthed wonder, "you may go to the parlor and ask the doctor to assist Mrs. Lambert up the stairs."

The sick man quickly covered his face, and she heard him whispering a prayer for help. "For his sake and for your own, be as calm as possible," said Dr. Ross, leaving the lady at the door and motioning the servant to retire.

Marion only waited to see the long-deserted wife glide quickly to the bedside, and then she, too, left them alone. The meeting was too sacred for any eye but the omnipresent One to witness.

Marion Howard was blessed with an excellent constitution, but of late her keen sympathy with her friends, her frequent visits to her mission scholars, in connection with the arrangements she was making to leave, in addition to her own numerous cares, the purchase of her trousseau, etc., had taxed her strength to an unusual degree. Now that the wife was restored to her husband, Dr. Danforth insisted that she should go home and take some rest.

"I will, as soon as I have brought Mrs. Cheriton and her boy." She had scarcely finished her sentence before a sudden attack of dizziness made her clutch at a chair for support.

"You must return, and at once," he said. "I will do all that is necessary. I prophesy that this discovery will be the most effectual remedy for Mr. Lambert."

Marion found it most prudent to yield, and hastily leaving word that Mrs. Cheriton was to be sent for, she left the doctor to make all needed explanation for her sudden departure. The next morning, in consequence of a telegram from Dr. Ross, Mrs. Asbury made her appearance, and coolly remarked that she had come to stay till her niece was able to return with her.

On a bright October morning let us take a peep at Mr. Lambert and his now united family. They have left the grand house in the city to spend the autumn months on his farm in the country. To see our friend now we should not imagine him to have been so recently one of Dr. Danforth's sickest patients. His heart and his conscience at rest, his countenance grows daily more serene, while he declares he feels as young and fresh as he ever did. His wife, Mrs. Douglass no more, moves quietly about, keeping within sight of the husband from whom she has been so long separated. She is making a study of his character eccentricities and all, and has already gained such an influence over him that his eye turns naturally toward her for approval. Many times in a day he asks for and receives a full assurance of her entire forgiveness. Many hours are passed in recounting the events which have occurred since they last met, the keen disappointment he experienced when at last, unable longer to endure the suspense, he wrote a friend in Madrid for news of her, and learned that it was supposed she was deceased, and had been for many years.

The ring once wrested from her finger by her unnatural brother was restored to its old place, it having been taken from the prisoner just before his execution. As they looked at it and called to mind all the wonderful providences which after so many years had brought them together, their hearts were filled with new gratitude to their Heavenly Father, who had out of these afflictions led them to a knowledge of Himself.

Toward his beautiful daughter, Juliette Cheriton, Mr. Lambert exhibited a ludicrous respect, mingled with an unbounded admiration. He found it extremely difficult to convince himself that she in reality was his child. He watched her stealthily, blushing like a boy when caught doing so. On the subject of her husband he was at first reticent. It was, however, the occasion of reviving his old habit of grumbling when he heard a wish expressed that Mr. Cheriton would return, that there might be a complete union of the family. He rushed about the room growling,—

"He'd better not, the villain; I'd soon settle him. Let him stay away! I'll let him understand I don't intend to leave her a penny."

In the mean time he lavished every indulgence upon her. She had a pony carriage for her exclusive use. Her purse was kept filled to overflowing. If it had been possible to spoil her he would have done it. How often in these days her mother thanked God that her daughter had not been brought into such temptations to worldliness until she had learned to place her affections on objects higher and more enduring.

For his grandson Mr. Lambert felt such intense pride that he needed constant checks in order that the boy need not take advantage of the foolish fondness bestowed on him. If Mr. Lambert had never had a master before, he had one now, and as we enter the house this bright autumnal morning, a sight meets us which is proof of the fact.

A wide hall runs directly through the old-fashioned dwelling, and racing back and forth through this hall is our old friend, dressed as his double, Mr. Regy, his long white hair floating behind him, as he obeys the whip of his young driver, and canters, trots, or walks in obedience to the orders of his grandson.

"Get up, horse; go faster, grandpa!"

Geenie in his voyage of discovery has resurrected many old and once familiar objects, and among them Mr. Regy's dress.

"What's this? Who wears this?" he shouts, holding up the wig and beard to view.

Being obliged to confess that he has sometimes worn these singular articles, the boy demands that they be at once used by his horse; and the owner, never dreaming that it was possible to refuse, donned them, and with a pair of worsted reins round his body proceeded to jingle the bells, running and cantering, to the perfect delight of the young driver.

Well for all concerned it was that Mrs. Cheriton had learned from sad experience that if she wished her son to love and respect her she must enforce obedience to her own commands and to the commands of God. Mr. Lambert, though he often pleaded that the child's wishes, however unreasonable, might be gratified, and was once or twice detected in comforting him with confectionery under his disappointments, yet acknowledged that his daughter's discipline was necessary and must be maintained.

A most ludicrous scene had once taken place between Eugene and his grandfather, which those who saw it never forgot.

The boy had disobeyed, and his mother placed him in a room by himself to reflect upon his fault, for which he was to be punished. He was sitting soberly in the chair where she had placed him, when, hearing a sound from the adjoining room, he went in and found his grandfather weeping.

"What are you crying for, grandpa?" he asked, quickly.

"I don't want your mother to whip you, but she must; yes, it's right for her to do it."

"Don't cry, grandpa; I don't mind. She doesn't hurt me any; she only tickles me a little. 'T isn't nice for a big man like you to cry."

"Eugene, come here," called his mother, taking his hand to lead him back to his chair. She repeated what she had heard to her mother, saying,—

"I had as much as I could do to keep from showing my amusement. Father looking so penitent, and Eugene comforting him."