CHAPTER V.

THE SHOCK.

THINGS went on very pleasantly at Brooksville for two or three weeks after Edah's visit to Spring Bank. Mrs. Champlin's health seemed to improve rapidly, and even poor little Eddy was, as Ruby-Anne said, "really picking up." Edah and Susan sewed busily from morning till night, and Sam enjoyed very much spending his spare time in reading aloud to them.

Two or three days after Edah's return home, came a kind note from Annie Laurence, with a basket of fresh brook-trout and delicate fruit for Mrs. Champlin, and, best of all, to Edah a package of new books. These volumes furnished them with reading for a number of evenings, and Mrs. Champlin declared one Saturday night that she had never spent so many pleasant hours since she was married, as since Edah came to stay with them. Pauline improved rapidly, not only in reading and sewing, but also in general good manners and behavior; and as for Sam, his mother declared that he was growing quite a dandy.

Among all these pleasant circumstances, there were one or two drawbacks to Edah's comfort.

The first of these was Susan's jealous temper, which every now and then showed itself in a very unpleasant fashion. So surely as Edah differed from her in opinion about any thing, or suggested any improvement in household matters, or, above all, offered to instruct her in any way, so surely did Susan take refuge either in sullen ill-humor or provoking sarcasm. The latter was the hardest to bear of all, for since her acquaintance with the Laurence family commenced, the arrows of Susan's wit were usually bestowed upon them, upon Mr. Willson, and Episcopalians in general; and it was sometimes very hard for Edah not to retort in what she felt would be a very unbecoming manner.

Two or three times, provoked past all patience, she had done so, but of course it made matters much worse with Susan, and added to her other troubles the reproaches of her own conscience. Mrs. Champlin paid very little attention to these disputes, and if she noticed them, she generally took Edah's part, and reproved Susan for not paying her sister more respect, which did not mend matters at all. Sam was usually on Edah's side, though he sometimes became offended with what he called her over-strictness, and then he was pretty sure to join with Susan in annoying her; but his ill-humor never lasted long, and he generally tried to make up for it by increased kindness and attention afterwards. Pauline was, of course, entirely on her sister's side; she was a sharp little thing, with as great a talent for making provoking speeches as Susan herself, and Edah's hardest task was keeping the peace between these two, and in imposing silence upon Pauline, over whom her influence wits almost unbounded. Sometimes for days together, Susan would be in the best of tempers, and then all was sunshine in the house, for no one could be more pleasant than she, if she were so disposed.

The other and greater drawback to Edah's happiness, was her father. She could not but see, from day to day, that his degrading habit increased upon him, that he became more and more selfish and ill-tempered, provided less for his family, and seemed to feel less affection for them. She now fairly dreaded to see him enter the house, especially in the afternoon, for he was sure to bring disturbance with him. He found fault with Susan most unreasonably, scolded Pauline, and even on two or three occasions boxed her ears; which last, while it threw the child into a perfect phrensy of rage and grief, irritated and alarmed Edah to an almost insupportable degree, knowing, as she did, her frail constitution, and strong predisposition to nervous disease. He treated Ruby-Anne in such a way that she determined to leave them, and would have done so but for Edah's remonstrances.

"I can't help it, Miss Edah. I'd do a great deal for you and the children; but I won't stay anywhere to be treated worse than a negro slave. I've got a home, thank goodness, if it is a poor one, and I'll go to it this very day."

"And what shall we do when you are gone?" asked Edah. "I know you have had a great deal to bear, Ruby-Anne, but I believe you have had no more than Susan or I."

"That's a fact too!" said Ruby-Anne, pondering. "And it's harder for you, of course. I'm sure I wonder how you get on with things as you do. Well, Miss Edah, I guess I'll try and keep the peace a little longer for your sake. There ain't many like you in the world, that's certain;" and so Ruby-Anne, who was really a good-natured and conscientious girl, consented to stay, to Edah's great relief.

She dared not say a word to her father about his habits, for the most distant allusion to the subject put him into a fearful passion, and the only consequence was that he either came home entirely intoxicated, or remained out all night. Edah would have preferred the latter, but his continued absence always alarmed Mrs. Champlin to such a degree, as to cause her three or four days of intense suffering.

It usually fell to Sam to let his father in and get him to bed, and a hard time the poor boy had of it. On one of these occasions, as he was trying to prevail upon him to retire quietly, without disturbing his mother, Mr. Champlin became irritated, and struck him such a blow that it knocked him down, and discolored his face for some days.

Under these circumstances, Edah felt greatly the want of a friend in whom she could confide, and of whom she could ask advice; and having by this time become very well acquainted with Mr. Willson, she determined to seek such a friend in him. Accordingly, she rode over to Raeburn one day with a neighbor, intending to spend the day at the parsonage, in accordance with an invitation from Mrs. Willson.

Mr. Willson usually spent most of the morning in his study, and it was there that Edah sought him. Her rather timid knock at the door was answered by a cordial invitation to enter, and she found the Rector in his study gown and slippers, comfortably seated in his great armchair, and enjoying the luxury of a new review. Mr. Willson was a man of considerable tact and penetration: he partly guessed the cause of Edah's trouble, and gently and easily led the way to the expected confidence. It turned out as he had anticipated. Edah told her story, and begged for advice.

"I hardly know what to say, my dear child," said Mr. Willson, in a gentle, fatherly way that Edah felt to be very consoling. "It is a very difficult subject. The habit is not so recently formed with your father, as you suppose, but has been growing upon him for some years. At the time when I first began to think that he was going down hill, he was a tolerably constant attendant at church, and even came to the Communion three or four times a year. I took what I thought a favorable opportunity, and remonstrated with him on the subject; but though he admitted that he now and then took a glass with a neighbor, and perhaps sometimes a little too much, he laughed at the idea of his being in any danger of ever drinking to excess. My own temperance principles were not as ultra then as they have since become. I forebore to press the subject, and I think for some time my remonstrances had some effect, and he did better: but the amendment was very short. Again I attacked him about it; and this time he grew very angry, told me I was meddling with what was none of my business, and has never to my knowledge entered the church door since. I have often tried to speak with him, but he always avoids me."

"It seems a hopeless case, indeed," said Edah wiping the tears from her eyes, "but it seems too hard that nothing can be done to save him from destruction. It is killing my mother, too. I sometimes fear that it will be the death of her outright, or that her mind will give way entirely. I am sure I do not see what is to become of us if it goes on much longer. What do you suppose was the beginning of it, Mr. Willson?"

"I cannot tell, my dear. There has been a great deal of hard drinking in this part of the country, and some of our finest men have fallen a sacrifice to it. How does your brother feel about it?"

"It seems to me that indignation is the strongest feeling with him," replied Edah. "He is angry with father for so degrading himself, and, above all, for his harshness to my mother and the children. I have never said a word to him on the subject."

"That may, perhaps, be the wisest course."

"But, Mr. Willson, cannot you suggest some way to help us out of our difficulty? Cannot you try remonstrating with my father again?"

"I can try, my dear," replied Mr. Willson, "but I have little hope of any good resulting from it. When a man once becomes enslaved to this debasing appetite, he is as if possessed by an evil spirit, and it seems as if nothing short of a miracle could save him. In the mean time, I need not recommend you to be earnest in seeking for strength where alone it is to be found. I believe you have already learned where to look for it."

"I trust so, sir, and indeed I have found, more need of seeking that fountain than ever before. I think I have prayed more in the last month than in all my life."

"And have you not found your prayers answered?"

"In some sense, sir, I have. I have found strength to overcome temptation, and have often had it removed from me, and my way made plain when it seemed the most hopeless. It often seems to me that my prayers are directly responded to and that I have a sense of the direct absolute presence of my God and Saviour. I am afraid you will think me fanatical, Mr. Willson."

"By no means, my dear Edah. Such a sense of God's presence is what we should most earnestly seek for in our prayers and all our devotions; and when we lose the sense of His nearness to us, we should give ourselves no rest under the loss, but anxiously, by repentance and deep humility, and by carefully examining ourselves, seek to attain to it again. As to giving you any father advice, I hardly know what to say. I need not bid you keep yourself as busy as you can, for I know you do that already. Be not too careful in spirit, but strive to commit all your cares to God, as to a faithful Friend and tender Father. Make diligent use of all the means of grace in your reach, above all praying without ceasing. As to your father, I shall endeavor to see him, and talk with him, though I fear he will only repulse me. For yourself, you are in the path of duty—that strait and narrow path which leadeth unto eternal life, and I can only counsel you to persevere, looking not to an earthly but to a heavenly reward."

Edah returned home, greatly comforted by her talk with the Rector, and by her pleasant chat with kind, motherly Mrs. Willson and her two pretty, sprightly daughters. To these young ladies Edah was glad to find she could be of service, and thus make some return for the kindness of their parents. They were intelligent, lively girls, who were trying to learn to draw under the disadvantages of having no teacher, and of often being unable to procure suitable patterns. Edah was very fond of drawing, and excelled especially in sketching from nature, a pursuit for which the picturesque hills and woodlands around Raeburn and Brooksville afforded ample scope, and she was glad to place her portfolio at the service of Annette and Lucy, and to give them such instruction and assistance as they needed most. She would gladly have included Susan in her instructions, but Susan declined, on the plea of having no time.

Mr. Willson kept his promise to Edah by seeking an opportunity to converse with her father. Much to his surprise, Mr. Champlin received what he had to say with a civil indifference. He was aware, he said, that he had sometimes taken more than was good for him—quite as much so as his best friends could be. He knew that the love of pleasant society had sometimes led him into excesses, but he knew, also, that he had his own trials, of which Mr. Willson was not aware. When a man had no peace or comfort at home, he naturally went elsewhere to seek it, and for that, those who drove him from home were responsible in a far greater degree than he was.

Mr. Willson, however, not being disposed to admit the force of any of these excuses, Mr. Champlin went on to say that he was sorry he had caused any discomfort at home, as he supposed he might have done; and as Mr. Willson's sympathies seemed all enlisted on the side of his wife and children, he would assure him that their rest should no longer be disturbed by him. This was all Mr. Willson could get out of him, and he finally left him, completely in the dark as to what Mr. Champlin intended to do.

Two or three days after Mr. Willson's remonstrance, Mr. Champlin came home to dinner, and announced that important business required him to start for New York by that evening's train, which passed through Raeburn about seven o'clock. He spent most of the afternoon in packing his trunk, a work about which he would accept of no assistance, and having hired a neighbor to carry him over to the station, he bade his family farewell, as it seemed with unusual tenderness, even coming back, after he had gone out to the wagon, to kiss his wife and the baby a second time.

Edah long remembered the way in which he pressed her hand, as he said—"You are a good girl, Edah: take care of your mother and the children when I am gone."

He gave Susan fifteen dollars, and bade her be careful of it; shook hands with Sam, and then drove off at a rapid pace, looking back as far as he could see the house, till a turn in the road hid it from his view.

"Father is as affectionate as if he were to be gone a year, instead of a week," said Susan.

"There is something curious about his manner, too," replied Sam, to whom she made this remark: "I never saw him so at all. I don't understand it."

"What is the use of troubling yourself to account for father's whims? You know he is as capricious as the wind. There is one comfort about it—Edah will stay till he comes back."

"Oh!" said Sam. "I didn't suppose you would be very anxious to keep her here."

"That is just the way," returned Susan: "you think because I am not always running after Edah, and hanging about her, as you and Polly are, that I don't care any thing for her, but you are greatly mistaken. I like her just as well as you do; and if any thing were the matter with her, you would see that I do."

"I think she would be glad to compound for a little common civility now," said Sam, "for really, Sue, whether you know it or not, you are not half civil to her. It isn't very often that we want people to do grand things, or to make great sacrifices for us, but we feel the need of kindness and politeness every day and all day long."

Susan made no reply, and the subject was dropped.

Mr. Champlin had said before his departure that he might be absent about two weeks, and promised to write to his wife during the time, but no letter came.

The time drew near which Edah had set for her departure, and she began to make preparations for her return to Miss Anderson's, though she determined not to go until her father was again at home. The family had by degrees come to be very dependent upon her, and Mrs. Champlin especially felt as though she should not be able to live without her. As for Pauline, she could not hear of sister's going away, without a passion of grief, and Edah began to have serious thoughts of taking the child back to Miss Anderson's with her, when she received a letter from Milly with the intelligence that her father had concluded not to let her return to school again, and claiming the fulfilment of her promise to spend the winter with them. Of course she could not for a moment think of taking Pauline there with her. If she had been an ordinary child, Edah might have felt more at ease about leaving her; but Pauline was no common child: her thoughts and feelings were far in advance of her years, and her affections possessed more intensity than belongs to many grown-up persons. Then she was, unfortunately, far superior in natural abilities to those about her.

Mrs. Champlin was a kind-hearted and well-meaning woman, but she was without much cultivation, either mental or spiritual, and her words and actions were directed almost entirely by the impulse of the moment, whatever that impulse might be. Her naturally kind and gentle disposition had been fretted and soured by constant illness and suffering, and still more by domestic troubles; and the irritation she would not or dared not manifest towards the direct cause of her distress, was very frequently bestowed upon the other members of the family. Such a mother could be no fit guide for an irritable and delicate child, whose little head was constantly filled with thoughts and questions altogether too grave for her years, and the force of whose passions was as much above what it should be, as her strength was below. Mrs. Champlin had, in fact, almost no influence with her children: they were fond of her, and often assiduous in waiting upon her, but they never dreamed of obeying her unless it suited their own convenience. Edah was the only one of the family who ever thought of consulting her upon her movements, and Mrs. Champlin often felt painfully the contrast between the careful deference of her stepdaughter and the careless independence of her own children.

While Edah was revolving in her own mind what it was best to do, she was most agreeably surprised by a visit from her guardian. She was deeply attached to Mr. Liston, with whom she had spent almost all her early years, as well as her vacations since she had been at school, and he on his part loved his ward better than any thing else in the world. Mr. Liston was a straightforward, honorable, steady man of business, who never owed a penny that he could not pay on the instant, and never took the slightest advantage of any one. He went to church regularly once every Sunday, and read the papers the rest of the day, gave bountifully to charitable objects of every kind, without ever troubling himself to inquire into their merit, was a perfectly inoffensive neighbor, and a judicious and faithful friend to all his employees and dependents. He had made the most of Edah's moderate property, and no one doubted that she would be his heiress. His only brother had lately died in India, and it was some business in relation to his estate which now called him to that distant country, for which he intended to set out as soon as he had made the necessary arrangements for the comfort and security of his ward during his absence.

Mr. Liston stayed two days in Brooksville, lodging at the so-called "hotel," and held many long conversations with Edah about her plans and wishes, which conversations ended with his leaving it entirely optional with her to return to Miss Anderson's for another year, or to spend the time with her friends in New York. Edah thought, though he did not say so, that he would prefer the former arrangement, and asked him if it were not so. Mr. Liston admitted that it was.

"I shall not be away more than a year," he said; "and on the whole, I would prefer that your entrance into society—an absurd institution, my dear, but one to which we must all pay some deference—should be made under my own eye. Maria Concklin is a kind creature, but she is not over-wise, and Mr. Amory is as much out of the world as the stuffed elephant at the museum. Still, as this plan has been of long standing, and any alteration of it would be a great disappointment to your friend—a very nice girl, she seems—I am willing that you should spend the winter there. How much longer do you intend to remain here?"

"'Till my father returns," replied Edah. "I had no thought of staying any longer; but mother is so unwell, and the poor baby so sickly, that I do not like to leave at present."

"Very well, my dear; act your own judgment about it. I shall leave a suitable allowance for you in Mr. Amory's hands, which he will pay to you quarterly, and I shall expect you to keep strictly within it, incurring no debt, however trifling. You know that is the one thing, about which I have always been positive. I have given him directions not to advance a single penny, so if you use it up too fast, you will have to wait for more till next quarter-day. And now, I must bid you good-by."

"So soon!" said Edah.

"So soon!" replied Mr. Liston. "I did not intend to sail under two weeks, but circumstances have occurred to alter my plans. If any thing should happen to me, my affairs are all in Amory's hands, and he will take my place to you. So farewell, my child, and write to me very often. You will hear from London. God bless you!"

Edah knew very well how much her guardian disliked a scene, and she restrained her tears till he was out of sight, making herself amends by a regular school-girl fit of crying afterwards.

She could not help thinking her guardian unusually strict in regard to money matters, and puzzled herself to think what could be the reason. The fact was, Mr. Liston had thought it very probable that Edah's father would want to borrow money of her, and he determined to put it entirely out of her power to lend him any. Then a few days afterwards, she received a note from Mr. Liston saying that he was just going on board the steamer, and should write again as soon as he landed in England.

Mr. Champlin had been absent nearly two weeks, when one afternoon Sam came up from the post-office, bringing a letter for his mother.

"It is from father, and there is money in it," said he; "I do not believe he is coming home after all. There are heaps of things for you, Edah. I declare, I wonder how girls can write so many letters. You have certainly doubled the revenue of our post-office since you have been here. I am sure you cannot find sense enough to fill up all these pages of fine writing."

"And there is something for you, which is more than you deserve, after your ungallant speech," said Edah, handing him some numbers of popular magazines which Milly had sent her, and then becoming absorbed in the perusal of her own letters. She was so intent upon the contents of an epistle from Mr. and Mrs. Wardwell that she took no notice of her companions, till she was roused by a sort of hysterical gasp from her mother, and a shriek from Pauline, and saw Sam spring forward just in time to prevent Eddy from falling to the floor, as Mrs. Champlin sank back in her chair, in a violent fit of hysterics.

Throwing down her letter, she sprang to her aid, and having quieted Pauline by giving her the baby to hold, she took the first means at hand of restoring her mother to consciousness, without having any idea of what had caused her agitation.

Mrs. Champlin recovered for a moment, but it was only to fall into another fit, more violent than the first, and Edah, becoming seriously alarmed, dispatched Sam for the doctor, and with the assistance of Susan and Ruby-Anne, got her upon the bed.

Doctor Longford happened to be passing near the house, and came in almost immediately. He administered such restoratives as he thought proper, and when his patient became in some degree quiet, called Edah into the other room, and asked her if she had any idea what had caused the seizure.

"Not the least, sir," replied Edah. "She has been remarkably well for several days past."

"I think it was something in father's letter," said Pauline, who, after her first fright was over, had devoted herself to the baby. "She was reading it when she made that noise first."

"Where is the letter?" asked Edah.

"There, on the table, and the money that was in it. I laid them all together."

"Read the letter, Sam," said Edah, relieving Pauline of her charge.

Sam glanced his eye over it, and then, with a flushed face, he said, in a tone of extreme bitterness—

"He has finished up the matter now. He has gone off to California."

"Gone!" exclaimed Susan, who had come into the parlor, leaving Ruby-Anne with her mother. "He has not really gone, has he?"

"Gone for good!" said Sam. "Hear what he says:

"'MY DEAR WIFE—

"'Before this reaches you, I shall be on the sea, far on my way to California, or somewhere else, when I shall be out of the way. I am aware that I have been nothing but a burden to you for a long time, and that the whole family will look upon my going as a relief. I send you some money—all that I can spare, and shall let you have more, if I get it myself. You won't see me again until I come home a rich man. If you had made things comfortable for me at home, I should never have been driven to the tavern, and so have been ruined; but I forgive you, and hope you will be happy. The children must go to work and earn their living, and Edah may do something to help you—she is rich enough. I tried to borrow some money of old Liston, but he would not let me have a cent. Good-by, and God bless you!'"

"It was worth while to put that in at the end, to be sure," said Susan, bitterly. "I don't care; I am glad he has gone!"

"Hush, Susan, love! Don't speak so," said Edah. "Remember he is our father, after all. I can hardly believe that he is really gone."

"I can," replied Sam. "Don't you know, Sue, we noticed his manner the day he went away, and he has taken all his clothes. What is to become of us now, I wonder?"

"How much money has he sent?" asked Susan.

"Twenty-five—no, forty dollars," replied Sam, counting it over. "That will last a little while, and we may get something out of the office and lumber-yard, though I doubt it. I presume his debts cover all that, and more too."

"We will not trouble ourselves about that, just at this moment," said Edah. "We have enough to do to take care of mother. I am afraid this will be altogether too much for her."

"And to charge her with it!" exclaimed Susan. "That is the worst of all. I should think he might have left that out, at any rate."

"It is the nature of men to throw all the blame of their own faults upon their wives," remarked the doctor. "They have all done it, from the first man down. But I must look in at your mother again before I go."

For two or three hours, Mrs. Champlin alternated between violent convulsions and insensibility, but by degrees she became more quiet, and finally sank into a deep slumber.

The kind old doctor took his leave, promising to call the first thing in the morning.

Pauline, who had quietly cried herself to sleep on the sofa, was carried up stairs and put to bed. Edah persuaded Susan to retire and take the baby with her, and the house was again quiet.