WATCHING FOR FRIENDS. 13 CHAPTER II. "Say not, my heart is waxing cold. I loved, but met not love's return; The fires of youth no longer burn; "But rouse thee from thy sullen trance, SACRED YEAR. THE next evening Grace and Margaret stood together at the drawing-room window, straining their eyes through the deepening gloom to catch the first glimpse of the carriage, which they expected to descry at a turn of the white glimmering road left open to view in the winter months, when the trees were denuded of their foliage. Grace would not allow the shutters to be closed, or the heavy silken curtains to be drawn; she wished the expected visitants to be cheered by the blaze of warm light pouring from the three large windows. She had a theory of her own about welcomes, and this was one of its peculiarities, that even the semblance of cold and darkness should not present itself on the threshold of the house of which she was mistress; so she stood with her face quite close to the dim, icy pane, and her arm entwined round Margaret's slender waist in a pretty girlish fashion. By the fire sat an old lady, alternately knitting and stroking a beautiful sleek pussy-cat, who evidently imagined herself in Elysium, as she snugly coiled up her tail, and purred in her sleep on the soft black satin lap. Aunt Sarah, as she was called by common consent, had more nephews and nieces than she could number unless she wrote down their names as she enumerated them, and yet she never had more than one brother and one sister, who left only two children each. She was really and truly aunt to Mr. Hamilton, and consequently great-aunt to Grace and her brothers; and yet she was not more than sixty years of age, for she was the sole offspring of a second marriage, while the mother and uncle of the master of the mansion were the children of an earlier union. When Grace returned to her father's roof, to take her proper position in society, and to head his table, he felt that it would be desirable to secure to his daughter the countenance and friendship of some elderly female friend. Mr. Hamilton was a man deeply imbued with a sense of conventional propriety, and as he intended to live no longer in the seclusion which had gradually become unavoidable on account of his wife's long illness and her subsequent death, it appeared to him to be out of the fitness of things, that so young a woman as Miss SOI-DISANT RELATIVES. 15 Hamilton should perform the part of hostess to his guests, both male and female, without some kind of chaperonage. And so after due deliberation-Mr. Hamilton always acted deliberately; he knew no more of impulse than a worm knows of flying-he wrote to Aunt Sarah, and with extreme condescension stated his need, offering a home for as long a time as she could make herself happy under his roof, and desiring her to weigh the matter properly, and give him a decision as soon as possible. Miss Clayton had just finished nursing one soi-disant niece through her confinement; she had superintended the bridal trousseau of another, and fitted out two tall turbulent youths, who called themselves her nephews, for Calcutta; so that the application of her real nephew came at a time when it presented itself in the most eligible form of view. Certainly she would go. Where was the use of being an old maid if she did not take care of all people in general, and some few in particular? Poor Elena's little girl, too! though to be sure she could not be very little now, for she had left school, and was to be mistress of Kingsdown Lodge. Well! so much the better; she was getting too old for children, and Grace was a nice age; it would be delightful to superintend her toilet, and make herself invaluable behind the scenes, to say nothing of watching the progress of love affairs which must of course supervene in due time, for Aunt Sarah dearly loved a little lovemaking-perhaps, though in a very innocent degree, a little match-making. She loved to divert into gently flowing currents, the course of that stream of life 16 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. which Shakspeare says, "never does run smooth;" she could detect the first incipient symptoms of an attachment, and decide upon the instant, whether the lovers had as yet arrived at a mutual understanding. When papas were inflexible and mamas in a state of hostility, who could soothe the powers that be, and bring matters to a hopeful issue like dear Aunt Sarah? Who could mediate so successfully in cases of disagreement? Who understood so well how to place the source of dispute in the true light, and how to reconcile conflicting interests, and finally bring the estranged lovers or friends to a better understanding than ever? No one. Aunt Sarah was unrivalled in business of the most delicate nature; and then she did everything so unobtrusively that no one was oppressed with a sense of obligation, no one offended at the idea of officious interference; for the dear old lady was no gossipping meddler, no busy-body. It is true her eyes and ears were very sharp, and her wits were sharper still; but her heart was true and womanly, and her tongue!-oh! that was never sharp; that never uttered bitter, hard, mischievous sayings; there was no hidden poison in her words; for the law of her lips was truth and kindness continually, and to her was given that oldest-born of the three heavenly graces, the charity that "is not easily provoked, that thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things." The advice and sympathy which Aunt Sarah gave so pleasantly and so soothingly to all her young friends EMPTIED OF SELF. 17 were not derived from mere theoretical notions; they were the fruits of a long-past painful experience, for there had once been a time when Miss Clayton little dreamed of going down to the grave unwedded and unwept, save by the many grateful hearts, whose warmest love and esteem she had so deservedly won; many years ago she had drained to its dregs the bitterest cup that can be put into the hands of youthful, fearless love. The heart that now beat so calmly beneath the dark folds of her rather antiquated attire had once ached so long and so hopelessly, that it would fain have ceased its painful, weary throbbing; the mild eyes, that were lighted now with peace, and the purest loving-kindness, had once shed bitter, burning tears; and the pleasant voice that sounded so cheerily, had once been low and constrained, like the utterance of one who walked the desolate earth with worn-out frame and stricken spirit. But the anguish had passed away. Some hopes, it is true, were dead and gone, some springs of happiness were dried up for ever; but new hopes, new joys, fresh sources of content had sprung up in the heart, that by the grace of God had been gradually emptied of self, and filled with a peace that the world can never take away. She lived for others, worked, watched, prayed, hoped, and planned for others; for herself, as a thing apart, the world had long since lost its interest; and with all her patience and all her loving, earnest labours, she watched the lengthening shadows of life's waning day, and gave thanks that the noontide was long C |