Dawn

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She flew to her room, and returned and placed it before him, and
then went in search of Dawn.

Selecting a delicate sheet from its orderly arranged contents he
commenced,--

"My Dear Friend Howard.

"Come and spend a few days in this loveliest of--"

At this point a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and another
placed over his eyes.

"I am here;" said a well-known voice, "so throw aside pen and paper.
We will commence in a better way."

"Why? when? where did you come from, and how came you to select this
place?"

"I came this morning; arrived ten minutes ago from L--. Did not
'select' this place; the place drew me here. Now I have answered all
your interrogatories, may I ask you how long you have been here, and
why you did not let me know you were coming?"

"Two days only. I should have told you, but did not suppose you
could leave for a moment, knowing the pressure of your business. But
how is your wife? She is here of course?"

His averted face did not reveal the look of pain which passed over
it, as he replied:

"She is not well, and went home with her mother."

"So you was lonely and betook yourself to this scene of life to pass
the hours away. You could not have chosen a better place. I hope the
period of your stay here is not limited to a few days."

"Instead of that it is indefinite."

The tone of his voice was too sad to be mistaken, and Mr. Wyman
began to think that there might be some truth in the rumor which
Florence had heard.

He glanced at Mr. Deane's face, and read all he had failed to see
when he first met him.

"I hope nothing has occurred to mar your pleasure while here; at
least nothing but what the waves will wash away?"

"The sea is a good place for the soul-weary, as well as for the
light of heart. I cannot, however, leave my burden here. I am,
indeed, very sad, Hugh. Are you much engaged? If not, we will take a
walk together," he said, in tones which plainly implied a need of a
companion like Mr. Wyman.

"I have nothing to do, now you have arrived and saved me the
laborious effort of writing to you."

"Then you wished me here?"

"I did. My thoughts went out to you this morning. I felt that you
needed a change."

"I do indeed;" and they walked together for awhile, then sat beneath
the shade of a tree, whose long outstretched branches seemed to wave
benedictions on their heads.

"I need change, but human sympathy most. Mabel has gone from me. It
is not a corporal separation only, but one of soul and heart."

"Mabel gone! Is it, indeed, true? But the separation cannot last;
she will surely return to your love and protection. Howard, I am
glad you are h; ere. Some unseen power must have brought you to this
place, where you can unburden your grief, and take better and
clearer views of the case."

"Then you think she will come again to me?"

"Certainly; and you will both be stronger for the temporary
separation."

"I could bear it better were I not so sensitive to the opinion of
the world."

"You must rise above that. There is no growth to him who, seeking
the new, fears to lose his grasp on the old. These backward glances
retard the pilgrim on his way. Do what you feel to be right, and
care for no man's words or opinions."

"I wish I had your strength, Hugh."

"I think you were sent here to me to be strengthened. God's hand is
in the cloud as well as the sunshine, and I know He will work good
from the seeming evil that encompasses you."

"Your words cause me at least to hope."

"This separation will work good for both of you."

"I felt myself, when I found my love doubted and my truthfulness
questioned, that it would be best for us."

"Then you favored it?"

"I did."

"I am glad it was so. You will each have an opportunity to know
yourselves, and how much you are to each other. When together, words
take the place of thoughts, while absence ever kindles the flame of
holy love, and by its light we see our own short-comings, and our
companion's virtues. Were I you, I should look on this as one of the
greatest opportunities of my life to test my heart's true feelings
towards one whose affection had grown cold, or rather whose
understanding had become clouded; for I doubt not her heart is as
warm as when you led her to the altar. Like yonder receding wave,
her love will return to you again, while to her restless soul you
must be as firm as this rocky coast."

"Woman's love," he continued, "is stronger, mightier than man's. It
is no argument against their devotion that they are changeable. So
is this ocean. Each hour a different hue comes upon its surface, but
the depth is there. Thus is woman's soul full of varied emotions;
the surface play is sometimes dark, at others reflecting the blue of
the heavens above. Yes, they are deeper, higher than ourselves, and
every day's experience attests to the fact of their superior
delicacy and nicer perceptions. Their keen insight into daily
matters, their quick sense of everything pertaining to religious and
social life, are to me proofs of their fine qualities."

"But their inconsistency at times wars with your assertions."

"No; it is sterner stuff that reasons most; they are nicer in their
perceptions, and feel instinctively their way into questions over
which we work and solve alone by long reasoning."

"I believe it is so."

"Then you have advanced one step. We cannot appreciate woman too
highly. That many do foolish things is no proof that many are not
wise and good, bearing crosses day after day which would make you
and I ready to lie down and die-they ever do great things, either
good or bad, and men, I hope, will some day place her image next to
his maker's, and look upon it as to him the holiest and highest on
earth-the best gift of God."

"Why, Hugh, you are wild upon this subject."

"I am awake, and hope I shall never slumber."

"Your words have given me rest, and stirred my best emotions. I will
write to Mabel to-night. But yesterday and I felt that all women
were as fickle as these waters. I am changed, and your remarks have
caused me to think differently.

"I have not changed your mind, I have only brought some of your
better feelings to the surface."

"And what is that but change?"

"It may be, that it is. Do you not see that something mightier than
yourself brought you here, where your morbid feelings will pass
away,--though I do not wonder that you felt as you did, neither can I
blame you. The human soul has many sides, and turns slowly to the
light."

"If I had your penetration, I could bear the discords of life."

"We must learn not only to bear them, but to gather wisdom from
their teachings. If we cannot grow under to-day's trial, we surely
cannot under to-morrow's."

"I begin to feel that we shall both be better for this
estrangement."

"You will, and come together, on a higher plane. Married people live
in such close relations that each becomes absorbed by the other, and
then having nothing fresh to give, what was once attraction becomes
repulsion. I see these things so plainly myself that the criticism,
and may be, censure of a multitude, jealous of personal freedom,
affects me no more than the passing breeze. I know that if I stand
upon a mount and behold a beautiful scene beyond, that it is there,
although the people below may declare with positiveness that it is
not. A man knows nothing of the value of his wife who sees not other
women and learns their thoughts."

"True. I have felt for a long time that I needed a fresh mind with
which to hold converse, and my seeking one, although accidental, has
brought about this state of things."

"And that person?"

"Was Miss Evans."

"I remember; and the evening, I asked you to call and leave the
magazine. Little did I think of such a result, which I should
regret, perhaps, did I not fully believe that all things are ordered
and arranged for our best good. Long and prayerfully I have studied
this question, so vital and so closely allied to our best interests.
I could not gleam even a ray of truth did I not live above the crowd
and fearlessly pursue my own way. I see no escape from our thraldom,
but through soul expanse, and this is produced only through soul
liberty. I loved my Alice most when I was learning her through
others; I am still learning and loving her each day, through my
child and our friend Miss Vernon. With all our laws, we have and
ever have had haunts of vice. Will the emancipation of soul increase
their number? I think not. If men and women can be brought together
on loftier planes we shall not have these excresences. The sexes
need to be purely blended; they will approach each other, and it is
for society to say how. Block up harmless social avenues and we
shall have broad roads to destruction. I know husbands and wives who
are consuming, instead of refreshing each other's lives. Yes,
Howard, this is your great opportunity to take your position and
draw your wife up to it. Life will be a new thing to you, and all of
us who can accept these truths. Our present forms and ceremonies
hold us apart, and there is scarcely a ripple of spontaneity upon
life's surface. The highest hours, and those most productive of
good, are when two souls converse and reflect each other's innermost
states."

CHAPTER XI.

It was not by words that they knew each other, but when their eyes
met each felt that the other had passed some ordeal which made their
souls akin.

The stranger to whom Miss Vernon had been so drawn, met her on the
beach the next morning, and asked her to walk with her.

"I would like to tell you," she said, "of my strange experience last
night; perhaps these things are not new to you," and she went on in
a confiding tone at Miss Vernon's visible look of deep interest;--

"I was weeping, as you may have noticed, when your strange and
lovely pupil came to me,--weeping for the loss of one to whom I was
betrothed. No mortal save myself knew the name which he gave me on
the day of our engagement. It was 'Pearl.' My own name is Edith
Weston. Judge of my emotion and surprise, when that child-a total
stranger-came and spake my name in his exact tones. I have had other
tests of spirit presences as clear and as positive, but none that
ever thrilled me like this. Do you wonder that I already love that
child with a strange, deep yearning?"

"I do not. I have myself had proof through her that our dear
departed linger around, and are cognizant of our sorrows as well as
our joys."

"Perhaps you too have loved."

"Yes; but not like yourself. My mother's love is the only love I
have known."

"And you are an orphan like myself?"

"I am."

"That is what drew us together. And may I know your name?"

"Florence Vernon. And I was attracted to you the first time I saw
you."

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to experience these proofs of human
ties. It is a pleasure to me to think that wherever we go we shall
meet some one who loves us. I am a dependent character, as you no
doubt have perceived. I need the assurance and support of stronger
minds even when I see my own way clear. Some there are who can see
and go forth. I need to be led."

"I hope you are fortunate enough to have some stronger mind about
you. We are not all alike, and the vine nature must have something
upon which it may cling and find support, or otherwise it will trail
in the dust."

"I am not thus fortunate. I have no one on whom to lean, or to whom
I can look for guidance. Shall you remain long here?" she asked,
fearing she had spoken too freely of herself.

"We shall stay until we have received all that this atmosphere and
these scenes can supply us with. It will then be our duty to go."

"I like that. I must go away very soon to join my aunt who is
obliged to remain among the mountains, as the sea air does not agree
with her. But look, Miss Vernon, here comes Mr. Wyman and another
gentleman!" and she seemed greatly disappointed at the interruption.

"Miss Weston, Mr. Deane," said Florence, introducing them, and the
next instant she watched with earnest gaze the look of admiration
which he gave the timid girl. It was not a bold or intrusive look,
but such an one as a man might have bestowed were he suddenly
ushered into the presence of his highest conception of female worth
and loveliness.

Every line of his features betokened the keenest admiration, while
her glance was far over the sea. Hugh saw the look, too, and was
glad.

Miss Vernon trembled, she knew not why. She wished that he had not
come to the sea-shore, and that the beautiful stranger was all her
own.

The four walked together on the beach, until the heat of the day,
and then Miss Weston withdrew.

"The finest face I ever saw," said Mr. Deane, watching her figure
till she was out of sight, "and as lovely in soul as in form and
features, I perceive." Then turning to Miss Vernon, he said:

"I see you harmonize. I am really glad it is so, for you can help
each other very much."

Mr. Deane dropped the conversation, and assumed an air of
abstraction, his gaze fixed on the blue waves-his thoughts none knew
where.

Hugh and Florence walked to the house and seated themselves in the
shade, within view of the sea. Then he told her in his clear, brief
way, of what had transpired between Mr. Deane and his wife, with the
remark that it was far better she should be informed of the true
state of affairs, and thus be guarded against the evil of false
reports.

"I saw your look of concern when he met Miss Weston-"

She looked wonderingly in his face.

"You feared for him, and her then. That was natural. I see beyond,
and that no harm will come from any attachment that may arise. I
hope to see them often together."

"Mr. Wyman, if I did not know you, I should sometimes fear your
doctrines."

"I have no doctrines."

"Well, theories then."

"No theories either. I follow nature, and leave her to perfect all
things. Sometimes you think I am not sufficiently active; that I sit
an idle looker on.

"What! do you know my every thought-everything that passes through
my mind?" she asked, a a little agitated.

"Nearly all, or rather that which goes with your states of
progression."

She was vexed a little, but as the lesser ever turns to the greater,
the earth to the sun for light,--so she, despite difference of
temperament and mental expansion, was inclined to rest on his
judgment.

"This pure girl will give him a deeper faith in woman, unconsciously
to herself, and he will become a better man; therefore fear not when
you see them together, that he will lose his love for his wife. Yes,
she will do him good, as you, Florence, are every day benefiting
me."

"Do I? Do I make you better?" she asked in a quick, nervous way; and
her soul flooded her soft, brown eyes.

"You do, Florence, and make me stronger every day; while your
deepening womanhood is my daily enjoyment. You give me an
opportunity to know myself, and that there are many holy relations
between men and women beside the conjugal."

Mrs. Foster lost no time in informing the people of L--of the
movements of Mr. Deane. She well knew there were persons who would
circulate the report, and that it would finally reach his wife, even
though she was several miles away. The report was, that Mr. Deane
had brought a young lady to the sea-shore, and was seen walking with
her every day and evening, and that they both were greatly enamoured
with each other.

Strange to say, Mrs. Deane, weary and sad, left her parents and
returned to her home just before her husband's letter reached its
destination, and just in time to hear the narration of his strange
conduct.

Howard gone, no one knew where, save from the vague and scandalous
report of a few busy tongues; no letter telling where he was, and
her soul sank, and all its good resolves faded away. When she left
her parents that morning, she fully resolved to meet him with all
the love of her heart, for she had found that love beneath the
rubbish of doubt and jealousy that had for a time concealed it. It
was not strange, therefore, that all the fond trust died out when
she realized that he had gone, and the bitter waters returned
stronger and deeper over her hope.

Shall we ever reach a world where we shall not have to plod through
so much doubt and misgiving, and where our real feelings will be
better understood?

"He will surely come back soon," she said again and again to
herself, while the veil of uncertainty hung black before her
troubled vision. Every day she listened for his footsteps, till
heart-sick and weary she returned to her parents, and told them all
her grief and all her fears.

An hour later they handed her his letter, received an hour after her
departure, and which her father had carried every day in his pocket
and forgotten to re-mail to her.

While every one in L--was rehearsing the great wrong which, in
their estimation, Mr. Deane had done his wife, she was eagerly
absorbing every word of his warm-hearted letter, which he wrote on
the day of his conversation with Mr. Wyman. Could she have received
it before she returned again to her old home, how different would
she and her parents have felt towards him. It was only for them she
cared now. In vain she argued and tried to reinstate him in their
good graces; but words failed, and she felt that time and
circumstance alone were able to reconcile them.

She longed to go to him, but he had not asked her, and only said at
the close:

"I shall return when I feel that we are ready to love each other as
in the past. Not that I do not love you, Mabel, but I want all the
richness of your affection, unclouded by distrust. We have been much
to each other; we shall yet be more. When I clasp you to my heart
again, all your fears will vanish. Be content to bear this
separation awhile, for 'tis working good for us both."

She read it over a score of times, felt the truthfulness of his
words, but could not realize how it was possible for the separation
to benefit them. To her the days seemed almost without end. To him
they were fraught with pleasure, saddened they might be a little
with a thought of the events so lately experienced, but gladdened by
the sunshine of new scenes, inspirited with new and holy emotions.
It was well for her weak faith that Mrs. Deane did not see him that
very evening walking with Miss Weston upon the sea-shore, engaged in
close conversation. She would have questioned how it was possible
that under such conditions his love for herself was growing more
intense; not thinking, in her shallow philosophy, that the contrast
of two lives exhibits more fully the beauties of each, and that it
was by this rule she was growing in his affections.

"We must wait awhile for our friends, Miss Weston; I see they are in
the rear," and he spread his shawl upon a rock, motioning her to be
seated, close by the foam-white waves.

Mr. Wyman and Florence soon came along. They had forgotten the
presence of every one. Nothing engaged their attention but the
lovely scene before them, while the moon's light silvered the
rippling surface of the waters. Their communion was not of words as
they all sat together that lovely summer eve. Soul met soul, and was
hushed and awed in the presence of so much that was entrancing, and
when they separated each was better for the deep enjoyment they had
mutually experienced.

"I may seem strange," remarked Miss Weston to her new friend, Miss
Vernon, the next morning, as they sat looking at the sea, so changed
in its aspect from that of the evening before, "that I should in the
company of comparative strangers, feel so little reserve. I know my
aunt would chide me severely, but I have not felt so happy for many
years. It may be that the influence of the ocean is so hallowed and
peaceful that our souls live their truer lives, but I have never
before opened my heart so fully to strangers. I wonder if I have
overstepped any of the lines of propriety?"

"I might have thought so once, but I see and feel differently now. I
think the soul knows its kin, and that it is not a matter of years
but of states which causes it to unfold."

"I am glad you feel so. I seemed so strange to myself, ever
conservative, now so open and free. I do not feel towards any of the
others here as I do towards you and your friends. I regret that I
have not a few days more to enjoy you all," she said quite sadly,
"as my aunt has written for me to come to her the last of this
week."

Miss Vernon could not help thinking how much more this fair being
had to impart to her aunt, for this season of rest and enjoyment. "I
wonder if the time will ever come," she often asked herself, "when
we can go when and where we gravitate, and not be forced
mechanically."

"I wish people could follow their natural attractions once in a
while, at least," said Miss Edith, and she fixed her fair blue eyes
on the sea.

Florence started; for it seemed as though she had read her thoughts.

"I suppose these limitations and restrictions are for our good, else
they would not be," replied Miss Vernon.

"And the desire to shake them off is natural, if not right; is it
not?"

"Natural, no doubt, and pleasant, if we could have the desire
granted; but duty is greater than desire, and circumstances may at
times impel us to the performance of the one rather than favor us
with the gratification of the other. What I mean is, that it is our
duty sometimes to take a part in scenes in which our hearts cannot
fully sympathize."

"And yet you say you are attracted heart and mind to Mr. Wyman and
his daughter. Is it not possible that, notwithstanding this, your
duty calls you elsewhere,--that some other soul may be in need of
your presence?"

"You have questioned me very close, Miss Weston, but I will answer
you promptly: I know of no one who needs me, else I should certainly
go. Remember this,--in following our attractions we should never lose
sight of our duties. They should go hand in hand."

"Very true. I feel that my aunt needs me, and I will go at once;
this very day. I have lost a part of my restless self, and gained
the repose I so much needed, since I have been here; and I am
indebted to you and your friends for the exchange. Now I will go
where duty calls."

"You have decided right, and I have no doubt you will be amply
remunerated for the seeming sacrifice you are making of the few days
of happiness you would have had in longer remaining here, had not
the summons come for you to leave."

"I do not doubt it; and yet Miss Vernon, I need your atmosphere. How
I wish our lives could mingle for awhile."

"If there ever comes a time when no earthly tie binds you, when duty
will permit you to follow this attraction, come and live with us,
and remain as long as you wish."

"With you?" exclaimed the astonished girl. "Can I? Is Mr. Wyman
willing?"

"He has authorized me to invite you."

"But would it be right? Will it certainly be agreeable to him?"

"Most assuredly. We all love you, and as for Mr. Wyman, he never
invites those to his home in whom he has no interest. So come. I
know you will."

"Thank him, for me," warmly responded Miss Weston, "and I trust the
time will arrive when I can more practically demonstrate how much I
thank you all for your kindness."

The morning was spent by Miss Weston in packing her trunk, and
making ready for her departure, much to the surprise of Mr. Wyman,
and to the disappointment of Mr. Deane, who had hoped for a longer
enjoyment of hours of communion with one so rich in goodness and
innocence of heart.

In her atmosphere all his hardness seemed to pass away. She was balm
to his troubled soul; light to his darkened vision. She would go
that day, and life, busy life, close over the fresh, happy hours,
and perchance never again before his vision would come that fair
young face.

He asked permission to ride with her to the station, and see to her
baggage and tickets. It was cheerfully granted, and in a moment all
was over. The train came, stopped but a second, then moved on, and
was soon hid from sight by a sharp curve. Then his past life came
over this little break, this brief respite, and he felt that he,
too, was ready to go and kindle anew the waning flame upon his
domestic hearth.

Dawn, to the surprise of her father, was greatly delighted when she
found Miss Weston was going.

"She is wanted there; some one in the air told me," she said, and
clapped her hands in glee.

Her departure made quite a break in the little party, and when Mr.
Deane made ready to go the next day, Florence and Mr. Wyman both
felt that their own stay was about over.

Judge of their surprise two days after, to receive a note from Miss
Weston, saying that her aunt had been seized with paralysis of the
brain the day she arrived, and would not recover.

Every test of this nature strengthened Mr. Wyman in the belief in
his daughter's vision, and he felt that there could be no safer
light placed in his path for him to follow; a light which no more
interferes with man's individuality or reasoning powers than the
falling of the rays of the sun upon the earth.

The cry of the multitude is, that mediumship and impressibility
detract from individual life, lessens the whole tone of manhood, and
transforms the subject to a mere machine. Such conclusions are far
from correct. Our whole being is enriched, and made stronger and
fuller by true impressibility. Are we in any degree depleted if we
for a time become messengers to bear from friend to friend, words of
love, cheer and encouragement? Are we mere machines, because we obey
the promptings of the unseen and go where sorrow sits with bowed
head, or want and misery wait for relief? If so, we are in good
service, and have the consciousness of knowing, that, being thus the
instruments of God's will, we cannot be otherwise than dear to him.

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