"Very likely. But the difficulty is to make this impression. We tell the heathen, man, woman, or child, that Christ died on the Cross to redeem us. Would he not lend us more earnest attention if we ill.u.s.trated our instruction by exhibiting to him an image of the Cross and the Crucified--in short, if we taught him, as did the ancients, the whole story of Redemption, and the establishment of the Church, by series of pictures and images?"
"What is the use of going back thousands of years ago when we are living in the nineteenth century? Why not make use of the art of printing since we have it?"
"Certainly, wherein it is of advantage. But the majority of those whom the missionary seeks to instruct are beyond the reach of that admirable art. Letters have for them no meaning; books are for them only to look at; and with a picture the eye is instructed and more pleased."
"Let us send to Rome for a cart-load of Madonnas, crucifixes, beads, and all the et ceteras for satisfying and perpetuating superst.i.tion and ignorance," said Philip, sarcastically.
Della was sensitive to ridicule and remained silent. Her husband continued:
"Or, since you deem yourself a supernumerary in your present vocation, suppose you allow me to pack you off in the return-cart to the Eternal City, that is said to sit over the mouth of Il Inferno. You may kiss the toe of his Holiness, and humbly ask penance for the rest of your mortal life for having presumed to be a Protestant missionary"s wife, and carried the Bible to the dying heathen."
"The subject is too serious for any such nonsense," remarked the wife, gravely. "The question is _how_ to convert the heathen. It seems to me the true missionary of the Cross should not be above receiving prudent suggestions from whatever source; more particularly ourselves, who are inexperienced in the work."
"You are right, Della, as you always are," replied the husband, more sincerely. "I have been revolving the subject over, and have come to a firm resolution to turn over a new leaf on our return to the mission. If Mrs. Fisher were not so peevish and Mrs. Dodd so distressingly particular, we could get along better in the kitchen; the native girls would do better, and improve. If you were to oversee that department, I think there would be a change greatly for the better. The truth is, I believe those women are afraid of being poisoned. They ought to give their time in the school. If they tried to make it interesting there would be a better attendance. It is all nonsense to spend one"s whole time in getting up dainty dishes, and _recherche_ toilets for one"s babies. At all events we must arouse ourselves from this slough of indifference and give our best energies to the work. We have not made half a trial yet. How can we expect success to follow aught but energetic effort?"
Distance lent enchantment. Now that the missionaries were hundreds of miles away, the labors of the mission seemed easy of accomplishment, and the daily, hourly difficulties and hindrances dwindled into insignificance.
Scarcely a month later and Philip St. Leger bent in thankfulness over a little daughter, which the doctor said might live.
"We will call her Della," said Philip to his wife.
"Not Della, but Althea. I give her to G.o.d, Philip. May she do for Him what I have not been able."
Philip had turned to his wife that he might the better catch her feeble whispers. O, the dread that rushed through his heart! A ghastly pallor was spread over the face, a convulsive spasm distorted for a moment the sweet mouth.
"I am going--O, Philip," she said, wildly, and ere he had time to call on G.o.d for mercy she was gone.
"Good G.o.d, doctor, is she really dead?" cried Philip, as soon as he could speak to the physician upon the opposite side, whose fingers now let fall the pulseless wrist.
"All is over," answered the physician, sadly.
"Why did you not call me sooner if you saw the danger? How dared you not inform me at once?" demanded Philip.
"Pray be quiet, my dear sir. It was very sudden--entirely unantic.i.p.ated--although I had been suspecting disease of the heart. Her lungs were a good deal affected, but her heart I think the immediate cause of her death. Otherwise, she was doing nicely, bravely, better than could be expected. You have met with a great loss, sir--a wonderful loss--your wife was a n.o.ble woman. G.o.d help you!"
Della St. Leger was buried by the side of the first and third Mrs.
Adams, the second having been buried on an island in the sea. The latter had been a Southern lady, and had brought with her a colored woman, at that time her slave. This person, Minerva by name, remained still an invaluable member of Dr. Adams" household. To her care the little motherless Althea was entrusted; and Philip St. Leger, with what heart may be imagined, went back alone to his dreary mission.
CHAPTER IX.
THE NEW CHOICE.
We have given a more thorough retrospect of the missionary"s antecedents than did he to his friend on that memorable night at Kennons. But the gleam of his flashing eye, and the glow of the sparkling flame into which he gazed was like flint to flint; and to us was it given mysteriously to read the fiery flashes thus revealed.
From the death of Della, he went on to inform his brother-in-law that he had brought back his child in care of the faithful Minerva, whom he had left with his younger sister for the present. He did _not_ tell him that the real object of his present visit to America was to take to himself a wife for the second time. This, however, he might, have told, had he not found his friend in such affliction, as that any news of this kind must have grated upon him harshly.
Indeed, several months previously he had written to the princ.i.p.al of the Seminary for her to select a suitable young lady for his future wife.
This was not the first time her offices had been solicited in this line; but she was an elderly lady, sensible and practical, and naturally thought that a missionary"s second wife should be distinguished for something more than youth and beauty.
Accordingly, when, upon Philip"s arrival in his native city, he had visited his friends, and disposed of his daughter, he called upon Madame X--, she presented to him her choice for Mrs. St. Leger, in the person of Miss Arethusa Toothaker, the eldest, tallest, most sedate young lady of her establishment.
Miss Toothaker was of an uncertain age, though she called herself twenty-seven--was tall, as we have said, and slender, had a long, narrow head, which she carried on a neck too long, had very red cheeks, small snapping black eyes, very thin hair, of which she wore in front two very meagre curls done in cork-screw style, held her broad shoulders high, as if vainly striving to get them far as possible from her long, ant-like waist--well, this is enough, for at the very first glance Philip St.
Leger turned away his eyes and closed his heart.
Upon taking his leave Philip informed Madame that Miss Toothaker would not do.
Madame was surprised; "She would make a worthy companion," insisted the princ.i.p.al, "and the dream of her life has been to become the wife of a missionary."
The missionary smiled--he would not disturb her dreams for the world--but "would Madame X--allow him to be present at the morning exercises of the school some day?"
"Certainly, any morning you please--to-morrow, if agreeable, you can open school with prayer and address some useful remarks to the young ladies."
On the following morning was great commotion in the ranks of the young ladies. The handsome, distinguished foreign missionary was to open school. At the "let us pray," a hundred young heads rested upon the upraised right hand; but it is to be feared that authorized devotional att.i.tude was sadly infringed upon, for, when he p.r.o.nounced "Amen" sooner than was antic.i.p.ated, he encountered so many bright admiring eyes that a less self-possessed person than Philip might have been abashed. As our hero had studied his speech, however, he was able to commence and go through without the slightest embarra.s.sment. His keen eye swept the array of youth and beauty before him, and so quick was he in arriving at conclusions, his choice was made before his remarks were ended.
A person of less penetration might have chosen many another than Emily Dean. There were several among her compeers of more beauty and brilliance. But Philip St. Leger was a good judge of character; he had but to look upon a face to read the heart. He had loved Della Lisle from hearing her voice, and from one glance at her countenance. Emily Dean wore her hair, like hers also in color and abundance, as had Della. In this only was resemblance, unless in a certain pensiveness of expression and pose of att.i.tude.
Madame X--was again surprised, when, in the afternoon of the same day, the missionary asked for an interview with "the young lady who had occupied the fifth seat on the right hand side of the third row, who wore her hair somewhat like a crown, and was dressed in pale blue."
"Ah! Emily Dean--a very fine girl--but is she not too young--hardly nineteen?"
"I myself am not a Methuselah," remarked the missionary, somewhat piqued that although but thirty-one, he should be esteemed too unsuitably old for even the youngest of Madame X----"s pupils.
"Of course--O certainly--of course--I beg your pardon," said the lady hastily, "but a missionary"s wife, you know--there is much to be considered."
Philip, evidently bent upon doing his own considering, pursued his inquiries, and gained the interview. He proposed to the young lady in presence of the princ.i.p.al, and in so very business-like a way as convinced both the elder and the younger that there was more practicability beneath that poetical exterior, than the latter would have suggested or warranted them in believing.
Philip was not long in discovering Emily Dean to be the eldest child of an independent farmer in Western New York. She had four sisters and three brothers younger than herself. "With such a family, the father can more easily part with this daughter," thought Philip; and he started off on the next train to visit the family of the Deans.
Emily he found to be a favorite in the household. His proposition to take her with him "away to the barbarous Turk" was received with consternation and tears. The more, that it was felt, from the first, that if she wished it they should have to give her up.
The enthusiastic suitor proposed the father should at once go for his daughter and conduct her home. To all objections and demurrers as to haste and postponement Philip had a ready and eloquent answer. There was no gain-saying this ardent pleader.
The farmer left his host of potato-gatherers and apple-pickers and went off on the express. In twenty-four hours he returned with his daughter.
Philip would have given no time for preparations--but in this he was forced to yield.
The parents insisted their eldest daughter should have a wedding _trousseau_--it was not meet she should set out on so long a voyage, across the ocean of water, and the ocean of married life, in the condition of Miss Flora McFlimsey. So Philip St. Leger took this interval of time for his flying trip to his brother-in-law in Virginia.
But he found, as we have seen, the gloom of death spread over Kennons.
Had he needed aught to convince him anew of the evanescent nature of all beneath the sun, he found it here. It was indeed painful to contrast the joy and happiness of this Southern home of little more than six years ago, and the present desolation. In that joy he had shared--in this gloom was his own heart wrung. In the moment of mournful silence that followed his long; discourse and Duncan"s, life seemed to him not worth the living, and rising from his chair he said, with marked emphasis:
"Duncan, my friend, we are but travelers of a day. Our life, like that fire, goes out in ashes. The night comes, and we sleep. _Do_ we rise again? Does this corruption put on incorruption--this mortal put on immortality? O, could I hear a voice from Heaven say unto me "_Yes_," I should be comforted!"
"Why, Philip! Have you, too, doubts? G.o.d Almighty help us, when the faith of His ministers falters!"