The Laurel Bush: An Old-Fashioned Love Story

hings we might well blame ourselves for, only we seldom do, our follies, blunders, errors, not counting actual sins? or the things for which we can blame nobody but Providence-if we dared-s

oly in the sight of Him who in the mysterious economy of the universe seems to have one absolute law-He wastes nothing. He modifies

people talking of a "wrecked" existence, that

ies' boarding-school, where she had in her charge two pupils, left behind for the holidays, while the mistress took a few weeks' repose. She sat watching the sea, which was very beautiful, as even the Bri

loped more and more. She was one of those governesses-the only sort who ought ever to attempt to be governesses-who really love children, ay, despite their naughtinesses and mischievousnesses a

t fatal year when a man took it and broke it. No, not broke it, but threw it carelessly away, wounding it

n when he said, "I will write tomorrow," and did not write, but let her drop from him al

ody knew any thing about it. And the wound even was healed, in a sort of a way, and chiefly by the unconscious hands of these li

ing the other in natural gradation-maidenhood, wifehood, motherhood: in not one of which, ordinarily, we regret the one before it, to which it is nevertheless impossible to go back. But Fortune's life

a look in her face, not at all like an ancient maiden or a governess, but almost motherly. You see the like in the faces of the Virgin Mary, as the old monks used to

ere astonished to find her, as a middle-aged woman, grown "so good-looking." To

erely endured life. Monotony without, a constant aching within-a restless gnawing want, a perpetual expectation, half hope, half f

eans of gaining information. But from his sudden change of plans, she was ignorant even of the name of the ship he had sailed by, the firm he had gone to. She could do absolutely nothing, and learn nothing.

hosts, but no

o me: 'tis

was ever

e living a

then I shou

ait for da

nd longings

rn "when he was dead or she was married." This implied that he never meant to lose sight of her. Nor, indeed, had he wished it, would it have been very difficult to find her, the

within a few months. At Christmas old Mrs. Dalziel had suddenly died; her son had returned home, sent his four boys to school in G

metimes, knowing it was not wholly for their sakes. But they had never been near her, and she had little expectation of seeing any of them ever again, since by this time she had lived lo

been lately driven from the last one by a catastrophe, if it may be called so, w

n kind and tender, regarding him with much the same sort of motherly feeling as s

young, who had seen her youth pass without any brightness in it, God knows what an allurement it is to feel she has still the power of brightening other lives. If Fortune had yielded-if she had said yes,

l happy." She could not-how could she? She felt very kindly to him. He had her sincere respect, almost affection; but when she looked into her own heart, she

"This can not be;" to put aside the cup of attainable happiness, which m

and alone, in one of those excellent "Governesses' Homes," where every body was very kind to her-some more than kind, affectionate. It was strange, she often thought, what an endless amount of affection followed

that peaceful rectory, with its quiet rooms and green garden; of the gentle, kindly hearted father, and th

e; "perhaps rather worse. Perhaps I am acting absolutely wrong in throwi

ping away-though, with her good salaries and small wants, she was not poor, and had already begun to lay up for a lonely old age-she accepted this temporary home at Miss Maclachlan's, at Brighton. Was it-so strange are the under-currents which guide one's

ocean. The very smell of the sea-weed, the lap-lap of the little waves, brought back old recollections

he joy that the w

ved-I hav

fe, even though to outsiders it might have appeared little better than a delusion, a dream. Once, and by one only, her whole nature had been drawn out, her ideal of

ely, had it happened to another person-his total, unexplained, and inexplicable desertion of herself. It was utterly irreconcilable with all she had ever known of

cious idleness, she roused herself to take her little girls down to the beach, and sat on the shingle while they played, the sound and sights of the sea brought old times so vividly back that she could almost have fancied coming behind her the famili

m. But this her heart absolutely refused to accept. So long as he was in it, the world would never be quite

e often found was a better help to their education than dozens of lessons, there was on her face that peaceful expression which is the greatest preservative of youth, the greatest antidote to cha

ut you are so like a lady I once knew, and

urly light hair, the mischievous twinkle of the eye, struck

u, though I was such a little fellow when you left us, and I have only seen your photograph since. But you are not a bit altered-not o

eighteen years and five feet ten of height, he looked down upon the governess, and patronized her quite tenderly-dismissing his friend and wa

St. Andrews one bit, t

nie, and her cottage,

and Mr. Roy. By-the-by

o

silent for so many years, made Fortune's heart throb till its beatin

ve never heard any th

m, a year or so after he went away; but we lost it somehow,

crept beside her, stealing a hand in hers. She held it fast, her own shook so; but gradually she grew quite herself again. "

strict, but he was a jolly old soul for all that. I believe I should know him again any day, as I did

d you never got

ed probably to the care of poor old grannie, as ours w

rtened with his increasing inches-and every idle

ingenuity that might have brought to any listener a smile or a tear, Miss Williams led the conversation round again till she could easily ask more concerning that one letter; but David, remembe

in-he was on a visit at Brighton before matriculating at Oxford next term-she sat down in own room, with a strangely bewildered feeling. "Mine, all min

enceforward to see, as much as she could of young D

ord, and do his best there. His German education had left him few English friends. He was an affectionate, simple-hearted lad, and now that his mischievous days were done, was taking to thorough hard work. He attached himself to his old governess with an enthusiasm that a lad in his teens often conceives fo

, and so it was; but not exactly in the way people thought. The spell of silence upon her life had been broken, and though she knew all sensible persons would esteem her in this, as in that other matter, a great "fool," still she could not stifle a vague h

and the messag

favorite daily rides, and threw a newspape

just sent. There's something in

n it, as she watched the waves, full of that pleasant idleness and dreamy peace so new in her life, and which the sound of the sea so often brings to peaceful hearts, who have no dislike to its monotony, no dr

bsolutely nothing, had she not remembered David's newspaper; which, just to please him, she must look through. She did so, and in the corner, among the brief list of names in

and a half years, Isabella, the only and be

been her secret dread of the contrary. And he was married. His "only and beloved daughter?

lost it-he who was so tender of heart, so fond of children. The thought of his grief brought such a consecration with it, that her grief-the grief most women might be expected to feel on reading suddenly in a newspaper that the man they loved was married to another-did not come. At least no

almost see him with the little one in his arms, or watching over her bed, or standing beside her small coffin. Three years and a half old! Then he must ha

d but God-and she was not afraid of His hearing-and the struggle was over. She saw Robert Roy,

the same shore, the same earth and sky, was a totally different woman. Something was lo

w where he was, and what had happened to him. The silence of all these years w

a little with them, admiring the fishes; and when she reached home, and found David Dalziel in the drawing-room, met him and thanked him for bringing her the newspaper. "I suppose it was on acco

made a faint movement to snatch it out, then disguised the gesture in some way, and silently watched it burn. "I don't qu

not the sort of pers

han once afterward, when David referred to the matter. And then the la

humble independence which she was determined to win before the dark hour when the most helpful become helpless, and the most independent are driven to fall a piteous burden into the charitable hands of

fe wears women out very fast. She determined to begin to work again immediately, laying by as much as possible yearly against the days when she could work no more; consulted Miss Maclac