Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1859-12-30
0Noreestrr 1alIp gpp.
THE DIARY OF MARGARET READE;
AFTERWARDS MRS. LAKE, OF NEW LONDON, IN
Ills MAJ'TY'S COLONY OF CONNECTICUT.
EDITED BY MARTHA RUSSELL.


Philip had written; but in what spirit would
would he speak to me, now, while he was
away with only his silent memories of my
rage and wilfulness, my taunts and scorn, to
rise up agains me. could notbear to wait.
sent to uncle to know if there was letter for
me. "Tell her the man comes from Ely, not
London, was the answer But l was not to
be put off with this and again sent to say
would know if he had news of my Husband
Then Uncle came himself, with some testing
word about my installing Ely for London,
but, oh, could have wept at another time, to
see how his poor sad face and trembling
hands did belle his words. But now, l could
not stay. / said must and would know what
word my Husband wrote. He looked at me
pityingly moment, then his grey old head
dropped suddenly, and the words came broken
by sobs
"You must be wiser than l, Peggy, in this
dreadful business and mayhap may explain it.
wonld have kept it from you awhile longer,
but it might be mistaken Mercy. Philip is
gone. He has sailed for the New England
Plantations For the love of Heaven tell us
what it means He leaves it to you'll"
Gone! The word fell so low, and deep, and
cold in my heart, that l could not lift it to my
lips, or ask where 4? | only held out my hand
for the letters which trembled in his, one open,
and the seal OF the other unbroken and bearing
my name; the first, oh the misery of it ! the
first letter my Husband ever wrote me!
flung aside Uncle's and tore it open, and read
my Husbands heart truly for the first time
all his hopes and all his despair-all | might
have had, and all | had lost. He would not
blame me, that | could not love him. | could
not give (alaS although thought might
what was not in my power. He had tried to
put himself in my place and feel that 1t was
a dreadful mistake. But, it was none the less
hard for him to bear; and | would feel that
his own Manhood would not letshim consentto
take the second place in his Wife's heart or
press his presence upon her unwilling eyes,
until aversion turned to hate. He could not
take life on such terms. He had seemed hard
God only knew how much such seeming hard
ness had cost him. He had done what he
thought, and if human pride had mingled with
his feelings, he prayed God and me to forgive
linn. Esther would explain all to me- He
should sail for the New England Plantations
on the morrow after this writing. could fol-
low my own liking about returning to Little
croft. He felt he had little right to ask me to
do so; but should / find, as he feared might,
that Ryalside could never be to me the same
as of old l would find Littlecroft still kept
open for my reception. He had so ordered.
Such money as might be at his command |
would receive through the hands of John
Hasbrouke, solicitor at Sevenoaks.
/ staid not then to read the piteous pleading
for Gods mercy, and my forgiveness if he had
/ uorlS for
the cloud of utter Darkness that did suddenly
shut me in. [ scarcely heard my Uncle's
pleading, that | would speak to him !; that |
would explain this strange business, as Philip,
in his letter, had told him l would. | only
pointed to mine and staggered, like one stricken
with sudden blindness, to my bed. My Sin
had brought its Reward, and | was stunned by
the stroke. l neither spoke nor moved for
many days. | had no strength to pray for
Death, so utterly was all power of hope or
thought, or wish crushed out of me. Uncle
and Aunt begged and prayed me to rouse
myself. | only gazed stonily in their poor,
sad faces, and wondered they did not die.
Then they spoke Of my condition, OF my UNI
born baby, who might yet be to me even what
Guy had been to them. But my whole heart
seemed turned to stone, and the thought of
bringing another Life into this world, to sin
and suffer like me, was utter misery Naeth
less. this strange new Life would not let NE
die. 1t would have me live and, in time,
went YEARLY about the old places. But, with
my returning strength, there came back the
old feeling of hardness toward Philip, intensi-
fed in proportion to my shame and remorse
during my late illness. He had heaped Goals
of fire on my head, and gone away in silent
sscorn, tried toithink, of both my sorrow and
gratitude and whatever might be in the Past,
this was hardest of all to forgive. Briefly as
/ could told them all, and, strangely enough,
Aunt did take up for me, and her harsh anger
against Philip did wound me to the quick.
This, at last, determined me to return to Little
Croft. There was great Opposition to this,
even Uncle pleading my coming Trial, and
the lack of love and care / mi ght find there.
I said, with harshness which it pains me to
recall. that my child should not lack
Fathers roof, even if it lacked Il Fathers
blessing" But, the shame of this false
hood burnt my cheek, the next instant
for how could he bless that, even in Hope,
whose coming l had SO carefully and wilfully
concealed from him If my heart had not
been hardened, like unto Pharaoh's, think
their glief would have moved me- But, amid
the frosts and black weather Of March, went
back to Little Croft, and moody settled down
to meet my fate Death or Life, to me 1t mat
tered not which. 1t seemed strange, at TINS
time, that Mrs. Lakes manner to me grew soft
and tender. She, thought, had most reason
to hate me. She said nothing, asked no ques-
tions. but would come down and sit by my
side, knitting diligently, the while; and, now
and then, when she thought | did not observe,
casting strange, sorrowsul looks at me from
her great BLACK eyes. Was she, at last, TO be-
come to me the shadow of a great Rock in
weary Land as Philip had once said? Ii so,
the Rock itself was crumbling, for saw that
her form was bowed slightly and her hands
hand caught trick of trembling. One day,
she placed by my side, without word,
a basket of baby's clothes the produce of
Esthers fine Needle, and began to cry. | felt
a great tear drop on my hand, as she laid hers
on nv head, and said in a voice that quivcred
and shook flake heart Child. What is
watered with tears may become Bow of
Promise. the seal of a hoer Covenant. Re"
member the words of the good King Hezekiah,
when in the bitterness Of his Som, he cried, 80
lord. by all these Things men Ece and in all these
Thinos is the Life of my Spirit"
turned and kissed her cheek, and from
that hour there has been no need of words be-
tween us. She is well practiced in the wis.
dom of Silence; and even when she received
my living baby in her arms and lad 1t IN
mine, she spoke no word of its father Tor wen
she knew the might OF that little helpless lace,
the power in those tiny neryecss myers ",
Philip, my Husband, how willingly, IN the Joy
and agony of that hour, would have gone
from your sight forever, and from the lace OF
nv child, if i could have laid it in your arms,
and heard the words Of pardon and blessing
from your lips And yet the Pride, the strong
unbendng Pride of my nature, would not let
me speak this thought, but raised ever before
me the face of my Husband, looking estrange'
ment upon me. | sat dumb III TINS dark