Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1860-01-03


knees; saying its soft touch did seem to
still the sharp twinges of pain that always
haunted her frail body. l could not but think
that her face wore far more of a Mothers
gladness than mine own. She, too, spoke not
of the child's father, much to my wonder,
until after dinner Then, when 1 held it to
my breast, and she sat watching me, she said
softly "Poor thing poor little thing would
that it could thus easily draw away the black
cloud of trouble and misunderstanding that
has come between its parents Will it never
be, Margaret? Will you leave your child
fatherless go
So the blame was all mine, even in Esther's
view, | thought, and it sharpened my words
to bitterness as l answered. "Philip left me of
his own good will. Itwas his pleasure to do
so, and 1 shall never trouble him with Com
plants though, doubtless, when he knows, he
will think me as unfit for Mother as Wife, and
come to claim my Child. 1t will be piece of
all the restp
Margaret" she exclaimed, and her pale
sunken cheeks were flushed with shame for
me, and my eyes fell slowly before her steady,
reproachful look. Margaret, Philip never
was knowingly unjust to the humblest thing
that crawls, How much less then to one
whose lightest glance was more to him, than
another's prayer! If this must be, let us be
Just and speak of him soberly and truly, as we
speak of the Dead. l have some words that
must be said, and which you must hear, not
only for his sake but for that of the little one
There is tale to be told, tale Of crime con-
cealed by family Pride, which has brought
Mlstrust and Strife between you and Philip
His tongue was tied by mistaken sense of
honor, | suppose, it is for the reason that
God so early set me outside of all the hopes
and joys Of woman, that l have not under
stood; but knowing how closely you grew to
Philips heart, l can never cease to wonder
that he should prove so strong where he was
so weak,-should break his Heart before he
would break his Word You thought him
mean, close, misery, Margaret, him, who from
boyhood scorned such things. You contrasted
him with Richard, to his disadvantage, while
he was condemned to bear in silence the bur-
den OF Richards sin. For, alas, it was Rich
ards wrong-doing which forced him to do
what you accounted mean and misery. Lis
ten r she went on putting her face close to
mine, with a kind of frightened look as if she
feared the walls would heal, r." Richard inher-
tied his fathers vices,-he forgot his Name,
his Honour, his Mother, the memory of your
dead Father, the Trust of the Orphan, in his
passion for gaming. He Staked not only his
own, but all your wealth, at the gaming table,
and lost. Before you were married, his Crime
had made you penniless. Even our Mothers
Jointuro was hopelessly encountered. | think
Philip had some hint of this at that time but
it was so easy for Richard to put him off with
some jeer about his Greed, while Philip shrunk
from the very seeming of eagerness about his
WHes money, Some word that he had from
London, by Robert Marchant, at the time of
Richards visit to Netherfield, brought Qua the
truth. You may remember the night they
came so late, from Uxon, Il think, you knew at
the time more about it than |, for Philip hath
told me this since, or so mnch as was neces-
sary,) and the long talk they had in our Moth
er's room? If our Mother hath loved much
she hath suffered. Richard had been her Idol
and the Sin well nigh killed her 1t was like
the quick thunderbolt irving the strong tree.
She would give up all-give up Netherfield to
Philip and you, become second in the house
where she had ruled so long, to keep shame
from his name and do justice to you. Philip,
the sufferer, became the burthen bearer
There was struggle of will between him and
her. He would not take his rights. And
he carried his point by promising that he
would keep the story Of Richards guilt a
secert from all. 1t may have been wrong
! suppose it was, inasmuch as it was an
attempt to cover tue sin which God himself
says shall find us out. But they thought other.
wise then. thought that you should be told;
and when Philip was about leaving for Amer
ica asked him why he told you not. He
only turned away his head and answered with
groan. Being woman, | could see better
than he, think, how it made him look in your
eyes, when it turned you out OF Whitethorns
and did SO urge the matter, that finally won
him to say might tell you all. L could not
bear that you should misunderstood him so
terribly; and that, too, at the very moment
when he was giving up all his own that re-
NAMED TO provide you maintenance; when he
was going out again to seek his fortune in the
wilderness 1t is a heavy penalty TO pay for
another's sins y
And here was the noble Philip Lake, my
Husband, restored to me again! Oh, it was
dreadful to think how | had wronged him
He had done all this, believing mistakenly all
the time, that l. his own Wife, loved that bro
Their, and not himsef Esthers whispered
words were like so many sharp knives irving
my heart. | forgot Richard and his sin
cared not for them. | saw nothing but Phil
ip's nobleness blackened shamed and tortured
by my scorn and mistrust. | saw how my
witless praises of Richard had naturally
strengthened his thought in regard to me,
until shameful silence, on that last night at
Little Croft, dtd make it sure and how with
Esther, as with my Uncle, he had kept this
thought secret, and gone forth to a lonely
life of perjury and sorrow. | could not speak
further to Esther. The shame and misery
choked me. | dared not look in the face of
his child, and laying it back in her arms, l fled
to my room. My sefdeceptions and self,jus
tffioatons were all gone, fed away, dissipated
forever; and lay shrinking and quailing be-
fore the loathsome image of myself. The pa
tent Angel, whose hand had so unwillingly
troubled this stagnant pool of self-righteousness
and sin, would have held out the balm of heal.
ing, but shrunk from her tonch, and turned
from her pity, seeing for myself no right to
ANYTHING but remorse and despair. Sure
ly "the way of transgressors is hard"
l do think Madness would have settled
on my brain, had not God held me still in re-
membrance, and sent to me his servant from
beyond the seas, even my cousin Elizabeth's
husband, Mr.. John Winthrope. Mr.. Winthrope
had seen Philip, and did not fear TO speak
plainly of our unhappy state, and of the Pride,
and Will, and lack Of Confidence that had
caused it. Some things, he said, stirred the
old leaven within me to an attempt at justifica-
ton; but he put it down, and set his heel
upon it, saying that as the weaker vessel
was bound to pay due obedience to my Hus-
band, and to coniide in him without question,
as the head OF the woman, keeping, in the
words of the Apostle, "silence, as one command
ed TO be under OBEDIENCE" 1t was sharp medi-
cine, but it worked its end with me and when
he saw me ready to cast aside all seemings,
and show him my heart, his words were ten.
der and wise as any Mothers to a child. He
showed me, how from the meanest Worm to
the brightest Angel, Love is the guerdon of
Obedience, and how in his youth the example
IF his own honored Mother kept his heart and