Winifred Martin. A story of English family life ... With illustrations, etc

Front matter

WINIFRED MARTIN % Siora of (Shiglisfr Jfamilg-^ifc By MRS. ELLEN ROSS AUTHOR OF "A CANDLE LIGHTED BY THE LORD," "THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK, " LITTLE MOTHER MATTIE," ETC, ETC. WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALLIS MACKAY " Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous ; not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing : but contrariwise blessing ; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing. "- i Peter iii. 8, 9 WILLIAM MULLAN AND SON LONDON AND BELFAST Hazell, Watson , and Viney, Printers, London and Aylesbury. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. CAUSE FOR ALARM I II. MORE PEACE THAN STORMS 1 3 III. AUNT MARION 26 IV. SUNSHINE IN SORROW 38 V. "ROMANCING" 51 VI. A QUIET ENTERTAINMENT 63 VII. A WRECKED LIFE 77 VIII.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP 92 IX. LIFE'S CHANGES 107 X. A HUMBLE FRIEND 119 XL TERRIBLE MEMORIES 1 33 XII. COMMON SENSE 145 XIII. A TASTE FOR HOME- PEACE 1 58 XIV. AN ENCHANTED SCENE 171 XV. DEAD 185 XVI. DISAPPOINTED 204 XVII. A QUIET CHRISTMAS 21 7 XVIII. WOOED AND WON 230 XIX. A COSY CHAT 244 XX. " THE LARGER HOPE " 260 XXI. "LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT" CONTENTS. IV HAP. fAGE xxn. "low life" 2^7 XXIII. THE REST OF FAITH 3°2 XXIV. A PENNY GAFF 3'6 XXV. IN THE WORLD'S SHOW 333 XXVI. HOME AGAIN 347 XXVII. THE BEREAVED MOTHER 360 XXVIII. .IN PRISON 373 XXIX. NOT LIVED IN VAIN 387 XXX. A LITTLE SECRET 4OI XXXI. SOMETHING GOING TO HAPPEN .... 413 XXXII. DEAD 428 XXXIII. CHANGED CONDITIONS 44I XXXIV. A FAMILY TIFF 451 XXXV. " PASSED UP THE STARRY HEIGHTS " . . . 463 XXXVI. LOVE AND MARRIAGE

Chapter I

> CAUSE FOR ALARM. s T was no unusual thing for Winnie Martin to -"- be sitting alone in her bedroom in a brown study ; but it was very unusual for her reverie to be of the kind into which she had fallen one Sunday evening, — a memorable Sunday evening, many years ago. Winnie was not what one would call a religious girl. She had been in the habit of attending church all her life, but simply as a matter of form ; reading the prayers and lessons out of her Church-Service with becoming attention, and at sermon-time settling herself in a corner of the family pew to indulge in reverie, or to carry on whispered or pantomimic intercourse with her brothers and sisters. Even now that she had arrived at her eighteenth year, she I found it irksome to try to take in a part of any sermon she heard. Her mind was not set at all upon serious things : it was not that they were distasteful to her; but sheVwas simply careless about them.

And yet on this Sunday evening, of which I am writing, her Bible lay open before her on her little dressing-table, and her reverie had taken its com plexion from what she had been reading. The evening was a lovely one, late in August. Winnie imagined how beautiful it must be out in country places, where trees, and leafy lanes, and bright green fields, and streams abounded ; but of the fairness of the evening all she could see was the golden sunshine gleaming on dingy roofs and chimneys, and lighting up the brazen vane of a church steeple not far off, whose evening chimes had but a little while ceased. Besides this, there was a tolerably wide space of the sky, flecked with the daintiest little clouds — pearly, rose-coloured, and violet-hued, — looking more beautiful in contrast with the volumes of smoke which were issuing from two or three huge mill-chimneys in the neighbourhood, and which rose up as if bent upon sullying the purity of the lazily floating cloudlets.

Winnie's home was in a northern manufacturing town, and quite in the heart of it, so that she saw but little of nature, even from her eyrie of a room, which was at the top of the house and at the back, — not just the position that the generality of young ladies would have coveted for a bedroom, yet one that Winnie, did covet, and secure too, when she was sixteen : but then, as everybody in the house said (excepting her mother), "Winnie was so peculiar." Winnie was the third child in a family of six. Her father was a physician, one of the leading men in the town, of high repute in his profession, and of extensive practice. Winnie had received her education, with her two elder sisters, at a fashionable boarding-school, about three miles out of the town, which they had at tended as day-boarders, being driven to and fro daily in one of their father's vehicles.

They had now " finished " their education, and were pronounced by their acquaintances clever, accomplished young ladies. Winnie had been allowed to leave school before her eighteenth birthday, which was earlier by a year or two than her sisters, Isabel and Agnes, had done ; but her mother was in such precarious health, and Winnie's company was so pleasant to her, that she readily granted the girl's request to leave school at that period. " I will indeed study at home, mamma ! " Winnie had promised. "You know I am bookily inclined; and it will not be at all irksome to me to keep up my studies." Mrs. Martin was well pleased to have her at home entirely. Winnie had a most affectionate and sym pathizing disposition ; and now that her mother was hopelessly ill, suffering from cancer, she devoted her self to the dying woman with an ardour that was deeply appreciated.

I speak of her as a dying woman, although at that time the whole family lived in hope of her recovery. During the past week she had undergone an opera tion which they were sanguine enough to believe would prove successful, and restore her to her house hold in comparative health. Isabel and Agnes, having very little heart, refused to think seriously of her illness, on account of the hope there was of its passing away. But across Winnie's mind frequently swept the thought of failure, and like a great wave over whelmed her young spirit. " If mamma should die, I shall have no one," she would say, gazing into the future with great dread of the desolation that might come upon her. And her soul would wail out, " Oh, she must not die." If human devotion could save from death, Winnie would have saved her mother.

But, alas, what avails it when the. fiat has gone forth concerning our dear ones, and they are called by the Master ? On this bright Sunday of which I speak, Mrs. Martin had been in great pain all day, and Winnie had kept constant watch beside her. During half the preceding night Winnie had been watching also, so that when the evening came Mrs. Martin entreated her to go and lie down, as she felt better herself, and she was anxious that Winnie should get a little rest. She refused, with all sorts of urgent excuses, to leave her mother alone, her brothers and sisters being at church, and her father absent on a professional visit. But when he came in, much earlier than they expected, she consented to go away to her room for a while. When she got there, instead of lying down, she sat down to her dressing-table, and opened her Bible.

The chapter which first caught her eye was that one containing the parable of the talents. She read it through, as if it were new to her, and then looking up at herself in the glass, she said audibly, as she had a habit of doing when alone, '"But I am sure I have no talents. I am just nothing at all, only plain little Winnie, whom everybody looks down upon, and snubs, and patronizes. Even the boys, younger than I by years, snap and scold me as if I were the merest chit of a girl. They know that I am just nothing: I am not clever, or brilliant, or even pretty. I think if I were as pretty even as Isabel or Agnes, I would use that as a talent to make me pleasant and winning to people in trouble or sickness. But you see, Winnie," she went on, looking at herself, "you are not pretty; that's a plain fact, for I know what beauty is wherever I see it, and if it were in you, Winnie, I should be the first to recognise it.

But you have a face that I shouldn't think to look at twice in a crowd. Your nose isn't worth mentioning, your mouth and lips are masculine, your cheek-bones are too high, your complexion is florid enough to suggest bricks, and your grey eyes are better for see ing than for being seen. Then your hair is red ; and everybody cries out about red hair. Well, I must make the best of you, Winnie, but you're a sorry affair, I must confess. No, certainly I haven't the talent of beauty to account for; and, indeed, I don't see that I have any one at all. If I have, I should like to find it out; for how angry th2 Master was with the servant who hid the only one he had in the earth ! Now, some women have the ability and courage to go away to foreign lands to teach the heathen ; some the faculty for winning and guiding the heathen at home ; some can speak on platforms as well as men ; some can write books ; and some can paint pictures which have power to lift the heart up.

But really there is nothing that I can think of that I could do. Here I am in this prosy town-home the youngest girl but one of the family, looked upon by all as eccentric, old-fashioned, plain, useless, — ex cepting that I can attend to mamma now she is ill. And yet I should like to be and to do something. I should like talents to use for the good of others. If I had courage and ability to speak, I might visit sick people. But I think I am not even clever enough for that. However, I shall speak to mamma about this talent question, and hear what she says on the subject." Winnie resumed her reading for a time, and then again relapsed into a reverie, which lasted a long time. At the end of it she knelt down beside her bed, only to relieve her overburdened heart with weeping. Her tears were her only prayers ; for she uttered nothing with her lips.

When she lifted her head from the bed, she thought she heard someone come in below. She listened in tently, and then heard heavy steps ascending the stairs. She immediately washed her face, which the tears had made almost as florid as her disparaging remarks would make us believe it to be, brushed her hair, and went softly downstairs to her mother's room. There were deep voices within, besides her father's, so she knocked timidly. Her father appeared, his face looking graver and paler than usual. " Can't I come in, papa ? Is anything the matter ? " asked Winnie, with sudden trembling of heart. "Mamma is not so well, so I ran out to meet Dr. Richards and Dr. Stanforth, as they came from church," he replied, in a whisper. " Don't be fright ened, Winnie : I thought I should like their opinion.

You shall come in directly : go and sit down in the drawing-room a few minutes." "And was mamma alone while you ran out?" asked Winnie, anxiously. " No, child : but I thought you were asleep. Go now, for a few minutes." Winnie obeyed, and walked mechanically to the drawing-room windows, and looked out upon the gaily-dressed crowds going past from places of wor ship and from holiday jaunts. " Ah, how giddy and thoughtless they are ! How unconscious of the misery in this house, and in many another which they pass by ! " she sighed. Then she saw nothing distinctly, although she continued gazing, for her attention was drawn to the adjoining room : the door was opened, but as yet no one had come out. She longed yet dreaded to hear the words that were being spoken, only an indistinct murmur of voices reaching her.

The seconds seemed more than minutes to her until steps came out on the landing, then she sprang forward to arrest them. " Dr. Stanforth, is mamma worse ? Is anythino unexpected the matter ? " she asked in tones of quiet, pitiful entreaty. " Do come in and tell me. " Your father will tell you, Miss Winnie," replied the doctor. But urged by voice and hand, he stepped into the drawing-room. " No : pray do tell me. And don't be guarded and hesitating, as perhaps papa will be when I ask him. Let me know the very worst, please, doctor. Surely you know how terrible suspense is." The kindly, grave face, up to which she looked so earnestly, grew graver at her words. "I wish you wouldn't ask me," he said : "your father will tell you all." " Is she dead ? " asked Winnie suddenly, her face turning quite pale.

" No, no." " But must she die ? Is it impossible that she can get better ? " " I fear it is." " Then she has become worse this evening ? " "Yes, there is a change for the worse. Do be brave, Miss Winnie. The trial you have to pass through is terrible ; but remember there are worse sorrows than losing our dear ones, who are ready and longing for a better country." " I really cannot say," answered Winnie, feeling as if she were sounding the deepest depth of sorrow at the present moment. " But / can, for I have lost my dear ones : and yet I know a greater sorrow than that." A thought struck Winnie ; and she asked suddenly and involuntarily, " How is Mrs. Stanforth ? " But the very next moment, bitterly condemning the manner in which she spoke, she added, " My trouble is apt to make me selfish, and forgetful of my friends.

I have been much shut up lately, too." " She is going on well, thank you. I suppose you know we have another baby ? " " Indeed, no ! How old is it ? " asked Winnie, surprised. " A week. Come up when you can : my wife always welcomes you, and the walk will do you good." " When I can, doctor ; but you see how we are here : and where my heart is my presence must be now. You will tell Mrs. Stanforth about me, if she is well enough to bear ill news. Please give my affectionate regards, and say I will come as soon as possible. Thank you, doctor, for answering my questions." She walked downstairs with him, and let him out ; then went back to keep impatient watch for the exit of the other doctor. While sitting thus alone in the gathering gloom the room being lighted only by a street-lamp below, and by the rising moon, the other members of the family came in and upstairs with gay chatter, inter spersed with a short, light laugh now and then.

Winnie met them on the landing, with a " Hush ! Come in here quietly," she said : " mamma is worse. Dr. Richards is with her now, and Dr. Stanforth is only just gone." " Dear me ! " exclaimed Isabel, sinking on the first chair at hand, " what a turn you have given me, child ! That's just like you, Winnie, to blurt out ill -news without having the consideration to prepare one's poor nerves for a shock ! I think you like to tell bad news : you announce it with such gusto." "And this is not the first time by many," continued Agnes, when her sister paused for breath. " And to begin like that just as we come in from church! Why, you have driven all the good out of my head that I got there this evening ; and I feel so cross with you, you stupid girl ! I daresay the doctors only came on a friendly visit, and that mamma is as well as usual.

I'll go and see." " No," answered Winnie : " papa told me to stay here while the doctors were there." " Of course he did : very right too. But is that any reason why 7" should not go in ? " And with a rustle Agnes swept out of the room. Isabel untied her bonnet-strings and threw them back over her shoulders, then languidly drew off her dove-coloured gloves. * "Dear, dear! " she said, during the process, " I shall certainly not get over this shock to-night ! " " Is mamma really worse ? Are you sure ? " asked Lionel, a youth of sixteen. " Not she ! " exclaimed Willie, a younger lad. " Winnie wants to sound an alarm to make a sensation : that's all !" " I don't think Winnie does ; she looks too serious about it," said May, a fair girl of twelve. " It is true, isn't it, Winnie ? " Before she could receive an answer, Agnes re entered, having met with a repulse. " Mamma is not so well ; but we needn't be frightened, papa says. Dr. Richards is going directly, and then we can see her."

Chapter II. More Peace Than Storms

"\ T 7INNIE would not have seen her bed again * * that night, had she not been ordered off to it by her father, with a sternness unusual to him. A beseeching look from his wife as he thus spoke caused him to add, " You must not set your will against mine, Winnie. It's for your good I insist upon your getting rest. We must not have you ill, child ; you cannot be spared." This indirect praise fell upon Winnie's heart with soothing effect ; nevertheless she walked away weeping. It was a sad household that evening. Isabel became hysterical, and gave a deal of trouble ; Agnes declared she felt so cross when upset, that she had better go to bed for fear of offending every body ; the lads walked up and down and about gloomily, with their hands in their pockets ; and May sobbed herself to sleep on a sofa in the drawing room.

Winnie did her best amongst them till bed-time came, keeping calm in the midst of the half-audible tumult, thereby eliciting from Isabel the remark, as she recovered from her hysteria, " You may be very thankful, Winnie, that you have so little feeling : it saves you much suffering." Winnie was no angel, and her heart was so over wrought that she felt unable to take unkindness meekly just then. So she retorted drily, " At any rate it saves other people trouble and annoyance." " The day may come, Winnie," responded Isabel, tightening her lips grimly, "when you maybe in a condition to need sympathy. I was going to add, I hope it may ; but I don't wish to be uncharitable on a Sunday, so I will not allow the words. But you had better go to bed, child, or I may feel exasperated by your heartless sang froid, in the midst of our trouble, to say something unkind.

Don't cry now: I forgive you." " You ! " exclaimed Winnie, blazing up. " Do you think I am crying at yon, or need forgiveness from you ? " And then she hurried away, the hot tears coming faster and faster. When she reached her room she sobbed audibly: "And this is just how it will always be when mamma is gone. I shall have to run away to America or somewhere ; I know I shall. I can never endure their scorn and reproaches without retorting ; and what a purgatory the constant bickering will make of our home ! Oh, if I could only curb these angry feelings and this impatient, unruly tongue, and endure. How can I ? how can I without my mother ? " Utterly weary in mind and body, she lay down as she was ; and in a short time had cried herself to sleep. When she awoke it was daylight, but early — she could tell that by the quiet of the streets.

She felt stiff and unrefreshed by her night's sleep, and cold, too; she wrapped a shawl around her and sat down by the window, looking out absently on the roofs, chimneys, and spires, hung about with a light mist which the rising sun beautified. At first she felt as if waking from a distressing dream ; but as she re called all the incidents of the preceding evening, her heart sank within her, and the ready tears appeared again. " I must try and get comfort and strength where mamma gets hers," she said at length, rising to reach her little Bible. " It will never do to go to her in this frame of mind, and harass her in her last days with my weakness and wickedness." She closed her eyes for a few moments, and lifted her face in mute appeal to the God of comfort and consolation ; then opened her book as if guided by angel hands, and read : " I will lift up mint eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved : he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper : the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil : he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore." Winnie had read that psalm, and heard it read many times before ; but never had it entered into her soul, and her soul into its depth of strengthening comfort, as now. It seemed to her now, as it has done to millions of burdened hearts during the past centuries, like a burst of grand inspiring music to which angel hosts marched to encompass her about, to uphold her drooping hands and strengthen her feeble knees.

She read the last two verses twice, thrice, and then laying the book upon her knees and her clasped hands upon it, she said, " I will, I must cling to this promise that I shall be preserved from this time forth, and even for evermore, — preserved by th.e Lord my keeper, my ever-watchful keeper, — to do His will, to do my duty always, to be patient, for- ■7 bearing, Christ-like. It will be a terrible battle, I know ; but I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence I can get help." She put the book aside, for her tears made the words indistinct ; and falling on her knees she prayed as she had never prayed before. . When she rose up she felt wonderfully calm, and being very wishful to get to her mother she hurried with her toilet, but yet did not forget the little niceties which always pleased her mother's eye so much ; then she went quietly downstairs to the sick room, and knocked gently.

The door was opened by her father, who kissed her upraised face and said, " I'm glad you are come, Winnie : I am going to leave mamma in your charge for a time, and you must not allow her to be in the least disturbed, or to talk." As Winnie looked at her mother, lying so death like, save for the heaving of her bosom, and the occasional contraction of her features by spasms ot pain, she thought how needless the latter injunction seemed ; and she dreaded lest the power to speak had for ever left her. During the morning, however, as Winnie sat beside the bed, sewing, yet keeping strict watch over her mother, she was cheered to hear the dear familiar voice say, " Winnie, love, have you anything particular to say to me ? " Winnie coloured, as if her mother, had suddenly read all her thoughts. " Of course, mamma," she replied, " there are lots of things I should like to say to you ; but papa has forbidden your talking."

" I needn't talk, dear child ; and it will not hurt me to listen. Just now, while I feel a little better, say anything you wish to : there may not be another opportunity for you." Winnie could scarcely forbear throwing herself beside her mother in an agony of tears. Although she knew that the last of everything in connection with her mother must come, sooner or later, yet the slightest allusion to it filled her heart to bursting. But now she remembered her father's charge, that the invalid should not be disturbed ; and making a tremendous effort to keep down her rising grief, she managed to say calmly, save for a tremor in her voice, " I will say one or two little things, mamma, dear, which I think will please you : first, that I am getting a greater desire than I've ever had before to be good, and to do good, if I only knew how; and then I feel that I shall be thankful to God all my life, dear mother, for what you've been to me, — setting me such an example as you have."

Here Winnie paused, and finding that hot tears were raining down on her hands, she got up and went to the window to put the dressing-table tidy, which she had already made faultlessly neat. Again and again she tried to force back the tears, but with out success. At length Mrs. Martin said, — "Winnie, come here, love." "Oh, mamma, I'm so sorry I can't help these tears!" she said, going back to the bedside. "I'm so afraid I shall upset you. Shall I go away a bit, and send Agnes or Isabel in ? " " No, darling. Sit down here and have your cry out quietly : it will do you good ; and then you can talk." Winnie's hand was taken and held lovingly and silently till her storm of grief had spent itself. " If papa comes in and sees my face red and swollen, he will be so cross, thinking I have been disturbing you," she said, when calmness was begin ning to return to her.

" But I will assure him you have not," said the mother. " My fretting over you and my other dear ones is past. God alone knows what it has been ; but it is over at last, and now I put you all into His dear hands, in hope and strong confidence. You will have many trials and sorrows ; but all will be well in the end with all of you, — that I firmly believe, Winnie." " I do hope so, mamma. But how we shall get along at all without you, I cannot imagine." " Day by day God will help you and guide you, love. Look to Him : trust Him always. The darker the day, the more do you put trust in Him, and you'll find He will not fail you." Winnie did not answer ; but she eagerly took in the words, and laid them up in her memory. There was a long silence, broken at last by Mrs. Martin's saying, " Have you nothing more to tell me, Winnie ?"

"One little thing, mamma. I was reading last night about the parable of the talents, and I was wishing that I had even one ; but I am sure I have not." " Yes, you have, Winnie. No creature on earth is without one, at least : for all have influence, and that is a talent. Then, love, you have an excellent talent for unselfishly ministering to others, and that I want you to use at home.''' Another pause, during which the young girl's hand was fondly held and caressed ; and then the mother spoke again. " Oh, Winnie, you don't know how deeply I feel about you all ! You may know some day, but you cannot now. You have been a dear, good child to me always, and I know that you will continue trying to do as you know I should wish you to. Give your self wholly, ungrudgingly to home, where all charity and honest work for God must begin, and you will find duties enough to employ every grace that God can bestow upon you.

As far as you can, try to fill my place, love, to everybody in the house : will you ? " "I will try, mamma," said Winnie, tearfully; "but I fear I shall miserably fail. There will be " and here Winnie paused. " Be what, love ? " "I don't want to vex you with grumbling, mamma; but I know there will be so much to put up with." " I know there will, — I am sure there will, Winnie ; but go to God constantly for strength to be patient, and meek, and forgiving, and to endure." " I feel to need it so much, mamma. Do you know, I was reading the hundred and twenty-first Psalm this morning, and it seemed to me so beautiful and strengthening: I never felt words of Scrip ture like it before." " Please to read it to me now, love." Winnie reached her mother's Bible, and read the psalm in a low, soft voice.