A New Aristocracy

								

this promise, and now death had come again to take her last and only
support. In the moment of her bereavement she did not realize how
largely she had been not only self-dependent, but had been the mainstay
of the little household. Love makes even the strongest natures yield to
its silken leading-strings, and the tie between father and daughter had
been no common one. But it was she who had been the prop that upheld the
fabric of his life in these weary later years. It was on her brave heart
he had leaned more and more; but she had no thought of what she had
given. She had received, ah! who shall count the memories and pledges
that loyal love has in its keeping?
But the prosaic side of life confronted Margaret one morning a week
after she had laid her dead away, and roused her from the apathy of
grief that follows even the wildest tempest of tears.
“Not even time to mourn,” she said wearily. “Death comes; but life goes
on, and it must be fed and comforted. I must work to drive the cobwebs
from my brain and this strange inertia from my limbs. Something to do,
some duty that must not be evaded, will heal and strengthen anew.”
These reflections had been induced by a visit Margaret had just received
from one of the vestrymen of the church at Barnley, who had called with
words of condolence and inquiry. He desired to know, if it was not
impertinent, what course Miss Murchison had decided upon relative to her
future and her family.
“I have made no decision as yet,” answered Margaret wearily; “I have
been too absorbed in other things. Why do you ask, Mr. Dempster?”
“Well—ahem!—my wife and I had a talk about your—your prospects, and we
thought that if—if—that is, we would like to help you, seein’ as you’re
one of our pastor’s family.”
“You are very kind,” said Margaret gently.
“Well, you see,” began Mr. Dempster hurriedly, “we’ve always kind o’
liked your folks, and my wife and I was sayin’ that seein’ as you’d be
pretty likely to have a hard time, we’d like to help you out a bit. Now,
there’s Elsie: she’s young, you know, and real bright and smart, and we
thought maybe you’d be willin’ we should take her and bring her up.
She’d have a fust-rate home, you know.”
“Mr. Dempster,” said Margaret, ignoring the half-boastful tone in which
the last assertion had been made, “do you think I could give away one of
these children over whom I’ve watched for five years, and whom I
promised never to leave as long as they needed a home? No, sir. My life
has been hard, as you say; it may be harder yet; but as long as I have
life and health I shall keep my promise. Besides, you forget that Elsie
has not yet finished school.”
“I know; but they was a-talkin’ it over in the vestry last evenin’, and
they said they didn’t see as you could afford to keep the children in
school any more, as your father’s salary is, of course, discontinued.