The Angel of His Presence (7 page)

At
last
the happy winter was slipping away rapidly. He had scarcely stopped to realize how fast, until one night when letters had come in on the evening mail, one from England brought vividly to his mind some of his thoughts and resolves and feelings during that return voyage in the fall. He smiled to himself as he leaned back in the great leather chair and half-closed his eyes. How he had resolved to devote himself to
art and literature and leave re
ligion and philanthropy to itself!
And
he had devoted himself to literature, in a way. Had not
he and Miss Manning
and several others of the mission spent the greater part of the wint
er in an effort to put good pic
tures and books into the homes of the people of the mission, and also to interest these people in the pictures and books? He had delivered several popular lectures, illustrated by the best pictures, and had assisted at readings from our best authors.
But
would his broad and cultured friends from the foreign shore, who had so high an
opinion of his ability, consider that a strict devotion of himself to art and literature?
And
as for the despised mission and its various functions, it had become the center of his life interest. He glanced up at the picture on his wall. Had it not been the cause of all this change in actions, his plans, his very feelings? Nay, had not its central figure, the Man of Sorrows, become his friend, his guide, his Savior in a very real and near
sense?

And so
he remembered the first night he had looked upon that picture and its strange effect upon him. He remembered some of his own thoughts minutely, his vision of that "
ladye
of high degree" with whose future his own seemed likely to be joined. How strange it seemed to him now that he could have ever dreamed of such a thing! Her supercilious smile seemed even now to make him shrink. The prospect of her trip to America in the spring or early summer was not the pleasant thing he had then thought it. Indeed, it annoyed him to remember how much
would be expected
of him as guide and host. It would take his time
from things—and people—more cor
rectly speaking, one person who had grown
very dear. He might as well confess it to himself now as at any other time. Margaret Manning had become to him the one woman in all the earth whose love he cared to win.
And
looking on his heart as it now was, and thinking
of himself as when he first re
turned from abroad, he realized that he was not nearly so sure of her saying, "Yes" to his request that she would give her life into his keeping, as he had been that the "
ladye
of high degree" would assent to that request.

Why was it? Ah! Of this
one
he was not worthy, so pure and true and beautiful a woman was she. While the other—was it possible that he had been willing to marry a woman about whom he felt as he did
toward this other haughty woman of wealth and
position?
To what depths
had
he almos
t descended! He shuddered invol
untarily at the thought.

By and
by
he
arose and put out the light preparatory to going upstairs for the night, humming a line of an old song:

"The laird may marry his
ladye
,

his
ladye
of high degree—

But I will marry my true love,"

and then his face broke into a sweet smile and he added aloud and heartily, "if I can" —and hummed the closing words, "For true of heart am I," as he went out into the hall, a look of determination growing on his face and the vision of Margaret Manning enshrined in his heart.

THE visit of the "
ladye
of high degree" to America was delayed by wind and tide and circumstance until the late fall, and in the
meantime
the people of America had not stood still for her coming.

Among other things that
had been done
, there had been put up and fully equipped a sort of clubhouse belonging to the Forest Hill Mission. It does not take long to carry out such
schemes when there are two ear
nest persons with determination and ability to work like John Stanley and Margaret Manning.

The money for the scheme had come in rapidly and from unexpected sources. Margaret declared that every dollar was an answer to prayer.

The house itself was perfectly adapted for the carrying out of their plans of work. There were reading rooms and parlors where comfort and a certain
degree of re
fineme
nt prevailed.
There was a gymna
sium in which the privileges and days were divided equally between men and women, and where
thorough
instruction was given
.
There were rooms in which various classes were carried on evenings for those who had no chance otherwise, and there were even a few r
ooms for young men or young wom
en, homeless and forlorn, where they could get good board for a time, and the whole was presided over by a motherly, gray-haired woman and her husband, whose hearts were in the work, and whose good common sense made them admirably fitted for such a position.

But a
mid all these plans and prepara
tions for better work John Stanley had found opportunity to speak to Margaret Manning
the words which had won her con
sent to make h
is home bright by her pres
ence and his heart glad with her love.

Their wedding cards had traveled across
the ocean, passing midway the steamer that carried a letter from the "
ladye
of high degree,"
saying that she was about to em
bark on her trip to America and rather demandin
g John Stanley's time and atten
tion during her stay near his home. She had been used to this in the days when he was near her home, and he had been
only too
glad to be summoned then.

Her letter waited for him several days while he was away on a short business trip, and it came about that he opened it but three days before his wedding day. He smiled as he read her orders. He was to meet her at the steamer on the fifteenth. Ah!
that
was the day when he hoped to be a hundred miles away from New York, speeding blissfully along with Margaret by his side. He drew a sigh of relief as he reached for pen and paper and wrote her a brief note explaining that he was sorry not to be able to show her the courtesies he had promised, but that he would be away on his wedding trip at the time. He afterward added an invitation from his mother, and closed the note and forgot all about the matter.

And so it
was that the "
ladye
of high de
gree" instead of being met with all the devotion she had expected—and which she had intended to exact to its utmost—found only a brief note with a paltry invitation to his wedding reception. She bit her lips in vexation and spent a disagreeable day in a New York hotel, making all those who had to do with her miserable. Then she hunted
up the names of other acquaint
ances in America, noted the date of that reception, and made up her mind to make her haughty best of it; at least, when she returned home there was the laird and the earl and the poor duke, if worst came to worst.

The Stanley home was
alight
from one end to the other, and flowers and vines did their bes
t to keep up the idea of the de
parting summer indoors that night when John Stanley brought home his lovely bride.

It was a strange gathering and a large one. There were present of New York's best society the truest and best of men and women, whose costumes and faces showed that-their purses and their culture were equally deep. And there were many people, poor and plain, in their best clothes, it is
true, but so different from the others that one scarcely knew which costume was more out of place, that of the rich or of the poor.

It had been John Stanley's idea, and Margaret had joined in it heartily, this mingling
of the different classes to con
gratulate them in their new life.

"They will all have to come together in heaven, mother," John had said in answer to Mrs. Stanley's mild protest at inviting Mrs. Cornelius Van Rensselaer together with Joe Andrews and the mill girls from the mission. "That is, if they all get there, and in my opinion Joe Andrews stands as good a chance as Mrs. Van Rensselaer. What is the difference? It will only be a little in their dress. I think all of our friends are too sensible to mind that. Let them wear what they please, and for once let us show them that people can mingle and be friends without caring for the quality of cotton or silk in which each one is wrapped."

The mother smiled and lifted her
eye
brows a li
ttle. She could imagine the dif
ference between those mill girls and the New York
ladies
, and she knew her son could not, but her position was established in the world, and she was coming to the age
when these little material things do not so much matter. She was willing that her son should do as he wished. She only said in a lingering protest, "But their grammar, John. You forget how they murder the
king's
English."

"Never mind, mother," he said, "I shouldn't wonder if we should all have to learn a little heavenly grammar when we get there before we can talk fittingly with the angels."

And so
their friends were all invited, and none belonging to the Forest Mission were omitted. Mrs. Ketchum, it is true, was scandalized. She knew
how to dress, and she did not lik
e to
be classed
among the "rabble," as she confided to a few of her friends. "However, one never knew what Margaret Manning would do, and of course this was just another of her performances. If John Stanley wasn't sorry before very long that he married that woman of the clouds, she would miss her guess."

She took it upon herself to explain in an undertone
to all the guests, whom she con
sidered w
orthy of the toilet she had pre
pared, that these "other people," as she denominated the Forest Hill Mission,
pointing to them with her point lace fan with a da
inty sweeping gesture, were proté
gé
s
of the bride and groom, and were invited that they might have the pleasure of a glimpse into the well-dressed world, a pleasure probably that none of them had ever had before.

The "
ladye
of high degree" was there, oh, yes! Her curiosity led her, and her own pique. She wanted to see what kind of a wife John Stanley had married, and she wanted to see if her power over him was really at an end.

The rich elegance of her wonderful gown, ablaze with diamonds and adorned with lace of fabulous price, brushed aside the dainty white of the bride's and threatened to swallow it up out of sight in its own glistening folds.

But
the bride, in her filmy white robes, seemed in no wise disturbed, neither did her fair face suffer by contrast with the proud, handsome one. The "
ladye
of high degree," standing in the shadow studying the sweet bride's face, was forced to admit that there was a superior something in this other woman that she did not understand. She turned to John Stanley, her former
admirer, a
nd found his eyes resting in un
disguised admiration on the lovely face of his wife, and her eyes turned again to the wife and saw her kiss the wrinkled face of an elderly Scotch woman with beautiful, tender brown eyes and soft waving hair.
The neat, worn brown cashmere dress that the woman wore was ornamented only by a soft ruffle about the neck
.
The hair was partly covered by a plain brown bonnet with an attempt at gala attire in a bit of white lace in front, and the wrinkled, worn hands were guiltless of any gloves, but one of those
bare hands was held lovingly be
tween the bride's white gloves, and the other rested familiarly about the soft white of the bride's waist.
There was a beautiful look of love and trust and appreciation in both faces, and instinctively this stranger
was forced
to ask the other onlooker, "Who is she?"

"One of God's saints on earth,"
came
John Stanley's voice in answer. He had been watching the scene and had forgotten for the moment to
whom
he was talking. Not that he would have disliked
to speak
so to the "
ladye
of high degree" now, for he
was much changed, but he would not have thought she would understand.

"She is just a dear woman in the church whom my wife loves very much. She is a natural poet soul, and you may be sure she has been saying something to her which would be worth writing in a book, and which she will always remember."

And then
the "
ladye
of high degree" turned and looked at her old acquaintance in undisguised astonishment. John Stanley must h
ave noticed this and been embar
rassed a moment, but Mrs. Ketchum came by just then to
be introduced
, and she proved to be the kindred spirit for whom this stranger had been searching. From her was gained much information, some of which astonished her
beyond belief
. She made one or two more attempts to rally her power over John Stanley la
ter in the eve
ning, but she too had fallen under the spell of the
lovely woman whose eyes her hus
band's followed wherever she went, and she finally gave it up.

The final surprise came to the stranger guest late in the evening, as she was making her way through John Stanley's
study to the
cloak room
.
She had been told by the voluble Mrs. Ketchum
that this room was Mr. Stanley's "den." She had also noticed during the evening at different times that people stopped opposite the p
ic
ture that hung on the wall over the mantel. She had not before been in a position to see what this picture was for the crowd, but she had supposed it some masterpiece that Mr. Stanley had brought home from his travels. Her curiosity, or her interest, or both, led her to pause now alone, and to look up.

As others
were held
under its spell, so was this woman for a moment. The beauty and expression of the work of art caught her fancy, and the face of the Master held her gaze, while her soul recognized and understood
the subject. In great
astonish
ment
she glanced around the room once more and b
ack. Could it be that John Stan
ley kept a picture like this in his den? It was not like the John Stanley she had known.

And then
a soft little white-gloved hand rested on
her shoulder, and a sweet, ear
nest voice said: "Isn't it wonderful? I'm so
glad to be where I can look at it every day as much as I wish."

Turning she saw the bride standing by her side. She scarcely knew how to answer, and before she could do so she noticed that another had entered the room, and she knew instinctively that Mr. Stanley had come.

"That is one of my treasures. Are you admiring it?" he said in the strong voice that seemed so unlike his old one, and the guest mur
mured something about the pic
ture, and, looking about uneasily, excused herself and slipped away.

They stood a moment before the picture together, the husband and wife. They were tired with the evening's talk, and a sight of this refreshed them both and gave the promise of future joy.

The "
ladye
of high degree," passing through that hall, having purposely come by another route from the cloak room rather than through the study, saw them standing also, and understood—that she did not understand—and went out into the night with a lonely longing for something, she knew not what.

As the two stood
together
the husband said: "Do you know, dear, that picture has made the turning point in my life. Ever since it came in
here
I have felt that his presence was with me wherever I went.
And
I have you to thank for it all.
And
through it I have gained you, this richest, sweetest blessing of my life. Do you know, I found a verse in my Bible today that it seems to me fits
me and that picture
. It is this: