Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/292

 ONLY A WOMAN AFTER ALL.

BY LILLIAN LOUISE GILBERT.

September 25th.—‘“Is it worth while to live?”

I must have uttered my thought, for a sweet voice behind me answered, ‘Is it worth while to die when youth and health are left?”

I was standing by the window, looking out at the shining river as it melted into the ocean miles away. I watched the reflections of trees and houses in its sparkling surface, and then saw in my own heart the reflections of the present. For the first time I considered my future.

“I am alone,” I said, bitterly, as the great tears fell on my clasped hands. ‘What does it. matter what I do, or where I go?”

Little enough, certainly, to any one; but to me the necessity of doing something for a livelihood is pressing.

I may ponder once more the events of the last few weeks, and then nerve myself to work.

I was an only child, and loved and petted as all only children are. We were wealthy, and all that wealth could do and bring was mine. I was unlike most girls, or I might have had more friends now. I cared little for society, and rarely went into company. My few companions were women, older than myself, who could teach me something, or very young girls, who, trusting me fully, came to me to confide their secrets. My shy and quiet nature I get from my mother, my desire for study and love of nature from my father.

A month ago my parents were brought home to me dead. A terrible accident had made me a penniless orphan. On examination of my father’s affairs they were found to be so much involved, that to cover all his liabilities every- thing must be sold. Our beautiful house, and all it contained, our horses, our plate, our library, our pictures, everything, in fact, that had made our home the pleasantest for miles around. The creditors were most generous in offering to accept much less than belonged to them, and allow me to keep the house. Of course, I could not consent to it; so I furnished a room in Mrs. Lane’s little house, and having a hundred dol lars left after every debt was paid, I am trying to decide what to do.

It was thinking all this made me speak the words with which this day’s record is begun.

The answer I felt as a rebuke, though it was softened by a warm kiss, and my friend, almost the only one I have now, Eliza Greggerson, stood before me.

“«My dear girl,” she said, after our greetings, “why do you despond? I know how hard life seems to you, and naturally, for life is hard sometimes.” The great, salt tears welled up into her gentle eyes, and I knew she was thinking of the two fair children who slept beside each other under the violets and moss.

“But,” she continued, “there is much to make life pleasant, even when it looks most barren. I know you will say, ‘Eliza, you have John,’ and, indeed, I have in him the tenderest, best of husbands; but my heart yearns for my children sometimes as you, who have never had them, cannot guess.

“We all have our trials, which seem greater than those of our friends; though, believe me, my dear child, that life is worth living at any rate.

“And now, dear, I will tell my errand. We have a friend staying with us for a time, and as we are intending to row on the river tonight, we want you to go with us. John said I must insist on it, but I told him you should do as you liked best. Our friend is the gentleman who bought your old home, and if you would not  like to meet him, you shall not. I do not think, however, it will be unpleasant to you. I shall  be disappointed if you do not join us, for it will do you good, I know.”

For the moment I was angry. I hated the man who seemed to have robbed me of my home. I hated my only friends who could be his friends too. I would not meet him, Then I realized how foolish I was to vent my temper  on him who had innocently bought a house, not  because it was my home, but because it was for sale, and he wanted it. I could not be reconciled to any one living there who cared nothing for it, when all associations I held dear were  centered in it. Eliza waited patiently until I said, “I will go.” She pressed my hand. I put on my hat, a light shawl, and, catching up my gloves, followed her from the room.

We walked in silence to the boat-house, where the gentlemen were to meet us.

As we came within hearing distance, the