Mr. Willet fixed his eyes so earnestly on the countenance of Fanny, that she partly averted her face to conceal the warm flush that came to her cheeks.
“I shall be happy to make her acquaintance,” she replied. “Our circle of friends cannot be so large here as in the city; but we may find compensation in closer attachments.”
“I will say to my mother and sisters, that they may expect to see you to-morrow,” And Mr. Willet looked from face to face.
“Yes; we will ride over to-morrow,” said Mrs. Markland.
“And you, also, Miss Markland.” The courteous manner in which this was said quite won the heart of Aunt Grace, and she replied that she would give herself that pleasure.
Mr. Willet sat for an hour, during which time he conversed in the most agreeable and intelligent manner; and, on retiring, left behind him a very favourable impression.
“I like that man,” said Aunt Grace, with an emphasis that caused Mrs. Markland to look toward her and smile.
“That’s a little remarkable. You are not very apt to like men at first sight.”
“I like him, for he’s a true man and a gentleman,” returned Aunt Grace. “And true men, I think, are scarce articles.”
“Ever hasty in your conclusions, whether favourable or unfavourable,” said Mrs. Markland.
“And rarely in error. You may add that,” replied the sister-in-law, confidently. “When Mr. Lyon darkened our doors,”—Fanny was passing from the room, and Aunt Grace spoke in a guarded voice—”I said he would leave a shadow behind him, and so he has. Was my judgment hasty, so far as he was concerned? I think you will hardly say so. But, my word for it, the presence of Mr. Willet will ever bring a gleam of sunshine. I am glad he has come into our neighbourhood. If his mother and sisters are like him, they are a company of choice spirits.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
TO the opinion of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Markland made no dissent. She was, also, favourably impressed with Mr. Willet, and looked forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of his mother and sisters.
On the following morning the carriage was ordered, and about eleven o’clock Mrs. Markland, Aunt Grace, and Fanny, were driven over to “Sweetbrier,” the fanciful name which Mr. Ashton, the former owner, had given to the beautiful seat, now the property of Mr. Willet.
The day was cloudless, the air cool and transparent, the sky of the deepest cerulean. These mirrored themselves in the spirits of our little party. Mrs. Markland looked calm and cheerful; Fanny’s thoughts were drawn out of herself, and her heart responded to the visible beauty around her. Even Aunt Grace talked of the sky, the trees, and the flowers, and saw a new charm in every thing.
“I presume we shall not meet Mr. Willet,” she remarked, as the carriage drove within the elegant grounds of their neighbour.
“He probably goes to the city every day,” said Mrs. Markland. “I believe he is engaged in business.”
“Yes; I think I heard Edward say that he was.”
“Our visit might be a pleasant one in some respects,” observed Mrs. Markland, “if he were at home. To him, we are not entire strangers.”
“I see him in the portico,” said Fanny, leaning toward the carriage window. They were now in sight of the house.
“Yes, there he is,” added Aunt Grace, in a pleased tone of voice.
In a few minutes the carriage drew up at the beautiful mansion, in the portico of which were Mr. Willet and his mother and sisters, waiting to receive them. The welcome was most cordial, and the ladies soon felt at home with each other.
Flora, the youngest sister of Mr. Willet, was a lovely girl about Fanny’s age. It did not take them long to know and appreciate each other. The mind of Flora was naturally stronger than that of Fanny, partaking slightly of the masculine type; but only sufficient to give it firmness and self-reliance. Her school education had progressed farther, and she had read, and thought, and seen more of the world than Fanny. Yet the world had left no stain upon her garments, for, in entering it, she had been lovingly guarded. To her brother she looked up with much of a child’s unwavering confidence. He was a few years her senior, and she could not remember the time when she had not regarded him as a man whose counsels were full of wisdom.
“Where have you been for the last hour?” Mr. Willet inquired of the young maidens, as they entered, arm-in-arm, their light forms gently inclined to each other.
“Wandering over your beautiful grounds,” replied Fanny.
“I hardly thought you would see them as beautiful,” said Mr. Willet.
“Do you think that I have no eye for the beautiful?” returned Fanny, with a smile.
“Not so,” quickly answered Mr. Willet. “Woodbine Lodge is so near perfection that you must see defects in Sweetbrier.”
“I never saw half the beauty in nature that has been revealed to my eyes this morning,” said Fanny. “It seemed as if I had come upon enchanted ground. Ah, sir, your sister has opened a new book for me to read in—the book of nature.”
Mr. Willet glanced, half-inquiringly, toward Flora.
“Fanny speaks with enthusiasm,” said the sister.
“What have you been talking about? What new leaf has Flora turned for you, Miss Markland?”
“A leaf on which there is much written that I already yearn to understand. All things visible, your sister said to me, are but the bodying forth in nature of things invisible, yet in harmony with immutable laws of order.”
“Reason will tell you that this is true,” remarked Mr. Willet.
“Yes; I see that it must be so. Yet what a world of new ideas it opens to the mind! The flower I hold in my hand, Flora says, is but the outbirth, or bodily form, of a spiritual flower. How strange the thought!”
“Did she not speak truly?” asked Mr. Willet, in a low, earnest voice.
“What is that?” inquired Mrs. Markland, who was not sure that she had heard her daughter correctly.
“Flora say that this flower is only the bodily form of a spiritual flower; and that, without the latter, the former would have no existence.”
Mrs. Markland let her eyes fall to the floor, and mused for some moments.
“A new thought to me,” she at length said, looking up. “Where did you find it, Flora?”
“I have believed this ever since I could remember any thing,” replied Flora.
“You have?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was among the first lessons that I learned from my mother.”
“Then you believe that every flower has a spirit,” said Mrs. Markland.
“Every flower has life,” was calmly answered.
“True.”
“And every different flower a different life. How different, may be seen when we think of the flower which graces the deadly nightshade, and of that which comes the fragrant herald of the juicy orange. We call this life the spiritual flower.”
“A spiritual flower! Singular thought!” Mrs. Markland mused for some time.
“There is a spiritual world,” said Mr. Willet, in his gentle, yet earnest way.
“Oh, yes. We all believe that.” Mrs. Markland fixed her eyes on the face of Mr. Willet with a look of interest.
“What do we mean by a world?”
Mrs. Markland felt a rush of new ideas, though seen but dimly, crowding into her mind.
“We cannot think of a world,” said Mr. Willet, “except as filled with objects, whether that world be spiritual or natural. The poet, in singing of the heavenly land, fails not to mention its fields of ‘living green,’ and ‘rivers of delight.’ And what are fields without grass, and flowers, and tender herb? If, then, there be flowers in the spiritual world, they must be spiritual flowers.”