A few days after this arrangement, Mr. Willet, whose family had gathered closer around their neighbours the moment the fact of their misfortune was known, came over to see Mr. Markland and have some talk with him about his future prospects. A brief conversation which had taken place on the day previous opened the way for him to do so without seeming to intrude. The impossibility of getting into business at the present time was admitted, on both sides, fully. Mr. Willet then said—
“If the place of salesman in a large jobbing-house would meet your views, I believe I can manage it for you.”
“I am in no situation,” replied Mr. Markland, “to make my own terms with the world. Standing at the foot of the ladder, I must accept the first means of ascent that offers.”
“You will, then, take the place?”
“Yes, if the offer is made.”
“The salary is not as large as I could wish,” said Mr. Willet.
“How much?”
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
“Get it for me, Mr. Willet, and I will be deeply grateful. That sum will save my children from immediate want.”
“I wish it were more, for your sake,” replied the kind neighbour. “But I trust it will be the beginning of better things. You will, at least, gain a footing on the first round of the ladder.”
“But the advantage is only in prospect,” said Mr. Markland. “The place is not yet mine.”
“You have the refusal,” was the pleased answer. “I had you in my mind when I heard of the vacancy, and mentioned your name. The principal of the firm said, without a word of hesitation, that if you were available, you would just suit him.”
“I shall not soon forget your real kindness,” responded Markland, grasping the hand of Mr. Willet. “You have proved, indeed, though an acquaintance of recent date, a true friend. Ah, sir! my heart had begun to despond. So many cold looks, changed tones, and discouraging words! I was not prepared for them. When a man is no longer able to stand alone, how few there are to reach out an arm to give him support!”
“It is the way of the world,” replied Mr. Willet; “and if we give it credit for more virtue than it possesses, a sad disappointment awaits us. But there are higher and better principles of action than such as govern the world. They bring a higher and better reward.”
“May the better reward be yours,” said Mr. Markland, fervently. His heart was touched by this real but unobtrusive kindness.
“When do you purpose leaving here?” next inquired Mr. Willet.
“As early as I can make arrangements for removing my family,” was answered.
“Where do you think of going?”
“Into the city.”
“Would you not prefer remaining in this pleasant neighbourhood? I do not see how my mother and sisters are going to give you all up. Mrs. Markland has already won her way into all their affections, and they have mourned over your misfortunes as deeply, I believe, as if they had been our own. Pardon the freedom of speech which is only a warm heart-utterance, when I say that there is a beauty in the character of Mrs. Markland that has charmed us all; and we cannot think of losing her society. Walker told me to-day that his wife was dissatisfied with a country life, and that he was going to sell his pleasant cottage. I offered him his price, and the title-deeds will be executed to-morrow. Will you do me the favour to become my tenant? The rent is two hundred and fifty dollars.”
Mr. Willet spoke very earnestly. It was some moments before there was any reply. Then Mr. Markland raised his eyes from the floor, and said, in a low voice, that slightly trembled—
“I saw a house advertised for rent in the city, to-day, which I thought would suit us. It was small, and the rent three hundred dollars. On learning the owner’s name, I found that he was an old business friend, with whom I had been quite intimate, and so called upon him. His reception of me was not over cordial. When I mentioned my errand, he hesitated in his replies, and finally hinted something about security for the rent. I left him without a word. To have replied without an exposure of unmanly weakness would have been impossible. Keenly, since my misfortunes, have I felt the change in my relations to the world; but nothing has wounded me so sharply as this! Mr. Willet, your generous interest in my welfare touches my heart! Let me talk with my family on the subject. I doubt not that we will accept your offer thankfully.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
“OUR Father in heaven never leaves us in a pathless desert,” said Mrs. Markland, light breaking through her tear-filled eye. Her husband had just related the conversation held with Mr. Willet. “When the sun goes down, stars appear.”
“A little while ago, the desert seemed pathless, and no star glittered in the sky,” was answered.
“Yet the path was there, Edward; you had not looked close enough to your feet,” replied his wife.
“It was so narrow that it would have escaped my vision,” he said, faintly sighing.
“If it were not the safest way for you and for all of us, it would not be the only one now permitted our feet to tread.”
“Safest it may be for me; but your feet could walk, securely, a pathway strewn with flowers. Ah me! the thought that my folly—”
“Edward,” Mrs. Markland interrupted him in a quick, earnest voice, “if you love me, spare me in this. When I laid my hand in yours on that happy day, which was but the beginning of happier ones, I began a new life. All thought, all affection, all joy in the present and hope in the future, were thenceforth to be mingled with your thought, affection, joy, and hope. Our lives became one. It was yours to mark out our way through the world; mine to walk by your side. The path, thus far, has been a flowery one, thanks to your love and care! But no life-path winds always amid soft and fragrant meadows. There are desert places on the road, and steep acclivities; and there are dark, devious valleys, as well as sunny hill-tops. Pilgrims on the way to the Promised Land, we must pass through the Valley and the Shadow of Death, and be imprisoned for a time in Doubting Castle, before the Delectable Mountains are gained. Oh, Edward, murmur not, but thank God for the path he has shown us, and for the clear light that falls so warmly upon it. These friends, whom he has given us in this our darkest hour, are the truest friends we have yet known. Is it not a sweet compensation for all we lose, to be near them still, and to have the good a kind Father dispenses come to us through their hands? Dear husband! in this night of worldly life, a star of celestial beauty has already mirrored itself in my heart, and made light one of its hitherto darkened chambers.”
“Sweet philosopher!” murmured her husband, in a softened voice. “A spirit like yours would illuminate a dungeon.”
“If it can make the air bright around my husband, its happiness will be complete,” was softly answered.
“But these reverses are hard to bear,” said Mr. Markland, soberly.
“Harder in anticipation than in reality. They may become to us blessings.”
“Blessings? Oh, Agnes! I am not able to see that. It is no light thing for a man to have the hard accumulations of his best years swept from him in a moment, and to find himself, when just passing the meridian of his life, thrown prostrate to the earth.”
“There may be richer treasures lying just beneath the surface where he has fallen, than in all the land of Ophir toward which he was pressing in eager haste,” said Mrs. Markland.
“It may be so.” Markland spoke doubtingly.
“It must be so!” was emphatically rejoined. “Ah, Edward, have I not often warned you against looking far away into the future, instead of stooping to gather the pearls of happiness that a good Providence has scattered so profusely around us? They are around us still.”