Shadows
A happy-hearted child was Madeline Henry, for the glad sunshine everlay upon the threshold of her early home. Her father, a cheerful,unselfish man, left the world and its business cares behind him whenhe placed his hand upon the door of entrance to his householdtreasures. Like other men, he had his anxieties, his hopes andlosses, his disappointments and troubles; but he wisely and humanelystrove to banish these from his thoughts, when he entered thehome-sanctuary, lest his presence should bring a shadow instead ofsunshine.Madeline was just twenty years of age, when, as the wife of EdwardLeslie, she left this warm down-covered nest, and was borne to a newand more elegant home.Mr. Leslie was her senior by eight or nine years. He began hisbusiness life at the age of twenty-two, as partner in a wellestablished mercantile house, and, as he was able to place tenthousand dollars in the concern, his position, in the matter ofprofits, was good from the beginning. Yet, for all this,notwithstanding more than one loving-hearted girl, in whose eyes hemight have found favor, crossed his path, he resolutely turned histhoughts away, lest the fascination should be too strong for him. Heresolved not to marry until he felt able to maintain a certain styleof living.Thus were the heart's impulses checked; thus were the first tenderleaves of affection frozen in the cold breath of mere calculation.He wronged himself in this; yet, in his worldliness and ignorance,did he feel proud of being above, what he called, the weaknesses ofother men.It was but natural that Mr. Leslie should become, in a measure,reserved towards others. Should assume a statelier step, and moreset forms of speech. Should repress, more and more, his heart'simpulses.In Leslie, the love of money was strong; yet there was in hischaracter a firmly laid basis of integrity. Though shrewd in hisdealings, he never stooped to a system of overreaching. He was notlong, therefore, in establishing a good reputation among businessmen. In social circles, where he occasionally appeared, almost as amatter of course he became an object of interest.Observation, as it regards character, is, by far, too superficial.With most persons, merely what strikes the eye is sufficient groundfor an opinion; and this opinion is freely and positively expressed.Thus, a good reputation comes, as a natural consequence, to a manwho lives in the practice of most of the apparent social virtues,while he may possess no real kindness of heart, may be selfish to anextreme degree.Thus it was with Mr. Leslie. He was generally regarded as a model ofa man; and when he, at length, approached Madeline Henry as a lover,the friends of the young lady regarded her as particularlyfortunate.As for Madeline, she rather shrunk, at first, from his advances.There was a coldness in his sphere that chilled her; a rigidpropriety of speech and action that inspired too much respect anddeference. Gradually, however, love for the maiden, (if by such aterm it might be called) fused his hard exterior, and his mannerbecame so softened, gentle and affectionate, that she yielded up tohim a most precious treasure--the love of her young and trustingheart.Just twenty years old, as we have said, was Madeline when shepassed, as the bride of Mr. Leslie, from the warm home-nest in whichshe had reposed so happily, to become the mistress of an elegantmansion. Though in age a woman, she was, in many things, but a childin feelings. Tenderly cared for and petted by her father, her spirithad been, in a measure, sustained by love as an aliment.One like Madeline is not fit to be the wife of such a man as EdwardLeslie. For him, a cold, calculating woman of the world were abetter companion. One who has her own selfish ends to gain; and whocan find, in fashion, gaiety, or personal indulgence, fullcompensation for a husband's love.Madeline was scarcely the bride of a week, ere shadows began to fallupon her heart; and the form that interposed itself between her andthe sunlight, was the form of her husband. As a daughter, love hadever gone forth in lavish expression. This had been encouraged byall the associations of home. But, from the beginning of her weddedlife, she felt the manner of her husband like the weight of a handon her bosom, repressing her heart's outgushing impulses.It was on the fifth evening of their marriage, about the earlytwilight hour, and Madeline, alone, almost for the first time sincemorning, sat awaiting the return of her husband. Full of pleasantthoughts was her mind, and warm with love her heart. A few hours ofseparation from Edward had made her impatient to meet him again.When, at length, she heard him enter, she sprang to meet him, and,with an exclamation of delight, threw her arms about his neck.There was a cold dignity in the way this act was received by EdwardLeslie, that chilled the feelings of his wife. Quickly disengagingher arms, she assumed a more guarded exterior; yet, trying all thewhile, to be cheerful in manner. We say "trying;" for a shadow hadfallen on her young heart--and, to seem cheerful was from an effort.They sat down, side by side, in the pensive twilight close to thewindows, through which came fragrant airs; and Madeline laid herhand upon that of her husband. Checked in the first gush offeelings, she now remained silent, yet with her yearning spiritintently listening for words of tenderness and endearment."I have been greatly vexed to-day."These were the very words he uttered. How chilly they fell upon theears of his expectant wife."What has happened?" she asked, in a voice of concern."Oh, nothing in reality more than usual. Men in business are exposedto a thousand annoyances. If all the world were honest, trade wouldbe pleasant enough. But you have to watch every one you deal with asclosely as if he were a rogue. A man, whom I had confided in andbefriended, tried to overreach me today, and it has hurt me a gooddeal. I couldn't have believed it of him."Nothing more was said on either side for several minutes. Leslie,absorbed in thoughts of business, so far forgot the presence of hiswife, as to withdraw the hand upon which her's was laid. Howpalpable to her was the coldness of his heart! She felt it as anatmosphere around him.After tea, Leslie remarked, as he arose from the table, that hewished to see a friend on some matter of business; but would be homeearly. Not even a kiss did he leave with Madeline to cheer herduring his absence. His selfish dignity could not stoop to suchchildishness.The young bride passed the evening with no companionship but hertears. When Leslie came home, and looked upon her sober face, he wasnot struck with its aspect as being unusual. It did not enter hisimagination that she could be otherwise than happy. Was she nothis wife? And had she not, around her, every thing to make theheart satisfied? He verily believed that she had. He spoke to herkindly, yet, as she felt, indifferently, while her heart was piningfor words of warm affection.This was the first shadow that fell, darkly, across the young wife'spath. For hours after her husband's senses were locked in slumber,she lay wakeful and weeping. He understood not, if he remarked thefact, why her cheeks had less color and her eyes less brightness onthe morning that succeeded to this, on Madeline's part, neverforgotten evening.We need not present a scene from the sixth, the seventh, or even thetwentieth day of Madeline's married life. All moved on with a kindof even tenor. Order--we might almost say, mercantile order--reignedthroughout the household. And yet, shadows were filling more andmore heavily over the young wife's feelings. To be loved, was anelement of her existence--to be loved with expression. But,expressive fondness was not one of the cold, dignified Mr. Leslie'sweaknesses. He loved Madeline--as much as he was capable of lovinganything out of himself. And he had given her the highest possibleevidence of this love, by making her his wife.--What more could sheask? It never occurred to his unsentimental thought, that words andacts of endearment were absolutely essential to her happiness. Thather world of interest was a world of affections, and that withouthis companionship in this world, her heart would feel an achingvoid.Who will wonder that, as weeks and months went by, shadows were moreapparent on the sunny face of Madeline? Yet, such shadows, when theybecame visible to casual eyes, did excite wonder. What was there tobreak the play of sunshine on her countenance?"The more some people have, the more dissatisfied they are,"remarked one superficial observer to another, in reply to somecommunication touching Mrs. Leslie's want of spirits."Yes," was answered. "Nothing but real trouble ever brings suchpersons to their senses."Ah! Is not heart-trouble the most real of all with which we arevisited? There comes to it, so rarely, a balm of healing. To thoseexternal evils which merely affect the personal comfort, the mindquickly accommodates itself. We may find happiness in eitherprosperity or adversity. But, what true happiness is there for aloving heart, if, from the only source of reciprocation, there isbut an imperfect response? A strong mind may accommodate itself, inthe exercise of a firm religious philosophy, to even thesecircumstances, and like the wisely discriminating bee, extract honeyfrom even the most unpromising flower. But, it is hard--nay, almostimpossible--for one like Madeline, reared as she was in so warm anatmosphere of love, to fall back upon and find a sustaining power,in such a philosophy. Her spirit first must droop. There must be apassing through the fire, with painful purification. Alas! How manyperish in the ordeal!--How many gentle, loving ones, unequallymated, die, daily, around us; moving on to the grave, so far as theworld knows, by the way of some fatal bodily ailment; yet, in truth,failing by a heart-sickness that has dried up the fountains of life.And so it was with the wife of Edward Leslie. Greatly her husbandwondered at the shadows which fell, more and more heavily, onMadeline--wondered as time wore on, at the paleness of hercheeks--the sadness which, often, she could not repress when he wasby; the variableness of her spirits--all tending to destroy thebalance of her nervous system, and, finally, ending in confirmedill-health, that demanded, imperiously, the diversion of histhoughts from business and worldly schemes to the means ofprolonging her life.Alas! What a sad picture to look upon, would it be, were we tosketch, even in outline, the passing events of the ten years thatpreceded this conviction on the part of Mr. Leslie. To Madeline, hiscold, hard, impatient, and, too frequently, cruel re-actions uponwhat he thought her unreasonable, captious, dissatisfied states ofmind, having no ground but in her imagination, were heavyheart-strokes--or, as a discordant hand dashed among herlife-chords, putting them forever out of tune. Oh! The wretchedness,struggling with patience and concealment, of those weary years. Thedays and days, during which her husband maintained towards her amoody silence, that it seemed would kill her. And yet, so far as theworld went, Mr. Leslie was among the best of husbands. How littledoes the world, so called, look beneath the surface of things!With the weakness of failing health, came, to Madeline, the loss ofmental energy. She had less and less self-control. A broodingmelancholy settled upon her feelings; and she often spent days inher chamber, refusing to see any one except members of her ownfamily, and weeping if she were spoken to."You will die, Madeline. You will kill yourself!" said her husband,repeating, one day, the form of speech so often used when he foundhis wife in these states of abandonment. He spoke with more than hisusual tenderness, for, to his unimaginative mind had come a quicklypassing, but vivid realization, of what he would lose if she weretaken from him."The loss will scarcely be felt," was her murmured answer."Your children will, at least, feel it," said Mr. Leslie, in a morecaptious and meaning tone than, upon reflection, he would have used.He felt her words as expressing indifference for himself, and hisquick retort involved, palpably, the same impression in regard tohis wife.Madeline answered not farther, but her husband's words were notforgotten--"My children will feel my loss." This thought became sopresent to her mind, that none other could, for a space, come intomanifest perception. The mother's heart began quickening into life asense of the mother's duty. Thus it was, when her oldestchild--named for herself, and with as loving and dependent anature--opened the chamber door, and coming up to her father, madesome request that he did not approve. To the mother's mind, herdesire was one that ought to have been granted; and, she felt, in aninstant, that the manner, as well as the fact of the father'sdenial, were both unkind, and that Madeline's heart would be almostbroken. She did not err in this. The child went sobbing from theroom.How distinctly came before the mind of Mrs. Leslie a picture of thepast. She was, for a time, back in her father's house; and she felt,for a time, the ever-present, considerate, loving kindness of onewho had made all sunshine in that early home. Slowly came back themind of Mrs. Leslie to the present, and she said to herself, notpassively, like one borne on the current of a down-rushing stream,but resolutely, as one with a purpose to struggle--to suffer, andyet be strong--"Yes; my children will feel my loss. I could pass away and be atrest. I could lie me down and sleep sweetly in the grave. But, isall my work done? Can I leave these little ones to his tender mer--"She checked herself in the mental utterance of this sentiment, whichreferred to her husband. But, the feeling was in her heart; and itinspired her with a new purpose. Her thought, turned from herself,and fixed, with a yearning love upon her children, gave to the blooda quicker motion through the veins, and to her mind a new activity.She could no longer remain passive, as she had been for hours,brooding over her own unhappy state, but arose and left her chamber.In another room she found her unhappy child, who had gone off tobrood alone over her disappointment, and to weep where none couldsee her."Madeline, dear!" said the mother, in a loving, sympathetic voice.Instantly the child flung herself into her arms, and laid her face,sobbing, upon her bosom.Gently, yet wisely--for there came, in that moment, to Mrs. Leslie,a clear perception of all her duty--did the mother seek to softenMadeline's disappointment, and to inspire her with fortitude tobear. Beyond her own expectation came success in this effort. Thereason she invented or imagined, for the father's refusal, satisfiedthe child; and soon the clouded brow was lit up by the heart'ssunshine.From that hour, Mrs. Leslie was changed. From that hour, a newpurpose filled her heart. She could not leave her children, norcould she take them with her if she passed away; and so, sheresolved to live for them, to forget her own suffering, in thetenderness of maternal care. The mother had risen superior to theunhappy, unappreciated wife.All marked the change; yet in none did it awaken more surprise thanin Mr. Leslie. He never fully understood its meaning; and, nowonder, for he had never understood her from the beginning. He wastoo cold and selfish to be able fully to appreciate her character orrelation to him as a wife.Yet, for all this change--though the long drooping form of Mrs.Leslie regained something of its erectness, and her exhausted systema degree of tension--the shadow passed not from her heart or brow;nor did her cheeks grow warm again with the glow of health. Thedelight of her life had failed; and now, she lived only for thechildren whom God had given her.A man of Mr. Leslie's stamp of character too rarely grows wiser inthe true sense. Himself the centre of his world, it is but seldomthat he is able to think enough out of himself to scan the effect ofhis daily actions upon others. If collisions take place, he thinksonly of the pain he feels, not of the pain he gives. He is evercensuring; but rarely takes blame. During the earlier portions ofhis married life, Mr. Leslie's mind had chafed a good deal at whatseemed to him Madeline's unreasonable and unwomanly conduct; thesoreness of this was felt even after the change in her exterior thatwe have noticed, and he often indulged in the habit of mentallywriting bitter things against her. He had well nigh broken herheart; and was yet impatient because she gave signs indicative ofpain.And so, as years wore on, the distance grew wider instead ofbecoming less and less. The husband had many things to draw himforth into the busy world, where he established various interests,and sought pleasure in their pursuits, while the wife, seldom seenabroad, buried herself at home, and gave her very life for herchildren.But, even maternal love could not feed for very many years the flameof her life. The oil was too nearly exhausted when that new supplycame. For a time, the light burned clearly; then it began to fail,and ere the mother's tasks were half done, it went out in darkness.How heavy the shadows which then fell upon the household and uponthe heart of Edward Leslie! As he stood, alone, in the chamber ofdeath, with his eyes fixed upon the pale, wasted countenance, nomore to quicken with life, and felt on his neck the clinging armsthat were thrown around it a few moments before the last sigh ofmortality was breathed; and still heard the eager, "Kiss me, Edward,once, before I die!"--a new light broke upon him,--and he wassuddenly stung by sharp and self-reproaching thoughts. Had he notkilled her, and, by the slowest and most agonizing process by whichmurder can be committed? There was in his mind a startlingperception that such was the awful crime of which he had beenguilty.Yes, there were shadows on the heart of Edward Leslie; shadows thatnever entirely passed away.
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