Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

Myra Sherwood's Cross

AND HOW SHE BORE IT.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"THE OBJECT OF LIFE," "HOME IN HUMBLE LIFE," ETC., ETC.

[_Lucy Ellen Guernsey_]

LONDON THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY 4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.

INCIDENTS OF CHILDHOOD, AND A FAMILY HISTORY.

"DEAR father, you are to name your little granddaughter; what will you call her?" said a lady, holding in her arms a young child, whose mother had just been laid in the family vault in the village churchyard.

The old sire was mourning that she, the young, the loved, the useful, should be cut down in her bloom, and the aged and the helpless left behind.

"Poor thing, poor thing!" said he, touching the soft cheek. "If Edward does not object, call her Myra, and let her be brought up to be as much like our lost one as possible. I will have her mother's picture put into the nursery; and Myra must be taught to love the sweet face, and to grow like it. She cannot be like it unless she is good, you know. My Ethel's face was a good face."

"Edward will be satisfied with your decision, dear father, but his distress is so terrible, he cannot bear the child in his sight at present."

"Ah, poor Edward! Time will help him, and me too. I shall soon see her again, so the faster it flies now, the pleasanter for me. He may have a long journey yet, but new scenes and faces will beguile him of his sorrow. I wish you had the bringing up of her child, Amy. Can it be managed? You are so like Ethel, that the little one would never know the difference."

"I shall make the offer as soon as I may venture," replied Amy Somers, kissing her niece, and wishing she might carry her off at once to her own nursery. But that could not be; for when the poor distracted young father came to see and love his child, he might be displeased at the idea of a separation, even though others should feel that it might be for her benefit.

In due time, the widower ceased to nurse his sorrow. And the grandsire ceased to mourn for the darling of his life and home, the message was welcome that bade him prepare to join her, so he set his house in order, summoned his remaining daughter, blessed his motherless grandchild, and after a useful life spent in the love of God and the service of his generation, he fell asleep in Jesus at a good old age.

Again the family vault was opened, and Mrs. Somers, with the little Myra on her knee, followed her dear and honoured father to the body's last resting-place. But she rejoiced in the assurance that he and Ethel had met again among Christ's redeemed, to wait together for the morning when the finishing touch shall be put to the likeness commenced by grace below, and the Redeemer shall be "admired," not only in Himself, but "in all them that believe."

Her thoughts were not idle concerning her father's wish respecting Ethel's child, but she could only wait, and she waited as patiently as she could.

The watchful grandsire had seen his prediction fulfilled, that new scenes would wear away the grief of his son-in-law. And, even sooner than he expected, a new face had dimmed the remembrance of his Ethel.

The fact was not grudged, but silently noted, and its consequences provided for. The little Myra, after the first keenness of the shock of her mother's death, had for some months seemed necessary to the existence of her father. But by degrees, he went less frequently to the nursery, required her company less often in his library, sometimes put her off with a gay kiss when she pleaded for her place on his knee. And before she was two years old, her scenes of pleasure had become gradually transferred to the house and presence of her grandfather, while report spoke of a coming new mistress, and a step-mother in her home.

It was not wonderful that these changes should work other changes, both in thought and practice. And when the grandsire's will was read by the attorney, after the funeral, it was found that only a legacy was left to his son-in-law, as a mark of regard and good-will, while the portion that would have fallen to his loved daughter was confided to suitable trustees (for the whole and sole use of her only child) until the age of twenty, when they were to surrender their trust, or continue it, as she and they might decide.

Mrs. Somers followed her brother-in-law to his own house, in anxiety about the effect on him of this unexpected settlement of affairs. He was in his library, and had ordered that no one should disturb him. But he was not accustomed to brood over disappointments and vexations, and learning that Mrs. Somers was with Myra in the nursery, he proceeded thither.

"Papa, papa," cried the little one, "see mamma." And she pointed to the picture of her mother, and then to her aunt's face, putting her little fat arms round Mrs. Somers, and kissing her, saying, "Pretty mamma, Myra's mamma!"

Mrs. Somers clasped the child close, and looked up in Mr. Sherwood's gloomy face.

"Edward, will you, can you, give or lend her to me now?"

"Myra seems to have decided," said he, looking from the picture of his late wife to the face of her sister; "the likeness is certainly striking. It has been evidently intended that I am not to have much to do with her," he added bitterly.

"Nay, brother, your authority over your child is not interfered with; only the property, and you do not need it."

"That is nothing to the point. It is monstrous that two comparative strangers should have the management of it. It is an insult to my integrity, and my feelings as her father. What will she think of such mistrust, when she is able to understand it?"

"My dear father meant it for the best," said Mrs. Somers sadly; "let us hope it will prove so; and if you will trust me to take care of Myra, she shall never misunderstand, or imbibe a prejudice against, either him or you."

"I will think of it, Amy," he said, after a silence of some moments. "I believe I could trust you; you would not alienate her affections from me. You would let her often come to see us; and, as a visitor rather than an inmate, some foolish feelings and prejudices might be avoided."

The "us" betrayed the subject of the speaker's thoughts; and Mrs. Somers's heart bounded with thankfulness at the course they had taken.

"Myra, will you go with Aunt Amy?" said he, taking her in his arms, the cloud clearing from his brow.

Myra patted his face, and returned his kisses, but then, stretching out her arms to her aunt, she said again, "Mamma, go to mamma."

"It will be a great charge for you, Amy, in addition to your own, but I see it is the best thing to be done for Myra. Be liberal in all provision for her, nurses and governesses, and so on. Let her have a first-rate education, and let your children share whatever advantages you give to her. Nothing can repay you for your kindness to her and to me. I will give orders to nurse about preparing for the change."

"Edward, you must do one thing more; you know we may live even farther away from you than we do now, for my husband's health may require a warmer climate, at least for the winter. Let Myra have a picture of you to match this, and they shall be side by side wherever she is, that you may be associated with everything she loves, and furnish a stimulus to every effort to become what you wish your daughter to be."

"It shall be done," said the gratified father; "it is a nice thought. She is a dear little thing, and I should not like her to forget me."

Then he rang for the nurse, gave her all needful orders, and left them.

Though deeply annoyed at the terms of the will, Edward Sherwood's mind was greatly relieved. Not only was it satisfactory to know that his child was provided for without any trouble on his part, but the perfectly natural and satisfactory guardianship of her aunt would leave the coast clear for the new-comer, saving her from all the fears and troubles and responsibilities of a step-mother; securing to the little maiden herself the most happy of homes and the most loving of friends, and avoiding the probable contingency of banishment to school at some early day. Nothing could be better, and the picture should be painted at once, and accompany its companion (the likeness of the cherished bride of some three years ago) to Myra's future home.

Mrs. Somers and her charge had not long departed, when alterations were commenced in the house, and, in due time, another fair young wife was the heart-cheer and comfort of its master.

Years sped swiftly, committing three children—two daughters and a son—to the parents' care. And when the little Myra came to see them, and learned to love them, it was a never-failing comfort to the father's heart, though not unmixed with slight remaining jealousy, that, come what might through the fluctuations of business, she needed nothing from his provision for the others.

Mrs. Sherwood wisely kept her own view of the case to herself, and, in her husband's presence, was all that he could wish to his elder child.

Myra, however, seemed never sorry when her visits ended, though she desired to love them all if they would but allow it. Helen, the eldest of the three, was her favourite, because she responded kindly to her overtures, but Harry was rough and blunt, and Florence was shy and hard to win.

A great and unexpected change occurred when Myra had reached her ninth year. She was suddenly summoned to her father's death-bed, and only arrived in time to share with the others his parting blessing. With a stricken heart, she begged to remain some time with the mourning family. But, evidently not recognised as having an equal share in the sorrow, and finding her presence neither appreciated nor desired, Mrs. Somers was glad to take her away again to the more genial home she had so long enjoyed. No more invitations came for Myra, the little letters that had passed between the children became few and far between, and none of Mrs. Somers's invitations were accepted.

Whether Mr. Sherwood had made any ample provision for his family was not known, but the news of his widow's marriage with the gentleman who had undertaken the settlement of his affairs occasioned only a little passing surprise. This gentleman, Mr. Haynes, was a prosperous man of business, and he was kind to the children, to whom his protection and guardianship were supposed to be invaluable; so all went on calmly again, and in the indulgence of a more luxurious style of living than before.

Mr. and Mrs. Somers, on their part, devoted themselves to the education of their children wherever the best assistance was to be found, and Myra received with them, according to her father's wish, a first-rate education; the only drawback being, and to her loving heart it was a real one, that he could no longer enjoy her success in study, nor its results in her future character.

Twice only, on occasions more like a stranger's call than a friendly visit, the children met during several years, but Mrs. Haynes was now a fashionable woman, still in the prime of life, highly attractive, and too much engrossed with her own family and position to bestow much attention on her former step-daughter.

The children of Mrs. Haynes were under the charge of professors and teachers, and seemed to care very little for their elder step-sister, though three younger playmates were received with every token of satisfaction. Myra would have clung, with a sister's love, to those who bore her father's name, but it was hard to be repulsed with coldness.

Myra was at no loss for channels for her young affections. Her uncle and aunt were as parents, and her cousins were as dear as any sisters or brothers could be. Seldom had "the lines fallen" in more "pleasant places" to an orphan girl, and Myra know nothing of the sorrowful side of that condition. Love and peace surrounded her, and it must have been an ungracious plant indeed that would refuse to bloom in such an atmosphere. But Myra was not an ungracious plant, and she bloomed into a very lovely flower.