Read Ebook: Left at Home or The Heart's Resting Place by Code Mary L

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Ebook has 775 lines and 38033 words, and 16 pages

"Well, then, you know all about it, I suppose?" said Arthur's father.

"No, I don't, papa. I only heard that something dreadful was going to happen; and you told mother to tell some one, and she said she couldn't; and then you said you would, and I don't remember the rest."

Mr. Vivyan smiled rather sadly, and Arthur felt his mother's arm more closely clasped around him.

"Was it about me?" asked Arthur presently.

Mr. Vivyan looked up at his wife, and then he said, "Arthur, my boy, when I was in India before, why did your mother stay in England?"

"I don't know," said Arthur, somewhat surprised at the question. "To take care of me, I suppose. Oh no, it wasn't, though; it was because she was ill, and she couldn't live in India, the doctor said."

"Yes; and now, is she as ill as she was then?"

"Oh no, I should think not!" said Arthur brightly. "She is ever so much better, aren't you, mother?"

"Yes, dear," she said gently.

"Well," said Mr. Vivyan, speaking very slowly, and laying his hand kindly on Arthur's curls, "did you know, Arthur, that my time for being in England is very nearly over? there are only six weeks more left."

"Yes, father," said Arthur, and feeling his father's hand laid so tenderly on his head, he felt more sorry at the thought that he was going than he had ever done before. "I'm very sorry."

"But then, don't you see, my boy," Mr. Vivyan said, looking anxious and as if he had great difficulty in expressing himself, "your mother need not stay at home this time?"

"No," said Arthur, after a pause, "I suppose not. And am I going to India too?"

"Why no, my dear child. You know how glad we should be to take you with us; and very likely you do not know, Arthur, what it costs us to leave you at home. But you know you could not go; children of your age would very likely not live."

Arthur turned quickly round, and gazed with an incredulous, questioning look at his father and mother. He could not see his mother's face, for it was hidden by her hand; but if he had looked closely he might have seen that her whole form was trembling, though she did not speak a word.

"Papa," said Arthur presently, "what can you mean? Do you really mean that you and mother are going out to India, and that you are going to leave me in England by myself?"

"Dear Arthur, you know we must."

Arthur turned away, and for a little while he said nothing. Presently he spoke--it seemed as if half to himself--"No, I don't believe that," he said. "I don't believe that could be true."

"Arthur, my darling, darling boy, come here," said his mother, after some time when nobody had spoken.

Arthur came nearer to his mother, and laid his head upon her knee. He was feeling almost stunned, and as if he had not understood yet what he had heard. Then a sudden thought came over him, that it meant he would soon not be able to do this any more.

"Mamma," he said in a low voice, which was very touchingly sad in its hopelessness, "need you go? Wouldn't you rather stay at home with me?"

"Oh, Arthur," said Mrs. Vivyan, "you must not say those things, dear."

"Won't you take me with you, then? I don't believe I could stay at home without you. Won't you take me? Oh, do! please, do!"

All this was said in a very low, mournful voice; for Arthur felt almost as if he had not strength to cry about it.

"Arthur," said Mr. Vivyan, speaking gravely but kindly, "I tell you we would if we could; but you must be contented to believe that it cannot be."

He gave a very weary sigh, and leant his head heavily on his mother. Presently he felt a tear on his forehead, and he knew that she must be crying.

"My own darling little mamma," said Arthur, "I love you with my whole heart. Oh, you don't know how very much I love you!" and he gave a deep, weary sigh.

"My dear child," said Mr. Vivyan, as the time came nearer for Arthur to go to bed, "you don't know what it is to your mother and to me to leave you; but we hope you will be happy by and by, for your aunt will be very kind to you, and will love you very much. She lives in a very nice part of the country. You may be sure, Arthur, we should be quite certain that every one would be kind to you."

"Do you mean that I am to live with some other person?" asked Arthur listlessly.

"Yes, with my sister; that is, your aunt."

It did not seem to matter very much to Arthur just then where he was going, or what was to become of him. He knew his father and mother were going away, and that he was to be left all alone, quite alone it seemed to him, and a very desolate, forlorn feeling fell over his heart, and seemed to make him feel numbed and heavy.

"Good night, my own dear mother," said Arthur, as he took his candle. He was not crying, and there was almost a little wan smile on his face as he said it, making him look very different from the bright, joyous boy who generally threw his arms around her neck with an embrace, which was most emphatic as well as affectionate. He did not know how her heart was aching for him, and he knew still less of the pain his father felt, but could not show.

As Arthur sunk on his knees that night by the side of his little bed where the firelight was brightening and glowing, a deep sob came up from the very depths of his heart; and when he tried to pray, all he could say was, "O God, take care of me; for there is nobody else."

Arthur knew what it was to have put his trust in the Saviour of the world, but hitherto everything had been so bright, and things had come and gone so smoothly, that he had not thought much about Him. He stayed awake a very long time, waiting to see if his mother would come and talk to him, as she very often did when there was anything to say. He did not know what had passed when he had left the library, that his mother's head had sunk low, and her heart had shed the tears that he had not seen, and that now came flowing from her eyes. And he did not know that she was utterly unfit to speak to any one, so that when she stopped at his door, and seemed to be going in, his father had said--

"No, Louisa, you must not; I will go and tell him that you would come, but that you can't."

So that was how it was when Arthur heard his bedroom door open, and looked round with an eager longing in his eye. He sunk back again on his pillow when he saw that it was his father that was coming towards him, and he lay there quite quietly without moving, so that Mr. Vivyan almost thought he was asleep.

"Arthur," he said, "your mother wished me to tell you that she would have come to see you herself, only she was not able. You know, my dear little boy, she is quite ill with the thought of your trouble; and won't you try and be cheerful, for I am sure you would not like to make her ill, would you, Arthur?"

"No, father," said Arthur, in a very quiet voice, without lifting his head or looking up.

"Good night, my child," said his father, stooping down and kissing him; and then as he took his candle and went away from the room he said to himself, "He is a very strange boy--very strange indeed. After all, I don't think he takes it so very much to heart as Louisa imagines."

But he did not know. When Arthur heard his door shut, and when he knew that no one would come in again, the storm began, and it was a storm of passion when sorrow, and anger, and affection all raged together.

Poor Arthur, he sobbed and moaned until he was tired, and the knowledge that he was very wicked did not certainly make him happier.

He sobbed himself to sleep that night, and when the morning sunbeams stole into the room and lighted on the white curtains of his bed, he awoke with a dull, desolate feeling of a great pain in his heart.

ARTHUR'S MOTHER; OR, "SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS."

Mrs. Vivyan's morning-room was on the pleasant sunny side of the house, and was a very favourite retreat of her little boy. Indeed there was one corner of it which he considered as especially his own. It was a little sofa near the window, rather hidden in a recess, so that any one might be lying there and not be seen. Perhaps this idea of privacy was one thing which made Arthur like it; and then it was near the window, from which he could see the garden and the birds; and he liked to watch the sun sparkling on the pond, and making diamond showers of the fountain, which sometimes he would persuade the gardener to do for him.

And now, with his new deep trouble weighing on his heart, he sought his usual refuge. Nobody was in the room as Arthur and his companion, Hector, came in, Arthur throwing himself wearily on the sofa, and Hector making himself comfortable on the rug.

"Oh, dear!" groaned Arthur, after a while; "I don't think mother cares very much. Come here, sir; do you care?"

Hector came, and obediently lay down near the sofa.

"Father doesn't care much, that I'm pretty sure of," continued Arthur; "but I don't mind that so much. I wonder will mother miss me in India. I wonder will you miss me, Hector, old boy. You ought, and you will too, I expect. Do you think you will, Hector? Speak to me, do!"

But Hector only gravely wagged his tail.

"Oh, dear! I wish a great deal," said Arthur.

Just then there was a rustling noise at the door, and Arthur lay very still and quiet as he saw that it was his mother who was coming in. He was hidden on his sofa, so she did not see that he was there.

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