Grace Darling by Eva Hope (people reading books .txt) 📕

"Yes, Grace, I remember very well. It is four years ago this Christmas since we brought him from the very jaws of death to the lighthouse. Poor fellow! I felt wonderfully interested in him. I wonder what has become of him, and if he is any more fortunate now than he used to be. Father, has he ever written to you?"

"No, he has not," replied Mr. Darling, "and I cannot think how it is that he has not. But many things may have prevented him. Perhaps he has gone abroad, or has been ill, or something of that sort. He promised to write to me as soon as he had got a berth, and I do not think he has forgotten his promise. Ho was quite overpowered with gratitude when I parted from him, and magnified the kindness we had shown him so much that it is very unlikely that he would have omitted to write, unless something had really prevented him."

"Grace," said Elizabeth, "I am not yet satisfied with that which you have told us about your visit to Alnwick. I want to know much more, and, indeed, I think you should tell us every item about it, from first to last."

"I am quite willing," said Grace, smilingly. "What is it you want so particularly to know?"

"Tell us how you felt when you first saw the Duchess. As for me, I am sure I should have been so frightened that I should not have dared to look at so great a lady, and I am sure that I never should have spoken to her."

"Oh," said Grace, "the truth is, that the sight of the Duchess did make me feel as I had never felt before in my life, and I was indeed afraid to lift my eyes from the ground. But when she spoke to me, it was different. She begged me not to feel timid, and really, I felt that she was intending to be kind, and that there was absolutely nothing to be frightened about. She has such a kind way of speaking, that nobody could long feel timid in her presence. I assure you, Elizabeth, that before the interview was ended, instead of feeling alarmed at the Duchess, I quite loved her. I could not help it, for she was so very kind and courteous, that I was sorry when the time had gone."

She then gave them every particular that she could recall, of that which happened from the time when they set their feet inside the gate, until they came back again; and as Grace became animated with her theme, all eyes sparkled with pleasure, and no one was uninterested.

"Do you not think that the lighthouse is a poor cheerless place after all the grandeur that you saw at the castle, Grace."

"No, indeed," said Grace; "it is the dearest and sweetest spot on all the earth to me, because it is home. There is no place like home. Castles are good to see, but a home is the place to dwell in."

"Tell us about the great people who have been here to see you, Grace. The place never had half so many visitors before, I suppose."

"I should think not," said Mr. Darling; "not even when St. Cuthbert resided on the island, and deputations waited upon him. Of one thing we may be sure, that so many artists never came before."

"No, indeed," said Grace. "I have had my own picture taken until I am almost tired of sitting for it. But the paintings are wonderfully good."

"They are indeed. Both father and Grace have been reproduced to the life; and looking on their portraits, we can almost fancy that we are looking on their real faces."

"I have seen in Newcastle," said Robert, "a grand picture of the wreck by Carmichael, and it is most wonderful. As I looked at it, it quite seemed to me that I must be on the rocks themselves, instead of in the town of Newcastle, for it was all go very plain and real. The billows are as foaming as they always are in great storms, and you can almost see them moving about. I can tell you, Grace, that it made me tremble when I looked at it to think that you and father had been in such dreadful danger."

"I suppose you often hear Grace spoken of in Newcastle, Robert?" inquired Mr. Darling.

"Yes, very often; and most flattering things people say. Really, sometimes she is spoken of as if she were more than human; and father, too, comes in for a good share of praise and admiration. I often listen to what is said when the speakers little know that I belong to them."

"Do you not make yourself known?"

"No; I prefer to remain in obscurity when I can, though I am proud to be a Darling."

There was one subject about which all the sisters were particularly curious. They wanted to know whether Grace intended to marry, and whom; and whenever they were alone with her, they plied her with questions that very greatly amused her.

"Do you mean to say, Grace, that you have passed through all this without having your heart touched by any man?"

"I have no doubt," said Mary Ann, "that when Grace marries, it will be into a higher sphere than that which we fill. She will marry a gentleman; see if she does not."

Grace laughed heartily at this prophecy of her fond sister; and the laughter rather nettled Mary Ann.

"I see nothing to laugh at, Grace," she said; "and why do you mock me? I do not see that any position can be too high for you to fill, nor any man too good for you to have."

"You are very kind," said Grace, still merrily. "I do not want to offend you; please excuse me; but I cannot help laughing, though I thank you for your wishes. You think more highly of me than I deserve; and I am sure your great and romantic expectations will never be realised. Why, even if a gentleman asked me, I should have to say No to him; for only think what a poor figure I should cut as a rich lady. I have lived in a lighthouse all my life, while ladies are sent to boarding-schools, and are trained in all the refinements that are natural to their station. I should be always making mistakes, and bringing upon myself shame and confusion, if I were raised to any high position in society. I should deserve to share the fate of the ladies in 'Blue Beard,' if I did anything so foolish. But I never shall. I should not be happy in such a marriage. There ought to be similarity of tastes, pursuits, and training, between those who spend their lives together, and I mean to stay in my own proper sphere, and not blush myself, nor make any one blush for me, by entering an estate to which I was not born."

"I think you are right," said Thomasin, "and I should decidedly feel as you do in the same circumstances."

"Grace is very warm about it," remarked Elizabeth, though, in her heart, she scarcely believed her sister. Rumours were afloat, and some had reached her ears, and those of the other members of the family, that Grace had already received very good offers. It was even said, indeed, that gentlemen of rank had proposed for her hand, though, if it were so, Grace certainly kept her own counsel with regard to them.

There can be no doubt, however, that her deed stirred many hearts to love her; and that, if she had chosen, she might have left her island home for one of far greater pretensions on the mainland. But Grace had not been spoiled or changed by the flatteries she had received. She was one of "the people," and did not aspire to leave their ranks. Her sympathies were with them; and she asked nothing better than to spend her life among them.

Besides this characteristic, Grace Darling's attachment to her home was very strong and sincere. Like the Shunammite of old, she would have said, "I dwell among mine own people;" and every Christmas that came did but endear to her heart the parents whom she honoured, and the brothers and sisters whom she loved. She clung to them, making their interests her own, and delighting in nothing more than lifting the burdens from their shoulders, and scattering about their pathways the flowers of joy and contentment. And we are sure that she did that which she longed to do; and that when the festival was over, and each went back to the duties of his or her life, the memory of the love and tenderness of their honoured sister would be as inspiration and strength to them. A good life is never lived in vain. Its influence is far-reaching and lasting, and all who come within its circle are the better for it. Let the women of England remember that their power is in their love, and that the homes they know shall surely be bright or dark, sad or happy, as they shall make them, by their meek or gentle spirit, and unselfish, devoted affection. Grace Darling's love of home and kindred may well be imitated by all who are trying to do that which is right. Women should understand that their home-life is the most important, and give to it their devotion and love.

"Grieve not that I die young—is it not well
To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness?
Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell
Of love and your kind words. List ye to me:
Here I am blessed, but I would more be free—
I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness.
Let me depart!

"Ah, who would linger till bright eyes grow dim,
Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold?
Till carking care, and toil, and anguish grim,
Cast their dark shadows o'er this fleeting world,
Till fancy's many-coloured wings are furled,
And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old!
I would depart!

"Thus would I pass away—yielding my soul
A joyous thank-offering to Him who gave
That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll.
Thus—thus exultingly would I depart,
Song on my lips, ecstasy in my heart.
Sisters—sweet sisters—bear me to my grave;
Let me depart!"—Lady Flora Hastings.

We may be sure that Grace Darling's friends greeted her birthday with the old fashioned, but significant wish, "Many happy returns of the day." She had become exceedingly dear to them, and they wanted to keep her with them. Life is not too bright at any time, but it becomes dark indeed when our friends die. There are some lives that seem necessary, not only to their own immediate circle, but to the world at large, and there are many who desire that they may live long. It was so in the case of our heroine. Wherever she appeared, she stirred men's hearts to deeds of heroism and courage, and the world seemed to need her stay in it. Moreover, for her own sake it appeared desirable that she should linger in a state in which she received so much honour, and was so greatly and universally beloved. As yet, she scarcely knew how sincerely she was appreciated, and how much good her simple unselfishness and devotedness had done. Had she lived until the shadows of old age crept on her, and she who had helped others needed help herself, then indeed she would have known how tenderly the people of England had enshrined her in their hearts. They wished it. It is a deeply-seated belief that long life is a blessing, and that to die early is a misfortune. The belief, popular as it is, may be a mistaken one; but it dwells in almost all hearts, and it would have kept Grace Darling here had it been possible.

But it was not. A voice, very low, but so