PAGE 22
The Fiery Trial
by
“Say, dearest, what has happened?”
The tears now fell from his eyes like rain, and sob after sob shook his frame convulsively.
Constance waited in silence until the agitation subsided, and then gently urged him to tell her what it was that troubled him so painfully.
“I am broken in spirits now, Constance. I am a weak child. I have received the last blow, and manhood has altogether forsaken me.”
“Tell me! oh, tell me! Theodore, all, all! Do not distress me by further silence, or mystery!”
A pause of some minutes succeeded, during which Wilmer was making strong efforts to overcome his feelings.
“Constance,” he at length said, mournfully, “I have tried long, and much beyond my strength, to earn the small sum that it took to support our little ones; but nature has at last given way. Here is the last dollar I shall probably ever earn, and now I shall be a burden upon you, eating the bread of my children, while they, poor things, will hunger for the morsel that nourishes me. I do not wonder that manly feelings have passed away with my strength. Constance, what shall we do?”
An angel of comfort is woman to life’s last extremity.
Fragile as a reed, that bends to the passing breeze, when the sunshine of prosperity is bright above and around, she becomes the tall oak, deep-rooted and strong-branched, when the wintry storms of adversity sweep over the earth. No trial subdues her, no privation brings a murmur of discontent. She will hope to the last, and still have a smile of assurance for those who, in their despondency, have even cast away hope. Constance Wilmer was a woman, and as a woman, her worth was felt more and more, as troubles came thicker and faster.
“Dear husband!” she said, in a steady and cheerful voice, “you have forgotten that line, so true and so comforting–“‘Despair is never quite despair’–
“I see no cause for such painful feelings. Pinching want is not upon us yet, and I am sure the time will never come when our children shall ask food at our hands in. vain. Trial, which is always for our good, will never reach beyond the point of endurance.”
“The burden is all upon you, Constance. Heaven grant that you may have strength to bear it!”
“I fear not for the strength. That will come in due time. Now we have food and raiment, and therewith let us be content. If God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, will he not clothe us? He that feedeth the young ravens when they cry, will not turn away from us. Are we not of more value than many sparrows?”
“Bless you! bless you! Constance.”
“Do not, then, dear husband! cast away your confidence. If the burden is to be all upon me, it will be lightened by your cheerful countenance and encouraging words. I shall need them both, doubtless; then do not withhold them.”
Her voice lost its steadiness, trembled a moment, and then she hid her face, in silence and in tears, upon his bosom.
As Wilmer had foreseen, the strength for further labour was gone for ever. He lingered about for a few weeks, and then took to his bed. And now came the time for the full trial of Mrs. Wilmer’s mental and bodily strength.
Notwithstanding all her close application at the needle, the small sum that had been saved from former earnings, slowly, but steadily diminished. Daily she increased her exertions, and encroached further upon the hours of rest; but still there was a steady withdrawal of the hoarded treasure. At first, her confidence in the Divine Providence was measurably shaken; but soon the wavering needle of her faith turned steadily to its polar star. Her own health, never vigorous, began also to give way under the increased application which became necessary for the support of the beloved ones, now entirely dependent upon her labour for food and raiment. Her appetite, never very good, failed considerably, and consequently there was a withdrawal instead of an increase of strength. But none knew of her pain or weakness. Her pale face was ever a cheerful one, and her voice full of tenderness.