Rachel's Discipline

The notion of training her to act alone never even
occurred to him, and when he was thrown from his horse, and carried
into a wayside-hut to die, his first orders were that no hurried message
might be sent to her, lest she might be startled and injured by the
attempt to come to him. All he could do for her was to leave her in the
charge of his military secretary, who had long been as a son to him.
Fanny told her aunt with loving detail all that she had heard from Major
Keith of the brave old man's calm and resigned end--too full of trust
even to be distressed with alarms for the helpless young wife and
children, but committing them in full reliance to the care of their
Father in heaven, and to the present kindness of the friend who stood by
his pillow.

The will, which not only Rachel but her mother thought strangely
unguarded, had been drawn up in haste, because Sir Stephen's family had
outgrown the provisions of a former one, which had besides designated
her mother, and a friend since dead, as guardians. Haste, and the
conscious want of legal knowledge, had led to its being made as simple
as possible, and as it was, Sir Stephen had scarcely had the power to
sign it.

It was Major Keith who had borne the tidings to the poor little widow,
and had taken the sole care of the boys during the sad weeks of care
utter prostration and illness. Female friends were with her, and tended
her affectionately, but if exertion or thought were required of her,
the Major had to be called to her sofa to awaken her faculties, and she
always awoke to attend to his wishes, as though he were the channel of
her husband's. This state of things ended with the birth of the little
girl, the daughter that Sir Stephen had so much wished for, coming too
late to be welcomed by him, but awakening her mother to tearful joy and
renewed powers of life. The nine months of little Stephana's life
had been a tone of continual change and variety, of new interests and
occupations, and of the resumption of a feeling of health which had
scarcely been tasted since the first plunge into warm climates. Perhaps
it was unreasonable to expect to find Fanny broken down; and she
talked in her own simple way with abundant overflowing affection of her
husband; but even Mrs. Curtis thought it was to her more like the loss
of her own father than of the father of her children; and though not in
the least afraid of anything unbecoming in her gentle, retiring Fanny,
still felt that it was more the charge of a girl than of a widow,
dreaded the boys, dreaded their fate, and dreaded the Major more.