CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
UNEXPECTED FRUIT.
The next day, after luncheon, the brothers, with their sister, startedfor Stringby, but not in very buoyant spirits. Walter had no thought ofdrawing back, nevertheless he felt an almost overwhelming shrinking fromthe task which he had undertaken. The loving smile, however, and gentlewords of affectionate concern with which his aunt had cheered him asthey set off were a source of much strength and comfort to him; theyhovered around his heart like the shadowing wing of an angel wheneverthe scorching heat of his furnace of trial swept by anticipation acrosshis shrinking spirit. He had thought it wiser not to confide to hismother either the cause of his shame or his intended amends.
The weather was clear and bright as they began their ride, but a smartshower burst upon them when they had accomplished half the distance, andforced them to go out of their way to take shelter. Would the preacher,distrusting the sky, have given up his work just for this afternoon? Ifso, what pain and humiliation Walter would be spared! Oh, how he clungfor a few moments to the hope that it might be so! for then he wouldhave made the amends and the sacrifice, and shown the moral courage, _inintention_, and, at the same time, would be spared the actual heavytrial itself. But then he dashed away these thoughts from him, and withan inward prayer nerved himself for the coming effort.
Amos, as he rode by his side, seemed to guess what was passing throughhis mind, and said, "Can I speak to the preacher for you, Walter? Itwill save you some pain, and, as I shall be speaking for another, Ishould not have the same difficulty that you might feel." But thissuggestion at once roused Walter out of all his fears. "No, no, dearAmos," he cried, "no; I have put my foot in it, and I must go throughwith it. Your being with me will be a great help, and it would not beright for me to accept any further assistance from you."
Little more was said on the way. Julia scarcely opened her lips, butthere was a sweet peace on her fair face. She felt that her brotherWalter was going to do the right thing, and, though she thoroughlysympathised with him in his natural shrinking from his task, she wassatisfied that he could not now retreat if he would do what duty plainlycalled him to. So they trotted or cantered leisurely along, while thedashing of the waves, and their ceaseless ebb and flow, seemed to remindthem of that love which, in the midst of the ceaseless ebb and flow ofthis world's trials, and of man's personal failures and advances in thelife of holiness, ever comes, like the sea-breeze, in breathings ofspiritual health and heavenly pity to the souls that are pressing onwardand upward to the land unclouded by sin.
At last the watering-place was gained. It seemed to Walter and hissister more thronged than ever. Several large excursion trains hadbrought their many hundreds of eager and excited holiday-keepers.Esplanade, sands, and by-streets were swarming with passers to and fro.Would they meet Gregson and Saunders there? Most earnestly did Walterand his sister, and indeed Amos also, hope that they would not.However, little time was there for scanning the faces of those they met,for now they pressed rapidly forward, Walter leading the way, as he wasanxious to plunge at once into his difficult work and get it over asspeedily as possible. "You know," he said to Amos with a faint smile,"it's just like going to the dentist's. When you get into his room, youdon't go and ask to look at his instruments,--those horrid pinchers, andpliers, and screw-looking things,--it's quite bad enough to feel them;and the sooner the wrench comes the sooner it'll be over. So now for mywrench." As he said this, they came within sight of the place where theunhappy disturbance occurred in which he had taken a part. A crowd hadgathered, on the outskirts of which, people were moving backwards andforwards, but there were no sounds of uproar or interruption as theyreached it. All were very attentive. The preacher--the sight of whomcaused the blood to rush into Walter's face--was the same he hadencountered before. The good man was standing on his stool giving outtwo lines of a well-known hymn. And then a noble volume of praise fromthose united voices rolled up towards heaven.
Walter could see in a moment that the preacher's eye had rested on him,and that he remembered him. So, flinging his horse's reins to hisbrother, he slipped off his saddle and elbowed his way vigorouslythrough the crowd. "Stop, young man," said the evangelist calmly andsolemnly, as he saw Walter pressing forward. But Walter made his wayclose up to him, and, while the other was evidently perplexed as to themeaning of his conduct, said quietly to him, "I am not come here to-dayto hinder or make game, but to ask pardon." The other looked at him inamazement, and for a moment knew not what to say. Then, while therearose a strange buzz of surprise and excitement among the bystanders,Walter asked, "May I stand in your place for a minute, and say a fewwords to these people?" The good man was clearly taken quite aback bythis request, and looked hard at him who had made it. Was this a schemefor turning the preacher and his work into open ridicule? The othermembers of the evangelist's party seemed to think so, and advised him torefuse; that it was only a dodge on the young man's part to get up apiece of extra rich entertainment for his friends, who, no doubt, wouldnot be far off. The good man had come down from his stool while theseremarks were being addressed to him. He hesitated, but when he turnedto Walter and looked in his face his mind was made up at once; for therewas something, he said, in that face which satisfied him that good wouldcome out of his yielding to the request made, and not evil. So, whilethe spectators were looking on and listening with breathlessexpectation, he said, in a clear voice, audible to those on the utmostverge of the great assembly,--"Friends, before I address you, a youngman has asked leave to occupy my place for a short time. He shall doso, for I have confidence in him that he will not abuse the liberty Igive him."
There was a murmur of approbation and intense interest as Walter mountedthe stool and looked upon the sea of upturned faces round him. He wasvery pale, and his voice trembled at first, but soon grew calm and firm."My friends," he began, "I have come here to-day to do an act ofjustice. Some days ago I was a spectator in this place, as you are now.This good man, the preacher, stood then where I now stand. He had comehere to try and do you good; I came, I am sorry to say, in a differentspirit. Joining with others as wrong and foolish as myself, Iinterrupted and ill-treated this servant of the good Master, ourSaviour. I am come to-day to make what amends I can. As I thenpublicly ill-treated him, so I now equally publicly ask his pardon forwhat I did then; and I earnestly beg you all to give him a patienthearing, and to encourage him in his work of love."
Not a word of this short address was lost by a single hearer, though thelast part was almost stifled by the speaker's emotion. As for thepreacher, he knew not how to contain himself. When Walter had sprung tothe ground amidst the profoundest silence, both his hands were graspedby the good man whose pardon he had asked, who, as he shook them warmly,could only say at the moment, "The Lord bless you! the Lord be praised!"Then, recovering himself, he sprang upon the stool, and cried out,"That's a right noble young man, dear friends! There's real couragethere, and a generous heart, and no mistake. He has asked my pardon forwhat he did, and, had I twenty hearts, he should have it from the bottomof each. I thought, when he came here a few days since and put a littlehindrance in the way, `Now, the devil's very busy; what a crafty beinghe is!' Ah, but see now. After all, he only outwits himself by his owncraftiness. The Lord brings good out of Satan's evil. Well, now, letus proceed with our proper work." These words were followed by a heartycheer from the assenting crowd, and then all listened attentively whilethe good man gave a plain, practical, faithful, and pointed gospeladdress.
When this was over, and the crowd was dispersing, Amos, whose heart wasall in a happy glow, drew near the preaching-place with Julia, both ofthem having now dismounted. The good evangelist's fellow-helpers weredistributing tracts among the retiring audience, while the preacherhimself was in earnest conversation with Walter. Julia held out herhand for some tracts, saying to the man who gave them, "I will do mybest to distribute them among those who will be likely to benefit bythem. Please let
me have as many as you can spare." He gladly did so.
In a short time all had left, except the preacher and his friends, Amos,and his brother and sister. As Walter was about to go, he took out hispurse and said to the good man who had so heartily forgiven his formerunkindness, "You must allow me to offer you a contribution to your tractfund. I am sure you will understand me. I am not asking you to acceptthis as any compensation for my abominable treatment of you the otherday, but simply as a little token of my sincere desire to help on yourgood work in however small a way."
The offering was at once and gratefully accepted. "There is no fear,"said the good man, smiling, "of my taking offence at anything which theLord sends me, or at the way in which he chooses to send it. The workis his, and the silver and the gold are his, and he supplies us with themeans in the best way, as he sees it, and therefore in the very bestway. So I thank you for your contribution, and accept it with pleasure;and I think we shall neither of us forget this day as long as we live,neither on this side of the river nor on the other."
With a hearty farewell on both sides, Walter and his companionsremounted their horses, and rode slowly away, full of happy thoughts:Walter very happy, because he had been enabled to do what his consciencehad bidden him; Amos quite as happy, because the brother he loved sodearly had behaved so nobly; and Julia calmly happy, because she feltthat bright sunshine had poured through a dark cloud which had broodedfor a while sadly over her spirit. And there was something yet morestirring in her heart in consequence of all that she had seen andheard,--it was a rising desire to be doing some real good to others, andto be doing this at the cost of personal sacrifice and self-denial. Ah,what a new and strange desire was this in one who had, till lately,allowed the idol of self to occupy the shrine of her heart. To bethinking of others, to be steadily keeping the good of others in view,to put self-pleasing in the background, or to find it in pleasingothers, and that, too, from love to one who for her sake pleased notHimself,--this was something wondrous indeed to her, and yet how full ofreal and heavenly brightness when it had truly found an entrance intoher soul!
But how and where was she to begin? She had a little bundle of tractsin her hand; should she begin at once with these? Of all things whichshe once would have shrunk from, nothing would have then been morerepulsive than the office of a distributer of tracts. Some yearsbefore, when once asked by a pious friend of her aunt if she would likea few tracts to give away as she might have opportunity, her reply hadbeen, "She had rather not, for she believed that tracts were vulgar,canting things, commonly given by hypocrites to their neighbours whenthey wanted to deceive them under a cloak of affected godliness." Shehad been rather proud of this reply, which certainly for the time hadthe effect of completely shutting up the good lady who had recommendedthe tracts to her notice. But now she felt very differently, and lookedat the little bundle in her hand, thinking how she might use it to thebest advantage. Not that she felt naturally drawn to the work; it wouldrequire a considerable effort on her part to bring herself to offer atract to a stranger, and a far greater effort to accompany the offerwith a word or two from herself; but she now believed that she _ought_to make the effort, and that word "ought," the idea of "duty" which itkept before her, was beginning to exercise a constraining force hithertounknown to her. And there was a special advantage in the tract. Justthe giving of it without comment would be a good preparation for moreclose and personal work in the loving Master's service. So, graspingthe papers with a trembling hand, she began to look out for anopportunity of parting with some of them, and she had not long to wait.When the little party turned away from the spot where the preaching hadbeen held, and were thinking of returning to their cottage, as they werejust directing their horses' heads homewards, Julia uttered a sort ofsuppressed cry or exclamation, which at once drew the anxious attentionof both her brothers to her.
"Anything amiss, dear Julia?" asked Amos and Walter together.
"No, not exactly," she said in a troubled voice, and with a scared look.Then, recovering herself, she pointed to a young woman dressed ratherfantastically, who had just passed them in a direction opposite to thatin which they were going. "Do you see that woman?" she asked in a lowhumbled voice; "she is one I have reason to know too well. She wasassociated in a theatre with poor Orlando. Oh, I wish I could do hersome good! Let us follow her; perhaps she would take a tract."
Who would have thought of such a speech from Julia Vivian a few daysback? But the earnest desire to do that poor outcast creature good hadevidently got possession of her, and so the three turned their horses'heads in the direction in which the actress was walking. But the objectof their loving pursuit had now quickened her pace, and turned up a by-street before they could come up with her. Should they follow? Someimpulse urged them forward. The side street led to a square or largeopen piece of ground, in the centre of which was erected a temporarytheatre. The woman whom they were following was just about to enterthis building, but turned about and looked back before doing so. Hereyes met those of Julia, and she at once recognised her with a peculiarsmile, which sent the blood rushing back to Julia's heart, and made herfor the moment half resolve to turn and fly from the place. But sheresisted the feeling and held her ground. The next moment the woman hadentered the theatre. The little party lingered for a few moments, andthen the theatre door again opened, and several persons in various stagedresses came out and gazed on the newcomers. Then they began to wink atone another as they stared at Julia, and to break out into a broad grin.How earnestly did the object of their curiosity and merriment long torush away out of the reach of those mocking eyes and sneering lips! Yetshe did not move. A purpose was coming into her heart; she might neverhave such an opportunity again. Yet how weak she felt in herself. Butthen she lifted up her heart in prayer to the Strong One, and, turningwith blanched face, but perfect calmness, to her brothers, asked them tohelp her to dismount, and then, leaving her horse's reins in Walter'shands, advanced towards a group of some dozen persons of different ageswho had come out of the theatre to gaze and to make merry.
"You know me, I see," she said, in a voice sweet and sad, but clear as abell in its utterances, "and I know you. You knew my poor husband intimes gone by, but not lately. He is dead; and your time must come too.He was pointed to that Saviour who alone can make a death-bed happy,and I _hope_ he was able to see him. His last words were, `God bemerciful to me a sinner.' You and I shall probably never meet again. Ihave gone back to my early home, and wish to forget the past, but Icould not see Jenny Farleigh go by without wishing to say a kind word toher, and this has brought me to you. I believe God has changed myheart; I have learned to know something of the love of my Saviour, and Iam happier now than I have ever been all my life. Oh, if you would onlygive up your present life and come to the same Saviour, how happy youwould be! Don't be angry with me for saying this, but just each of youtake one of these little papers from my hand as a token of good-will onmy part, and read it when you are alone."
She paused, having uttered these words with deep feeling, but at thesame time in a steady and fearless voice. The effect on her hearers wasoverpowering. Not a scornful eye, not a sneering lip remained when shehad finished, but sobs and tears burst from those who had for long yearsknown little other than fictitious weeping. Each took the offeredtract, each returned with warmth the kind pressure of her hand as sheparted from them; and as she remounted her horse, one voice was heard tosay, "Poor thing! God bless her!" Then all shrank back into thetheatre, and the happy three turned homeward once again. And oh, withwhat deep thankfulness did all make their way along the cliffs, and thenclose to the incoming tide, whose every wave seemed to throw up for thema sparkle of joy in its glittering spray! Few words, however, werespoken. Amos could hardly realise that this moral heroine was thesister whom he had once known so weak, so self-willed, so unimpressiblefor anything that was good and holy. Walter also was utterly staggeredand humbled when he reflected on what he had just wit
nessed, though atthe same time he was truly happy in having been strengthened to carryout his own noble and self-denying purpose. As for poor Julia, shecould hardly believe that she herself was the person who had addressedthat group outside the theatre walls. Oh, it was so strange, soterrible, and yet so blessed! for through that newly-opened door of workfor the gracious Master bright rays from the flood of glory in which heever dwells had been pouring in upon her soul.
The happy three reached their cottage, overflowing with love to oneanother, and all anxious that Miss Huntingdon should be a sharer intheir happiness, when she should hear what a bright and blessed day hadbeen granted them. So they sought her in the evening, when their motherhad retired to rest. Seated at her bedroom window, the four lookedforth upon the mighty deep, now rolling in its great waves nearer andnearer, and every wave flashing in the silver light of the full-orbedmoon. And surely the moonlight streaming down upon those waves, likeGod's calm peace on the billows of earthly trial, was in sweet harmonywith the feelings of that little group, as Amos and Julia poured outtheir account of Walter's noble address, and as Amos and Walter told ofthe unexpected and loving self-sacrifice exhibited in the conduct oftheir darling sister. Need it be said that in Miss Huntingdon they hadone who listened with almost painful interest and thankfulness to theadventures of that never-to-be-forgotten day? Drawing them all roundher, she poured out her heart in praise to God for what he had done inthem and by them, and in prayer that they might be enabled to perseverein the glorious course on which they had all now entered. And now, whenall were again seated--a little mound or pyramid of young hands beingheaped together over one another in Miss Huntingdon's lap--Walter'svoice was first heard. "I want an anecdote, an example of moralcourage, auntie; and it must be a female one this time, for we have amoral heroine here, there can be no doubt about that."
"There is no doubt of it, I am sure," replied his aunt; "and there canbe no difficulty in finding moral heroines, as well as moral heroes.Indeed, the only difficulty lies in making the most suitable selectionfrom so many. Our dear Julia has shown a moral courage such as I amcertain she could not have done had she not sought strength from theonly unfailing fountain of strength; and so I will take as my exampleone who was surrounded, as Julia was, by persons and circumstances whichmight well have daunted the stoutest heart, much more the heart of apoor and desolate young woman. And my example will be the moreappropriate because it will bring before us a scene which is closelyconnected with the seashore--such a seashore, it may be, as we are nowgazing on, with its sloping sands, and waves rushing up higher andhigher on the beach. My heroine, then--and she had a fellow-heroinewith her--was a humble Scottish girl who lived in the reign of Charlesthe Second, when the poor and pious Covenanters were bitterly andremorselessly persecuted, even to the death, because they would not doviolence to their consciences and deny the Lord who bought them. Manyof them, you know, were hunted by the king's savage soldiery among thehills and mountains, and, when overtaken, were slain in cold blood, evenwhen in the act of prayer.
"Margaret Wilson, my heroine, was a young girl of eighteen. She wastaken prisoner by the soldiers, tried, and condemned to die, because shesteadily and courageously refused to acknowledge the supremacy of anyother than Christ in the Church. A few words might have saved her life;but she would not utter them, because they would have been words offalsehood, and, though she dared to die, she dared not tell a lie. Sothey brought her out to the seashore, such as is before us now. Thetide was rising, but had not then begun long to turn. She had a fellow-sufferer with her of her own sex--one who, like herself, preferred acruel death to denying Christ. This fellow-sufferer was an aged widowof sixty-three. The sentence pronounced against them both was that theyshould be fastened to stakes driven deeply into the sand that coveredthe beach, and left to perish in the rising tide. The stake to whichthe aged female was fastened was lower down the beach than that of theyounger woman, in order that the expiring agonies of the elder saint,who would be first destroyed, might shake the firmness of MargaretWilson. The water soon flowed up to the feet of the old woman; in awhile it mounted to her knees, then to her waist, then to her chin, thento her lips; and when she was almost stifled by the rising waves, andthe bubbling groan of her last agony was reaching her fellow-martyrfarther up the beach, one heartless ruffian stepped up to MargaretWilson, and, with a fiendish grin and mocking laugh, asked her, `Whatthink you of your friend now?' And what was the calm and noble reply?`What do I see but Christ, in one of his members, wrestling there?Think you that _we_ are the sufferers? No. It is Christ in us--he whosendeth us not on a warfare upon our own charges.' She never flinched;she sought no mercy from man. The waves reached her too at last; theydid the terrible work which man had made them do. The heroic girlpassed from the hour of mortal struggle into the perfect peace of herSaviour's presence."
As she finished, Julia looked with tearful eyes into her aunt's face,and said gently, "Dear auntie, Christ was her strength; and," she addedin a whisper, "I believe he was mine."
"Yes, yes, precious child," said Miss Huntingdon, drawing her closely toher, "I am sure it was so; and the one great lesson we may learn fromour three heroines is this, `I can do all things through Christ whostrengtheneth me.'"
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
THE CROWN WON.
All was now peace in the little cottage. Mrs Huntingdon's once cloudedmind was daily gaining in clearness and strength, not only from theloving and judicious attentions of her children, but still more from theinward peace which had now made its dwelling in her heart. Ah! surelyin nothing is that declaration of holy Scripture, that godliness has thepromise of the life that now is, as well as of that which is to come,more evidenced than in the healthful tone which God's peace in the soulimparts to a mind once disordered and diseased. Few, comparatively, areaware in how many cases that which the world so specially prizes, "asound mind in a sound body," is enjoyed by its possessor because thatmind belongs to one whom God is keeping by his indwelling Spirit inperfect peace. It was so with Mrs Huntingdon. She had found the onlytrue rest, and so was daily making progress in strength both of body andmind. And her thorough establishment in this improvement in physicaland mental health was helped forward by the presence of hergrandchildren, whom Miss Huntingdon had brought with her to the cottage.Their coming carried her back in thought to the days when her ownchildren were as young, and bridged over the gulf of sorrow which hadcome in between; so that the painful impressions made when memoryrecalled that sorrow grew fainter and fainter in the happy light thatshone on the path of present duties, just as the waking terrors fromsome frightful and vivid dream fade away more and more, till they vanishand are forgotten in the full, broad, morning sunshine and the realitiesof work-day life. Nor were her grandchildren a source of comfort andimprovement to her alone. Their own mother had now learned to look uponthem in a very different light--no longer as clogs impeding her steps asshe pressed on in pursuit of pleasure and excitement, but as preciouscharges intrusted to her by the great Master, to be brought up for him,and in training of whom to walk on the narrow way by her side she wouldherself find the purest and highest happiness to be enjoyed on earth.So all things were now going on brightly at the cottage. Peace,harmony, and love had their abode there; and never did a happier partygo down to meet the incoming tide, and listen to its gentle music, thanmight be seen when Mrs Huntingdon, her children, grandchildren, andsister-in-law issued forth for a morning stroll along the beach, togather shells, or drink in the bracing air, as they watched some passingship, or the sea-birds as they dashed across the spray.
But now thoughts of home, and of the restoration to that home of theirdear mother, were busy in the hearts of Amos and his brother and sister.Mrs Huntingdon herself ventured only a hint or two on the subject, forshe felt that in this matter she must leave herself in the hands of herchildren. When _they_ saw that the fitting time was come, doubtless thereturn would be brought about. On the other hand, Amos was most anxious
to spare his father any pain which he might suffer from anything like anabrupt disclosure of the intended return home of his wife. The matterwould require gentle and delicate handling, lest the happiness of thatreturn should in any degree be marred to Mr Huntingdon by his feelingthat his advice should have been asked and his wishes consulted beforeeven so happy a consummation should be brought about. So, after thesubject had been talked over with Miss Huntingdon, it was unanimouslyresolved that she should be the person to break the happy tidings of hiswife's restoration to health to her brother, and should advise with himas to the most suitable day for her going back again to the old home.To this arrangement she cheerfully consented, and in a few days returnedalone to Flixworth Manor, to the great satisfaction of Mr Huntingdon,who was getting heartily tired of his solitary life.
And now she had to make her important disclosure, and how should shebest do this? Unknown to her, the way had already been partiallyopened; for one evening, when the squire was taking his dinner allalone, and Harry was waiting on him, he said to the old man, "Ratherdull work, Harry, without the young mistress and the children."
"Ay, sir, to be sure," was the butler's reply; "the house ain't like thesame. It has got quite like old times again."
"Yes," said his master, sadly and thoughtfully; "something like oldtimes. Well, we shall have Mrs Vivian back again shortly."
"And the old missus too, maybe, afore so very long," said the otherquickly.
"What _do_ you mean?" asked his master in a disturbed voice.
"Oh, beg pardon, sir," cried Harry; "I hardly knew what I was saying--itcame natural like; but stranger things has happened afore now. You mustexcuse me, master; I meant no harm."
The dinner over, the squire leaned back in his armchair, and began toturn over many thoughts in his mind. Harry's words kept recurring tohim, "And the old missus too." Well, why not? Hitherto he had neverthought the matter over at all. He knew that his wife had continuedmuch the same, neither better nor worse. He knew also that to havebrought her back while her daughter was shut out of the house would haveonly been the means of aggravating her complaint; and it had not yetseriously occurred to him that Julia's return might remove a difficultyand be a step towards restoring her mother to her old place in her home.But Harry's words now disturbed him and made him restless,--"And theold missus too." Could it indeed be brought to pass? Might not thesight of her daughter in the old home, occupying the place she used tohold, and of the other children living with her in harmony and love, actso beneficially on her as to restore her, with judicious and tendertreatment, to reason, happy intelligence, and home once more? As headmitted these thoughts into his heart, his bosom heaved, the tears fellfast from his eyes, he pressed his hand on his forehead, and, lookingup, murmured a prayer for guidance. Harassed and worn by electioneeringbusiness, and sickened with the din and unnatural excitement connectedwith it, how he yearned for the quiet peace and affectionate realitiesof his home society; and with that yearning came now a special longingto see once more, in her accustomed chair, her who had dwelt so long inbanishment from him. And yet he scarcely knew how to take the firststep in the bringing about of that which he so earnestly desired. "Imust leave it till Kate comes home," he said to himself with a sigh;"she will be sure to suggest the right thing, and to go the right way towork in the matter." How great, then, were the relief and happiness ofMiss Huntingdon when, on the evening of the day of her return home, herbrother himself introduced the subject by saying, "Dear Kate, I havebeen thinking a good deal of late whether it would not be possible toget my dear Mary back to her old home again. You know one greathindrance has now been removed. She will find our dear Julia once moreready to welcome her, and that, I daresay, if the meeting were wellmanaged, might go a great way towards her cure."
With what joy, then, did Miss Huntingdon gradually unfold to her brotherthe fact that the cure had already been accomplished, and that nothingnow remained but for him to fix the day for receiving back to his heartand home her who had been so long separated from him. Most gladly didhe acquiesce in the plans proposed by his sister as to the day andmanner of his wife's return, promising that he would duly restrainhimself at the first meeting, and that he would endeavour to erase, byhis future consideration and attention to her every wish, any painfulscar that might remain from harshness or unkindness in times past. MissHuntingdon was most deeply thankful that her path had been thus smoothedby the wise and tender hand that guides all the footsteps of thetrusting people of God; and she felt sure that a bright eventide was instore for those so truly dear to her. With her brother's consent shewrote to the cottage, fixing an early day for the return home, thinkingit wiser to remain at Flixworth Manor herself, that her presence, whenthe earnestly desired meeting should take place, might be a comfort toall parties, and might help to dispel any little cloud which memories ofthe past might cause to hover even over an hour so full of gladness.The day came at last. All outside the Manor-house was as bright aswell-kept walks, closely-mown turf, and flower-beds gay with the richand tastefully blended tints of multitudes of bright and fragrantflowers, could make it. Harry had taken the fine old entrance hallunder his own special care. How the bedrooms or sitting-rooms mightlook was not his concern, but that the hall should look its venerablebest, and that the plate should be bright, that was his business; it wasfor him to see to it, and see to it he did. Never were plate-powder andwash-leather put into more vigorous exercise, and never was old oakstaircase and panelling bees'-waxed and rubbed with more untiringenergy; so that, as the western sun poured his rays in through windowsand fanlight, a cheery brightness flashed from a hundred mirror-likesurfaces, including some ancestral helmets and other pieces of armour,which glowed with a lustre unknown by them in the days when they wereworn by their owners. "That'll do, and no mistake," said the old manhalf out loud, as, dressed in his best, he walked from one corner of thehall to another, standing a while at each to take in fully all thebeauties of the prospect. "Yes, that'll do; don't you think so, Polly?"Now this question was addressed, not to a fellow-servant, for all wereat the time busily engaged elsewhere, but to a grey parrot, one of thosesedate and solemn-looking birds whose remarks are generally in singularcontrast to their outward gravity of demeanour. The parrot made noreply, but looked a little bewildered. "Ah, I see how it is," saidHarry; "you are puzzled at so much brightness. Why, you can seeyourself reflected a dozen times. What a satisfaction it will be to thedear old missus to see a likeness of herself in every panel as she walksupstairs." Satisfied with this thought, he looked round him once againwith an air of considerable contentment--as well he might, foreverything spoke of comfort, refinement, and welcome, and of thediligent hands and loving hearts which had provided these. So, with onemore glance round, he again exclaimed, "Yes, it'll do; and I think thedear old missus 'll think so too," at the same time bowing low to theparrot, whose only reply, "Pretty Poll," was appreciative rather of herown attractions than of those of her surroundings.
And now a sound of wheels was heard, and all the inmates of the housecrowded into the hall. A minute more and the steps were reached, andthe hall-door was opened by a trembling but faithful hand. The youngpeople were the first to alight; and then Mrs Huntingdon, handed out ofthe carriage by Walter, and leaning on the arm of Amos, entered oncemore the home she had left so sadly. Her husband's arms were at onceround her, but he restrained himself by a strong effort, and just drewher gently very closely to him, whispering to her, as audibly as tearswould let him, "Welcome home again, my dear, dear wife." And shereturned the loving pressure, and spoke in subdued voice herthankfulness to be at home with him once more; and then they stood apartand gazed earnestly at each other. Ay, there was change in each. Timeand care and sorrow had done their work and ploughed their furrows; butthere was a sweet peace which neither had before seen in the other, and,to Mr Huntingdon's glad surprise and almost awe, a heavenly beauty inhis recovered wife's face which he knew not then how to account for, buthe was not long in
learning its source.
And now, as husband and wife, once more united, were about to move on,old Harry stepped forward, and with the profoundest of bows, and a veryunsteady voice, wished his old mistress all health and happiness formany long years among them. Mrs Huntingdon could not trust herself tospeak, but she held out her hand to him, which he took as gently in hisown as if it had been some article of ornamental glass of a peculiarlybrittle nature, and then saluted it with a fervent kiss; after which,rather abashed at his own proceeding, he shrank back, and allowed thehappy travellers to make their way upstairs. But he could not besatisfied with having given so partial a vent to his feelings. So, whenthe hall was again all his own, he began to trip round it in a measuredsort of dance, to the intense amusement of Julia and Walter, who werelooking over the banisters from above on the performer, who was notconscious at the moment of being so observed. On the old man went,waxing more and more energetic, till at last he swayed himself into thecentre of the hall, and gave expression to the vehemence of his feelingsin a complicated sort of movement which he intended for a jump orspring, but which brought him down on all fours, amidst a burst ofirrepressible laughter from the young people who were looking on. Alittle disconcerted, Harry was just recovering his feet, when theparrot, who had learned a few short phrases in times past, principallyfrom Walter, and had now been eyeing Harry's movements, with his greyhead on one side, and his thoughtful eye twinkling restlessly,exclaimed, in an almost sepulchral voice, "What's up now?" The old manstared comically at the unexpected speaker, and then said, as he brushedthe dust off his knees, "What's up now? why, you stupid old bird,there's a great deal that's up now. I'm up now, though I was down aminute ago. And Miss Julia as was and Master Walter's up now, forthey're up on the landing a-laughing at me. And the dear old missus isup now; she's up in her room with master, and we don't want her to bedown in spirits no more. There, Polly, I've answered your question, andanswered it well, I think."
Never did a happier party gather round the dinner-table at FlixworthManor; never did the old butler ply his office with a readier hand and abrighter countenance. Dinner over, and all being grouped together inthe drawing-room, where many loving words had passed, Walter turned tohis father and said, "I have two requests to make to you, dear father."
"Well, my boy, what are they? they must be strange and unreasonableindeed if I refuse to grant them on such a night as this."
"I don't think, father, that you will call them so."
"Well, what are they?"
"The first is, that Amos may be our chaplain just for once at familyprayers to-night."
All looked surprised, but none more so than Amos himself. Half risingfrom his seat, he laid a remonstrating hand upon his brother's arm; butit was now too late. The colour flushed over his face, and he lookeduneasily at his father's countenance, which was much troubled; yet therewas no look of anger there, but rather a shade of deep sadness had creptover it. The truth was, Mr Huntingdon had always entertained aprofound respect for religion, and an equally profound contempt forhypocrites; but nothing beyond this had till lately been thought by himto be necessary for his taking his place in society as a respectablyreligious man. He wished all his dependants to be sober and honest, andto go to church, read their Bibles, and say their prayers; and what morecould be required of him or them? And, in order to set a good examplein his family and to his tenants, he always himself conducted familyprayers night and morning, reading a few verses of Scripture, and aplain and suitable prayer. Nevertheless, he had simply done thishitherto as a duty, as a matter of form, and always rose from his kneeswith a mingled feeling of satisfaction at having performed a duty, andof relief that a somewhat irksome task was over. But now a new view ofreligion, its duties and privileges, had begun to dawn upon him; butstill he had scarce light enough yet to see his way to taking adifferent stand. So, when Walter preferred his request that Amos shouldbe chaplain for that evening, a painful sense of deficiency on his ownpart clouded his spirit, while at the same time he was truly anxious todo anything which would be a step in the direction of real improvementand spiritual blessing to his household. The cloud, however, soonmelted away, and holding out his hand to Walter, and grasping his handwarmly, he said, "With all my heart, my dear boy; nothing could bebetter. Let Amos be chaplain to-night, and not to-night only. I amgetting old, and his younger voice and more experience in such matterswill make it a good thing for us all if he will take the family prayerswhenever he is at home." As he concluded with faltering voice, Amosbegan to remonstrate in words of earnest deprecation; but his fatherstopped him, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, kindly said, "Do itto please me, and to please us all, dear boy." Then, turning to Walter,with every shade removed from his countenance, he asked, "And what isyour second request?"
"That's not a very hard one to grant," replied Walter, smiling, "thoughperhaps you may repent of saying `Yes' when you suffer the consequences.My second request is, that I may be allowed to make a short speech whenfamily prayers are over."
"Granted at once, my son," was Mr Huntingdon's reply; "I am sure youwill have an attentive audience."
"Ah, it may be so, father; but I'm not sure that every member of myattentive audience will hear me willingly."
And now, when the gong had sounded and the whole family, including theservants, were gathered for the evening devotion, Amos, calm andcollected, took his seat at the table, and when all were assembled,opened the Bible, which Harry had, by his master's direction, put beforehim, at the hundred and third Psalm. Deeply touching were those ferventwords read out with solemn earnestness and pathos by the young man, inthe presence of those he loved so dearly, specially when he lingered onthe third and fourth verses, "Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; whohealeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; whocrowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies." The psalmfinished, all knelt, and then, in tones low and trembling at first, butgaining in power and firmness as he proceeded, Amos poured out his heartin supplication and thanksgiving,--thanksgiving that all the members ofthat family were once again united under that roof in health and peace;and supplication that they might henceforth, if spared, go hand in handalong the narrow way, as true followers of Him whose service is perfectfreedom.
Not a tearless eye was there in that company as all rose from theirknees, no one being so deeply affected as Mr Huntingdon, who drew Amosto him with a tenderness which more than repaid his son for everysacrifice and suffering in the past. "And now," said his father, whenthe servants had left the room, "we are all waiting for your promisedspeech, Walter." The smile with which the young man rose to his feetpassed away as he saw all eyes earnestly fixed on him. For a moment hehesitated, and then began: "Father and mother dear, I have been learningfor some time past some very important lessons; and my two teachers arehere before you--the one is my dear aunt Kate, and the other is my dearbrother Amos. My aunt has taught me with her lips, and my brother byhis life.--Nay, Amos, you must not interrupt the speaking. At thismoment I am in possession of the house.--My lessons have been on thesubject of moral courage. I used to think I was very brave, and didn'tneed any instruction on such a subject. I looked down upon, and wouldhave despised, only I couldn't, the noblest brother that ever brotherhad.--Ay, ay, it's no use shaking your head, Amos; I am speaking nothingbut the truth.--Over and over again I have shown myself a moral coward;over and over again Aunt Kate has set before me, at my own request,examples of moral heroism from history and real life, just to suit mycase and stir me up to better things; and over and over again I haveseen acted out by my brother there the very lessons I have been so slowin learning. Ah, it has been grand teaching! We have had such a lot ofmoral heroes,--Columbus, and Washington, and Howard, and Luther, andFletcher, and a score more. But here is my moral hero," saying which hethrew one arm round his weeping brother's neck, and put a hand over hismouth as he proceeded. "Yes, you must hear me out now. Here is thebrother who, with a moral courage that never nagged
, that no unkindness,no misunderstanding could bend, has been carrying out for years onegreat purpose, which God has permitted him this day to bring to a fullaccomplishment. That purpose we all see fulfilled in our completefamily gathering to-night. Yes; Amos is my hero of heroes, and he_shall_ hear me say it. I ask his pardon now for all my unworthytreatment of him. He _is_ my hero, for he has nobly conquered. He hasconquered us all, but none more completely than the brother who looksupon it as one of his dearest privileges to be permitted to love him andto try and copy his example."
What could Amos do? what could he say? Clinging to the impulsivebrother who had thus spoken out impetuously what all felt to be true,and sobbing out his regrets that such words should have been spoken ofone who felt himself to be so undeserving of them, he was utterly at aloss what to reply, nor did any one for the moment venture to add aword. But at last the silence was broken by the clear and gentle voiceof Miss Huntingdon. "It may be, dearest ones, that a few words frommyself may not be out of place after dear Walter's speech. He hasindeed spoken the truth. Our noble Amos has certainly shown us, in thecarrying out of his great heart-purpose, true moral courage in many ofits most striking forms. But he has not been alone in this. I havebeen a privileged teacher by word of mouth, as Walter has said; andright nobly has he learned and applied his lessons, and been pressingforward in his brother's steps. And not only so, but dear Julia hasbeen also learning and practising these lessons. And now I think I needoccupy the teacher's place no longer. I would rather give up my placeto the great Teacher of all,--to Him who both by word and example showsus moral heroism in its perfection of sublimity. I have not hithertoventured specially to dwell on him as being in this, as in every otherexcellence, the one perfect pattern, because Walter wished to beencouraged by examples in those who were imperfect and shortcomingcreatures like ourselves. But I would now express the hope that we mayall henceforth find our happiness in taking Him for our teacher, guide,and model who never shrank from duty, even when to perform it wrung fromhim tears of agony and a bloody sweat, and who held on his coursethrough evil report and good report, spite of blasphemy, persecution,and a bitter and shameful death, till he had finished the work which hisFather had given him to do, and had won for us the victory over sin anddeath, and an imperishable crown of glory."
THE END.
Amos Huntingdon Page 23
