"I did not realize it before," she murmured in a low, shuddering tone. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? Why doesn"t the earth open and swallow me up?"
The old man came to her side again, and placing his right hand gently on her bowed head and holding a Bible in his left, continued in grave by very gentle tones:
"Take this Book, my child; it will tell you what to do. It will tell you that merciful and all-powerful arms are open to receive you, and not a hopeless grave. The Son of G.o.d has said to the heavy laden, "Come unto me," and "whosoever cometh I will in nowise cast out." Heaven is full, my child, of just such guilty souls as yours, but it was HE who saved them. It was His precious blood that washed them whiter than snow. When you seek for forgiveness and healing at His feet all will be well, but not till then, and not elsewhere."
"O, Mr. Eltinge," she sobbed, "you have pierced my heart as with a sword."
"I have, indeed, my poor child--with the sword of truth; and what"s more, I can"t heal the wound I"ve made."
"What shall I do? oh, what shall I do?" and she fairly writhed in the agony of her remorse.
""Behold the Lamb of G.o.d, that taketh away the sin of the world,""
he said gently but firmly, and his strong faith and the words of Holy Writ were like a rock, at which, from out of the overwhelming torrent of her remorseful despair, she grasped as her one chance, her one hope.
Lifting her streaming eyes to heaven, and clasping her hands, she cried pa.s.sionately:
"O Christ, hope of the sinful, if there is mercy for such as I, forgive me, for my crime is like a falling mountain!"
A moment later she sprang up and put her arms around the old man"s neck.
"My friend, my more than father!" she sobbed, "I think--I almost believe G.o.d has heard me. It seems as if I had escaped from death, and--and--my heart was breaking; but now--oh, it"s all a heavenly mystery!"
"Yes," replied Mr. Eltinge brokenly, and with answering emotion, "it is a heavenly mystery. "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord.""
Ida could never forget the remaining hours which she spent that day in the old garden. it was then and there that she experienced the sensations of those entering a new spiritual life and a new world; and with some, these first impressions are very vivid; and with some, these first impressions are very vivid.
It was according to nature that it should be so in the instance of Ida Mayhew, for she was simple, positive, and warm in her feelings, rather than cold and complex. But she was sane, and abounded in the homely common sense which enabled her to understand herself and those about her. She formed fairly correct estimates of all whom she had met, and with the same simple directness she began to recognize the character of the Divine Man that Mr. Eltinge and the Bible they read together presented.
No earthly casuistry could ever lead her to doubt that he had heard her prayer that morning. She might reply simply to all cavil and questioning:
"I know he heard and answered me, and if I do not know this to be true, I cannot know anything to be true;" for never before had her consciousness made anything so distinct and real.
To say that she and mult.i.tudes of others are mistaken, is begging the whole question. It is baldly taking the ground of denial of everything outside of personal understanding and knowledge. The skepticism of very many would blot out the greater part of science, history, and geography. The facts of Christian experience and Christian testimony are as truly facts as those which are discovered by people who are hostile or indifferent to the Bible.
The broad, liberal man is he who accepts all truth and humbly waits till the fuller wisdom of coming ages reconciles what is now apparently conflicting. The bigot is he who shuts his eyes to truth he does not like, or does not understand; and he is as apt to be a scientist as the man who has learned that the G.o.d who made him can also speak to him, through his inspired word and all-pervading Spirit.
We are surrounded by earthly mysteries which the wisest cannot solve, and some of them are very sad and dark. Why should there not be, as Ida said, a heavenly mystery?
After all, it is a question of fact. The Christ of the New Testament offers to give peace and spiritual healing. Does he keep his word?
We say yes, on the broad ground of human experience and human testimony--the ground on which is built the greater part of human knowledge.
If this be true, what a reproach is contained in the words of our Lord: "Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life"!
Chapter XLIV. "The Garden of Eden."
"Mr. Eltinge," Ida asked, as they were about to part, "have I a right to the glad sense of escape and safety that has come so unexpectedly?"
"Your right," he replied, "depends on the character of the Friend you have found. Do you think he is able and willing to keep his word?"
"Oh, Mr. Eltinge, how plain you make it all!"
"No, my dear; it was made plain centuries ago. You have as much right to your happy feelings as to the sunshine; but never put your feelings in the place of Christ, and trust in them. That"s like putting faith in one"s grat.i.tude, instead of the friend whose services inspired the grat.i.tude. But come again to-morrow, and we"ll go on with the "old, old story." I"ve read it scores of times, but am enjoying it now with you more than ever. Good-by."
As Ida drew near to the hotel, Stanton stepped from the roadside to meet her.
"Ida," he said, "if you cannot forgive me (and perhaps you cannot), I"ll leave to-morrow morning--and perhaps I had better any way. I fear it was an evil day for us both when we came to this place."
"I"ve thought so too, Cousin Ik," she said kindly; "but I don"t now. I"m glad I came here, though it has cost me a great deal of suffering and--and--may--but no matter. I was better and worse than you thought me. I must in sincerity say that it has been hard to forgive you, for your suspicion wounded me more deeply than you"ll ever know. But my own need of forgiveness has taught me to forgive others; and I now see that I also have been very disagreeable to you, Ik. Let us exchange forgiveness and be friends."
"Ida, what has come over you? You are no more like the girl that I brought to the country than I"m like the self-satisfied fool that accompanied you."
"No, Ik, you are not a fool, and never were; but, like myself, you had a good deal of self-complacency, and not much cause for it.
Pardon me for speaking plainly, but after what has pa.s.sed between us we can afford to be frank. You may not win Jennie Burton, but I believe she"ll wake you up, and make a strong, genuine man of you."
"Ida," he said in a low tone, and with lips that quivered a little, "I"m not sorry that I love Jennie Burton, though in consequence I may never see another happy day. But good-by; I"m too confoundedly blue to-day to speak to another mortal. It"s a great relief, though, that you have forgiven me. I wouldn"t if I had been in your place, and don"t think I forgive myself because you have let me off so easily;" and he turned hastily away, and was soon lost to her view in the shrubbery by the roadside.
If Ida had puzzled Van Berg in the morning, he was still more perplexed in the evening. Slight traces of her deep emotion still lingered around her eyes, but in the eyes themselves there shone a light and hopefulness which he had never seen before, and which he could not interpret. Moreover, her face was growing so gentle and womanly, so free from the impress of all that had marred it heretofore, that he could not help stealing glances so often that were Jennie Burton of a jealous disposition she might think his interest not wholly artistic. Although there was much of the shrinking and retiring manner of the morning, and she did not join in the general conversation, all traces of resentment and coldness towards her companions had vanished. She was considerate and even kind to her mother, but in reply to her questions concerning the people she had visited, said gently but firmly:
"I will take you there some day, mother, and then you can judge for yourself."
But with the exception of a promptness to check all reference to herself and the day"s experiences, her manner was so different from what Mrs. Mayhew had been accustomed to, that she could not help turning many perplexed and curious glances toward her daughter, and was evidently no better able to understand the subtle and yet real change than was the artist himself.
Miss Burton, with her keen, delicate perceptions, recognized this difference more fully than any of the others; and her instinct, rather than anything she saw in Ida, enabled her to divine the cause in part. "I know of but one thing that can account for Miss Mayhew"s behavior," she thought, "and though she guards her secret well, she cannot deceive a woman who has pa.s.sed through my experience.
I begin to see it all. She used Sibley as a blind, and she was blind herself, poor child, when she did so, to everything save the one womanly necessity of hiding an unsought love. Well, well, my outspoken lover has eyes for her sweet, chastened beauty to-night.
Perhaps he thinks he is studying her face as an artist. Perhaps he is. But it strikes me that he has lost the critical and judicial expression which I have noticed hitherto," and a glimmer of a smile that did not in the least suggest the "green-eyed monster" hovered for a moment like a ray of light over Jennie Burton"s face.
"Mother," said Ida, in a low, sympathetic tone, "I see one of your headaches coming on. Let me bathe your head after tea."
"Ida," whispered Mrs. Mayhew, "you are so changed I don"t know you."
The young girl flushed slightly, and by a quick, warning look checked all further remark of this tendency.
"She is indeed marvelously changed," thought Miss Burton. "I feel it even more than I can see it. There must be some other influence at work. Who are these friends she is visiting, and who send her back to us daily with some unexpected grace? Yesterday it was truthfulness--to-day an indescribable charm of manner that has banished the element of earthiness from her beauty. I think I will join my friend (who imagines himself something more) in the study of a problem that is becoming intensely interesting."
"Miss Mayhew," Van Berg found a chance to say after supper, "you are becoming a greater enigma to me than ever."
"Well," she replied, averting her face to hide the color that would rise at his rather abrupt and pointed address, "I"d rather be a Chinese puzzle to you than what I was."
"And I no doubt have appeared to you like a Chinese Mandarin, Grand Turk, Great Mogul, not name self-satisfied Pharisees, and all of that ilk."
"I can"t say that you have, and yet I"ve keenly felt your superiority.