"What are you so much concerned about it, Rotha?"
"I was just thinking."--
And apparently she had a good deal of thinking to do; for she was quite silent for some time. And Mr. Digby on his part went back to his problem, how was he to tell Rotha what he had promised to tell her? From their somewhat elevated and withdrawn position, the moving scene before them was most bright and gay. An endless procession of equipages--beautiful carriages, stately horses, pompous attendants, luxurious pleasure-takers; one after another, and twos and threes following each other, a continuous stream; carriages of all sorts, landaus, Victorias, clarences, phaetons, barouches, close coaches, dog carts, carryalls, gigs, buggies. Now and then a country affair, with occupants to match; now a plain wagon with a family of children having a good time; now an old gentleman and his wife taking a sober airing; then a couple of ladies half lost in the depths of their cushions, and not having at all a good time, to judge by their looks; and then a young man with n.o.body but himself and a pair of fast trotting horses, which had, and needed, all his attention; and then a whirl of the general thing, fine carriages, fine ladies, fine gentlemen, fine servants and fine horses; in all varieties of combination. It was very pretty; it was very gay; the young foliage of early summer was not yet discouraged and dulled by the heat and the dust; the air was almost country sweet, and flowers were brilliant in one of the plantations within sight. How the world went by!--
Mr. Digby had half forgotten it and everything else, in his musings, when he was aroused, and well nigh startled, by a question from Rotha.
"Mr. Digby--can I help my will?"
He looked down at her. "What do you mean, Rotha?"
"I mean, can I help my will? I asked mother one day, and she said I had better ask you."
Rotha"s eyes came up to his face with their query; and whatever it might import, he saw that she was in earnest. Grave and intent the girl"s fine dark eyes were, and came up to his eyes with a kind of power of search.
"I do not think I understand you."
"Yes, you do. If I do not like something--do not want to be something-- can I help my will?"
"What do you not want to be?" said Mr. Digby, waiving this severe question in mental philosophy.
"Must I tell you?"
"Not if you don"t like; but I think it might help me to get at your difficulty, and so to get at the answer you want."
"Mr. Digby, can a person want to do something, and yet not be willing?"
"Yes," said he, in growing surprise.
"Then, can he _help_ not being willing?"
"What is the case in hand, Rotha? I am wholly in the dark. I do not know what you would be at."
To come nearer to the point was not Rotha"s wish and had not been her purpose; she hesitated. However, the subject was one which exercised her, and the opportunity of discussing her difficulty with Mr. Digby was very tempting. She hesitated, but she could not let the chance go.
"Mother wishes I would be a Christian," she said low and slowly. "And I wish I could, to please her; but I do not want to. Can I help my will?
and I am not willing."
There was a mixture of defiance and desire in this speech which instantly roused the somewhat careless attention of the young man beside her.
Anything that touched the decision of any mortal in the great question of everlasting life, awoke his sympathies always to fullest exercise. It was not his way, however, to shew what he felt; and he answered her with the same deliberate calm as. .h.i.therto. n.o.body would have guessed the quickened pulses with which he spoke.
"Why do you not want to be a Christian, Rotha?"
"I do not know," she answered slowly. "I suppose, I want to be free."
"Go on a little bit, and tell me what you mean by being "free.""
"Why--I mean, I suppose,--I _know_ I mean, that I want to do what I like."
"You are taking the wrong way for that."
"Why, I could not do what I liked if I was a Christian, Mr. Digby?"
"A Christian, on the contrary, is the only person in this world, so far as I know, who can do what he likes."
"Why, do you?" said Rotha, looking at him.
"Yes," said he smiling. "Always."
"But I thought--"
"You thought a Christian was a sort of a slave."
"Yes. Or a servant. A servant he is; and a servant is not free. He has laws to mind."
"And you think, by refusing the service you get rid of the laws? That"s a mistake. The laws are over you and binding on you, just the same, whether you accept them or not; and you have got to meet the consequences of not obeying them. Did you never think of that?"
"But it is different if I _promised_ to obey them," said Rotha.
"How different?"
"If I promised, I must do it."
"If you do not promise you must take the consequences of not doing it.
You cannot get from under the law."
"But how can you do whatever you like, Mr. Digby?"
"There comes in your other mistake," said he. "I can, because I am free.
It is you who are the slave."
"I? How, Mr. Digby?"
"You said just now, you wished you could be a Christian, but you could not. Are you free to do what you wish?"
"But can I help my will?"
The gentleman took out of his pocket a slim little New Testament which always went about with him, and put it into Rotha"s hands open at a certain place, bidding her read.
""Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.""
Rotha stopped and looked up at her companion.
"Go on," he bade her; and she read further.
""They answered him, We be Abraham"s seed, and were never in bondage to any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free?
""Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin. And the servant abideth not in the house forever: but the Son abideth ever. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.""