"Yes, mamma, it seemed so long to wait," said Rosie, "and now there is a strange gentleman in the drawing-room, waiting to see you. He"s been here a good while, and both grandpas are out."
"Then I must go to him at once. But I think he is not likely to detain me long away from you, darlings," the mother said.
She found the gentleman--a handsome man of middle age--looking not at all annoyed or impatient, but seemingly well entertained by Isa and Violet, who were there, chatting sociably together over some pretty fancy work, when he was shown in by the servant.
They withdrew after Isa had introduced Mrs. Travilla and Mr. Embury.
The former thought it a little singular when she learned that her caller"s errand was the same with that of Uncle Ben, _i.e._, to talk about Mr. Jones and the propriety of asking him to take permanent charge of the two churches: yet with this difference--that he was personally not unfavorable to the idea.
"I like him very well, though he is not by any means Mr. Mason"s equal as a preacher," he said, "and I think our little congregation can be induced to give him a call; but we are too few to support him unless by continuing the union with this church, so that the small salary we can give will still be supplemented by the very generous one you pay, and the use of the cottage you built for Mr. Mason. I am taking for granted, my dear Madame, that you intend to go on doing for your retainers here as you have hitherto."
"I do," she said, "in case they choose a minister whose teachings accord with those of the inspired word. I cannot be responsible for any other."
"And do those of Mr. Jones not come up to the standard?"
"I regret to have to say that they do not; his preaching is far from satisfactory to me; he makes nothing of the work of the Spirit, or the danger of grieving Him away forever; nothing of the danger of self-deception; instructing those who are in doubt about the genuineness of their conversion that they must not be discouraged, instead of advising them to go to Christ now and be saved, just as any other sinner must. I fear his teaching may lead some to be content with a false hope.
Then he often speaks in a half hesitating way, which shows doubt and uncertainty, on his part, of truths which are taught most plainly and forcibly in scripture. In a word, his preaching leaves the impression upon me that he has no very thorough acquaintance with the Bible, and no very strong confidence in the infallibility of its teachings. Indeed so glaring are his contradictions of scripture, that even my young children have noticed them more than once or twice."
"Really, Mrs. Travilla, you make out a strong case against him,"
remarked her interlocutor, after a moment"s thoughtful silence, "and upon reflection I believe a true one. I am surprised at myself that I have listened with so little realization of the important defects in his system of theology. I was not ardently in favor of calling him before; now I am decidedly opposed to it."
He was about to take leave, but, the two Mr. Dinsmores coming in at that moment, resumed his seat, and the subject was reopened.
They soon learned that they were all of substantially the same opinion in regard to it.
In the course of the conversation some account was given Mr. Embury of the Sunday evening Bible study at Viamede.
He seemed much interested, and at length asked if he might be permitted to join them occasionally.
"My boys are away at school," he said, "my two little girls go early to bed, and my evenings are often lonely--since my dear Mary left me, now two years ago," he added with a sigh. "May I come, Mrs. Travilla?"
"Yes," she said, reading approval in the eyes of her father and grandfather, while her own tender heart sympathized with the bereaved husband, though at the same time her sensitive nature shrank from the invasion of their family circle by a stranger.
He read it all in her speaking countenance, but could not deny himself the antic.i.p.ated pleasure of making the acquaintance of so lovely a family group--to say nothing of the intellectual or spiritual profit to be expected from sharing in their searching of the scriptures.
Mr. Embury was a man of liberal education and much general information--one who read and thought a good deal and talked well.
The conversation turned upon literature, and Mr. Dinsmore presently carried him off to the library to show him some valuable books recently purchased by himself and his daughter.
They were still there when the tea-bell rang, and being hospitably urged to remain and partake of the meal with the family, Mr. Embury accepted the invitation with unfeigned pleasure.
All were present even down to little Walter, and not excepting poor Molly.
Her apartments at Viamede being on the same floor with dining-room, library and parlors, she joined the family gatherings almost as frequently as any one else--indeed whenever she preferred the society of her relatives to the seclusion of her own room.
Mr. Embury had occasionally seen her at church. Her bright, intellectual face and crippled condition had excited his interest and curiosity, and in one way and another he had learned her story.
Truth to tell, one thing that had brought him to Viamede was the desire to make her acquaintance--though Molly and the rest were far from suspecting it at the time.
He had no definite motive for seeking to know her, except that his large, generous heart was drawn out in pity for her physical infirmity, and filled with admiration of her cheerfulness under it, and the energy and determination she had shown in carving out a career for herself, and steadily pursuing it spite of difficulties and discouragements that would have daunted many a weaker spirit.
She had less of purely physical beauty than any other lady present, her mother excepted, yet there was something in her face that would have attracted attention anywhere; and her conversational powers were enviable, as Mr. Embury discovered in the course of the evening, for so delightful did he find the society of these new friends, both ladies and gentlemen, that he lingered among them until nearly ten o"clock, quite oblivious of the flight of time until reminded of it by the striking of the clock.
"Really, Mrs. Travilla," he said, rising to take leave, "I owe you an apology for this lengthened visit, which has somehow taken the place of my intended call; but I must beg you to lay the blame where it should fall, on the very great attractiveness of your family circle."
"The apology is quite out of proportion to the offence, sir," she returned, with a kindly smile; "so we grant you pardon, and shall not refuse it for a repet.i.tion of the misdeed."
"I wish," he said, glancing round from one to another, "that you would all make me a return in kind. I will not say that Magnolia Hall is equal to Viamede, but it is called a fine place, and I can a.s.sure you of at least a hearty welcome to its hospitalities."
CHAPTER XIII.
"I preached as never sure to preach again, And as a dying man to dying men."
--_Richard Baxter._
There was a stranger in the pulpit the next Sunday morning; one whose countenance, though youthful, by its intellectuality, its earnest thoughtfulness, and a nameless something that told of communion with G.o.d and a strong sense of the solemn responsibility of thus standing as an amba.s.sador for Christ to expound his word and will to sinful, dying men, gave promise of a discourse that should send empty away no attentive hearer hungering and thirsting for the bread and the water of life.
Nor was the promise unfulfilled. Taking as his text the Master"s own words, "They hated me without a cause," he dwelt first upon the utter helplessness, hopelessness and wretchedness of that estate of sin and misery into which all mankind were plunged by Adam"s fall; then upon G.o.d"s offered mercy through a Redeemer, even his only begotten and well-beloved Son; upon the wondrous love of Christ "in offering himself a sacrifice to satisfy divine justice and reconcile us to G.o.d," as shown first in what he resigned--the joy and bliss of heaven, "the glory which he had with the Father before the world was"--secondly in his birth and life on earth, of which he gave a rapid but vivid sketch from the manger to the cross--showing the meekness, patience, gentleness, benevolence, self-denial, humility and resignation of Jesus--how true, guileless, innocent, loving and compa.s.sionate he was; describing the miracles he wrought--every one an act of kindness to some poor sufferer from bereavement, accident, disease, or Satan"s power; then the closing scenes of that wondrous life--the agony in the garden, the cruel mockery of a trial, the scourging, the crucifixion, the expiring agonies upon the cross.
He paused; the audience almost held their breath for the next words, the silent tears were stealing down many a cheek.
Leaning over the pulpit with outstretched hand, with features working with emotion, "I have set before you," he said in tones thrilling with pathos, "this Jesus in his life and in his death. He lived not for himself, but for you; he died not for his own sins, but for yours and mine: he offers you this salvation as a free gift purchased with his own blood. Yea, risen again, and ever at the right hand of G.o.d, he maketh intercession for you. If you hate him, is it not without a cause?"
The preacher had wholly forgotten himself in his subject; nor did self intrude into the prayer that followed the sermon. Truly he seemed to stand in the immediate presence of Him who died on Calvary and rose again, as he poured out his confessions of sins, his grat.i.tude for redeeming love, his earnest pet.i.tions for perishing souls, blindly, wickedly hating without a cause this matchless, this loving, compa.s.sionate Saviour. And for Christ"s own people, that their faith might be strengthened, their love increased, that they might be very zealous for the Master, abounding in gifts and prayers and labors for the upbuilding of his cause and kingdom.
"The very man we should have here, if he can be induced to come," Mr.
Dinsmore said in a quiet aside to his daughter as the congregation began to disperse, going out silently or conversing in subdued tones; for the earnest, solemn discourse had made a deep impression.
"Yes, papa. Oh, I should rejoice to hear such preaching every Sabbath!"
was Elsie"s answer.
"And I," Mr. Embury said, overhearing her remark. "But Mr. Keith gave us expressly to understand that he did not come as a candidate; he is here for his health or recreation, being worn out with study and pastoral work, as I understand."
"Keith?" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore. "I thought there was something familiar in his face. Elsie, I think he must belong to our Keiths."
"We must find out, papa," she said. "Oh, I shall be glad if he does!"
"Shall I bring him up and introduce him?" Mr. Embury asked. "Ah, here he is!" as, turning about, he perceived the young minister close at hand.
"Dinsmore! Travilla! those are family names with us!" the latter said, with an earnest, interested look from one to the other as the introductions were made.
"As Keith is with us," Mr. Dinsmore answered, grasping his hand. "I opine that I am speaking to a grandson of my cousin Marcia Keith and her husband, Stuart Keith, of Pleasant Plains, Indiana?"
"Yes, sir; I am the son of Cyril, their second son, and bear the same name. And you, sir, are the Cousin Horace of whom I have so often heard my grandmother and Aunt Mildred speak?"
"The same."