He came home, however, late on Monday night, to find that no one had sent, no one in particular had inquired for him. Still his faith was not at all shaken; he still knew that Harman"s soul was to be given to him, and believing that he would like to see him, he felt that he should yet be summoned to his side.
On Tuesday morning prayers were to be read in the little iron church.
Never full even on Sundays, this one weekday service was very miserably attended. Home did not often take it, the duty generally devolving on the youngest curate in the place. He was hurrying past to-day, having many sick and poor to attend to, when he met young Davenport--a curate only just ordained.
"I am glad I met you," said the young man, coming up at once and addressing the older clergyman with a troubled face. "There would not have been time to have gone round to your place. See, I have had a telegram; my father is ill. I want to catch a train at twelve o"clock to go and see him; I cannot if I take this service. Will it be possible for you to do the duty this morning?"
"Perfectly possible," answered Home heartily. "Go off at once, my dear fellow; I will see to things for you until you return."
The young man was duly grateful, and hurried away at once, and Home entered the little building. The moment he did so he saw the reason of it all. Mr. Harman was in the church; he was in the church and alone.
His daughter was not with him. There was no sermon that day, and the short morning prayers were quickly over. The half-dozen poor who had come in went out again; but Mr. Harman did not stir. Home took off his surplice, and hurried down the church. He meant now to speak to Mr.
Harman, if Mr. Harman did not speak to him; but he saw that he would speak. As he approached the pew the white-headed old man rose slowly and came to meet him.
"Sir, I should like to say a few words to you."
"As many as you please, my dear sir; I am quite at your service."
Home now entered the pew and sat down.
"Shall we talk here or in the vestry?" he inquired, after a moment"s silence.
"I thought perhaps you would come to my house later on," said Mr.
Harman. "I have a long story to tell you; I can tell it best at home. I am very ill, or I would come to you. May I expect you this evening?"
"I will certainly come," answered Home. "What is your address?"
Mr. Harman gave it. Then, after a pause, he added--
"I seek you as a minister."
"And I come to you as a servant of G.o.d," replied the curate, now fixing his eyes on his companion.
Mr. Harman"s gaze did not quail before that steady look. With an unutterable sadness he returned it fully. Then he said,
"I came here on Sunday."
"I saw you," answered Home.
"Ah! can it be possible that you preached to me?"
"To you, if you think so. I spoke to every sinner in the congregation."
"You spoke of a land where G.o.d is not; you described the terrible country well."
"An arid land?" answered Home.
"Ay, a thirsty land."
"Those that find it so generally find also that they are being led back to a land where G.o.d is."
"You believe, then, in the forgiveness of sin?"
"If I did not I should go mad."
"My good sir, you are not much of a sinner."
"I am a sinner, sir; and if I were not--if I dared to lift up my eyes to a holy, a righteous G.o.d, and say, "I am pure"--I yet, if I did not believe as fully as I am now sitting by your side in the perfect forgiveness of sin, I yet should go mad; for I have seen other men"s sins and other men"s despair; I should lose my reason for their sakes, if not for my own."
"Should you, indeed? You see now before you a despairing man and a dying man."
"And a sinner?" questioned Home.
"Ay, ay, G.o.d knows, a sinner."
"Then I see also before me a man whose despair can be changed to peace, and his sin forgiven. What hour shall I call upon you this evening?"
Mr. Harman named the hour. Then he rose feebly; Home gave him his arm and conducted him to his carriage; afterwards he re-entered the church to pray.
CHAPTER LII.
A HIDDEN SIN.
Nine o" clock in the evening was the hour named by Mr. Harman, and punctually at that hour Home arrived at Prince"s Gate. He was a man who had never been known to be late for an appointment; for in little things even, this singular man was faithful to the very letter of the trust.
This nice observance of his pa.s.sed word, in a great measure counteracted his otherwise unpractical nature. Home was known by all his acquaintances to be a most dependable man.
Mr. Harman had told Charlotte that he was expecting a friend to visit him. He said he should like to see that friend alone; but, contrary to his wont, he did not mention his name. This cannot be wondered at, for Mr. Harman knew of no connection between the Homes and Charlotte. He had chosen this man of G.o.d, above his fellow-men, because he had been haunted and impressed by his sermon, but he scarcely himself even knew his name. It so happened, however, that Charlotte saw Mr. Home entering her father"s study. It is not too much to say that the sight nearly took her breath away, and that she felt very considerable disquietude.
"Sit here," said Mr. Harman to his guest.
The room had been comfortably prepared, and when Home entered Mr. Harman got up and locked the door; then, sitting down opposite to Home, and leaning a little forward, he began at once without preface or preamble.
"I want to tell you without reservation the story of my life."
"I have come to listen," answered Home.
"It is the story of a sin."
Home bent his head.
"It is the story of a successfully hidden sin--a sin hidden from all the world for three and twenty years."
"A crushing weight such a sin must have been," answered the clergyman.
"But will you just tell me all from the beginning?"
"I will tell you all from the beginning. A hidden sin is, as you say, heavy enough to crush a man into h.e.l.l. But I will make no more preface.