"Put it differently then. Would you marry such a man, if you knew that his mere liking for another was stronger than his love for you?"
"I think--I would rather die!" said Eleanor slowly.
"Then I think your question is answered."
"But aunt Caxton, it is not answered. Mr. Carlisle would not feel so. I know, he would have me marry him, if he knew that my heart was a thousand times another person"s--which it is not."
"Don"t alter the case," said Mrs. Caxton, "except to make it stronger.
If he were the right sort of man, he would not have you do so. There is no rule that we should make other people"s wishes our standard of right."
"But aunt Caxton, I have done Mr. Carlisle grievous wrong. O, I feel that!--"
"Yes. What then?"
"Am I not bound to make him all the amends in my power?"
"Short of doing further wrong. Keep right and wrong always clear, Eleanor. They never mean the same thing."
"Aunty, what you must think of me!"
"I think of you just now as saved from shipwreck. Many a girl has drifted on in the course you were going, without courage to get out of the current, until she has destroyed herself; and perhaps somebody else."
"I do not think I had much courage, aunt Caxton," said Eleanor blushing.
"What had you, then?"
"It was mainly my horror of marrying that man, after I found I did not love him. And yet, aunt Caxton, I do like him; and I am very, very, very sorry! It has almost seemed to me sometimes that I ought to marry him and give him what I can; and yet, if I were ready, I would rather die."
"Is your doubt settled?"
"Yes, ma"am,"--said Eleanor sadly.
"My dear, you have done wrong,--I judge, somewhat ignorantly,--but mischief can never be mended by mischief. To marry one man, preferring another, is the height of disloyalty to both him and yourself; unless you can lay the whole truth before him; and then, as I think, in most cases it would be the height of folly."
"I will write to Mr. Carlisle to-morrow."
"And then, Eleanor, what was the other question you came here to settle?"
"It is quite a different question, aunty, and yet it was all twisted up with the other."
"You can tell it me; it will hardly involve greater confidence," said Mrs. Caxton, bending over and kissing Eleanor"s brow which rested upon her knee. "Eleanor, I am very thankful you came to Pla.s.sy."
The girl rose up and kneeling beside her hid her face in Mrs. Caxton"s bosom. "Aunt Caxton, I am so glad! I have wanted just this help so long! and this refuge. Put your arms both round me, and hold me tight."
Mrs. Caxton said nothing for a little while. She waited for Eleanor to take her own time and speak. Very still the two were. There were some straining sobs that came from the one and went to the heart of the other; heavy and hard; but with no sound till they were quieted.
"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor at last, "the other question was that one of a refuge."
"A heavenly one?"
"Yes. I had heard of a "helmet of salvation"--I wanted it;--but I do not know how to get it."
"Do you know what it is?"
"Not very clearly. But I have seen it, aunt Caxton;--I know it makes people safe and happy. I want it for myself."
"Safe from what?"
"From--all that I feared when I was dangerously ill last summer."
"What did you fear, Eleanor?"
"All the future, aunt Caxton. I was not ready, I knew, to go out of this world. I am no better now."
They had not changed their relative positions. Eleanor"s face still lay on her aunt"s bosom; Mrs. Caxton"s arms still enfolded her.
"Bless the Lord! there is such a helmet," she said; "but we cannot manufacture it, Eleanor, nor even buy it. If you have it at all, you must take it as a free gift."
"How do you mean?"
"If you are willing to be a soldier of Christ, he will give you his armour."
"Aunt Caxton, I do not understand."
"It is only to take the promises of G.o.d, my dear, if you will take them obediently. Jesus has declared that "whosoever believeth on him, hath everlasting life.""
"But I cannot exactly understand what believing in him means. I am very stupid." Eleanor raised her head and looked now in her aunt"s face.
"Do you understand his work for us?"
"I do not know, ma"am."
"My dear, it is the work of love that was not willing to let us be miserable. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He gave himself a ransom for all. He suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to G.o.d."
"Yes, I believe I understand that," said Eleanor wearily.
"The only question is, whether we will let him bring us. The question is, whether we are willing to accept this subst.i.tution of the innocent One for our guilty selves, and be his obedient children. If we are--if we rely on him and his blood only, and are willing to give up ourselves to him, then the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin. No matter though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. There is no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the Spirit."
"But I do not walk so," said Eleanor.
"Do you want to walk so?"
"O yes, ma"am! yes!" said Eleanor clasping her hands. "I desire it above all possible things. I want to be such a one."
"If you truly desire it, my dear, it is certain that you may have what you want; for the Lord"s will is not different. He died for this very thing, that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus. There is an open door before you; all things are ready; you have only to plead the promises and enter in. The Lord himself says, Come."
"Aunt Caxton, I understand, I think; but I do not feel; not anything but fear,--and desire."