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Chapter XXII.

Reader do you remember a girl with whom you became acquainted at the commencement of our story? A girl with bowed head and bursting heart, yearning for rest, and a right knowledge of truth. We draw aside that hastily dropped curtain, and show her to you again. Do you recognise her? She is our Nellie, and the scene depicted was as she had almost gained the other side of one of the deepest and darkest valleys of remorse to be met with in this short life. You have been led past that door purposely, for we feared to frighten you at the outset with the sight of so much pain. The struggle, of which you have had but a faint glimpse, was a struggle of the soul. One power trying to gain mastery over the other. But the spirit of a beloved father, together with that of the aunt of her childhood's remembrance, kept watch, and Nellie's good angel conquered. Nor did the conflict cease, until it had wrought the much needed blessing, that of making the heart humble, and the thoughts more considerate toward its fellow travellers. Long and fierce had that battle been. What battle with the spirit is not? But it was nearly over now, and as Nellie added the last few touches to her picture of Bonsby, she felt as if she were reading the last few lines of that blood written document of Remorse. For some months past Mrs. Remay had often felt puzzled and anxious, concerning her niece's ill-health and apparent listlessness. She had suggested seeing a doctor, but Nellie had begged so hard to be left in peace, and Mr. Remay had taken her part when he saw her distress, that Mrs. Remay page 262had to give in. At times there would flash forth bright glowing lights, which revealed the spirit lying dormant, but then they would as suddenly vanish, and Nellie would again sink back into her old melancholy semi-torpid state.

Receiving word one day that her sister, accompanied by her little three-year-old daughter, was about to pay the Manse a visit, Mrs. Remay hailed the news as a good omen. "It will give Nellie something to amuse herself with," thought the kind old lady. "I wonder if she likes children." In due time the visitors arrived. At first Nellie seemed disposed to withdraw herself entirely from the family circle: but the winning persistency of the child, and the desire to appear amused, broke down the barrier of reserve, and let in the waters of communion.

"It is not often one gets the opportunity of becoming the audience, as well as chief actor in one's own life drama," she mused, as she brushed back her shining hair, and looked at herself in the large oval glass. "But here is an existing instance. I am acting the part of an entertained and amused character, while at the same time I am watching the effect my acting produces on the other actors. It's really interesting. I wonder if someone else is watching the whole performance, mine included, and is chuckling over our unlooked for conclusion. There is such a thing as turning "From jest to earnest." Her surmises were not altogether impracticable.

Among Nellie's many fads, there was one she held in special favour—the sacredness, almost reverence, with which she regarded her boudoir. Unless by special permission, which was never given, no one but herself entered. Even the servants were debarred. The only times they attempted to "Beard the lion in his den," was during spring and autumn cleaning, and then all relics and paraphernalia were carefully put out of sight, until the important task was finished. A little escritoire, perpetually locked, mystified the page 263servants, "But then young ladies always collect such a lot of rubbish," and the little article received an impatient push.

Yet strange to say, little girls do not always understand the meaning of forbidden ground; consequently, we have seen the result as it appeared in the opening chapter of this book.

Mrs. Uregn's brief holiday came to an end, and she returned home, taking little Essie with her. God bless the little one, her work has been accomplished, crowned, and she returns to take up another in her baby fingers, and in unconsciousness, to teach of "The Kingdom of God." And in the forsaken sphere—what though the material form be removed, the inspirations aroused by that intercourse are left; left not to become dull and ineffective by familiarity, which is the undoubted result of all materiality, but left to become more brilliant, more impressive, more superbly real.

Inspirations real? To be inspired, is to be animated supernaturally. How can a material form, especially the material form of a child, arouse in another material form, inspirations, infusions beyond the laws of nature? And in this matter-of-fact world, what do we want with knowledge of things beyond the laws of nature? Nature is quiet deep enough in itself:the world affords sufficient scope for any sensible man's intellect. Inspirations will not feed the body, and clothe the limbs. The world is a material, and we will keep to our materialism. There is no dearth of religion in our midst, do we not bow in reverence before Plutus (Gold), and Jupiter (Influence), and as visible examples of our creed, look at us. We are like the sunset in our golden coloured prosperity, in the freedom of our earth proximity, and in our intoxicating power.

O, sweetest innocent spirit of a child, hover around, and make thyself known and felt. Here is a broken toy, a torn picture, the marks of tiny fingers. Ah! here is something else, a piece of paper all blotted and scratched and scribbled; page 264a piece of paper, the pattern of which is completed according; to the design of the little baby worker. We do not picture thy material form, little Essie, when we handle thy mementos, but we feel with the supernatural in our natural thy supernatural in thy natural. And this supernatural in thy natural, which combines with the supernatural in ours, is this supernatural, inspiration? Tell us, O child, for thou art fresh from the land of inspiration, and the odours of its sunshine linger about thee still. Verily no, lisps the baby teacher, though both are real and elevating, yet there is a difference between the soul's affinity, and the soul's inspiration; for affinity, like the refreshing dew, is formed on earth, inspiration like the light, originates in Heaven. Affinity eases the soul in the night of sorrow, earthly sorrow, sorrow caused by natural affliction; Inspiration is above all natural confines, beyond all limited seasons. Before the world it was, during the world it is, and after the world it will be; therefore, mortality has no power over it. It is the instrument of God. Like the Light, of which it is a similar, it darts down upon the soul; it forces open the cold calculating petals; it kisses with its rosy lips the centre of all that is real; and in the sudden bursting of life's testa, sheds its aromatic perfume throughout the whole universe.—Inspiration will not feed us.—Dare we live on such costly diet. Diet that can be digested only by the Spirits and Angels. No, when the fruit is ripe we will pass away, and the ripe inspiration we leave with you, my worldly brother. It is what the inspired have done in ages past. Their works did not live, until they were gone. It is what the inspired expect, and look forward to during their earthly career. To the materialist, affinity is more legible, but through its teaching, consanguinity may be made plain. Still I venture to suggest that the rudiments of the Great Consanguinity is, that inspiration is a real not beyond the laws of nature. God is the great Law of Nature, page 265and nothing is beyond Him. One thought yet remains. Our beautiful sunset! That you should be likened to the modern materialist; the prosperous man who goes to church, who rests on Sundays, who says his grace, and who worships himself. Your gorgeous colours his prosperity; your proximity to earth, his freedom; and your influence, his power. For once in self-defence we must abandon you, visitant of the West. Prosperity may put on her resplendent robes of crimson and gold; but patience waits for her Lord to crown her with the everlasting diadem of blue. Earth's proximity leads to earth's liberty, but Divine Animation carries beyond the earth, through sunsets, into the Fountain of Freedom. And power, sunset's power, the influence of which intoxicates while it lasts, has its limited time, and its limited sphere. Beyond, above, we see the deep enduring blue. Calm, noble, distant. Let the dark clouds of fury pass over its surface. Let the lightning of ridicule and scorn rend the air beneath, let the thunder of misunderstanding follow; what cares it for them. Proudly the inspired prophet towers above all, conscious that in the end he shall win. Oh! when we think of the blessedness of Inspiration, we wonder why men prefer to stumble along through life, guided and tyranized over by cold calculation and animal instinct. And then the end—the "It is finished"—the action we embrace even in the womb. In the one case, that end is complete, and we follow the completer; in the other case that end you try to fashion for yourself, subsequently the result is that of the blind leading the blind—Failure.

Will God look upon our irregular illegible, yet completed life, with the same tenderness and partiality with which we regarded the work of that child? "As high as the Heavens are above the earth, so much higher are God's thoughts above our thoughts." If then our feelings toward those we love are but faint breaths of what God's feelings are toward us, page 266what must be their extent? No wonder the human heart has to give up the attempt at measuring, and cry, "Unfathomable," "Immeasurable," "Wonderful Love of God." Pshaw! away with such petty things as failings, irregularities, even sins, they are all swallowed up in the great absorbing I—the I that can wipe out the blood stains of this world's Cains, and even Judases—the I that falls short at only the hardened hypocrite, or the devil "Don't care."

And these are the thoughts which were awakened by a lisping, "I's finished my lessons;" by the glimpse of a soiled and crumpled piece of paper.'Tis well, O baby dear, that thou art gone, else in our continual intercourse, we would become as Gods, to suffer the degradation of devils; for in the flesh and in the spirit there is but one God, and one Truth. One great voice to speak through the lips of an ass; to draw near in the shape of a little child; and to melt the frozen heart, and let the warm life blood surge through the comatose veins. Essie, little innocent Essie, showed Nellie, that having repented, therefore forgotten.

Mrs. Remay was a little upset by her sister's departure, consequently Nellie had an extra quantity of parish work to see to. She was out nearly the whole day for the first week, and being tired in the evening, went to bed early. With the exception of giving instructions, and hearing verdicts, aunt and niece seldom conversed together. The house seemed so dreary, so desolate, without those tiny pattering feet, that simple treble. Nellie missed Essie more than anyone could have imagined, and all her old longing for childish sympathy returned. And Mrs. Remay mourned her sister's departure, not knowing if they two would ever meet on earth again. The thousand forgotten little incidents of her girlhood returned to her remembrance, the parents being long ago dead, the twin sister, and their twain enjoyments; all caused the tears, which had never before flowed for her home land, page 267to course down her faded cheeks, caused the patriotic spirit to heave and swell in the kind bosom. She would never see dear old Scotland again, indeed, she did not wish to go bark, but she could weep for the days that were past, without infringing upon the dues of the present. Toward the end of the week, however, things seemed to have got back into their ordinary groove. The house echoed less desolately. Mrs. Remay returned to the dining-room, and for the first time, since their visitor's departure, resumed her accustomed place. She seemed a little ashamed of her weakness, and had Nellie been there, would have apologised for laying so much work on the young girl's shoulders. Presently Nellie's light footsteps came tripping along the passage, and Nellie herself appeared.

"It's so nice to see you in your old place again, auntie," said she, throwing herself on the couch, and smiling her old bright smile.

"You have missed me, dear! How is Mrs. Dunn?"

" Better auntie, much better, and longing to catch a glimpse of your little hooded gig again. She declares it just seems as if you were dead."

"I have been selfish."

There was a few minute's silence. Mrs. Remay, glancing up, was struck by the peculiar expression on Nellie's face. It was as placid as usual, as full of sweet thoughtfulness, but there was a strange burning brilliancy beneath the surface of those motionless features, a new expression filched from the guardian angel. "I am thankful these are not the days of Christian persecution," thought Mrs. Remay. "Yet, why be thankful? There is room in Heaven for many Stephens." Magnetism is a property not confined to steel; the drooping lids lifted, their eyes met. Nellie sprang to her feet, and crossing the hearth, stood before her aunt, the tiniest suspicion of a blush upon her cheeks.

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"I have caused you a great deal of anxiety lately, have I not, auntie?"

"Yes child." Two words, but what an ocean of tenderness they enclosed, what a world of solicitude they expressed. Nellie stooped to kiss the gentle utterer, but checked herself, and drawing back, exclaimed: "Not yet. Hear my confession first, and then if you think me worthy of your affection, Oh, auntie, give it to me without reserve. My heart is breaking for perfect confidence. This half-and-half state of being is killing me. I will lay open my heart tonight, perhaps, when you know how deeply I have repented, you will give my trust one more trial."

The long-wished-for hour had come at last. The spell was broken, and through the rent, the prayer caught a glimpse of prayer's effect upon the prayed for. Mrs. Remay had guessed there was something on the girl's mind, but being a sensible woman, and consulting Nellie's feelings, rather than her own inquisitiveness, had refrained from asking for the struggler's confidence. She was one of those rare women who prayed much, but preached little. Putting down her knitting, and half turning toward her niece, she said, in her gentle way:

"Confession. That word implies transgression. What sin have you been guilty of, Nellie?"

"The blackest that can ever be committed by mortal to mortal."

"It must, indeed, have been terrible," answered Mrs. Remay, with an amused smile. She had not studied Nellie's character without success; and she well understood her tendency of using the hardest of names for wrong doings.

"You are laughing, auntie. Why do you do so when I am in such dead earnest," said Nellie in a slightly peevish tone. "Surely you are not as blind as the rest. Because I have a stupidly childish face, detestable winning manners, people think me incapable of doing wrong. What greater page 269wrong can earth boast of than that of murder, and yet I am guilty of that heinous crime."

Mrs. Remay almost upset her chair in her astonishment.

"Good gracious child. Do you know what you are saying?" exclaimed she, and her horrified face, and startled tone, awoke Nellie to her senses. Her lip curled sarcastically, and her eyes flashed.

"I did not take the material knife, and strike the material body. O no! my crime was too carefully planned to allow a loop-hole for earthly punishment. The accuser knew that the gleam of a knife would lose him his cause. Arch liar that he is. Even the suspicion of worldliness he cleverly concealed behind self-preservation. What a useful screen in Satan's hands becomes that text, 'Be ye separate.' Man, I know, would hold up his finger, and say, 'Hush! not so have you acted;' but God says, 'Whoso is angered without a a cause, the same is already a murderer.' And who is our judge but God?"

"Murder too strong a word to use? Then let it be manslaughter. Too strong still? Well, heart-breaking, will that do? We will leave it at that. Yes, aunt, I broke my father's heart." Nellie leaned against the mantel, and trembled a little. The utterance of those strange words had brought back afresh a flood of wild wilful memories.

After the first shock had passed, Mrs. Remay sank back in her chair, and sat perfectly still, her face hidden in her hand. A chaos of doubt and wonder seemed to fill her mind, and entangle in an opaque net, all her previous surmises.

She had received a hint regarding the tiny romantic episode in Nellie's life, which was so unromantic as to cause the separation of the lovers; but not knowing the whole of the circumstances, drew her own conclusions, believing in her page 270kind motherly way, she had obtained possession of the key to that hungering, pathetic look on her niece's pale sad face,

"And her beautiful dream of happiness. It was really too bad. What a sweet wedding, what a happy reconciled bride and bridegroom. What pictures of splendid wedding breakfasts to be partaken in the dear homely manse. It was a disappointment to have all these simple pleasures thrown to the winds. Her father's death after all was the cause of Nellie's strange silent suffering. She could hardly believe it possible." As the young girl paused after her first explosion of words, Mrs. Remay took occasion to remark that she had heard from reliable authority how devotedly she (Nellie) had attended to her father's wants during his last severe illness. It was an ill-directed shaft, and it hit on a very tender part of Nellie's conscience. She smiled bitterly, and the shades deepened in her proud eyes. Memory is a very delicate faculty to deal with, and people should be careful how they deal with it: more especially if they wish to comfort the sorrowing one. In his time of need, a genuine giver derives no comfort from the constant reminding of friends, of the many gifts and bounties he has bestowed upon his fellow men. Nay, rather, in many cases it increases his agitation, and gives him a feeling of awkwardness in the presence of others. But when the giver feels himself undeserving the title "genuine," unworthy of the office of "Giver," let the heart understand the twofold folly of seeking to comfort by recollections. In such a case, if left to itself, memory generally manages to run in a course so deep down in the heart as to make its effect imperceptible to every-day circumstances; but probe it with a mistaken goad—like an infuriated whale it makes one mad plunge into the deeper depths of the past, then rushing to the surface in the suddenness of its pain, it pours forth from its reeking wound, blood torrents of truth; while at the same time breathes into itself the soothing air of satisfaction.

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"Devotedly attended to my father's wants, during his last severe illness," said Nellie in her icy calm. "You need not have reminded me of that last part of my offence, aunt. I would have come to it soon enough. You wonder how devotion (daughterly devotion) could be called offence. I will tell you. By placing it among the wonders of life. Oh! it is a wonderful thing to see a daughter attend to the wants of a suffering father, lose a few paltry night's vest in endeavouring to ease his dying agonies. More wonderful still for that daughter to be so puffed up with self-conceited righteousness, as to forget all the anxiety, care, and love, with which that father guarded his child during her young and helpless years. Forgotten, were the many times the father became the nurse; the weak maiden, the invalid. And once, not many years back, when the dread typhoid fever had thrown its deadly arms around the trembling girl, and had dragged her to the very brink of the grave, that father, by his tireless devotion, his indefatigable love, had, in the face of all the doctors, thrown himself into the breach, and brought his child back—to what? To grudge him a little attention in his own time of need. Yes. All these were forgotten by that wonderfully devoted ungrateful daughter. When I think of it all, I am surprised that father did not rise in his bed, and hurl back into my face, the soft snake-like attention I paid to his poor pain-distorted body. But he was grateful, humbly grateful, as if I, who was being honoured, was honouring him. I agree with the rest of the world, only in a very different sense, 'That my devoted attention to my father, during his last illness, will reap its well-merited reward.'"

"I think, my dear," broke in Mrs. Remay mildly "You are a little hard on yourself."

"Have I departed from the strict truth, auntie?" demanded Nellie, with kindling eyes. "Tell me! in page 272every syllable I have uttered, is there the faintest suspicion of falsehood?"

"No, no, child. But children cannot be expected to have the same regard for affection as have their parents."

Nellie laughed, almost hysterically. "Does it need experience to teach gratitude? Does it require the breath of time to give the heart an understanding into the promptings of love? A child will kiss its mother for the gift of a toy. Was that manifestation incited by no deeper feeling than that of selfish pleasure? Methinks the kiss would freeze upon its little lips. The instinct within that child perceives the kindred instinct within its parent, and in this recognition, the child returns the affection by the best means nature has given for that purpose. We are too wise by far, auntie, when we get into our teens; we want some children to shame us back into the true knowledge of ourselves."

There was another pause; a little trifling; then:

"How deceitfully harmless, how beautifully ornamented, is the first step in the wrong path," resumed Nellie in a tender dreamy tone, as if she were conversing with some ethereal listener, and of things far off in ethereal space. "I verily believe the beginning of my failure had its origin in the heart of my Christian triumph. It seems incredible that the embryo of sin should remain unperceived, and unperceived should grow, in a heart reeking and satiated with the profound depths of Divine Love. Yet, there it was, and there it grew, more exuberant in its growth perhaps, being so carefully shaded by intellectual strife. Yes! in those lonely hours, when I was striving to walk on a higher plain than that of the ordinary work girl, when I was cutting for myself a groove through the thick maze of our solid English literature, I was nursing a wicked distaste of my father's affection. "I was saved. page 273(How almost hateful those words have grown to me).He was not. Therefore, I was separate, and above him." I wonder if God ever laughs in mockery. I fancy he had just cause to do so, when he looked at me, seated in that abominable judgment seat, and spurning my father's love. My conscience warned me of my impostureship, my heart showed me the cares of pecuniary matters, of physical weakness, God pointed to the law, of the "Sick needing the physician;" but all were waved aside; and in my coldness I continued to traverse my declining path. My father, divining my thoughts, grew stern; yet often languished, and opening his arms, would seek to fold me to his breast. But my casement of hauteur was too strongly fortified, I repulsed his every advance, and day by day we grew further and further apart. God saw it all: like the boundary of land and sea, He laid his hand upon us, and said, "So far shalt thou go, but no further." I awoke from my sleep. Oh, God! What was it that lay across the awful chasm? An equally awful bridge. Death, dark death, span the gaping gloomy abyss. I put up my feeble hands and tried to shut out that hideous sight, but the demons mocked my efforts, and their elfish faces peeped and dodged between my remorseful fingers. "Ha, ha!" they cried. "We have you now, we will hold you fast. You have followed us so far of your own free will, by the cords of sin, you are bound to us." They danced, and hissed, and, O how they tugged, and tried to draw me away from that bridge, and along the wide tempting way of Indifference; then, as I hesitated, as I shuddering drew back from their alluring embraces, a voice, soft, low and pleading, whispered in my ear, "Cross over." I flung myself on my knees, and cried, "Show me, O show me some other way. Let not my sins be visited upon my father's head. Give me time, restore him health even if it be but for a few days, and I shall prophecy in Thy name, page 274and not in mine own." But the spirit raised its hand; the elfine host ceased tugging, yet continued to dance around, as if in anticipation of my accompanying them.

Pointing to the dark abyss, with its awful bridge, the same low voice continued. "Over that bridge you must pass. For one bought with such a price, loved so dearly, necessity demands this deliverance from destruction. Blame not fate, or thy destiny, because thou art in this plight. Hast thou not been warned, pleaded with, enticed, nay even mine enemy I have suffered to cross your track, that you might be filled with fear, and flee from the error of your ways? But to all, you have turned a deaf ear. As necessity demands deliverance, justice forbids any other way. But be not overwhelmed, others have had the same painful encounters before you. Death is ever the bridge thrown across the chasm of wilful disobedience, leading the penitent back to the confidence of God. The staircase by which the angels ascended to God, and descended to man, was the martyred body of their Lord. Thus mercy softens justice by taking away its sharpest sting. Ye are not alone." The extended hand fell; it rested upon my bowed head; it played with my loose locks, the slightest tremour shook the tender voice. Pass over, I will be with you. I am thy strength, and thy exceeding great reward. Fear not, I will never forsake you." I rose from my knees, I put my hand into that fondling one, I look up to the face of my Spiritual Presence. I recognised my Lord. The same wistful tenderness shone in his smiling eyes; the same radiant light hid all else from my mortal vision. I rose, and stepped to the bridge, encouraged there by the last yearning look of my brokenhearted father. At my sudden movement the elfine host set up a dismal howl, and fled to their habitual abode in the bottomless pit of my being. The full meaning of that last look, I have not yet fathomed, it still haunts me, as if page 275there remains a desire unfulfilled. In you Glory Land, where he has gone, perhaps there, and not here, we, father and I, shall know as we are known. I have walked the whole length of that dark and weary way—the way every penitent sinner must walk, if he wish to be restored to his office of trust; for it is not enough that we know we are forgiven, we must work out our own repentance, and prove that we can be trusted. My feet have often been torn and crushed by the terrible gaps and the sharp-edged rocks; and on the meteoric slabs are the red stains of my bleeding wounds; but I have reached the other side in safety. For the sake of Him, who walked beside me, who cheered and encouraged me onward, who mingled His hallowed tears with my filthy ones, whose light from His brow lit up the gloom, and kept me from straying off the bridge and falling into the abyss; for his sake God has restored me to his favour, and once more entrusted me with the lamp of His love." Nellie fell down on her knees, and buried her head in her aunt's bosom. "O auntie, I am holding that lamp up to the world once more," she sobbed, her tears falling thick and fast, and her whole frame quivering with the force of her inward emotions. "But I tremble so. My lesson was a terrible one. As long as I live I shall remember it as a hideous nightmare, the awakening from which revealed the golden day. It shall keep me humble before my God. Aunt, I have crossed, and now by your side I stand. "Nellie lifted her eyes, and looked at her aunt. "A fresh means of happiness stretches along my path. Will you trust me with your love, fully freely given; remember how I treated my own father's. Until I had confessed, I dared not wish for your love unstrained; honour forbade me cast myself at your feet."

Mrs. Remay's tears flowed freely. She elasped the girl to her heart, and she kissed her again and again. Her page 276speech became choked, and she could only frame loving endearing expressions.

"You are not afraid to trust me, dearest auntie," whispered Nellie fondly, as she nestled into the loving encircling arms. "I shall try to be good. I shall do everything 'For father's sake.'"

"My noble, noble Elmy," answered Mrs. Remay. "I trusted you long ago, even when I did not understand you."

"Aunt," said Nellie, after a sweet silence, full of tender thoughts. "Aunt I feel that everything I do and say now, both within my heart, in your home, and in the homes we visit, everything, even my hastening toward Heaven, must be done "For father's sake." I knelt before that new made grave in the well-filled cemetery at Bonsby, the day before I came away, and prayed that a fitting stone might be raised to his memory. Aunt, do you think I shall ever be the shadow of his monument? "Wistful eyes were turned toward the petitioned, a yearning heart beat quickly, hopefully.

"If you unite the Heavenly with the earthly, and labour 'For both fathers' sakes,'" answered Mrs. Remay softly.

"I will."

Pray, O reader, that you may see, in these simple pages, the living monument of a once alive, then dead, now alive again, father. Pray that in your lives may be felt the effect of that journey over the bridge of a father's death. Then, in the great final of at least one life, earthly sojourn life, the I will, will be changed into I have, and the effect will be I am. Thus, on an untrodden but fair and promising path, we leave for a time our friends, who hand in hand, and without the shadow of a cloud between them, traverse their happy cheerful way, making bright the road for many a fellow passenger.