A Face Illumined Part 54

"I will agree to any conditions," he said, springing in by her side.

"Is it the tree that bore the pear you gave me? I hope you don't think I was capable of eating that pear."

"Did you throw it away?" she asked, with a shy glance.

"Miss Mayhew, I've something I wish you to see," and he took out his note-book and showed her the rose-bud he had tossed away. "Do you recognize that?"

In spite of herself the blood rushed tumultuously into her face.

"I thought that was trampled into dust long ago," she said in a low tone.

"I shall never forget your words as you left me that evening, Miss Mayhew. It was the severest and most deserved rebuke I ever had.

I picked up the bud immediately, I a.s.sure you."

"I thought you left it there," she said, in a still lower tone, and then added hastily: "But I have no doubt you acted from a sense of duty."

"I can't say that I did," he answered, dryly.

"Will you please give it to me?"

"Not unless you compel me to," and he closed the book and returned it to an inside breast-pocket. "I would like to carry it as a talisman against Phariseeism, the most hateful of vices."

"Oh, very well," and she turned away her face again.

"But please tell me about this pear-tree," he resumed.

"It won't seem to you as it did to me," she replied, with an embarra.s.sed air, "and I'm sorry I spoke of it, but now that I have I may as well go on. To explain I must go back a little. Mr.

Van Berg, I'm taking you to see the old gentleman who saved me from--from---" Her face was pale enough now.

"My dear Miss Mayhew, don't pain yourself by referring to that."

"I must," she said slowly. "By some strange fate you have seen me at my worst, and since you say you care, you shall know the rest.

It may relieve your mind of a fear that I've seen in your face since. I didn't think I'll ever be so wicked and desperate again, and I wish you to know my reasons for thinking so. Well, on that dreadful night the party I was with went into a prayer-meeting, more by the way of frolic than anything else. I did not wish to go in, but, strange as it may seem to you, I was afraid to walk home, and so had to follow my company. Good old Mr. Eltinge spoke to us. He said he knew from his own long experience that there was a Divine Friend who was able and willing to cure every earthly trouble, and he spoke so simply and kindly that he caught my attention and revived my hope. I felt when I entered that place I hadn't a friend in the world or out of it. I was just blind and desperate with shame and discouragement, and--and--but perhaps you have read the letter I gave you?"

"Miss Mayhew, every word of it is burned into my memory. I scarcely moved after reading it till the morning dawned, and then I went out and walked for hours before I could compose myself and dared to meet any one. As I told you then, so I say again, I had a greater escape than you had."

"I'm very, very sorry," she replied, in a tone of deep regret.

"I too am very, very sorry, but it is for you."

She looked up quickly, and saw that his eyes were full of tears.

"I'm not ashamed of them in this instance, Miss Mayhew," he said, das.h.i.+ng them away.

She looked at him wonderingly, and then murmured: "Oh, thank G.o.d it has all turned out as it has." After a moment she added: "I've misjudged you also, Mr. Van Berg."

"How? Please tell me, for I feel I have more cause to be disgusted with myself than you ever had."

"Well--how shall I say what I mean? I thought you had more mind than heart."

"It appears to me I've displayed a lamentable lack of both. I must have seemed to you like an animated interrogation point."

"I soon learned you were very greatly my superior," she said simply.

"Miss Mayhew, spare me," he replied quickly, with a deprecatory gesture. "The story you were telling interests me more deeply than you will believe, and I think we shall be better acquainted before the day is over."

"Well, the rest of my story is more easily told than understood, and perhaps your man's reason may not find it very satisfactory.

You know the old superst.i.tion that the sing of the cross puts to flight the Evil One. I don't believe that, but I believe that the One who suffered on the cross puts him to flight. Mr. Eltinge's simple, downright a.s.sertion that Jesus could remedy every earthly trouble--that he would be a patient, helpful Friend--broke the evil spell by which despair had blinded me, and I resolved to try and live if I could. After the old gentleman came out of the church I asked him to let me visit him, and he has been very, very kind. I told him everything. The first day he saw I was greatly discouraged, and told me the history of a young pear-tree against which he was leaning, and which was full of beautiful fruit. He said that on a stormy night it was broken by the wind, and trampled upon by some stray cattle, and he scarcely thought it could live, for it was prostrate on the ground, but he lifted it, and took care of it, and gave nature a chance to restore it. You would think nature was like a kind of mother, to hear him talk. Then he reasoned that Jesus, the Author of nature, would do for me what nature had done for the wounded tree, but that I must not expect too much at first--that I must be receptive and willing to grow patiently as the tree had done, in a new and better life. Thus the tree has become to me an emblem of hope, and I trust a prophecy of my future, although I do not expect ever to reach anything like the perfection suggested by the pear-tree and its delicious fruit. The facts that have impressed me most are that it was bruised, prostrate, and ready to die, and now it is alive and useful. Old Mr. Eltinge loves it, and likes to lean against it, as you will see."

"The fact that has impressed me most in this allegory," groaned Van Berg, "is that I was the brute that trampled on you."

"You are too severe on yourself," she said earnestly. "I shall have to take your part."

"Please do. I throw myself wholly on your mercy."

"I believe Shakespeare was right," she said, with a shy laugh and averted face. "Mercy is always twice bless'd. But I have not told you all, Mr. Van Berg. Yesterday was the most memorable day of my life. On Thursday Mr. Eltinge saw I needed encouragement; yesterday he saw that I had not realized the crime I had almost committed, and that I was stopping short of him who alone could change my whole nature. Indeed, I think he saw that I was even inclined to become well pleased with myself, and content with my prospects of winning back the esteem of others. He was faithful with me as well as kind. By an ill.u.s.tration, which you will pardon me for not repeating, he made it clear to me as the light that in the intent of my heart I had been guilty of murder. Mr. Van Berg, may you never know the agony and remorse that I suffered for the few moments I saw my sin somewhat as it must appear to G.o.d, and to good men like Mr. Eltinge. I was overwhelmed. It seemed as if my crime would crush me. I don't think I could have lived if the sense of terror and despair had lasted. But dear old Mr. Eltinge stood by me in that terrible moment. He put his hand on my head as a father might have done, and in tones that seemed like a voice from heaven, said: 'Behold the Lamb of G.o.d, that taketh away the sin of the world.' I felt that I could not bear my sin an instant longer; it was like a mountain of lead, and with a desperate impulse to escape, I looked to Christ--I just fled to him, as it were, and it was the same as if he had opened his arms and received me. From that moment I have felt safe, and almost happy. I can't explain all this to you, I only tell you what happened. It doesn't seem like superst.i.tion or excited imagination, as I've heard some characterize these things. It was all too real: Mr. Van Berg, the simple truth is--I've found a Friend, who is pledged to take care of me. I KNOW IT. I am reading the story of his life, under Mr.

Eltinge's guidance, and that is why I come here. Now you know all the mystery there is about the faulty girl in whom circ.u.mstances have given you a pa.s.sing interest. Since you knew so much that was against me, perhaps you will not think it strange that I was willing you should learn what is now in my favor. It is simply this--I've found a Divine Friend who will help me live a better life."

They had now reached Mr. Eltinge's gate, and Van Berg stepped out to open it. But before doing so, he turned to his companion, and with eyes moist with feeling, said earnestly:

"Miss Mayhew, circ.u.mstances might have given me but a pa.s.sing interest in you, but YOU have won an abiding interest. You have been generous enough to forgive me, and now you will have to repel me resolutely, to prevent my being your friend. Indeed I shall be one in heart hereafter, even though you may not permit me to enjoy your society, for you may very naturally wish to shun one who cannot fail to remind you of so much that is painful. As for your story, it is a revelation to me. I may never possess your happy faith, but I will respect it;" and although he turned hastily away she could not fail to see that he was deeply moved.

Mr. Eltinge received the young man with some surprise, and did not seem to regard his presence as altogether welcome. The artist thought to disarm the old gentleman by a decided manifestation of frankness and courtesy:

"I feel that in a certain sense I am an intruder in your beautiful garden to-day. Miss Mayhew met me on the road, and I fear I must own that I had the bad grace almost the same as to invite myself hither. At least she saw that I was exceedingly anxious to come."

"Do you know Miss Mayhew's motive in coming hither?" asked Mr.

Eltinge, gravely.

"I do, and I respect it."

"You take safe ground there, sir," said Mr. Eltinge, with increasing dignity. "Christianity is at least respectable. But do you believe it to be absolutely true and binding on the conscience?"

The artist was silent.

"Mr. Van Berg," resumed the old gentleman, with a gravity that tended even towards sternness, "I would not fail in any act of courtesy towards you, especially her at my own home; but justice, mercy, and truth are above all other considerations. Both you and I know this child's history sufficiently well to be aware that it is a dangerous thing to exert an influence at random on human lives. You say you know her motive in coming hither. Let me state the truth very plainly: she has turned her face heavenward; she is taking her first uncertain steps as a pilgrim towards the better home. In justice to you and in mercy to you both let me quote the words of him before whom we all shall stand;" and placing his hand on Ida's shoulder he repeated with the aspect of one of G.o.d's ancient prophets those solemn words that too many dare to ignore: "'Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.' Mr. Van Berg, in memory of the past, beware lest consciously or even unconsciously, through your indifference to her faith, you lay a straw in this child's way.

The weak and the helpless are very near to the heart of G.o.d, and the most dangerous act a man ever commits is when he causes one of these little ones to offend."

Ida trembled beneath her friend's hand and wished she had not permitted the artist to come, but the young man's sincerity and good-breeding enabled him to pa.s.s the ordeal. Removing his hat, he replied to Mr. Eltinge with a fine blending of dignity and humility:

"I honor you, sir," he said, "for your faithfulness to the one who has come to you for counsel and in a certain sense for protection; and I condemn myself with bitterness that you will never understand, that I wronged her in my thoughts and wounded her by any manner. I am eager to make any and every atonement in my power. No language can express my gladness that she heard and heeded your words.

Pardon me, sir, when I say I am not indifferent to her faith. It is, indeed, a mystery to me, but a n.o.ble mystery which I revere from the fruits that I have already witnessed. In my unpardonable stupidity and prejudice--in a Pharisaic pride--I have caused Miss Mayhew to offend. She has generously forgiven me. Myself I shall never forgive. If she will honor me with her friends.h.i.+p hereafter, I pledge you my word that no act of mine, so far as I can help it, shall ever cause you anxiety for one in whom you have so strong and natural an interest."

Mr. Eltinge's manner changed decidedly, and when Van Berg concluded he extended his hand and said cordially:

"After such manly, straightforward words I can give you the right hand of respect and confidence, if not of fellows.h.i.+p. To tell you the truth, sir, I was inclined to believe that my little friend here had a better opinion of you than you deserved, but now I can welcome you instead of scolding her for bringing you."

At the reference to herself Ida, seemingly, had an impulse to pluck a flower that was blooming at a little distance. The moment he was un.o.bserved Van Berg seized the old gentleman's hand and said, earnestly, while tears sprang to his eyes:

"G.o.d bless you for the words you spoke to that poor child. I owe you more than she does. You have saved me from a life that I would dread more than death," and then he, too, turned away hastily and pretended to be very busy in finding the materials for his sketch.