Part 55 (1/2)

I noticed from that time more than ever his tender lingering looks upon me, wistful, and doubtful. It was hard to bear them, and I would not confess to them. I would not and did not show by look or word that I put faith in the story my father had brought me, or that I had lost faith in any one who had ever commanded it. Indeed I did not believe the story. I did trust Mr. Thorold. Nevertheless the cold chill of a ”What if?”

- fell upon me sometimes. Could I say that it was an impossibility, that he should have turned from me, from one whom such a thorn hedge of difficulties encompa.s.sed, to another woman so much, - I was going to say, so much more beautiful; but I do not mean that, for I do not think it. No, but to one whose beauty was so brilliant and whose hand was so attainable? It would not be an impossibility in the case of many men. Yes, I trusted Mr. Thorold; but so had other women trusted. A woman's trust is not a guarantee for the worthiness of its object. I had only my trust and my knowledge. Could I say that both might not be mistaken? And trust as I would, these thoughts would rise.

Now it was very hard for me to meet Faustina St. Clair, and bear the supercilious air of confident triumph with which she regarded me. I think n.o.body could have observed this or read it but myself only; its tokens were too exceedingly slight and inappreciable for anything but the tension of my own heart to feel. I always felt it, whenever we were in company together; and though I always said at such times, ”Christian cannot love her,” - when I was at home and alone, the shadow of doubt and jealousy came over me again. Everything withers in that shadow. A woman must either put it out of her heart, somehow, or grow a diseased and sickly thing, mentally and morally. I found that I was coming to this in my own mind and character; and that brought me to a stand.

I shut myself up one or two nights - I could not command my days - and spent the whole night in thinking and praying. Two things were before me. The story might be somehow untrue. Time would show. In the meanwhile, nothing but trust would have done honour to Mr. Thorold or to myself. I thought it was untrue. But suppose it were not, - suppose that the joy of my life were gone, pa.s.sed over to another; who had done it? By whose will was my life stripped? The false faith or the weakness of friend or enemy could not have wrought thus, if it had not been the will of G.o.d that His child should be so tried; that she should go through just this sorrow, for some great end or reason known only to Himself. Could I not trust Him -?

If there is a vulture whose claws are hard to unloose from the vitals of the spirit, I think it is jealousy. I found it had got hold of me, and was tearing the life out of me. I knew it in time. O sing praise to our King, you who know Him! he is mightier than our enemies; we need not be the prey of any. But I struggled and prayed, more than one night through, before faith could gain the victory. Then it did. I gave the matter into my Lord's hands. If he had decreed that I was to lose Mr.

Thorold, and in this way, - why, I was my Lord's, to do with as He pleased; it would all be wise and glorious, and kind too, whatever He did. I would just leave that. But in the mean time, till I knew that He had taken my joy from me, I would not believe it; but would go on trusting the friend I had believed so deserving of trust. I would believe in Mr. Thorold still and be quiet, till I knew my confidence was misplaced.

It was thoroughly done at last. I gave up myself to G.o.d again and my affairs; and the rest that is unknown anywhere else, came to me at His feet. I gave up being jealous of Faustina.

If the Lord pleased that she should have what had been so precious to me, why, well! I gave it up. But not till I was sure I had cause.

What a lull came upon my hara.s.sed and tossed spirit, which had been like a stormy sea under cross winds. Now it lay still, and could catch the reflection of the sun again and the blue of heaven. I could go into society now and please mamma, and read at home to papa and give him the wonted gratification; and I could meet Faustina with an open brow and a free hand.

”Daisy, you are better this day or two,” papa said to me, wistfully. ”You are like yourself. What is it, my child?”

”It is Christ, my Lord, papa.”

”I do not know what you can mean by that, Daisy,” said papa, looking grave. ”You are not an enthusiast or a fanatic.”

”It is not enthusiasm, papa, to believe G.o.d's promises. It can't be fanaticism, to be glad of them.”

”Promises?” said papa. ”What are you talking of?”

”Papa, I am a servant of Christ,” I said; I remember I was arranging the sticks of wood on the fire as I spoke, and it made pauses between my words; - ”and He has promised to take care of His servants and to let no harm come to them, - no real harm; - how can I be afraid, papa? My Lord knows, - He knows all about it and all about me; I am safe; I have nothing to do to be afraid.”

”Safe from what?”

”Not from trouble, papa; I do not mean that. He may see that it is best that trouble should come to me. But it will not come unless He sees that it is best; and I can trust Him.”

”My dear child, is there not a little fanaticism there?”

”How, papa?”

”It seems to me to sound like it.”

”It is nothing but believing G.o.d, papa.”

”I wish I understood you,” said papa, thoughtfully.

So I knelt down beside him and put my arms about him, and told him what I wanted him to understand; much more than I had ever been able to do before. The pain and sorrow of the past few weeks had set me free, and the rest of heart of the last few days too. I told papa all about it. I think, as Philip did to Queen Candace's servant, I ”preached to him Jesus.”

”So that is what you mean by being a Christian,” said papa at last. ”It is not living a good moral life and keeping all one's engagements.”

” 'By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified.'

Even you, papa, are not good enough for that. G.o.d's law calls for perfection.”

”n.o.body is perfect.”