Part 57 (1/2)
Van Berg could scarcely believe his eyes when Mr. Mayhew came down to breakfast with his family Sunday morning. The bondman had become free; the slave of a degrading vice had been transformed into a quiet, dignified gentleman. His form was erect, and while his bearing was singularly modest and retiring, there was nothing of the old cowering, shrinking manner which suggested defeat, loss of self-respect, and hopeless dejection. All who knew him instinctively felt that the prostrate man had risen to his feet, and there was something in his manner that made them believe he would hold his footing among other men hereafter.
The artist found himself bowing to the ”spiritless wretch” with a politeness that was by no means a.s.sumed, and from the natural and almost cordial manner in which Mr. Mayhew returned his salutation, he was very glad to believe that Ida had not told him the deeper and darker secrets of her experience during the past week.
”This is her work,” he thought, and Ida's radiant face confirmed the impression. She then felt that after her father's words, ”You have saved me,” she could never be very unhappy again. A hundred times she had murmured, ”Oh, how much better G.o.d's way out of trouble has been than mine!”
Mr. Mayhew had always had peculiar attractions for Miss Burton, and they at once entered into conversation. But as she recognized the marvellous change in him, the pleased wonder of her face grew so apparent, that he replied to it in low tones:
”I now believe in your 'remedies,' Miss Burton; but a great deal depends on who administers them. My little girl and I have been discovering how nearly related we are.”
Her eyes grew moist with her sympathy and gladness. ”Mr. Mayhew,”
she said, ”I'm inclined to think that heaven is always within a step or two of us, if we could only take the right steps.”
”To me it has seemed beyond the farthest star,” he replied, very gravely. ”To some, however, the word is as indefinite as the place, and a cessation of pain appears heaven. I could be content to ask nothing better than this Sabbath morning has brought me. I have found what I thought lost forever.”
Jennie Burton became very pale, as deep from her heart rose the query, ”Shall I ever find what I have lost?” Then with a strong instinct to maintain her self-control and shun a perilous nearness to her hidden sorrow, she changed the subject.
It was touching to see how often Mr. Mayhew's eyes turned towards his daughter, as if to rea.s.sure himself that the change in her manner towards him was not a dream, and the expression of her face as she met his scrutiny seemed to brighten and cheer him like a coming dawn.
”What heavenly magic is transforming Miss Mayhew?” Jennie Burton asked of Van Berg, as they sauntered out on the piazza.
”With your wonted felicity, you express it exactly,” he replied.
”It is a heavenly magic which I don't understand in the least, but must believe in, since cause and effect are directly under my eyes. It has been my good fortune to witness as beautiful a scene as ever mortal saw. Since she refers naturally and openly to the friends whom she has visited during the past week, I may tell you about Mr. Eltinge's influence and teaching without violating any confidence,” and in harmony with the frank and friendly relations which he now sustained to Miss Burton, he related his experience of the previous day, remaining scrupulously reticent on every point, however, that he even imagined Ida would wish veiled from the knowledge of others. ”I cannot tell you,” he concluded, ”how deeply the scene affected me. It not only awoke all the artist in me, but the man also. In one brief hour I learned to revere that n.o.ble old gentleman, and if you could have seen him leaning against the emblematic tree, as I did, I think he would have realized your ideal of age, wholly devoid of weakness and bleakness. And then Miss Mayhew's face, as she read and listened to him, seemed indeed, in its contrast with what we have seen during the past summer, the result of 'heavenly magic.' It will be no heavy task to fulfil the conditions on which I was permitted to enter the enchanted garden.
They expect more pencil sketches, but I shall eventually give them as truthful a picture as I am capable of painting, for it is rare good fortune to find themes so inspiring.”
Guarded as Van Berg was in his narrative, Miss Burton was able to read more ”between the lines” than in his words. He did not understand her motive when she said, as if it were her first obvious thought:
”The picture which you have presented, even to the eye of my fancy, is uniquely beautiful, and I think it must redeem Miss Mayhew in your mind, from all her disagreeable a.s.sociations. But in my estimation she appeared to even better advantage in the greeting she gave her father last evening. Was there ever a more delicious surprise on earth, than that poor man had when he returned and found a true and loving daughter awaiting him? With her filial hands she has already lifted him out of the mire of his degradation, and to-day he is a gentleman whom you involuntarily respect. O Mr. Van Berg, I cannot tell ou how inexpressibly beautiful and rea.s.suring such things are to me! You look at the changes we are witnessing from the standpoint of an artist, I from that of poor wounded humanity; and what I have seen in Ida Mayhew and her father, is proof to me that there is a good G.o.d above all the chaos around me, which I cannot understand and which at times disheartens me.
Their happier and enn.o.bled faces are a prophecy and an earnest of that time when the sway of evil shall be broken, when famis.h.i.+ng souls and empty hearts shall be filled, when broken, thwarted lives are made perfect, and what was missed and lost regained.”
She looked away from him into the summer sky, which the sun was flooding with cloudless light. There were no tears in her eyes, but an expression of intense and sorrowful longing that was far beyond such simple and natural expression.
”Jennie Burton,” said Van Berg, in a low, earnest voice, ”there are times when I could suffer all things to make you happy.”
She started as if she had almost forgotten his presence, and answered quietly: ”You could not make me happy by suffering. Only as I can banish a little pain and gloom here and there do I find solace.
But I can do so very, very little. It rea.s.sures me to see G.o.d doing this work in his grand, large way. And yet it seems to me that he might brighten the world as the sun fills this sky with light. As it is, the rays that illumine hearts and faces glint only here and there between the threatening clouds of evil. Mr.
Van Berg, you do not know--you never realized how shadowed humanity is. Within a mile of your studio, that is full of light and beauty, there are thousands who are peris.h.i.+ng in a slow, remorseless pain.
It is this awful mystery of evil--this continuous groan and cry of anguish that has gone up to heaven through all the ages--that appalls my heart and staggers my faith. But there--after what I have seen to-day I have no right to such gloomy thoughts. I suppose my religion seems to you no more than a clinging faith in a far-away, incomprehensible G.o.d, and so is not very attractive? I wish I could suggest to you something more satisfactory, but since I cannot I'll leave you to find better influences.”
”It does seem to me that rash, faulty Ida Mayhew has a better faith than this,” he thought; ”she believes she has found a near and helpful Friend, while my sad-eyed saint has only a G.o.d, and is always in pathetic doubt whether her prayer can bridge the infinite distance between them. Who is right? Is either right? I used to be impressed with how much I knew; I'm glad the opposite impression is becoming so strong, for, as Miss Burton says, the hopeless fools are those who never find themselves out.
”She was right. Ida Mayhew will ever appear to better advantage in aiding her poor father to regain his manhood, than by the most artistic combination of circ.u.mstances that I could imagine. All the man in me recognizes the sacredness of the duty and the beauty of its performance. And yet but yesterday I was stupid enough to believe that her best chance for development was to escape from her father and live a separate life. It has taken only a few hours to prove how superficial was my philosophy of life. Guided simply by the instinct of love and duty, this faulty girl has accomplished more than I had supposed possible. But her mother will continue a thorn in her side,” and Van Berg was not far astray.
Chapter XLVI. A Resolute Philosopher.