Part 24 (2/2)
”Yes, I suppose so; that is, if I could look at it with his eyes. But it is rare to see practice so consistent with theory in every-day life.”
”It is, as you say, rare indeed; but he is a rare man, Hugh.”
”He is, truly. That is the reason why I feel Sibyl's manner. Can it be possible that she really prefers Graham Marr?”
”I do not know, Hugh. Graham will be rich some day.”
”That is the worst of it, aunt. Who would have thought Sibyl could be so mercenary!”
”Do not judge her harshly, dear. She has none of that impulse which you admire, but her heart has always been true,--at least so far,”
said Aunt Faith gently. Then, after a pause, she continued in a lower tone, ”Hugh, if you like and admire Mr. Leslie so much, why are you not willing to follow his example?”
”What! Become a clergyman, Aunt Faith?”
”Not that, unless you feel an inward call towards the blessed vocation,” replied Aunt Faith reverently; ”but why do you delay to come forward and make your open profession of faith? Is it honest, is it manly, to hang backward?”
”Oh, Aunt Faith, I am not good enough!” said Hugh quickly.
”Goodness is not required of any of us, Hugh; only repentance, and an earnest endeavor to improve. My dear boy, I never see you come and go, without an aching desire to have you enrolled under His banner, to have you a soldier of the Cross, openly, before all men. Have you thought over our last conversation on this subject?”
”Yes, aunt, many times; but I have such a high idea of a professing Christian. It seems to me that such an one ought to be like Mr.
Leslie, working with all his might for the salvation of souls.”
”It is not required that all professing Christians should be ministers of the word, Hugh. There are many other spheres of action, and many qualifications, varied according to our varied temperaments and positions. The Bible makes that point very clear. You read it, I hope?”
”Yes; but I always read the same part, the Gospel of St, John. I like it best of all. There are so many beautiful verses in it which are found nowhere else, so much love and warm faith! For instance; 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.' And 'I will not leave you comfortless, I will come unto you.' And, 'woman, behold thy son; behold thy mother;' to me one of the most touching incidents in the Gospel. Then there is the story of Lazarus, and the verse 'Jesus wept.' _He_ sorrowed for the mourners, too! Oh, I cannot understand how true Christians can mourn so bitterly for their dead, when they believe that this loving Saviour cares for them.”
”It is not always so much for their lost ones as for themselves, Hugh; their own loneliness, their crushed hopes, and perhaps their remorse that in the lifetime of those they mourn they did not do more for their happiness.”
”You have lost many dear ones, Aunt Faith,” said Hugh thoughtfully.
”Yes; my husband, my parents, and among my intimate friends, all my generation.”
”Do you often think of them, aunt?”
”Yes, Hugh, very often. At first with tears and sadness, but gradually with hope, and a certain looking forward instead of backward. At first I kept all my anniversaries sacred, the many days hallowed by a.s.sociations with my dear ones; but gradually I tried to break up the habit, and now I only think of their heavenly birthdays,--the days when they left the earth,--and even these have come to be pleasant. I have always been fond of autumn. There is something that charms me in the hazy air and colored foliage. It is not sadness,--it is not joy,--but a sweet peace. Then, my dead always seem near to me. If you like, I will give you something I once wrote on the subject, expressing this _feeling_.”
”Do, aunt!” said Hugh, earnestly: for so seldom did Aunt Faith allude to her past life and its sorrows, that all the cousins held it in reverent respect, and although they often spoke of it among themselves, they never broke through the bounds of Aunt Faith's silence. In her own room hung the portrait of her husband, Lester Sheldon, a young man's face, with blue eyes, and thick golden hair, tossed carelessly back from the white forehead, while below, the firm mouth told of decision and self-control beyond his years. Once, when Bessie was a child, she sat looking at this portrait for some time in silence. Then she said, ”Aunt Faith, if that is your husband, what makes him so young when you are so old?”
”He died when he was a young man, little Bessie.”
”But he won't know you when you go to heaven, I'm afraid,” continued the child, looking anxiously at her aunt's gray hair.
”Oh, I shall be young then, too, Bessie. Here is a picture of me when I was eighteen,” said Aunt Faith, taking a box from her drawer, and drawing out a miniature. It was one of those lovely, old-fas.h.i.+oned ivory pictures, showing a fresh young face with dimples, and a sunny smile.
”Oh, auntie, _that_ isn't you!” Bessie had exclaimed, and the other children having come into the room, the picture was shown to them also. Since that day they had never seen it, but Hugh retained a vivid remembrance of the picture, and, as Aunt Faith looked through her desk to find the paper, something in her face recalled it to his mind, and there came across him, like a revelation, a vision of what she was at eighteen. Faith Warrington at eighteen! Faith Warrington, who had long been Mrs. Sheldon with her gray hair and pale face. Going up to his room, Hugh seated himself by the window, and opening the paper, read the following lines:--
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