Volume Ii Part 78 (1/2)
”I don't think it was a right mood of mind I had when I wrote that,” she said. ”It was morbid. But I couldn't help it. Yet if one could keep possession of those words you quoted just now, I suppose one never would have morbid feelings, Mr.
Carleton?”
”Perhaps not; but human nature has a weak hold of anything, and many things may make it weaker.”
”Mine is weak,” said Fleda. ”But it is possible to keep firm hold of those words, Mr. Carleton?”
”Yes ? by strength that is not human nature's ? and, after all, the firm hold is rather that in which we are held, or ours would soon fail. The very hand that makes the promise its own must be nerved to grasp it. And so it is best, for it keeps us looking off always to the Author and Finisher of our faith.”
”I love those words,” said Fleda. ”But, Mr. Carleton, how shall one be sure that one has a right to those other words ?
those, I mean, that you told to Hugh? One cannot take the comfort of them unless one is _sure_.”
Her voice trembled.
”My dear Elfie, the promises have many of them their double ?
stamped with the very same signet ? and if that sealed counterpart is your own, it is the sure earnest and t.i.tle to the whole value of the promise.”
”Well ? in this case?” said Fleda, eagerly.
”In this case, G.o.d says, 'I am thy s.h.i.+eld, and thy exceeding great reward.' Now, see if your own heart can give the countersign ? '_Thou art my portion, O Lord!_' ”
Fleda's head sank instantly, and almost lay upon his arm.
”If you have the one, my dear Elfie, the other is yours ? it is the note of hand of the maker of the promise ? sure to be honoured. And if you want proof, here it is ? and a threefold cord is not soon broken ? 'Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation.' ”
There was a pause of some length. Fleda had lifted up her head, but walked along very quietly, not seeming to care to speak.
”Have you the countersign, Elfie?”
Fleda flashed a look at him, and only restrained herself from weeping again.
”Yes. But so I had then, Mr. Carleton ? only sometimes I got those fits of feeling ? I forgot it, I suppose.”
”When were these verses written?”
”Last fall ? uncle Rolf was away, and aunt Lucy unhappy ? and, I believe, I was tired. I suppose it was that.”
For a matter of several rods, each was busy with his own musings. But Mr. Carleton bethought himself.
”Where are you, Elfie?”
”Where am I?”
”Yes ? Not at Queechy?”
”No, indeed” said Fleda, laughing. ”Far enough away.”
”Where?”
”At Paris ? at the Marche des Innocens.”