For I saw the face of Michael Blake--and he was walking down the
aisle---- And that other, who is that? For beside him is a woman's
comely form, her sweet face lowly bent as though it would be hidden, the
light of purity mingling with the conscious flame.
Upon Mr. Blake's face is the humble chastened look of one whom God has
touched--in the hollow of his thigh, mayhap--and the limp may be seen of
all men to the last. But pride is there too, the solemn pride of one who
has wrestled and prevailed, to go henceforth forever halting, but
forever heavenward.
Down the aisle, the same aisle by which he had departed from us, they
walked together, while wondering faces drank in the meaning of it all,
joy breaking forth upon them like the sun when darkening clouds have
gone.
He leads her to his old-time pew, and she takes the place that is
henceforth to be her own. The singing has stopped, save those silent
strains with which God is well pleased, the same as angels echo round
the throne.
It was hard for me to proceed with the service, for I knew that God
Himself had spoken. The sacred bush was in flame before us as in the
olden time, and the place whereon we stood was holy ground. The portion
I had chosen for the reading was from 1 Corinthians, the apostle's great
eulogy on love; and my voice faltered as I read some of its wondrous
words.
Before I had finished it, my resolve was taken. I came down from the
pulpit and stood before it, the elders all about me.
"Let us have our unbroken number," I began; "the kirk session is
constituted, and I call upon such as have been chosen to serve within
it, to come forward and assume the holy office. After this, the
sacrament of forgiving love will be dispensed."
I paused--and no one of all the multitude seemed to breathe. But a
moment passed, and then a sound broke the stillness. It was the sound of
moving feet, and the elder-elect arose and came slowly forward, his head
bowed as he came.
"Kneel down, Angus," I said, softly. He kneeled, and I had almost begun,
my hands outstretched above his head. He raised his face to mine,
lowered to meet it. A moment told me what he wished to say.
"Stand up," I whispered.
When he had risen, I said aloud: "Angus Strachan, ordained already, I
give you the right hand of fellowship into the eldership of St.
Cuthbert's church. The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make His
face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift the
light of His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."
Again I raised my voice as I faced the worshippers.
"I extend yet another invitation in my Master's name. I call upon any
who may be among us, once serving in the eldership of this church, to
come forward and aid us to dispense the pledges of forgiving love to
other sinful men."
I waited, but there was no response. One sat with bowed head, his hand
held in the gentle keeping of another's. The moments passed, but still
silence reigned.
"Come awa', man,"--it was Ronald McGregor's trembling voice from among
the elders--"come awa'; it's the wounded hand that beckons ye--we're a'
here o' the Saviour's grace alane."
Michael Blake moved slightly, but his head was lower bowed.
"Gang forrit, Michael, gang forrit to the table He's been gey guid to
us baith--an' oor Angus wants ye," whispered the woman beside him.
Then he came; and, as he walked to the table, the meaning of God's
pardoning love seemed borne in upon us as it had never been before.
He had hardly taken his seat beside us when we heard a faint rustling
sound, some one moving. I turned my head, and saw Margaret, her face
lovely through its tears, slip into the empty place and take in her own
the hand that had been just released. Burning hot it was, but she held
it tight--and Janet took her into her heart forever.
Then the sacred emblems were poured and broken by our sinful hands,
redeemed by love alone. The elders bore them forth to the waiting souls,
and when Angus came to his mother's place, great grace was upon us all.
He had bent one moment, before she took the chalice in her trembling
hand. One word was spoken, only one, and what it was no one heard--nor
Margaret, nor any one but God.
* * * * *
Because of more abounding grace, and because of that alone, I cherish
the trembling hope that I shall yet hear the new and holy song in the
blessed homeland yonder. Yonder, I say, for on clear days I have seen
the dim outline of the hills beyond the river; and sometimes in the
night I have caught the glow of an unsetting sun. Only for a moment, it
is true--but it was enough. My sight is failing, they tell me, and the
light is not so clear as in the early afternoon, but these yonder things
are seen the clearest in the failing light, and by eyes that are past
their best.
Wherefore, as I set out to say, I think I shall be welcomed thither by
the pilgrims' friend, and hear that song of the redeemed.
But not till then can I expect to ever hear again such melody as poured
from our hearts that morning in St. Cuthbert's. As for myself, I could
scarcely sing; I was so torn 'twixt joy and sorrow. Sorrow for what? For
all my stubborn wilfullness, that had stood so long between loving
hearts--but I did it for the best; and God will forgive me, who knows a
father's tender love.
Therefore my lips were almost dumb, but my heart joined in the swelling
praise that rolled about St. Cuthbert's like a flood. And I heard one
voice clear and sweet among all the rest; it came from the pew where sat
our Margaret, but it was not Margaret's voice:
"Long hath the night of sorrow reigned
The dawn shall bring us light--"
Thus reads our noble paraphrase--and thus reads the providence of God.
This it was we sang that day; and this all broken hearts shall one day
sing, when life's long twilight breaks.
After the congregation had dispersed, I saw Margaret lead her mother to
the pew. It was beautiful, my wife's gentle grace to the timid stranger,
for Margaret received of her mother whatever of that gift she hath--and
I have always said her mother's is the rarer of the two. I heard her bid
her new-found friend to the manse, and I echoed the mandate to the man
beside me, his head still bowed in prayer.
The elders retired in a body to the vestry, there to be dismissed by the
benediction, which I pronounced upon them, the triune blessing of the
triune God. Usually, they lingered for a little subdued conversation,
but this day they went out with unwonted speed, each grasping the hands
of the old elder and the new, and each without a word.
In a moment I saw their purpose, and went out along with them, leaving
those twain together, the father and the son. We heard no word; but we
knew the best robe, and the ring, and the shoes, were there, and that
God would dispense them in sacramental love.
It was not long till they came out again, life's fragrance about them as
they came. I had lingered in the church.
"Just wait a minute," I said as they came in, "I left my notes in the
vestry and I will be back immediately."
I had hardly reached the room when a light footfall was heard behind me.
It was my daughter.
"Margaret! Is this you? I thought you had gone home. Where is your
mother?" Lovely was her face and beautiful the light of joy upon it.
She did not seem to hear, but came straight on, and in a moment her arms
were about my neck, and the brave heart told all its story in tears of
utter gladness.
"Daughter mine," I whispered, "you will forgive"--but the gentle hand
stopped the words.
"Where is your mother?" I asked again.
"Gone to the manse--they went together," and the sun shone through the
rain--"I waited for you."
"Wait a moment," I said, "stay here a moment,"--for I knew the ways of
love.
I hurried without, and in the church I found the two men lingering for
me.
"Mr. Blake, we will walk down to the manse together--Margaret is waiting
for you in my room, Angus."
No maiden's fluttering form betrays the soul of love as doth a strong
man's face. Ah me! as I looked on Angus's in that moment, I knew to whom
my child belonged the most. But the broken emblems of Another's lay
before me, and I made the lesser sacrifice with joy.
I watched his eager step, nor did he seek to control its pace. Swiftly
he walked, and I could not forbear to follow with my eyes till he stood
before the door.
A moment he paused, I know not why--then he slowly entered and the door
was shut.
* * * * *
_Decorated_ _Cloth, $1.50_
_Doctor Luke of The Labrador_