“You came from Violet’s room just now?” the captain said enquiringly to
the doctor.
“Yes. She was sleeping and had been for some hours; knew nothing yet of
your accident.”
“That is well; don’t let her be uneasy about me.”
“Not if I can help it,” returned Arthur with a slight smile; “but she
will of course miss you soon, and demand a reason for your desertion of
her; then what can be done better than to own the truth?”
“Nothing, certainly; but make your report of my condition as favorable
as you can.”
“I will do that, and I can say truly that there is no reason to
apprehend any thing worse for either of you than an enforced separation
for a few weeks; and that while in the same house and almost near
enough to carry on a conversation; you can exchange messages every hour
in the day if you deem it desirable.”
“And I can carry them for you, papa,” said Lulu, returning with the
ice-water and fan.
“So you shall, daughter,” he said, taking the glass from her hand; and
then as he returned it, “bring me a writing desk, paper and pencil, and
I’ll prepare one for you to take.”
“And I may sit and fan you while you write it, mayn’t I?”
“Yes; I shall be glad to have you do so.”
Grandma Elsie was watching over her daughter’s slumbers, carefully
guarding her from disturbance, and especially from any intruder who
would bring the evil tidings of her husband’s injury.
At length Violet woke and looked up into her mother’s face with a
bright, sweet smile. “I feel very comfortable,” she said. “I must have
slept a good while, have I not? and how kind in you, dearest mamma, to
watch over me so tenderly. I fear you must be fatigued; and it strikes
me you look a trifle weary and troubled. Is any thing wrong?” Then with
a quick glance round the room, “Where is my husband?”
“Down stairs.”
“I wish he would come up; please send him word that I am awake and want
to see him. He will come up at once, I know.”
Elsie bent down and kissed the pale cheek before she answered.
“If you can spare me for a few minutes, I’ll go and tell him myself,”
she said, with playful look and smile.
“But why not send a servant, mamma dear? I don’t want you tiring
yourself going up and down on my errands.”
“But I have a fancy for doing it this once; I’ve been sitting still a
long while, and a little exercise will be good for me.”
With that she left the room.
She found the captain writing his note, the doctor still with him.
“Vi is awake and asking for her husband,” she said. “Arthur, will you
come up and give her as good a report as you can with truth?”
“Certainly, my dear cousin; and it need not be so bad a one as to cause
her any special uneasiness.”
“And here is a report from the patient himself,” remarked the captain,
smilingly handing a slip of paper to his mother-in-law. “Don’t let her
be despondent over the enforced separation, mother, remind her that it
is at least a little better than if I were on a voyage that would keep
us apart for six months or a year.”
“That should be a comforting reflection,” Elsie said. “But you are
suffering, captain!” as a sudden spasm of pain caused an involuntary
contraction of his brow.
“Well, yes,” he replied, “but not more than can be easily endured. Make
as light of it as you can to my dear wife.”
They broke the news to Violet as gently as possible, treating the
matter as of as little consequence as they conscientiously could, then
gave her the captain’s note.
It was written in a cheerful, even gay strain, that did much to remove
her apprehensions. He spoke of the morning’s accident as something
in the nature of a repetition of the mishap that had been the means
of bringing them into intimate association for weeks, till they had
learned to know and love each other; a consummation for which he at
least, would have cause to be grateful all his days.
“So there was a blessing in that love,” he concluded, “and let us hope
there will be in this also.”
Violet could not of course fail to be distressed on her husband’s
account because of the pain and weariness he must inevitably suffer,
and for herself that she must be so long deprived of his dear
companionship, but she would not allow herself to fret; no murmur or
complaint escaped her lips, and she vied with him in the cheerfulness
and gayety of her messages and notes, when she was well enough to
obtain permission to write them.
As to the captain, while thus deprived of the society of his wife and
tied down to a couch of pain, he found the greatest solace in the
companionship, devoted affection and endearments of his children.
Max came and went, doing his errands, conveying his orders to workmen
and servants, and writing letters at his dictation. Grace hung about
him with her pretty, loving embraces, and was always glad to do any
little service in her power; little Elsie was brought to him for a
short daily visit; but Lulu was his devoted nurse, seldom absent
from his side during the day, except to take her meals and the daily
exercise in the open air that he would not allow her to omit.
It was a dear delight to her to wait upon him, and to feel that she was
necessary to his comfort.
When the worst was over and he was comparatively free from pain, he had
the children resume their studies, and heard their recitations as he
lay on his couch. Useful occupation seemed to him the best panacea for
pain and the tedium of long confinement to the house; having his couch
wheeled out to the shady veranda being for weeks the only practicable
change.
His wife’s relatives were kind and attentive to both her and him,
making frequent friendly calls and offers of service, but his chief
dependence for entertainment and constant, loving attention, was upon
his children.
He loved to have them gather about him at all times, but especially in
the evenings when the day’s duties and pleasures were over, and tell
him what they had seen in their walks and drives; thus teaching them to
observe and describe; also he encouraged them to talk freely of their
thoughts and feelings; so winning their confidence, correcting their
mistakes, and giving instruction in a way that was pleasant to both
teacher and taught.
He thought much of their future in both this world and the next, and
how best he could prepare them to meet successfully life’s trials,
toils and struggles, how to find and to do the work intended for them,
and often and often his heart went up in prayer to God for grace and
wisdom to guide them aright.
Remembering the inspired declaration that “we must through much
tribulation enter into the kingdom of God,” he did not ask for them
exemption from trials and troubles, though his heart yearned over
them at the thought of what they might be called to endure; but his
request for them was that when called to pass through deep waters or
fiery trials, they might ever find the eternal God their refuge and
underneath the Everlasting Arms; that through all their lives they
might prove good soldiers of Jesus Christ, able and ready to endure
hardness for him; and that they might be kept by the power of God
through faith unto salvation.
“My darlings,” he would sometimes say, “I would not have you of the
number of those who seek first their own ease and gratification;
‘man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever’; make it the
aim of your lives to know, love and serve him; to do his work and his
will; to do all in your power to bring others to him; and he will take
care of the rest.”
“Papa, you love us very much; don’t you want us to have easy, pleasant
times?” Grace asked on one of these occasions.
“I do love you all very dearly, and I am afraid that would be what I
should choose for you if the choice were left to me,” he answered; “but
it is not mine, and I rejoice that it is not; for God, our Heavenly
Father, in whose hand are all these things, loves you far better than I
do, and is infinite in wisdom; he will choose for you and never make a
mistake.”
“It makes me glad to think of that, papa,” she sighed, creeping closer
into his embrace, for she was leaning against his couch, with his arm
round her; “for I am not very strong, you know, and when I hear about
having to run a race and fight a battle, it seems as if I could never
do it; but Jesus will help me to do both, won’t he, papa?”
“He will, dear child. He says: ‘In me is thine help.’ ‘Happy art thou,
oh, Israel: who is like unto thee, oh, people saved by the Lord, the
shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency?’
“‘Our soul waiteth for the Lord: he is our help and our shield.’”
“Does every body have to run a race and fight a battle to get to
heaven, papa?” queried Lulu.
“Yes, my child; there is no escaping it: we belong to a fallen race,
and are all born into the world with a sinful nature that must be
got rid of before we can enter heaven. We would not be happy in that
holy place with that evil nature, even could we gain admittance there
uncleansed from it. We have that to struggle against, and put away,
with the help of God, and by the application of the blood of Christ,
which cleanseth from all sin. And we have the snares of the world to
avoid, and a warfare to wage with many spiritual foes, malignantly
intent upon our ruin.”
“It’s just dreadful, papa!” said Lulu. “I don’t see how any body ever
gets saved.”
“By trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, who is mightier than all our
foes, able to save to the uttermost, and who died to redeem us.”
“What does that word redeem mean, papa?”
“To buy back; to deliver from bondage, or out of the hands of justice.
In our case it is bondage to sin and Satan, it is God’s justice, which
demands the death eternal of every sinner who is not ransomed by the
blood of Christ.”
“Are all the people who don’t love and serve God, servants to sin and
Satan, papa?”
“Yes: ‘Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey,
his servants ye are to whom ye obey: whether of sin unto death, or of
obedience unto righteousness?’
“Oh, my dear children, I can not bear to think of any one of you being
a servant of sin and Satan, instead of a servant of God and Christ!”
A few moments of solemn stillness succeeded the last words; then the
captain said:
“It is time for evening worship; call in the servants, Max.”
He had not once omitted the morning or evening sacrifice of prayer and
praise, for though unable to kneel, he could read the Word and pray
from his couch.
Firmly he had resolved, “As for me and my house, we will serve the
Lord.”
He had for some time seen reason to hope that Max and Grace, young
though they were, had entered that service, but not so with Lulu:
though truthful, conscientious, affectionate, and usually obedient to
him, and really striving to overcome her easily-besetting sin, and rule
her own spirit, she showed no love to Christ and professed none.
He was anxious about her, and often lifted up his heart on her behalf,
for he knew that, being old enough to fully comprehend the plan of
salvation, she was not safe while neglecting or refusing to come to
Christ.
He noticed that she was unusually thoughtful and attentive during the
short service this evening, and as she lingered a little behind the
others, as was her wont, he drew her to him and holding her in a close,
loving embrace, asked tenderly:
“My darling, when are you going to leave the service of sin and Satan
for that of the dear Saviour?”
“Papa,” she said, hiding her face on his shoulder, “I—I can’t bear to
think of being Satan’s servant, and—and I do mean to be a Christian
some time. I—I’m not good enough yet; I’ve got such a bad temper, you
know; and I like my own way so well that—that it does seem as if I
can’t keep from disobeying you once in a while.
“So I couldn’t be a good kind of a Christian, and—and that’s the only
kind I’d want to be.”
He sighed deeply. “My child,” he said, “what is all that you have
been saying, but an acknowledgment that you still love and choose the
service of sin?”
“I was just telling you the truth about how I feel, papa, and how can I
help it, if I’m made so?”
“By coming to Jesus, who saves his people from their sins. He is able
to save to the uttermost; to save all from sin who will come to him; he
never saves any _in_ their sins; and he is the only Saviour; the only
one who can deliver you from bondage to sin and Satan; can take away
the evil of your nature and implant the love of holiness.
“You can never conquer your love of sin without his help; you will
never grow really better while you stay away from him.”
“But I’m only a little girl, papa; I think I could do it better when
I’m older.”
“No, it is Satan tells you that; he knows that the longer you delay,
the harder your heart will grow, and the more difficult it will be to
bring it to Jesus.
“Many and many a soul has been lost by listening to Satan telling it to
wait for a more convenient season, and so putting off repentance till
it was forever too late.
“But God’s time is always now; ‘Behold now is the accepted time; behold
now is the day of salvation!’ Come now—this hour, this moment—my dear
child, and he will fulfill to you his gracious promise, ‘Him that
cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.’”
“Papa, are you ordering me?”
“No, my child, I am entreating you. Jesus entreats you; ‘Son, daughter,
give me thine heart.’ He says, ‘Behold I stand at the door and knock;
if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and
will sup with him and he with me.’
“Open the door of your heart to him now, my child, lest he should turn
away and never knock there again.”
“Does he ever do that, papa, before people die?” she asked in an awed
tone.
“Yes, he says, ‘My Spirit shall not always strive.’ Of some he says,
‘Ephraim is joined to his idols; let him alone,’ and that sentence may
go forth years before death comes. Of Esau it is said, ‘He found no
place of repentance, though he sought it with tears.’
“‘There is a time, we know not when,
A point we know not where,
That marks the destiny of men,
To glory or despair.
There is a line, by us unseen,
That crosses every path,
The hidden boundary between
God’s mercy and his wrath.’”
He paused, and shuddering and hiding her face, “Papa,” she murmured, “I
do intend to try before very long, when I’m just a little older.”
“But you may not live to be any older; who can say that you will live
to see the light of another morning? Or that the invitation may not be
withdrawn? My child, the only time you are sure of is now; just now;
come _now_, at once.”
“But how, papa?” she asked, as again he paused.
“Just as you would if you could see the Lord Jesus here in this room.
It would not be difficult for you to go and kneel at his feet and ask
him to take you for his own, to wash away all your sins, and teach you
to love and serve him.”
“No, papa, but—I’m afraid I—I don’t want to.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed, “how can you help loving One who is so lovely in
character? So kind, so good, so loving, so unselfish that he died the
cruel death of the cross that we might be saved?
“One who has been so patient and forbearing with you all these years
that you have lived in rebellion against him, and is still entreating
you to come to him and be saved!”
He paused for a reply, but none came.
“You like to think that you belong to me? Are my very own?” he said,
enquiringly.
“Oh, yes, papa! indeed I do!”
“You love me very much?”
“Indeed, _indeed_ I do!”
“And you value my love?”
“O papa, I don’t know how I could live without it,” she cried, nestling
closer to him, and kissing him with ardent affection.
“You look to me for protecting care? You feel safe in my arms?”
“Oh, yes, papa! You would never let me be harmed.”
“Not if I could help it, dear child, I would protect you with my life.
But I can not always do so; some day, daughter, your father will have
to die and leave you.”
“Oh, don’t, papa, don’t talk of that!” she exclaimed, catching her
breath with a half sob.
“I don’t speak of it to distress you, my darling,” he said, softly
smoothing her hair, “but I want you to reflect how desirable, how
necessary it is for you to secure a nearer, dearer, more powerful
Friend. One who sticketh closer than a brother, whose love is deeper
and stronger than a mother’s, and who will never leave nor forsake you,
never die. The Lord Jesus, who is all these and more, now offers you
his friendship and his love; but how long he will continue the offer,
none can tell. Will you not come to him now, this moment?”
“Papa, I can’t. I can’t make my heart want to do it,” she said
despairingly.
“Make the effort and he will help you, as he did the man with the
withered hand. He might have said: ‘I can not stretch it forth, I have
not been able to move it for years;’ but instead, he tried to obey, and
Jesus gave him strength, and so will he help you to obey his call.
‘Come unto me,’ if you will but try to do so.”
“But perhaps he doesn’t mean for me to try just now, papa,” she said
struggling with herself.
“No; that can not be so. His time is always now, to-day; never
to-morrow, or next week or next year.
“‘To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart as in the
day of provocation.
“‘Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of
salvation.’
“And you will be but giving him of his own; you are his because he made
you, his, because He has kept you alive all these years, His, because
he has bought you with his own precious blood. He has lent you to me
for a time, but you belong to him. Do not refuse him his own, my child.
“I hope and believe that all the rest of us are walking in the straight
and narrow way, will you not come with us? Oh, how can I bear to see my
dear daughter travelling the broad road that leads to eternal death!”
“Papa, pray for me, ask Jesus to help me to do it just now,” she
sobbed, sinking to her knees beside his couch.
He laid his hand tenderly on her bowed head, and in low, earnest tones
confessed for her that she was a sinner, lost and undone without the
atoning blood of Christ; that she had in herself, no power and no
desire to turn from sin unto holiness, that she had often rejected
God’s offered mercy and forgiveness, and refused to accept the
Saviour’s gracious invitation, ‘Come unto me;’ then he pleaded for her
that her sins might be forgiven and blotted out, for Jesus’ sake; that
he would take away all the evil of her nature, wash her thoroughly
from her iniquity and cleanse her from her sin, and enable her to give
herself wholly and unreservedly to his service.
As his voice ceased she followed him in a few broken sentences:
“Dear Lord Jesus, I am a great sinner, just as papa has said, and oh,
I am afraid I don’t want to be any better, but please make me want to,
and to love to belong to thee even more than I do to be papa’s very
own. I will, I do give myself to thee. Oh, take me and make me all
good, no bad at all left in me. For thine own name’s sake. Amen.”
For some moments there seemed a solemn stillness in the room, she still
kneeling there, with her father’s hand resting tenderly on her head,
then in low tremulous tones:
“Papa,” she asked, “do you think he heard me, and will take me for his?”
“I know it, my child, if you asked with your heart, as I believe you
did, for he is the hearer and answerer of prayer!”
Then again he poured out an earnest supplication on her behalf, asking
that she might be kept ever near the Saviour’s side, growing in grace
and conformity to his will all the days of her life on earth, and at
last be taken to dwell forever with him in heaven.
Again a solemn hush, broken at length by Lulu’s voice in low, sweet
tones, “Papa, I think he has heard our prayers. I do begin to love him
in my heart and to want to be his.”
“‘Bless the Lord, oh, my soul; and all that is within me, bless his
holy name!’” ejaculated her father, his tones tremulous with emotion.
Then, as she rose from her kneeling posture, he drew her to his
breast and held her there in a long, tender embrace ere he bade her
good-night, and sent her away to her rest.