"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against
us."
"NELLY, what are you thinking of—you look sad?" inquired Walter on the
following morning, which happened to be Sunday.
"I was thinking of you," she replied gravely.
"And was that a thought to give you pain?" said Walter, sitting down at
her side, "Tell me, Nelly, what were you thinking of me?"
"I am afraid—perhaps you would be vexed or angry—"
"Vexed I may be, but angry with you, never! Have I done anything to
displease you?"
"It is not so much what you do, Walter, as what I fear that you feel.
It seems to me—I trust that I am wrong—but it seems to me that you
almost hate Ned Goldie."
"It is natural that I should—he is always insulting me!"
"It is natural, Walter; but is it right? Father has so often told us
that the adopted children of God must struggle against and overcome
their evil nature, must try, with God's help, to gain a likeness to
their Father—to be merciful as He is merciful, forgive as He forgives;
if we do not try this, with faith and with prayer, we have no right to
think ourselves God's children at all."
"Can you prove that from the Bible?" said Walter.
"I think that I can," replied Nelly, after a moment's thought. "It is
written, 'If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His.
Whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth
not his brother.'"
"That last verse has brought another into my mind, Nelly, which has
often given me a feeling of uneasiness. It is from the same chapter, I
believe. 'Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer; and ye know that no
murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.'"
"O Walter! You who know so well what is right, can you, in the face of
such words, still nourish hatred!"
"Nelly, I have no more power to love that boy than I have to move the
cliffs into the sea!" exclaimed Walter.
"Ask for power—ask in faith; remember the Lord's promise, 'By faith
ye shall remove mountains,'—'All things are possible to him that
believeth.' O Walter!" continued Nelly, speaking rapidly and earnestly,
till the blood rose to her pallid cheek, "this is not a work to be
set aside or delayed; remember that until you forgive you cannot be
forgiven, that as long as you live in hate, you are living in danger,
that your very prayer is turned against yourself when you say, 'Forgive
us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us!'"
Walter leaned his brow upon his hand, and remained for some moments
buried in thought; then raising his head he said, "I believe that I
might like Ned Goldie better if you and your father liked him less; but
to see you welcome and speak kindly to one who does not even pretend to
be religious, who is thoughtless, worldly, vain—"
"O Walter! Only think how he has been brought up! How could you expect
him to be otherwise!"
"He is certainly likely to learn little good at home."
"And would you have us drive him away when he comes in a spirit of
kindliness to the house of a man like my father, whose words and
example may, by little and little, draw him to better things."
"Perhaps you are right, Nelly," said Walter, with a sigh, "and I have
not acted the part of a Christian in either feeling or speaking as I
have done. When I recall what I myself was—what I am still—I take shame
for my own harsh, uncharitable spirit. I will ask for help from above,
to struggle against this besetting sin."
"And pray for him too!" said Nelly earnestly. "We never are sure that
we have forgiven our enemies till we are able heartily to pray for
them."
"I will," answered Walter with an effort.
"And you will forgive me for speaking so plainly to you, brother?" said
the girl, holding out her thin, wasted hand.
His reply was a silent press.
It was now time to attend church, and accompanied by Viner, they
proceeded on their way towards the house of God. On the road they met
Ned, who was going down to the beach, his back turned towards the place
of worship. He stopped to wish Viner and his daughter good morning, but
took no notice whatever of the convict's son.
"Where are you going, Ned?" said Viner.
"Down to the boat," replied the youth. "I shall take a sail while the
sunshine lasts, I have not had one for the last three days."
"I wish that you would come with us to church," said Nelly, in her
gentle persuasive tones.
"No, no! The morning service is so long—maybe I shall in the afternoon.
Mind, I make no rash promises," laughed the boy; "I am no great
churchgoer, you know!"
"I wish that I could persuade you, Ned," said Viner gravely but kindly,
"that the only way to real happiness is to fear God and keep His
commandments."
"Let me be happy in my own way for a while," cried Ned. "I dare say
that I shall think like you one of these days, when I am a sober,
gray-headed old man."
"Life is uncertain," interrupted Viner.
"Therefore I'll enjoy it while I can!"
"And death—"
"Oh! I've time enough to think about that!" cried the youth, waving
his hand as he sprang down the shingle, so light and agile, so full of
health, and strength and spirit, that it seemed as though many years
were indeed before him.
Walter fulfilled his promised to Nelly; he prayed fervently and humbly
for the Spirit of grace, that Spirit which God has promised to all who
ask in faith—that Spirit whose fruits are long-suffering and love. A
peace seemed to come into his heart as he prayed, a peace to which
his soul had long been a stranger—he could think of his enemy without
bitter feeling, and even ask for a blessing upon him.
While the congregation were yet in the church, the violent rattling of
the windows told of the sudden coming on of a storm; and as soon as
the door was opened at the close of the service, the blast of cold air
which swept in was so strong, that but for the help of her father's
arm, Nelly could scarcely have stood against it. The whole sky was
covered with dark leaden clouds, sweeping on rapidly one after another;
the wind had swelled into a gale, while the broad dashes of foam over
the whole extent of waters, and the waves that rolled on and broke
upon the beach, flinging high in the air their showers of white spray,
showed the fury of the raging storm!
"I hope and trust that Ned Goldie is not on the sea!" exclaimed Nelly.
A crowd was collected on the shore, which was now increased by the
greater part of the late congregation. Every eye was strained in one
direction, where a little boat was seen, tossed like a nut-shell on the
foaming waves, and many an exclamation of pity or of fear burst from
the anxious lookers-on.
"I'd not for a hundred guineas be in that boat!" said one. "He'll never
get her into shore."
"I thought she'd have capsized then!" exclaimed another. "Why on earth
does he not take in the sail?"
"Isn't it Ned Goldie?" said Mrs. Winter, who, prayer-book in hand,
stood one of the foremost in the crowd. "He'd better have been
listening in his place in church than taking his Sunday pleasure, poor
fellow!"
"Heaven have mercy upon him!" faltered Nelly, clasping her hands, and
looking with terror upon the little boat, which seemed half swallowed
up amidst the swelling billows.
"It is he! It is my boy! Oh! Can no one save him?" shrieked the voice
of his wretched mother, as she stood with arms extended wildly towards
him, the wind blowing back the hair from her pale horror-stricken
face—watching the boat that held the idol of her heart.
Another awful gust. The boy was seen in the boat, vainly trying to furl
the fluttering, struggling sail; then there was a cry heard even above
the roaring storm.
"She's over! She's down! He's lost!" The mother lay senseless on the
beach—her son was struggling in the midst of the waves! "God have pity
on him! He cannot swim!" cried Mrs. Winter.
Nelly had closed her eyes in horror, a word from her father made her
look round in new fear.
"Is it not madness to attempt it?" said Viner.
Walter had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was preparing to
plunge into the surf.
"O Walter!" exclaimed Nelly, stretching out her hand; but she dared not
utter the entreaty that rose to her lips—she dared not stop him in the
course of duty.
"Pray for me!" whispered Walter. There was no time to say more—the next
moment she saw him battling with the waves.
Motionless as a statue the young girl stood, able to utter no word, but
pouring out her whole soul in fervent agonised prayer! Now a head and
outspread arms were seen on the waters, then were lost again, as a huge
swelling billow rolled on, as though to sweep away the swimmer, or bury
him beneath its weight!
Nelly was like one in a terrible dream; she heard nothing of anything
that passed around her but the rush of the wind and the roar of the
waves; she saw nothing but the wild tossing waters, save when she
caught a moment's glimpse of Walter. Happy was it for Ned's wretched
mother that she was beyond reach of either hearing or seeing!
When Mrs. Goldie recovered from her swoon, she found herself in the
nearest house, which happened to be that of the baker. Her wild
passionate inquiries received no reply but looks of sorrow and pity;
and unable to endure the terrible suspense, the poor woman sprang from
the bed on which she had been laid, and in the strength of her despair,
notwithstanding every effort to detain her, rushed back to the spot
where the sight of an assembled crowd directed her impetuous steps.
Alas! For the sight that awaited her. Viner was kneeling upon the
shingle, supporting on his bosom the head of a youth, into whose
colourless lips he was pouring some spirits, and Nelly, at his
side, with trembling eagerness, was watching the signs of returning
animation. Mrs. Goldie gave one wild, searching look, and passed
on—the face was not that of her son. A little farther on lay a corpse,
in which life had for some time been extinct. Stiff and cold he was
stretched in death, the young, the beautiful, the strong—oh! How
changed! In vain every method to restore him had been tried—the heart
and the pulse had ceased to beat, the sparkling eye was glazed, the
laughing lip silent; in the midst of his pleasures, his follies, his
sins, Ned Goldie's spirit had been summoned to appear before his Maker!
We will dwell no longer upon a scene so sad—no words can paint the
anguish of the desolate mother! We will rather reflect upon the comfort
which it was to Walter, when following the poor youth's remains to the
grave, to feel that Heaven had enabled him to triumph over his better
feelings, and even to hazard his life for the sake of one whom he had
once regarded with hate. His efforts to save Ned had been in vain, he
had only succeeded in dragging the body to the shore; but he had done
all that it was in his power to do; he had treated an enemy as he would
have treated a brother; and he no longer felt self-condemned by his own
words when he prayed:
"FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FORGIVE THEM
THAT TRESPASS AGAINST US."
[Illustration]