THE SACRIFICE.
When Miss Prissy left the room, the Doctor sat down by the table and
covered his face with his hands. He had a large, passionate, determined
nature; and he had just come to one of those cruel crises in life in
which it is apt to seem to us that the whole force of our being, all
that we can hope, wish, feel, enjoy, has been suffered to gather itself
into one great wave, only to break upon some cold rock of inevitable
fate, and go back, moaning, into emptiness.
In such hours men and women have cursed God and life, and thrown
violently down and trampled under their feet what yet was left of
life's blessings, in the fierce bitterness of despair. "This, or
nothing!" the soul shrieks, in her frenzy. At just such points as
these, men have plunged into intemperance and wild excess,--they have
gone to be shot down in battle,--they have broken life, and thrown it
away, like an empty goblet, and gone, like wailing ghosts, out into the
dread unknown.
The possibility of all this lay in that heart which had just received
that stunning blow. Exercised and disciplined as he had been, by years
of sacrifice, by constant, unsleeping self-vigilance, there was rising
there, in that great heart, an ocean-tempest of passion, and for a
while his cries unto God seemed as empty and as vague as the screams of
birds tossed and buffeted in the clouds of mighty tempests.
The will that he thought wholly subdued seemed to rise under him as a
rebellious giant. A few hours before, he thought himself established in
an invincible submission to God's will that nothing could shake. Now he
looked into himself as into a seething vortex of rebellion, and against
all the passionate cries of his lower nature could, in the language of
an old saint, cling to God only by the naked force of his will. That
will rested unmelted amid the boiling sea of passion, waiting its hour
of renewed sway. He walked the room for hours, and then sat down to his
Bible, and roused once or twice to find his head leaning on its pages,
and his mind far gone in thoughts from which he woke with a bitter
throb. Then he determined to set himself to some definite work, and,
taking his Concordance, began busily tracing out and numbering all the
proof-texts for one of the chapters of his theological system! till, at
last, he worked himself down to such calmness that he could pray; and
then he schooled and reasoned with himself, in a style not unlike, in
its spirit, to that in which a great modern author has addressed
suffering humanity:--
"What is it that thou art fretting and self-tormenting about? Is it
because thou art not happy? Who told thee that thou wast to be happy?
Is there any ordinance of the universe that thou shouldst be happy? Art
thou nothing but a vulture screaming for prey? Canst thou not do
without happiness? Yea, thou canst do without happiness, and, instead
thereof, find blessedness."
The Doctor came, lastly, to the conclusion, that blessedness, which was
all the portion his Master had on earth, might do for him also; and
therefore he kissed and blessed that silver dove of happiness, which he
saw was weary of sailing in his clumsy old ark, and let it go out of
his hand without a tear.
He slept little that night; but when he came to breakfast, all noticed
an unusual gentleness and benignity of manner, and Mary, she knew not
why, saw tears rising in his eyes when he looked at her.
After breakfast he requested Mrs. Scudder to step with him into his
study, and Miss Prissy shook in her little shoes as she saw the matron
entering. The door was shut for a long time, and two voices could be
heard in earnest conversation.
Meanwhile James Marvyn entered the cottage, prompt to remind Mary of
her promise that she would talk with him again this morning.
They had talked with each other but a few moments, by the
sweetbrier-shaded window in the best room, when Mrs. Scudder appeared
at the door of the apartment, with traces of tears upon her cheeks.
"Good morning, James," she said. "The Doctor wishes to see you and Mary
a moment, together."
Both looked sufficiently astonished, knowing, from Mrs. Scudder's
looks, that something was impending. They followed her, scarcely
feeling the ground they trod on.
The Doctor was sitting at his table, with his favorite large-print
Bible open before him. He rose to receive them, with a manner at once
gentle and grave.
There was a pause of some minutes, during which he sat with his head
leaning upon his hand.
"You all know," he said, turning toward Mary, who sat very near him,
"the near and dear relation in which I have been expected to stand
towards this friend. I should not have been worthy of that relation, if
I had not felt in my heart the true love of a husband, as set forth in
the New Testament,--who should love his wife even as Christ loved the
Church and gave himself for it; and in case any peril or danger
threatened this dear soul, and I could not give myself for her, I had
never been worthy the honor she has done me. For, I take it, whenever
there is a cross or burden to be borne by one or the other, that the
man, who is made in the image of God as to strength and endurance,
should take it upon himself, and not lay it upon her that is weaker;
for he is therefore strong, not that he may tyrannize over the weak,
but bear their burdens for them, even as Christ for his Church.
"I have just discovered," he added, looking kindly upon Mary, "that
there is a great cross and burden which must come, either on this dear
child or on myself, through no fault of either of us, but through God's
good providence; and therefore let me bear it.
"Mary, my dear child," he said, "I will be to thee as a father, but I
will not force thy heart."
At this moment, Mary, by a sudden, impulsive movement, threw her arms
around his neck and kissed him, and lay sobbing on his shoulder.
"No! no!" she said,--"I will marry you, as I said!"
"Not, if I will not," he replied, with a benign smile. "Come here,
young man," he said, with some authority, to James. "I give thee this
maiden to wife." And he lifted her from his shoulder, and placed her
gently in the arms of the young man, who, overawed and overcome,
pressed her silently to his heart.
"There, children, it is over," he said. "God bless you!"
"Take her away," he added; "she will be more composed soon."
Before James left, he grasped the Doctor's hand in his, and said,--
"Sir, this tells on my heart more than any sermon you ever preached. I
shall never forget it. God bless you, Sir!"
The Doctor saw them slowly quit the apartment, and, following them,
closed the door; and thus ended THE MINISTER'S WOOING.