_IN LONDON._
"AND so 'that's' what you are going to take for your motto in town?"
asked Mr. Hallett, standing before the boys' fire in Gordon Square,
late one afternoon soon after their arrival, and reading out slowly,—
"'Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.'"
His tone was one of satisfaction as he turned round from contemplating
the framed text, and looked in the two faces.
"Yes," answered Lionel, "it was impressed on me by a talk I had with
poor dear grandma (Mrs. Bruce, you know) just before I came away, the
last talk we had. And, curiously enough, Alick's mother said the same
thing to him. So we've done it, and put it up."
"You will never be sorry for it," said Mr. Hallett gravely. "I called
in, young gentlemen, to ask you to spend next Sunday with me. I daresay
you will feel it rather a forlorn day, the first in London alone, so do
come. We spend the day very quietly, but we are a happy party for all
that, and you will be welcome."
They thanked him warmly, and then he took leave, and they were left to
their tea.
They sat down almost in silence; indeed Lionel had hardly spoken since
they came in.
At last, he seemed to force himself to speak. His voice was constrained
as he said:
"Funny he should notice that at once, Alick."
"I don't know that," answered Alick; "anyone might. I wonder if we
ought to have put two in our bedrooms instead?"
"No!" exclaimed Lionel quickly. "For I can tell you, Alick, I shall
need to remember it."
Alick looked startled, then he said sorrowfully:
"Lionel, already?"
"Already!" echoed Lionel bitterly. "How shall I be pure in heart for
His service if this goes on? One would think there was not one among
them who can think a pure thought, or say a pure word."
He pushed his untasted tea from him and got up, turning his back to
Alick, and pacing up and down the end of the room.
"'But the foundation of "God" standeth sure,'" said Alick earnestly,
"'having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are His. And, Let every
one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.' 'He' is
steadfast, though you feel all things else shake."
Lionel came to the back of his chair.
"I see you understand, Alick," he said in a low voice. "I did not know
people could say and think such wicked things. But He knows I do not
want to copy them! I am so glad you reminded me of that text, 'The Lord
knoweth them that are His,' it has set my foot upon a Rock once more."
And it was not till they were just going to bed that night that Lionel
referred to the subject again.
"Alick, how can I help hearing? My soul revolts, but how can I stop it?"
"I do not know exactly," answered Alick, "but I think only by feeling
in your inmost heart that you are the Lord's. 'The Lord knoweth them
that are His.' Then if you are His, He has you in charge, and all you
have to do when the blast of temptation comes is to repeat joyfully
to yourself, 'I am His.' It seems to me—at least Courtenay used to
say so—that after a little time of intense suffering, if you bear on
bravely, holding up the standard, and setting your face as a flint
against evil, they will let you alone, and they will be as anxious to
avoid your condemnation as they are now to obtain your concurrence."
Lionel thought over Alick's words for a long time.
"Did Courtenay have such things to bear?"
"Yes, in his office. He has told me about it since."
"But medical students are worse than most," said poor Lionel.
"I don't know," answered Alick; "some have one sort of temptation and
some another. Now in our place it appears to me that it will be covert
disregard of God, and a desire to undermine faith in Him."
Lionel shuddered. He was too sore with his own wounds to bear to hear
of those of others.
"I wish Courtenay were here," he said, "or even my poor dear grandma."
"I wish they could be, but we must not forget that we are not alone. We
have help ever at hand."
"Yes," answered Lionel. "Alick, you're very kind and patient, but I am
afraid you are too good ever to have had such things said to you. You
have always been better than I in every way."
Alick did not answer. A burning flush came over his face, and he turned
away and began to light their candles.
"Shall we not read our chapter?" said Lionel.
"Oh, yes!"
They had agreed to read a chapter together every night, and to kneel
down together, but did not bind themselves to pray audibly unless
either of them felt inclined.
"It must not get into a task," Alick had said.
To-night they read as usual, and then knelt in silence. Alick was busy
with his own thoughts, and though he knelt on as long as Lionel did, he
could not pray. A great battle raged within him. Lionel had said he had
been always good, and he had allowed the assertion to pass when he knew
it was not true. Now he felt he ought to tell this to Lionel, but he
also felt it was utterly impossible. Lionel, who honoured him so much,
must be told that he had let him believe what was not true, and had not
had courage to speak up at once and say it had not always been so.
At last, Lionel rose from his knees, and Alick rose too. They wished
good-night and went to their own rooms.
Alick locked his door and sat down to think. Had he not been talking
about being pure in heart, and here he was unwilling to acknowledge
himself in the wrong?
But such a wrong—such a little impalpable wrong. To make a fuss over
nothing, when thousands every day said things which were actually
untrue and thought no more about it.
He wished he need think no more about it. He wished—oh, how
earnestly!—that he had spoken up at once, but now he could not—no, he
could not—bring up the subject again, and tell Lionel what a coward he
had been. Lionel always looked up to him. Lionel would despise him ever
after. No, it was "impossible."
Pride said it was impossible, but another voice whispered to him, with
words which thrilled him with pain,—
"The pure in heart shall see God."
"If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me."
"Hear me!" Alick looked up with one moment's hope. "I have not asked
Him to hear me. What is impossible to me may be possible to Him."
Then a prayer from his inmost heart formed on his lips, and he
whispered:
"Lord, I cannot make myself do it, and the doing of it seems as far
out of reach as the clouds above me, but I do ask to be made willing
to do it; I do want to see God; I do want to be pure in heart; I would
not have a stain there for the world, only I can't do this. If thou
wouldest have me do it, make me willing."
That was his prayer. Then he buried his face in his arms and waited. He
did not pray now, he only waited. Had he not had answers before? Was
anything too hard for God to do?
The streets grew quieter and quieter, and the roar and hum of the great
city seemed to recede and grow far off. Still he sat on, expecting the
answer.
Presently, from thinking how utterly impossible it was, he found
himself wondering that it should have been so difficult. All at once
the answer had come; he was willing.
He unlocked his door and tapped at Lionel's. His cousin was equally
wakeful, and when he entered, he found him seated before his window in
the dark, with only such light as a high winter moon cast into the room.
"Lionel," he said in a low voice, "I thought till to-night that I was a
great deal braver than I am. I have come in to tell you something. When
you said that about being too good always for anyone to tempt 'me' to
evil, I let it pass as if it were true; as if in my experience it had
been true. It was not true."
Lionel turned round in the darkness and caught the sight of Alick's
pale face behind him.
"Lionel, at first I felt I could not confess this to you; so unwilling
was I that I felt, come what might, I could not bring my lips to say
it; but God has been very good to me. He has helped me to understand
that I could not have a cloud between my soul and Him if I wished to
see Him; and then He has made easy what was as high as a mountain to
me. Lionel, I never before knew how gracious my Lord could be, nor how
powerful."
"Dear Alick," exclaimed Lionel, deeply touched, "thank you so much for
telling me."
"No, do not thank me; I could not have done it but for Him. Lionel,
it was at school, when we lived at the Grange, one of the bad set got
hold of me, and for a little while I was very miserable. And then one
day, Aunt Ella was talking, and she described how, if we felt ever so
defiled, there was the more need that we should go to the fountain that
cleanseth from 'all' sin. That 'all' settled me. It was not sins of
action so much as thoughts, but 'all' meant thoughts and everything;
and so I asked to be washed; and like Naaman (don't you know?), my
heart came again like the heart of a little child, and I was clean.'"
Lionel clasped his hand as it rested on the back of his chair.
"Alick, you have helped me and comforted me very much. I shall never
forget your kindness—never. I will ask Him to take away all my
defilements, and to make me in deed and in truth pure in heart."
They said no more, but ever after that had a mutual love and
forbearance which had never been present in the old days. And from that
evening, they established a regular practice of praying for each other
that simple, comprehensive prayer—
"'Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.'"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "Blessed are the peacemakers:
for they shall be called the children of God."]