FIRE.
"WHAT am I to do—what on earth am I to do!" exclaimed Wilfred. "Oh!
That I had never seen this detestable deed!" And he spurned the
parchment with his foot. "What ought I to do? Carry that will to my
father in the morning? That would certainly be the course of duty, the
course of honour; and he—my noble, upright parent—he would at once make
known to the world the existence of a will which robs him of all, which
reduces him almost to beggary, which compels him to begin the world
again, and toil for his daily bread. I can't do it—I wont do it!" cried
Wilfred, springing from his chair, and beginning to pace up and down
the gloomy apartment.
"The living, too, would be lost; all the happiness of my darling Mina
would be crushed at a blow. I never could deal that blow. It is not,"
said Wilfred, pausing in his rapid walk, and trying to bring argument
after argument to drown the voice of his conscience; "it is not as if
this Benson deserved anything at our hands; it is not as if he were
one to make a good use of fortune. The building of the school would
be stopped at once; the poor widows, whom my noble father supports,
would have no refuge but the workhouse. It would be cruel, wicked, to
sacrifice at once so many interests for the sake of one mean wretch who
cares for no one on earth but himself."
Ah, Wilfred, self-deceiver! It is not for him, not for any mortal, that
the sacrifice is required; it is sacrifice to duty, simple obedience to
the command of God, "provide things honest in the sight of all men!"
Our enemy is ever ready to persuade us that what is expedient must be
right; that we may turn a little—but a little—from the straight, narrow
path, and yet walk on with our faces towards heaven. Again and again
the voice sounds in our hearts,—
"To do a great right, do a little wrong;"
but it is the voice of the tempter.
Wilfred Marsden in his happy, peaceful home, had been guarded from
many evils, and was growing up, as he believed, in the practice of
many virtues. Generous, affectionate, truthful, kind, in reference to
outward obedience to the commandments, Wilfred might almost have said
like the ruler, "All these things have I kept from my youth up." From
conscious purity of conduct, and rectitude of purpose, had sprung a
reliance upon his own strength, his own honour, his power of resisting
temptation, which had its secret root in pride. And now, like that of
the ruler, Wilfred Marsden's obedience was brought to the test. He was
called upon to resign all that he possessed, to take up his cross and
follow his Lord! Resolution snapped, pride gave way, honour could not
stand in the trial! Like the young ruler, with a sad heart and bleeding
conscience, Wilfred was turning away from the duty which seemed too
hard to be performed. He reasoned and argued with himself, until he
became half persuaded that to ruin his family, and stop works of
charity, could not be required of him by God.
"I'll burn this parchment, I'll forget that it ever existed!" cried
Wilfred, with hasty resolution, snatching the will from the floor.
He held it to the flame of the candle, and a dark smoke-mark, like
a stain, showed the action of fire upon the roll. But Wilfred soon
perceived that it would take a considerable time to burn a large
parchment thus; and his impatient spirit could not endure the
protracted torture of thus slowly and deliberately committing a crime.
"I will burn it in the grate," muttered Wilfred. But it was
summer-time, the grate was empty, and he hastily looked around for
something that might serve as fuel. Wilfred's desk had been left
downstairs—in vain, he searched his pockets for letters—the only book
that was to be seen in the Oak room was his own Bible! Wilfred put his
handkerchief into the grate, with a few scraps of paper which, with
difficulty, he collected, laid the parchment on the little heap, and
lighted it by the candle. He then stood with his back to the fire, for
he could not bear to watch it while it was doing its unholy work of
destruction. The grate had for months been unused; the wind blew down
the chimney, a volume of smoke came curling and spreading into the
room, making the dimness yet deeper, and the heat of the place more
oppressive. With a sense of suffocation Wilfred turned round to see
the flames—quickly kindled, and quickly spent—expiring round the great
roll, which lay, blackened indeed, but unconsumed! The smell of burning
gave to the miserable Wilfred a feeling of sudden horror!
"Here, in this very room, where 'he' perished by fire, do I attempt to
burn his last will and testament! Can I find no other place, no other
way, when I wrong both the living and the dead?" Wilfred caught up the
roll from the grate. "O God, have mercy upon me!" he faltered. "Who
could have believed that I would ever have been guilty of wickedness
like this! These blackened smoke-marks are as witnesses against me. If
fire itself loses its power to destroy, I will take this as a token
that to conceal the truth is a crime against Heaven. I will not delay;
I will at once carry the will to my father. Better suffer anything than
this terrible feeling of remorse."
Wilfred moved some steps towards the door, and paused. "What am I about
to do? Am I not putting a match to a train that, in exploding, will
shatter everything that I hold dear? Mina, my own precious sister, how
shall I bear to look on her grief, to hear—no, I shall never 'hear'
reproaches; but in her heart may she not say, 'Wilfred might have
spared me this misery! It was hard that such a trial should come to
me through my only brother!' Mina shall never say, never think this!"
Wilfred turned away from the door: "I dare not burn, but I will bury
this scroll. Shall I replace it in that recess from which would—would
that I had never moved it? No, some one else would be certain to
discover it, as I have done to-night. I will bury it deep, deep in the
earth, where no one can find it!"
Again Wilfred turned towards the door. "All the house is shut up; my
step would be heard on the echoing stair; the bolts and chains could
not be withdrawn without noise; the household would be roused; I should
be questioned, and that would drive me distracted! I must at least wait
till the morning. What! Wait with that horrible blackened parchment
like a death-warrant before my eyes! I cannot endure to wait; I cannot
support through a long dreary night this terrible indecision. I can
open the window, drop down on the sod, and then bury the will in the
garden."
Wilfred hastened to the casement, and, with fingers which trembled
with nervous excitement, drew back the bolt and threw open the window.
How refreshing was the breath of the soft night air upon his fevered
brow! Wilfred hastily dressed himself, thrust the roll into his bosom,
clambered out on the sill, and then, regardless of personal danger,
first hung for a moment by his hands, and then half dropped, half
clambered down, assisting his descent by a trained rose-tree, with
whose broken twigs and crushed petals he strewed the sod beneath.