CONFIDENCE.
THE fatigue which he experienced in consequence of his long walk,
and his sensible relief in the feeling that his wife knew the worst,
caused the Rector to fall into a heavy sleep, soon after his head
touched the pillow. But through the remainder of the night, not once
did the sorrowing wife lose the recollection of the affliction which
had overtaken them. She lay a long time wondering, hoping, fearing by
turns: plan after plan for solving the mystery was made and rejected.
At length, becoming too much excited by conflicting emotions to remain
quiet, she arose and going into an adjoining room, fell upon her knees
to implore that guidance which her own unaided wisdom demanded in this
emergency.
Even the knowledge that One ever watchful over his children was near,
and could, by His powerful hand sweep away all the obstacles that
lay in her husband's path, soothed and cheered her. Never had the
Father-love of God seemed so precious as now. Never had faith in His
promises seemed so much like an electric chain which connected her and
the mercy-seat. In that one hour of communion with the Father of her
spirit, she experienced a sweet confidence in His willingness to hear
her cry, a peaceful rest on Him which she never forgot. She reviewed
her own married life, and fervently thanked God for the long years of
evidence that her husband had been born of the Spirit,—that he had a
singleness of heart and of purpose in his high calling which precluded
almost the possibility that he had committed the crime of which he was
accused.
"But did he abstract funds from the Association when under aberration
of mind?"
This was a question more difficult to answer. The scene at midnight,
when she awoke and found him pacing the floor, praying God not to take
away his reason, occurred to her mind with great vividness. He had told
her of the letter which he had written to a brother clergyman while his
head was in such a confused state that he was unfit for the transaction
of business, and had begged her to be watchful at such times that
nothing of importance went from his hand. Might it not be possible
that, in a moment of dizziness and confusion of mind, he had retained
a part or all of the funds collected from some parish to whom he had
been preaching. If so, what had he done with this extra supply of cash?
Certainly even this seemed scarcely possible without her becoming aware
of a superfluous fund. She delighted to remember that her husband had
always been methodical and exact in his transaction of business. Early
in their married life, he had taught her the best method of keeping the
family accounts, and had always insisted that every article purchased
for home consumption should be regularly entered under the head of
expenditures.
On the reception of his salary for the quarter, as long as he had been
a pastor, he counted out to her one third of the amount, as every
article was to be paid for when purchased, and kept the remainder
in his desk for the next two months. Imperative indeed must be the
necessity, such as sickness, which drew a consent from him to intrude
upon a month's payment in advance.
During his long illness, the present of a purse of money from their
then affectionate people had prevented the necessity of drawing from
the bank any part of the money placed there on the death of his father,
principal and interest having been devoted to his wife and children
in case of his decease,—an arrangement which precluded the necessity
of laying by any part of his running income for future necessities—an
arrangement which he had often remarked gave him far more relief than
he could possibly have derived from its use in the purchase of any
luxury.
Since he had drawn a salary from the Missionary Society, all his
expenses had been arranged in the same methodical manner. Supposing
he had taken several hundred or thousand dollars in addition to his
usual allowance, what had he done with it? While still under temporary
insanity, he must have disposed of it in some secret manner.
With all these circumstances in mind, Mrs. Washburn could not argue
herself into the possibility of his having committed such a mistake.
Then her thoughts recurred to the Bishop's letter, which under
the circumstances, was as kind as could be expected. She suddenly
recollected that she had taken two letters from her husband's pocket,
and she had read but one. The contents of that had so absorbed all her
thoughts that she had forgotten the other.
Down stairs to the study she glided, both to satisfy her curiosity and
to secure it against being seen by any intruder. Striking a light, she
soon discovered a rumpled paper lying on the floor near the sofa. It
was directed to her husband's office in town, and was signed William
Temple, a prominent member of the Society. It was simply this:—
"DEAR WASHBURN:—I called here to see you, but your clerk tells me you
have gone to fulfill an engagement to preach. I don't know as I ought
to be surprised at this, and yet I am. I have had some conversation
with the Bishop regarding the unpleasant rumors concerning you, and
he tells me he has an appointment with you on Monday. You are well
aware how much confidence I, as well as all our Board, have had in
your integrity, but we are, the best of us, but mortals, and, in an
emergency, many a man may have borrowed from funds in his possession,
fully intending to repay to the uttermost farthing. Should this
unhappily be your position, I advise you as a friend, to confess all to
our good Bishop as speedily as possible.
"Hoping you will receive this in the same spirit in which it is
written, and that you will be directed in all your future course, I am—
"Yours, &c.,
"WILLIAM TEMPLE."
"No wonder poor Henry wished to destroy such a letter," cried Mrs.
Washburn, her face flushing as she crushed it in her hands. "Such
advice, in advance of proof, is an insult to a Christian minister. I am
very sure Henry would have begged from door to door, before he would
in his right mind, have been guilty of such sophistry. Borrowing from
funds devoted to God's service, or from any funds not his own, I'm sure
he would call stealing."
This letter roused her indignation to such a degree that she was
obliged to take her Bible and read several chapters before she became
composed enough to return to her chamber.
The sun was just rising when the Rector awoke and saw his wife dressed
and sitting by his side. Lying open in her lap was the book of Common
Prayer, but she was not reading. Her eyes were fastened on the dear
face before her, and many sighs had escaped her lips, as the returning
light of day brought to view the deep lines care and grief had graven
on the broad, open brow.
"I have slept well and am refreshed," he said, returning her smile.
For in one respect, her duty had been made clear to her during her long
self-communing.
"Show him that I trust him, and that I am confident our Father above
will sooner or later, in His own good time, bring the truth to light.
This I must do by a calm, cheerful performance of present duty."
So she replied in a courageous tone, "I am glad, for we have much to do
to-day."
"Yes; I must finish my quarterly report to be read at our next meeting."
"Certainly; but there are other duties more pressing."
"Of what nature?"
"Duties, Henry, connected with this charge. I am grieved that you
delayed so long taking me into your confidence, for it makes my task
much more difficult, though I appreciate your motive. Now I am going to
show you what a woman's, or rather a wife's wit and shrewdness can do
when enlisted in behalf of her husband. When you are dressed, I want
you to go over all the facts with me beginning at the very first hint
you had of this disgraceful business."
A look of pain clouded Mr. Washburn's features.
"I have been over and over the whole to myself in minute detail so many
times," he said wearily, "but I never can arrive at any satisfactory
result. I have almost come to the conclusion that in a moment of
insanity or absence of mind, or confusion of ideas, I did retain in my
possession more than was really my due."
"Which would render you an object of compassion, and necessitate you to
resign your office. That is all. No disgrace could attach to you, not
for a moment. But I am far from believing you did even so much. If you
kept what was not your own, what did you do with it?"
The Rector's face brightened. "Yes, Mary, that is an important
question. Have I given you more than the stipulated amount of my
salary?"
"Not a penny. I have, during the night, examined both the family
account-book and your private memorandum. Either, with the cunning of
an insane man you have hidden the deposit in some out-of-the-way place,
or you have developed a new phase of character and have spent money on
personal luxuries in the city."
This she said so archly that they both laughed. Then he caught her hand
and kissed it tenderly.
"God be praised for a good wife," he said with great fervor. "Mary, I
have not had so light a heart for a month."
"Nor I; and I have much better reasons for cheerful contentment
with our lot, though it is a little cloudy at present than you have
expressed. I have a Friend, who, I am confident, will help clear away
the clouds and allow us to see the bright sunshine again."
"You mean an Almighty friend. My good wife, you make me ashamed of my
little faith."
"And I can account for your doubts in a degree. For a year or two,
you have not been in your usual strength. Especially since your first
seizure, you have been subject to sudden attacks of pain and confusion
in the head, and while in this weakened condition, you have been
tortured with doubts of your own actions, while under the temporary
loss of your mental power. This shrinking from your usual companions
may, to some, have borne the appearance of guilt, instead of being
the natural working of a too sensitive organization. From my present
standpoint, I can see many instances where it would have been wiser for
you to act differently. But that is all past. Now, my husband, you must
have done with doubts. You must rouse your manly courage to look this
accusation fairly in the face. You must demand a thorough investigation
of the whole receipts and expenditures from the hour you entered upon
your duties as Treasurer."
"I told the Bishop that would be my wish, and that I would afford him
all the aid in my power, by giving into his hands all books and papers
connected with my work."
"You have seen the Bishop, then?"
"Yes, for an hour or more at my office. It was a most painful
interview."
"When did you go to P—?"
"At four o'clock. I went out by advice of the Bishop to see Mr. Temple."
"Was that interview equally painful?" flushing as she thought of the
insulting letter.
"Far more so. Oh, Mary, it is terrible to experience such humiliation
from those we accounted our truest friends."
"So it was for our blessed Lord. Now, Henry, you must dress, and meet
the children at breakfast with an unclouded brow. I shall take the
first opportunity to tell them all. Family secrets are my abhorrence.
After prayers, I have several questions to ask you."
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