"OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD."
ABOUT a year passed away. The family were at their English home, where
few changes had occurred, and where they were no longer cheered by
the pleasant visits of Frank Somers. He had gone on business to New
Zealand, and it depended on circumstances, he said, whether he settled
there or returned.
It was with a very sorrowful heart that poor Margaret found out the
true reason; and though the sweet temper and cheerful manner of
Florence betrayed no change, she knew that Frank had been firmly and
decidedly rejected by her, solely because she conceived that her union
with him would, though indirectly, involve him in the disgrace which
Leonard's conduct had brought upon them all.
"My sister, my darling sister," said Margaret, "though I should have
done the same, yet I question whether it is fair to throw away your own
happiness and Frank's in this way, when he and all his family would so
thankfully reverse your decision."
"Hush, dear Margaret!" said Florence. "I have not done it
thoughtlessly. Frank knows all I can tell to human ear about it; and
though we disagree now in our view of our respective positions, the
time may come when even he will judge that I am doing right. Oh,
Margaret, we cannot tell what Leonard may yet do."
"But is it not your duty to hope the best?—For surely you have hope?"
said Margaret.
"Oh yes, I do hope, but at present we have reason to fear also; and if
Leonard should reject every effort to bring him to repentance for the
past, and a right course for the future, I shall feel almost sure—nay,
it would be only right to wish—that further punishment may be the
result to him. His sin has already grieved too many, to risk extending
the shame and sorrow any further."
"Did you know that Frank got leave to see and speak to him in prison?"
asked Margaret.
"No," said Florence, with a flush of surprise.
"He did, before he sailed, and he told Myra that he thought he saw
traces of right feeling in him, but that his own motive in talking with
him was so mixed up with selfishness and anxiety, that he scarcely
dared hope for God's blessing on it."
"Dear, generous Frank!" murmured Florence. "He always judges hardly of
himself."
"And tenderly of others," said Margaret. "He must not be left to suffer
for their faults. Tell me, dear sister, only tell me this. If, by God's
mercy, Leonard should be reformed, and pursue some honest, patient,
industrious course, you will not be afraid, but recall Frank, and
reward his affection."
"We must not be romantic, dear Margaret," said Florence, smiling; "let
us leave all the future in our Father's hands, and pray for His will to
be done."
"Promise," persisted Margaret earnestly.
"You forget that Frank is at liberty to choose again," said Florence
softly.
"Nonsense! I know better. Promise, if you would help me to be happy
ever again," cried the resolute sister; and Florence was subdued at
last.
The only change in the little household was a wedding and a
wedding-breakfast. After eight years of faithful service, Janet,
the housemaid, thought she could in some sense "better herself" by
accepting the offer of an industrious young mechanic in the town. And
her young mistresses were as much interested on the occasion as heart
could desire, Janet declaring that if she should make a good wife, and
prudently manage the new home provided for her, it would be because of
the good lessons she had received in Miss Sherwood's service, and the
religion of peace and love taught and exemplified there.
As for Peggy, though viewing with perfect complacency the happiness
of her fellow-servant, she eschewed all such prospects for herself;
for, said she, "I can't say what vixenish ways I might take to again
if I put myself in the risk of temptation; and then the man would be
disappointed, and say that religion isn't true, or something of the
sort, and I couldn't stand that, for I know it is true; and then I
would either get my head broke for rage or my heart for sorrow; so I'd
best keep out of scrapes that can't be helped when they're once done."
So Peggy decided to keep out of the matrimonial "scrape," at least
until she was better satisfied of her self-control, and more assured of
"the victory that overcometh."
And when kindly reminded of the apostle's words, "I can do all things
through Christ who strengtheneth me,—"
"Ah," she replied in her quaint way, "but I'm no more like Paul than
the old tin kettle is like the silver urn. Do not I often feel like
to burst with badness when anything goes cross?—And I should, too, if
I had no way to blow off the steam. And the only way to do it without
hurting others is to go and scold myself, and ask the Lord to help me
against myself, and then I get better."
And when assured that Paul's safety-valve was very similar, great was
Peggy's wonder that she should have anything in common with Paul,
excepting salvation in Paul's beloved Saviour.
It was, moreover, a fact most gratefully recognised by her mistress,
that no duties were better performed, no dinners better served, no
larder more carefully managed, than those over which Peggy presided.
One day Peggy sauntered slowly home, after executing some errands in
the town. It was not her wont to linger, but now she walked as if for
once she had an idea of trying whether "the grass" would really "grow
under her feet." And her thoughts were in some confusion, needing a
little management before she presented herself at home.
"Shall I tell her or not?" she argued. "Why should I? It is no business
of mine, nor of hers either. I never could abide the woman, not I. Ah,
that is what old Peggy says, and that will not do now. What is it that
new Peggy says, she that Jesus died for, and forgives and helps every
day of her life; 'looking unto Jesus,' what would He like her, His poor
servant, to do? Why, surely I ought to tell her, and so I will, and no
more argufying about it; there is a lost soul as well as a miserable
body to be thought of."
Peggy lingered no longer, but went quickly home, and at once presented
herself at the drawing-room door.
"If you please, ladies," said she, "did you know that Dinah, that is,
Mrs. Jonson, was going away?"
"No," replied Myra; "we went past her shop yesterday, and observed no
change."
"But there is, ma'am, and her sister is keeping on the shop, and they
are very poor. Dinah, they say, is, leastways was, going to join her
husband somewhere, for he is not coming back with the ship he went in."
"Indeed! But what interests you in the matter, Peggy?" For Myra was
sure that the point of the subject was yet behind; and Margaret and
Florence were looking wonderingly at Peggy's excited face.
"Why, ma'am, she cannot go now; she has been nearly killed."
"Killed!" exclaimed the startled listeners.
"Yes; she was moving some heavy things, and a great tall chest of
drawers toppled over upon her, and crushed her dreadfully. Two doctors
are there, and they do not know whether she will live or die."
"Poor Dinah!" said Myra.
"Wretched Dinah!" said Margaret.
"We must see whether we can be of any use to her," said Myra. "Thank
you, Peggy, for telling us."
"Yes, I knew that would be it," said Peggy; "and I just wanted to ask
leave, if anybody is wanted to sit up all night with her, if I may
go and do it for a few nights. I can manage very well, and it won't
interfere with my work. The poor sister has bad health, I believe, and
cannot do much."
"You can go and offer your services, Peggy, if you please, and if you
think of any nice little thing that you would like to make for her, do
so, and carry it with you."
Peggy withdrew, more than satisfied.
"That's the right sort," she said, in the kitchen; "cloak and coat,
mile and twain; it's like the Lord Himself; always gives more and
better than we dare to ask. Now the poor creature will have all done
for her that can be, I know."
"Dear Myra, what a triumph!" said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. "I
have fought hard to forgive that woman for her share in our dreadful
sorrow, and I have never been able to feel that I have really done so.
Peggy has conquered, and so must I."
And, day after day, from that time, one or another of the kind sisters
was by the unhappy woman's bedside, ministering to her wants, soothing
her cries of pain, and providing for her comfort by every means in
their power. Now it was Myra's gentle hand that arranged a clean soft
pillow; now Margaret's that held the cup to her fever-parched lips; now
Florence softly read her to sleep, or Elsie held a sweet flower for her
to admire.
"I don't deserve it," she sighed to Peggy in the night watch, as,
restless and miserable, she would rebel against orders for silence.
"No, for sure you don't," said Peggy; "if we all got our deservings,
we'd be badly off."
"But oh, this pain! I suppose I do deserve that," groaned Dinah.
"Yes, of course you do, and a deal more to it," said straightforward
Peggy; "only it won't be of any use if it doesn't help to bring you to
Him who bore worse pain than you or me can think of, to save our souls.
You see, we often don't think of Him till we come to need a friend. So
He has to make us need."
"Oh, it's very hard to suffer so! Wouldn't anything else do?"
"Seems not, else it wouldn't have come; for be you sure that the Lord
never willingly afflicted anybody but His own blessed self, and that
was for love of poor souls like you and me. Now think of that, and go
to sleep on it."
But Dinah had a conscience too uneasy to find such truths her pillow
yet; and as it became enlightened concerning the sinfulness of her past
life, terror of death and judgment added greatly to the torments of the
suffering body.
The idea of being a cripple for life was very terrible, but it was
endured rather than the alternative of dying as she was, without hope,
without God. And when preparations for the amputation of the shattered
limb were made, and Myra and Margaret knelt beside her bed to pray that
she might be supported under the operation, she drew Margaret towards
her, and with quivering lips whispered,—
"It is just and right; it is to hinder me going to share ill-gotten
gains. Oh, my child, forgive me, forgive me! Your brother did very
wrong, but he was tempted with great prospects, if he could find money
to get at them."
Margaret shuddered for a moment, then she kissed the white lips,
saying,—
"I do forgive—we all forgive. May God be gracious to you, poor Dinah!"
The surgical treatment saved the patient's life, and Mrs. Jonson was
eventually restored to health. She had ceased to despise "Methodists."
She believed in the religion of Jesus, for she had seen something of
its beauty, and experienced something of its results in the care and
sympathy of those she had cruelly wronged. Nothing else, she felt
assured, could have so secured for her the return of good for evil, and
the practical exercise of the "charity that never faileth."
To "seek" until she should "find" the same holy power for herself,
became her first and dearest object. And while she might read that the
Lord Jesus is able to "save to the uttermost all that come unto God by
Him," and "him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out," she would
not despair of salvation and peace.