NOONTIDE GLARE.
What marvellous transformation scenes we behold in Nature! One day
we look on the ocean, a seething mass of turbulent waters,
leaden-tinted, save where the angry wind lashes it into foam; the
next day a fair expanse of blue lies before us, scarcely dimpled with
even a ripple, and sparkling in sunshine! Lingering winter has made
some landscape dreary and bare; scarce a flower lifts up its head;
the trees stand like gaunt skeletons without apparent sign of life.
A few hot genial days, a blowing of wind from the south, and the
whole scene is changed! The primrose nestles under every hedge, "the
larch hangs her tassels forth," the meadows are enamelled with
daisies, and the fruit-trees are decked with the loveliest blossoms!
Again, dark moonless night broods around; not even a star gleams
through the sable canopy of cloud; there is an incessant dripping of
rain. Anon sunrise bursts over the landscape, the clouds are golden,
the raindrops gems, all Nature laughs in brightness and beauty!
Such transformations occasionally occur in the life of man,
especially after seasons of trouble bravely endured. Such a
transformation was experienced by Walter after his return to India
and civilised life. The interest which had been excited by his
disappearance was intensified by his return. Afghanistan, on account
of the war then commenced, being in every one's mind, a gentleman who
had actually resided for seven years in a fort in that country was
naturally an object of curiosity and attention. Walter found that
every Englishman whom he met was his friend. Invitations followed
invitations. Go where he might he found a home; he was welcomed into
every circle. This was principally, but by no means entirely owing
to young Gurney's romantic adventures. It was known that, though
himself poor, he came of what the world calls a good family, and his
popularity was also greatly due to the uncommon attractions with
which Walter had been endowed by Nature. The ladies declared him to
be the very beau-ideal of the hero of a romance.
There was some talk of a subscription being raised to place the young
man at college, either in England or India, that he might complete
his education, partially neglected in early life, and for seven years
entirely suspended. But Sir Cæsar Dashley, a civilian of high
position in the service, and a distant relative of Dermot Denis,
insisted on taking the whole burden of expense on himself.
"I will be responsible for all charges," said he. "It is clear that
Gurney's imprisonment was the result of his devotion to my
unfortunate and gallant cousin. I am glad to have the opportunity of
serving so fine a fellow. Whilst I remain in India, Gurney shall
never want a home."
After much prayerful consideration, Walter decided on pursuing his
studies in India; not because it cost him nothing to give up his
long-cherished hope of visiting England, but because he would not
unnecessarily tax the generosity of a friend, and also that he could
best, by remaining in Hindustan, master other Oriental tongues
besides those of Urdu and Pushtoo. Walter entered a college in one
of the capital cities of India, and at once set to work with vigour.
His mind was as a soil which produces a hundredfold after lying
fallow for several years. Study, a weariness to many, was to Walter
Gurney a source of pleasure. He enjoyed it for its own sake, and not
merely as a means to an end. The consciousness of success in every
effort which he made, was exhilarating to the young man's spirit.
Walter was like one who arrives so late in a hunting-field that he
fears that he will never overtake the riders whom he sees at a
distance before him, but who finds that his first-rate steed not only
overtakes, but soon leads on in advance of them all.
"We never before had a student here who combined such ardour and
perseverance in study with such brilliant natural ability," observed
a college professor to Walter's patron; "were he at Oxford or
Cambridge we should some day hear of Gurney's coming out First
Wrangler."
"And yet his fancy has been to qualify himself for the obscure work
of a missionary; and in Afghanistan, too, of all places in the
world!" exclaimed Sir Cæsar. "The idea is utterly absurd."
"Preposterous!" echoed the professor, "Gurney has too much common
sense to throw such talents away."
The patron's generosity was not long required. When an account of
Walter's adventures, concluding with the baptism in the Eagle's Nest,
drawn up by Mr. Coldstream, appeared in the _Times_, it excited
general interest. The letter was copied into almost every other
paper. Of course it reached the breakfast-table of his uncle,
Augustus Gurney. The successful banker, who had now retired from
business on a handsome fortune, was proud of the now famous nephew,
whom in obscurity he had despised. Walter had not been two months in
college before a black-edged letter arrived written in the same stiff
hand as that whose contents, seven years before, had pleased him so
little. This letter was comparatively kind, and contained, moreover,
a cheque for three hundred pounds. Augustus was perhaps softened by
trials which had come upon him during the years which had passed. He
told his nephew of the successive deaths of two of his three sons by
consumption. He let Walter know that if he chose to come to England
he would have a welcome either in Eaton Square or at Claverdon Hall.
Walter was pleased at the invitation, though he did not accept it,
and wrote back a grateful letter of thanks.
The young man cashed his cheque, which appeared to him a mine of
wealth. His first care--to him a delight--was to purchase numerous
presents for Sultána, her husband, and many other friends in the
Eagle's Nest. The difficulty was how to send them, for the city
where Walter now resided was many hundreds of miles from the
frontier, and it was by no means easy to make arrangements for the
safe transmission of valuable goods through a country like
Afghanistan, where utter lawlessness prevailed. Walter spared
neither trouble nor expense, but still felt uncertainty as to whether
either his gifts or his letters would reach the Eagle's Nest.
Walter's next care was to repay his pecuniary debt to Sir Cæsar--no
small relief to the young man's mind. He procured a smaller cheque,
which he enclosed in an envelope, with a note to his benefactor of
thankful acknowledgment of kindness unsought. Sir Cæsar was
sincerely glad that young Gurney had an uncle with a good long purse;
put the cheque into his pocket, and the note into the waste-paper
basket.
Walter was now, indeed, basking in the sun of prosperity, and his
present good fortune was all the more dazzling from contrast with its
dark antecedents. The first years of Walter's life had been spent in
utter obscurity; and straitened means had at last seemed likely to
end in utter destitution. Then had come a struggle which had
involved loss of liberty, and perpetual hazard of life. This
struggle, more or less severe, had lasted through nearly seven long
years. Walter had never felt sure that some fierce fit of
anger,--nay, some mere caprice of Assad Khan--might not bring on
himself a bastinado, or even loss of eyes or head. Young Gurney had
pursued evangelising work under difficulties which most men would
have deemed insuperable. No trophy had been won from Islam without a
perilous conflict. In addition to this harassing state of
insecurity, it had been no small trial to Walter to be debarred from
all intercourse with men of cultivated minds,--to live amongst the
ignorant and savage, deprived of access to literature. Social
intercourse was now a choice feast, and Walter partook of it with the
relish of one who has been intellectually starved.
Young Gurney was not so utterly absorbed in his studies as to have no
time for recreation, and he enjoyed intensely such pleasures as had
on them no stigma of vice. Very delightful was it to go out in the
cold weather, camping for a-while with Sir Cæsar, enjoying constant
change of scene, and riding a spirited horse by the side of the
Commissioner's daughter. Still more delightful, when camping season
was over, to stand by the piano in the evening, and listen to, and
join in, such classical music as enchanted his soul. The fair Flora
never cared to sing solos when Walter's rich melodious voice was
available for a duet. He watched her white jewelled fingers as they
touched the instrument with faultless execution and exquisite taste,
and almost felt, in the enthusiasm of his admiration, that he could
look and listen for ever.
As Flora occupied an increasingly large place in Walter's thoughts,
she must find some space in our pages. She was the eldest daughter
of Sir Cæsar, and in the absence of her mother, whom ill health and
the charge of younger children detained in England, Flora reigned
supreme in the handsome establishment of the Commissioner Sahib. She
was possessed of considerable personal beauty, and the Bird of
Paradise was the sobriquet by which she was often spoken of in the
circle of her admirers. There could scarcely have been a greater
contrast than that between the training of the Bird of Paradise and
that of the little Afghan Eaglet in her wild mountain nest.
Imagination could hardly have pictured Flora Dashley scrambling about
rocks barefoot, cooking her own dinner, or eating it with her
fingers! Sir Cæsar, of rather pompous manner and ostentatious
character, took pleasure in relating what fabulous sums he had spent
on his daughter's education. She had had first-rate masters in
music, drawing, and dancing, and to perfect her accomplishments had
passed several years on the Continent. The result was such as
perfectly to satisfy her father. In charms, personal and acquired,
few could equal his Flora.
It was prognosticated as soon as the young lady joined Sir Cæsar in
India, that before many months had passed she would certainly change
her name. But years had passed, and she was Flora Dashley still.
The Bird of Paradise enjoyed her freedom. She could hardly be more
pleasantly situated than in the house of her wealthy father, with no
heavier trials than the sleepiness of _punkah-walas_* or the spoiling
of a dress by the moths. Besides unnumbered native servants to obey
her commands, Flora had always some of her young countrymen eager to
anticipate every wish, to break in a horse, or copy out music, or
even undertake the heroic task of trying to tune her piano.
* Men employed in India to mitigate the heat by pulling a large fan.
It was a rich enjoyment to Walter to converse with so refined and
highly educated a young lady; it was to him a new, and most
delightful phase of existence. Walter seldom cared to talk to others
of his life in the Afghan mountains, but Flora drew him out with her
questions, and it thrilled the young man with pleasure to see the
interest shown by her in his strange adventures. Walter was by no
means certain that his charming companion had yet given her heart to
the Lord; but was not her ready listening to accounts of conversions
amongst the Afghans a sign that a missionary spirit was stirring
within her? Gurney guessed not how utter would have been Flora's
indifference had the tales been told by some grey-headed pastor.
Walter would fain have persuaded himself that the pains taken by
Flora with the church-choir denoted pious inclinations; he cared not
to think that her exquisite singing of hymns and sacred songs was due
to her love of music, and not to her love of God. If her admirer
could not hide from himself that the lady delighted in worldly
amusements, Walter made every excuse for her education and present
surroundings. Flora could enjoy reading a volume of Miss Havergal's
beautiful poetry which he had placed in her hands; this Walter took
as a token for good. He tried earnestly to draw the fair English
maiden upwards, as he had been the means of drawing Sultána, and did
not at first recognise the truth that, blinded by his admiration for
Flora, he was making an excuse to his conscience for remaining in a
position which imperilled his own spirituality.
But conscience, in Walter's breast, was too faithful a watchman to be
easily silenced. If the Christian had found the pillar of fire his
cheering light in the dark hours of tribulation, the pillar of cloud
was now shading him from the more dangerous glare of prosperity's
sun. It was not only that it kept his life pure in the midst of many
temptations, but it made him search his own heart. Walter became
painfully aware that, while advancing in everything else, he was not
advancing in spiritual life. Secular study sometimes encroached on
time that would otherwise have been given to study of Scripture; and
the image of Flora's dark eyes intruded often on his devotions.
Walter was not contented with his own state, and that uneasiness was
in itself a good sign.
Was Walter's promise to Sultána forgotten amidst the eager pursuit of
knowledge and the fascinations of civilised life? No; morn and even
the little band of Christians in the Eagle's Nest were remembered in
earnest prayer. But it is natural that visible surroundings and the
interests of daily life should engage more constant attention than
what belongs to memory alone. During the fascinating two years which
Walter passed at college, he received no communication of any kind
from his friends in the fort. Walter wrote repeatedly to Ali Khan in
a large printed hand, which he had taught Sultána to read, but it
need hardly be said that there was no available post to the mountain
home. Walter was in uncertainty as to whether his letters or
presents ever arrived, as no one in the fort was able to write. This
difficulty of communication, with doubt as to its success, was very
discouraging to Walter. It seemed as if he were as little able to
exchange tidings with his Afghan friends as if they existed only in
dreamland.
And, as time wore on, increasingly did Walter's engagement to return
to his little flock in the mountains press on his heart like a chain.
Every one with whom the young man entered on the subject, more or
less condemned his plan as impracticable and wild. Yet Walter could
not let himself be persuaded that a resolution made with earnest
prayer should be put aside because man thought it unwise. The
remembrance of the blessing which had followed his efforts in the
Eagle's Nest could not be blotted out by college professors speaking
of wasting talents, which would give him influence over thousands of
educated minds, on a few bloodthirsty Afghans. Walter was not
convinced when Sir Cæsar spoke indignantly of a promising, rising
young man throwing himself utterly away; but, though unconvinced,
Walter felt that inclination was constantly drawing him more and more
away from a course pointed out by honour and duty, till he regarded
almost with aversion the idea of returning to Afghanistan.
"I must end this miserable indecision," thought Walter, "and act as
my conscience prompts."
Young Gurney wrote a letter to the committee of a Missionary Society
in England, describing his own position. He informed the committee
that a bishop in India had consented to ordain him, after a two
years' course of study, should he pass the required examination. The
examination would be over before a reply could be received from
England, and should the result be favourable, Walter offered himself
to the Society for a post in Afghanistan. He described the small
nucleus of a Christian Church existing in the Eagle's Nest; it might
be a centre of missionary effort amongst a people yet unreached by
the Gospel. Walter mentioned no personal qualifications but fluency
in Pushtoo, and an earnest desire to win souls.
Walter despatched his letter to England, and then confessed to Miss
Dashley what he had done. Flora looked surprised, and a little
annoyed, but presently said with a smile, "The committee will not
accept you; you will have to submit to remain with us, Walter." It
was the first time that the young lady had called him by his
Christian name; how exquisitely sweet it was to hear that name from
her lips!
"Would you believe it, papa?" said Flora to her father, who entered
the room at that moment; "Mr. Gurney is offering himself for a
mission in Afghanistan."
"The thing is impracticable," said Sir Cæsar in the tone of one who
lays down the law. "My term of service being nearly completed, in
two months we shall start for England, and Walter had better come
with us. You will have your uncle's interest to give you a good
start in life," he continued, addressing himself to young Gurney; "I
advise your entering on a course at the bar. I should not wonder,"
he added more gaily, "if you ended your career on the woolsack."
As in the interim between sending his letter, and receiving its
reply, Walter never entered again with Flora on a distasteful
subject, the lady almost forgot the whole affair. She was much
engaged in preparations for a fancy ball, which she could not
persuade the student to attend even by the lure of seeing her in
Afghan costume personate his favourite Sultána. But often--very
often--even in the midst of hard study, did Walter think, almost
without fear, of what the mail from England might bring. His reading
up for examination gave him a fair and true excuse for seeing less of
Miss Dashley; but very hard was it to keep almost entirely away,
except on Sundays, especially as the dreaded time of parting was
every day drawing near and more near.
With almost feverish impatience the secretary's reply was opened when
it arrived about a week after Walter had passed his examination with
brilliant success. The letter, though couched in rather formal
terms, was full of Christian courtesy. The committee, it said, had
given due consideration to Mr. Gurney's offer to devote himself to
founding a mission in the country of the Afghans. His high motives,
his devotion and zeal, were highly appreciated. But after much
thought the committee felt unable to send any agent into so dangerous
a field, beyond the protection of the British flag. If Mr. Gurney
would volunteer for work in India, his offer would be gladly
entertained.
Walter gave a sigh--was it of disappointment, or of relief? He could
scarcely have defined his own feelings. Almost intuitively he bent
his steps towards the dwelling in which Flora resided, but paused at
the entrance to listen to the delicious tones of her voice. He found
the young lady at the piano. Flora had just finished her Italian
song, and received her visitor with a smile.
"I thought that you were forgetting us," she said; "I have been
wanting you for a practice."
Silently Walter Gurney placed the letter in Flora's hand, and watched
her face to see what emotions it might call forth.
"The committee show some sense," the lady remarked, returning the
letter. "I hope that now you will give up for ever your mad idea of
re-visiting the Eagle's Nest."
"But my promise?" murmured Walter Gurney.
"You are not bound by so foolish a promise. Suppose that I promised
to spend a week in the house of a friend, and on my arrival found all
the building in flames! Does honour compel me to stay and be burnt?"
"The case is not quite to the point," said Walter. "I have passed
seven years in the Eagle's Nest, and my danger would not be greater,
but much less than it was at the first. When I entered it, I had not
amongst the Afghans a single friend, save one poor child; now I have
seven friends, Christian friends, to help--or desert!"
"Oh, I cannot argue on such matters," said Flora, turning over the
leaves of her music-book to find some particular duet. "But really,
Walter--Mr. Gurney--you should turn your mind from such projects, as
regards Afghanistan or any other place. The profession of a
missionary is not quite that of--of-----" She hesitated, not wishing
to give offence. "I mean, that with prospects like yours, you might
do a great deal better."
These few words gave Walter acute pain; they betrayed such utter want
of sympathy in what regarded the spreading of the Gospel, in the
woman whose favour was to him as the very sunshine of life.
Flora ran her fingers lightly over the keys. "It is for the bass to
begin," said she.
Walter mechanically sang through the duet; his thoughts were far, far
away. When the practising was over, he somewhat hastily took his
departure.
Long did young Gurney ponder over the conversation at night, in the
solitude of his chamber, with his Bible open before him. Had he not,
again and again, given himself, with all his powers, all his talents,
to the service of a crucified Lord, and now was he not suffering the
world gradually to enclose him in a snare, none the less strong
because its meshes were formed of the softest silk? Whence came his
increasing repugnance to fulfil his promise to Sultána? Was it not
the impossibility of taking an English bride to the Afghan mountains?
Walter dared scarcely think of Miss Dashley in connection with his
own future; union with Sir Cæsar's daughter seemed almost as utterly
beyond his hopes as if she had been a star; yet--yet--things more
impossible had happened before. Oh, how delicious were day-dreams!
but were they safe?--were they right?
Walter knelt down and prayed for guidance, that Divine guidance which
is never honestly sought in vain. He remained long on his knees.
The young man arose with a pale cheek and a heavy heart. He opened
his desk, and wrote a letter to his bishop, offering himself as a
candidate for orders in the ordination shortly to take place,
previous to entering on honorary missionary work. Walter enveloped
the letter, and shut it up in his desk. He then retired to his
couch, but not to sleep; no slumber visited his eyes on that night.