NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN
The cold, cynical man of the world was in a maze. He was deeply and
painfully surprised at Miss Walton, and scarcely less so at himself.
How could he account for the tumult at his heart? When he first saw
that outburst of passion against a trembling, pleading child, he felt
that he wished to leave the house then and forever. The next moment,
when he saw Annie's face as she convulsively clasped the boy to her
breast, and with supernatural strength fled to the refuge of her room,
he was not only instantly disarmed of anger, but touched and melted as
he had never been before.
Feeling is sometimes so intense that it is like the lightning, and
burns its way instantly to the consciousness of others. Words of
condemnation would have died on the lips of the sternest judge had he
seen Annie's face. It would have shown him that the harshest things
that he could utter were already anticipated in unmeasured
self-upbraidings.
From anger and disgust Gregory passed to the profoundest pity. The
children's unbounded affection for Annie proved that she was usually
kind and patient toward them. A little thought convinced him that the
act he saw was a sudden outburst of passion for which the exasperating
events of the day had been a preparation. Her face showed as no
language could how sincere and deep would be her repentance. He had not
gone very far into the early twilight of a grove before he was
conscious of a strong and secret exultation.
"She is not made of different clay from others," he said. "She cannot
condemn me so utterly now; and, in view of what I have seen, she cannot
loftily deny the kinship of human weakness.
"What a nature she has, with its subterranean fires! She is none of
your cool, calculating creatures, who cipher out from day to day what
is policy to do. She will act rightly till there is an irrepressible
irruption, and then, beware. And yet these ebullitions enrich her life
as the lava flow does the sides of Vesuvius. I shall be greatly
disappointed if she is not ten times more kind, sympathetic, and
self-forgetful than she was before; and as for that boy, she will keep
him in the tallest clover for weeks to come, to make up for this.
"How piquant she is! I do not fear her quick, flame-like spirit when it
is combined with so much conscience and principle. Indeed, I like her
passion. It warms my cold, heavy heart. I wish she had shaken me, who
deserved it, instead of the child, and if any makings-up like that in
yonder room could follow, I would like to be shaken every day in the
week. It would make a new man of me."
In the excitement of his feelings, he had gone further than he had
intended, and the dusk was deepening fast when he reached the house on
his return. He felt not a little uneasy as to his reception after the
rebuke he had given, but counted much on Annie's just and generous
disposition. He entered quietly at a side door and passed through the
dining-room into the hall. The lamp in the parlor was unlighted, but
the bright wood fire shed a soft, uncertain radiance throughout the
room. A few notes of prelude were struck on the piano, and he knew that
Miss Walton was there. Stepping silently forward opposite the open
door, he stood in the dark hall watching her as she sung the following
words:
"My Father, once again Thy wayward child
In sorrow, shame, and weakness comes to Thee,
Confessing all my sin, my passion wild,
My selfishness and petty vanity.
"O Jesus, gentle Saviour, at Thy feet
I fall, where often I have knelt before;
Thou wilt not spurn, nor charge me with deceit,
Because old faults have mastered me once more.
"Thou knowest that I would be kind and true,
And that I hate the sins that pierced Thy side;
Thou seest that I often sadly view
The wrong that in my heart will still abide.
"But Thou didst come such erring ones to save,
And weakness wins Thy strong and tender love;
So not in vain I now forgiveness crave,
And cling to hopes long stored with Thee above.
"And yet I plead that Thou would'st surely keep
My weak and human heart in coming days;
Though now in penitence I justly weep,
O fill my future life with grateful praise."
As in tremulous, melting tones she sung this simple prayer with tears
glistening in her eyes, Gregory was again conscious of the strong,
answering emotion which the presence of deep feeling in those bound to
us by some close tie of sympathy often excites. But far more than mere
feeling moved him now. Her words and manner vivified an old truth
familiar from infancy, but never realized or intelligently
believed--the power of prayer to secure practical help from God.
How often men have lived and died poor just above mines of untold
wealth! Gaunt famine has been the inmate of households while there were
buried treasures under the hearthstone. So multitudes in their
spiritual life are weak, despairing, perishing, when by the simple
divinely appointed means of prayer they might fill their lives with
strength and fulness. How long men suffered and died with diseases that
seemed incurable, before they discovered in some common object a potent
remedy that relieved pain and restored health!
As is the case with many brought up in Christian homes, with no one
thing was Gregory more familiar than prayer. For many years he had said
prayers daily, and yet he had seldom in all his life prayed, and of
late years had come to be a practical infidel in regard to this
subject. People who only say prayers, and expect slight, or no results
from them, or are content year after year to see no results--who lack
simple, honest, practical faith in God's word, such as they have in
that of their physician or banker--who only feel that they ought to
pray, and that in some vague, mystical manner it may do them good, are
very apt to end as sceptics in regard to its efficacy and value. Or
they may become superstitious, and continue to say prayers as the poor
Indian mutters his incantation to keep off the witches. God hears
prayer when His children cry to Him--when His faithful friends speak to
Him straight and true from their hearts; and such know well that they
are answered.
As Gregory looked at and listened to Annie Walton, he could no more
believe that she was expressing a little aimless religious emotion,
just as she would sing a sentimental ballad, than he could think that
she was only showing purposeless filial affection if she were hanging
on her father's arm and pleading for something vital to her happiness.
The thought flashed across him, "Here may be the secret of her power to
do right--the help she gets from a source above and beyond herself.
Here may be the key to both her strength and weakness. Here glimmers
light even for me."
Annie was about to sing again, but the interest which she had awakened
was so strong that he could not endure delay. Anxiety as to his
personal reception was forgotten, and he stepped forward and
interrupted her with a question.
"Miss Walton, do you honestly believe that?"
"Believe what?" said she, hastily, quite startled.
"What I gathered from the hymn you sung--that your prayer is really
heard and answered?"
"Why, certainly I believe it," said Annie, in a shocked and pained
tone. "Do you think me capable of mockery in such things? And yet," she
added, sadly, "perhaps after to-day you think me capable of anything."
"Now you do both yourself and me wrong," Gregory eagerly replied. "I do
believe you are sincerely trying to obey your conscience. Did I not see
your look of sorrow as you passed me on the stairs?--when shall I
forget it! Remember words that must have been inspired, which you once
quoted to me--
"'Who by repentance is not satisfied
Is not of heaven nor earth,'
and pardon me when I tell you that I have been listening the last few
moments out in the hall. Your tones and manner would melt the heart of
an infidel, and they have made me wish that I were not so unbelieving.
Forgive me for even putting such thoughts in your mind--I feel it is
wicked and selfish in me to do it--but how do you know that your
prayer, though so direct and sincere, was not sound lost in space?"
"Because it has been answered," she replied, eagerly. "Peace came even
as I spoke the words. Because whenever I really pray to God he answers
me."
They now stood on opposite sides of the hearth, with the glowing fire
between them. In its light Annie's wet eyes glistened, but she had
forgotten herself in her sincere and newly awakened interest in him
whom she had secretly hoped and purposed before to lead to better
things. It had formed no small part of her keen self-reproach that she
had forgotten that purpose, and wished him out of the way, just as she
was beginning to gain a decided influence over him for good. After what
he had witnessed that afternoon she felt that he would never listen to
her again.
He would not had he detected the slightest tinge of acting or
insincerity on her part, but her penitence had been as real as her
passion.
She was glad and grateful indeed when he approached her again in the
spirit he now manifested.
As she stood there in the firelight, self-forgetful, conscious only of
her wish to say some words that would be like light to him, her large,
humid eyes turned up to his face, she made a picture that his mother
would like to see.
He leaned against the mantel and looked dejectedly into the fire. After
a moment he said, sadly, "I envy you, Miss Walton. I wish I could
believe in a personal God who thought about us and cared for us--that
is, each one of us. Of course I believe in a Supreme Being--a great
First Cause; but He hides Himself behind the stars; He is lost to me in
His vast universe. I think my prayers once had an effect on my own
mind, and so did me some good. But that's past, and now I might as well
pray to gravitation as to anything else."
Then, turning to her, he caught her wistful, interested look--an
expression which said plainly, "I want to help you," and it touched
him. He continued, feelingly, "Perhaps you are not conscious of it, but
you now look as if you cared whether I was good or bad, was sad or
happy, lived or died. If I could only see that God cared in something
the same way! He no doubt intends to do what is best for the race in
the long run, but that may involve my destruction. I dread His
terrible, inexorable laws."
"Alas!" said Annie, tears welling up into her eyes, "I am not wise
enough to argue out these matters and demonstrate the truth. I suppose
it can be done by those who know how."
"I doubt it," said he, shaking his head decisively.
"Well, I can tell you only what I feel and know."
"That is better than argument--that is what I would like. You are not a
weak, sentimental woman, full of mysticism and fancies, and I should
have much confidence in what you know and feel."
"Do not say that I am not a weak woman; I have shown you otherwise. Be
sincere with me, for I am with you. Well, it seems to me that this
question of prayer is simply one of fact. We know that God answers
prayer, not only because He said He would, but because He does. From my
own experience I am as certain of it as of my existence. I think that
many who sneer or doubt in regard to prayer are very unfair. I ask you,
is it scientific for men to say, 'Nothing is true save what we have
seen and know ourselves?' How that would limit one's knowledge. If some
facts are discovered in Europe and established by a few proper
witnesses, we believe them here. Now in every age multitudes have said
that it was a fact that God heard and answered their prayers. What
right has any one to ignore these truths any more than any other truths
of human experience? I ask my earthly father for something. The next
day I find it on my dressing-table. Is it a delusion to believe that he
heard and granted my request? When I ask my Heavenly Father for outward
things, He sometimes gives them, and sometimes He does not, as He sees
is best for me, just as my parents did when I was a little child. And I
have already seen that He has often been kinder in refusing. But when I
ask for that which will meet my deeper and spiritual needs I seldom ask
in vain. If you should ask me how I know it, I in return ask how you
know that you are ill, or well, that you are glad or sad, or tired, or
anything about yourself that depends on your own inner consciousness?
If I should say unjust, insulting things to you now, how would you know
you were angry? If I should say, Mr. Gregory, you are mocking me; what
I am now saying has no interest for you; you don't hear me, you don't
understand me, you are thinking of something else, what kind of proof
to the contrary could you offer? Suppose that I should say I want
mathematical proof that you do feel an interest, or physical
proof--something that I can measure, weigh, or see--should I be
reasonable? Do I make it clear to you why I say I know this?"
"Clearer than it was ever made to me before. I cannot help seeing that
you are sincere and sure about it. But pardon me--I've got in such an
inveterate habit of doubting--are not good Catholics just as sure about
the Virgin and the saints hearing and answering them? and do not pagans
feel the same way about their deities?"
"Now, Mr. Gregory," said Annie, with a little indignant reproach in her
tone, "do you think it just and reasonable to compare my faith, or that
of any intelligent Christian, with the gross superstitions you name?
Christianity is not embraced only by the ignorant and weak-minded:
multitudes of the best and ripest scholars in the world are honest
believers."
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I did not mean you to draw any such inference as
that," replied he, hastily and in some confusion.
"I do not see how any other can be drawn," she continued; "and I know
from what I have read and heard that unbelievers usually seek to give
that impression. But it's not a fair one. The absurdities of paganism,
monkish legends, and even the plausible errors of the Romish Church,
will not endure the light of intelligent education; but the more I know
the more I see the beauty and perfection of the Christian religion and
the reasonableness of prayer, and so it is with far stronger and wiser
heads than mine. Your father and mine were never men to be imposed
upon, nor to believe anything just because they were told to do so when
children."
"Really, Miss Walton, you said you couldn't argue about this matter. I
think you can, like a lawyer."
"If you mean that I am using a lawyer's proverbial sleight of hand, I'm
sorry."
"I don't mean that at all, but that you put your facts in such a way
that it's hard to meet them."
"I only try to use common-sense. It's about the only sense I have. But
I was in hopes you did not want to meet what I say adversely, but would
like to believe."
"I would, Miss Walton, honestly I would; but wishes go little way
against stubborn doubt. This one now rises: How is it that scientific
men are so apt to become infidel in regard to the Bible and its
teachings, and especially prayer?"
"I'm sure I hardly know," she answered, with a sigh; "but I will tell
you what I think. I don't believe the majority of them know much about
either the Bible or prayer. With my little smattering of geology I
should think it very presuming to give an opinion contrary to that held
by the best authorities in that science; and I think it very presuming
in those who rarely look into a Bible and never pray, to tell those who
read and pray daily that they don't know what they do know. Then again,
scientific people often apply gross material tests to matters of faith
and religious experience. The thing is absurd. Suppose a man should
seek to investigate light with a pair of scales that could not weigh
anything less than a pound. There is a spiritual and moral world as
truly as a physical, and spiritual facts are just as good to build on
as any other; and I should think they ought to be better, because the
spirit is the noblest part of us. A man who sees only one side of a
mountain has no right to declare that the other is just like it. Then
again your scientific oracles are always contradicting one another, and
upsetting one another's theories. Science to-day laughs at the
absurdities believed by the learned a hundred years ago; and so will
much that is now called science, and because of which men doubt the
Bible, be laughed at in the future. But my belief is the same
substantially as that of Paul, St. Augustine, Luther, and the best
people of my own age; and Luther, who did more for the world than any
other mere man, said that to 'pray well was to work well.'"
When Annie was under mental excitement, she was a rapid, fluent talker,
and this was especially her condition this evening. As she looked
earnestly at Gregory while she spoke, her dark eyes glowing with
feeling and intelligence and lighting her whole face, he was impressed
more than he could have been by the labored arguments of a cool,
logical scholar. Her intense earnestness put a soul into the body of
her words. He was affected more than he wished her to know, more than
was agreeable to his pride. What she had said seemed so perfectly true
and real to her that for the time she made it true to him; and yet to
admit that his long-standing doubts could not endure so slight an
assault as this, was to show that they had a very flimsy basis.
Moreover, he knew that when, left to himself, he should think it all
over, new questions would rise that could not be answered, and new
doubts return. Therefore he could not receive now what he might be
disposed to doubt to-morrow. He was a trifle bewildered, and wanted
time to think. He was as much interested in Miss Walton as in what she
was saying, and when her words proved that she was a thoughtful woman,
and could be the intelligent companion of any man, the distracting fear
grew stronger that when she came to know him well, she would coldly
stand aloof. The very thought was unendurable. In all the world, only
in the direction of Annie Walton seemed there any light for him. So to
gain time he instinctively sought to give a less serious turn to the
conversation, by saying, "Come, Miss Walton, this is the best preaching
I've ever heard. It seems to me quite unusual to find a young lady so
interested and well versed in these matters. You must have given a good
deal of thought and reading to the subject."
Annie looked disappointed. She had hoped for a better result from her
earnest words than a compliment and a little curiosity as to herself.
But she met him in his own apparent mood, and said, "Now see how easily
imposed upon your sceptical people are! I could palm myself off, like
Portia, as a Daniel come to judgment, and by a little discreet silence
gain a blue halo as a woman of deep research and profound reading. Just
the contrary is true. I am not a very great reader on any subject, and
certainly not on theology and kindred topics. The fact is I am largely
indebted to my father. He is interested in the subjects and takes pains
to explain much to me that would require study; and since mother died
he has come to talk to me very much as he did to her. But it seems to
me that all I have said is very simple and plain, and you surely know
that my motive was not to air the little instruction I have received."
Gregory's policy forsook him as he saw her expression of
disappointment; and as he looked at her flushed and to him now lovely
face, acting upon a sudden impulse he asked, "Won't you please tell me
your motive?"
His manner and tone convinced her in a moment that he was more moved
and interested than she had thought, and answering with a like impulse
on her part, she said, frankly, "Mr. Gregory, pardon me for saying it,
but from the very first day of your visit it seemed clear to me that
you were not living and feeling as those who once made this your home
could wish, and the thought was impressed upon me, impressed strongly,
that perhaps God had sent you in your feeble health and sadness (for
you evidently were depressed in mind also), to this place of old and
holy memories, that you might learn something better than this world's
philosophy. I have hoped and prayed that I might be able to help you.
But when to-day," she continued, turning away her head to hide the
rising tears, "I showed such miserable weakness, I felt that you would
never listen to me again on such subjects, and would doubt more than
ever their reality, and it made me very unhappy. I feel grateful that
you have listened to me so patiently. I hope you won't let my weakness
hurt my cause. Now you see what a frank, guileless conspirator I am,"
she added, trying to smile at him through her tears.
While she spoke Gregory bent upon her a look that tried to search her
soul. But the suspicious man of the world could not doubt her perfect
sincerity. Her looks and words disclosed her thought as a crystal
stream reveals a white pebble over which it flows. He stepped forward
and took her hand with a pressure that caused it pain for hours after,
but he trusted himself to say only, "You are my good angel, Miss
Walton. Now I understand your influence over me," and then abruptly
left the room.
But he did not understand her influence. A man seldom does when he
first meets the woman whose words, glances, and presence have the
subtle power to fill his thoughts, quicken his pulse, stir his soul,
and awaken his whole nature into new life. He usually passes through a
luminous haze of congeniality, friendship, Platonic affinity, or even
brotherly regard, till something suddenly clears up the mist and he
finds, like the first man, lonely in Eden, that there is but one woman
for him in all the world.
Gregory was in the midst of the cloud, but it seemed very bright around
him as he paced his room excitedly.