HE WEPT.
Mr. Harman was beginning to take the outward circumstances of his life
with great quietness. What, three months before, would have caused both
trouble and distress, now, was received with equanimity. The fact was,
he felt himself day by day getting so near eternity, that the things of
time, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, were
assuming to him their true proportions.
John Harman was being led by a dark road of terrible mental suffering to
his God; already he was drawing near, and the shadow of that forgiveness
which would yet encircle him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand.
Days, and even weeks, went by, and there was no news of Jasper. John
Harman would once have been sorely perplexed, but now he received the
fact of his brothers absence with a strange quietness, even apathy.
Charlotte's postponed marriage, a little time back, would have also
fretted him, but believing surely that she would be happy after his
death, he did not now trouble; and he could not help owning to himself
that the presence of his dearly loved daughter was a comfort too great
to be lightly dispensed with. He was too much absorbed with himself to
notice the strangeness of Hinton's absence, and he did not perceive, as
he otherwise would have done, that Charlotte's face was growing thin and
pale, and that there was a subdued, almost crushed manner about the
hitherto spirited creature, which not even his present state of health
could altogether account for.
Yes, John Harman lived his self-absorbed life, going day by day a little
further into the valley of the shadow of death. The valley he was
entering looked very dark indeed to the old man, for the sin of his
youth was still unforgiven, and he could not see even a glimpse of the
Good Shepherd's rod and staff. Still he was searching day and night for
some road of peace and forgiveness; he wanted the Redeemer of all the
world to lay His hand upon his bowed old head. The mistake he was still
making was this--he would not take God's way of peace, he must find his
own.
One evening, after Charlotte had left him, he sat for a long time in his
study lost in thought. After a time he rose and took down once more from
the shelf the Bible which he had opened some time before; then it had
given him the reverse of comfort, and he scarcely, as he removed it from
the place where he had pushed it far back out of sight, knew why he
again touched it. He did, however, take it in his hand, and return with
it to his chair. He drew the chair up to the table and laid the old
Bible upon it. He opened it haphazard; he was not a man who had ever
studied or loved the Bible; he was not acquainted with all its contents
and the story on which his eyes rested came almost with the freshness of
novelty.
"Two men went up into the Temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the
other a publican.
"The publican would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but
smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me, a sinner.
"I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the
other."
John Harman read the story twice.
"This man went down to his house justified rather than the other."
The other! he fasted, and gave alms, and thanked God that he was not as
this publican--this publican, who was a sinner.
But the Bible words were clear enough and plain enough. He, the sinner,
was justified.
John Harman covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he fell on his
knees.
"God be merciful to me a sinner," he said.
He said the few words twice aloud, in great anguish of spirit, and as he
prayed he wept.
Afterwards he turned over the Bible pages again. This time he read the
story of Zacchaeus.
"If I have taken anything from any man, I restore him fourfold."
It was very late when Mr. Harman at last went to bed, but he slept
better that night than he had done for years. He was beginning to see
the possible end.