A SINNER.
Home went back to his new and pretty house and sat down with his wife
and children, and waited. He would not even tell Charlotte of these
unlooked-for additions to his small congregation. When she asked him if
he had got on well, if his sermon had been a difficulty, he had
answered, with a light in his eyes, that God had been with him. After
this the wife only took his hand and pressed it. She need question no
further: but even she wondered at the happy look on his face.
He had two more services for that day, and also schools to attend, and
through all his duties, which seemed to come without effort or
annoyance, he still waited. He knew as well as if an angel had told him
that he should see more of Mr. Harman. Had he been less assured of this
he would have taken some steps himself to secure a meeting; he would
have gone to the daughter, he would have done he knew not what. But
having this firm assurance, he did not take any steps; he believed what
God wished him to do was quietly to wait.
When he went out on Monday morning he left word with his wife where he
might be found without trouble or delay, if wanted.
"Is any one ill in the congregation?" she inquired.
"Some one is ill, but not in the congregation," he answered.
He came home, however, late on Monday night, to find that no one had
sent, no one in particular had inquired for him. Still his faith was not
at all shaken; he still knew that Harman's soul was to be given to him,
and believing that he would like to see him, he felt that he should yet
be summoned to his side.
On Tuesday morning prayers were to be read in the little iron church.
Never full even on Sundays, this one weekday service was very miserably
attended. Home did not often take it, the duty generally devolving on
the youngest curate in the place. He was hurrying past to-day, having
many sick and poor to attend to, when he met young Davenport--a curate
only just ordained.
"I am glad I met you," said the young man, coming up at once and
addressing the older clergyman with a troubled face. "There would not
have been time to have gone round to your place. See, I have had a
telegram; my father is ill. I want to catch a train at twelve o'clock to
go and see him; I cannot if I take this service. Will it be possible for
you to do the duty this morning?"
"Perfectly possible," answered Home heartily. "Go off at once, my dear
fellow; I will see to things for you until you return."
The young man was duly grateful, and hurried away at once, and Home
entered the little building. The moment he did so he saw the reason of
it all. Mr. Harman was in the church; he was in the church and alone.
His daughter was not with him. There was no sermon that day, and the
short morning prayers were quickly over. The half-dozen poor who had
come in went out again; but Mr. Harman did not stir. Home took off his
surplice, and hurried down the church. He meant now to speak to Mr.
Harman, if Mr. Harman did not speak to him; but he saw that he would
speak. As he approached the pew the white-headed old man rose slowly and
came to meet him.
"Sir, I should like to say a few words to you."
"As many as you please, my dear sir; I am quite at your service."
Home now entered the pew and sat down.
"Shall we talk here or in the vestry?" he inquired, after a moment's
silence.
"I thought perhaps you would come to my house later on," said Mr.
Harman. "I have a long story to tell you; I can tell it best at home. I
am very ill, or I would come to you. May I expect you this evening?"
"I will certainly come," answered Home. "What is your address?"
Mr. Harman gave it. Then, after a pause, he added--
"I seek you as a minister."
"And I come to you as a servant of God," replied the curate, now fixing
his eyes on his companion.
Mr. Harman's gaze did not quail before that steady look. With an
unutterable sadness he returned it fully. Then he said,
"I came here on Sunday."
"I saw you," answered Home.
"Ah! can it be possible that you preached to me?"
"To you, if you think so. I spoke to every sinner in the congregation."
"You spoke of a land where God is not; you described the terrible
country well."
"An arid land?" answered Home.
"Ay, a thirsty land."
"Those that find it so generally find also that they are being led back
to a land where God is."
"You believe, then, in the forgiveness of sin?"
"If I did not I should go mad."
"My good sir, you are not much of a sinner."
"I am a sinner, sir; and if I were not--if I dared to lift up my eyes to
a holy, a righteous God, and say, 'I am pure'--I yet, if I did not
believe as fully as I am now sitting by your side in the perfect
forgiveness of sin, I yet should go mad; for I have seen other men's
sins and other men's despair; I should lose my reason for their sakes,
if not for my own."
"Should you, indeed? You see now before you a despairing man and a dying
man."
"And a sinner?" questioned Home.
"Ay, ay, God knows, a sinner."
"Then I see also before me a man whose despair can be changed to peace,
and his sin forgiven. What hour shall I call upon you this evening?"
Mr. Harman named the hour. Then he rose feebly; Home gave him his arm
and conducted him to his carriage; afterwards he re-entered the church
to pray.