We had a bit of good news to discuss over our tea.
A lectureship had been offered to the Lad by a great Canadian
university. The opportunity was unusual for a man so young, and we were
all jubilant. A very human interest in his success had survived our
exhaustive analysis of his temperament. We talked much of his future.
A week went by. Then the Lad read me a letter that gave me bitter
disappointment. The honour was lost, and that through the Lad’s own
action.
He had written, before accepting, that he was not an orthodox churchman.
The authorities had replied that he could not then instruct their youth.
“That boy has a great deal more religion than he thinks he has,” the
Doctor grumbled. “I should like to know where the university will get a
stronger influence for good.”
But the Altruist shook his head. “His character has a certain nobility,”
he said, “but he lacks the supreme touch of definite belief. The
loftiest souls are sure. But I think the university wrong in confusing
spiritual instinct with intellectual power.”
The Altruist was curiously radical in some of his views.
Even I gave the Lad only half-hearted approval. He had but his brains
and his forth-coming book to win his way for him, and I could not help
wondering if the confession had been necessary.
Janet was the only one of us who thoroughly liked the action.
“He could not have done anything else, being the man he is,” she said
proudly. “He is the most delicately honest human being I have ever
known.”
Gradually, as we went on talking, we decided that the step was worthy of
our admiration. It was characteristic of a nature, we said, whose chief
charm was a peculiar directness, mental and moral. In this lay the Lad’s
great strength.
The Lad lost much in this transaction, but he gained more. It was a bold
stroke in the battle of love. Janet was warm in her praise, and the
Lad’s face began to wear a half-triumphant smile, most unbecoming in one
whose hope of advancement had been lost.
It was then that the Altruist and I broke down another wall of reserve,
and grew confidential over the unfinished love-story. The confession of
this shames me. Hitherto we had kept it sacred from discussion. I was
surprised to find that the Altruist was as eager as I for its happy
completion. In our spare moments we made many plans for “the children,”
as we called them. The Altruist and I were beginning to feel old.
Often the Altruist, in a musing vein, interpreted to me the spiritual
significance of the simple romance.
“It is said that we walk blindly in this world, and cannot tell what the
events of life mean. But see the way in which Janet’s nature changes
under this influence! Can we doubt that her past unhappiness was sent to
make her future happiness deeper? Ah, we do see and share the thoughts
of God!”
I looked at the Altruist dubiously. Sometimes I thought he understood
God’s plans too well. Then I reflected, and decided that he was right.
In the shaping of Janet’s life I was confident that I too could read the
design of the Almighty.