[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

THE “day after the ball” has its proverbial character,
and Saturday was so long and dismal to
several of the revellers, that it occurred to them that
their pleasure had been purchased rather dearly. It
seemed an odd coincidence, that those who had been
bent on securing all the pleasure possible, with no
other thought, suffered the most. Bel and Addie
could scarcely endure their own company, they were
so weary and stupid; and they yawned through the
day, irritable and dishevelled, for it was too stormy
for callers.

De Forrest did not appear until dinner, and then
came down moody and taciturn. The young ladies
had heard of his illness the evening before, with significant
glances, and Mrs. Marchmont partly surmised
the truth, but politely ignored the matter, treating
it only as a sudden indisposition; and so the affair
was passed over, as they usually are in fashionable
life, until they reach a stage too pronounced for polite
blindness.

De Forrest but dimly recollected the events of
the preceding evening. He was quite certain, however,
that he had been drunk, and had made a fool
of himself.

[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]

Though his conscience was not over tender upon
this subject, and though such occurrences were not
so exceedingly rare in fashionable life as to be very
shocking, he still had the training and instinct of a
gentleman, to a sufficient degree to feel deep mortification.

If he had become tipsy among those of his own
sex, or while off on a fishing excursion, he would
have regarded it as a light matter; but even in his
eyes, intoxication at an evening company, and before
the girl in whose estimation he most wished to stand
well, was a very serious matter. He could not
remember much after going a second time to the supper-room
in compliance with Lottie's request, but
had a vague impression that she and Hemstead had
brought him home. He was left in torturing uncertainty
how far he had disgraced himself, because it
was a subject concerning which he could not bring
himself to make inquiries. That those he met at
the dinner-table treated him with their usual quiet
politeness proved nothing. Human faces mask more
thoughts than are expressed. Hemstead's grave
silence was somewhat significant; but De Forrest
cared so little for his opinion that he scarcely heeded
the student's manner.

Lottie Marsden was the one he most wished, and
yet most dreaded to see. But Lottie did not appear.

Whether it was true, as she believed, or not, that
she was the most guilty, she certainly was the greatest
sufferer, and that Saturday became the longest
and dreariest period of pain, that she ever

[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]

experienced. She awoke in the morning with a nervous
headache, which grew so severe that she declined
leaving her room during the day. Bel, Addie, and
her aunt, all offered to do anything in their power;
but she only asked to be left alone. She was so
unstrung, that even words of kindness and solicitude
jarred like discord.

It was torture to think, and yet her brain was
unnaturally active. Everything presented itself in
the most painfully bare and accurate manner. The
glamour faded out of her gay young life, and she saw
only the hard lines of fact. Hemstead's words kept
repeating themselves over and over again, and in
their light she questioned the past closely. It was
not in keeping with her positive nature and strong
mind to do things by halves. With fixed and steady
scrutiny she reviewed the motives of her life, and
estimated the results. They were so unsatisfactory
as to startle her. Although the spent years had
been filled with continuous and varied activity, what
had she accomplished for herself or any one else?
Were not all her past days like water spilled on barren
sands, producing nothing?

As she had before intimated, she had been receiving
homage, flattery, and even love, all her life, and
yet now her heart had no treasures to which she
could turn in solid satisfaction, nor could memory
recall efforts like that she saw Miss Martell making
in behalf of Harcourt. The adulation received was
now empty breath and forgotten words, and nothing
substantial or comforting remained.

[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]

But if memory could recall little good accomplished,
it placed in long and dark array many
scenes that she would gladly have forgotten.

What can be worse—what need we fear more—
than to be left alone forever with a guilty and accusing
conscience, and no respite, no solace? What
perdition need a man shrink from more than to go
away alone from his earthly life, to where memory—a
pale and silent spectre—will turn the pages of his
daily record, and point to what was, and what might
have been?

A shallow-minded girl would have been incapable
of this searching self-analysis. A weak, irresolute
girl like Bel Parton would have taken a sedative, and
escaped a miserable day in sleep. But with all her
faults, Lottie abounded in practical common sense;
and Hemstead's words and her own experience suggested
that she might be doing herself a very great
wrong. She felt that it was no light matter to make
one's whole life a blunder, and to invest all one's
years and energies in what paid no better interest
than she had received that day. Her physical pain
and mental distress acted and reacted upon each
other until at last, wearied out, she sobbed herself to
sleep.

Both De Forrest and Hemstead were greatly in
hopes that she would be at the supper-table, but they
did not see her that day. The former, with his aching
head and heavy heart, learned, if never before,
that the “way of the transgressor is hard.” But
though the latter could not be regarded as a

[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]

transgressor, his way was hard also that long day, and he
whom Lottie, in the memory of his severe words
regarded somewhat as her stern accuser, was more
than ready to take all her pains and woes upon himself,
could he have relieved her.

He now bitterly condemned himself for having
been too harsh in the wholesome truth he had
brought home to the flattered girl. It was rather
severe treatment; still she was vigorous, and would
be all the better for it. But now her faithful physician,
as he heard how ill and suffering she was, almost
wished that he had but faintly suggested the truth
in homœopathic doses.

At the same time he supposed that her indisposition
was caused more by her shame and grief at the
conduct of De Forrest, than from anything he had said.
The impression that she was attached or engaged
to De Forrest was becoming almost a conviction.

Though Lottie had never, by a word, bound herself
to her cousin, yet her aunt and all the household
regarded her as virtually engaged to him, and
expected that the marriage would eventually occur.
With Hemstead, they regarded her illness and seclusion
as the result of her mortification at his behavior,
and underneath their politic politeness were very
indignant at his folly. But they expected that the
trouble would soon blow over, as a matter of course.
The mantle of charity for young men as rich and
well-connected as De Forrest, is very large. And
then this slip could be regarded somewhat in the
light of an accident; for when it became evident that

[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

Bel understood the nature of De Forrest's “spell,”
as the coachman called it, Lottie had taken pains to
insist that it was an accident for which she was chiefly
to blame; and had also said as much to Mrs. Marchmont.
Thus they all concluded that her relations
with De Forrest would not be disturbed.

Harcourt was the happiest of the party; but it
must be confessed that, clearer than any law points, he
saw still among blooming exotics a being that seemed
far more rare and beautiful, who stood before him
the whole day with clasped hands and entreating eyes,
whose only request was, “Be a true man.” Under
the inspiration of her words and manner he began
to hope that he might eventually grant her request.

As far as Lottie's intruding image would permit,
Hemstead concentrated all his energies on the
great sermon, the elaborate effort of many months,
that he expected to preach on the morrow. He
hoped Lottie, and indeed that all, would be there,
for it seemed that if they would only give him their
thoughtful attention he would prove beyond a shadow
of a doubt that they were in God's hands, and that
it would be worse than folly not to submit to His
shaping and moulding discipline.

At last Sunday morning came. It was a cold,
chilly, leaden day, and even a glance from the windows
gave one a shivering sense of discomfort.

The gloom of nature seemed to shadow the faces
of some of the party as they gathered at a late breakfast;
and of none was this more true than of Lottie
Marsden, as pale and languid she took her wonted

[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]

place. Her greeting of De Forrest was most kindly,
and he seemed greatly reassured and brightened up
instantly. But Lottie's face did not lose its deep
dejection.

To the others she appeared to take very little
notice of Hemstead; but he thought that he observed
her eyes furtively seeking his face, with a questioning
expression. Once he answered her glance with
such a frank, sunny smile that her own face lighted
up. As they were passing into the parlor he said, in
a low tone:

“I wished a hundred times yesterday that I could
bear your headache for you.”

“That is more kind than just. It is right that I
should get my deserts,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Heaven save us from our deserts,” he answered
quickly.

Before she could speak again, De Forrest was by
her side and said, “Let me wheel the lounge up to
the fire, and I will read anything you wish this
morning.”

“Oh no, I'm going to church.”

“Miss Lottie, I beg of you do not go. You are
not able.”

“Yes, I am; the air will do me good. It's the
Sunday before Christmas, Julian, and we both ought
to be at church.”

“Oh, certainly, I'll go if you wish it.”

“I hope your sermon will do me good, Mr. Hemstead.
I'm wofully blue,” she said, as she left the
room to prepare for church.

[figure description] Page 259.[end figure description]

“I think it will,” he replied, “for I have prepared
it with a great deal of care.”

The building was a small but pretty gothic structure,
and its sacred quiet did seem to Lottie somewhat
like a refuge. With an interest such as she
had never felt in the elegant city temple, she waited
for the service to commence, honestly hoping that
there might be something that would comfort and
reassure.

But Hemstead went through the preliminary services
with but indifferent grace and effect. He was
embarrassed and awkward, as is usually the case with
those who have seldom faced an audience, and who
are naturally very diffident. But as he entered upon
his sermon, his self-consciousness began to pass
away, and he spoke with increasing power and effect.

He took as his text words from the 11th chapter
of St. John, wherein Jesus declares to his disciples
in regard to the death of Lazarus.

“I am glad, for your sakes, that I was not there
to the intent that ye may believe.”

The importance of faith—believing—as the source
of Christian life, and the ground of man's acceptance
with God, was his subject, from which he wandered
somewhat—a course often noted in the ministerial
tyro.

He presented his views strongly, however, but
they were partial and unripe, giving but one side of
the truth, and therefore calculated to do injury
rather than good. He did not—he could not—overestimate
the importance of faith, but he unwittingly

[figure description] Page 260.[end figure description]

misrepresented God, in his efforts to inspire this
faith, and the Christian life resulting; and he under
valued our earthly state and its interests.

He sketched in strong outlines the experience of
the little family at Bethany, portraying with vivid
realism the suffering of the man whom Jesus loved,
the anxiety of the sisters when Lazarus became ill—
this anxiety passing into fear, dread, sickening certainty,
and despair—the anguish of bereavement,
the loneliness and heart-breaking sorrow of four
days, and that most agonized wrench of the heart
when the beloved form is left alone to corrupt in the
dark and silent sepulchre.

Having presented this picture in such true and
sombre colors that the gloom was reflected from the
faces of all his hearers, they being reminded that this
would be their lot ere long, he passed suddenly from
the painful scenes of Bethany to Bethabara, beyond
Jordan, where was sojourning the mysterious Prophet
of Nazareth, who had so often proved his power to
heal every disease. He enlarged upon the fact that
Jesus, seeing and knowing all the fear and suffering
at Bethany which he could change by a word into
gladness, did not interfere, but decreed that the terrible
ordeal should be endured to the bitter end.

From this he reasoned that the transient sorrows
and passing pains of the household at Bethany were
of little moment, and that God, in the advancement
of his own glory and the accomplishment of his great
plans, would never turn aside because his human
children in their short-sighted weakness would stay

[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]

his heavy hand if they could. He knew all that was
occurring at Bethany, but quietly and calmly permitted
it to take place, and in this case it was the
same as if he had willed it.

He then proceeded to show that the Divine purpose
had not only a wide and general sweep, embracing
the race, and extending through all time, but
that there was a minute providence encompassing
each life. If there were any good in us, God would
bring it out, nor would he spare us in the effort.
The preacher, unfortunately and unconsciously to
himself, gave the impression that God acted on the
principle that he could accomplish far more with
the rod of affliction than anything else, and that
when he fully set about the task of winning a soul
from sin, his first step was to stretch it upon the
rack of some kind of suffering. He also intensified
this painful impression, by giving the idea that God
thought little of the processes which might be so
painful to us, but fixed His eye only on the result.
If people became sullen, rebellious, or reckless under
His discipline, they were like misshapen clay, that
the potter must cast aside. The crude ore must go
into the furnace, and if there was good metal in it
the fact would appear.

“Sooner or later,” he said, “God will put every
soul into the crucible of affliction. Sooner or later
we shall all be passing through scenes like that of the
family at Bethany. We may not hope to escape.
God means we shall not. As Christ firmly, while
seeing and knowing all, left events at Bethany to

[figure description] Page 262.[end figure description]

their designed course, so he will as surely and steadily
carry out the discipline, which he, as the unerring
physician of the soul, sees that each one of us
requires. Does the refiner hesitate to put the crude
ore into the crucible? Does the sculptor shrink
from chiselling the shapeless block into beauty? Does
not the surgeon, with nerves of steel and pulse unquickened,
cut near the very vitals of his agonized
patient? He sees that it is necessary, in order to
save from greater evil, and therefore he is as remorseless
as fate. If to cure some transient, physical
infirmity, man is justified—nay more, is compelled—
to inflict so much suffering upon his fellow-creatures,
how much more is God justified in his severest moral
discipline, which has as its object our eternal health?
Though we shrink from the sorrow, though we writhe
under the pain, though our hearts break a thousand
times, he will not waver in his calm, steadfast purpose.
He sees eternity, the present is as nothing to him.
He will break our grasp from all earthly idols, even
though he tear our bleeding hearts asunder. If we
are trusting in aught save Him, that upon which we
are leaning will be snatched away, even though we
fall at first into the depths of despairing sorrow.
What he makes us suffer now is not to be considered,
in view of his purpose to wean us from the
world and prepare us for the next. Christ, as we
learn from our text, is as inflexible as fate, and does
not hesitate to secure the needful faith by remaining
away, even though the message of the sisters was an
entreaty in itself. Nay more, he distinctly declares

[figure description] Page 263.[end figure description]

to his disciples, `I was glad for your sakes I was not
there, to the intent that ye may believe.'

“In conclusion, we assert that we ought to rise
above our human weakness and co-work with God.
Instead of clinging so to the present, we ought to
think of the eternal future, and welcome the harshest
discipline which prepares us for that future. We
should mortify ourselves, trample our earthly natures
under our feet. To that degree that we can bring
ourselves to think less of earth—we shall think more
of heaven. Our business, our earthly hopes and
plans, our dearest ties, may be fatal snares to our
souls. The husband may make an idol of his wife—
the mother of her child. God jealously watches; we
should watch more jealously. The sisters may have
been loving their brother and trusting to his protection
more than in Christ. We should hold all
earthly possessions in fear and trembling, as something
not our own, but only committed for a brief
time to our trust. We should remember that the
one great object of this life is to secure that faith
which leads to preparation for the life to come. The
harsher our experiences are here, the better, if they
more surely wean us from earth and all earthly things,
and make eternity the habitation of our thoughts. We
see how stern and resolute God is in his great purpose
to stamp out unbelief from the world. Jesus
would not save the family at Bethany that he loved—
the family that freely gave hospitality and love in
return when nearly all the world was hostile. Do
not think, then, that he will spare us. Let us

[figure description] Page 264.[end figure description]

therefore, not spare ourselves, but with remorseless hands
smite down every earthly object that hides from our
view the wide ocean of eternity. As the wise men
from the East travelled steadily across arid wastes with
eyes fixed only on the strange bright luminary that
was guiding them to Bethlehem, so we should regard
this world as a desert across which we must hasten
to the presence of our God.”

As Hemstead forgot himself, and became absorbed
with his theme, he spoke with impressiveness and
power; and everywhere throughout the audience was
seen that thoughtful contraction of the brow and
fixed gaze which betoken deep attention. But upon
the faces of nearly all was the expression of one
listening to something painful. This was especially
true of Miss Martell and her father, while Harcourt's
face grew cold and satirical. Lottie looked pale and
sullen, and De Forrest was evidently disgusted. Mr.
Dimmerly fidgeted in his seat, and even complacent
Mrs. Marchmont seemed a little ruffled and disturbed,
while her daughter Addie was in a state of irritable
protest against both preacher and sermon. Poor Bel
was merely frightened and conscience-stricken, her
usual condition after every sermon to which she
listened.

As, during the brief remnant of the service,
Hemstead dropped down into consciousness of the
world around him, he felt at first, rather than saw,
the chill he had caused, instead of a glow answering
to his own feelings. As he looked closer, he imagined
he detected a gloomy and forbidding expression on

[figure description] Page 265.[end figure description]

the faces turned toward him. The Gospel—the message
of good news that he had brought—appeared
to shadow the audience like a passing cloud.

After dismission, the people aroused themselves
as from an oppressive dream. The few greetings
and congratulations that he received as he passed
down the aisle seemed formal and constrained, and,
he thought, a little insincere. He was still more
puzzled as he overheard Miss Martell say to Harcourt
at the door:

“I am sorry you heard that sermon.”

“I am, too,” he replied, “for it seemed true.”

“It's only a half truth,” she said earnestly.

“The Lord deliver me, then; this half is more
than I can stand.”

Lottie scarcely spoke during the drive home, and
Hemstead noted, with pain, that her face had a hard,
defiant look. It occurred to him that he had not
seen any who appeared as if they had enjoyed the
service.

There were long pauses at the dinner-table, and
after one of the longest, Mr. Dimmerly abruptly
remarked, in his sententious manner:

“Well, nephew, I suppose you gave us a powerful
sermon this morning. It has made us all deucedly
uncomfortable, anyhow. But I've no doubt the old
rule holds good, the worse the medicine is to take
the more certain to cure.”

Lottie's response to this remark was a ringing
laugh, in which the others, in the inevitable reaction

[figure description] Page 266.[end figure description]

from the morbid gloom, joined with a heartiness that
was most annoying to the young clergyman.

“You must excuse me, Mr. Hemstead,” said she,
after a moment, “I have had the blues all day, and
have reached that point where I must either laugh
or cry, and prefer the former at the dinner-table.”

Hemstead stiffly bowed as his only response. He
was too chagrined, puzzled, and disappointed, to venture
upon a reply, and after this one lurid gleam of
unnatural mirth, the murky gloom of the day seemed
to settle down more heavily than before.

After dinner De Forrest tried to secure Lottie's
society for the afternoon. The refusal was kind, not
careless as was often the case formerly. Indeed her
whole manner toward him might be characterized as
a grave, remorseful kindness, such as we might show
toward a child or an inferior that we had wronged
somewhat.

De Forrest, finding that Lottie would persist in
going to her room, went to his also, and took a long,
comfortable nap.

Bel wanted to talk about the sermon, but as Lottie
would not talk about anything, she too, soon for
got her spiritual anxieties in sleep.

But Lottie sat and stared at her fire, and Hemstead,
deserted by all, stared at the fire in the parlor
and both were sorely troubled and perplexed.

p668-272

Previous section

Next section