We Two [56]
the offering up of self, even in a mistaken cause, must sooner or later lead to the Originator of all self-sacrifice. Surely some of those who seem only to thwart God, honestly deeming Christianity a mischievous delusion, are really acting more in His spirit, unconsciously better doing His will than many who openly declare themselves on His side! Yet, as Charles Osmond mused over the past lives of Luke Raeburn and his daughter, and pictured their probable future, a great grief filled his heart. They wee both so lovable, so noble! That they should miss in a great measure the best of life seemed such a grievous pity! The chances that either of them would renounce atheism were, he could not but feel, infinitesimally small. Much smaller for the father than for the child.
It was true, indeed, that she had never fairly grasped any real idea of the character of Christ. He had once grasped it to a certain extent, and had lost the perception of its beauty and truth. It was true also that Erica's transparent sincerity, her quick perception of the beautiful might help very greatly to overcome her deeply ingrained prejudices. But even then what an agony--what a fearful struggle would lie before her; "I think it would break his heart!" Charles Osmond felt his breath come fast and hard at the mere thought of such a difference between the father and daughter! Could human strength possibly be equal to such a terrible trial? For these two were everything to each other. Erica worshipped her father, and Raeburn's fatherhood was the truest, deepest, tenderest part of his character. No, human strength could not do it, but--
"I am; nyle ye drede!"
His eye fell on a little illuminated scroll above his mantelpiece, Wycliff's rendering of Christ's reassuring words to the fearful disciples. Yes, with the revelation of Himself, He would give the strength, make it possible to dread nothing, not even the infliction of grief to one's nearest and dearest. Much pain, much sacrifice there would be in his service, but dread--never. The strength of the "I am," bade it forever cease. In that strength the weakest could conquer.
But he had wondered on into a dim future, had pictured a struggle which in all probability would not take place. Even were that the case, however, he needed these words of assurance all the more himself. They wove themselves into his reverie as he paced to an fro; they led him further and further away from perplexed surmises as to the future of Raeburn and Erica, but closer to their souls, because they took him straight to the "God and father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in all."
The next morning as he was preparing a sermon for the following Sunday, there came a knock at his study door. His brother came in. He was a fine looking man of two or three-and-fifty.
"I can't stay," he said, "I've a long round, but I just looked in to tell you about your little heretic."
Charles Osmond looked up anxiously.
"It is as you thought," continued his brother. "Slight curvature of the spine. She's a brave little thing; I don't wonder you are interested in her."
"It means a long rest, I suppose?"
"Yes, I told her a year in a recumbent posture; for I fancy she is one of those restless beings who will do nothing at all unless you are pretty plain with them. It is possible that six or eight months may be sufficient."
"How did she take it?"
"Oh, in the pluckiest way you can conceive! Tried to laugh at the prospect, wanted me to measure her to see how much she grew in the time, and said she should expect at least three inches to reward her."
"A Raeburn could hardly be deficient in courage. Luke Raeburn is without exception the bravest man I ever met."
"And I'd back his daughter against any woman I know," said the doctor.
He left the room, but the news he had brought caused a long pause in his brother's sermon.
CHAPTER XII. Raeburn's Homecoming
He is a man both loving and severe, A tender heart, a will inflexible. Longfellow
Luke Raeburn had been lecturing
It was true, indeed, that she had never fairly grasped any real idea of the character of Christ. He had once grasped it to a certain extent, and had lost the perception of its beauty and truth. It was true also that Erica's transparent sincerity, her quick perception of the beautiful might help very greatly to overcome her deeply ingrained prejudices. But even then what an agony--what a fearful struggle would lie before her; "I think it would break his heart!" Charles Osmond felt his breath come fast and hard at the mere thought of such a difference between the father and daughter! Could human strength possibly be equal to such a terrible trial? For these two were everything to each other. Erica worshipped her father, and Raeburn's fatherhood was the truest, deepest, tenderest part of his character. No, human strength could not do it, but--
"I am; nyle ye drede!"
His eye fell on a little illuminated scroll above his mantelpiece, Wycliff's rendering of Christ's reassuring words to the fearful disciples. Yes, with the revelation of Himself, He would give the strength, make it possible to dread nothing, not even the infliction of grief to one's nearest and dearest. Much pain, much sacrifice there would be in his service, but dread--never. The strength of the "I am," bade it forever cease. In that strength the weakest could conquer.
But he had wondered on into a dim future, had pictured a struggle which in all probability would not take place. Even were that the case, however, he needed these words of assurance all the more himself. They wove themselves into his reverie as he paced to an fro; they led him further and further away from perplexed surmises as to the future of Raeburn and Erica, but closer to their souls, because they took him straight to the "God and father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in all."
The next morning as he was preparing a sermon for the following Sunday, there came a knock at his study door. His brother came in. He was a fine looking man of two or three-and-fifty.
"I can't stay," he said, "I've a long round, but I just looked in to tell you about your little heretic."
Charles Osmond looked up anxiously.
"It is as you thought," continued his brother. "Slight curvature of the spine. She's a brave little thing; I don't wonder you are interested in her."
"It means a long rest, I suppose?"
"Yes, I told her a year in a recumbent posture; for I fancy she is one of those restless beings who will do nothing at all unless you are pretty plain with them. It is possible that six or eight months may be sufficient."
"How did she take it?"
"Oh, in the pluckiest way you can conceive! Tried to laugh at the prospect, wanted me to measure her to see how much she grew in the time, and said she should expect at least three inches to reward her."
"A Raeburn could hardly be deficient in courage. Luke Raeburn is without exception the bravest man I ever met."
"And I'd back his daughter against any woman I know," said the doctor.
He left the room, but the news he had brought caused a long pause in his brother's sermon.
CHAPTER XII. Raeburn's Homecoming
He is a man both loving and severe, A tender heart, a will inflexible. Longfellow
Luke Raeburn had been lecturing