A Letter of Credit Part 66

"Is it as good really, Mrs. Mowbray, as it looks here?" she asked.

"It is better. Don't you think colour goes for anything? and the sound of a cowbell, and the rush of the torrents that come from the mountains?"

"I can hear cowbells and the rush of brooks here," said Rotha.

"It sounds different there."

Slowly and unwillingly and after long looking at it, Rotha laid the Swiss valley away. Her next view happened to be the ruins of the Church at Fountain's Abbey; and with that a new nerve of pleasure seemed to be stirred. This was something in an entirely new department, of knowledge and interest both. "How came people to let such a beautiful church go to ruin?"

Mrs. Mowbray went back to the Reformation, and Henry the Eighth, and the monkish orders; and the historical discussion grew into length. Then a very n.o.ble view of the Fountain's Abbey cloisters opened a new field of inquiry; and Rotha's eye gazed along the beautiful arches with an awed apprehension of the life that once was lived under them; gazed and marvelled and queried.

"That was an ugly sort of life," she said at last; "why do I like to look at these cloisters, Mrs. Mowbray?"

Mrs. Mowbray laughed. "I suppose your eye finds beauty in the lines of the architecture."

"Are they beautiful?"

"People say so, my dear."

"But do you think they are?"

"My dear, I must confess to you, I never paid much attention to architecture. I never asked myself the question."

"I do not think there is any _beauty_ about them," said Rotha; "but somehow I like to look at them. I like to look at them _very_ much."

"Here is another cloister," said Mrs. Mowbray; "of Salisbury cathedral.

The arches and lines here are less severe. How do you like that?"

"Not half so well," Rotha answered, after making the comparison. "I think Fountain's Abbey _is_ beautiful, compared with this."

"It is called, I believe, one of the finest ruins in England. My dear, if you want to study architecture, I shall turn you over to Mr. Fergusson's book. It is in the corner stand in the breakfast room--two octavo volumes. There you can find all your questions answered."

Which Rotha did not however find to be the case, though Fergusson in after days was a good deal studied by her in her hours of leisure. For this evening it was enough, that she went to her room with the feeling that the world is very rich in things to be seen and things to be known; a vast treasure house of wonders and beauties and mysteries; which mysteries must yet have their hidden truth and solution, delightful to search for, delightful to find. Would she some day see the Alps? and what dreadful things cloisters and the life lived in them must have been! Her eye fell on her Russia leather bag, in which she had placed her Bible for safe keeping; and her thoughts went to the Bible. That told how people should live to serve G.o.d; and it was not by shutting themselves up in cloisters. How then? That question she deferred.

But took it up again the next day. It was a rainy day; low clouds and thick beat of the rain storm against the windows and upon the street.

Rotha was well pleased. Good so; yesterday had held novelty and excitement enough for a week; to-day she could be quiet, study Fergusson on architecture, perhaps; and at all events study the life question in her beautiful Bible. She had the morning to herself after breakfast, and her room to herself; the patter and beat of the rain drops made her feel only more securely safe in her solitude and opportunity. Rotha took her Bible lovingly in her hands and slowly turned over the leaves to find the thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel. And unquestionably, the great beauty of the book, of the paper and the limp covers and the type, did help her pleasure and did give an additional zest to the work she was about.

Nevertheless, Rotha was in earnest, and it _was_ work. The chapter, when she found it, was an enigma to her. She read on and on, understanding but very dimly what might be meant under the words; till she came to the notable promise and prophecy beginning with the twenty fourth verse. Then her eyes opened, and lingered, slowly going over item after item of the help promised to humanity's wants, and then she read:--

"A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you; and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh."----

It struck Rotha with a strange sort of surprise, the words meeting so exactly the thought and want of her own heart. Did He who gave that promise, long ago, know so well what she would be one day thinking and feeling? But that was the very help she needed; all she needed; if the heart of stone within her were gone, all the rest would fall into train.

Rotha waited no longer, but poured out a longing, pa.s.sionate prayer that this mighty change might be wrought in her. Even with tears she prayed her prayer. She had resolved to be a Christian; yet she was not one; could not be one; till a heart of flesh took the place of that impa.s.sive induration which was where a heart should be. As she rose from her knees, she thought she would follow out this subject of a hard heart, and see what else the Bible said of it. She applied to her "Treasury of Scripture Knowledge"; found the thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel, and the twenty sixth verse. The first reference sent her to the eleventh chapter of the same book, where she found the promise already previously given.

"And I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony-heart out of their flesh, and I will give them an heart of flesh; _that they may walk in my statutes, and keep mine ordinances, and do them;_ and they shall be my people, and I will be their G.o.d."

That is it! thought Rotha. I knew I could not be a Christian while I felt so as I do. I could not keep the commandments either. If I had a new heart, I suppose I could forgive aunt Serena fast enough. G.o.d must be very willing to take people's stony heart away, or he would not promise it so twice over. O my dear "Scripture Treasury"! how good you are!

Following its indications, she came next to a word of the prophet Zechariah, accusing the people of obduracy:--"They refused to hearken, and pulled away the shoulder, and stopped their ears, that they should not hear. Yea, they made their hearts as an adamant stone, lest they should hear the law, and the words which the Lord of hosts hath sent in his spirit by the former prophets"--

Over this pa.s.sage Rotha lingered, pondering. Could it be true that she herself was to blame for the very hardness of heart she wanted to get rid of? Had she "refused to hearken and pulled away the shoulder and stopped her ears"? What else had she done? when those "former prophets" to her, her mother, and Mr. Digby, had set duty and truth before her? They set it before her bodily, too; and how fair their example had been! and how immoveable she! Rotha lost herself for a while here, longing for her mother, and crying in spirit for her next friend, Mr. Digby; wondering at his silence, mourning his absence; and it was when a new gush of indignation at her aunt seemed to run through all her veins, that she caught herself up and remembered the work in hand, and slowly and sorrowfully came back to it. How angry she was at Mrs. Busby this minute!

what a long way she was yet, with all her wishes and resolves, from the loving tenderness of heart which would forgive everything. She went on, hoping always for more light, and willing to take the sharpest charges home to herself. Yet the next reference startled her.

"Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth; and forthwith they sprang up because they had no deepness of earth: and when the sun was up, they were scorched;"--

Was it possible, that she had been like that very bad ground? Yes, she knew the underlying rock too well. Then in her case there was special danger of a flash religion, taken up for the minute's sense of need or perception of advantage merely, and not rooted so that it would stand weather. Hers should not be so; no profession of being a Christian would she make, till it was thorough work; till at last she could forgive her aunt's treachery; it would be pretty thorough if she could do that! But how long first? At present Rotha thought of her aunt in terms that I will not stop to detail; in which there was bitter anger and contempt and no love at all. She knew it, poor child; she felt the difficulty; her only sole hope was in the power of that promise in Ezekiel, which she blessed in her heart, almost with tears. That way there was an outlook towards light; no other way in all her horizon. She would see what more the Bible had to say about it.

Going on in her researches, after another pa.s.sage or two she came to those notable words, also in Ezekiel,--

"Cast away from you all your transgressions, whereby ye have transgressed; and make you a new heart and a new spirit: for why will ye die, O house of Israel?"

Make herself a new heart? how could she? she could not; and yet, here the words were, and they must mean something. And to be sure, she thought, a man is said to build him a new house, who gets the carpenter to make it, and never himself puts hand to tool. But cast away her transgressions?-- _that_ she could do, and she would. From that day forth. The next pa.s.sage was in the fifty first psalm; David's imploring cry that the Lord would "create" in him "a new heart"; and then the lovely words in Jeremiah:-- "After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their G.o.d, and they shall be my people."

Rotha shut her book. That was the very thing wanted. When the law of G.o.d should be _in her heart_ so, then all would be right, and all would be easy too. It is easy to do what is in one's heart. What beautiful words!

what exquisite promises! what tender meeting of the wants of weak and sinful men! Rotha saw all this, and felt it. Ay, and she felt that every vestige of excuse was gone for persistence in wrong; if G.o.d was so ready to put in his hand of love and power to make things right. And one more pa.s.sage made this conclusively certain. It was the thirteenth verse of the eleventh chapter of Luke.

The morning's work was a good one for Rotha. She made up her mind. That, indeed, she had done before; now she took her stand with a clearer knowledge of the ground and of the way in which the difficulties were to be met. By a new heart, nothing less; a heart of flesh; which indeed she could not create, but which she could ask for and hope for; and in the mean time she must "cast away from her all her transgressions." No compromise, and no delay. As to this anger at her aunt,--well, it was there, and she could not put it out; but allow it and agree to it, or give it expression, that she would not do.

She cast about her then for things to be done, neglected duties. No studies neglected were on her conscience; there did occur to her some large holes in the heels of her stockings. Rotha did not like mending; however, here was duty. She got out the stockings and examined them. A long job, and to her a hateful one, for the stockings had been neglected.

Rotha had but a little yarn to mend with; she sat down to the work and kept at it until she had used up her last thread. That finished the morning, for the stockings were fine, and the same feeling of duty which made her take up the mending made her do it conscientiously.

The evening was spent happily over the stereoscope and Fergusson on Architecture. Towards the end of it Mrs. Mowbray whispered to her,

"My dear, your aunt wishes you to spend a day with her; don't you think it would be a good plan to go to-morrow? A thing is always more graceful when it is done without much delay."

Rotha could but acquiesce.

"And make the best of it," Mrs. Mowbray went on kindly; "and make the best of _them_. There is a best side to everybody; it is good to try and get at it. The Bible says 'Overcome evil with good.'"

"Can one, always?" said Rotha.

"I think one can always--if one has the chance and time. At any rate, it is good to try."

"But don't you think, ma'am, one must feel pleasant, before one can act pleasant?"

"Feel pleasant, then," said Mrs. Mowbray smiling. "Can't you?"

"You do not know how difficult it is," said Rotha.

"Perhaps I do. Hearts are alike."

"O no, Mrs. Mowbray!" said Rotha in sudden protest.

"Not in everything. But fallen nature is fallen nature, my dear; one person's temptations may be different from another's, but in the longing to do our own pleasure and have our own way, we are all pretty much alike. None of us has anything to boast of. What you despise, is the yielding to a temptation which does not attack you."

Rotha's look at her friend was intelligent and candid. She said nothing.

"And if you can meet hatred with love, it is ten to one you can overcome it. Wouldn't that be a victory worth trying for?"

Rotha knew the victory over herself was the first one to be gained. But she silently acquiesced; and after breakfast next morning, with reluctant steps, she set forth to go to her aunt's in Twenty-third Street. She had been in a little doubt how to dress herself. Should she wear her old things? or subject the new ones to her aunt's criticism? But Antoinette had seen the pretty plaid school dress; it would be foolish to make any mystery of it. She dressed herself as usual.