Adele Dubois Part 13

He rose instantly, went towards Mr. Brown, and taking his thin hand between his own and pressing it affectionately, said, "Look back upon your past life,--look into your heart. Believe me, my dear sir, I am your friend".

Then he went to obey the summons, and Mr. Brown was left alone.

The emotion of anger towards his benefactor soon pa.s.sed away. He had been trained early in life to religious truth, and he knew that Mr.

Norton presented to him the stern requisitions of that truth, only in friendliness and love. The good man was absent several hours, and the time was employed, as well as the solitude of several subsequent days, by Mr. Brown, in looking into his heart and into his past life. He found there many things he had not even suspected. He saw clearly, that he had hitherto held himself amenable only to the judgment of the world. Its standard of propriety, taste, honor, had been his. He had not looked higher.

His friend Mr. Norton, on the contrary, held himself accountable to G.o.d's tribunal. His whole conversation, conduct, and spirit, showed the enn.o.bling effect which that sublime test of character had upon him. In fine, he perceived that the basis of his own character had been false and therefore frail. The superstructure he had raised upon it, had been fair and imposing to the world, but, when its strength came to be tried, it had given way and fallen. He felt that he had neglected his true interests, and had been wholly indifferent to the just claims of the only Being, who could have sustained him in the hour of temptation. He saw his past errors, he moaned over them, but alas! he considered it too late to repair them. His life, he believed to be irretrievably lost, and he wished only to commit himself to the mercy of G.o.d, and die.

For a few days, he remained reserved and sunk in a deep melancholy.

At length, Mr. Norton said to him, "I trust you are not offended with me, my dear sir, for those plain words I addressed to you the other day. Be a.s.sured that though stern, they were dictated by my friends.h.i.+p for you and my duty towards G.o.d".

"Offended! my good friend. O no. What you said, is true. But it is too late for me to know it. Through the merits of Christ, I hope for the pardon of my sins. I am willing to live and suffer, if it is His behest. But you perceive my power to act for the cause of truth is gone. My past has taken away all good influence from my future course.

Who will accept my testimony now? I have probably lost caste in my own circle, and have, doubtless, lost my power to influence it, even should I be received back to its ties. In society, I am a dishonored man. I cannot have the happiness of working for the truth,--for Christ. My power is destroyed".

"You are wrong, entirely wrong, my dear sir. Have courage. Shall not that man walk erect and joyous before the whole world, whatever his past may have been, whose sins have been washed away in the blood of Christ and whose soul is inspired by a determination to abide by faith in Him forever? I say, yes. Do the work of G.o.d. He will take care of you. Live, with your eye fixed on Him, ready to obey His will, seeking His heavenly aid, and you can face the frowns of men, while serene peace fills your heart".

Thus cheered and strengthened from day to day, Mr. Brown gained gradually in health and hope. Especially did Mr. Norton strive to invigorate his faith. He justly thought, it was only a strong grasp on eternal realities, that could supply the place of those granite qualities of the soul, so lacking in this lovable, fascinating young man.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GROVE.

In the meanwhile, three or four times during the week, Mr. Norton continued to hold meetings for the people in Micah's Grove.

There had been but little rain in the Miramichi region during the summer and autumn. In fact, none worthy of note had fallen for two months, except what came during the late equinoctial storm. The gra.s.s was parched with heat, the roads were ground to a fine dust, which a breath of wind drove, like clouds of smoke, into the burning air; the forest leaves, which had been so recently stained with a marvellous beauty of brown, crimson and gold, became dim and shrivelled; a slight touch snapped, with a sharp, crackling sound, the dried branches of the trees; even the golden rod and the purple aster, those hardy children of autumn, began to hang their heads with thirst. All day long, the gra.s.shopper and locust sent through the hot, panting air, their shrill notes, stinging the ear with discord. The heaven above looked like a dome of bra.s.s, and a thin, filmy smoke gathered around the horizon.

Even the rude settlers, with nerves toughened by hards.h.i.+p, unsusceptible of atmospheric changes, were oppressed by the long, desolating drought.

It was only when the shadows of afternoon began to lengthen and the sun's rays to strike obliquely through the stately trees of the Grove, that they were able to gather there and listen to the voice of the missionary. He had so far succeeded in his work, as to be able to draw the people together, from a considerable distance around, and their number increased daily.

On the opposite bank of the river, half way up a slight eminence, stood a small stone chapel. Tasteful and elegant in its proportions, it presented a picturesque and attractive appearance. There, once on each Sunday, the service of the Church of England was read, together with a brief discourse by a clergyman of that order.

Behind the chapel, and near the top of the hill, was a large stone cottage surrounded by pretty grounds and with ample stable conveniences. It was the Rectory.

The Chapel and Rectory had been built and the clergyman was sustained, at a somewhat large cost, by the Establishment, for the purpose of enlightening and Christianizing the population of the parish of ----.

Unfortunately, the inc.u.mbent was not the self-sacrificing person needed to elevate such a community. Though ministering at the altar of G.o.d, he had no true religious feeling, no disinterested love for men.

He was simply a man of the world, a _bon vivant_, a horse jockey and sportsman, who consoled himself in the summer and autumn for his exile in that barbarous region, by filling his house with provincial friends, who helped him while away the time in fis.h.i.+ng, hunting, and racing. The winter months, he usually spent at Fredericton, and during that interval no service was held in the chapel. Of late, the few, who were in the habit of attending the formal wors.h.i.+p there, had forsaken it for the more animating services held in the Grove.

Not only the habitual church-goers, but the people of the parish at large, began to feel the magnetizing influence, and were drawn towards the same spot. For a week or more past, late in the afternoons on which the meetings were held, little skiffs might have been seen putting off from the opposite sh.o.r.e, freighted with men, women, and children, crossing over to hear the wonderful preachings of the missionary.

What attracted them thither? Not surely the love of the truth.

Most of them disliked it in their hearts, and had not even began to think of practising it in their lives. They were interested in the man. They were, in some sort, compelled by the magical power he held over them, to listen to entreaties and counsels, similar to those to which they had often hitherto turned a deaf ear.

Mr. Norton spent much of the time with them, going from house to house, partaking of their rude fare, sympathizing in their joys and sorrows, occasionally lending them a helping hand in their toils, and aiding them sometimes by his ingenuity and skill as an artisan. They found in him a hearty, genial, and unselfish friend. Hence when he appeared among them at the Grove, their personal interest in him secured a certain degree of order and decorum, and caused them to listen to him respectfully.

Even beyond this, he held a power over them, by means of his natural and persuasive eloquence, enlivened by varied and graphic ill.u.s.trations, drawn from objects within their ken, and by the wonderful intonations of his powerful and harmonious voice. He began his work by presenting to them the love of Christ and the winning promises of the gospel.

This was his favorite mode of reaching the heart.

On most of these occasions, Adele went to the Grove. It varied her monotonous life. The strange, motley crowd gathered under the magnificent trees, sitting on the ground, or standing in groups beneath the tall arches made by the overlapping boughs; the level rays of the declining sun, bringing out, in broad relief, their grotesque varieties of costume; the gradual creeping on of the sobering twilight; the alternating expressions of emotions visible on the countenances of the listeners, made the scene striking to her observing eye.

Another burning, dusty day had culminated. It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Norton was lying upon a lounge in Mr. Brown's apartment. Both gentlemen appeared to be in a meditative mood. The silence was only interrupted by the unusual sound of an occasional sigh from the missionary.

"Why! friend Norton;" at length exclaimed Mr. Brown, "have you really lost your cheerfulness, at last?"

"Yes", replied Mr. Norton, slowly. "I must confess that I am wellnigh discouraged respecting the reformation of this people. Here, I have been preaching to them these weeks the gospel of love, presenting Christ to them as their friend and Saviour, holding up the truth in its most lovely and winning forms. It has apparently made no impression upon their hearts. It is true, they come in crowds to hear me, but what I say to them makes no permanent mark. They forget it, the moment the echo of my voice dies upon their ears. The fact is, friend Brown, I am disappointed. I did hope the Lord would have given this people unto me. But", continued he, after a moment's pause, "what right have I to be desponding? G.o.d reigns".

"According to all accounts", replied Mr. Brown, "they must be a hard set to deal with, both mentally and morally. I should judge, from what Miss Adele tells me of your instructions, that you have not put them upon the same rigid regimen of law and truth, that you may remember you prescribed for my spiritual cure". Mr. Brown smiled. "Perhaps", he continued, "these men are not capable of appreciating the mild aspect of mercy. They do not possess the susceptibility to which you have been appealing. They need to have the terrors of the law preached to them".

"Ah! that is it, friend Brown, you have it. I am convinced it is so. I have fell it for several days past. But I do dislike, extremely, to endeavor to chain them to the truth by fear. Love is so much more n.o.ble a pa.s.sion to enlist for Christ. Yet they must be drawn by some motive from their sins. Love often follows in the wake and casts out fear".

"I remember", said Mr. Brown, "to have heard Mr. N----, the famous Maine lumber-merchant, who you know is an infidel, say that the only way the lumbermen can be kept from stealing each other's logs, is by preaching to them eternal punishment".

"No doubt it is true", replied the good man, "and if these souls cannot be sweetly constrained into the beautiful fields of peace, they must be compelled into them by the terrors of that death that hangs over the transgressor. Besides, I feel a strong presentiment that some great judgment is about to descend upon this people. All day, the thought has weighed upon me like an incubus. I cannot shake it off.

Something terrible is in store for them. What it may be, I know not.

But I am impressed with the duty of preaching a judgment to come to them, this very afternoon. I will do it".

A slight rattling of dishes at the door announced the arrival of Bess, with a tray of refreshment for Mr. Brown, and, at the same moment, the tinkling of a bell below, summoned Mr. Norton to the table.

Half an hour later, the missionary, with a slow pace and the air of one oppressed with a great burden, walked to the Grove. He seated himself on a rustic bench and with his head resting on the trunk of an immense elm, which overshadowed him, sat absorbed in earnest thought, while the people gathered in a crowd around him.

At length, the murmuring voices were hushed into quiet. He rose, took up his pocket Testament, read a portion of the tenth chapter of Hebrews, offered a prayer, and then sang in his trumpet tones, Charles Wesley's magnificently solemn hymn, commencing,--

"Lo! on a narrow neck of land 'Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand Secure! insensible!"

He then repeated a clause in the chapter he had just read to them. "If we sin wilfully after that we have received a knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversaries".

He began his discourse by reminding the people of the truths he had presented to them during the weeks past. He had told them faithfully of their sinfulness before a holy G.o.d, and pointed out the way of safety and purification through a crucified Saviour. And he had earnestly sought to induce them, by the love this Saviour bore them, to forsake their transgressions and exercise trust in Him. He now told them, in accents broken with grief, that he had every reason to fear they had not followed his counsel, and observing their hardness of heart, he felt constrained to bring them another and different message,--a message less tender, but coming from the same divine source. He then unfolded to them the wrath of the Most High, kindled against those who scorn the voice of mercy from a dying Saviour.

They listened intently. His voice, his manner, his words electrified them. His countenance was illumined with an awful light, such as they had not before witnessed there. His eye shot out prophetic meanings.

At the close, he said, in a low tone, like the murmur of distant thunder, "what I have told you, is true,--true, as that we stand on this solid ground,--true, as that sky that bends above us. This book says it. It is, therefore, eternal truth. I have it impressed upon my mind, that a judgment, a swift, tremendous judgment, is about to descend upon this people on account of their sins. I cannot shake off this impression, and, under its power, I warn you to prepare your souls to meet some dreadful calamity.

"I know not how it will come,--in what shape, with what power. But I feel that death is near. It seems to me that I see many before me, who will soon be beyond the bounds of time. I feel constrained to say this to you. I beg you prepare to meet your G.o.d".

When he ceased, a visible shudder ran through the mult.i.tude. They rose slowly and wended their way homeward, many with blanched faces, and even the hardiest with a vague sense of some startling event impending.