 | XLVII.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE TRIAL. Lucy Arlyn |  |
47. XLVII.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE TRIAL.
THE next day, Lucy received a visit from Guy's
attorney, whose errand filled her with consternation.
“You will probably,” he said, “be required as a witness
at the trial. Every effort will be made by the prosecution to
show that the gold taken from the late Mr. Pelt passed
through the hands of your friend Mr. Bannington; and it
is highly important for the defence to know if there is any
evidence that can be construed as having a bearing on that
point.”
In her dismay and agitation, she could only answer, “I
can't be a witness! Give me time to think of it!” To
which he cheerfully assented; and, throwing out some delicate
hints for her consideration, withdrew.
Alone, face to face with the appalling fear that she might
be compelled to give evidence against her lover's life, Lucy's
first thought was to go straight and drown herself. Then
arose Christina's image, and with it a monstrous suspicion.
her with tears and insidious speech; but the attorney's business
explained it. Because she was baffled, he was sent to
her; the object being to disarm her resentment against Guy,
(oh, how little they knew her heart!) and to induce her
to withhold her testimony, and perhaps even to perjure herself,
in order to save him, — not for herself, but for that
woman who had brought all this evil upon her and him!
Perverse child! Why would she not see that her jealousy
was unjust; that her suspicion of Christina's motive in
visiting her was unfounded? Why will a woman be — a
woman? And why can't we all learn to do what she failed
to do, — to judge not from appearances, but to judge righteous
judgment? Because readers of books, and writers of
books, and those of whom books are written, if the books be
true, are still made of the same old stuff, — the divine warp
with the human filling; and to see our neighbors' hearts as
they see themselves, or as God sees them, requires that in
us the filling also should be transparent with celestial tints.
That night, in the darkness, Lucy saw a light, which
flashed upon her with sudden intensity, showing her what
she should do; and the next day, when the attorney came
again, she had her firm, sad answer ready: —
“If I am called to testify, I shall testify to the truth.”
To the agent of the prosecution who afterwards visited her,
she gave the same response; and more she would not say.
The result was, that she was summoned as a witness by both
either. Indeed, the object of the defence doubtless was —
as Guy's lawyer hinted — to mislead the prosecution by assuming
that her testimony would be favorable to the prisoner,
and thus, if possible, to keep her out of the case altogether.
The trial was to take place in the July session of the
court, — already at hand. And now Lucy, whose love, in
spite of every thing, was not dead, longed to visit Guy, but
could not, because she knew who was with him, comforting
him. Since his arrest, she had not seen him; and all this
time she had received from him but one brief note, in which
he indirectly asserted his innocence, and urged her not to
despair of him or of happiness. The baby's sickness had
prevented her from answering it; and how could she write
to him now? All she could do was to nurse her aching heart
alone, and tremblingly await the event.
Ah! could she have looked clairvoyantly into Guy's cell
and into his heart! Could she but visit him this evening, —
this last dread evening before the trial, — and behold that
illumined face of his, and hear the tones of his voice! He
is sitting on the bed, his friends — the friends she detests —
before him. Cephas is there, a humbled man; and the old
patriarch Haddow, lately out of the asylum, is wringing
Guy's hand with the pressure of love and affliction; and
Christina is on a stool at his feet, thinking bitterly of the
morrow, and weeping.
“What does it all mean?” the old man implores to know.
“What, my son, is God's lesson?”
“What it is for others, I do not know; what it is for
myself, I begin to see;” and Guy's smile shines beautifully
in the light of the jail-lamp. “Don't cry, my girl! The experience
I have had, from the day I first saw you up to this
hour, I consider invaluable: it has been far more precious
than it has been painful. Though I feel some remorseful
twinges, I really cannot regret any thing, — especially when
I think of the spiritual insight I have gained, and the love
and faith and patience of my soul, which I feel so much
greater and richer within me than they were a year ago,” he
adds, with a strange softening of the countenance, remembering
that a year ago, at this hour, he was carrying Lucy to
her new home in Jehiel's house. Dost thou remember it too,
Lucy, alone in that room to-night?
“But the labor for humanity, the mighty reform so needed,”
falters the white-haired patriarch, — “were we all deceived?”
“Never believe it!” says Guy. “We had the glimpse
of a blue ocean of truth there: only we made a slight mistake
when we undertook to build a canal to contain it. Our
grand scheme was a little canal. Every such artificial attempt
to reconstruct society must fail. The temple of the millennium
must build itself — as the body, the soul's temple, builds
itself — from the life within. A prophet may foresee what
is to be: but neither you nor I can set up for a prophet yet,
Mr. Snow,” — pleasantly smiling; for he knew that Cephas
had his theory of the New Jerusalem in his pocket. “By
questioning the needs of our inmost natures, we may learn the
all souls, and every aspiration is a prophecy. Hints from this
deep source are always helps: they quicken hope, and so
hasten the golden era. Beyond this, no theory is of any use;
for theories are intellectual, — the more elaborate, the more
fatal. Whatever is to reach the soul must proceed from the
soul: you must have fire, and not machinery. How suggestive
our little experiment was, up there on the mountain,
Christina! I have been thinking how curious and how sad it
was that what appeared at first a holy work, assumed, as we
proceeded, the aspect of a worldly enterprise; till we almost lost
sight of spiritual ends in the entanglement of material details.
This is the great danger of every such undertaking: the external
kills the internal. O my friends!” — after a pause,
his countenance kindling, — “when I look into the realm
of ideas, and touch the sources of inspiration and power, I am
ravished with joy and worship! To draw our daily life from
those high springs, and to lead others up to them by our
good works, — this is the true reform; this is what every one
may do for humanity. We may work together, too, my dear
old father, when the One Spirit moves us all; but our crude
notions of an organization must be given up.”
“It may be so, it may be so!” the old man answers,
full of emotion. “I scarcely think of those things now. I
think of you, our leader, — that solemn consecration! And
now to find you here! — Can you realize” — turning to Christina
— “that it is he?”
“Why shouldn't I be here as well as another man?” Guy
replies. “I am not a murderer; and I am not sure that any
man ever was a murderer at heart. I begin to sympathize with
the poor fellows, my brother-sinners: I begin to see them as
I think the All-Father sees them. Consider me the worst
criminal that ever entered these walls; and consider too,
my friend Snow, that, born with the propensities I was born
with, and placed in such circumstances as have made me what
I am, you would have done precisely what I have done, God
permitting. Then where is your self-righteousness? If you
are holy, thank God for it. If I am degraded, help me; pity
me; punish me, if necessary for my good or for the general
good: but don't be vindictive, and don't set yourself up very
high over me.”
“Bless you, bless you for these words!” exclaims Haddow
with streaming tears. “He is greatest whose charity is
greatest. You are our leader still!”
“Leader!” Guy shakes his head at the recollections the
word calls up. “I suppose I had some secret vanity, some
ambitious egotism, that needed to be killed. In my journey
to Boston and New York last winter, I saw no less than
seven leaders, or coming men, besides Cephas and myself!
One of my competitors claimed that he was the greatest intellect
that had yet been vouchsafed to this planet; and mildly
hinted, that, as the Divine Being comes to consciousness only
in the human mind, he was, par excellence, the Divine Being!
After that, I was ready to give in. Yet” — more seriously
at least has been fulfilled: one reality remains.” And,
unlocking a casket, he takes out the crown of thorns. “This,
and the cross that was shown me in the heavens, — I understand
them now! Christina, my sister, do not look at me
with such anguish in your eyes. I thank God for all!”
He sits with the crown on his head a minute, his hands
crossed, his eyes upturned; then lays it upon his Bible on
the table.
“The cross, and the crown, and that book, — O Christ!
that it should have taken so much to make me understand
what is so divinely simple! The Bible is dead to us because
we are dead. So long as we regard it as a record of an age
of miracles long since closed, it is lost time turning its pages;
but, when we learn that it treats of the possibilities of man in
all ages, with what vital interest we read! To see its light,
the same light must be lighted within ourselves. Our experience
explains it, while it in turn explains our experience.”
Christina looks up eagerly.
“Guy Bannington, tell me now one thing. After all you
have suffered, notwithstanding you have been so wronged
and deceived, and in spite of all that is dangerous, ridiculous,
and impure in their manifestation, do you still believe
in spiritual gifts and in the holy communion of spirits?”
“I do, Christina, as firmly and truly as ever. Beautiful
and sweet and real to me is that faith. I have been wronged,
deceived, misled, not by God's truth, but by man's imperfections.
our own selfishness and ignorance, from defective mediumship,
and perhaps from the imprudence of lying and fanatical
spirits. These are but clouds in the heaven that shines pure
and blue over all. We have only to elevate ourselves in
order to rise above them, and breathe the ether of inspiration
free from taint. We may reach a region where only lofty
and holy intelligences can exist, — where no impure influence
can come. Until then, let us accept the truth wisely, remembering
that God's most precious gifts to men are those which
are capable of the worst abuse. We are not so foolish as to
curse the fire because it sometimes burns us, or the sea because
it drowns, or love because evil men may turn it into
evil. It is the part of wisdom to govern the fire and ride
the waves, and so to live, that love, which is the best of life,
shall ever remain to us the sweetest and the best. So this
glorious truth of spirit-communion has laws which we must
learn to obey. If one is burned by it, or drowned, or if
knaves and fanatics make knavery and fanaticism of it, as
they never fail to do of every new and vital religious faith, we
should recognize these as merely human accidents, and not on
their account be so weak and unwise as to denounce the truth
itself. No, my friends! We will ridicule what is ridiculous,
proclaim what is dangerous, shun what is false, and even relate
our own failures in order that others may profit by our
experience; but, through all, we will steadily pursue the truth,
and hold fast that which is good.”
So Guy continues to talk until the time of parting arrives.
“Pray for me, my friends, to-morrow!”
One by one they embrace him, and pass out; Christina
last: and the prisoner is left alone, — to sleep, if sleep he
can.
Guy in his cell, Lucy in her chamber, — the night passes
over both, and the morning of the next day dawns.
| XLVII.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE TRIAL. Lucy Arlyn | |