University of Virginia Library

40. CHAPTER XL.
THE SACRIFICE.

When Miss Prissy left the room, the Doctor
sat down by the table and covered his face with
his hands. He had a large, passionate, determined
nature; and he had just come to one of those
cruel crises in life in which it is apt to seem to
us that the whole force of our being, all that we
can hope, wish, feel, enjoy, has been suffered to
gather itself into one great wave, only to break
upon some cold rock of inevitable fate, and go
back, moaning, into emptiness

In such hours men and women have cursed
God and life, and thrown violently down and
trampled under their feet what yet was left of
life's blessings, in the fierce bitterness of despair.
“This, or nothing!” the soul shrieks, in her frenzy.
At just such points as these, men have plunged
into intemperance and wild excess, — they have
gone to be shot down in battle, — they have
broken life, and thrown it away, like an empty
goblet, and gone, like wailing ghosts, out into the
dread unknown.

The possibility of all this lay in that heart
which had just received that stunning blow. Exercised
and disciplined as he had been, by years
of sacrifice, by constant, unsleeping self-vigilance,
there was rising there, in that great heart, an
ocean-tempest of passion, and for a while his cries
unto God seemed as empty and as vague as the
screams of birds tossed and buffeted in the clouds
of mighty tempests.

The will that he thought wholly subdued seemed
to rise under him as a rebellious giant. A few
hours before, he thought himself established in an
invincible submission to God's will that nothing
could shake. Now he looked into himself as into
a seething vortex of rebellion, and against all the
passionate cries of his lower nature could, in the
language of an old saint, cling to God only by
the naked force of his will. That will rested unmelted
amid the boiling sea of passion, waiting
its hour of renewed sway. He walked the room
for hours, and then sat down to his Bible, and
roused once or twice to find his head leaning on
its pages, and his mind far gone in thoughts, from
which he woke with a bitter throb. Then he determined
to set himself to some definite work, and,
taking his Concordance, began busily tracing out
and numbering all the proof-texts for one of the
chapters of his theological system! till, at last, he
worked himself down to such calmness that he

could pray; and then he schooled and reasoned
with himself, in a style not unlike, in its spirit, to
that in which a great modern author has addressed
suffering humanity: —

“What is it that thou art fretting and self-tormenting
about? Is it because thou art not happy?
Who told thee that thou wast to be happy?
Is there any ordinance of the universe that thou
shouldst be happy? Art thou nothing but a vulture
screaming for prey? Canst thou not do
without happiness? Yea, thou canst do without
happiness, and, instead thereof, find blessedness.”

The Doctor came, lastly, to the conclusion, that
blessedness, which was all the portion his Master
had on earth, might do for him also; and therefore
he kissed and blessed that silver dove of happiness,
which he saw was weary of sailing in his
clumsy old ark, and let it go out of his hand
without a tear.

He slept little that night; but when he came
to breakfast, all noticed an unusual gentleness
and benignity of manner, and Mary, she knew not
why, saw tears rising in his eyes when he looked
at her.

After breakfast he requested Mrs. Scudder to
step with him into his study, and Miss Prissy
shook in her little shoes as she saw the matron
entering. The door was shut for a long time, and

two voices could be heard in earnest conversation.

Meanwhile James Marvyn entered the cottage,
prompt to remind Mary of her promise that she
would talk with him again this morning.

They had talked with each other but a few
moments, by the sweetbrier-shaded window in the
best room, when Mrs. Scudder appeared at the
door of the apartment, with traces of tears upon
her cheeks.

“Good morning, James,” she said. “The Doctor
wishes to see you and Mary a moment, together.”

Both looked sufficiently astonished, knowing,
from Mrs. Scudder's looks, that something was
impending. They followed her, scarcely feeling
the ground they trod on.

The Doctor was sitting at his table, with his
favorite large-print Bible open before him. He
rose to receive them, with a manner at once
gentle and grave.

There was a pause of some minutes, during
which he sat with his head leaning upon his
hand.

“You all know,” he said, turning toward Mary,
who sat very near him, “the near and dear relation
in which I have been expected to stand towards
this friend. I should not have been worthy
of that relation, if I had not felt in my heart the

true love of a husband, as set forth in the New
Testament, — who should love his wife even as
Christ loved the Church, and gave himself for it;
and in case any peril or danger threatened this
dear soul, and I could not give myself for her, I
had never been worthy the honor she has done
me. For, I take it, whenever there is a cross or
burden to be borne by one or the other, that the
man, who is made in the image of God as to
strength and endurance, should take it upon himself,
and not lay it upon her that is weaker; for
he is therefore strong, not that he may tyrannize
over the weak, but bear their burdens for them,
even as Christ for his Church.

“I have just discovered,” he added, looking
kindly upon Mary, “that there is a great cross
and burden which must come, either on this dear
child or on myself, through no fault of either of
us, but through God's good providence; and therefore
let me bear it.

“Mary, my dear child,” he said, “I will be to
thee as a father, but I will not force thy heart.”

At this moment, Mary, by a sudden, impulsive
movement, threw her arms around his neck and
kissed him, and lay sobbing on his shoulder.

“No! no!” she said, — “I will marry you, as I
said!”

“Not if I will not,” he replied, with a benign
smile. “Come here, young man,” he said, with

some authority, to James. “I give thee this
maiden to wife.” And he lifted her from his
shoulder, and placed her gently in the arms of
the young man, who, overawed and overcome,
pressed her silently to his heart.

“There, children, it is over,” he said. “God
bless you!”

“Take her away,” he added; “she will be more
composed soon.”

Before James left, he grasped the Doctor's hand
in his, and said, —

“Sir, this tells on my heart more than any sermon
you ever preached. I shall never forget it.
God bless you, Sir!”

The Doctor saw them slowly quit the apartment,
and, following them, closed the door; and
thus ended The Minister's Wooing.