Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1881-09-28
The DeacOn's Vow.


tanned chamber over the sitting-room their
only daughter, Agnes, lay between life and
death. The doctor gave them little reason
to hope that the feeble spark which was
Pickering and nearly ready to expire could
again be kindled. For days and weeks all
that love and skill and tender nursing could
do had been done, to win back the health of
the fever-stricken girl but so far it seemed
in vain. Her mother and brothers were
tireless in their watching and devotion, and
an arrest, in the last few days, had been
laid on everything except the most neces-
sary work. while they waited, in that
solemn hush which is less of hope than of
despair, for what the next hour might bring
to pass. House, fields, business, life were
all overhung and clouded by the mystery
which always hovers about the bedsides OF
the departing, even when the prospect is
bright with trust in him who says al am
he that liveth and was dead, and behold |
am alive forevermore.'
Agnes was the deacon's darling Stern
and grim to others, he had invariably been
gentle and indulgent to her. In her baby
hood it had been his delight to have her
nestle against her fathers broad breast and
play with his long beard, or fall asleep in
his arms. As child her seat at the table
had been next to his, and her place in the
pew by his side. As she grew into fair
womanhood, she had become his companion
and friend and almost his second self. Now
that his eyes were beginning to fail and his
ears to grow deaf-infirmities of advancing
age which he resented, yet was compelled
to Acknowledged was Agnes who read to
him, and talked to him, in her clear voice,
never loud, but distinct and pure in its
utterance, so that every syllable was like
silver coin for finish. The deacon loved his
daughter as he loved no one else in the world.
Did he love her best He supposed SO
and still there was a doubt of it in the
minds Of his friends. Deacon Cameron had
another idol and that was money. He
Rugged it closely and worshiped it lavishly.
1t cost him bitter pain to part with it, I'M
less it were in some way which he knew
would return it in kind and increased.
Honest, Just, defrauding none, he was scrimp-
ing and niggardy in expenditure for his
family; nor could he bring himself to part
with an acre of ground, nor the price of
portion Of his crops, to aid the poor, to assist
the church, or to further mission work. His
children had been stinted in their education,
deprived of opportunities and privileges for
which they longed, and forced to live mar
row, contracted lives under the old roof,
where ragged many storm of passion that
only God and mother knew anything about.
1t was winters morning, but soft and
mild as spring, with blue skies, undimmed
by cloud, and gentle south winds stirring
in the leafess branches. The physician
had told the father that there was little
probability that Agnes could recover, and
that the issue would ere long be decided.
With pale face and haggard eyes he left the
house, and wandered past his ample barns,
through the great orchard and the vineyard,
and over the wide meadows that were his
pride. The mans soul was desolate. He
felt as though hurricane had gone over
him, sweeping him bare OF what the good
years had given. The cry of his heart was !:
"Lord take the rest take all, but leave me
Agnes For the first time in his expert
ence his wealth was matter of utter indif
ference to him. lie walked on looking
strangely older than ever before, and the
bowed head, shrunken stature and lettering
feet were curiously unlike the self-assertve,
arrogant man, whose very gait was usually
the unconscious expression OF will that
would have its way, encounter what opposi
ton it might.
There was great spreading oak which
stood on the edge of his land, shadowing
equally his farm and that of his nearest
neighbor, Harmon Murray. The Murrays
were the opposite 10 the Camerons. Gay,
light-hearted, spending money lavishly, send
ing their boys off to college and the girls to
the city schools, buying books, music and
pictures, filling the house with guests at
midsummer and in the holidays. Deacon
Cameron could not help having private
doubts as to the Christianity of the Muir
rays. Though Harmon Murray was lib
eral subscriber to every good cause, and a
regular attendant on the services of the
church, he was in the deacon's prejudiced
eyes, a heather man and publican. 1t has
been an aggravation of his grief that the
gloom of his house had been shared in his
neighbours. Especially had he chafed and
struggled against the knowledge that one
member of the family that was so antago-
nistic to his own cared for Agnes with a
love deeper than that of kindred. The dea-
con, though strong man, was selfish. He
would have looked with aversion on any
man who might have desired to win the
affection of his child for he meant to keep
her as his own particular treasure if he could.
But that Edgar Murray should aspire to her
hand, and that, even timidly and afar off,
Agnes should venture to regard him as her
future lord, had awakened in him resist
ance as violent az it was stubborn. Till
now ne had been fiercely angry when three
or four times day the young man had
presented himself to inquire for Agnes or
to bring her fruit or flowers. He had been
indignant at his wife, because she had
accepted Mrs. Murray's help in caring for
the sick one nor could ne forgive her ignor-
ing his displeasure and sending to the Muir
rays for aid in this emergency.
But now he was in extremity. lie stag
gered to a seat beneath the oak, the very
seat where Edgar and Agnes had been &C.
customed to rest after their occasional saun-
terings together by the creek or along the
uncovered lanes, and his gray head went
down upon his hands. His whole heart was
concentrated in vehement, worthless prayer
which was fain to beat against the AL
mighty's throne. No feeling of Gods pa
ternity entered his mind at the intense mo
ment. No remembrance of Christ as the
great High Priest, who pleads for the chill
dren of men with brothers tender com
prehension of their wants. No thought Of
the Holy Spirit, with its sacred influence
came to him, as, shaken, tempest-tossed, anG
almost heart-broken, he cried to God, the
strong One, who could hear him, if ht
would. The God of the deacon's imagina
ton was despot, but despot who coult
be gracious. Believing in and accepting al
the doctrines of his church as he understood
them, he prayed, as Saxon might hav,
prayed to Thor, as Roman to Jupiter or
W Nlbuu' tldt MS CHllu mlgnt D
spared. Sinking to his knees, in the agon,
Of his unvoiced duplication, the CRY Of hi
soul broke forth into speech.
"Lord give me back my Agnes, my dar
ling, the one precious thing Of my life lie
her not die, / beseech thee, Lord listen
Thou hast ten thousand times ten thousan
in thy heaven. Why dost thou want m
little eve lamb Oh let her live Let he
live, and will give thee whatsoever tho
shalt require. My money, if thou askest i
to the uttermost farthing. My will-if it
counter TO thine. ! will surrender it who'll,
Yea, Lord, let Agnes live, though she sit
the fireside of another and break bread i
the house that hate. Take not the SUI
shine out of the world, Lord, though it shir
not on me. Hear my prayer for thy DEF
Sons sake"
"Amen |" said low voice, and, lookin
up, the deacon saw that his prayer ha
another than Divine listener. Edgar Mu
ray, walking homeward on the boundai
line had heard the flow of the deacon's pei
ton, and as he stood there, bare-headed, Il
amen had welled up from his heart almo
before he was aware of it.
"Can man go nowhere and be alone
exclaimed the deacon. Must he be I,