The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1908-06-12
CHAPTER x.
Continued.

"Jane, l hope it won't shock you to
hear how utterly despaired-I, min
lister of the gospel of submission? !?
How l turned my heart against God,
and refused to see wisdom or love in
the way that He had dealt with me! I
hope it won't shock you too much if I
confess the whole truth about N.Y.
self?'
''Shock me! it heals mev' cried poor
Jane, the great tears starting in her
eyes. why, sir, I have done nothing
but despair ever since that morning
I saw the Tenants at our door. At
first liked to say all the hard miser-
able things I could, but the last few
days I seem to have got even beyond
that; and 1 can't pray, Mr.. Follett, and
I don't think 1 want to pray, or to be
remembered of God at all. Oh, sir:
was your heart as black as that? Tell
me, for you have lived, and grown hu.
man and good again, and l shall be-
lieve what you say. Miss Lynch's
counsels don't touch me. She doesn't
know what it is to be sick unto death!'
The vicar looked earnestly into Miss
Grand's feyerish eyes.
stJane," said he, gravely, however
dark your state may seem to you, can
answer for it that mine was darker.
If anything you have thought seems to
your conscience rebellion, be sure
have known the weight of such rebel1
lion a hundred fold more intensely.
And yet I live, Jane! live, and, in
certain restricted sense, am happy, and
feel that my despair at its blacklist
was but a child's passionate outcry,
and that out of it has risen an un-
changing, quiet content, which it seems
to me only those can know who have
gone in their youth through an excess
of happiness and of misery.
"You or I, Jane, could not live out
life as Miss Lynch does, if we had not
early made shipwreck of One-half, at
least, Of the capabilities that are in us.
And yet Miss Lynch is rather favor
able example of what most lives, after
maturity, must become-an uneyentful,
monotonous sequence OF tasteless,
small. ambitionless events-very much
like my own, in short! Passionless,
commonplace natures can take such
things in their appointed course, and
desire nothing beyond the common
place. inevitable lot. People who
would have the world a paradise need
sharp purgation before they can be
brought to endure the world as it is!
And to the soul that has once arisen
out of such depths as you and are
speaking of, Jane, quiet, calm monot-
ony. the sense of not suffering even
is welcome. Don't take my word for
this-don't think 1 can expect you
to see it in the light do; only let me
tell you how I recovered, and you
shall tell me-a year hence, perhaps
whether you, too, have not learned
that existence even as existence, with
out any violent hope, without any espe.
cial object. is not something exceeding
sweet to possess.
You have not been assisted by many
counselors, child; but perhaps you
know enough of the nature OF consola-
ton to understand me when say that
the heaviest part of my chasdsement
came to me through my friends. They
visited me, wrote TO me, lmplored me,
advised me-by their own accounts
they prayed for me, but they very
nearly drove me mad. l ought to bow
humbly-I ought to make an effort and
not to be overwhelmed-I ought to take
Il long holiday ought to try to forget
myself and my sorrows in attending
closely to my .duties-I ought to do any
thing but that which, without any
will OF mine, nature was all the time
slowly doing for herself. At last l
hethought me of seeing no friends
at all. I left my letters unopened.
refused admittance to visitors. 10
those | met in my rare walks abroad l
gave absolutely no possible opportunity
fer obtruding their opinions on my
state. And so, lonely and stubborn in
NV grief, the months wore on, and |
came TO the first winter of my new
life.
Jane, you look tired, and my story
is lust over. One dull November morn
ing-I remember it more yiyidly than
any summer day in my life-1 came
in. as MY habit was, after my early
morning walk round my little glebe. l
had been sensible, as | walked, OF that
quickening of blood which the raw
breath of winter morning brings
about whether we will Or no, within
our veins. | had been sensible al
ready of the glitter upon the bare and
icicled hedges when they first received
tie glitter of the rising sun | had
heard the lowing of the cattle across
the misty fields, the low chirp of the
robins among the leafiess orchard trees;
but when. fresh from the morning in
fiuence. l came into my study, where
the fire burnt strong and CHEEKY, and
my cup of coffee stood ready, and my
books. like friends faces, looked at
me from the walls, suddenly knew
yes. God be thanked! [ knew that l
liked to live, and that this love Of mere
life more potent than all reasoning
or effort of my own, would heal me,
and that. bereft and lonely and wound
ed | should yet live again and be
whole.
".!ane. all my sermon is over, and l
think it comes to this: \ power of
which we know nothing-a power
stronger than our Wisest efforts,
stronger than our worst griefs-is at
work for us always. Natures efforts
are for life, not death, and at her time,
and not sooner, comes the crisis from
whence we are to mend, even as |
mended, as thousands yet more heavily
smitten than either you or l. child,
have mended already"
And seizing his hat and gloves the
vicar rose to his feet, and, before Jane
could thank him, or Miss Lynch way
lay him. had escaped from the cottage.