CHAPTER XIX.
A VOICE AT MIDNIGHT.
The bells were ringing out into the cold night air; a bright ray of light from the open church door streamed out on the graves, which were covered with snow. The whole community were assembled in the church, and each had a light beside them; the organ was pealing forth, and the congregation uplifted their voices in a hymn.
The sounds of the organ died away, the voices were silent, and the Pastor stood up in the pulpit and commenced thus:—"St. Matthew, 25th chapter, 40th verse. 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' These are words from a distant land, but they are verified this day, here in our woods; in this forest, where at that time no human foot followed the track of wild animals, either here or elsewhere." He then went on to describe that men cannot serve themselves better than by doing good to others; "and never," continued he, "never is the human face more bright than at the moment of doing a good action; a sacred halo overspreads such a man, and makes him soar above the sorrows of life." He then began to explain the signification of having service in the church at midnight. "You are all voluntarily assembled here, and have broken in on your sleep; break in also on the sleep of your souls, and close not your eyes. How often have anxiety and sorrow kept you awake in the night, and you tossed about, no longer able to return to repose, and it was well for you if it was only anxiety, or care creeping intangibly in the darkness about your bed! Sad indeed would it have been for you, had it been the remembrance of an evil deed that made you wakeful! In one house a child keeps its mother waking; the father is far away, and she stands beside his sick bed, and says, 'Would to God it were morning!' and asks, 'Is it not yet morning?'"
As the Pastor spake these words, Martina clung close to Adam, who was seated beside her on the foremost bench, and whispered:—
"That was the cry of our child during the past night."
And the Pastor continued. "She felt that if it were only day, if she could only see the light of the sun in the sky, she could better bear her burden—but still a bright star shone out in the night." The Pastor inculcated on his people, how good it was sometimes voluntarily to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, to watch the stars in the night sky; he then returned to the words of his text, and invoked a blessing on the heads of all those, who had this day made a good deed the porch through which they came to church.
Not a breath was heard; no coughing, no whispering was heard on this occasion—which at evening service is but too common, as if to protest against thus reversing the usual order of life. Every one seemed to hold their breath, and, when the singing recommenced, the old walls rung with the sounds of the hymn.
The Pastor then in few and simple words, performed the marriage ceremony between Adam and Martina, and the congregation quietly dispersed, amid the renewed ringing of bells. Some lads had loaded their guns, intending to fire them off after the wedding, but they were prevented doing so by those who were leaving church. All felt so solemnized in spirit, that they shrunk from any noisy demonstrations; the pious feelings which the Pastor had inspired in his congregation, rendered them averse to all clamour; and when the moon rose at one o'clock in the morning, dispersing the cold snowy fog, it shone down on a calm, sleeping village, where all slumbering hearts were at rest, and happy.