REPENTANCE.
August at the seaside, its sultry sunbeams softened by a breeze from the ocean, bringing health and vigour to worn-out frames, calmness and relief to overworked brains, and rest to the toilers in the battlefield of life. There is peace in the movement of the rippling waves, peace even in the sound as they dash lazily on the shore, and a feeling of rest in the aspect of the calm, smooth water, when its flowing tide is scarcely perceptible, and boats with their white sails are mirrored in its depths.
In the afternoon of a sultry day in August two gentlemen might be seen near the open window of a drawing-room in the Isle of Wight.
One of them is lying on a couch drawn close to the window, his pale face and delicate features plainly denoting a state of convalescence after a severe attack of illness. The eyes are large and bright, and the hair after a growth of six weeks just covers the head. The hands are thin and delicate, and the whole appearance and attitude betoken great weakness.
"Have you quite got over the fatigue of the journey, Arthur?" asks the other gentleman, in whom we recognise Henry Halford.
"Yes, quite," was the reply; "I am not so weak as I appear, Henry; I walked on the beach for a long distance this morning, and that accounts for my languid condition now. How are the little ones?"
"Quite well and happy, Arthur, and all send their love to papa and Clara. Where is she?"
"I sent her out with the nurse, she is assiduous in her attentions to me, and I am obliged to enforce the necessity of a walk sometimes. Dear child, I used to fear she would grow up forward and pert as well as precocious. These troubles seem to have sobered her, yet it very much interferes with the formation of a girl's character when she looks so womanly at sixteen as Clara does."
While Arthur Franklyn spoke, Henry could not avoid comparing the style of his present conversation to the light-hearted, jocular talk of olden times, proving that trouble had sobered the father as well as the daughter.
"Shall I leave you to have a little nap before dinner, Arthur?" he said.
"No, Henry, there are so many things on my mind that I wish to talk about, and you would answer no questions nor hear anything I had to say when we first arrived; but I have been here a week, and I feel so much stronger and better, there can be no possible objection now."
"I am half-afraid to allow you to excite yourself, Arthur; would it not be wiser to wait another week?"
"No, no, Henry, you cannot tell what a relief it will be to my mind to unburden my heart to you. We shall not be interrupted, for I desired nurse to keep Clara out till four o'clock; this anxiety retards my recovery."
"Well, my dear fellow, if it will really help you to get well I am ready to listen and answer questions, but remember you are not to excite yourself;" and Henry Halford drew a chair near his brother-in-law's couch and seated himself to listen.
"First then," said Arthur, "tell me one thing—did I rave about a carpet bag in my delirium?"
"Well, yes," said Henry, wonderingly; "I suppose it must have fallen with you into the river."
"Has it been found?"
"It was not brought to Englefield Grange for weeks after your accident; the bag and its contents are in a terrible condition from the action of the water."
"Were any papers amongst the débris?"
"One, completely reduced to a pulp, the writing upon it scarcely legible; it appeared quite useless, so I burnt it!"
"Thank God!" and Arthur as he spoke closed his eyes, and clasped his hands, showing that the words were not a mere commonplace expression, but came direct from the heart.
Henry Halford looked at him in surprised silence. Presently Arthur startled him by rising suddenly and laying his hand on his brother's arm.
"Henry," he said, "don't shrink from me with horror; on that paper which you have destroyed I had forged my dead wife's name after her death."
"Arthur, my dear fellow," said Henry, "pray lie down and compose yourself; I feared you would get excited. If you will lie quiet for awhile we can talk about this paper by-and-by."
"You think my brain is becoming disturbed again," said Arthur, lying back quietly at Henry's bidding, "but indeed I am telling you the truth. I have not yet dared to utter a word to anyone on the subject, and if you will not listen to me I must carry the burden with me to my grave."
Quite convinced by the calm tones and the earnest words, Henry Halford placed his hand on the arm of his brother, and said, "Have you taken your burden to God, Arthur?"
"Ah, that is what dear Fanny would have said; but how could I venture to take my trouble there, when it is caused by sin, and is therefore my just punishment?"
"Arthur," said Henry, "while you were a boy at my father's school, did you not study your Bible sufficiently to know how ready God is to pardon and forgive?"
"I have forgotten Him for years, Henry, and He left me to myself to fall. But let me tell you all the circumstances. That document in the carpet bag, if I had taken it to Australia and negotiated it there, as I quite intended to do, would have no doubt led to my conviction as a forger; I can see it now clearly, and I must have been mad at the time to suppose I could so act and escape. The truth is, I married my second wife under false pretences; she supposed I was well off, and yet I had no income, and my debts in Melbourne amounted to more than 1000l. I could not, therefore, make any inquiries about Louisa's power over her fortune, from a dread of questions from her friends about myself. After our marriage she gave into my hands a few hundred pounds which she had in the bank; but when I stated to her that I required more to obtain a partnership in a firm, I discovered that her property was invested in the power of trustees, one of whom resided in England. I gladly availed myself of the opportunity for bringing over my children to visit their mother's relations, and proposed that if Louisa would agree to advance me 2000l. we could obtain the signature of her trustee in Australia, and forward the document by mail to England, so as to be ready for completion when we arrived.
"On the morning of poor Louisa's death all necessary arrangements had been made. Her trustee in England had signed the document, and her signature only in the presence of a witness was needed to complete it. Mr. Norton engaged to meet us at Englefield Grange on that evening to witness the signature, and you will remember he called, but I was unable even to speak to him."
Henry silently assented, and Arthur went on. "I cannot describe to you the agonies of that night. The 2000l., part of which was to pay my debts, had slipped from my grasp; ruin to myself and my children stared me in the face. I had a little flask of brandy in my pocket, which we had brought with us on the journey. I am not accustomed to spirits, and the brandy I drank that night first exhilarated and then almost maddened me. In a kind of frenzy I sat for an hour imitating on scraps of paper Louisa's writing, and that of another, whose name I need not mention. And then, oh, Henry! I signed the two names on the document, and one of them was, to all appearance, the handwriting of the dead! During that dreadful week I kept up my courage with that fatal spirit. You all attributed my stupefied and callous manner to the shock of Louisa's death, and pitied and sympathised with me. I left you and came to London, with the determination to sail as quickly as possible to Australia, that I might obtain money on the deed, and turn it to account in some speculation which would enable me to refund the money and recover the document before it was sent to England. It was a wild scheme, such a one as Satan often uses to lead on his victims to their destruction. I can see that now; I was saved from farther sin by the accident, and painful as my punishment has been, I trust I am thankful for it."
"But," said Henry, "why did you not carry the paper in your pocket book?"
"Henry, I dared not risk it; I seemed to have the presentiment of an accident, and dreaded the discovery of the paper upon my person. When I found myself falling on that day of sorrows, and felt the carpet bag slip from my hand, I cannot describe my feelings; no wonder I raved about it in my delirium."
"It is a most painful history," said Henry, after a pause, "and you may well be thankful for the accident which saved you from further sin, and perhaps disgrace. I need not ask whether you have repented, Arthur, for indeed your act was a breach of the laws both of God and man. It was——"
"Don't hesitate, Henry, call it by its right name, 'forgery.' Truly, truly, have I repented in dust and ashes, and I can say like David, 'I abhor myself.'"
"Dear Arthur," said the young clergyman, as he saw the tears of real contrition stealing down the cheeks of his brother-in-law, "if such is your repentance, you can continue to use David's words in the Psalm, 'Make me to hear joy and gladness, that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.'"
Henry Halford rose as he spoke, and gave the invalid a portion of the mixture which stood on the table, and after awhile Arthur revived, and could listen calmly to another subject.
"If you wish to relieve your mind still farther of all anxiety, Arthur," said his brother-in-law presently, "I have some letters in my pocket addressed to you. Would you like to open them? they may contain good news."
"Yes, oh yes; where are they?" he exclaimed eagerly.
Henry drew from his pocket three letters, and placing one in Arthur's hand, said—
"Suppose you begin with that, Arthur."
The invalid took the letter and opened it, Henry watching his countenance half in fear as he saw the flush and look of astonishment, and the rapid glance over its contents; but then laying it down he closed his eyes, as if unable to understand what he had read.
"Henry," he said presently, "read it to me; it is incomprehensible."
"No, Arthur, not quite," he replied, as he took up the letter; "and perhaps I can enlighten you. Mr. Norton called upon me a few days ago, and stated that the trustees had come to a decision respecting the payment of some money which you would have received had your wife lived, and have only been waiting for the consent of all parties. Mr. Norton wished me to inform you of their intention, but I advised him to write to you on the subject. He has done so, and this is the letter.
"Read it, Henry, read it; God has been too good to me in the midst of all my sinful conduct if the contents of that letter are true."
"He is wont to give us more than even we desire or deserve," said Henry, as he opened the letter.
"Lincoln's Inn, Aug. 12th, 18—.
"My Dear Sir,—I am desired by the trustees of the late Mrs. Louisa Franklyn's property to express their deep sympathy with you in the great loss you have sustained by her death, and also their hopes that you are recovering from the serious illness which has followed your accident.
"With respect to a deed which was not completed by Mrs. Franklyn at the time of her lamented death, I am directed to state that, in consequence of a certain clause in the will of the late Mr. Howard, your late wife's first husband, you are not entitled to claim any of her property, the heir-at-law being Mr. William Lynn Howard, the testator's nephew.
"In consideration of these circumstances the trustees of the late Mrs. Franklyn are willing, with the consent of Mr. William Lynn Howard, to make over to you the 2000l. which you could have legally claimed had Mrs. Franklyn lived a few hours longer to complete the legal document which only required her witnessed signature.
"On receipt of your reply accepting this proposal, the necessary papers will be forwarded for your signature.
"I remain, dear sir, faithfully yours,
"E. Norton."
For a time there was silence between the two men, each being too much overcome to speak. At length Arthur Franklyn exclaimed—
"Oh, Henry, if I had only confided my circumstances to you, and waited and trusted, I might have been spared the recollection of this dreadful fall from rectitude and honour, which will leave a blot on my conscience to the end of my days."
"Then it will serve as a beacon and a warning to you in your future career, Arthur; when tempted and tried you will remember what this downfall has cost you, and with less confidence in yourself you will have to look to the 'Strong for strength.'"
"And yet, Henry, I would give worlds to recall the past two months. Oh, if I had only waited!"
"There is nothing more trying to the Christian in his path through life than being required to wait. 'Stand still' was the command of God to the Israelites when the Red Sea stretched before them, the mountains on either side, and Pharaoh's host was behind them. And in one place the prophet exclaims, 'Our strength is to sit still.' We often forget the truth of the poet's words, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"
"Henry," exclaimed Arthur presently, "mine has been a frivolous, useless life. I seem to have forgotten all the teachings of your dear mother in my boyhood, but they are coming back to me now. Is there not a verse in the Psalms about waiting? My dear lost Fanny would often remind me of it, when instead of waiting patiently for steady success in any undertaking, I put it aside and commenced something else. She would call it 'making haste to be rich.' O Henry, since my illness the memory of my carelessness about dear Fanny's health has caused me hours of bitter remorse."
"You must not indulge any longer in self-reproach, Arthur; it can do no good to recall the past excepting as a warning for the future, and mental anxiety will retard your recovery. The last two months have been very dark, but we must remember the Indian proverb, 'The darkest part of the night is just before the dawn.'"
"What is the text in the Psalms about waiting, Henry?"
"It occurs in the thirty-seventh—'Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him; He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.' And now you must try and sleep for a while till dinner is ready, and in the evening I will write a letter for you to Mr. Norton, and you can sign it."
Arthur obeyed; the conversation and the letter had produced excitement, and great exhaustion was the result. Henry sat and watched him till he fell into a calm and peaceful sleep, to which he had for months been a stranger.
A quiet step, a gentle movement, and as the door slowly opened Clara Franklyn appeared. Her uncle placed his finger on his lips and pointed to the couch. The womanly girl understood, and withdrew as noiselessly as she had entered.