CHAPTER XX.
THE PRISON.
Immediately after the arrest and imprisonment of Comston, Ernest called to see Clara in order to give such comfort as the circumstances would allow. He did not find her in tears, as he had expected. On the contrary, her face, though sad, wore a hard, stony expression. She acted as those unfortunate wives, who have lost their affection for their husbands, and who are looking forward to be released by the divorce of nature. The drunkard’s wife can be freed only by the premature death of her husband. She may not desire such a termination to her continual troubles, but she lives in constant expectation of such an end, and when it does come, she is not greatly surprised, for it is nothing more than she has anticipated. Clara was just in this condition. She had once loved Xerxes Comston as much as it was in her nature to love any one. But this affection had been eradicated by his brutal conduct and disgusting habits.
“I do assure you,” said Ernest, “I sympathize with you in your trials. Such misfortunes look dark to us, but God is good and kind, and we must be resigned to His holy will. All is for the best.”
“You think, then,” cried Clara, “it is best that Mr. Comston should kill Mr. Jones, and be hanged for it, do you?”
“We must not jump to conclusions,” mildly answered Ernest. “No trial has taken place, and we surely ought not to judge of the divine purposes before they are developed. Even after they are accomplished, we may not understand them. I have no doubt, that in every instance, God brings good out of evil.”
“Do you believe,” asked Clara, “that God has anything to do with this horrible affair?” And she looked at him almost savagely.
“Certainly,” replied Ernest gently, “I believe that God has something to do with every event.”
“Do you think,” exclaimed Clara, “that God made my husband a drunkard?”
“No, certainly not,” answered Ernest. “He made himself a an—inebriate. He is a free-agent, and the Lord permitted him to exercise his powers. God is not the author of men’s sins. He does not force them to sin. But if Mr. Comston killed Mr. Jones, which I do not think has been proved yet, you may rest assured that the Lord will bring good out of it in some way, and make it redound to His glory.”
“I don’t see how that can be,” said Clara.
“You may never see it in this world,” replied Ernest, “and you may live to see the day, when you will feel thankful for this very misfortune, as you now regard it.”
“Look here,” suddenly exclaimed Clara, “if that day ever comes when I shall feel that I ought to be thankful, I promise to join your church, and try to be a Christian.”
“Why not try to be a Christian anyhow?” asked Ernest. “You must not try to make a bargain and contract with God.”
“How is that?” said Clara.
“Why, you say in your heart, if God will give me certain things, grant certain desires, I will be a Christian. The Lord will accept no such service as that. You must make a full surrender of yourself to Christ—unconditional and forever. Determine to serve Him whether your wishes are granted or not. Trust Him, though He slay you.”
“O,” said Clara, “I cannot be a Christian. I have suffered too much.”
“So much the more reason why you should be a Christian,” answered Ernest. “You have seen the folly of this world’s pursuits. Now seek that happiness which the world can neither give nor take away.”
“I don’t know how to begin, even if I had the disposition,” replied Clara sulkily. “I once was happy. I enjoyed myself, and never thought of religion. If God is so good and so kind, as you say, why does He not give me that sort of happiness—the sort that I really crave?”
“How long would it last?” asked Ernest. “Only a few years. The time will come when you can no longer enjoy these pleasures of sense. You will lose the ardor of youth. Age will steal upon you, and you will lose all relish for temporal things. You will then feel the need of something more substantial. Why not begin now to lay up treasures in heaven?”
“Shall I feel more happy, if I do?” asked this spiritually ignorant, thoroughly worldly-minded woman. “Will God care for me, and supply my wants?”
“Undoubtedly, if you devote yourself to His service from the proper motives?”
“What is the proper motive?”
“Why,” answered Ernest, “you must serve the Master, not with the object of receiving earthly good, but with the view of making your calling and election sure.”
“I don’t know what to do,” replied Clara, thoughtfully and seriously.
“Give yourself, at once, to Christ, pray for the enlightening influences of the Holy Spirit, and God will bless you.”
“How can I do all this?” suddenly and impatiently cried Clara, “when I am suffering for the——.” She paused, and appeared to be greatly embarrassed.
“Nothing, though,” she added.
“Mrs. Comston,” said Ernest compassionately, “God knows I would be a friend and brother to you. I want your soul saved. Confide in me. Are you afraid to trust me, and acquaint me with your troubles, whatever they maybe?”
“No, I’m not afraid to trust you,” she answered, with tears springing into her eyes, “but I’m proud. I’m ashamed to tell anyone.” She could say no more for several moments, and Ernest waited till she became more tranquil.
“You seem to be the only friend I have in the world,” she continued presently. “I once had plenty of friends, but when misfortunes overtook me, they deserted me, and I have met with nothing but rebukes and insults. I have got so I hate people. I didn’t know the world was so full of mean wretches. People used to envy me, because I had money, but they seemed to me to rejoice when I was brought down to poverty and social degradation. If I wished to be good, I don’t see how I could.”
“Tell me your troubles,” urged Ernest kindly, “and, perhaps, I can be of service.”
“It is humiliating to confess,” she said, turning her blushing face, “but the truth is, I can get no work to do. I have had nothing to eat since yesterday. It seems that I must starve, and that, too, when I am willing to labor. But don’t misconstrue my motives. I’m no beggar. I’m not appealing to you for relief, and I don’t want you to mention what I have told you. I tell it to you to show you how difficult it would be for me to be good, when I hate people for my misfortunes.”
Ernest expressed no surprise at this distressing information, but he said no more on the subject of religion, well knowing that hunger is not very compatible with spirituality.
“The world is not so bad as you think it,” he replied. “You do your neighbors injustice by concealing your condition.”
“Don’t,” cried Clara, starting up, “don’t tell them for the world. I despise to be regarded as an object of pity.”
“Trust me,” rising to leave. “I shall not betray your confidence.”
In a little while after his departure, a cart drove up to Clara’s door, and the driver unloaded sufficient provisions to last for several weeks. Poor Clara was overwhelmed by this expression of kindness, and she went to her room, and “wept bitterly.” Several lady members of Ernest’s church called the next evening with offers of employment. They acted and talked in such a manner that she was satisfied they were not acquainted with her true condition. In her heart she thanked Ernest for the delicacy with which he had come to her relief. The ladies spoke words of sympathy. All this had a tendency to open the woman’s darkened heart to spiritual influences.
Ernest waited two days before he called at the prison to see Comston. Not being able to procure strong drink, the prisoner was perfectly sober. The poor fellow was humbled and subdued by the misfortunes which darkened his pathway.
“How are you to-day?” asked Ernest kindly.
“I’ve been in torment,” he replied. “I want brandy, and it seems I’ll die, if I can’t get it. Give me some.”
“Comston,” said Ernest gently, but firmly, “now is your time to break off your evil habit. If you do not, you are ruined.”
“I’m already ruined,” groaned the wretched victim. “But I never thought that I would be accused of murder. God in heaven knows that I never killed poor Jones. I’m as innocent of that as you are. Blicker told an infamous lie. I believe he did it himself, and is using me as a scape-goat.”
“But circumstances,” remarked Ernest, “seem to be against you at present. However, I have not come to talk about that. I want to save your soul.”
“Why,” cried Comston, in visible alarm, “you can’t believe I’ll be put to death, do you? It would be an everlasting disgrace to—to—hang an innocent man.”
“But you will have to die sometime, Comston—sooner or later, and I do not want your soul lost. I have come to pray with you, and for you. Will you join me?”
“O, yes, if you think it will do any good.”
Ernest read suitable portions of Scripture, and prayed for the unhappy man, whose feelings were at last deeply moved.
Comston, the next day, stood his trial in the Magistrate’s court, and without entering into the details, which would be of no special interest to the reader, it is sufficient to state that he was bound over to the Circuit Court, which would convene at the expiration of five months. As this was no bailable case, Comston had to be confined in jail.
Frequently our greatest misfortunes are blessings in disguise, as the Sacred Scriptures abundantly demonstrate. Comston’s incarceration, was at least a spiritual blessing to him. He could not procure ardent spirits, and the consequence was, that, in a few weeks, his physical constitution began to recuperate, and he at last mastered his terrible appetite. But this was not all. Ernest visited him nearly every day, prayed with him, instructed him, till finally the poor fellow had reason to rejoice in a brighter hope than had ever thrilled his heart before. There could be no doubt about his complete reformation. This, in connection with Comston’s emphatic assertion of his innocence, had a tendency to arouse public sympathy in his favor. No one believed that he was a murderer at heart, even if he had taken Jones’ life. The theory was, that it was done in a drunken quarrel, without there being any intention to kill.
But all this was not the full extent of the blessing. The husband and wife were also reconciled. Clara, who, too, had found that “peace which passeth all understanding,” visited him in the jail—indeed, spent the most of her time there. Xerxes “was himself again,” and her buried affection for him revived. So notwithstanding the unfavorable circumstances which surrounded them, they were comparatively happy. They were not without hope.
Ernest, in these hours of trial, proved a brother. He attended to Comston’s outside affairs, and, among other things, secured the services of a good lawyer.
The five months had nearly passed away, and only a few days remained before the trial would occur. Now, let us visit the jail for the last time. Only Clara, Comston and Ernest were present.
“O,” said Comston earnestly, “if I could only get out of this difficulty, what a different man I’d be! what a different life I’d lead! I’ve lost the taste for brandy, and now take a solemn oath that not another drop of the vile stuff shall ever go down my throat. O, Mr. Edgefield, pray God to get me out of this trouble, and I promise to be a true Christian as long as I live.”
“Now, Mrs. Comston,” said Ernest pleasantly, “you have heard his vow, do you think he would keep it?”
“If he wouldn’t,” she said emphatically, “he would be the meanest ingrate that ever lived on earth.”
“Well,” said Ernest, “I believe he will perform his vows. I shall not see you any more before the trial. Let us pray together once more for God’s assistance.”
When they arose from their knees, Clara seemed more cheerful and said:
“Somehow I feel hopeful.”
“So do I,” said Ernest, so emphatically that both looked at him in surprise.
“But upon what can you base a hope?” asked Clara, gazing searchingly into his face.
“Have faith in God,” replied Ernest. “He can raise up friends for us.”
“But we want witnesses,” said Clara.
“God can raise up unexpected witnesses,” replied Ernest mysteriously. “But good-by.”
And he left in haste.
