Emmie possessed, as has been observed, a sensitive conscience, and was no stranger to the duty of self-examination: she had made the first step in spiritual warfare, she had seen and recognized her besetting foe. But to see and to recognize an enemy is not the same thing as to fight him. A deeply spiritual writer has given directions to the Christian soldier in face of his besetting sin, directions so practical that I shall quote them instead of giving words of my own. The writer supposes the presence of the enemy to have been found out by honest searching of the heart:—
“When the discovery is made, the path of the spiritual combatant becomes clear, however arduous. Your fighting is to be no longer a flourishing of the arms in the air; it is to assume a definite form, it is to be a combat with the bosom sin. Appropriate mortifications must be adopted, such as common sense will suggest, varying with the nature of the sin, and combined always with a heartfelt acknowledgment of our utter weakness, and with a silent but fervent prayer for the grace of Almighty God.... What is the warfare of many earnest and well-intentioned Christians but the sending of shafts at a venture? They have a certain notion that they must resist the evil within and without them; but then this evil presents itself in so many forms that they are bewildered and confused, and know not where to begin.... The first work of the politic spiritual warrior will be to discover his besetting sin, and having discovered it, to concentrate all his disposable force before this fortress.”
Let me illustrate the author’s meaning by referring to the characters in my story, whose counterparts may be found amongst my various readers. Bruce, being once aware that his bosom sin was pride, should have taken every opportunity of mortifying that pride, not only by owning his sins before God, but by frankly acknowledging his own mistakes and errors in the presence of men. Vibert, if not by literal fasting, yet by the practice of self-denial in every sensual indulgence, should have sought to give the spirit the victory over the flesh. Emmie, wrestling down her mistrust by prayer, should have forced her unwilling spirit to “nobly dare the thing which nature shrinks from.”
But the maiden chose a middle course. She would not attack the fortress, but go round it; she would try to do her duty, but rather by evading than by conquering the enemy who opposed her. Emmie felt like one who has made a pleasant discovery when a means of reaching her father’s tenants, without trying her own courage, suggested itself to her mind.
“Yes, that will do—that will do!” exclaimed the maiden, as with a brightening countenance she rose from her seat, and then crossed the room with light step to ring the small bell by which she was accustomed to summon her maid. “Christmas-time is at hand,—that blessed time when all who have the power should seek to make those around them happy. My father and Bruce will, I am sure, approve of my little plan.”
Emmie remained standing until Susan entered the room. Smilingly the young lady confided her intentions to one who would be her ready assistant in carrying them out. “Susan,” she said, “I mean to give a feast at Christmas to the younger children of my father’s tenants. We will prepare a German tree, to be loaded with little gifts, most of them made up by your hands and mine.”
“I should be delighted to help, miss,” said Susan.
“And mine should not merely be a treat for a day,” continued Emmie; “I think of something beyond the mere amusement of the children whom I invite. Say that fifty little ones come; I would procure fifty New Testaments, that each child might carry back one to his home, wrapped up in one of these illustrated fly-leaves with which my brother has already provided me.”
Those leaves gave Emmie a feeling of shame whenever her glance chanced to fall on the almost undiminished packet.
“I wish that more of the children knew how to read,” observed Susan in a doubtful tone.