Stanton volunteered this amount of information to his friend, and there was much surmise and curiosity in their minds in regard to these "old people," and her motive in seeking them. But even Mrs. Mayhew had begun to realize that they must take Ida at her word and leave her to herself.
It was with something even more than hopefulness that Ida drew near to the garden again. She was alive; that fact, in contrast with what might have been, was like solid ground beneath her feet. Then, again, in the place of the cold, distant manner of the guests, after the departure of Sibley, she had already noticed friendly glances and an evident disposition to make amends. It also gave her not a little satisfaction that her cousin and the artist were experiencing such sincere compunctions, and were realizing the enormity of their offence. Ida was very human, and always would be. She was also a little elated over the fact that she had been able to tell the truth the evening before. The memory, however, that nestled most warmly in her heart was the assertion of Van Berg, "I NEED your forgiveness." "How much does that mean?" she asked herself again and again. "Does he really wish to be a friend, or is he only trying to smooth over matters and calm me down so he can leave me decorously, as after our hateful episode on the stage?"
Her wishes colored her thoughts. "He spoke too earnestly to mean so little," she said to herself, with a dreamy smile that Van Berg, as an artist merely, would have given much to see.
After all, perhaps one of the chief causes of her reviving spirits was in the fact she was young. She could not take a very sombre view of life that fresh summer morning, even in view of the past and the future, and her manner of greeting Mr. Eltinge and of telling her experiences since they parted suggested to him that she was gaining in self-complacency, earthly hope, and youthful spirits, rather than in the deep and lasting peace and moral strength which is built up from the Living Rock. She was finding relief from depression and suffering from causes as transient as they were superficial. Chief of all, she had not realized as he had supposed the shadow of the awful crime that was resting upon her, and the need of God's forgiveness. Almost unconsciously the old man, wise and experienced in spiritual life, sighed deeply as she finished her story.
Her quick ear caught the sigh, and her woman's intuition gathered from his face that the outlook did not seem so encouraging to him. Her heart began to sink, and she said earnestly:
"Mr. Eltinge, I've tried to be true; I want you to be faithful to me. Don't hide anything from me."
Yes, my child," he replied gravely, "you are sincere—you hide nothing. I think I understand you. I thank God he gave you strength last night to tell the truth under very trying circumstances, and you have greatly increased my respect for you that you did so. But, to use a little figurative language, if I were your doctor I might tell you that you don't realize how sick you are and have been. There have been some encouraging symptoms and circumstances, and your spirits and hope are reviving, and you are looking to these things rather than to him who taketh away the sin of the world. I tried to encourage you yesterday, my child, because I saw you were deeply depressed; and to discourage us is one of the chief aims of the Evil One. I do not wish to discourage you to-day—far from it—but I wish to realize that only the forgiveness and healing touch of the Son of God are equal to your need.
"My child," he continued, with a solemnity that made her grow very pale, "suppose I should take you to a room in the house there, show you a fair girl with eyes that should look for her duty in life closed forever, and the hands that should faithfully and bravely do it paralyzed in death. Suppose I should tell you that I had given her a poisonous drug the night before, what would I be?"
"A murderer," whispered the girl with eyes dilated with fear and horror.
"Yes," said the old man, shaking his head sadly; "I would have destroyed a life that God had given, and destroyed endless chances for happiness and usefulness, and sent a poor soul to judgement, perhaps unforgiven and unprepared. My child, it cuts me to the heart to pain you so, but the physician's probe must go to the depth of the wound. It is no kindness to the patient to put on a soothing surface application and leave death to rankle in the blood. We have no reason to believe that in the eye of God he that destroys himself is any the less guilty than he that kills another, and even in the judgment of man it's a cowardly flight from misfortunes that should be triumphed over with courage and patience, or endured with fortitude and resignation. Mark my words, it is only a flight, not an escape, for every evil you sought to shun would have been intensified and rendered eternal. Now, the simple truth is, we hold our own lives in trust from God, to be used according to his will, and we have no more right to destroy the life he entrusts to us than the life he gives to others."