“Father, forgive my doubts and fears! I will believe it! Yes, I will believe that even this heavy cloud is laden with mercy, and will shower blessings! I will believe that even this bitter trial—this bitter, bitter separation and disunion, is in some way necessary to our moral growth and future welfare, and that I shall see it! I do believe it, for I have had blessed answers before to doubts. ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love the Lord.’ I do believe it.”
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain,
were the solemn last words of the Divine Song that awed her into stillness. This hymn was sung, Catherine’s beautiful voice joining the choir. And when it was ended, followed the prayer, so singularly coincident, that every word gave voice to the deep silent cry in her own suffering heart.
And then the young minister arose to give out the text: Matthew x. 29. “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.” And here followed the sermon. The manner of the young preacher was modest, natural, calm and sweet, as befitted the gentle words of the text, and the consoling subject of the sermon—Faith in Providence—the child-like faith that comes through the heart, and not through the head. Catherine had thought he could not help her. Never had she been more in error in her life. That pale young preacher had a divine message for her—for her; an answer to her unsolvable problem; a message, providentially, the most direct, pointed, strong, startling that ever fell from lips touched with fire, revivifying the soul of the receiver; a message that satisfied every doubt, and calmed every fear, and replied to every question as perfectly, as satisfyingly, as if Heaven had spoken; a message that aroused faith, revived hope, rekindled love, till all the soul glowed with divine fire. She was wrapped, entranced, carried away by the eloquence, power and pathos of this divinely-inspired discourse. She never saw the young preacher before or after, but he had dropped a celestial treasure deep into where she kept it safe—a talisman through all the trials of life.
She left the church loving, hopeful, strong in faith, strong to act and endure, patient to wait. So elevated and inspired was her soul, that it illumined her whole countenance. And when the county ladies crowded around her at the church door to condole with her on the departure of Major Clifton, and to press hospitalities upon her, and to urge her not to mope in widowhood at home, their benevolent purposes were forgotten in their surprise, and the first words were—
“Why, how brightly you look this morning, Mrs. Clifton!”
Catherine promised many visits, and extended many invitations, and finally was glad to escape and enter her carriage, to dwell in lonely, loving reverence upon the words she had heard. And she reached home. And the Word departed not from her, neither that day, nor the next, nor through life. And with the perfect faith in God, perfect trust in her future came. And again she whispered to herself the charming thoughts—
“I will wait patiently—I will work faithfully. The post of duty, as of hope, is my husband’s house and home. He trusts me, at least, even now, with the charge of this great plantation. Construe it as he may, it is a mark of great confidence. I will be true to the trust.”
And then, indeed, as she whispered these words to her heart, hope, sweet hope, inspired her more and more, and strengthened her more and more, and she felt that he still loved her—she felt it by that sure instinct that teaches a woman when she is beloved, though no word, look, or gesture reveals it to her. And she acted upon this feeling, although almost unconscious of its existence as a motive. And she knew that she would be useful to him, substantially useful to him where she was—for with her it was not enough to be devoted, soul and body, to his interests,—no, “wishing well” must have a “body in it,” in order “to be felt.” She communed with her heart, asking—