“I have hoped so—I have thought so; but I have been afraid to ask or to hope too much.”
“Ah! you need never fear that. Are we not bidden to ‘hope and believe all things’? Is anything too hard for the Lord?”
“Indeed, I think not,” answered Bride softly.
“It made me think of our talk once about forgiveness and the Father’s love,” continued Mr. St. Aubyn musingly. “It is such a beautiful mystery—that yearning love over all these myriads of disobedient children. And yet never an individual instance of spiritual grace comes before us, but we realise how true it is that the Father has gone forth to meet the erring son whilst he is still a great way off, and is leading him so tenderly home, sometimes almost before the wanderer has realised it himself.”
Bride made no reply: her heart was too full; and so in happy communion of spirit the pair rode down the hill, and through the gate of the castle grounds.
“You will come and see my father when you have been to see Saul?” said Bride. “He would be sorry for you to go without paying him a visit.”
Mr. St. Aubyn promised, and Bride rode on to the castle, and had changed her riding gear for a cool white dress before the clergyman appeared. His face was grave, and he looked troubled and compassionate.
“I have seen him,” he said, in reply to Bride’s look of inquiry, “I have seen him, and I found him stronger in body than I anticipated after all I have heard of the injuries he received. The doctor was leaving as I rode to the door, and said he was making a wonderful recovery. But I fear that the recovery is only one of the body. The soul and spirit are terribly darkened. It seems almost as though the powers of evil had so taken possession there that there was no room for the entry of God’s light. I could not even speak the words I would have done. I saw that to do so would be only to provoke more blasphemies. May God in His mercy do something to soften that hard heart, for only He can do it!”
It was the same tale all the way through where poor Saul was concerned. Impenitent, rebellious, cursing his own fate and crippled condition, and cursing yet more bitterly those he held responsible for the accident—the tyrants who set soldiers upon poor and harmless people, to trample them to death beneath their iron heel for no other offence than claiming the rights of human beings and citizens of the commonwealth. He refused all visits save those from such men of his own fashion of thinking as came to condole with him, and to fan the flame of his bitterness and wrath. Abner soon ceased to try and reason with him. He wrestled ceaselessly in prayer for him, as indeed did many of his neighbours, who were wont to meet together at intervals for the reading the Scripture, and that prayer for the speedy coming of the Lord, which had become one of the leading features of the faith of the little community of St. Bride. It was indeed all that could be done for the unhappy young man; and so soon as he was able to get about on crutches, he announced his intention of going back to Mother Clat’s, and resuming his old life with the fishermen.
There was indeed one very good reason why he should do this. In a boat his lameness would matter comparatively little. He could manage sheet and tiller whilst he sat quietly in the stern; and although there would be moments when he would feel somewhat keenly the loss of his foot and his crippled condition, yet this would be not nearly the same hindrance to him on the water as it would be on land.