Faith had come away in the very thick of the battle, and as she suddenly turned a corner upon David, the feeling of championship excited on his behalf had not had time to cool. She showed him more plainly than usual that she was glad to see him, and the perception of this brought an immediate change in his pale face.
“You’re looking tired, David,” she said tenderly. “You’ve been tramping about too much, as you’re always doing. Why can’t you take a little rest? Nobody works so hard as you, I do believe; there’s father at it all day, but when he comes home, there he sits comfortable, and you’re only off to something else.”
“Your father works for time, and I have to work against it, that’s the difference. If you saw those poor souls looking up at you with hungry eyes you wouldn’t know where to stop. Not but what the Devil is very keen in his temptations. He sets it before me again and again that there’s more thrust on my hands by the Lord than one man can do, and he’s not content with that, without raising up difficulties and hindrances on either side so as to make the work seem pretty nigh impossible at times. But in spite of all, there’s a great stirring of hearts in those that hear.”
“John Moore told me you’d more than ever last Sunday.”
“Yes, there were plenty that had never been before, and perhaps they were more moved than those that have had the Gospel put before them longer. And many told me they should bring more the next time. It’s the truth at work.”
“And your preaching, David,” said Faith, a little jealously. “They say they like to listen to you, because you never want for words, and that you are the finest preacher the Wesleyans have ever had here.”
“It isn’t that,” said David, with a grave earnestness in his voice. “It never can be the instruments that do the work. I couldn’t say ten words if I believed they were my own words that I was speaking. There’s nothing in it, but that I tell them what the Gospel says to them, without letting man’s devices come in between us.”
“I don’t know,” said Faith, shaking her head incredulously; “I think it’s the way you put it mostly that pleases them. There’s old Mary Potter wanting to hear you, but she can never get in all the way to Underham. And grandfather’s that angry when he hears them talk of a chapel in Thorpe!”
David sighed, but it was at the first part of the girls speech rather than the latter, which only acted upon him as a challenge to battle acts upon a brave man. He loved Faith with an intensity which often pained him, conscious as he was of a want of agreement between her nature and his own, conscious also that her theological views were rather adopted from an interest in himself, than from any firm persuasion on one side or the other. The truth lay before him in one narrow groove, out of which there was no turning a hair’s-breadth to the left hand or right. It followed necessarily that a conviction would force itself upon him,—when he had the courage to face it,—that Faith had as yet no part or share in the salvation which he preached as altogether a matter of faith, and the further conviction which lurked behind the other, but which he never yet had ventured boldly to drag into the light, would have forced him to cast away his love, as the eye or hand which needed to be destroyed. It does not require the same conclusions to be aware that what to David Stephens was actually a matter of conscience there was danger in temporising with. He told himself that the sin was at least all his own, and suffered expediency to suggest the hope that Faith would by and by become other than she was. The unacknowledged scourge of anxiety which he felt made him the more zealous for the building of a chapel in Thorpe: he had then the promise of becoming its minister, and he was aware that the position held out charms to Faith, who had some sort of idea that it would raise her almost to a level with Mrs Miles herself. David told himself fiercely that once he had Faith for his own, he should have removed her from the teaching which he held to be utterly antagonistic to the truth, and that his prayers and his love must win her to his side for eternity. He had fully believed himself to have succeeded with old Maddox,—who, having lived a life of indifference, was beginning to find it less easy now that death was in view, and caught at any teaching which held out a promise of security,—when Anthony Miles had overthrown his hopes. He did not, however, yet despair, nor must it be imagined that it was the thought of Faith which even chiefly incited him in his efforts. Had she been lost to him that very day, his convictions were so earnest, his yearning to save souls so strong, that he would have toiled as perseveringly as ever: but she was the human spur which, almost unconsciously, gave a feverish anxiety to his endeavours, and excited at all events a strong personal persuasion that Anthony, in opposing him, was siding with the great enemy of all good, against whom David daily wrestled and prayed.
“Your grandfather may think different one day, Faith, but if he doesn’t, we mustn’t let the words of those that are dearest to us keep us back from the plough.” David said this with a throb of anguish in his own heart, but he contrived to steady his voice, and it only gave it one of those singular thrills which added not a little to the influence it had upon his hearers. Faith was impressed with it just as her own thoughts had strayed off to picturing herself as minister’s wife, sitting in the chapel arrayed in a silk gown, and she looked hurriedly in his face with a sensation partly pride and partly discomfort. The plough was not in her thoughts, but she acknowledged it to be David’s duty to talk about it, and her little head had an idea that by becoming his wife she might both be good by proxy, and also share in the admiration which she heard largely expressed of his talents as a preacher. On the whole, she had seldom felt more kindly towards David than at this moment; while he, poor fellow, took it as a hopeful sign of grace, that she did not urge any of those arguments against his doctrines which she brought forward when she fancied they interfered with his advancement. He held her hand in his with a strong grasp as they parted, and the colour which rose in her cheek under his gaze gave him a glad thrill of exultation. It seemed to him as if he were borne on the top of an irresistible wave, which was sweeping triumphant spoil from the very grasp of the enemy. And now the soul dearer to him than his own was being drawn slowly but surely towards him, while to come to him must, as he believed, lead it onwards towards his God.