CHAPTER XXIV.
Days of Calm
e found it at last,—the peace which comes after a long, weary, despairing struggle. But it was not easily won. It seemed to Trafford as if God had hidden himself in a thick, awful darkness, through which not the faintest ray of light or hope could glimmer upon his heavy, despairing heart. He sought for him as one who, feeling himself in the grasp of Death, would seek for Life. He had long rejected him and put him away; now, in his hour of anguish and extremity, his face and his peace were hard to find. Never had such utter silence reigned in the stone house since its occupancy as reigned there now. Hagar kept mostly within her own province, and Trafford sat day after day in the dining-room, hardly stirring from thence. He had not entered the library since the night of the shipwreck, neither had Hagar stepped within the room, where all Noll's books and shells and treasures gathered from the sea lay, and where everything hinted of the sunny, joyous life which once had made the great room cheerful. Neither looked within, as if they dreaded to recall the dear and pleasant vision of the curly-haired boy who had lived and studied there. These were the days in which Trafford groped in darkness and despondency. Hagar set the table by his side, and brought him his meals, and carried away the untasted viands, with much sighing and regret, but, nevertheless, with joy in her heart.
"'Pears as ef 'twas a drefful t'ing fur de poor chile ter be suff'rin' so," she would sigh to herself as she watched his worn and heavy face on her passages through the room; "but Hagar's t'ankful 'nough to see it, 'cause de poor chile'll find de Lord bimeby. Bress de Lord! Mas'r Dick'll find him some time!"
A long and weary week passed away. Without, the world had never been fairer, nor the sea lovelier. No storms lashed it, and the great world of waves glittered calm and untroubled under the sun, with no hint of death or woe in its purple evening lights or its bright morning gleams.
Then, after this long seeking, a faint hope began to dawn in Trafford's heart. He did not dare to give it heed or trust at first,—he who had been in despair so long,—and when, at last, he began to put forth feeble, trembling anticipations of the peace and joy which might come when God's smile and forgiveness shone upon him, this little ray of hope broadened and grew warmer and brighter, and he began to look up out of his depths of anguish. It was long coming,—it seemed at times to be utterly unattainable,—it was sometimes almost within his heart, and then it fled from him; but at last it came, and abode with him,—this peace which a poor, wandering soul feels after it has found its Lord. Then he was at rest. He came out into Hagar's kitchen one sunshiny afternoon, and, in answer to the old negress' look of wonder and surprise at seeing him there, said, with a grave joy thrilling his words,—
"Hagar, I have found him; and I do not think that his peace will ever leave me, or that my heart will ever forget him."
Hagar got up off the bench where she was sitting, and came slowly forward, saying, brokenly, "Bress de Lord, bress de Lord! dat's all Hagar ken say. Oh, chile, ef ye knew how dis ole heart felt ter hear ye say dem words! ef ye only c'u'd know! But ye nebber will till dis ole woman gits such a tongue as de Lord'll gib her when she gets ter heaben. Den Hagar ken tell ye!"