“Nurse, how soon can I get up? I’ve a great deal to do, and it ought to be done soon.”
The nurse looked up with a knowing smile.
“I don’t know,” she said gaily, “but I’ll ask the doctor in the morning. I knew the best tonic in the world for you was to get in touch with the world again.”
“It isn’t the world,” said Allan Murray contradictorily, “it’s something better this time. I’m needed.”
XXVI
Murray Van Rensselaer had never held such sweet converse with a man as he held with the minister on that ride home. Murray had never supposed there could be such a man as that minister, so strong and fearless, yet so tender and gentle, so wise and far-seeing, yet able to laugh and see a joke quicker than most; so wholly given up to the will of God. That was the secret of it all, really. He recognized that, untaught in holy things though he was.
And the minister on his part had conceived a great love for the young man who had come into their church under such peculiar circumstances. Somehow it seemed as though the Lord Himself had sent him, and was caring for him in a special way. For it was no one’s fault that Murray Van Rensselaer was taken into the church of God without the usual formalities, and without knowledge of what he was doing. Not that there are not many thousands of young people swept into the church today without any adequate idea of what they are doing, but they at least know enough to know that they are, as they call it, “joining the church.” Murray did not know by that name that was what he himself was doing, but in heart he belonged to the Saviour, body and soul. The work had been done in preparation wholly by the Holy Spirit Himself. Murray was in every sense begotten of the Spirit. Born anew.
As they rode along in the early dusk of the mid-winter afternoon the minister marvelled at this new-born Christian, and the simple, childlike way in which he had grasped great truths and accepted them, which even scholars found difficult to believe. Taught of God, that was what he was. Not with the knowledge of men, but of the spirit.
They rode into Marlborough five minutes before time for the evening service, and stopped only long enough to pick up Mrs. Summers and move on to the church.
The fame of Murray’s confession had spread abroad throughout the town that day, and the church was crowded. After the service the minister came down among the audience to speak to one and another, and happening to stand near Murray for a moment he leaned over and whispered: