Sometimes a thought had crossed his mind, of which he was secretly ashamed, that the minister, who seemed so fond of Jessica, or at least some of the rich members of the congregation, might have borne part of the charge of her living; but no one had ever offered to do anything for her. He had spent his money with a half grudge, and now the question upon his mind was, did God require him to waste—he said “waste” to himself—his hardly-earned savings upon a drunken and wicked woman?
It was a hard trial. He loved Jessica, as he had said, more than his money, and had never really regretted taking her into his home; she was like a daughter to him, and he was a happier and a better man for her companionship. But this woman was an abhorrence to him, a disgust and disgrace. She had no more claim upon him than any other of the thousands of lost men and women who thronged the streets of London.
Surely God did not require him to take this money, which was the sole provision for his old age; and now that the minister was so stricken there would be no new chapel built for him, and no house for the chapel-keeper, and no increase of salary. That was already a settled point, for the physicians who were attending the minister declared positively that never again would his over-worked brain be capable of sustaining any long strain of thought, such as had drawn together his eager and attentive congregations.
It was scarcely even a question whether he would be able to resume his position as pastor of this old church; and under a new minister it was probable the place might be half emptied, and his emoluments as chapel-keeper be considerably lessened. He was getting older, too, and there was not more than ten years’ work in him. He looked at his treasured receipts, and asked himself, Could it be possible that God required him to sacrifice his past gains and risk his future comforts upon Jessica’s mother?
Then another question, in the very depths of his conscience, was whispered to his heart, which at first was willing to remain deaf to the small and quiet voice; but it grew louder and more clamorous, until Daniel found that it must be heard and answered.
“What think you Christ would have done with this woman?” it asked. If God had brought her to that door where He dwelt as a poor carpenter, would He have thrust her back upon the misery of the life which drove her again and again to the vilest of her sins? Would Jesus, who came to seek as well as to save those who are lost, have balanced a book of savings against the hope, faint though it was, of rescuing the woman’s soul?
“Daniel, Daniel,” answered the quiet voice to his inmost heart, “what would thy Lord have done?” He tried to set it aside, and hush it up, while he turned the key upon his receipts, telling himself that he had done all that his duty as a Christian demanded of him when he rescued and adopted Jessica. But the Spirit of God has a gracious tyranny which requires more and more from the soul which begins to sacrifice itself. He had mastered his love of money for the sake of a child whom he loved; now he must conquer it to rescue a wretched woman whom he shrank from.
The struggle seemed to last long, but it was ended before Jessica came back to the fireside. Daniel’s prayer in the afternoon had been too sincere for him to be left in darkness to grope along a wrong path. His face wore a smile as Jessica took her sewing and sat down opposite to him; such a smile as rarely lit up his rigid features.
“Jessica,” he said, “God has shown me what to do.”
“Perhaps it’ll be better than the minister himself,” answered Jessica.