AN AWAKENED CONSCIENCE.
MR. SHAFTO could not sleep that night. Generally his sleep was sound and long, lasting far into the morning, after his wife had been up for an hour or two, and was busy with her sewing. But to-night he heard the clock strike again and again; yet his brain would not rest. Neither would his conscience, for it kept filling his brain with accusing and tormenting thoughts. He saw himself as he had never done before, worthless, indolent, and selfish; depending for the very bread that kept him alive upon the woman whom he had once professed to love.
The memory of his children came back to him; how unloving he had been to them; how peevish when they were noisy; how indifferent when they were ill; and how he had been almost glad to know they would need no more provision made for them, save a coffin and a grave. All Johnny's life seemed to pass before him, so full of pain, and empty of all boyish pleasures; but full also of love, and patience, and quiet trust in God, and empty of selfishness and repining, as if he had been sent into the world to be a complete contrast to his father.
Then the thought of Sandy came to reproach him; a lad picked out of the gutter, who knew not a word about God and the love of Christ; yet this boy had a love in him deeper than all his ignorance and wretchedness, which proved him to be a truer child of the Heavenly Father than he was with all his learning. How could he sleep When he did not know where Sandy was sheltering; when a small still voice was saying to him, "Inasmuch as ye did it not to him, ye did it not to Me"?
He could scarcely wait for the fire to be kindled the next morning, but was downstairs before John and Mrs. Shafto had begun their breakfast. He felt awkward, and his face grew red, as John made haste to quit his easy-chair, in the warmest corner; the chair that had been kept for him ever since John could remember.
"Sit still, Johnny, sit still," he said; "another chair will do for me."
He took a seat by the table, on a hard, straight-backed chair, such as his wife was used to sit upon. There was an embarrassing silence among them, which was broken by Mrs. Shafto, who spoke in a forced tone.
"Is there anything the matter with you, Mr. Shafto?" she enquired.
He liked her to call him Mr. Shafto; it sounded more respectful; but he wished she had said John to him just then.
"No, my dear, no," he answered, "nothing that you can set right."