For Alice had bent her head, the words of advice being ended, with all her mind full of fear and prayer for Nat, the passionate, wilful boy who clung to her heart by the very reason of his passion and wilfulness. ‘She isn’t a good girl—oh! she’s not,’ cried Alice; ‘she likes every man as comes near to look at her; an’ he seems so excited about it—an’ I can’t think it is good for him to come up to t’ Farm, an’ work for her. Mr Bender says I’m to trust, but it is hard to go on trusting when everything goes wrong.’ It was perhaps natural that she should not question herself about the nature of the feeling that wrung such fear from her. She kept her head bent and did her best to ‘trusten,’ though with some soreness of perplexity in her heart.
The other members had meanwhile had their say, and in speeches of varying length had all attempted to communicate their spiritual condition to Mr Bender’s ears. It must be owned that they were rather less than more successful, unless indeed he had the discernment to read between the lines—and such discernment was not especially apparent in the words of advice which he addressed to them. The six who spoke were of very different ages, from the stout mistress of the house to an hysterical servant-girl; the other four being two sisters, dressmakers, the young wife of a labourer, and a teacher in the village-school. These related their feelings in conventional sentences, to which he replied with words of exhortation; the regularity being only broken by the trembling servant-girl, who thought herself reproved, broke down all at once, and sobbed. When she had been consoled by Mr Bender, who became somewhat agitated, the line of speakers was completed; for with one exception, the stranger and visitor, each had taken her part, and had no more to say. There followed a pause, and all began to wonder whether it was not time for the Class to be closed.
‘It is not late,’ said Mr Bender, nervously, without daring this time to raise his eyes from the ground; ‘we have a few minutes in which it may be possible for us to listen to one more experience. Will our sister, who is a stranger, consent to be persuaded to say a few words about herself to us?’
Silence. Excitement. Annie sat resolutely upright, with her eyes as resolutely downcast; her face burning, her heart throbbing, and her lips compressed. Mr Bender glanced at her with visible disappointment; he waited an instant, then he spoke to her again:
‘We Methodists have learned the comfort of joining together when we wait on the Lord; we believe that we are often able to find consolation and instruction from the lips of each other at such times as these. Has our sister any difficulty on which she would ask our advice, or any sorrow which she may ask us to share?’
Still silence. Greater excitement. The face of Annie was flaming, but her lips continued to close upon each other. For one instant the minister gazed upon her silently, then he rose from his chair, and gave the number of the hymn. If, at that moment, she felt the impulse of confession, it was then too late, and the time for speech was gone.
Ah! would it have been better if that troubled, silent nature could have compelled itself to speak, to give words to the conflict that raged within its heart, and seek for some help that might avail to save? Would future misery have been averted, if that opportunity had met with response? I cannot tell; I can only say, that to Annie, such public confession would have been unnatural; her whole nature shrank from laying bare to strangers the inmost recesses she veiled even from herself. She had come to the Class with some vague hope of assistance, but it was not in such ways that her trouble could find relief; to speak of her anguish seemed impossible, and she could not speak without speaking honestly. And yet, at that moment, she was troubled, thrilled, excited, her heart had been touched, although her lips were silent! She stood with the members, and from their united tones came the pathetic cadence of a hymn—she heard the voices of her companions rise and fall, if she had opened her own lips she would have broken down into tears.
‘When the weary, seeking rest, to Thy goodness flee,
When the heavy-laden cast all their load on Thee,
When the troubled, seeking peace, on Thy name shall call,