“Blessed is the man whose trust the Lord is.”
“Blessed is the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.”
“Blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, in whose spirit there is no guile.”
Mr Green’s eye fell before his earnest gaze. It came into his mind that if there was happiness to be found in the world, this man had found it. But it seemed a happiness very far-away from him—quite beyond his reach—something that it would be impossible for him ever to find now. The sound of his mother’s voice, softly breaking the stillness of a Sabbath afternoon, with some such words as these, came back to him, and just for a moment he realised their unchangeable truth, and for that moment he knew that his life had been a failure. A pang of regret, a longing for another chance, and a sense of the vanity of such a wish, smote on his heart for an instant and then passed away. He rose from his seat, and moved a few paces down the walk, and when he came back he did not sit down again. His cedar twig was smoothed down at both ends to the finest possible point, and after balancing it for a minute on his forefingers, he tossed it over his shoulder, and shutting his knife with a click, put it in his pocket before he spoke.
“Well, I don’t know as I am much better off for that,” said he, discontentedly. “I suppose you mean that I ought to get religion. That is no new idea. I have heard that every time I have gone to meeting for the last thirty years, which hasn’t been as often as it might have been, but it has been often enough for all the good it has done me.” He looked at Mr Snow as if he expected him to make some sort of a reply, but he was silent. He was thinking how vain any words of his would be to convince him, or to show him a more excellent way. He was thinking of the old time, and of the talk wasted on him by the good people who would fain have helped him. At last he said, gravely:
“It wouldn’t amount to much, all I could say to you, even if I was good at talking, which I ain’t. I can only tell you that I never knew what it was to be satisfied till I got religion, and I have never been discontented since, and I don’t believe I ever shall again, let what will happen to me.”
He paused a moment, and added,—
“I don’t suppose anything I could say would help you to see things as I wish you did, if I were to talk all night. Talk always falls short of the mark, unless the heart is prepared for it, and then the simplest word is enough. There are none better than the words I gave you a minute ago; and when everything in the world seems to be failing you, just you try what trust in the Lord will do.”
Nothing more was said. The sound of approaching footsteps warned them that they were no longer alone, and in a little Mrs Elliott and Rose were seen coming up the walk, followed by Arthur and Captain Starr. They were discussing something that interested them greatly, and their merry voices fell pleasantly on the ear. Very pretty both young ladies looked, crowned with the roses they had been weaving into wreaths. The grave look which had settled on Mr Green’s face, passed away as he watched their approach.
“Pretty creatures, both of them,” remarked he. “Mrs Elliott appears well, don’t she? I never saw any one improve so much as she has done in the last two years. I used to think her—well not very superior.”