Mrs. Orley snatched it away in alarm. “It is as much as my place is worth not to deliver it,” she said, “and I’ve just bethought myself that I ought not to have shown it to you; not that the envious thing who wrote it cares how many people see it; it is put on a postcard on purpose. But I don’t think it will hurt Miss Miller very much. Her lips will tremble a little when she reads it, and she will ask herself if it contains a lesson that she ought to learn and benefit by, and will read it again to see, and then she will burn it and try to forget the unkindness of it. That is her way.”
“And a very good way, too,” said Mr. Smart, more gently, as he put on his hat and went out.
Mrs. Orley watched him a little after that; but she could never discover that he took the slightest interest in Margaret Miller, or ever spoke to her, or even looked at her if she happened to pass him in the street.
He stayed at Darentdale three weeks, and when he left he asked his hostess to accept an extra pound, which he declared was only her due, because he had been so much more comfortable than he expected.
He had appeared much interested in the scenery, the place and people, as well he might be, for there was another village beside Craighelbyl in which the summer passed ideally; and it was Darentdale, where all were trying to make life as joyous as God intended it should be. It is one thing to make a great effort of good work in order to float a scheme, it is quite another to keep it going when the first enthusiasm has died out. The little homes among the green were inhabited by no stronger people than the rest of the world; but their friends were far-seeing and patient, and exceedingly solicitous that there should be no failures. It was known that many towns and villages had followed when Darentdale led the way; and it could be said of more than a few places that all that man could do to prevent sin and misery was being done in their locality. Some complaints, indeed, were made that there was danger of a narrowing of interests; but this was scarcely true. A farmer who puts forth all his powers to keep every inch of his own land in good condition is yet quite able to look at his neighbours’ farms, and even, by means of the Press, to cast a glance over the whole wide world. The Darentdale Church, united, for the sake of those who were outside, had plenty of work on its hands, and a great solicitude in its heart.
And there was a “revival” in Darentdale. There had to be—first, in the church, where it was most needed; and, secondly, outside—among those whom it was necessary to bring in. For those who worked the most earnestly were not able to do, of themselves, that which they most desired to do, and the more entirely they felt their own helplessness the more entirely were they thrown upon God.
They were disappointed again and again. One woman, who had been helped and who had seemed grateful, relapsed into drunkenness, and was quite candid. “I have been a fool,” she said, “to sign the pledge and pretend that I want to be goody. But never again! A short life and a merry one for me!”
The way was too narrow, the fight too strenuous, for them. They needed a Helper stronger than the human, and until they sought Him, the immoral could not become moral, or the evil good.
“We must pray more! Let us give an hour a day to intercessory wrestling with God, that He will save the people, for they cannot save themselves; neither can we save them; but we are sure that, if it be God’s will, they must be saved,” said one.
“And I am sure,” replied Mr. Harris, “that it is most certainly God’s will that they should be saved.” But he prayed with the rest, for, although he did not even now attend the ordinary religious service at church or chapel, he was always present at the united meetings that were public.