The first glance told her that Mr. Channell was a strong man. In his younger days he might have been almost handsome, but he was one of those men who had lost youth early in life. It was a face with which sorrow had been very busy, and hard work had put the finishing touches to the lines that sorrow had begun. Rhoda did not know what it was in this man that made her think of Luther. But when she looked at him she saw the same kind of peace that the reformer’s features might have worn. It may be that there is a family likeness among all God’s Greathearts. For all those who have fought the good fight must show “the seal of the living God” on their foreheads as well as the scars of the conflict. Even our dim eyes may see the difference between the marks that are got in the devil’s service and those that have been won in the battles of the Lord.
From that very day there was a change in Rhoda’s life. Some of us, in looking back on our lives, can remember the exact spot where the old straight road took a turn at last. It had run on so long in the same even line, that we thought there would never be any change at all. Other roads had always been crooked—full of twists and ups and downs; ours never varied. But at last, when it looked straightest and smoothest, the turn came.
Rhoda began to think that the world was widening, as we all do when an expanding process is going on within ourselves.
First she found out that the old cottage was a much pleasanter place than it used to be, and that the parents seemed growing younger instead of older. Mr. Channell discovered all their little likings and dislikings and carefully studied them. Some folks think they have done wonders if they scatter flowers in a friend’s path, but Ralph Channell’s work was the quiet removal of the thorns. Perhaps the best labourers in the world are those who have striven to undo evil rather than to do good, but they are not those who have had the most praise.
He had brought a goodly number of books to Huntsdean, but Rhoda learnt more from the life-histories that he told her than from the printed volumes. They helped her to read the books by a new light.
In his way—and it was a very unassuming way—he had been doing missionary work in Melbourne. And in listening to him Rhoda first understood how Christ’s love follows the sinner, and hunts him into the darkest corners of the earth rather than lose him. In this universe, where wheat and tares grow together, and angels and devils strive together, mercy never rests. For the prince of darkness is not so active as He who hath said, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” If the devil “goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking those whom he may devour,” the Good Shepherd is seeking, too, to save them that are lost. There is only one power stronger than hate, and that is love.
In this strain did Mr. Channell talk to Rhoda. The spring passed away, summer days came and went, and still no mention had ever been made by either of them of Robert Clarris. At last, however, his name was brought up abruptly by Rhoda herself.