“Until he had committed that great crime,” Ralph went on, “he knew nothing at all of the love of Christ. He had been a moral man, satisfied with his morality. Then came secret sorrows—then much worldly perplexity, followed by a strong temptation—and he fell. And when he lay grovelling in the dust, the Lord’s voice travelled to him along the ground. While he had walked erect, he had never heard it.”
“Wasn’t Mr. Elton over-merciful to him?” asked Rhoda. “I have often thought so.”
A sudden light seemed to kindle in Ralph’s eyes.
“There are many,” he said, “who pray Sunday after Sunday that the Lord will raise up them that fall, and yet do all they can to keep the fallen ones down. Mr. Elton was not one of those. He thought that if half the blows that were spent upon sinners were bestowed upon Satan, the Evil One would indeed be beaten down under our feet. God bless him! He saved a sinner from the consequences of one dark hour!”
Again there was a pause. This time it was broken by little Nelly, who came bounding in between them. Ralph bent down and clasped the child closely in his arms.
“Oh, my darling,” he said, as he held her, “may the Lord make you one of His handmaidens! May He send you forth to raise up them that fall, and to bind up the broken in heart!”
Perhaps it was not the first time that Nelly had heard this prayer. It did not surprise her as it did Rhoda. Miss Farren watched Ralph’s face earnestly, till it had regained its usual look of peace.
“Mr. Channell,” she began, yielding to a sudden impulse, “I’m sure you must have suffered a great deal. Forgive me for saying so much,” she added, “but I’ve sometimes thought that you have the look of a victor.”
He turned towards the house, holding Nelly’s hand in his.
“I must answer you in another’s words,” he replied. “They are better than any of mine. ‘To me also was given, if not victory, yet the consciousness of battle, and the resolve to persevere therein while life or faculty is left.’”