Thomas Bradly was pre-eminently a bright Christian. A quaint old author says that “a gloomy Christian does not do credit to Christ’s housekeeping.” There was no gloom about Bradly’s religion: it shone in his heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted the troubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffed at and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in his happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth.
It has been said that he had an unmarried sister who lived with him, and that she was an invalid. Jane Bradly was a year younger than her brother Thomas, but sickness and sorrow made her look older than she really was. She was sweet and gentle-looking, with that peculiar air of refinement which suffering often stamps on the features of those who are being spiritualised by fiery trial and are ripening for glory. And there was something, too, that was very strange about her case. She was not confined to her bed, and was able to leave the house in order to attend the services at the church, which she did most regularly. Yet she very rarely left the house on any other occasion, and never visited a neighbour; and if any of her brother’s friends came in, she would leave her chair by the fire and retire into another room.
When the family first came to Crossbourne, a good deal of curiosity was felt and expressed about her, and many attempts were made to draw her out; but as neither Bradly nor his wife nor children ever gave the smallest encouragement to questioners, and as Jane herself quietly declined every invitation to take a meal or spend an hour away from home, curiosity was obliged to seek gratification elsewhere, and baffled inquirers to talk about her amongst themselves with ominous whispers and shrugging shoulders.
Clearly, Jane’s complaint was one which medicine could not reach, for no medical man ever called on her at her brother’s house; though well-meaning persons used at first to urge on Thomas the advisability of consulting the parish doctor for her. And when others recommended their own favourite patent remedies which had never been known to fail—at least, so said the printed wrapper—he would thank them, and say that “it wasn’t physic as she wanted.” “Ah! Then she must have met with a disappointment where she had placed her affections; was it not so?” To which Thomas dryly replied that “he was not aware that it was so; but if it had been, he should have kept it to himself.” This and similar broad hints at length closed the gossiping mouths of Crossbourne—at any rate, in the presence of any members of the Bradly family—and Jane and her troubles ceased to occupy much attention out of her own home.
Still, the deep shadow lay across the hearth and heart of her brother. Very touching it was to see the considerate tenderness with which he always dealt with her. Never a loud or hasty word did she hear from him, nor indeed from any member of the family. When he came in from his work his first words were for her: some cheery little speech, yet uttered in rather an undertone, lest his natural abruptness unchecked should startle her. The best massive arm-chair, and the snuggest nook by the kitchen fire, were hers; and by the Bible, which was her constant companion, and lay on a little table which stood beside her, a few bright flowers, as their season came round, were placed as tokens of a thoughtful and abiding love.
Yet she pined, and grew gradually weaker; but no murmur was heard to escape her lips. The sorrow which lay on her heart like a mountain of snow could not deprive her of God’s peace, while it was chilling and crushing out her life. As far as they would allow her, and her strength would permit, she took her part in the household work; but she was principally occupied with her needle, and as she was an excellent workwoman, she was never without such orders as she was able to undertake.
The vicar was deeply interested in her, and was a frequent visitor; but while she manifestly derived comfort from his instructions and prayers, any attempt on his part to draw her into confiding to him, (as a friend and spiritual adviser) her special sorrow at once reduced her to silence. And yet it seemed to him that there were times when she was on the very verge of breaking through her reserve. Not that he desired this, except for her own sake. How gladly would he have shared her burden with her, “and so fulfilled the law of Christ,” would she but have in trusted him with it! It was so sad to see the deep shadow of an abiding care on that gentle face, the unnatural flush on the cheeks, and the eyes at one time filled with tears, and at another with a look of earnest beseeching, as though she longed to unburden her troubled heart, and yet dared not—as though she yearned for his advice and sympathy, and yet could not bring herself to open to him her grief. And thus it was that the poor afflicted one was drooping lower and lower; and the cloud which rested on her quiet, patient features was to be seen at times on her brother’s also.
It was a few days after the accident on the line by which the miserable Joe Wright was hurried into eternity, that the vicar, who was coming out of the cottage of poor Joe’s widow, met Thomas Bradly as he was on his way home from his work. Both looked very grave; and Mr Maltby said,—
“I see, Thomas, that you feel, as I do, what a shocking accident this has been. The drink, I don’t doubt, must have been at the bottom of it, for we know too well what the poor man’s habits were. What can I say to comfort his unhappy widow? Of course, it is not for us to judge her husband; we do not know what passed in Joe’s heart during his last moments. But that is very poor consolation, after all, when we know that, ‘as a man sows, so shall he reap.’ All I can do is to try and lead the poor woman herself to her Saviour. We know that the door to pardon and peace is not yet closed to her.”
“That’s too true, sir,” replied Bradly. “I fear we can’t have any comfortable thoughts about Joe; the least said about him the better. But, to tell you the truth, sir, I were just then turning my own trouble over in my mind, and that’s what made me look so grave.”