No response came for some minutes, as if the host was debating some question with himself; and so it proved, for at last he raised his head and said, with a vast depth of pathos in his tones—
"None have had greater reason to know the bitter cost, sir, than myself. It is not often that I speak of the past, but it may be the Lord has brought you here for a purpose to-day, and you may be able to use it as a warning to some within your influence."
"If your story will not be too painful to you, my friend, I should indeed feel grateful to you for it," was the response.
"I do not belong to these parts, sir," he began, "but I've been here over a quarter of a century. I lived in a large village in a midland county, where some extensive mill-works were carried on, and rose from a lad's tasks there to fill the place of foreman. I married happily, and had a home of comfort and peace with a loving, godly wife. Four children out of six born to us grew up—two sons and two daughters—and after the toil and din of the week, Sunday was a day of quiet enjoyment, in the midst of my family, spent in God's house and our home, with the aid of books and singing, for we all had fair voices. It had never been counted a dull day by the young folks. The lovely flowers and birds, and the wonders of the book of creation and the Book of grace, made the day of holy rest seem all too short. But our circle did not remain unbroken. First, our eldest girl, poor Maggie, left home to take a situation in a neighbouring town, and soon after, our first-born, David, who had never taken kindly to mill-work, obtained employment in an office in the same town, within five minutes' walk of his sister. This seemed well for both, being much attached to each other. Ned and Mary still clung to the old home, and the other two frequently spent the Sabbath in our midst. David almost always walked over in the early morn, or late on Saturday night, returning, if alone, on Monday morning, or, if Maggie accompanied him, the same evening, as she was not allowed out at night. She could only, of course, take turns with her fellow-servants; but, unless weather prevented, we could surely reckon on the flown birds coming, when able, back to their nest on the Sabbath.
"But at last came just such a lovely summer day as this has been. We lingered before starting for church till long after the bells had been chiming, but neither of them came. We looked to find them on our return, and dinner waited long; but the night came, and we had not heard or seen aught of either. I overheard Ned in the garden speaking to Mary—
"'I shan't feel easy till I've run over to the town to-morrow, after work-hours. I hear there was to be a river excursion from the town to-day—a steamer calling for a lot of folks.'
"'But, Ned, you don't believe Davie or Maggie would go?' said Mary, half reproachfully.
"'I don't feel comfortable about it,' replied her brother. 'Maggie could be persuaded to go anywhere with David, and he and I had a talk not long ago on Sunday trips. He said folks could thus get out into pure country air, for a few pence, who were cooped up all the week in the smoke of the town, and those who desired it could go to a place of worship even twice, and get tea, before they had to start on the return voyage.'
"The fear expressed was, alas! too well grounded. David's master's son was one of these habitual pleasure-seekers, and had long tried to persuade him to join him. He had also become acquainted with Maggie, through meeting her out with the children to whom she was nursemaid, and often fell in with her on the Sundays she spent in the town. In vain had he tried to induce her to join the steamer trip, till one day he said—
"'If David went, you could not scruple about going under his care.'