When all had fallen into a silence, which to some of them was a rather curious thing amid the pleasures of a festive day, Mrs. Heritage, at first in a soft and musical voice, which by degrees acquired depth and earnestness, said—“Dear friends, this has been a beautiful, and to all of us, I think, a very happy day. Let us not forget to be grateful to the Giver of it, and of all good gifts. Days come and go, and, however stationary we may seem, we are going with them. The bloom and gaiety of youth, beautiful as it is, is evanescent as the glories of yon western sky.”
At these words all involuntarily turned, and saw one of the most glorious and gorgeous spectacles imaginable. All the western sky was flooded with waves of gold and purple, burning in and through clouds of richest magnificence. An opening in them gave passage to the blaze of the departing sun, and resembled the gates of heaven thrown wide, and, within them, far receding regions of celestial splendour. All below, under the effect of this intense radiance, looked dark and mysterious, like a weird land of cimmerian shadow that might hide some mystery.
The fair speaker paused awhile as every eye was earnestly fixed on the scene, then went on, as if speaking the thought of every bosom. “Truly ‘this may be said to be the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’ What power but that of almighty wisdom could suddenly put forth a celestial emblazonment like that? What architect could design such a wondrous and portentous portal to imperial city or palace? What painter could suffuse it with hues and glories so divine? Yet, such is the prodigality of the Omnipotent Artist, who has sent forth, in a moment almost, that glorious vision, that in a few moments He will suffer it to depart, as if it were of no value. We, or most of us, visit the galleries of great painters; we gaze in enthusiasm on the imitations of nature which they hang upon our walls, and decree immortality to them for their inspired achievement; yet the King of artists every day spreads before our eyes, and the eyes of the simplest and the poorest, landscapes and aerial paintings which no mortal hand can ever equal, and no man lays it to heart. The peasant, returning home at this hour along some solitary vale, sees a picture such as no so-called immortal master ever accomplished, such as no king’s house can boast. Yet we feel no wonder; we utter no praise. Behold! and the marvellous scene is gone!”
All again turned, and saw but a grey, dull sky, and below the solemn gloom deepened into intense blackness. The speaker paused; her fair, finely-developed face, seemed rapt as into an ecstasy, still and passionless; it was as if the inner eye looked spirit-like through the outer, and saw deep into the looming night of the western quarter. A deep sigh escaped her, and with softer and strangely thrilling tones, she said,
“I feel it, dear friends, laid solemnly upon me to utter words which seem not to befit a day of gladness. My spirit wrestles with it, and would flee from the burden, as the Hebrew prophet fled from the burden of Nineveh; but a mightier, holier power compels me, and I must obey.” A strange shudder passed through the youthful listeners, and Letty, greatly excited, half sprang up and cried, “Oh, don’t! don’t!” But George quietly held her down, and put his arm round her, clasping her with brotherly affection. The speaker, as if unconscious of the sensation she had evoked, went on.
“Beautiful, very beautiful was yonder sky; beautiful, very beautiful are the days which have passed here. Dark, however, the gloom which underlay that glory of colours. I feel some of us, perhaps many of us, perhaps all, more or less, baptised into that darkness. We are passing deep into its shadowy regions. We are pilgrims and wayfarers through the valley of the shadow of death, through the midnight wastes of blackness and despair. Oh! thou heavenly and tender Father! extend thy omnipotent hand. Lift us over the torrents rolling through the deep, deep darkness; bear us up in thy loving, unforsaking arms!”
The speaker paused, and sate still as a stone image. Her eyes were open, but the awed and affrighted circle could not tell for their lives on what they rested. Again, slowly lifting her hand, and pointing westward, she said—
“Yes, ever-living, ever-merciful Father, Thou dost lead us. It is borne in upon my heart to know and feel that to all who hold fast their faith, there shall be a safe re-issue from the temporary gloom. Not a hair shall fall from the head of any of us. Thou wilt baptise us into sorrow, only to inspire us with wisdom, with faith, with love. Over that gloom of a little time, again the heavenly glow of Thy divine pencil, the radiance of Thy inner and inexhaustible beams of beauty, shall steal abroad; and the latter shall be lovelier, though more subdued, than the former pageant. All Thy colours of life shall be clearer, purer, more lofty, more etherial. The after-glow of our evening shall be more tenderly fair, more serenely blessed, than our noon has been strong and rejoicing. Amen!”
During the latter part of this startling address, the eyes of the company had mechanically followed the hand of the speaker, and saw the colours of the sunset once more travel out, kindle anew, as it were, all over the western sky in most exquisite and trancelike beauty. It seemed as if the inspired woman had command of the elements, and that their magic limnings followed the motion of her hand; the soul within, however, did but follow the course of nature and the promptings of God. How often, in future years, did every member of that company reflect on these words with wonder, though they now somewhat offended the sense of fitness in many of those who deemed auguries of evil ill-timed as the finale of a day of youthful rejoicing. The speaker, however, rose up, and, without any apology, shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn, said “Farewell” to her young friends, and taking Millicent’s arm, walked silently towards the Grange, at whose gate her carriage and that of the Degges were waiting to take them home.
All the rest followed in silence. At the gate of the Grange Mr. Woodburn pressed Mrs. Heritage to go in and take some supper, but she declined, the carriages rolled away, and the company dispersed. Harry Thorsby, however, went in, and remained for some time. But no one was inclined for supper, though a very charming one was set out, with abundance of creams, and custards, and other rural dainties. Letty was in a state of strange excitement. She appeared quite hysterical, now bursting into tears, now laughing outright, and at length sunk down in a fainting fit on the sofa. There was great alarm and agitation; but Mr. Woodburn said, “Be quiet; don’t disturb her; only stand back, and let her have air; she will soon be better.”