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"For Father's Sake," or A Tale of New Zealand Life

Chapter XIII

page 134

Chapter XIII.

Void Blank. What meaneth thy presence in our simple annals? Why interrupt our even course? Know ye not that, according to the opinion of many, life's chain is wrought with too fine a metal to allow the interposition of thy dull dross?

In the narratives of human passions, of spiritual strife, the modern novelist assigns thee no place: for, like the perfection of the character of the hero, like the faultless beauty of the heroine, so they consider should be the distinct and regular tracing of the footsteps of both. The path of hero and heroine, they argue, being always traversed in the broad daylight of an unoffended conscience, should boast of no hidden recess, no empty void. Not so are the opinions of the faithful narrator of human life, of human actions, the result of human thought and spiritual obedience. With regard to this world's consummation, each phrases as, "It all came right in the end," or, "They married and lived happily ever afterwards," are becoming old-fashioned and antiquated. Men and women are realizing more plainly that "It is not in this life Heaven's purposes end," that the two spheres of action are not distinct and separate from one another; and that the magnificence of the mansion depends upon the homeliness of the cottage. Then, if the two spheres be go closely connected; if the ruler of the one be the ruler of the other, wherefore question the existence of voids in this life, since in the next, there are mysteries knows to the page 135Trinity alone: wherefore pretend fco explain impossibilities. Truth, the watch-word of Heaven and earth touches the spring in the wall of romantic decorum; the slide flies upwards; and in the path of the earthly traveller there is revealed the secret presence of void. How many times these spaces appear in the pathway, depend upon the route chosen by the traveller, and sanctioned hy the guide; nevertheless, the physical aspect is alike in all; and to all these voids convey the same impressions. Ever dark and direful, ever haunted by ghostly forms and sepulchral voices, these "howling wildernesses," appear. Were it not for the gloom surrounding the entrances, elfish faces, with flaming eyes of shame, and protruding tongues of slander, might be discerned crouching in, and peeping from the niches of these stone-walls. But the friendly god Erebus guards the entrances of these haunted chambers; and the voices alone betray the phantom inhabitants. But, reasons the sage, voids have no such characteristics; no impish faces, no ghostly forms, no guardian deities frequent vacuum. No! but this is the vacuum of a life; the void-blank, whose very emptiness is swallowed up in void-blank; the empty but inhabited space of a haunted chamber. Pass on, pass on, why pause on the threshold of such a gloomy habitation? Let the slide drop; let it conceal the darkness. The purpose for which it was raised is accomplished; we understand the existence of that void. Thus, at the cost of a breach of romantic decorum, but at the just charge of truth, afew steps with their accompanying environments, of our heroine, will be allowed to become effaced. Blame me not for this concealment. Look at your own skeleton hidden away in your closet. Would you care to have it disclosed to the rude gaze of the passing world? Would you care to hear it commented on by those equal, perhaps, inferior to yourself in commendable page 136qualities? Charity is not so universally worshipped as to warrant our risking the venture; therefore, we all shall agree to allow the interruption of a little darkness. When next we perceive the distinct footprints along the bank of the river of Nellie's life, the shadow of that gloomy encounter still lingers ahout their impress, but the room has been passed, and for her historian its site is marked by a blank; for herself by a haunted gallery.

In a room, from which all ornaments and drapery have been removed, and which looks bare and cold in spite of the glowing fire which burns in the tiled grate, a young girl sits by the bedside and watches the movements of a sick man. The room is indifferently lighted by a feeble lamp, which has been placed in the farthest corner from the bed, and which has been turned low and partly screened, that its light might not distress the patient. On the table at the head of the bed, and on the mantelpiece, and huddled together in a seeming confusion, were a number of bottles—some empty, some half full, some full, some containing light-coloured mixtures, some dark-coloured, some between the two colours. Judging quality by quantity, there was sufficient medicine in those bottles to cure half-a-dozen patients, to kill half-a-dozen more, and still to have enough left to prolong the recovery of half as much again. Yet, concerning those bottles, such were not the thoughts of the youthful nurse, for as she rose to measure out the prescribed drops, her fingers touched tenderly, even reverently, the small phial. "Oh, magic elixir," she murmured, "whose breast quivers with the consciousness of thy power, at whose shrine the noblest and the meanest pay their vows, tell me wherein lies the secret of thy witchcraft! Not in wealth do I find an answer; wealth is confined to the few. Not in rarity; rarity signifies toil. It is in the object and in the result of thy application that thy priceless value is found—Thou Easest Pain."

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Bending forward she forced the drops between the lips of the half-conscious sufferer. The eyes opened, but closed instantly. To readjust the hot fermentations, to straighten the bedclothes, to settle the pillows, were the works of a few minutes, in the next few minutes the patient had sunk into a quiet, restful slumber, and the anxious watcher was released for an hour. She extinguished the lamp, and crossing over to the wide French window, drew up the blind. Oh what a dreary sight met the gaze of that solitary beholder! The grey morning dawn was just beginning to break, but its approach was the herald of a bleak and stormy day. A shudder ran through the slender frame. "Another miserable day. I wonder if it will ever cease raining, and if the sunshine will forgive our ungrateful carelessness." The white hand was upraised to replace the blind. It paused. It fell to her side. "Is not that dreariness an actual? Then why seek to hide it by this paltry screen? It is cowardly to do so. Yet is there merit in standing here and facing that disconsolate sight? Hardly, since my boasted courage consists in so far as my unconsciousness of danger. Poor kind of bravery. Still a few minutes ago I sought to flee, to hide. There must have been some sort of warfare carried on among my members. However, 'tis gone, and I am my own callous self again. Such emotions remind me of the coward who flies from painful thought—who by mirth seeks to hide from himself the dreary reality. Neither are they who stand and face, entitled to the honour "Courageous." Although many may raise their proud voices and cry, "We are not cowards," in a strict sense of the meaning, they are not brave." They have, by reason of the encounters, become insensible of the danger. A true definition of courage: Sufferer, not soldier; failure, not victory.

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Then the molecules of the dingy atmosphere beyond that window became strangely agitated. They heaved, they trembled, they rolled and tumbled, they tossed and trampled, they lept and crept, they separated and collided—in fact, they made such a ferocious attack and such a spirited defence, that their war would compete with the Tetanomachia or the Gegantomachia. Suddenly the combatants ceased; their ranks burst asunder; they fled to the nearest ambush, and in the vacated arena there arose the reflected interior of that nick room. But the scene that was being acted was the second act of the same play—the act that was performed two nights before.

"If I am to die, I shall die in harness," said a hollow voice. "At anyrate, there is satisfaction in the knowledge that in death, as in life, I am no coward."

"But father," pleaded a young girl, as she helped the speaker into his coat and put on his slippers, "Will not this motion irritate the pain?"

"Let it. It irritates me enough, I shall retaliate." But the last reckless words were lost in a low moan of agony, and the poor sufferer clutched at the iron railings at the foot of the bod. Whiter and whiter grew the lips. A livid hue overspread the pain-distorted features, the tortured frame writhed, but not another sound escaped the clenched teeth, not even a groan broke the stillness of that midnight air.

"O father, father!" at last broke from the agonized lips of the watcher, "why do you not let me send for the doctor?" Like many another who beholds the painful struggles of others, all hopes, all confidence were thrown down at the feet of the physician—"if he were only here, all would be well." But no answer was vouchsafed, and the heartfelt cry was lost in the howling, raging wind without. The doors creaked, the windows rattled, every niche and every corner groaned, the iron on the roof threatened to page 139leap from its place, the very demon of disturbance seemed to be let loose among the elements; and why not, since in the internal agitations of that suffering flesh the same spirit hovered. Is sympathy confined to mortal alone? The spasm passed, and for a few minutes there was respite, and reinvigoration for the next encounter.

"And now, father, surely you will let me send," again pleaded the girl as she noticed the mouth relax, and the fingers unloosen their rigid grasp.

"No child of mine, no servant, no one shall go out on such a night as this," sternly commanded the sufferer. But ere the sentence was completed, a second spasm was upon him, and a second heroic battle had to be fought. Oh God, unto what agony is this quivering flesh heir to. The silent, motionless endurance became intolerable. Up and down, backwards and forwards those footsteps paced. First before the clock they would pause, but the cruel time would not hasten on; then before the window, but the darkness would not depart. Oh, that the daylight were here.

Was there ever such consideration—a father suffering excruciating pain, sacrificing his life, rather than expose his child to the passion of the storm. And throughout the whole of that terrible conflict, not one moment of agony, not one ioto of peril, was lost. Marvel! which, in its likeness, bears a relation to that higher, that grander consideration.

But the girl is taxed beyond endurance. "Heartless that I am!" she mutters, "yet it is not too late," and opening the door she glides out of the room. "Go, my brother!" she commands, her dark eyes flashing with a strange new light. "The morning delays its coming that it might steal a march on its unwary victim. But there is still time for defeat." The same howling, raging wind page 140without drowned the galloping hoof-sounds beneath the flying messenger. When the girl returns to the scene of that wild conflict, one combatant rests from sheer exhaustion. No wonder the fingers touch reverently the relievers of such pain. No wonder the heart cries, "Bring the physician! bring the physician! let the cost be what it may." No wonder the sufferer claims the title "Courageous"—the defeated, brave. The reflected performance vanished, the hostile molecules returned and continued their interrupted conflict, and the dreamer turned to dream on. Thus while the hands are busy with the wants of the sick, while the heart is anxious and troubled about the uncertain result, while the mind is devising ways and means for the fulfilment of that day's duty, there is still enough space left in each for spiritual reflection.

Toward noon the patient grew decidedly worse. A trained nurse was engaged; the treatment was altered; fresh medicine prescribed; all near relatives were sent for; doctors consulted with one another; the business of the home was suspended; and over the whole hung the lowering gloomy cloud of expectancy.

"Go and rest awhile, Miss Main," said the nurse kindly, as she took the bottle from the young girl's hand and bent over the invalid; "I shall be able to manage without your help just now, and you will need all your strength for tonight." The girl turned away, but not in obedience. She went to her room and stood for a few minutes looking at her own reflection in the glass. "Only a mortal after all," was her strange soliloquy, "a reflection of another reflection; and as one reflection fades at the withdrawal of the other, the shadow across the floor lengthens and leads the way to the beyond." She threw a cloak over her head and shoulders, she opened the glass door. A gust of wind almost threw her backward. The door slammed. Nellie page 141was out on the balcony, out in the storm—out of her prison.

It has been said that a "sweet spirit" had entered Elmy Main's life. That for months, for years, she had been a pupil to the spirit; that daily she had been found at the gate of its court, listening to the instructions and learning wisdom, that although often she had suffered from the slights of the rude passers-by, she had persevered with her lessons, and had gained no mean place at the several severe examinations. But all the subjects were of a mild and humble character, and were taught in a mild and humble manner. She had learned to regard her teacher as the "meek and lowly Jesus," and she was no discredit to his teachings of meekness and lowliness, There was one subject she had not taken up, but which would have to be mastered before she could compete for the matriculation. That subject was "The Power of Christ—Christ as He Appeared Scourge in Hand Cleansing the Temple." For several weeks she had been trying to decipher out the A-B-C; she had even learned to spell the G-O—. Now she appeared before her Master to repeat her lesson, and to have the true meaning expounded to her.

From the gentle stream and peaceful valley she had turned away unsatisfied. To her untutored heart such serenity manifested no sense of power. But, as she stood out in that threatening storm, she thought she had mastered the alphabet." And why not think so, for, if the heavens ever menaced, she did that afternoon. Her flood gates were flung wide open, and through them there issued forth such a torrent of water as to make the earth tremble in accepting, fearful of a second deluge. Vivid flashes of lightning appeared from time to time. Its lurid light over earth and sky, announced the approach of Heaven's army. page 142Then, through a second's gloom, burst the roar of the artillery, and the booming of the shell, accompanied by the quick steady march of advancing footsteps. The earth beneath shook to its very foundation, and a shudder ran through the breast of the whole universe. The battle was no ordinary battle of one day's duration; neither of two. For several days Heaven and earth had waged war with one another, and it seemed as if the contending parties were now throwing all their forces into the final. The amount of loss Heaven had sustained would be hard to ascertain; but one had only to look around to see earth's carnage. Trees were uprooted. Branches broken. Haystacks blown to pieces. All removable articles removed; some out of existence. The rivers were swollen until their milky waters were on a level with the banks. Down every hill, and over every valley rolled volumes of thick muddy water, which, uniting themselves to the rivers, awept onward, bearing in their arms proof of their destructive power. Woe to the object that dares to impede their progress.

"O Elements! ye reveal the thought and sense of power," breathed the girl as her eyes travelled from earth to the sky.

Suddenly the noise ceased. A few minutes silence as if the Heavens were meditating. Then she lifted the dark frown for a moment, and beneath was caught a glimpse of her deep blue eyes. Only a glimpse, the brow contracted, and the scowl deepened. But the lesson had been corrected.

"I am mistaken. Even the elements are under control." Then earth! thou holdeth the secret. Man! its custody is entrusted unto thee. Human powers. Many hearing me would term me atheist. But what of that. 'Tis better to do, through not understanding, than to understand and not do. Christians say, "God is Omnipotent," page 143while they themselves turn the wheel of their own lives. I, too, am a Christian, yet I do not agree with my brethren. If I turn my own wheel, I am not going to mock God by singing the song, "Thy will be done." simply because it is customary. And I have had too many bitter experiences lately, both in my own life, and in watching the lives of others, to believe that man does not turn his own wheel; or, perhaps, more strictly speaking, that man has not the power of turning his own wheel."

"You have learned the wrong page," whispered a voice at her elbow. "Your thoughts are filled with the sights you have witnessed lately. And you have forgotten that I am your teacher. I know what was passing through your mind when you were listening to that wife's tale of woe; when you were administering to that old woman's wants, when you stood and watched your poor father's agony; but these afflictions are the serpent's bruises upon mankind's heel. In the next world, sometimes in this, you will see the crushed head of that serpent. Pain and affliction, instead of being as you try to imagine, the proof of man's power over man, are humanity's claim upon the Saviour. But enough, I am only a subordinate teacher, and have been sent to instruct you in the science of measurement. Take this line in your hand, and throw it out as far as your strength, coupled with my help, can reach. Throw it away, away. Let it go beyond the earth, beyond the stars. Let it coil itself around the pillar of God's throne. Now, from that standard turn and measure 'power.' My task is completed. Lo the master comes." A fierce gust of wind carried the instructor away, and in the silence that followed, the Great Teacher appeared. Softly, distinctly, spoke that silvery voice, but in its tone there was a new expression. "It—is—I." Only three small words, to only one weak mortal, but Jesus page 144descended from his exalted seat to alter them. Not by outward circumstances, not by internal agitation, not with earthly instruments, not with heavenly music; but by the distinct voice of the Father is the child convinced. Then once convinced for ever convinced. Let men never think that God does not superintend his own school, or that be does not personally instruct his scholars. Every pupil has the privilege of taking their incomprehensible lessons to the Master to have them interpreted. Why students persist, in applying to fellow students for truth, I cannot understand. No wonder there are so many badly learned lessons, such a number of dunces, among God's scholars. Thus though Nellie had many more pages in that book to learn, yet she had mastered the postulates. She lived the Omnipotence of God.

The sun grew tired of trying to peep through the heavy sky, and, turning away, he sought, a more sociable clime, leaving the night to triumph over its victory. But the triumph was not elegant or boisterous. Perhaps, having had its desire gratified, night found little enjoyment in the gratification. Be that as it may, the night which followed that stormy day was calm and peaceful, and gave hopeful surmises of the nature of the next day. One thing was evident: the wrath of the elements had been spent, and the earth had fallen back into its former amicable attitude: the effect of its recent encounter betrayed only by fitful starts. And the wrath and the effect were similar with the internal conflict of that poor suffering soul. What the next day would be like was in keeping with the night's calm but fitful peace. Two watches now took their places beside the sick-bed; two watchers watched. Two? Three; one unseen. The bands of the clock pointed to the hour of twelve, then past; the night slunk away ashamed and humilitated; and the August morning arose page 145and gazed after the retreating form, marvelling the while at the presumption and vanity of its foe. There was a movement of the figure on the bed, a strange gulping sound in the throat. The nurse started and tinred to the girl beside her.

"I think you had better call the others, Miss Main. Do not be frightened. There is a change. Whither for the better or the worse, I do not know."

Hastily quitting the room, Nellie entered her mother's sleeping apartments, and gently aroused her. "It is the crisis," was all she said as she turned to complete her mission. She ran upstairs and awakened the rest of the family in the same quiet manner. Then returned and resumed her watch. Softly and silently those anxious faces gathered around the bed. Softly and silently the brave truthful eyes of the weary traveller rested upon each loved face, and smiled into the troubled sorrowful eyes; and softly and silently the Angel of Death hovered over all. There was no discord, no strife, nothing to disturb the serenity of those last moments. No contending angel vied with that shadowy form for supremacy. All battles had been fought. All differences were laid aside. The misty robed messenger stretched out a hand to receive its hard won prize; and with upturned eyes, quietly awaited the final signal. Look up unconscious watchers, look up and behold that spiritual form. But no. All eyes are upon the traveller. All hearts whispered "hope." Death had never visited that home before, and its strange misty but shining form, it dark but bright face, its shadowy but brilliant crown, were unrecognized, unperceived.

The dying man's eyes fell upon his wife, a smile lit up his pale, wasted features, and he motioned her to him. In that brief moment, when band was clasped in the hand of each, who knows what sweet visions of youthful days, of page 146innocent enjoyments, of simplicity's happiness returned to husband and wife's remembrances. Oh, that they had not waited until the night-time to remember. Men, women, husbands, wives, turn ye to one another while the sky above your heads in free of death's shadowy angel. Of those sweet cups of love drink deeper and deeper, that they may always remain filled. Unlike the cup of earth's clayey mould, unlike the cup of Heaven and earth's composition, this cup of love, which comes from Heaven alone, and which becomes dim and shallow only when in contact with earthly matter, deepens and is replenished with usage, brightens with continual handling, and with every step of time a new, rare, and sparkling jewel, is added to its lustre. Oh why do husbands and wives allow the cup to crack, and the precious wine to leak out, until nothing is left but the scent. Foolish! We are all foolish! The whole of humanity is foolish, and the wisest are the biggest fools. We wish for what we cannot get; we strive for what belongs to others; we neglect what is ours; and we expect impossibilities. Man is indeed an enigma of which philosophy and science and logic have vainly tried to understand, and of which religion alone has solved and succoured.

Again those smiling, wistful eyes wandered round the room as if in search of something. As if unable to rest until all was completed, the head uplifted, and the hand groped about for an opening through the mist. A sudden ray of light lit up for a moment the gathering gloom. Eyes met eyes, soul understood soul. Emotion's speech was swallowed up in spiritual communion. The father stretched out his arms, the daughter sprang forward. The pale lips heaved a gentle sigh; the tired head sank back among the pillows; death's shadow fell across the face. The last signal had been given, and the silent messenger flew page 147away with its priceless blood-bought charge. Whither? To the feet of the Merciful—to the Throne of Grace. No more shall that low moan of agony be wrung from its secret depths. The strife of passions, and the crucifying of flesh shall no longer tear at its entrails. Remorse and repentance shall never again feed upon its brain. See! the Saviour puts upon the kneeling supplicant the crown of His own nature. See! the supplicant rises and knows for why he lived and died, and lived again. One mortal has solved the mysteries of immortality.

Sharp and clear rang out the cock's shrill crow, piercing the awful stillness of that transient moment: heaven's Angelus of a new birth. Amid the wails of wife and children, one alone stood mute and tear-loss. Like a statue, white to the lips, rigid as in death, frozen, but for the eyes another corpse, Nellie stood above that lifeless clay—a petrified goddess in the midst of the heaving waves, gazing down upon the Gorgon's head. The nurse led away the weeping wife. The children, unable to endure the sight, silently withdrew. The hands of the clock pointed to the third hour of morning. Eternity mocked Time. Not in life—not in the flesh—but in death—in spirit, in reality—were father and daughter united, and in death, in spirit, in reality is an everlasting, everloving union.

Only when the nurse returned to straighten the limbs did the frozen veins thaw, did the statue breathe. Stepping forward, Nellie said quietly, "Pardon me! this is my duty." With firm, steady hands she wrapped the sheet around that silent form. She folded the hands as if in prayer; she closed the eyes; she stooped and kissed the marble brow, and she turned and left him "to his undisturbed repose."

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Where has she gone? To her room, think you, to weep? To her neighbours, think you, for sympathy? No. Upon the hill-top, surrounded by her thoughts, in company with her "Friend," a solitary figure kneels and watches the angels lead into heaven the form of her loved one. Watches them as they pause for a moment at the gate; watches the loved one turn and smile; watches the vanishing robes; watches the closing gate.

"Lord, although I prayed that my father's life might be spared, although I struggle with incredulity, yet will I not doubt Thy power. 'Tis hard—very hard—on my new-born knowledge; but above the wreck, above the failure, above the apparent, I hear Thy everlasting words. Speak them, sing them, act them, until Thou hast drilled them into my very soul: "It is I! It is I! It is I!"

She rose from her knees. Her dress was soaking with the long wet grass. Her dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders; her hands were numb—numb as her frozen heart. She rose and returned to the house of mourning. No one but the angels saw her go; none but the spirits saw her return. And still she lived and moved and had her being, and the sweet charitable world admired her fortitude. Wise world!

All that day kind friends came to offer their tribute to the dead, and their sympathy to the living. Wreaths and crosses were showered upon the body. Wreaths and crosses were woven around the hearts. The news of the death spread like wildfire throughout the length and breadth of New Zealand, and when the evening papers were issued there appeared the whole history of Mr. Main's life and death; of his worth to Bonsby as an industrious farmer; of his power to New Zealand as one of the honoured relies of her earliest settlements. Of his value to his family it said "dearly beloved." How meaningless page 149those two words have grown. Surely in the English language some fresh undistorted expression can be found.

Rest thou priceless clay, mould from thy Heavenly Maker! For a season thy task is finished—for a season thou seemeth of naught. But the thread of thy life is not severed; thy ashes are not lost. "And in the urn Thy children resteth Thy golden dust."