Chapter IV: In the Cave

LEAVING Leesworth on the left, and making their way under the overhanging cliffs, the boys reached the Point, about a mile to the right, which shut in the small bay in which the little fishing village nestled.

Some time before high-tide, the water reached the Point, and in consequence of this, the second bay on the other side of it, was but little frequented, and was a favourite resort of the Chantrys and Maidens, who liked to escape from the visitors who came to stay at Leesworth in the season.

Of course, a few visitors wandered along the shore, and were as pleased as they with the quiet little haven beyond the Point, where the clean, fresh sand was so firm to walk on, and the fallen rocks so interesting to climb over, washed as they were daily by the sea.

Among these rocks and openings in the cliff Alick and Courtenay long ago had chosen one particular cave, which they called their own. It was very secluded, and not easy to find by the unobservant, and for this cause was much prized by the boys.

Lionel was only allowed to enter it on invitation, and they expected him to be satisfied with his own cave, which was situated about half a mile further on, and immediately in front of a ledge of rocks which stretched far out into the sea, and were full of such marine treasures as young collectors love.

This cave of Lionel's was close to the sands, and was washed out at every high-tide by the waves. Indeed, every part of this piece of the beach was covered at high-water, though there were some broken pieces of cliff which, by a little climbing, would form a place of safety, should the unwary be overtaken by the tide. In this case, however, they would be imprisoned for some hours, as there was no way to reach the upper cliffs, and those thus caught must remain patiently watching for the subsidence of the waters.

Alick and the rest had once had this misfortune, and had considered themselves quite romantic when at length, hungry and weary, they had waded round the Point, unwilling to wait for the extra half-hour which would have left them dry ground to walk upon.

So this March afternoon, Alick turned away from Lionel, and climbed up the face of a pointed rock in certain footholds known to himself, and quickly reached his cave, which looked down upon the beach and bit of sea in front of him, just also taking in the very end of the reef jutting out far into the sea.

Sometimes he was sorry that he could see anything but sea and sky, though ever from to-day he was thankful that that bit of rock and beach had come into his horizon.

He sat down. His cousin's retreating footsteps were the only sound besides the gentle noise of the waves, to-day less distinct than usual, as it was very calm for the time of year.

"He's going to his cave, or to the rocks, I expect; and we can join company on his way back," he thought.

Alick's heart had smitten him a little at his cousin's forlorn tone, and he made up his mind he would call to him when he should see him pass the strip of sand which the mouth of his cave commanded.

He drew out his precious letter. It ran thus:

"DEAR OLD BOY,—We shall, I hope, soon be starting for home; and as the letters take as long to come as we shall, you will probably have a telegram to say we have started even before you receive this. But I daresay you will want more information than a telegram can give.

"Margaret has written to mother and father, so that my letter to you need not enter on plans and journeys and packings-up. I can write to you yourself, and tell you a little about me myself. For, Alick, since you and I parted, I have passed through a baptism of suffering, and I am afraid I shall not come back to you the same follow who went away. Perhaps I have been growing gradually unlike the same, ever since I have had my precious Margaret to take care of. But anyway, love and happiness do not alter one as sorrow and bereavement do.

"I have had to fight my battle alone, as all the great spiritual battles of our life have to be fought. Not that Margaret has not been everything any one could possibly be. She has been more to me and better to me than I could have believed possible; but even then, in spite of all that (for which I thank God inexpressibly), I have had to walk through the valley of the shadow of death 'alone.' Alone, did I say? That is just what I want to tell you. It was in that valley, when my little treasured child was lifted from my clasp, and buried beneath the waves, that I learned more fully than I had ever done before, '"Blessed" are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.'

"I said there was no comfort for me; I fainted, and did not believe to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I felt cut off; I laid myself down (so to say) in the depths, never to rise again.

"Then, after a long time, as it seemed to me, I cried unto the Lord out of the depths, and He heard my cry. He put His hand under me, He brought me up; He put His strength into me, where I had none; He walked through the valley with me; He brought me out into His sunshine again. And He not only did this for me, but He so filled me with the assurance of His love and faithfulness that I could rejoice in His having done the very best in taking my darling safe home, from every pain and care, into His everlasting keeping.

"There, Alick; and if you have followed me through all this, you will perceive that your Courtenay who went away can never come back. Instead will come back one who has tasted that the Lord is beyond all things better than our best thoughts, and who is humbled at his own sinfulness, while he is lifted up by His great love.

"Alick, I would rather you should be aware of this. And how do I know but that you, dear boy, may also have had some spiritual conflict while I have been gone?

"I long to see you again; so does Margaret. Oh, Alick, you will like to see Margaret with her poor suffering mother! Her tenderness, her brightness, and forgetfulness of herself. No one would guess from Margaret's sweet, cheerful face that within four months she had lost her only child. But we know,—do we not?—that loving heart, which ever was ready to put away its own care in ministering to others.

"This is the last letter I shall send you. Between now and our sailing
there will be nothing but boxes and packages.

"Alick, how shall I feel when I pass over the spot where our darling
lies?

"But she is not there; Margaret will not have me for a moment say she is 'there.' 'She is safe with Jesus above,' she says to me whenever I look sadly at the great ocean; and then I smile at her, and say she is right. What can be better than to be safe with Jesus, Alick?

"Your ever affectionate step-cousin,

"COURTENAY MALDEN."

Alick sat for a long time after he had finished the letter, gazing out upon the sea. His mind was in India, and he was living in his loved step-cousin's life. He was so absorbed in thought that he lost all sense of there being a place in the world called Leesworth, till a little moving black figure among the distant rocks out at sea brought him back, and with a start, he remembered there was such a person as Lionel Malden.

With that came an inward sense of repulsion, which suited ill with the peaceful thoughts which had been occupying him. How angry he had been with him for joining company, how unreasonably angry and annoyed; and then he looked over the feelings of the last few months, ever since Courtenay had gone away, since the time when Lionel had been more thrown into his company.

"I have almost hated him," groaned Alick half-aloud. "Though I asked him for this wretched birthday of mine, it was more to get my own way than because I wanted 'him;' and besides, Marian would not have been asked if he had not come, and Marian and I are always such friends.

"Yes, I have at times almost hated him; partly because he makes me feel bad. He stirs up all the bad in me and brings it out. Oh, dear! And this ought not to be so, must not be so.

"What was it my mother prayed this morning? 'That we might so mourn on account of our sin, that God might be able to give us His great comfort'?

"I haven't mourned; I am as proud, as angry, as indignant with him as ever. And yet—yet—God can't dwell with the proud heart, and I want Him to dwell with me; I must have Him dwell with me. That is why I have been so utterly wretched, because I have not got the humble heart in which He can condescend to dwell. I see it all now, and no wonder I have been cross and miserable and hateful!"

Alick buried his face in his arms. His sin swept over him like the waves of the sea; he saw himself and his un-Christlike behaviour in their true light; and as each fresh wave of remembrance washed up over his soul, his head sank lower and lower, and his spirit sank in deep mire, where there was no standing.

Then Courtenay's words, uttered with such a different sense, mourning in such a different way, stole over him: "Out of the depths I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me."

Alick took courage; he would cry unto the Lord too. Who was like the Lord, who was ready to pardon, and plenteous in mercy to all that call upon Him?

The conflict and despair were over; his foot was set upon a rock once more.

He raised his head, peace shining in his eyes, though a great humbleness filled his heart.

"'We love Him because He first loved us,'" he said with a deep sigh as he rose.

And then he found his sleeve wet with the tears he had shed. He was not ashamed of them, but then came another thought. Lionel! He must seek Lionel, and ask his forgiveness for all his hard thoughts and cross words. Forgiven himself, he must forgive.

He went outside on the ledge of rock and looked towards the reef. His cousin was not to be seen, but probably he had turned homewards, as it was already getting dusk.

"Perhaps I missed seeing him pass," thought Alick; "I might well have done so as I was sitting. I will try and overtake him before he gets into the house; he cannot have long passed."

He clambered down the rocks and hastened home. The tide had come up very much, but he could still pass the end of the Point. Before he turned it, he looked once more at the rocks, at least at so much of them as were yet uncovered, but they rose up still and distinct against the darkening sky. And then, only anxious to overtake his cousin, he sped homewards, his heart full of deep repentance.

That he had been so loved as to be brought back from such ingratitude, made him more humble than he had ever been in his life before.

The prayer had been answered. He had found the words true: "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."