Chapter IX

"For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory."

THE hail was falling fast, drifted by the piercing wind which howled in the chimneys, and seemed to shake the dwelling.

"I wish that my father had come back," said Nelly, as she returned again from the little gate whence she had been anxiously watching for her parent.

"Our good clergyman will keep him under shelter," said Walter, "he will not be back till this hailstorm is over!"

"I almost dread his return," sighed Nelly. "I know that I ought to wish him success in his endeavours to procure that situation for you in London—and yet—"

"You feel, surely, that it is right that I should go?"

"It is right, Walter," replied the girl. "To remain here in E— would be only to suffer with us, not to help us. If it should please Heaven that you should return—if you should over come back—." She could not go on, but turned her head aside to hide the tears that would have their course.

"I will return, Nelly—if I live, I will! It is only to relieve you of a burden that I quit you. I will work hard—save hard for your sake."

At this moment a poor, gray-headed man slowly made his way up the street. He seemed almost beaten back by the pelting hail, and stopping as he reached Viner's little shop, leaned on the gate as if for support.

"Let us ask him to come in to shelter," whispered Nelly—and Walter immediately invited him to step in.

The gray-haired man obeyed in silence—with a step so faltering, a look of such emotion, as though the voice of kindness were strange to him, that the hearts of the young people were touched with compassion. They had not read in vain the injunction in the Bible—"Use hospitality without grudging: be not forgetful to entertain strangers;" but without waiting for any request from the weary man, they brought him dry clothes, asked him into the parlour, and offered him a chair by the fire.

The guest was not yet past the strength of manhood, but all its life and spirit appeared gone. His face was wrinkled, its expression sad, his hand trembled as if with age, and when he at last spoke his voice was faltering and low.

"Here is one who has drunk deep of the cup of sorrow," thought Nelly, and her manner, ever gentle, became more kindly than before.

"Shall I set food before him?" she whispered to Walter.

"By all means—he looks ready to faint."

"But, Walter—we have but a half-loaf left in the house, and our till is to-day quite empty!"

There was a look of meek submission on her pale face, that went to the heart of Walter.

"Yet give to him, Nelly, let him share that loaf—'He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.'"

Nelly smiled, and set the bread upon the table.

"God bless you, and reward you a thousandfold!" said the guest—not touching, however, the proffered food, but looking around the comfortless abode with an expression of interest and sadness.

"Is this house yours?" he at last said to Walter, fixing his dark eyes earnestly upon him.

"Oh no! It belongs to my adopted father, whose name you see over the gate."

"And your name?" said the stranger.

"Is Walter Binning."

The guest remained silent, and the silence lasted so long, that at length it became painful, and Nelly, in order to break it said:

"I fear that you have known much sorrow?"

"Such sorrow as I trust that you may never know!"

"But the Lord can bring light out of darkness," said Walter.

"He can indeed—bless you for the word!" cried the stranger suddenly, clasping his hands, and turning towards the young man with a look of mingled sorrow and joy. "God can bring light out of darkness—good out of evil! He can bring the sinner to His feet, and the rebel to a throne—all things are possible to Him! Were you to know my story," he continued more rapidly, "you would indeed wonder at the power of God, to whom belongs the kingdom over the hearts of men! If ever there was a sinner—I was one; if ever there was a soul stained by guilt—that soul was mine? I had struggled against conscience, I had turned from my God, I was rushing on in the broad way that leadeth to destruction, and yet the hand of mercy could find me even there!"

Walter and Nelly listened with interest and surprise to a confession so frank and so unexpected. The stranger went on, in his rapid, earnest manner, as though he found it a relief to his heart to pour out its fulness.

"It is well, my children, it is well that you should know something of the man whom you have welcomed to your hearth. I once was young, unsuspicious as yourselves; mine was a kind heart, and a free open hand; I neither thought of want nor feared temptation. From how slight a cause men's ruin may spring! At a place of amusement, I once met with a youth. I found him pleasant; we conversed—met again and again; he became my companion—most dangerous companion! He was one who despised religion, and laughed at the word conscience; he gained an influence over my young mind, and made use of it to ruin his so-called friend!"

"As you love your peace—as you love your own soul," continued the stranger, addressing himself earnestly to Walter, "oh! Avoid the society of such! Let my fate be to you like a beacon on a quicksand, to warn you from that which brings destruction!"

"He took me to scenes from which I once would have shrunk; he led me into habits which I should once have blushed to form; I acquired a thirst for amusement and excitement, and where was I to find means to gratify that thirst? I was then a poor apprentice in London; a generous friend had paid the sum required by my master, for I myself was a penniless orphan. I was not only without money, but in debt, and following a career which plunged me deeper and deeper into it. I had but little credit—no means of gaining money. Oh! When conscience is stifled, and religion set aside, how easy is the transition from the debtor to the thief! My companion first taught me to embezzle from my master. My guilt was suspected; I was seized, sent to prison; a day was appointed for my trial. As my character until now had been considered respectable, I was admitted to bail, and the same generous friend, who had helped me before on my setting out in life, became my security now."

"It is better, indeed, to relate what followed; but I wish you to know all—I would have nothing concealed. I felt that my case would not stand a trial. I was visited again by my evil companion, the tempter who had led me to disgrace. Urged by him, or rather by my own guilty fears, I broke faith with my friend, escaped into France, and led there a life the remembrance of which would bow me to the dust had I not learned to hope that even the chief of sinners might find mercy."

"I married, lost my wife in the first year of our union, then returned to my own country under a false name; and in company with men as guilty as myself, supported myself by the gains of dishonesty."

"Why should I tell all this," exclaimed the stranger, "but that you may shun the paths in which I fell—that you may learn from one who speaks from terrible experience, that there is no wretchedness on earth like that of guilt—and flee betimes from the approach of the tempter! There may be the loud laugh, the burst of wild mirth, the feast, the revel, the intoxicating draught; but oh! The bitterness, the sickening joylessness within, where the soul dare not turn its gaze on itself, when it seeks excitement to stifle thought, when solitude is terrible, reflection intolerable."

Walter thought of the miser's fifty-pound bank-note, and lifted his heart in gratitude to Him who had saved him in the hour of temptation.

"At last," resumed the stranger, "what I dreaded happened; the strong hand of the law arrested me in my wretched career of guilt. I was sent to Newgate, tried, condemned. I deserved my sentence—I knew that I deserved it; but my soul rebelled against its just punishment. I was becoming hardened and reckless in misery, hardened in despair."

"And thus might I have sunk lower and lower, till I had perished at last in my sin; but the day before I was sent from my country, leaving, as I believed, not one friend behind, I received a letter from the same benevolent man who had twice before been ready to aid me. At a time when I was brought down, crushed to the dust, when all the rest of the world shunned and despised me, that man came forwards, unwearied in well-doing, and offered to do me an important service, which I dared not have asked of a brother."

"The letter enclosed a little book, 'Baxter's Call to the Unconverted,' with an earnest request from the writer that I would read it once carefully over. At another time, I would have flung it aside with contempt, if not with anger; but my heart was softened by unmerited kindness—I could not refuse the only request made by one to whom I was indebted for so much. Doubtless that book was sent with prayer, and carried a blessing with it."

"I read it. It showed me my own fearful state, even more fearful than I had believed it to be; but it did not leave me to despair. It told of mercy and pardon even for the worst of sinners; it told of the blood that washes away guilt, of the Spirit that can give a new, clean heart; it told of the power of religion over the human soul; and I believed it; for the character of the man who had given it showed forth the reality of that power."

"Oh! That I could see and know that man!" exclaimed Nelly.

"You know him. That man is—your father!" cried the stranger, springing forwards to meet Viner, who entered at that moment, and throwing himself into his arms.

Viner had returned disheartened and sad, for he had been unsuccessful in his efforts to obtain a situation for his adopted son. There are times when even the true Christian feels his faith weak. Viner had found it difficult to strengthen his heart in the Lord; he seemed like Peter when sinking in the waves.

"Lord, help me!" was his silent prayer. He came back in sorrow, he was met by joy. The little seed which, ten years before, he had sown in faith, had sprung up to bear a thousandfold; the voice of thanksgiving was in the dwelling of the righteous; the Almighty had not been trusted in vain.

Oh! What a blessed answer to Walter's prayers! With what joy he looked upon his restored parent, and received the blessing of his long-lost father. It was some time before anything like composure was restored to the circle, or the older Binning could continue his account.

"Let no one presume on the goodness of God, because He has sometimes worked wonders of mercy, and saved him whom man would condemn. Terrible is its awakening to a soul that has long gone on in a course of sin; they who never have wandered so far from the right way know not the difficulty, the anguish of retracing their steps! If any would learn what it is to repent, let him study the fifty-first Psalm of King David; there the sorrows of a broken and contrite heart are expressed by one who himself had felt all the bitterness of deep remorse; how often, my son, have I wept over that Psalm, and applied every verse to myself; praised be God that I could also repeat words from the same inspired writer, and trust that might be written for me—'Blessed is the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered! Blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity.'"

"After I had had reason humbly to hope that I had received pardon for my sins through the merits of my Saviour, my mind naturally turned to the thought how I could make some amends to man for all the wrongs that I had done him. My debt to Viner, above all, lay heavy on my conscience; and as soon as the term of my punishment was over, I determined never to return to my country till I had earned sufficient to pay it. I worked like a slave in a land where toil brings a far higher reward than it does here. I grudged myself even my necessary comforts; I broke on the hours of my needful rest, till the great object of my efforts was attained. God blessed my labours beyond my hopes; I gathered sufficient to cover my debt, and worked my way home as a common sailor, that I might not encroach on my earnings."

"And now, with what pleasure do I return what I owe," continued Binning, laying bank-note after bank-note on the table—"return what I owe! I can never return it! You helped me in trouble,—you saved me from despair, you have brought up my son to virtue, industry, and religion—were I to pour out my life's blood for you now I could never repay you what I owe!"

"O my God!" exclaimed Viner, looking upwards, while tears of gratitude forced their way down his cheeks. "To Thee be the honour, to Thee be the praise—"

"FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM, THE POWER, AND THE GLORY!"