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LOOKED BeaVTJFc: ^ lo HIM THAT Simmer Morning " ■^( V -*' jsiT*".* 'H' 'MMER MORMNG." ¥0} YESTERDAY FRAMED IN" TO-DAY A STOSy OF Tim CHRIST, AND HOW TO-DAY REOEIVBD HIM r BT "PANSY" (MBS. Q. K. ALDEN) AUTHOB OF "AS IN A MIBROB," " - «i««OK," "ESTER BEID," •< THB OtDM BHOTHBB," axe, BTO. ILLUSTRATED TORONTO; WII.I,IAM BRIGGS, 'A'ESLEV BUILDINGS S. F. HUESTia PS 10 /c| EiciKKTO »Monllng t<) Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the yea, one thousand Agriculture °'°«*y°'ne. by William Urioos, at the Department of COKTEKTS. Mr one thousand i Department of CHAPTEB 1. We have heakd the Fame of Him " . 7 II. "It was a Thue Repokt which I heard IN MINE Own Land" jg III. "We have heakd his Voice out of the Midst of the Fihe" on IV. "Who HEALETH All THY Diseases" , . 42 V. "HeiiathputaNewSonoinmvMouth" 53 VI. " They opened theih Mouth wide against Me; They said ; 'Aha, Aha, our Eye HATH SEEN It'" g^ VII. "I WILL NOT REFRAIN MY Lips" ... 76 Vm. "Who HATH BELIEVED OUR Keport?"! ] 88 IX. "IlK THAT SOWETH INIQUITY, SHALL REAP Calamity" . A. Hear Ye indeed, but understand not " 111 XL "There is no Beauty, that We should DESIRE Him" 19^ XUJ I !7'''' ''''' '''"' ''""*^ '''' ««^^' ^'«^^^n "■ 135 Alll. He IS DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MeN " 147 XIV. " He hath sent Me to bind up the Broken- hearted" XV. "A Man's Heart DEvisETH his WAY" 171 XVI. " Can God prepare a Table in the Wil- derness?" ■ 188 " CONTENTS. CHAPTKR XVII. ' TllEY HAVE TAUGHT THEIH TONQUE TO BI'EAK LiKS" . XVIH. -As THE IlAUT PANTETir AFTKIl TI.K ■s-ijii. "If any Man TiimsT"— ^iij XX. "To OPEN THE Blind Eyks" . .... 2;]^ XXI. "I WILL DECLAKE TlIY Name UNTO «V Bketiihkn" „,, XXII. "Give Us help FHOM Tkouulk" . . .* 'jrm XXIII. "Hope defeuiied maketii tiik IIeaut «^^'«" 2rt!) XXIV. "Shall the Dead akise and vhmsk TlIEE?" XXV. "LOVEK AND FniEND UAST TlIOU PUT FAK FiioM Me" 2„. XXVI. •'Smite the Shepheisd, and tiil; s„kep SHALL HE SCATTEKED" 3Qg XXVII. "IlK HATH SWALLOWED UP DkatH Foh- KVEH" g^,j XXVIII. "lAviLLwoKK, andWhoshallletIt?-' XU XXIX. " TUEKEFOIiE WILL NOT We FEAH " . . 345 1 41 ■i Yesterday Framed !n To-Day. CHAPTER I. " WE HA VE HEAHD THE FAiltE OP HIM." lyf AY I, the writer of this book, offer in its i-'A opening chapter a word of explanation to I tliink y„„ are about to read that which is unhke anything else now in print. There are no ru es ,,ert«,ni„g t„ history or cinonology that will «P 'ly to ,t; ,t ,s crowded with anachronisms, the only «cuse for then, being that they are inten- dat!r " r* ""T"' "'"* ^ ''»^^ '"«<> t° ""ny out, dates and periods of time have been delibemtely —d- ^'-'"^'-f-'^ confess to ha5 ot be. J hat IS, our i,r.sent state of civilization 1 as been made use of without the aid ot the New lestament. In other words, I have taken th," present fame, with its :uilroads. and telegraph and phonographs, and electric li„U. „„f ?u : not.^ and hfted into it, from out tl>e historic past, 1 8 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. a central figure — the central figure of all time ; the One without whose coming we would not even have counted time as we now do, — the Man Christ Jesus. I have conceived of him as walking the streets of our modern cities and villages, meet- ing the people of to-day, — people who dress and act and think in the New Testament era, yet have knowledge only of the Old. I have imagined such people coming in contact with this central Light, as it shone on earth centuries ago, and treating it in the same spirit that men and women treated it then ; the spirit in which undoubtedly very many would receive him now, were he to come again in the same humble, local way. My object in making this effort — no, on second thought I will leave you to discover my object. If you fail in finding it soon, and sharply defined, I shall have signally failed in my effort. I want simply to ask you to read carefully and with unprejudiced eyes. With which brief explanation, I turn to my story. Mrs. ITolman moved about the room with a very manifest unrest upon her. She opened, and closed again, dooi*s and drawers and boxes with no ap- parent object, and in other ways showed a per- turbed spirit that was very unlike her usual quiet self. Very frequently her ner />*Mrrf-k.^ as bUlXlCU. r. all time ; i^ould not -the Mail IS walking iges, meet- dress and , yet have jined such Tal Light, treating it treated it /ery many e again in on second iiy object, y defined, 3fully and rn to my ith a very md closed th no ap- ed a per- 3ual quiet ES Lurned, •' 6nK WAS A SvvEKT, GiRLisH-LooKiNo WoMAN." (See page 9.) "WE HAVE HEARD THE FAME OF HIM.*' 9 toward a door that stood ajar, from behind wliich could be heard a murmur of voices. At intervals she entered the room where the talkers were, and engaged in the convei-sation, returning again even more disturbed. At the extreme end of the room, by a soutliern window, sat a young woman in neat home dress, busily sewing, — a pure-faced, sweet-eyed young woman with an abundance of brown hair that waved low on her forehead. She was almost too young to be called a woman, yet there was about her such an atmosphere of womanhood that one disliked to name her simply a girl. "Frances is a very womanly girl," said those who were ultimate with her, thus compromising between the two words; while comparative stran- gers had been known to describe her as '^ a sweet, girlish-looking woman." Her cheeks were pinker this morning than was quite natural, although they had generally a health- ful glow; and a close observer would have noted that the hand which held the swift-moving needle trembled a little as she arrested it from time to time to arrange her work. Her eyes, also, ex- pressed, not trouble, like her mother's, nor even anxiety ~ they simply suggested that her heart was throbbing with an interest that she was care- fully holding in check. During one of the mother's absences from the room, the door leading into the hall opened sud- i! i 10 Vesterday framed in a:o-t>AY. denly, and Margaret Holman entered. Whatever this young girl did was done with suddenness. It seemed sometimes as though she fairly rushed at life, and tore its blessings from its hand with an excitement that almost frayed the garments of the blessings. " Margaret lives too fast," said certain of her friends; "she will use up all her vital force, and be an old woman, exhausted with life, years before her time." It is difficult to describe a girl like Margaret Holman. For that matter, it is difficult to de- scribe anybody. What have hair and eyes and features, regular or irregular, to do with it? Eveiy- body has eyes and lips and a nose apiece; whether the eyes be blue, or gray, and the nose be Roman or a trifle turned up, makes much less difference than we are inclined to imagine. It is, of couree, the subtle something behind all these, which one never attempts to describe, that repels or attracts, or, it may be, awakens only indifference. There shall be no attempt at this point to de- scribe Margaret Holman, further than to say that the excitement which was being held in check by her sister fairly blazed in the girl's expressive face. "How can you sit there and sew, just as usual ! " she exclaimed. "I believe if you had received word that there would be an earthquake to-morrow that would tear this house from its foundations, '% •^} Whatever ness. It ushed at '^l^^l with an ts of the mI ti of her >rce, and rs before largaret b to de- yes and Every- whether Roman fference course, ich one 'ttracts, "^^^^H- to de- '? ay that sf eck by f ressive / sual ! " -;-* iceived •i lorrow •' ations, .^ "WE HAVE HEARD THE FAME OE HIM." 11 you would Still di-aw that needle back and forth and take those little bits of stitches. It would dnve me wildl" "Which?" asked Frances; "the knowledge of the earthquake, or the sewing ? " "Both How can you be so still when we are YnnT u'/f ^'"^^^'""^ «"^^* *« be done. You should talk to Duvid ; he will listen to you, if he will to anybody in the world." than be ore but the worker remained silent,' onl^ l^^^^'^^r^ '^'' ''' '- ''-' ^^"^ "Why don't you speak?" asked Margaret im- patiently, .gay something; if you don'f, I sha^l ~ ^^^^^^« ™--' -V don't you go and tell tliem it is impossible ? " ^ s u "I cannot," Frances said at last, dropping her work, and looking fully at her sister. "S cannot take such a risk." '■"luim "I don't understand. Doesn't all the risk lie n us carrying out this wild idea ? I am sure you ititTry it !" •'^'"™ "' "'^ ^-* '■>='' ^0"--t tageis, the needle making good progress. At this ast sentence the color flamed to her forfhead but her voice, when she spnk„ a^rn was 1 .,5 controlled. " ' ^ '"" ™^ i-Petuous girl, her face aflame. - 1 did not mean to say any tlfin J ' allT'd r '' ',"' ' ™'" '» "* "- question "i? father had heard your ^vords just now, what would he have said?' For father's sake, if for nothhig here, you know he would not permit this for a moment. And in his absence " _ diJlt'^bnt'"'"?" """™^"''* ''™™^^' ««" -i* truth is, dear, that Davia i I 14 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. has been ill so long, we have all learned ro speak of him as though he were a child under our con- trol, instead of a man of thirty. Even father remember, would have no right to control his movements." Margaret made a gesture of impatience. "Do you know that seems like nonsense," she said quickly. " So long as David is watched over and cared for like a child, I think he owes it to father and mother to follow their advice. He has been quite willing to do so, I am sure, and would be now, if he hadn't lost his senses over this ex- citement. Those young men have talked to him until he doesn't know what he thinks. I must say that they take a good deal upon themselves, coming here to urge the claims of an entire stran- ger, when we have a family physician in whom we have all confidence. I wish father were at home or Philip. When is he coming? I am sure he Nwould not allow any movement so wild as this." "I do ixot know when he will come, and I do not think he would interfere if he were here Neither will I, It may sound strangely to you but I mean it when I say th^t I dare not use ipy influence. Our brother has suffered enough, with- .out our trying to treat him as though he were reduced to mental as well as physical helplessness. He has deliberately resolved to make this supreme effort, and I dare not open my lips tp try to pre- yentit," ■ ' / /- -• *'^ "WE HAVE HBAED THE FAME OF HIM." 15 Margaret turned away impatiently just as her motlier re-entered the room. ^ I «'' ^ Mr "Franees," she said, dropping into a chair near her daughter, "will you not try once more to ge Da«d to hsten to reason? I fe„, fo, the confe quenccs of this excitement. Those young men What nght have they to invade our home and work my poor boy into a fever ?" There was a moment of painful silence then Fiances spoke low. ' """^ Maigaret, that I dare not interfere. David has set lus heart upon this, and the consequ .ctsl^ d.appo,ntment are mo. to he dreaded than t^e "Yes," said Mrs. Holman auicklv ..h, * • what I fool It u- . quiCKly, "that IS What 1 feel, Jf h,s poor body could bear such an .ordeal what of the afterwards, when he back ^'shV"hid r'^f "'^"-^^ «■'• " '^ er„el,r..r- ■ gently, _ ^ ^- ^''^"^ 'Peaking very Jie he^rdtlinardV" X""*^ '^'f ^" Jbut tljat " - ^ ^^'^ '^^ ^^^ know .Be;:g"L::ed^Tsrrt;:rf?r"^ did npt think it pos8ibX§ 16 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. n ' that you could be carried away by a cruel and wicked delusion. What will your father say? Oh, if he were only at home ! " The cause of all this solicitude and distress can be given in few words. David liuhnan, the son of the house, was a hopeless, helpless invalid. The large, bright room where he lay had been his world ever since he was twenty-three, and he was now nearing his thirtieth birthday. During nuich of tliis thne he had suffered racking pain, being un- able to bear a movement from his bed to his inva- lid chair save at the expense of houi-s of torture. Finally a couch of peculiar pattern had been con- structed for his use, and no attempt had been made to move him to any other. Here he had lain day after day, and year after year, being ten- derly cared for ; borne with patiently in his most irritable houi-s ; entertained when his nerves could endure it ; soothed and petted like a suffering child when that treatment was what he needed, The habit of the house had been to think and speak of him as though he were the peculiar bless- ing of their lives, instead of being what he had been, — a wild, reckless boy, whose uncontrolled will had brought him at last to the narrow world where he could only lie and wait. He was never by word or look reminded of this. By common consent, the family had ignored the past, but it will be well understood that the young man himself was unable to do so. How much of I' : r. cruel and Llier say ? stress can II, the son ilid. The his world was now much of heing un- ► his inva- >f torture, heen con- had been le ho had being ten- i his most I'ves could (ring child J. think and iliar bless- it he had controlled row world Bd of this, nored the the young V much of "WK irAVE HEAIID THE FAME OP HIM." 17 his pain grew out ot the fact that he had brou^rht H...S..U to this condition, only he and his God Knew. Of co„«,. ,|„,i„f; all tl.eso yea,,., „o effort nor ex-i«.Mso l.„l U.,„ ,,„,,„, i„ ^^^^^.^^^ ^,^^_ ^^^^ sk.lful ,„e,I,cul treatment. More than onee, in the earher yeare, !„„! the hopes of the entire fan,- ily heen rai.se,! to the hij;he.st pitch, only to 1- hrought ,nv again wl.ea the now treatment Utterly iuiled. % 'legrees the fan.ily settled to the realization tha there was nothing for the idolized son and hro I.er bnt to ,vait tn.til the earthly tal«rnaele could be put off. Many were the hoL snent in seeret, weeping and praying for the beloved one, l.at when that tin>e eame, he might be prepared or It. It seem., strange to have to i^cord the faet, but aet .t was, that, near as he had teen to death, hopeless as he was in life, he yet did not, for yea., atcnpt any preparation for that other world which alone eon d have any hope for him. To his sister anees tins condition of things had seemed far >''o.e terr.ble than the bodily suffering; and for weeks together her prayer for him had been one >"o..go.l cry for mercy. There eame a time when alT2 ^'"-"•'>'"«'-"Sed,_les,s indifferent «^,r Is f '^""^•^■-"ti™. less irritable when her « o ds became what he used to call pet^onal He attle, It not eneouragnig, was certainly less dis- '1 t 18 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. coiimpfing, and tho sister, who was his chief atten- diint, began to have a tremblinj,' hope that ho had found, or was finding, (tod. Then, suddenly, had come into their quiet homo a strange, new iiinuenee, a hewii(h;rment, a liope, or a delusion; they knew no*^ how to name it. DAY. « chief atton- I that iie had "IT WAS A TRUE REPORT." 19 I* quiet homo lent, a liope, laiiie it. CHAPTER jr. "IT WAS A TRUE REPORT WHICH I HL MINE OWN I^VND." II) rv ^TIE Holman family, owing to their affliction 1 and the constant strain upon tliem of auvM^ty and care, lived a very quiet life, niinglin; :,ut little even with their n(M.i,dil)oi-s, ami avoi, njif society almost entirely Yet their home was ntur the city, and all news ..f importance reached tli. • sooner or later. At the time in which our sto opens, news of a very strange and startling natu engrossed the minds of t ,(• puhlic. Tiiere had come to the city at intervals during the season, a man who seetned, if one might judge hy results, to be a physician of no comm<.u order. He was an entire stranger to the neigh!. orhood • but very soon after his first v sit remarkable stories began to be circulated as to his power over disease and pain, and, indeed, over i ouble of almost any sort. The most amazing rep rts had reached the Holmans of the man's ai^litj to cure those who had been for years considered icurable ; and this, not with a long and expensive )rocess of medioaJ treatment, but with a touch, . word, sometimes 20 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. i; ! with only a look. Of course the city was divided as to its opinions. Many sneered at all the stories as baseless follies. They affirmed that the cures were performed on the bodies of those who had diseased imaginations only, and having imagined themselves ill, they could on occasion, of course, as easily imagine themselves well. There were some who shook their heads and looked mysterious, and hinted that there was something strange and unnatural, not to say "uncanny," about it all. Most people believed in the existence of an evil spirit, and it had never been proved that he had not his emissaries in human flesh. Immediately arose those who affirmed that to cure liuman pain, and relieve misery, and give peace where before had been unrest, was certainly not the work of evil spirits ; but there were answers ready for such. Satan, it was said, knew enough in these days to make of himself an " angel of light " when occa- sion demanded. So the city was divided, and excitement ran hiofh. In the little home on the outskirts of the city, where our interest centres, it had not been sup- posed that there was held other opinions than those advanced by the grave-faced, often stern father. " We will liave nothing to do with such mat- ters," he had said, with the positiveness that char- acterized him. " Nor do we want people running here to tell their marvellous tales. It is nothing was divided 1 the stories at the cures )se who had ig imagined I, of course, There were mysterious, strange and it it aU. '.e of an evil that he had nimediately luman pain, here before he work of dy for such. ese days to when occa- ivided, and :)f the city, : been sup- nions than often stern L such mat- > that char- )le running is nothing "IT WAS A TRUE REPORT." 21 new. There has been some sort of excitement afloat to make the credulous gape, and help the heedless into evil, ever since tlie world began ; there always will be, I suppose, bat we need not be caught by it. Just keep away from such unhealthy out- bui-sfcs, and avoid the people who are forever talk- ing about them. That has always been my habit, and it is a good one for my cliiklren to copy. No good ever comes from stepping out of the regular routine of respectable life. I do not believe in street preaching, or street performing of any kind. Let it be distinctly understood that I will not have the na.nes of any of my family connected witli excitements like these." Yet despite this emphatic announcement, and the api)arent assurance wliicli the father felt that in tliis, as in other matters, his children would fol- low his example, stories of the strangers marvel- lous power did float into the house from time to time. The few neighboi-s who continued to be friendly witli the isolated family, and who " ran in" to try to cheer them in their loneliness, tvoidd talk about what was going on in town. Their stories were not mucli lieeded by the mother. The truth is, slie was one of those women who believe that wliat " father " thinks is rio-ht and best, all the rest of the world to the contnarv not. withstanding. So she sat quietly at her sewing and smiled incredulously over tiiP marvol^ and only heard half of the particulai^, and merely 1 00 YESTERDAY FHAMED IN TO-DAY. cautioned tlio girls tliat they were not to botlier " fatlior " b}' repeating any of the talk. The younger daughter, however, liked to listen to the reports ; they fed her love of tlie wonderful. The details amused her yreatlv; and as oftcsn as opi>ortunity olTered, despite the father's injunction, she was sure to question until she had drawn out the particulars. She was, however, nuich too loyal to her fatlier, and perhaps too nuich like him by nature, to have the slightest interest be- yond that of amusement in any of the stories. So nuich as a hint of their possibly serious character was sure to make her indignant. As for the elder daughter, she listened to the talk as opportunity offered in utmost quiet. Some- times her face flushed over the details ; and she caught her breath occasionidly to suppress an exclamation, though of what character it would have been, she kept quite to hei-self. ^Matters were in this state, with the father absent from home on a business-trip, when something very like a bombshell of excitement buret in the quiet cottage. David, the helpless, who, it was thought, liad long ago given up the hope of leaving his room until that solemn day when he should be carried from it coffined, suddenly announced his deter- mination of being carried to town the next time the strange physician visited it. He would see for himself if there was any truth in the stories. If 'I J I t to botlier 3d to listen woiulerlul. IS often us injunction, drawn out nuu^li too nuicli like nterest be- tories. So 3 chiinictur ned to the iet. Soiue- ; and she ippress an r it would tlier absent something urst in the ought, had y his room be carried his deter- next time uld see for ;torics. If "IT WAS A TlirE REPORT." 28 even one-third of them were tnie, it ought to Ije possible to have something (hnic for him. Ill vain the frigliUMied niotht-r urged the follv, nay, the utter cruelty, of sui h an attempt. Had he forgotten the au ful agony of tlie time when they moved him, ev*.r so gf-nily. to liis j)resent couch? ''J'ruf, he was in ii-ss pai'i now than he used to ]x', but thiit was Ikk-uusc he lunl none of those terrible movings to endun-. Did Ik; not re- memljer that even now theie wert- days wlien the jar caused by pei'sons walking across tlie room was more than he could bear? I low. then, could he think it possible for him to endure the motion of the street? Thu more fully she spread it out before him, the mr)re fully she realized his utter folly. Not so David. " It is of no use. mother." he said. - What you tell me may all be true, and my case is i>robably, as you say, utterly hopeless ; nevertheless, I mean to make the attempt, even though I should die on the road. The boys will carry me on that newlv discovered cot, in such a way that there will l>e almost no jar. A great many things can !. j done now, mother, that could not when I first lay down in this room. Please, good little mother, do not try to keep me from making this effort ; my whole soul is determined on it. I rmst see this man. You know how long it is since I have felt any interest in doctors ? I do not know why I should feel as I do, but I am as detennined to carrv out 24 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. this plan as I ever was to do anytliiii^^ in my life; and you remember, do you not, that I used to have a will of my own ? " There was a faint flush of color on his face as he made this reference. Nohody ever icmiiided him how entirely that will of his had ruined liis life, but of coui-se they remembered it. " Yes," said Mrs. Plolman Avith intense siouiii- cance ; " I remember that you had." It was the nearest she had ever come to a re- proach for the blighting of her life as well as his own. Four young men from town were the prime movers in the matter which was causing the fam- ily such anxiety. They had been friends of David since his early boyhood, although two of them were younger by several years than himself. 'Jliey had spent many nights together at a time when David's was the ruling spirit, and he had led them to the very verge of ruin. It had been well for them that he had been suddenly laid aside in that quiet room. The accident had set them to think- ing ; and, withdraAvn from his influence, they had thought to such purpose that now they were reck- oned as model young men. They had never grown entirely away from their early intimacy with David Holman. As time passed, and his sufferings grew less, they had been able to beguile many weary hours for him. Mi-s. Holman had been very grate- ful to them in the days gone by; and however 11 my life; ed to have lis f;u'(! as rt'iiiiiidcd niiiiod liis ise sioiiili- 1(3 to a re- ivell as liis Llie prime »• the fam- 3 of David of them ilf. ^Jliey inie when [ led them 1 well for tie in that to think- they had vere reck- ver grown ith David iiigs grew ny \veary ery grate- . however "IT WAS A TUUE llEPOIlT. >» 25 much the family might withdraw themselves fif)m others, the house had always Ixm'M open to tlies(; young men. Within a few weeks, how(!vcr. it had been discovered that they were all nioir- or less interested in what Mr. Ilolinan characterized as the "superstition" which was spreading over the country. More than once he had said that he wished those young men would cease their atten- tions to David; if they Avere as shallow-l.raincd as their infatuation indicated, he would certainlv not miss them much. But the mother had urged in excuse that they were young, and of course mor« or less curious about all new ideas ; because tiiej tried to see and hear what they could, did not argue a very deep interest ; and in any case they could do no harm to poor David, who l.uul so few visitors. So the your-g men had come and gon« as usual, until suddenly it was discovered that they had done harm to David. It was they who had urged him to that fatal decision to see and hear the dangerous stranger for himself ! On the morning in question, Mrs. Dolman left her daughter Frances abruptly, with a sore feeling in her heart that she had failed in the quarter where she had looked for help. She returned to her son's room m time to hear one of the young men say. — " You coulchi't have chosen "a better day "tlmn this, Holman. It is warm, but not unpleasantly so; the air is like wine. I believe tlie mere get- ting out into it once more will do you good." "" 20 YESTERDAY FllAMED IN TO-t)AY. The poor motlier turned upon the speaker in only iKirtiiilly suppressed indignation. ''I supposed you liad more sense!" slie said sharply. "Do you think we -would have kept our sou housed all these months if there had been any safe way to avoid it? Don't you know, or have you forgotten, that every effort to move him from that corner, even, has been followed by hours of agony, and then by such exliaustion that we have hung over him, fearing that each breath would be the last ? If you understood his condition as I do, you ^^-ould see the folly of supposing for a moment that he could endure the movement over the rough street. I have hoard his father say that there is not a worse-paved street leading to the city than ours. It is disagreeable for a well per- son to ride over it, and impossible for my son." "O Mrs. Holman ! " exclaimed the young man who had led in the movement throughout; "do not suppose for a moment that we think of having him ride like common mortals. Hasn't lie de- scribed the new hand-carriage to you, invented for just such emergencies ? We propose to bring one to the side door, lay his bed on it, and carry him oui-selves. We shall move very slowly, and we do not believe lie will feel any jar whatever. I as- sui'e you, dear madam, we have planned most care- fully, and feel almost certain of the results." " So do I ! " said the poor mother vr'h significant bitterness ; but she said no more. She had done %• pealcer in she said ! kept our been any % or have liim from ' hours of t we have ,th woukl lition as I inij for a nent over ir say that ig to the Avell per- i son." )ung man out; "do of having I't he de- ^'ented for bring one carry him and we do er. I as- most care- Its." significant had done "IT WAS A TRUE REPORT. »» 27 all she could to prevent what she believed to be disaster and that only, and had failed. The reso- lute will which, rightly managed, would have been such a blessing to her son, but which had degen- erated into wilful oljstinacv and ruined him, awoke from its long lethargy, and reasserted itself that morning with more than its former strength ; he tvoulcl go. Nothing but dying on the spot would prevent it, he assured liis mother with a smile, which in itself revealed the firm lines of his lips. Without more ado preparations were com- menced for the trying ordeal. Tlie poor sufferer was a marvel to those who knew him well, in that he bore the torture of being dressed for the out- side world without even a groan, and, indeed, with no outward sign of suffering, other than his deathly pallor and the dark lines under his eyes bore witness to. His mother hovered about him, pale, tearless, silent, trying to the veiy last to plan for his comfort. Even when she bent and kissed him good-by, a long lingering kiss that her fore- boding l.'eart told her might be the last which would meet with any response from him, she held hei-self to silence. It was not the time for speech ; she had said what she could, and his father was not at home. " It is simply a stretcher I " she said, with white lips, her eyes still tearless, as she came into the house at last, having seen the strange procession actually on its way; and looked after it until a 28 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. bend in the road hid them from view. " I liuv(> tried to teach myself to expect to see him cunicd away from me in liis coffin, but I did not tliiiik he would go out to meet it ! " David, who, from l)eing the quietest of subor- dinates, meekly doing to the best of his poor nl)il- ity just as he was told, had suddenly reasserted himself, decreed that none of the family should accompany him on his perilous journey. He tried to explain the reason to Frances, who, though she I id said no word to deter him from the effort, did beg to go with him. " No, I cannot have that. JMy mother nuist not go, and no one, not even you, blessed sister that you are, must take her place. Besides, if it should come utterly to laught, as I constantly remind myself that it probably will — I do not know that I can make myself undei-stood, but I feel that I could not endure che look of one of you, for a while ; I must go through that ordeal quite alona I shall live to get back, I feel sure of that ; so it is not good-by." He had smiled upon her as he spoke, but his face was as white as the face of the dead. After a moment he had added, — " Kiss me, Frances, and tell Margaret to come and give me a kiss, not for good-by, but for hope." iNIargaret came, with the tears streaming from lier eyes, and with protestations and beseecliin5, to busy themselves somewhat in the usual ways ; to speak and act as though life lan for them in its accustomed grooves ; but of course they cinild not even outwardly accomplish this. In the fii-st place, vliere was that deserted room which hud not for yeai-s been unoccupied even for a moment. For the first hour i\Irs. Ilolman shut and locked her- self within it. When she came out her face was still markedly pale ; but she was quiet, and re- mained so for most of the day. The windows of the vacated room were all thrown wide open, and preparations Avere made for giving it a more thorough cleaning tl:an was often possible. This, too, had its pain. "It feels as though there had been a death in V. "WE HAVE H"* "> HIS V< ^E. ♦» 81 OF TUK 9nce, and itful ones, ey waited )litaniiess otliei-s, to ways ; to leiu in its ley could 1 the fij-st li l.uul not nent. For icked lier- face was , and re- indows of ide open, it a more e. This, death in the house, and a funeral! " Margaret said, -h ver- ing over the thought. " It is dreadful to sjee all the windows thrown open at once, when we have sheltered Jiini for so long ! " " Hush ! " said Frances warningly, as she turned to see if her mother had caught the words. "How can you he so inconsiderate ! Do not let us make it harder for her than it must be, nor for ourselves, for that matter. David is out once more under the wonderful sky, and in the pure air of heaven. We do not know what it may do for him." Frances had laid aside her sewing, engrossing as it had seemed to be all the morning, and taken hold with energy of the sweeping, dusting, and general setting in order that Avas going on in all the down-staii-s rooms. Despite her words to Mar- garet, there was within her a sensation of pain at the thought that she need not be careful about the opening and closing of doors, nor nund draughts, nor avoid noises nor jars, as they had all been trained to do. They had been so long accustomed to the shaping of their most commonplace einploy- ments with reference to the comfort of their sick one, they had for so long expected to continue in this way until the hour when he should be carried from them never to return, that it was impossible to get away from a terrible feeling that that hour had come upon them unawares. As the long day dragged its slow length to- 82 YESTERDAY FltAMED IN TO-DAY. ward tho west, the nervous strain became almost too much to bear. Mother and daughter strug- gled bidvely in their effort to help one another. They had plunged into unusual and fatiguing work in order to try in this way to dull their sen- sibilities. Then, later, they tried to absorb them- selves m preparing an early tea, and having it much more elaborate than usual. Margaret, by way of excuse for one of her plans, tried to say cheerfully that perhaps father would be at home by tea-time ; but her voice faltered painfully be- fore the sentence closed ; and Frances, who at- tempted to respond, stopped in the middle of hers. They had been on the lookout for the father for several days, but now they could not be sure that they wanted him to come. What if — but there they tried to stop even their thoughts. "It is very strange," said Mrs. Holman at last, speaking out something of her pain, « that we did not insist upon going with him. I do not under- stand how I could have been persuaded into stay- ing away, or how you could, Frances ; you are young and strong, and David lets you have your way with him. I do not know why you were so persistently quiet to-day ; you could at least have saved us from this awful strain of waiting. It is cruel ! " ''David^was so. resolved upon going without sau. Frances soothingiy, - that it seemed best ^^n us " « tmo almost tera strug- le another. fatiguing ! their sen- 3orb tliem- having it rgaret, by led to say 3 at home nfully be- who at- niddle of father for sure that but there 1 at last, it we did )t under- nto stay- you are ive your were so iast have ^ It is without lied best "WE HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE.' 33 to M the point. I waiitod to go, but lie said ho could not bear it. Ho would not have you go for tli«f world ; and ho would have no one in your place, niotlier." Tho niotlicr's face worked painfully over this token of her place in her son's heart, and Frances continued, — '•Dear mother, do you think we need to have sncli fearful anxic^ty ? His friends are as tender of liini as any woman could be; and the movement through the ])alniy air may have been of actual benellt. At the worst, lie will not be more ex- hausted than he has often been with the old pain. Our not hearing from him by this time is encour- aging, I think. We should have heard if anything had gone wrong." " Do not talk about it ! " said Mrs. Holman shari)ly. '^ I can never forgive myself, and your father will never forgive me if"— Margaret made haste to interrupt her before the fateful words could be added. " O mother, ought not David's L .dclothes to be brought in before the dew begins to fall ? The smi has left that part of the yard. And I think there should be a little fire started in his room, the evening is going to be chilly." Frances blessed her for this sudden return to safe, sweet commonplace. How blessed to be able to thud^ of tlm frpsh ovoof "»ri-n-'->- ' l i i • "' ••>'<-<- i-^incxiiiig ucdciothes beuig tucked about David, and of shading his eyes 84 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. from the light as usual. Oh, to be sure of going back only to yesterday, and having everything iust as usual ! The fire was made, the well-aired blankets duly ai-ranged, and everything was sweet and fresh and ni waiting; yet no one came. The early dusk began to close them in. Frances drew the shades, and lighted the lamps, and made the rooms ready for the usual evening, as best she could. The mother dropped all attempt at words, and sat with hands clasped in her lap, and such a look of misery upon her face, which seemed to have aged since morning, that her daughtei-s turned instinctively from the siglit. In the dining-room the table was laid for four. ^Margaret, as she added the fourtli plate, had mur- mured sometliing about her father being home for supper. As the houi-s passed, she began to say to Frances in suppressed, frightened tones, "If father were only liere !" "Something dreadful must have liappened ! " :she said at last, her words sharp with fear. " They certainly would not keep him out after night- fall. Frances, if you had chosen, I believe you could have spared us this day of misery. I hope the realization of it may not embitter your life. Look at mother ! I certainly should not like it for a memory that I might have saved her this." "Hark!" said Frances in reply; and huriying ■DAY. Hire of going eiy tiling just >lankets duly nd fresh and ! early dusk V the shades, rooms ready could. The ^nd sat with ok of misery aged since nstinctively lid for four. ;e, had mur- ig home for ^n to say to , "If father appened ! " ar. "They fter night- jelieve you misery. I hittei- your ihould not lave saved i huriying "WE HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE. 35 to the door, she strained her eyes to peer into the gathering darkness. In the near distance could be heard voices shout- ing, — not, apparently, notes of terror or of dis- may, but certainly sharpened by great excitement. Something had happened ! The door was speedily closed, and both girls sought their mother. Slie, too, had heard the noise. She came out from that empty room, and dropped into the chair farthest from the door. She was ready, she believed, for what was to come to her. "What is it?" she said with a voice that was too quiet. " Why don't you tell me at once what it is? I am ready." "We do not know, mother," said Frances, try- ing to speak cheerily. " There is great excitement on the street, and many people seem to be coming this way ; but it cannot be anything terrible ; they are too noisy. Hark ! they are cheering ! Listen ! I can distinctly hear the hurrahs. Dear mother, do not look so dreadful! It cannot have to do with us in any way. Some political news must have excited the people." Mrs. Holman made no reply. While Margaret clasped her hands in an agony of apprehension, one moment crying out that it was too cruel to keep them in such suspense, and the next tryino- to assure herself that she feared nothing, and tlmt it was silly to get so wrought up, the mother sat Witn eyes fixed on that outer door, waiting, Ml 86 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. in 5 * The tramp of many feet could now be distinctly heard, though the voices had been hushed. Was tliis out of respect for the peoi)le in that home ? A moment more, and there was tlie sound of feet on the walk leading to the door. At last some- body was coming ! Frances had believed that almost anything would be better than that awful waiting ; but she shrank now from all human S[)eech. Yet she must not shrink ; she must be strong to meet whatever was coming ; she must shield her mother. 'i'his last thought made her step forward quickly, aiul throw o[)en the door. And she met, not the lifeless form she had schooled herself to expect, nor yet the "stretcher" that she had watched })orne away in the morning, but instead, one who friglitened her as mortal had never done before. Tlie face, and above all the smile, were David's own ; but he stood on strong feet, and seemed the very embodiment of health and strength ! " Have I frightened you ? " he asked quickly. "Where is my mother?" and he went swiftly toward her chair in time to catch her fainting form in his arms. j\Irs. Ilolman had mistaken her strength ; slie was ready for the stretcher, but not for this strong man. Frances, wlicn strength returned to move at all, closed the outer door gently ; it came to her that it was almost a pity to shut out that ravishing sight from the eager, sympathizing throng, — "WE HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE a S7 istinctly J. Was b home ? I of feet st sonie- /etl that it awful liuman must be he must quickly, not the • expect, watched one who ! before. David's iuied the quickly. . swiftly ing form ken her but not ^e at all, her that avishing rung, — David, the utterly helpless, standing there straight and strong, holding his mother in his arms ! A moment or two the crowd waited in respect- ful silence, then they gathered their strength for one mighty cheer, and tramped away. The family did not know it at the time, but afterwards it Avas discovered that the four young men, who had been David's patient and watchful attendants dur- ing that wonderful day, waited, quite outside the gate, even for hours, to see if possibly they might be of service still. To intrude upon that home that night for any other purpose than helpfulness would have seemed to them like sacrilege. It may have been a merciful Providence that held the three inside that closed door absorbed over their mother. For a time they almost feared that the ancient proverb was mistaken, and joy could kill. Yet was it any wonder that the mother lay as one dead in the arms of her son ? Consider what a day it had been, and what years it had followed. Over and over and over again had that poor mother fought her battle with death, when he had seemed to come to claim her boy. She had also fought the battle with her own heart, and after many wounds and bruises believed hei-self to have submitted to the inevitable. From that time on she had watched from day to day the beloved body grow more and more emaciated, and taught hei-self to say, " It can be but a question of months now, instead of years," and had learned to pray 88 YESTERDAY 'FRAMED IN TO-DAY. that tlie end might come with as little pain as ])os sible. Then had come the strain of that tenibh' day, with the husband, on whose judgment she was used to leaning, away, and ignorant of all that was transpiring. Certain portions of the day had seemed like yeai-s. She had held herself in check so far as outward sign was concerned, but her iuui- gination had run riot. Every sound on the street meant the footfall of a messenger coming to tell her that out on the noisy street of the city, with no mother near to pillow his dying head, the end had come. And then tlie door had opened at last, and she had seen, not her sou, but a vision of him, straiplit, strong, beautiful, as she had known him in his youth! What wonder that the long-controlled powers gave way ? She rallied at last, but had well nigh fainted again when she saw that it was her son wlio knelt beside her, with one hand feeling for her pulse, and with the other bathing her foreliead. Could she ever get used to being ministered to by him? When at last they gathered about that belated tea-table — oh, the wonder of it ! David occujjied the extra cliair ! "I didn't set the table for you," affirmed Mar- garet gleefully. " I kept hoping that father would come to help us get through the night. I felt sure that motlAcr would need somebody to heii) ^i^i'- ♦'WE HAVE HEAliD HIS VOICE.' 39 Who could have imagined that it would ever be you?" David's eyes sought his mother's face and lin- gered there. " She frightened me," he said. " I bewailed my folly in not sending a messenger aliead to prepare the way. It is a pity for a man to be so full of himself that he can forget his motlier! I did not realize that the joy of it could overcome you so." " It doesn't matter," she said gratefully. "Nothing matters now. I think I shall not mind anything any more, ever ! I am sorry I gave you such a greeting, though ; I can't see Avhy I fainted ; I have kept up well all day, haven't I, girls ? But it was growing so late, and we had not heard a word." " I know ; it was cruel in me. A messenger might have been sent back to you from time to time if we had thought. But there was nothing to tell. We had to wait. The house was thronged. We were hours in trying to get near enough even to see the gateway. There was a time when it seemed as though I should have to give it up and be brought home as I went. Words will never describe how I felt at the thought! But the crowd was something fearful ! Away out into the road, and down tiie road as far as we could see, were people, every one as anxious to get inside the building as I was. Most of them, however, could 40 YESTERDAV P HA MED IN TO-DAY. walk, and push for themselves, while I had to he kept where they could not even hrusii against nie. Ihe hojs were splendid! Not for a single mo- ment did they yield to discouragement. When I forced myself to niunnur that perhaps we ought to go back, they said, ' No, indeed ! not for the world would they go back now after the worst had been borne so well.' Dear, blessed fellows ! I can never forget what they have been to me this day." The rush of feeling stopped his voice for a moment i but Margaret, the impetuous, could not wait. " Go on ! " she said eagerly. " How long did you wait, and what happened? Tell us every- thing. We have done all the waiting that we can this day." lie smiled on her and continued his story: — "I have no clear idea how long the wait was. Some of the time I was in very great pain, which made the minutes seem hours, then there would come a lull and I took some rest ; I believe I even slept a while. At last, by an ingenious device on the part of my friends, they succeeded in getting me nito the very room where the physician was speakn.g. The effort caused me great agony. They had to push among the people a little though I was so much w„rse off than most, that they fell back for me and showed some sympathy • but the pain was fearful ! J remember that just the moment before my couch was set down in front Y. had to be ^•jiiiist niu. iiiglu mo- VVlieii I ! OUj^llt to the worhl luul been can never ce for a ;ould not "WE3 HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE." 41 of him I felt that human nature could endni-c it no longer. For the rest " — At this point he made a full stop, as one who felt that he had that to tell for which liuman lan- guage was inadequate. I lis audience watched him with interest too deep for questions, and waited. long did s ev^ery- that we vy: _ ait was. 1, which e would e I even 5 vice on getting ian was agony. I little, •st, that q)athy ; lat just in front 42 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. CHAPTER IV. "WHO HEALETH ALL THY DISEASES." lii " TTOR the rest," he said again, with a rare smile i- on his face, " I wish I could tell it to you ! but it is beyond words. I am afraid you will never hear the story. Mother, he used no medi- cine, asked no questions, said not a dozen words ; but they were words for me ; tliey burned into my soul. Then he added a direction. What do you think? I was to rise and walk! " Mother and daughtei-s each uttered an exclama- tion very like dismay. It is true that they had seen him walk twice across the room ; they knew that the impossible had been accomplished ; yet to hear the story from David's own lips, and to learn that the result had followed a simple direction, seemed beyond belief. " You must wonder how I dared to try," he began, after a moment of silence ; " but no sooner had I heard the words than I knew that I could obey them. I felt a strange thrill in these long- unused limbs of mine, a sense of strength and power. Without a second's hesitation, I sprang up before them all, and walked. ' Walked ! ' that is "who hbaleth all thy diseases. 43 putting it mildly ; mother, I ran, like a schoolboy I jumped 1 I think I even shouted ! I knew then, as well as I do now, that I could walk as far and a6 fast as any man among them." Without the living witness before their eyes, how could they have believed such a story? It seemed almost impossible, even while looking at him. Yet there he was, apparently in the full glow of health and strength ! Older, he looked, than when he had sat at the family table with them be- fore, but certainly not less vigorous. Also there was a new look on his face that the ever-watchful mother had never seen there before. A restful, quieting look. It made her feel that here was one to shoulder some of her burdens for her ; but she did not understand it. The youthful David had not been thoughtful for others, and nobody had leaned on him. He had little more to tell. They had the story, he assured them, so far as it could be put into words. The waiting had been long ; but the act itself had been accomplished in a moment, and he had moved away, and given place to others. The listenei-s questioned and cross-questioned, and could not be satisfied ; they went over each detail as though they would never be weary of hearing of it, yet they could not understand. Sud- denly Frances asked the all-important question, — " David, how does he explain his extraordinary power? Who is he?" t'lS 44 YESTERDAY FKAM'eD IN TO-DAY. till Her brother Uinied toward her, a peculiar light oil Ills hwv, and some quality in liis voice that hi-.o could not quite interpret; yet his words were wimple enough. " I do not know what he claims, Frances ; re- member I never saw him before, and I saw liim to-tlay but for a moment;. I was not near enough to hear any words from lils lips but those si)()ken to me; and naturally I did not linger, when I found that I could fairly run home ! He looks and acts, in many respects, like other men. At least there is nothing in dress or manner that seems to claim distinction ; and yet he is not like othei-s. There is an air of quiet dignity which is forceful and at the same time winning, and he gives one a sense of reserve power. It almost seemed to me that he miglit be a prophet, such as used to be in tlie long ago — though I cannot imagine any propliet (piite like him, and I do not think he has made any such claim. I am compelled to say, the', fore, that I do not know who or what he is. I am sure only of this, —that whatever he says of himself, I shall believe." " Of coui-se," said Frances simply. " How could one give less faitii than that to a man who evi- dently lives to ])less others, and who has a power to do so which is certainly not like other men's ? " Margaret gave her sister a searching look that seemed also to be almost a startled one, but she said not a word. "WHO HEALETU ALL THY DISEASES. 45 re- " Well," said David at last, himself making the movement to leave the table at Avhich they had ling(!red long, "what is the luwi thing to be (lone? Uiuneniber 1 must be edueated again for ordinary every-day life. My own life has run in umisnal grooves for so long that I suppose I have forgotten the ro\.tinu. This table is to be elearcd, is it not, and the dislios disposed of? That used to be the way, I am sure. Dear old dining-room ! how well I remember it. You were rigiit, 1*' ranees, about the bay-window ; it is better on that side, and is a great im[)rovement. It looks larger than 1 fancied it from the measurements. You have no idea how nuich I hiive wished to see the new kitchen ; I could never decide just how it was arranged. Let us go and look at it." He was makinof an evident effort to turn the channel of conversation to the safe level of every- tlay conunonplaces for a little while, in order to relieve the almost terrible strain of excitement under which the mother was struggling. Mar- garet caught his idea, and helped it along. "The 7U'iv kitchen!" she repeated, as she sprang up to lead the way. "It lost that name long ago ; it is nearly three yeai-s since it was built!" A little later, while Margaret and his mother were both away, David sought a word with his elder sister. " 1 saw i^hilip to-day, Frances," 46 YESTERDAY FEAMED IN TO-DAY. Tlie flush on her face deepened, hut she spoke quietly. "Did you? Where was he? I did not know he had retuiiied." "Ho came only yesterday, lio said, and liad been unusually busy ; but he hojjed to get out by to-morrow. I saw him there, where the physician is staying. It was he who helped to make a way for me through the crowd. He was not surprised to see me, he said ; he liad felt sure for some days tliat I would come ; and he was not surprised at the result." The young man was watching his sister's face with care while he s])oke. As she passed near him in her work of setting the room to rights, he put out his hand and drew her to him. "Am I right, Frances," lie said, speaking low, *' in fancying that you did not share mother's and Margaret's feeling about all this? Did you, in your secret heart, want me to see this wonderful man, and did you almost believe that he could and Avould help me ? " " O David ! I do not know what I thought, or what I wanted. I have never seen him, you re- member ; but we have heard such strange things ! and some of them came too direct to be discredited. I could not help, sometimes, hoping that — and yet I didn't " — she stopped abruptly. " I understand," he said. " You felt what you were almost afraid to think, and wimted what ^oj* "WHO IIEALI-yni ALL THY DISEASES." 47 were quite afraid to say. It was very nuioli my own frame of mind ; but for my four brave, [)er- sistent friends, I could not have brouglit myself to the decision. Hut Fraiun^s, I thought possibly lMiil'[) had told you some things about this man? " ''He has," said Frances earnestly. "Oh, ho has told me a great deal I But lie is young and enthusiastic; and I have been afraid — there is father, you know." '"• I know," David answered ; and he stifled a rising sigh that seemed to belong to the words, and smiled instead, as he said, — " It seems wonderful that I can sigh over an}'- thing to-night. My dear sister, think what a night it is to me !" " I think of it every minute ! I shall be afraid to go to sleep, lest it may be only a dream ban- ished by morning. Only think of you standing here with your arn- round me, and I actually leaning on you ! " " It is no dream," he said with bright gravity, "• and will never be dispelled. Not even "HE PUT A NEW SONG IN MY MOUTH." 53 CHAPTER V. I ■ I r "HE HATH PUT A NEW SONG IN MY MOUTH." "XrOTJ are right," said David promptly, "we 1 must think of my father. Then, mother, may we kneel down together, and thank God for his power and grace ? " The crowning astonishment of the day lay in those words. David Holman on his knees ! His mother had not seen him there since he was a mere boy. As a household they gathered morning and evening for prayer; but in those few years of young manhood, before David was laid helpless on his bed, he had been habitually out too late at night, and up too late in the morning, to join them in outward form. As for hoart-woi-ship, if he had ever honestly prayed, his mother thought it must have been m his lisping childhood. It is true that oi' late she had shared with Frances the trembling li()l)e that David was changed, was at least over- coming the bitter, rebellious spirit that had held him in bondage for many months after his accident, and learning to look to God for mercy. But, in ad- dition to his unwillingness to talk on such tlifmes, her own timidity, aided by long habit, made 54 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. toe, and resolved not to disturb her. I Je was very often the lirst to open David's door cauticmsly, in the early morning, and if ],e proved to be awake, greet lum with some question intended to call out how the night had seived him. For, since their nivahd luul b(>en suHiciently free from pain to be able to sleei, P'lrt of the night in eon)parative quiet, they Imd arranged that for his comfort lie should be left quite alone. Bells connnunieating with not only his father's but his sisters' room enabled him to sunnnon whoever he would at any moment; and if lie were wikeful and restless, he was bes(,u.i,ht to let one of them come and share Ins Aveariness with bim. When neither bell rang, the fanuly knew that the latter part of the night had been comparatively comfortable. Very softly imleed was the door i,ushed open this morning, lest a possible nap might be dis- turbed ; but David's eyes were wide open and his smile was good to see. It t^poke such an unmis- "HE I'UT A NKVV SONG IN MY MOUTH." 01 tfikiil)l(! liiiigunrTo tliiit tiie fatlior fnnittefl the usual (incstioH, iiiid hjistcnod forward to ^met lum, s.iv- iii^f only, " I am glad to wee you ho coint'ortabU'." Tlicu he stopped inidway, starinl ing to recall what Fi-anc-es had told him of this acquaintance. It had been her hal.it to an.nse her brother by very careful d(^scril,tions of i)ei>^ons and things coiniected with the world from which he was shut away. She ^^■as very good at de- sci-iption and at imitation. Severaf of the i.eople who had called that day, David had an amused feehng that he knew, simj.ly from her delinea- tions. Rut she must have passed Mr. ]\Iastei-s in almost silence ; David could remember his name be- ing mentioned once, but that was all. It could not be that she had ccmsidered liiin too commonplace to demand attention. He was a tall, well-formed man, with the regularity of features that belong to the term "fine-looking." He was also ex- cecliugly well dressed, with . careful regard to .small detads that marked him as a man well up in the customs of pohte society. This David felt rather than knew, very few of his eallciB iiaviiig "THEY OPENED THEIR MOUTH." 65 try- been from the class known as society people. The eyes held his attention. He could not be quite sure what they said. They fascinated him by their brilliance, but — did they at the same time slightly repel him ? He was sure that they knew how to flash sharply on occasion ; and it was very evident that they knew how to smile for Margaret. The two dropped naturally into talk that seemed to interest them both ; and David, say- ing little, continued his mental studies. "Mas- ters," he said again, " I wonder if he is connected with the governor's family? Can it be that Margaret is really interested in him? Surely not, or Frances would have told me. I do not tliink my father would like that, not if"— But liis mental queries were cut short by the arrival of another caller. This time it was Philip Nelson. David sprang to meet him, and the two stood silently with clasped hands for some seconds; both evidently so nearly overcome by a rush of mem- ories as to be beyond speech. Mr. Masters watched them with an interested, but was it also a sliglitly cynical smile ? " Your brother has discovered a friend," he said to Margaret. "Oh, yes," said Margaret; "that is a discovery that was made years ago. David has always been intimate with Philip Nelson." " Has he indeed !" said Mr. Masters. " Do you know I am somewhat surprised ? There is a strik- 66 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. ing contrast between the two men, entii-ely in favor of your brother. However, I suppose people shut away from society form friendships, often, merely on the basis of propinquity. I can fancy your brother becoming strongly attached to persons who were thoughtful of him during his exile." Frances llolnuin, who had just been to the hall with departing callers, stood near enough to hear these words, and turned grave, questioning eyes on the speaker's face, while she spoke in very dis- tinct tones. " One would almost imagine from your tone, Mr. Masters, that you could, if you chose, bring grave charges against the gentleman of whom you are speaking, ^lay I ask if you know any reason Avhy he should not be my brother's intimate friend?" JNIr. Mastere laughed lightly. "Indeed not, jNIiss llolman. I would not for the world C(^nvey such an impression. I was only intimating to your sister that I had formed a higher estimate of 3'our brother's mental calibre than such a friendship suggested. But I have only the very slightest ac{juaintance with your friend Mr. Nel- son, and therefore should not presume to judge." He turned at once to another topic, his manner intimating that he considered that one too trivial to hold his attention further, but Frances's ex- pressive face showed her disturbance. Nothing had bocu actually said against Philip "THiSY OPENED THEIR MOUTH. »» 67 Nelson ; but the tone and manner of Margaret's aristocratic friend had certainly been offensive, and there had been a Hash in his eyes that she did not like. She studied the incident anxiously. Perhaps this young man, who stood high in po- litical as well as social circles, was Phili[)\s enemy. These were troublous times in more tlian one direction ; and Philip's way, for reasons that she underetood better than most, was already hedged in by difficulties. She wished she had not spoken to Mr. Masters. What sudden temptation hud prompted her? She was not given to calling people to account for apparently trivial expres- sions of opinion. Perhaps she had prejudiced Mr. Mastei's more fully than he had been before. He was the sort of man, she thought, to remem- ber disagreeably a word like hei-s. Suddenly she became aware that the over-full little parlor was giving undivided attention to Philip Nelson ; and that, with eager voice and manner, he was attempting to describe the personal appearance of the stranger })hysician and teacher who was exciting such general interest. " You seem to be quite familiar with this ex- traordinary pei-son, Mr. Nelson?" This was the interrogatory sentence which suddenly interrupted the eager flow of words. It was Felix AFasters who spoke ; and Frances, as she marked the inflection which she could not help thinking covered a sneer, wondered how Margaret could admire that man. >^! 1 ;. I r jii !iil Hi 68 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. Philip turned toward him as one surprised at being interrupted, but answered quietly, — " I am somewhat acquainted with him, sir ; at least I have met him several times." "You are a frienu of 'lis, perhaps ?" The questioner's liuini-er was certaiidy growing markedl}' offen ;ive. li he had tiioaglu: co embarrass Philip Nelson, he was disappointed. That young man's vdice was never clearer than when he re- plied, '' I count myself honored in being able to claim him jis a friend." •' I am very sorry to hear ii." The slow, delib- erate voice of the elder ?,[r. Holman spoke these words. Up to that point he had taken no part in the convei-sation ; but when Philip Nelson began to speak, an observer would have seen that the host had leaned forward with ears attent to catch every word. The face of his daughter Frances flushed, and she picked nervously at a flower that some one in passing had laid in her lap. Philip turned a look not so much of surprise as of inquiry upon the speaker, and waited respectfully. Mr. Hol- man evidently felt that the time had come for him to speak. lie cleared his throat, and still speaking very slowly, as if he were weighing each word, said, — " In my judgment, and I have given the matter careful thought, as you may well suppose, that pei-son who has come among us so suddenly, and who is conducting himself so strangely, is a dan- Sf^rta "THEY OPENED THEIR MOUTH. )» 69 gerous character. T tliink tlie future will prove this to be the case ; and I think thiit the less you young men have to do with him in any way, the better it will be for you and for your friends." " Amen I" said Felix Masters with great prompt- ness and alacrity ; and Philip, evidently relieved, addressed the inquiry he was about to make to the younger man. "Why do you think so, sir? What do you know of him that suggests a dangerous eliaracter? Has he thus far done anything but good in the towns where he has visited ? " Mr. Masters gave a slight, contemptuous laugh, before he said, " Oh, I have no fault to find with wliat he has done, so far as it goes. There is cer- tainly no harm in leading a few simple-minded or hypochondriac old men and women to ujiderstand that they are well enough, if they only think so. Of coui-se there is nothing new or strange about that. Since the world began there have been those, who, for a consideration, were i)repared to make the lame walk, and the nervous imaorine tiiemselves well, or sick, whichever best suited the pur[)()se of the performer." " Since the world began have many such cases as this one come under your observation?" As he spoke, Philip Nelson laid his hand on his friend David's arm. Mr. Mastere laughed again, that light, peculiar, offensive Liugh, as he said, " I do not know that '4 TO YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAV. I am prepared for a cross-examination. I had not expected to be placed on trial this evening, so have not the evidence ready. Neither, by the way, am I a physician ; but I have a friend Avho is, whose opinion niiglit be interesting to you. He makes no marvel even of such cases as our friend Mr. Holman's. He says there are remark- able instances on record, proving the remarkable influence which mind has over matter, wlien the right moment comes for rousing the latter to ac- tion. I have no doubt, myself, but that the present instance, which you are tempted to ascribe to the miraculous, -an be explained on an entirely rea- sonable basis. Probably the disease which has so long prostrated Mr. Holman was stayed long ago. We must remember that he has been the subject of the most skilful medical treatment that could be found in this country, and during his long quiet rest, nature has been reasserting her claims, and has without noise or tumult performed a really wonderful cure. The truth is, the old Dame is constantly doing wondei-s for us, which we, with bad taste and doubtful honesty, are always ready to attrilMite to some physician. " Mind you, I am entirely ready to admit that our friend jMr. Holman had no knowledge of the cure ; that, too, is natural. Being long accustomed to inactivity from necessity, he grew into the be- lief that the necessity was upon him as a fixed law ; until, in obedience to a strong-willed person "THEY OPENED TFTEIR MOUTH. M 71 in the full vigor of all his physical powers, he \va8 moved, by the subtlo law of [xTsoual niagiietism, — which I also admit tliat wo by no means fully un- derstand, — to do for hims(!lf lliat wiiich simply proved his ciiri^; and imnuMliately the cnHlulous world is a'f'oo; with cries of 'a miracle I ' while the fact is, that notliin^* is simi)ler to students of science than such natural results from the use of natural laws." Frances Ilolman's face, from being deeply flushed, had grown very pale. Her eyes glanced nervously from Philip Nelson to her father, then back again to Philip. Slu; felt lusi-self on the verge of a moral earthquake. Undoubtedly Pliilip would make some reply to this harangue which would help to bring it about. The strain upon her nerves was vuiexpectedly intin-rupted by a laugh ; not a mocking one, sim[)ly a j<\vous outburst from David Ilolman. AVithout the addition of a word, it seemed almost able to overturn the remarkable bit of logic to which they had just b- < ;• treated. But David's voice followed the laugh. " ^ly good friend, there is only one way in life, so far as I know, to convince you of the utter fal- lacy of your argument. That would be to set you down in the place that I occupied only yesterday morning, and let you suffer what I did in being moved, and carried by ever so geritle hands through the streets. The experience Avould have convinced you in less than three minutes that something 72 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. Hi beyond nature wtis needed to subdue the demon of pain tJiat for every step of the way, and for five terrible hours afterwards, liad me in possession. God forbid, however, that you should ever luive to learn through the medium of such a teacher I" ilis voice grew solemn as lie proceeded, and a shiver ran through his frame, as tliuugh the mem- ory of the suffering was a furnace to him. But Mr. Masters was apparently uiunoved. •A phycho logical discussion carried on extem- pore ! " he said liglitly, as he arose to depart ; " the ladies must excuse us for forcing surh abstruse and possibly unpleasant themes upon them, and I, at least, must cut the important discussion short by retiring. It is later than I had supposed." " But, Masters," iniorrupted a young man ^^ ho, although he had been a very attentive listenei, had uj^ to that moment been silent, '' before you go I wish you would expLiiu one remar.; of youi«. What do you mean by calling that i . i a dan- gerous person? It surely cannot be dangerous, as you hinted yourself, to set people on th' ; feet again, even inugh we grant that th( illnes may have been only imaginary. lie does thei go..d service by so much, at least; and nobody hi. oxplaii.cd wherein the harm lies." "The harm, my friend, lies, as I imagine that thoughtful p : .pie older than yourself have dis- covered" — with a slight graceful bow toward the el ler Mr. Holman, — « in getting hold of the "THEY OPENED Tit Kill MOUTH." 73 ma8S( s by devices of this character ; h'ading tliciii to think that some mysterious power works throii*^li him; then, when the moment is ripe Tor action, leading tlieni wliither he will, in wa}s that they have m t imagined. In short, since you almost force frankness from me, I will say that 1 believe the man to be a political intriguer, in league u-ith the enemies of our country. I am not s[)eaking carelessly on such a subject, as yoii may '\t'll suppose. 1 have access to knowledge of impor- tance that makes me somewhat confident of what I aOinn ; and I consider our friend Mr. llolman's warning most timely, and of very great impor- tance. With another bow for jMr. Ilolman, and with the air of a sage who had fulfilled his mtj to- ward the rising generatiim, this wise young man of twenty-five took his leave. The other callei-s followed his example, stopping for only a few words of general and desultory conversation. Mr. Nelson was the last to say g(jo(l-iiight ; and David arose as he did. remarking that the eveniiip- was so lovely that he envied his f iend his walk to town. Then he summoned Frances to a walk on the piazza, and the three i)iissed out together. A3 soon as they were beyond other eai-s, Philip Nelson turned towa'tl liis friend. "Thank you for ji-av^- ords to-night, David; I supposed that I was to Lake the defensive quite alone." 74 YESTERDAY FKA.MED IN TO-DAY. " But for my I'atlu'r'H .siike," said David (luickly, "1 should have spoken much more phiinly than I did. it seems due to my latlier that my fii-st exphmation or expression of opinion should be given to him." Frances looked from one grcve face to the other, with an interest not unmingled will) anxiety. " I do not tliink I understand," she said. " Why should your words be spoken of as Jn-ave? Why should not one be outspoken in one's gratitude, at least ? And what more is there that can be said? " Mr. Nelson waited for the brother to sj)eak; but as David continued silent, he turned to Frances. "You lieard what Felix Masters said to-night? lie considers David's benefactor a dangerous per- son ; a man who is trying to raise a following that shall stir up treason. Such words, coming from such a souice, are full of meaning. There are those wlio, for reasons best uiulerstood by them- selves, will hail all such expressions, and do what they can to foster and develop them in due time. I may be mistaken; I hope I am; but I feel in my soul that the time is coming, is not far distant, when to speak even such words in our teacher's favor, as we did to-night, will require courage of no mild type." '"Our teacher!' Are you, then, one of bis pupils, Philip?" The young man held out his hand to lier, with a grave smile, as he said, '* I am indeed, my friend. "THEV OM2NKD THEIH MOUTH.** n It will not be [wwHible long to keep the matter secret ; and certainly I have no desire to do so. 1 am glad to own it. I would have told you before this, had there been opportunity ; but tlu^re were reasons why it seemed wise not to speak phiinly everywhere. Still, I do not think it comes to you as a surprise, does it?" " No," said Frances, low voiced and trend>ling. She could not trust herself to add another word. " Good-night," said Philip abruptly, giving the hand that he held, an earnest pressure, " I must not say more now, though I want to. I hope, by the time I see you again, that mattei-s will have so shaped themselves as to justify me in speaking what my heart prompts. Until then, trust me." 76 YESTERDAY FllAMED IN TO-DAY. CHAPTER VII. "I WILL NOT REFRAIN MY LIPS." H'^HEY watched him taking rapid strides down A the road, they two, pacing silently up and down the moonlit space. Frances felt that when she spoke again it must he about something that had not to do Avitii JMiilip Nelson. " How wonderful it is," she said presently, "that I am taking a walk on the piazza with you ! " ) But David could not get away from the recent train of thought. "And how Avonderful it is," he said gravely, "that the one who made such an experience possible, seems to have few friends to speak for him, and is even sneered at in my father's house, as a ' dangerous pei-son ! ' " And then Frances's mood suddenly changed, and she felt that she could talk about nothing else but the thought which oppressed her. "David, do you really think there is any danger to be feared for those who call themselves his fol- lowers ? " " Not actual danger, perhaps, but disagreeable notoriety-, and the rending of some friendships." "l WILL NOT liEFRAIN MY LIPS." 77 Frances shivered, but it was not with cold ; and her brother, as he passed a protecting arm around her, knew that it was not. " Poor PhiHp ! " he said. " Do you know I think he has been passing tiu'ongh a temptation. The way woukl liave been so niucli easier for him, if he could have kept silence with regard t(j tliis matter. He cannot help foreseeing what effect his speaking out may have upon our father. Yet it was not possible, of course, to keep to such a line of conduct. One cannot stand on neutral ground concerning that man. The fact is, people who come in contact with him nuist decide to be either for or against him. You see, do you not, that Philip could not have done other than he has ? " " I certainly would not want anyone to act con- trary to his convictions of right for the sake of my friendsliip," was Frances's somewhat trcnui- lous reply. " Certainly you would not. Be sure that Philip understands you. liy tlie \f{iy, Frances, how much or liow little does that man Masters mean? I'here cannot be iiny real friendship between liim and .Margaret, can there ? I tried to recall what you had said to me about him, but I find that my ideas are very vague." "' I have not said nnu^h about him, not since the fii"st call, because I have not known what to say. I have not the least idea how serious his intentions are, but 1 know that 1 distrust him. It has trou- 78 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. bled me, David, that intimacy; and the only reason I have not spoken is, because I thought 1 must not trouble you. 1 do not know that I have good reason for distrusting him, but I cannot help the feeling. He is showing what in some men would be called marked attention to Maigaret, and I am afraid that she is interested in him." " Do you know if he is connected with the gov- ernor's family?" " Oh, yes, the governor is his uncle, as he is disposed to let one know on every jtossible occa- sion. I am surprised tliat the fact did not appear this evening. Someone said, one evening, in talk- ing over a local matter, ' I wonder what position (lovernor jNlastei-s tukes?' and the young man an- swered promptly : ' Why, my uncle ' — etc. Oh, he stands at the very head of \\hat they call society. I suppose there is not a young lady in town but would feel flattered to be the object of such atten- tions as he has shown to Margaret; but I wish that she had never seen him." "I api)reciate your feeling," her brother said Avith a slight sigh. "Little as I have seen of the gentleman, I could find it in my heart to echo your wish." A sununons from the parlor inl(»rrupted further talk. It was tiie hour for family prayer. Mr. llolman looked Avorii; and the habitual gravity, not to say sternness of his face, the lines of wliich had been softened earlier in the day by the sudden "l WILL NOT REFRAIN MY LIPS." 79 joy that had come to his home, seemed to have returned. In his prayer he by no means forgot to thank God fervently for sending renewed health and vigor to the body so long deprived of them ; hut in alm(5st the same Ijreath he prayed that they might all be kept from drawing hasty conclusifins, or being hid into error by false teachers, who were able to appear as " angels of light." David and Frances, as they arose from their knees, exchanged sad smiles that were full of meaning. JNIr. Ezra Holman's character, in order to be un- derstood, must be more carefully explained. lie was a good man, in the accepted meaning of that phrase ; a man whose Avord was to l)e trusted as fully as his oath could have been ; a man whose affection for his family was strong and steady, and never showed in words or caresses. He was strictly just, or meant to be, but rarely merciful in the true sense. He stood so rigorously for what he believed to be right, that he let it tempt him, sometimes, into severe ways of maintaining the riirht. Take notice that the sentence reads : " he stood for what he believed to be right," which is often a very different thing from the right. He lived, in short, confined between narrow grooves. An act was right because it was n'l/hf, and it was wrong because it was ivrong ; and the peoi)le were " shallow " or " frivolous " or " dis- honest" who disagreed with him. Such, in brief, were liis forms of logic. Of course he v/as co'i- 80 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. servative. What had once been the accepted explanation of a fact, must be adhered to tena- ciously, in the face of all modern proof that the idea was an error. The very antiquity of the be- lief seemed in some way to enhance its importance in his eyes. Such a man had, of course, his own ideas concerning the development of the human race, and the intentions of God with regard to them; to move outside of the regular channel, which he did not in the least realize that he had helped to dig, was little short of blasphemy. This being the case, it will be understood that the manner of his son's cure was a shock to him ; it was entirely outside of that channel. In truth, this father, with tears in his eyes, indeed, and a great ache in his heart, but with great positiveness of belief, had settled it long ago that the Lord did not intend his son ever to walk the earth again; this was to be his just retribution for transgressing the laws of health. Therefore, for any person to interfere with the Lord's plans and effect a cure — would be almost a sin? No, the poor father did not actually mean that, not consciously at least. He had been held in the arms of that recovered son, and had slied tears of joy over the marvel. He could not quite foj-'^et that ; but two houi-s after the expe- rience, he had set to work to construct a theory of the cure that would run in the aforesaid chan- nel. That it v/as to be credited to the povver of (i I WILL NOT REFRAIN MY LIPS. »> 81 the dangerous man, whose views and teaching he helieved he liad looked into sufficiently to discover them to be false and dangerous in the extreme, was not to be thought of for a moment. How, then, should the almost miracle be explained ? To one who understood the young man's condition as well as his father did, it was certainly a difficult task. The day had been full of unrest and per- plexity ; but the coming of that brilliant scientist and logician, Felix Mastera, had brought a flood of light. Listening to his explanation, the truth had flashed upon the father so fully that he wondered at his dulness in not undei-standing it before. David had been steadily improving for years ; they all knew that. The days when he needed constant watching, and when every hour was frauglit with danger of the end, had long gone by. Nothing was more reasonable than that the i'Mprovement had been much greater than they or he reahzed. Of course he had not tried to move liimself ; why should he, when he believed it to be impossible ? What had been needed was a sudden shock that would send the blood tingling through those long- unused limbs. Such a shock the unusual effort and excitement, followed by the long journey over rough streets, had produced; hence the result. There was no more miracle about it than there is about any violent action of the laws of nature. Air. Masters's pvi^liinnfinn uroo /i/>«.4-r.:.>i.. , *.:„-!,_ - - .- — ^ 1.,., „tj^j i-vi taiiixv ciitiruiy satisfying to any reasonable mind. It would bo t ' 82 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. difficult to put into language an idea of the sense of relief the poor man felt when that disturbed channel was again in order. Yet there were per- plexities still. Was it an instinct or a premonition of trouble that made him feel that neither David, nor what was in some respects a sorer trial, his daughter Frances, accepted the logic so satisfac- tory to him ? That the son of the house should have extravagant ideas and headstrong ways of his own, was, in a sense, to be expected ; it had been the manner of sons as far back as he could remember, and David had too sadly proved al- ready that he was in that direction keeping up the tradition. But Mr. Holman was a man who believed that there was not even in nature any ex- case for daughtere going astray. It was a slight relief to remember that if his eldest daughter failed him, the blame could be laid at Philip Nelson's door; but still, the perplexed and wearied old man saw trouble ahead, and longed for peace, and was unhappy. Several days passed, however, in comparative quiet. People still came in great numbei-s to call, and David took upon himself almost entirely the duty of entertaining them. Between times he took long walks over the hills ; occasionally with Frances for a companion, but as a rule quite alone. He was busy with certain problems that needed thought; but he came and went with a cheerful face, and was undoubtedly enjoying per- (( I WILL NOT REFRAIN MY LIPS.' 83 feet soundness of body. He knew that his mother was haunted with an unspoken fear that the strength which had so suddenly, and despite all the logic she had heard, she felt, marvellously, returned to him, would as suddenly leave him. He saw the fear in her eyes as she looked up quickly to welcome his return ; and he had always a reassuring smile for her, and an immediate evi- dence of his continued strength. It was after one of these long walks that what may perhaps be called another crisis in this young man's life came to him. He had taken a seat near his mother, and helped himself to her spool and scissors to toy with while he talked. It was an old habit of his that the mother remembered well ; indeed, it had been one of those little memories that had more than once started bitter teai-s, over the thought that such happy carelessness would never be again. " I have been up on Watch Hill," he said. " Not away up ! " the mother said, speaking in satisfied tones ; only happy mothers of sons can understand how happy it made her to have her David sit there and snip a very useful piece of cloth into useless bits. "Wasn't that a long walk for such a warm afternoon ? " " It is rather warm, but I enjoyed the walk ; I had no thought of fatigue. Yes, I went quite to the top ; the view there is what it always was ; Jjut after all, the view below was tl e grand one. Hi ji "m J4 ! 84 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. Motlier, liave you heard that Reuben is at home again?" "Not Reuben !" His mother dropped her work in her lap, and looked not only surprise, but dis- may. "You don't mean it, David I What in the world can they do with him? I thouglit he was to be taken care of at the hospital as long as he lived?" "That was the plan, but it has been frustrated; and instead, he has come home to take care of his motlier and sister. They don't keep well people in hospitals, you know, mother. He was hoeing the garden like a man who felt that he had much lost tim.»- to make up." Mrs. Holman resumed her sewing. " Who are you talking about, David? For the moment, I thought you meant Reuben Payne." " So I do. An incurable disease he had, you know, in its worst form. I remember saying, and hearing othei-s say, when he was sent to tlie hos- pital, that in his old home it was the same as a death. But see how mistaken we were ! He is not only at home again, but at work vigorously, and is in splendid health." The look of bewilderment on Mrs. Holman's face was deepening every moment. "David!" she said, "how can that be true? I saw Reuben once after he went to the hospital, and the sight was so terrible that I could never forget it. X begged liis mother not to go any "r WILL NOT REFllAIN MY LIPS." 85 more. You must have mistaken some one else for poor Reuben ; it is so long since you have seen him. Oh, I understand it, you saw his brother Joseph ; they say he looks very much as Reuben used to." "My dear mother, do you believe it possible that I could have let myself, be deceived, after my own so recent experience? It was Reuben Payne himself; I should know him anywhere. Besides, I had a long talk with him, and heard his story. It simply means that the same man who spoke the word of power to me met him one day, and sent him home to his motlier, cured." There was a look of solemn joy on David's face ; his mother had seen it there before, and wondered over it. There was much about this son of hei-s in these days that slie did not understand, but there had been nothing to give her pain. Before she could make any reply to the astound- ing bit of news he had given her, Mr. Holman, who was sitting at his desk presumably busy among his papers, wheeled his chair around, and spoke with more than his habitual dignity. " David, I wish you would not use that sort of cant; it is very offensive. You know, of course, that I do not beheve in any such power as you have liinted at, and it is painful to me to hear such hints from a son of mine. I have been in- tending to speak plainly to you. I want you to remember, in time, and not mix up your family in i: ;;; f 86 YESTERDAY FKAMllD IN TO-DAY. any way wiiJi the class of people who are runniug wild lifter this adventurer." Mr«. Holman looked her exceeding anxiety, but David's voice wm ciilm and controlled. " I should be sorr-) , indeed, fatlier, to seoni to be lacking in respect to you. 1 hope you will not view it in that light. I am more sorry than I can express to have to hold different vie \vs from yon ; but after what 1 have experienced, I should despise myself if I kept silen< e. If it seems to yon » eant ' to speak in honor of the one who gave me back my life in a moment of time, I am bitterly sorry ; but as I have opportunity, I must speak." The father moved restJ ssly in his chair, and made an evident effort to hold hi.iself in check and speak calmly. "It is no more than natural, perhaps, that you shotild attach more importance t the man's inthi- ence than common sense would dictate. In your weak uodily condition, you were, of course, an easy victim to fanaticism. That is the reason I have waited patiently for your good sense to come to your rescue. You were not easily de- ceived, even when much younger than you are now ; not in these lines, at least. Wliat can the man be but an impostor, making skilful use of hi« knowl- edge of mental conditions, and of the i)o\ver of mind over matter? That young man's explana- tion, as he gave it here the other niglit, onglit to be sufficient to satisfy any reasonable pei'son. Ju y a V I ii V "I WILL NOT UKPUArN MY LIPS." 87 your case, nature luul, U8 he Haid, effected a cure, and none of us i liscovered it; but of couiho we sliould liave one so aoon. I iegi«'t deeply that I was not home to prevent your falling into the hands of one who was ruad\ to take ad- vantage of the weakness of your body to get control of your mindi" '*ou before to consider it necessary to oppose every word I said. At least, if I were you, I would try not to do it in the pres- ence of the children. If David were a hundred years old, instead of thirty, and was still a mem- ber of my family, dependent upon me for support, I should think it incumbent upon him to respect my views and be guided by my wishes ; and unless he is a great deal less of a man than I take him to be, he agrees with me." Thus appealed to, David arose from the seat beside his mother, laying down the spool and scis- sors ; but as he did so he gave her a wonderfully sweet and reassuring smile. To his father he said gently, " I remember, sir, that you said you were very tired ; perhaps we have talked as long as we ought. I see it is the hour for family worship. i ''M 92 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. At another time I should be gkid if you would allow me to have a talk with you about this, and other matters ; but I feel sure that I ought not to weary you further to-night. In the meantime, I will try not to fail in the respect and consideration due you." He crossed the room, as he spoke, for the family Bible, and laid it on liis father's knee; then he gathered the sewing f]-om his mother's hand, and bent and kissed her flushed cheek as he did so. The fatlier, subduing his strong excitement as best he could, opened the Bible at random, and read the verse upon which his eyes first rested. "Who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? He is despised and re- jected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief ; and we hid, as it were, our faces from him." Very soon thereafter David and Frances were alone in the little yard opening from the side door. Frances had slipped away first, and David had followed, as he often did when he wanted a word with her alone. They were silent, however, for several minutes. " Well," said David at last, as he laid a caress- ing liand on his sister's shoulder, "you see how it is. It is becoming very plain, is it not, that some of us will have to face opposition of no com- mon order? " "If only Margaret could have been more con- "WHO HATH BELIEVED OUll REPORT?" 93 siderate ! '' said Frances. " Why need she have mentioned Philip's name, when she saw what a state fatlier was in ? It really seems, at times, as th )Ugli Margaret " — she ahrnptly checked herself, k'aving the sentence unfinished. David regarded her thoughtfully. " How is it that Margaret seems to have so little sympathy with you in this maiitx ? " he asked. " Or rather, how is it that she has such a different iin[)ression? Do you suppose it can be the influ- ence of Masters ? " '* T am afraid so. I think she has heard more froni liim than she cares to tell. She seems strangely prejudiced. Jn some respects she is al- most more hitter than father. What can it be but his influence? She has been suspecting Philip, I think, for some time-. She asked me if it was Philip's influence that made me so silent al)out the step you took. But of course she heard from his own lips the other night where he stands." '• I was thouglitless myself to-night," David said regretfully ; "1 should not have started the conversation in that direction by my item of news. Put it all seemed so wonderful and so blessed to me, that I confess I forgot how it would ai)pear to my father. Were you there, Frances, when I told about Ueuben Payne's recovery? It was such a glorious thing to see him in his right mind, and in splendid jthysical condition ! It seemed as though it was something over which we must all rejoice together." ^ft> 94 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. "It is," said Frances quietly. "I heard your words, David, tliougli I liad not yet come down- stairs ; and of course you could not help telling it. A stone would have spoken, that had known l)oor Reuben's condition but a few days ago. Be- sides, we cannot go on in this way. We might as well be outspoken ; some definite step must be taken. Why not now as well as at any time? If we only knew just what is right! " Her brother felt almost startled by her words ; she seemed to have taken long strides in a single night. Was she possibly ahead of him ? " Some definite step ! " he repeated ; "just what do you mean, dear? " " I hardly know. Nothing is clear to my own mind as yet. Only — when a man is — such a man as he is proving himself to be, and has not only physical help to give, but instruction, and has a definite following, and is willing to have, nuist not one, sooner or later, declare for or against him, and take the consequences ? " David drew a long breath. " You have gone rapidly, Frances ; and as yet you have never even seen liim ! " "No; but Philip has. And I have not gone rapidly ; on the contrary I liave been slow. So slow and cautious that at times I have been ashamed of myself. I have heard a great deal about him, David, and yet our timid little mother seems to htive more courage to speak for him than I have/ "WHO HATH BELIEVED OUR REPORT?" 95 But to me it is fraught with such consequences. Philip thinks " — She made one of her abrupt pauses, like one who was indeed going too fast. David's hand that held her own tightened its clasp, as he asked, — *' Is there an engagement, dear? " " No, only an understanding. I could not en- gage myself without my father's consent." " And that, under present circumstances he would not give," David said with a heavy sigh. "It is indeed growing complicated ! " " David, what does the man ask or expect of those who call themselves his pupils, or follow- ers?" " I do not know ; some of them, as you know, follow him about wherever he goes. But he can- not expect that of all his friends ; it would be impossible. Moreovei-, there is a large class follow- ing him now who cannot be called his friends ; if sufficient motive offered, I think they would promptly become his enemies. But you are right about the definite step that must soon be taken ; or at least there must be definite knowledge on the part ,of tliose who would own him. Per- haps we are imagining it more (^^ificult than it will be. We do not positively kii.-w that he desires anything but to help people all he can. Perhaps his is a beautiful, unselfisli, perfect life, iiidden in God, revealed to us suddenly that we may see what real companionship with God might m ;if--ii| 96 YESTERDAY FIIAMEI) IN TO-DAY. tlo for us. It limy 1)0 that God lias giv(!U liini c*;!-- taiii iniraeuloiis powei-s, in order that his work may help us to have full (;()iiridonc(! in his word. Such men uscmI to ho, Fraiaes ; why not a^^ain'/" '' Like one of the old prophets?" said Frances. "Yes, I have thou^dit of that; but— of course F do not know anythiii,^ if li' m m 98 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. he has come among us for more than a mere object- lesson of purity and unseltlslitiess. My father would call it a superstition; but the belief that this man has something further to do with my life, that it is indeed linked in some strange way to his life, grows upon me." *'If it is supei-stition," began Frances ea^.^rly, "it is shared by those who have seen much of him. Philip feels it; and the feeling grows stronger every day. I can see that the influence, whatever it is, increases powerfully upon him. It is that which has made me think that p(xssibly " — She broke oft' nervously, catching her breath as one who felt almost afraid. "I wish you wouhl tell me plainly just what you think, dear, and not lead mu to gro[)e blindly along the road where your swifter intuitions have carried you.'* "() David, I dare not. There are times when my half frightened thoughts seem to me rank blas- phemy ! I could not put them into words. I have no reasons for them which would justify my s[.cakiiig. Remember, I have never seen the man. How nuu'h I wish that I could ! " " Ah ! I cannot tell you how much I wish just that I If it were not for this bitter prejudice, we coulil invite him to our home, aud talk with him freely until we undei-stood. Sometimes the thought overwhelms me, that the man who gave me buck to life is ^ stranger to my father and I "WHO lIATir ItKMlA'KI) OUIl UKPOTIT ? " 09 inotlior, niid loiuuins .so l»y tlicir — at li'a.st \>y fjitlM'r's clioii't'." "Poor fullii'r! " said FranfTs, 'Oio cannot liclp his prt'jntlict'S, (licy luv u [)iut of liis life. If Mr. iMiisU'i-s had not jiourcd out hin iiitolenil)le phitU tiidcH for father to lean on, it might have been dif- feront. I am afraid of that man, and of liis influ- ence in our family, and over Ahirgaret most of aU. O David I cannot we save her from him in some way? I am sure lie is bad."' "■Poor little burden-bearer!" said David ten- derly, passinjjf his stron^jf arm about her; "she needs some out; to carry her burdens for her. It all comes back to tlu; one theme, deal., — I wish you knew Jiiin ; you must know him." h •; 1 \f. 100 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAT. CHAPTER IX. "HE THAT SOWETH INIQUITY, SHALL REAP CALAMITY." 'T^HE Y paced back and forth for several minutes J- in silence, a i David's protecting arm still about his sister. At last he broke tlie silence; there was a changed quality to his voice. It sug- gested one who had admitted a new train of thought, that was full of meaning for him, but that he was liolding himself well in check. "Frances, do you know anything of Miriam Brownlee ? " " I have not seen lier for many montlis, but I often hear of her. She is liere, with her aunt, you know." He gave an involuntary start, and she could feel his arm tremble ; but all he said M^as, "I did not know it." " Philip saw her last week ; he had occasion to go there on business. He says she is as beautiful as ever, and he imagines quite as gay. David, I did not know whetlier to speak of her to you or not." Tlie brother smiled gravely. " You thought you miglit touch a sore nerve ? " he said. "HE THAT SOWETH INIQUITY." 101 Frances, who did not know how to reply to that, was silent for a little ; but David seemed to have no more to say, so she ventured a question : '' Do you mean to call there ? " " I think so. One hardly knows how to plan, after a blank of so many years." He waited some time before he added his next sentence. " It may surprise you to know that the last time I called at Mr. Brownlee's, he ordered me from the house." " David ! " " It was right," he said, answering the indig- nation that her tones expressed. "• I could bear him no ill will for that ; I ought to have been ordered out. I went there in such a condition that a gentleman who had regard for the ladies of his househc could do no less. I had been drinking, Frances. I was not exactly intoxicated ; at least I had not supposed so, as you may be sure ; but I was more thoroughly under the influence of liquor than I had ever been l)efore, and I evidently did not know how I appeared, or what I was say- ing. I remember his words, however; they cut themselves into my soul. He told me to go home and remain there until I knew how to conduct myself as a gentleman should; that at present I was no better than a brute. He did not know how literally I would obey him, nor how many years it would take." His sister gave a startled little cry. " O David ! Was it on the night that you were hurt? " ini , I 102 YESTERDAY rUAMKD IN TO-DAY. (( Yes ; the condition I was in was the main cause of the accident, I presnuic, tliougli I thiidc the lioi-se would have been friglitened, under the circumstances, in any case; hut I might have been able to control him, had I been myself. Besides being insane with li(iuor, I was insane with passion. I uiulerstood my condition so little as to believe that I liad been hisulted. lUit I long ago exonerated Mr. Brownlee from all blame." *' But David, he was one of the lii-st who called after you were brought home ; he called again and again while you were at the woi-st, and was most kind and thoughtful for us all." " I know ; I remember him perfectly. I used to think that he possibly felt some responsibility Avith regard to the accident ; he must have seen that I was in no condition to drive down that dangerous road, certainly not to drive that horee. However, as I say, I do not blame him ; I do not know what else he could have done. 1 have always been glad that I brought myself to the point of seeing him once, when he called, and telling him that I thought he did quite right." ''I do not think he did right at all," said Frances positively, adding immediately, " But, David, you remember that he is gone, do you not ? " "Oil yes; I recall vividly the circumstances connected with his death. It seemed so strange to mu that he should be taken in the prime of life, '^HEJ THAT SOWETH INIQUITY M 103 when his business, and fiiniily, and the world at 3i i . ; wouhl miss him so sovely, and I, a useless hi.'k, a sorrow to my friends and a misery to myKelf, should be left! We do not understand the ways of our Fatlicr, do we? And yet we are nlwiiys trying- to plan for him 1 Mr. lirownlec s ftbsenee coniplieales my eml)arrassments. If he were tliere, so I miglit go to him and ask if he would reeeive me at his lionse again, my way would be plain. However, as it is, 1 think 1 will venture. One eannot know how the family will feel ; they must have known all about tlie matter at the time. Still, if Miriam is there, I nuist cer- taiidy make the attempt. To do less might even be counted as dishcmoral)le. I do not know how much difference time makes. Can you help me, dear? Do you know anything about Miriam's affairs? At least she is not married?" " Oh, no I there have been reports from time to time ; but each report had her name coupled with a ditferent person, so that I have never known what to think, save Avhat others say of her: that she is fickle in her tastes. I used to tlnnk that — Is she in any way bound to you, David? " " Not at all. If she had been, she would have been freed long ago, remember." Frances wanted to ask more questions, but her brother's grave, sad manner held her back. How much did he care for ]\liriam Rrownlee? Her heart sank within her, as she asked herself the ■ I ( 104 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. q.uvst.on Slie had liopod, and at tini.s l.ad bc- ■;"v-l that he had fo.;,.,ttou Mina.n, or at h-ast tl'^it she had hKst power to hurt hin, ; „„ ,|,is oyen.ng, sonietlunor in his manner, ratlu-r than Ins words, told lier differently. Ccuhl (Immv he any real, lasting sympathy betw(>en those (u„v Nie liad not understood the attraetion, even in her brother's gay yonth; nnieh less did she under- stand it now. She tried to cheek her nhflatterin<. thonght. of the girl, and told herself that she was doubtless prejudieed by what others said ; that she had httlc aeqnaintanee with her, and ono-ht not to judge. Perhaps, if she came to know h.v better, she would feel differently. Hut, on the whole, she decided that she would ask no more questions; she did not want David to commit Jiimsel in words to any position that luid to do witli Miriam Brownlee. What he felt, he kept in great measure to him- .solt. He had only hinted at the embarrassment of us position. He felt it very keenly, when, on the evening following this conversation, he found umsel sitting in the familiar parlor of the Brownlee home, waiting to see what reception would be given to his card. Everything about luni was as beautiful and as natural as ever; it seemed incredible that a gulf of yeai-s had inter- vened since he sat there before ! The Brownlees were an old and aristocratic Uinnly : their ancestry, at least on IVIrs. Brown- "HE THAT SOWKTH INIQUITY.'* ion lee's wside, dated Lack so far that only she cared to study it out; and the husband, it" not ahli! lo trace his junligree so far, liad been able lo furnish the means with which to give his wife's pride a beautiful setting. Everywhere, in and around the fine old place, was that lavish expenditure which is, or ought to be, evidence of abundant means. There were no daui^liters to grace this elegant home. The father, dying three years before the date at which our story opens, had left his young son, not yet of age, prospective heir to a print'cly fortune. He had not, however, forgotten his favorite niece, JMiriam, who was tlie daughter of his widowed sister. She belonged to a home where dauo-hters were numerous, and therefore she was often spared to the uncle and aunt who adored her. Here, David Ilolman had met her, when he was him.)elf but a boy ; and a very ar- dent friendship had sprung up between the two. As the yeai-s went by, no guest was welcomed more frequently and cordially to the elegant home than the young man, David Ilolman. lie a\us not wealthy, it is true ; but he belonged to one of the oldest of the line old families, and was re- ported to have an unusually brilliant mind. '' The sort of man," ]\Ir. Brownlee was fond of saying, " who is sure to make his mark in the Avorld, as soon as he gets beyond the indiscretions of youth." Moreover, he was fine looking, had polished mannei"s, and was always A\'ell dressed. What 106 YESTERDAY I'MIAMKD IN TO-DAY. mutUnvd it that tlicrc were; wliisiu.rs of his hcin^ a tnlU' fast? That hdoi.ocd to those, afoivsaid " iiKliseretions of y„„th.- Ho was (Titainly Chan iiig in coiivoi-salioii. U'hat more siiouhl a iiiiuily desiro who wore not thcnisolvcs docply j,,- terestt'd in ivli^rjon, and who likod iiolhin^^ hcttcr tlian being entertained ? Tliat Ins heantiful niece Miriam was the special attraction to liis home, Mr. Browidee seemed to know, and tooffer noo))jection. At least, wluMi his wife hinted at i.ossihie comj.li- cations, lie replied that yonng women in these dajs knew Iiow to take care of themselves in sneh mat- ter, and he wonld trnst Miriam wliere he wouldn't himself. She certainly mioht form woi-se friend- .ships for life than one with the Ilolman family ; no syllable could be breathed against them or their aneestoi-s ; and David was smart enough to make his way in the world, and sharp enough not to bring discredit on the honored family name. Yes, he knew he was inclined to be rather too gay;' young men just out of college were liable to make that mistake, but David was too level-headed and had had too good a backing for generations, to go far astray ; he would trust him. And he did trust him until David walked nearer the edge of ruin than any of them realized. The i)ast, with all its opportunities and possi- ])ilities, and almost infinite blunders, came back in vivid clearness to the young man who sat once more opposite a picture on the wall that he used I *' HE THAT SOWKTIl INIQUITY." 107 often to study while waiting. T.ooked at from one point of view, what an eternity of years separated him from those periods of waiting! His faee burned again, as it had often before, over tlio vivid nuMnory of that evening when, for tlie first time in his hfe, lie had appeared in soeiety sutlieiently under the inlluence of li(pior to be, not brilliant, but silly. lie reealled as distinetly as though it were an event of yesterday, some of his words. They were not so glaringly improper as they might have been, but sullieiently so to eause ^Fi-s. Brown- lee's laugh to be very constrained, and her look plainly said that she was not quite sure whether to laugh or frown. He blessed the memory of Mr. Brownlee because he had realized his con- dition, and ordered him from the house before IMiriam appeared ; but of course it had all been explained to her. Now, after the lapse even of .>o many years, could she help thinking at once of that last time ? He had caught a singh glimpse of her on that evening long ago, as she flitted through the hall just as he mounted the piazza steps. He had heard her silvery laugh in re- sponse to some sally of her boy cousin's, then she had vanished up the staire, and the unexpected years had stretched between them ! And she was the woman whom he had hoped to make his wife. Long before this date, on which he sat waiting and wondering whether she w^ould even give him audi- ence, he had planned to have been settled in a ■ I'll lill t KKm ' 108 lESTERDAV FUAMED IN TO-DAV. hva^ p anned that. „„ ,„ea„t to s.,,..;,,,,, ^r^ th fully as „,a„y co.nforts and luxuries as sl,„ fou,uU„ 1,0,. uncle's ..,„,e, there wore t™es,vl, .,»„,„„ an., ,„„,,i,„ti„„ „„,,,^., , .__^ j^^^, jon.l M eh „,odest elegance, and ,„ade a very nal- ace for l„s queen. •' ' on,?",!'"" M-'"""' '"«'"• '"'''"■« •'<' to"!^- "«'t ™c- ^l"..o, and learn definitely ft-on. her own lius that l..».. Ho re„,e,nbered that he had felt very little fear as to what her an^ver woul.l ,,«; .,L secned to be entirely frank in her app,.;eiat „ : ™. esp,te the ugly stories concerning his l,a,,il Inch were ,„ore or less afloat. He thought of he s ones the,,; he re,ne,nhered. and „L o«, then,, a„,l assured hin.self that if Mi,.ian,-s answer to l.i, ,„„,, ,,,^ what he believe vould be ,t shonhl n,„rk an entirely new e, i 1- l.fe; he would break forever wi, , the „n a fe a-ocates he had followed i„to dangc,, ana! t l-nse f se.nously to the work of b,ri:d„g npZ ..t,rely d,ffercnt reputation. „e owedVa' Z bee,, of her answer to the question he ,nea„t to a k that he had said, as he lifted that fatal glass tliTt:r'"'''"''"''''^'^'''"'S''"'fftoref,l,,; 1;^ '; '° '" >•»" !?«'J-l'y- It is my la.,t glass •' II- boys had shouted over what they looked ,^«„ J "HE THAT SOWETH INIQUITY." 109 as a good joke, but the words hud been OTninoualy true. No drop of li(iuor siiioo that lioiir Imd passed David Ilolinairs lips. Jt seems natural to speak of that as "the fatal glass;" under its influ- enee the young man went out to an experience of long, slow torture, that had seenunl to him a hun- dred times Avorse than deatli, and the only door of eseape at the end he had supposed to be the door of death. Yet if he had seen the map of his life spread out l)efore him, it is possible that he would have had oeeasion to go on his knees in gratitude to (iod for being hd't to driidc that last glass. Since he u'ouUl not be led in any other way, a merciful God led liim through lire. \U\t his reso- lution toref()]-m? Sitting there, waiting, after the furnace was behind him, David llolmau smiled gravely over the memory of his Aveak resolve, and realized how little it had meant on the lips of one who could t(^y with it as he had done. The A\eary years had moved slowly on, and Miriam IJrowidee, with those words left unsaid that >\('ro to have held her to him, was free to do as she would, and was Miss Brownlee still. And at last, (It last, he was sitting in that well-remem- bered s])ot waiting for her! Not with the old words trembling on his lips ; he had no sense of assurance now. lie felt that he would not be sur- prised, nor have reason to complain, even though she refused to come in response to his card. He had forfeited the right to consideration from her, ; m iKi 110 VKSTEUDAY FUAMICD IN TO-DAV. lon^r ago. Yet hov niiclo had forgiven liim. Mom tlijiii once ho hud hronght l)ii,sk»>(.s of h)vely lloweiu, which lie said ''the ladies" sent. David, as ho lin- gered the delicate hloonis, had felt in his soul that .Miriam had sent them; it was lik(5 her, and tlio flowers were like her, d(«lieate and i)nre and faithful. In his direst pain those Mowers had cond"or(ed him. Hut Mr. lirownlee was gone, and any lingering hope that his friends might have felt: tiiat David llolman would ho among them again, had died long ago. lie had gone as completely out of tho world as though the grave had closed over him. Even the name of Miriam IJrownlee had not heen mentioned to him for years. Frances had dropped it entirely; at first because she realizcnl that the mention excited her patient; afterwards, when Miriam had left the neighborhood and returned to her own home, it was easy for the girl to forget her; she hoped that her brother had done so. David', as he went back over all these experiences, knew that he had not forgotten. Is it any wonder that, under such unusual circumstajices, he felt his heart givijig great throbs of anticiimtion, or of apprehen- sion, he hardly knew which ? Suddenly there was a rustle of drapery near at liand, a flutter of rib- bons, a vision as of something wonderfully fair, and familiar withal, and Miriam Browniee stood before him. " HEAR YE INDEED, BUT UNDERflTAND NOT." 1 It CHArTER X. "HEAR YE INDEED, lUJT UNDERSTAND NOT.' "TV n{. IIOLAFAN!" she said, "is it possible? i\L What ail uiiexpeotod pleasure I " And then David knew that he niii^Jit clasp the ofl'ered hand, and consider himself a welcome guest. Miriam's voice had qualities in it that he had studied over in the past. It was capable of an almost inlinite variety of meanings. He had heard it when he had told himself that if she should use such tones to him, ho should know better than ever to call upon her again. She never had; she did not on this evening. He tried to study her critically while he talked. Philip had been right ; she was as beautiful as ever. No, she was more beautiful. When he saw her last, it had been the changeful beauty of young girlhood, now she stood before him a symmetrical development of beauty that no added touch could improve. She had more than fulfilled the promise of her youth. "Certainly we have heard of you!" she said, sinking like a snow-cloud into the seat he made haste to move forward for her ; it seemed to him ■.I II 112 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. as if the pretty chair came up of itself and took Iter in its arms caressingly, rather than that she to. lie possession of it. What an embodiment of grace h\u' \v »s ! " Certainly \\ e have heard of you I Do you chink we live out of the world that we should not know the wonrtl^rs that absorb it? We have wondered, auntie ann I, tliat you should be so very long in renicnibering your old friends. We began to think that you meant to ignore us altogether; but T suppose you have so many friends that we ought to have been content to await our turn." Indeed, David made haste to assure her he had made no calls whatever. This was really his first attempt; the truth was, his friends had been chiefly engaged in calling upon him, and had ab- sorbed his time, almost to the exclusion of other duties or pleasures. " Is that the way ? " she said lightly ; « we might luive ventured, perhaps, had we underetood it ; but it is not probable. Auntie makes very few calls indeed in these days ; there have been sad changes here, Mr. Ilolman." " Yes," said David, and stopped ; he nould say no more. He found himself strangely embar- rassed, as he had not thought of being with any other person, in this woi-ld to which he had so sud- denly returned. It seemed impossible to talk with this lovely vision of the pasi as lie hid with others. All words sounded tame, an-I mmydy inadocjaate ♦' HKAIl YE INDEED, BUT UNDEU8TAND NOT." 113 to the situa ion. The lady, !i....ever, showed no trace of en.l)arrassni«'nt; her talk flowed on mu- sically ; h( r guest found himself wondering if anything .^ver disltirbed the satisfied wor^d the centre of uhidi she seemed to be. IIow b^■i^dlt she was! how unchanged ! Was she '' u a very great change? He could not l>e sure. Mrs. Hrownlee came presently to offer him cordial wclcouie to her home ; nothing could be more cor- dial than her reception. Apparently there was nothing whatever in the way of his^lropping at once into his old place in their circle ; yet that in- deliiiable feeling of possible change, at least in Miriam, haunted him. It was easier to talk after Mrs. HrowiUee joined them. She refer'vd promptly to th(> past, saying just enougli to let her guest see what it would be proi)er for him U> say, then gliilcd naturally into other topics. David rallied his forces, and talked in ., way that went far toward establishing his former reputa- tion, y.t all the while he was conscious of carrying on a sci)a]-ate train of thought. He was studying .Aliriam, tiying to place her — trying to ph. e him- self in relation to her. Had she understood him HI the past as fully as he had believed? H id she felt toward him as he had imagined she did'. But suppose she had? He had been the same as lead, for ycai-s. Had the lady who was to have be- n so potent a factor in his life, so far forgotten him hat he nmst begin again almost as a new acquain- m m 114 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. tance ? If so, was lie ready to begin ? In other words, was he unchanged ? Not that, either. He felt almost as though resurrection itself could make no greater change in him than had already taken place ; but did the change necessarily affect his relations toward M iriam ? Very important questions these, especially to be under consideration while he was at the same time helping to carry on an animated conversa- tion. Of course he was not fully conscious of the trend of his thoughts ; put into words, they would have startled him. Meantime the conversation turned into channels that helped him in marking some of the changes. ]\Iii'iam Brownlee and he had been living in different worlds, and this was made apparent. He spoke of certain books ; many had been read to him, Frances having devoted hours each day to that purpose, and her selections had been carefully made. Miss Brownlee knew some of the books by their titles ; two or three of them she had read; but the ones that he and Frances had lingered over and enjoyed the most, INIiriam unhesitatingly pronounced stupid. They had bored her immensely, she said ; she should never have attempted their reading, only so many ])eo[)le Avere talking about them ; as it was, she had skipped the moralizing as much as possible, and also the descriptive parts ; she hated descrip- tion in books. On being further pressed by the man who did not realize, and did not want to " HEAR YE INDEED, BUT UNDERSTAND NOT." 115 realize, that he was weighing her in a halance, she asked if a certain hook that had heen his special enjoj-nient was not almost of the "goodj-goody sort" ? She considered such hooks the most com- plete bores that one could lind. Suddenly she deserted the world of literature altogethei-, and launched forth into a description of the last "sea- son." "We had a succession of charming evenings," she said. " Our particular set, I mean. For six or eight weeks I believe we were together nearly every evening. The season was unusually gay; of coui-se we danced a great deal. I remend)er how fond you used to be of dancing. Dear me ! how very liard it must have heen to be deprived of that entertainment for so many yeai-s." "Miriam!" her aunt exclaimed, with a depre- cating laugh; "what a cliild you are! I dcm't believe you will ever grow up. Think of Mr. ITolman suffering as intensely as we have heard that he did, and giving any of his thought to deprivations in that direction ! " "Why not?" Miriam asked, oi)ening wide her beautiful eyes in a childishly innocent way that used to charm her caller. " That was part of the suffering, I presume. I am sure it would be with me. Confess, Mr. Ilolman, did you not often long to be among us indulging in ^our favorite amuse- ment?" David listened almost as one in a dream. Dan- i 3 I ff 116 YESTERDAY FllAMED IN TO-DAY. cing ! Yes, he certainly used to dance ; used, as this vision before him said, to be very fond of that anuisenient. How utterly it had gone out, not only of his life, but his thoughts ! His sistei-s were not daucei-s ; and the one with whom he had had most to do, never seemed even to remember that there was such an occupation. Evidently there were two very distinct worlds here on earth. Would it be impossible to intermingle them comfortably ? If so, (lid he dw^ell in one and Miriam Brownlee in the other ? The question fla!:;hed itself before his troubled thoughts, but he would not notice it; at tliat moment Mi-s. Brownlee was summoned from the room, and Miriam turned toward him, another Miriam, rather, the old one. There was a softened light in her beautiful eyes, and a gontle quality in her voice as she said, — " It seems very strange, and yet very natural, to see you sitting here in the old place. Have you tlie least idea, I wonder, how glad we are to wel- come you back ? " Instantly his heart said to him that she was un- changed. Tliis lovely, self-poised woman was the jNliriam of his dreams. That gay, almost heart- less tone and volatile manner had doubtless been assumed to cover deeper feeling. If they could have opportunity to talk alone together for a few minutes, it was plain that slie would show him an- other self. But Mrs. Brownlee returned after a moment, and the talk Howed on as before. David, "HEAR YE INDEED, BUT UNDERSTAND NOT." 117 who believed that now he understood, did not feel so jarred by its volatile character as he had been, until suddenly a subject was introduced in such a niainier that it seemed to him like laying bare a nerve and playing with it. It was Miriam, too, who began it, — " Oh ! have you been back in the world long enough to have heard of our latest sensation? It is unique, I assure you." He smilingly expressed ignorance, all unpre- pared for wliat was to follow. " Why, we have a seer, a prophet, — a second sight, second touch man. What sliall I name our sensation, auntie? J lave you really never heard of him, Mr. Holman ? They call him a physician. He lias honored my own town with a visit of sev- eral W('o\-s' duration ; and he moves through the streets followed by the most motley crowd that ever helped to I'oi-m a procession. The lower classes, you know, dccidcdlj'. The blind and hungry, and lame and lazy — they are all there. IJeggars with- out number, and a class even lower in the social scale than beggars. The very worst classes Iiave taken to following him about. Somehow the notion has gone abroad that he can cure all or- dinary, or for that matter extraordinary, ailments, iis well as feed the hungry, even without food ! He seems able to lise above such trivialities. There are the most exti'aordinarv stories afloat concernincr him. One realizes as one listens to them the utter 118 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN tO-DAIt. credulity of the ignorant world. Why, there ar6 those who do not hesitate to say that the man has some sort of supernatural power ; and the number of people who fancy themselves cured by him of some malady or other is increasing daily." " Miriam ! " Mi-s. Brownlee succeeded at last in arresting the voluble tongue. She had tried in vain to catch her niece's eye ; and at last her voice, almost sharp, swept into the current of words. " IMiriam ! is it possible that you do not remem- ber? If the half that we have heard is true, Mr. Ilolman nnist have much more knowledge of this remarkable man than we have." For a moment INIiriam Avas evidently discom- fited ; slie looked from David's pale face to her aunt's annoyed one, and seemed not to know what to say next. ]\[rs. Brownlee essayed to help her. "Had you forgotten, child, tluit our friend's wonderful cure is attri})uted by outsiders to the aid of the veiy person about whom you are talk- ing?" " Why, auntie, I have heard that absurd story, of course ; but I did not attach any importance to it, any more than I supposed other sensible people did. It is only imaginary ailments that that man cures. iNIr. Ilolman, you have no idea that he had anything to do with it, have you ? " For a single moment David hesitated ; not as to what he should say, but as to how he should say it. Much self-control was necessary in order '^HEAR YE INDEED, BUT UNDERSTAND NOT." 119 >. to reply quietly to sucli a (question. When he spoke, the very quietness of his voice m.ay have misled them, though the words were positive enough* '' On the contrary, Miss lirownlee, I liave every reason to believe ihat it is owing entirely to that remarkable man's power and blessed intervention tiiat I am not to-night l}ing helpless on the bed where I have spent so many yeai-s." " Is it possible ? " exclaimed both ladies at once ; and Miriam made haste to add, — " We had not given a moment's credence to the story. From the very first, I thonght there must be a scientific explanation of the cure, and then — who was telling us, auntie ? oh, I remember, it was Mr. Masters ; have you met him, Mr. Holman ? Governor Masters's nephew. He is a highly edu- cated young man, a lawyer ; and he told us that your experience, he thought, would be a remarka- bly interesting one for medical students. He said it was believed that nature had effected a cure, all unknown to yourself, until being carried for so long a distance in the o[)en air, together with the discovery that you could really endure the mo- tion, after having so long believed all motion to be impossible for you, proved such a tonic that your unused will-power asserted itself, and com- manded your lind)s into action. I liave not told it as he did ; he was very scientific, I assure you, but that is the idea. We were very much interested, ' ifil Mi *: i 120 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. weren't we, auntie ? We thought it the most re- markable experience we had ever heard of." "That is not surprising," said David quietly. "Such an explanation is undoubtedly remarka- ble, but it is also incorrect in every particular." Mrs. Brownlee's voice interposed. " Miriam dear, you did not quite do Mr. Masters justice. Do you remember how careful he was to impress us with the fact that Mr. Holman's con- tact with that remarkable man certainly had its effect? A sort of mesmeric effect, you know, only used in a good cause, as mesmeric effects so often are not. He said the will of the stronger man was projected into that of the pain-weakened one, and compelled it to assert itself. Those were his very words, Mr. Holman ; I thought it extremely interesting." " r had forgotten that part," said Miriam care- lessly. " I haven't so much ta'^te for abstruse scien- tific points as you have, auntie ; but I remember now that I thought if Mr. Holman was in the least like the gentleman of that name with whom I used to be well accjuainted, he had will-power enough to move the world, whenever he chose to exert it. But, Mr. Holman, really, you have no idea of the ridiculous lengths which the people have gone in their superstitions about this entire stranger. By 'tlie people' I mean, of course, the crowd, the rabble, the slums. He seems to have almost no fiiends anions the better classes." "HEAR YE INDEED, BUT UNDERSTAND NOT." 121 Once more Mrs. Browrilee interposed. " Oh, my dear ! some of liis followers are at least respectable. And you know that we have heard that he visits at the He fch wells'." " Yes, auntie, we have heard it, as we have heard a great many otlier queer things. I have no faith whatever in that report ; the Ilothwells are very exclusive." " Who are the Rotlnvells ? " demanded David, catching at the new nanie as a relief. He nnist have a respite with unimportant ground on wliicli to rest for a few minutes, until he could control his indignation, and determine what it was wise to say next. Miriam's reply was ready. "Haven't you heard of the Roth wells? They are new-comers, new at least since you left the world. I have the honor to claim them as fellow- townsmen. They have bought the old Symonds place, a mile or so out of town. You rememl)er it? A very aristocratic old place, and they are very aristocratic people. Indeed, I believe the place was connected with their family in some way. The married sister is a Mrs. Symonds. You will have to know them, Mr. Holman ; 1 assure you it is quite tluj thing to do. The family is composed of a brother and two sisters ; the aforesaid Mrs. Symonds, a wddow, being one. The other is Miss Mary Rothwell, and she and her brother are both very interesting. He is handsome and learned and — well, everything that the best people fancy. Kf' I m t 122 YESTERDAY FKA.MKD IN TO-DAV. I liiivo lioard it said that he is a triflie too grave, but I do not think so; gravity is refreshing in a young man ; it suggests such a contrast to the or- dinary. 1 1 is young sister, Mary, is a perfect rose- bud ; at least, that is what the young men call her, with rare promise for the opening flower. That is a poetical bit for which I am indebted to Mr. Masters. I laughed at him, however. I told him I thought she deserved to be considered a flower already. She is by no means so young as people think. I nii ui I dgn't believe she is, I shouldn't place her a day below twenty-three, and I should not be surprised if she were twenty-five. She is probably older than she looks ; girls of her type nearly always are. You will be charmed \\ith her, Mr. Ilolman, everybody is, every gentleman; though I remend)er you used not to like the rose- bud style of woman. 1 think myself there is too little variety about either her face or character to be interesting for any great length of time." The subject seemed to have uncommon interest for INIiss ^Miriam. David hardly heard her words ; one sentence had caught and held his thoughts. At this new home the strange doctor was said sometimes to visit. I I "THERE IS NO BEAUTY/ 123 'M CHAPTER XI. "THERE IS NO BEAUTY, THAT WE SHOULD DESIRE HLM." I w "THEN there was opportunity for words, he asked a question. " Did I understand you to say that this stranger visits at the Rothwells' ? " " That is common report ; but as I have been saying to you, I do not credit it. The Rothwells are the most aristocratic family we have ; and he — well, you know what he is. But I cannot think that you realize for a moment the class of people with whom he constantly mingles. He has gath- ered a company of very intimate friends who are always with him, day and night, for aught I know. They tramp over the country holding street meet- ings, and doing all sorts of queer things. What must a man be who chooses his most intimate friends from such sources ? They are all, without exception, from the very commonest classes." The more temperate aurt found it necessary to constantly hold her niece ii. check. "My dear," she said, "did not we hear that Philip Nelson was one of the group who travel with him ? " m 124 YESTERDAY FRAMED IK TO-DAY. "I believe so, auntie; but that was probably mere go;sip. You and I do not believe all we hear, remember. Philip was always an oiiatic sort of pei-son, but he would hardly stoop so low as tliat. You ought to know, Mr. liolman. Isn't ho quite intimate in your family? Do you really think that he has been beguiled into tliis new supei-stition ? " "He considers the man of Avhom we have been speaking a friend of no common order." David spoke with exceeding dignity, but he chose his words with great care. He was growing momently more sure that this man's friends liiid no pleasant path to tread; for Philip's sake he must speak witli caution. Miriam gave a gentle little sigh as she replied, — " Well, it is certainly very sad to tliiiik how easily people are duped. I hope Philip Nelson will discover his folly in time to prevent unpleas- ant results. I always bked the young man. Oi' course one may be interested and curious, and like to study into new ideas and fancies, as I presume you are doing; but to follow the man aliout, and allow one's name to be constantly coupled with his, is quite another matter. Pardon the inteifer- ence, Mr. Ilolman ; but I should think you would feel like giving Philip a friendly warning _ though of course you have not had time to understand the state of things. It is really growing dreadful ! Why, at home, the streets are sometimes impassa- "THERE rS NO nEAl 125 ble because of the crowds around tlie house where that man stops. And such a crowd ! " "Have you ever seen the man?" mterrupted David. " I ? Oil, no, indeed ! Motlier wouhl ha shocked beyond rallying if I should venture into the streets at all when the crowd has possession. I assure you, I have no desire to see him. I do not under- stand why the authorities do not interfere to pre- vent his doing further mischief. They shake their heads and look unutterable things ; but so far as I can learn, they do nothing.'" Her guest was holding himself well in check, but it was not in human nature not to ask one question more. " Hut, Miss Brownlee, enlighten me. What has the stranger done to arouse the displeasure or the fears of respectable peo[)l(!? I luiv(i heard only of his relieving suffering wherever he found it. There is surely nothing in such acts to challenge the interference of the authorities." Miss lirownlee shrugged her sluipely shoulders. "Oh, do not ask me ! You nuist talk with some one who is better posted about public affairs. I only know that some deep political intrigue is more than suspected, looking to an insurrection, or some horror of that sort. Why, I think there is very great harm in gathering together the woi-st classes of humanity, and playing upon their credulity in a way to secure an intluence over 126 YESTERDAY EIIAMEI) IN TO-DAV. tlioni, SO tliiit one would Ik; able to iiiovo tlu'in in wliiitcvfr (liivc'tion he choso, \\\\vn Ins scIkmim' wuh ripe. Kvcii a woinaii can forcsct' daiif^'-cr under such couditious, iMr. Ilolmau. Docsu't it ini[»re.s8 yon so? " '• Whieh part of your statement?" said David, aUowino- |he seiuhhinee of a sniih; to apju-ar for an instant on Iiis o^rave face. "How to ,i,'et a eou- trolliui';' inllueuee over the lower classes of society is a problem which the best peoj)h^ in our cities have long been study ind about in his chair and gazed at his son. " Are you in earnest, David? Such an idea had never q^ciirred to me as possible. But why not? You could manage the business better than I could myself, I dare say. There are technicalities and jjoints of law to be thought about. Your legal studies would come in helpfully there, if j'-ou have not forgotten thom entirely. It fairly bewildei-s me, though. The trutli is, I cannot get used to the thought that I have a son to call upon." David's smile was good to see. "You are ac- customed only to a mn to wait upon ; I will try to show you that you have one to serve you. Who is the man that is to be visited in Lakeport ? " "I WILL SEEK HIM. 135 CHAPTER XII. "I AVILL SEEK HIM WHOM MY SOUL LOVETH. >> 1 ■i " T-T^^ name is Rotlnvell," said Mr. Holman, re- ± JL ferring to the letter ; " you won't remem- ber him ; he is a new man, and the leading man in that part of the country. He has a beautiful place about a mile from town. Why, it is the old Symonds place ; you remember that ? He has made a paradise of it, I have been told. I don't know the man, except by reputation ; but people everywhere seem to have the highest opinion of him, and I like his letter extremely well ; it is manly and business-like, and at the same time friendly." As he spoke, he placed the letter in his son's hand, adding, — "Do you really mean that you think you can go? Are you avcU enough, strong enough? It seems very strange ! " " I am perfectly well," said David with his brightest smile ; " and it will give me very great pleasure to go for you, father." His voice was quiet enough, but his heart was in a tumult. How strangely and unexpectedly his way had opened 136 YESTERDAY FItAMED IN TO-DAY. before him ! Not only was lie being sent to the very city of his desires, but to the very house where he had been told that the new teaclier was welcomed and honored. Surely this did not simply "happen." Was the guiding hand of (Jod marking out his way? Tlie next day was crowded with interests. In the first place, his father's business mnst be gone over in detail, so that no possible question could come up and find him unprepared. This of itself was interesting. The father, unused to explain- ing his business methods, talked in riddles at first, and the son questioned and dotted down items, and returned to them, and questioned again, and finally offered suggestions, until at last his father's troubled face cleared, and he said with a relieved air, "I believe you undei-stand parts of it better than I do myself. What a head you have for busi- ness ! You can be a rich man yet, David." Every meml)er of the household was interested. It was an event for David to take a journey. " What a fuss we are making ! " said Margaret, as she tucked a little package into the valise that his mother was carefully packing; "one would think you were going on a pilgrimage ! " " I am," said David ; and he had a significant smile for Frances, who alone knew the peculiar interest which the trip liad for him. Still, every step of the way was fraught with interest to one who had been so long shut out from the world. i« " I WILL StSEK HIM. ») 187 ij^l To meet and convei-se with business men, as one of them, was like a fulfilled dream of long ago. Undoubtedly these were subordinate interests. lie had as?^- ^d himself, as he trod the streets of the once familiar city, that the central object of his thoughts was becoming more and more a supreme control to him ; but for the present he must hold it well in check, and put his father's matters first. lie was there to transact business for another. The men who had gathered at Mr. Rothweirs invitation found this young representative keenly alive to the interests that he represented, and fairly well posted as to what hr.d been done, as well as pronounced hi his ideas of what should bo. A looker-on at David Ilolman during that busy day would have said that he was absorbed in the grape-growing industry, and that he meant to be a man of mark among business men. Yet every nerve in his body was keenly alive to another interest. He let no word escape him that could throw possible light on the problem that he felt he had come there to study. Because of this, it was with peculiar satisfaction that he received anil accepted a cordial iiivlcation to return home with Mr. Roth well when the day was done, and spend the night. This was an entirely unexpected opportunity. He had intended, of course, to stop in town at a hotel ; but Mr. Rothwell, who at first glance had attracted him powerfully, was so earnest and l;1l 138 YESTERDAY FllAMED IN TO-DAY. IK! - M^ heany in his offer of hospitality, that it would almost have been churlish to have declined it, and David was only too glad that this was so. The old Synionds i)lace that had charmed his boyhood was so entirely changed that he could scarcely bring himself to believe it was the same. Cultivated tastes, and evidently ample means with which to indulge them, had wrouglit marvels. Not that there was any redundant or even lavish display of wealth merely as wealth. Nature had simply been assisted to make the most of her beauty. The house nestled in among vines and plants of a semi-tropical character, as if it were hiding from rude gaze a very home. Once within its walls, every room repeated and emphasized the same thought. Over the door of what was evidently the family room, hung an exquisitely painted motto, the letters of which were composed of ])ranches of cedar and sprays of fern ; and the words were : — "THE LORb Wn.L BLESS HIS PEOPLE WITH PEACE." Opposite it hung another, of the same delicate workmanship, that said : — "THE CHASTISEMENT OE^ OUR PEACE AVAS UPON HIM." Not only the mottoes, but the books and papers lavishly displayed, even a certain somethino' in , "I WILL HICEIC HIM. 139 his the very air itself, seemed to mark this as a home whose religious life was made a centre. David, as he rested in the easy-chair where his host had placed him after giving due attention to his phys- ical needs, went over in detail the prominent events of the day, with a view to discovering, if he could, the subtl. s^,ell which ^Ir. Roth well seemed to weave about those with whom he came in contact. All day it had been marked, and it had been apparent that others felt the same. Un- (piestionably he had been the leader in the busi- ness conference which had just closed, and had shown himself the alert, far-seeing business man, (piick to inake the right suggestion at the right moment, and alive to every suggestion from othere tliat furthered a common interest ; yet through it all he had seemed to convey the imi)ression that business, nevertheless, had with him been relegated to its true place, and was emphatically secondary. How did he do it? David found that he could not have put the explanation into words ; perhaps it was an atmosphere. He had just reached the conclusion that if the ladies of this household were hi any sense of the word tlieir l)rother's equals, this must be an ideal home, when the door opened and his host entered, followed by a young woman in the simplest of white dresses, with no other orna- ment than that which her luxurious hair gave to a singularly pure face. The introduction was very simple : " Mary, let me make you acquainted with -III 'III 1-10 VK8TKUDAY FUAMKI) IN TO-DAY. Mr. Holnmii, u'lio will be our jfiiest to-night ; my siiiter, Mr. Iloliujui." So this was the ''rosebud" of whom Miriam nrownlce had tohl liim. Ih- d(H'i(h'd instantly that he never .-,li()uld liuve thought of applying that iiiinie to her. Would not "snowdrop " liave been uiore appropriates ? No, for that seemed cold, in- difk-rent; and this woman, while very (piiet, did not imj)ivss one as cold, or as centred in' self. " I tliink I should say ' lily,' " tlie guest mused, carrying on his whimsical comparisons while lie outwardly joined in the conversation, " uidess, indeed, that name is too stately. It is iiot too pure. I think it fits her." She stood for a moment in the glow of the set- ting sun, lier Jiair, which was almost gold color, seemed to tlasli hack the sun's rays, but her face was the very end)odiment of purity and peace. Involuntaiily David's eyes glanced from her to the motto over the door: "The Lord will bless his people with peace." Unquestionably this was one of "his peoide;" she was like her brother, and impressed this thought from the first moment. He still had to ask himself how it was done. There was also that curious impression, which the brother had already given him, that these two had intei-ests of vast importance with which he liad nothing in common. Being an utter stranger, this was to l)e expected as a matter of course ; yet David found that it affected him strangely. He could I I ! I "T WILL SKKK HIM. 141 almost have petitioiuul to hv, let iiisido at once, into that channcd atinnsphi'ie whi* h pervaded thi'ir lives. Of what or of whom tlid they remind him? C'onld it possihly be of the stranger whose face he iiad seen but once ? There was also a striking contrast forcing itself to the front and insisting on elaiming thought. C'oidd two young women he more uidike than were Miriam IJrowidee and this young girl? lie cut short the question following in the train of this, and took himself sternly to task for allowing his thoughts to run riot in this fashion ; then gave his mind to the talk of the hour. It was (piiet, commoni)la('e talk. David woidd not allow him- self to l)elieve that he was still drawhig compari- sons ; it might have hapi)ened that some of the same books he had discussed with Miriam came before them. It Avas curious, though, that this young woman should ' ve had almost the same feeliuir about one aui,..ar that he had himself expressed to Frances. 1*>ut lu'ither books nor kiiub'cd topics of any sort held his close thought. How should he intro- duce the subject about which, of all others, he was anxious to learn? Suj)p()se rumor had been entirely wrong, and this household shrank from the very mention of the stranger? lie could not entertain that supposition ; lie had seen him once, and there had been nothing about him to shock such as these. They might disapprove, it is true; V. Hi 142 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. but even in that case they could give reliable niforniation. He tried to arrange a convei-sation whicli would lead up naturally to the subject, and ended by asking an abrupt question. " Are you interested in the street scenes which seem to have become a part of your city's history, Miss Kothwell ? " ^' Very deeply interested ; surely you are also ? " This was the instant response, with an evident quickening of interest. Her last word had the hiflection of a question, and he rephed to it. "Is that a foregone conclusion? Rather, I mean, are all people becoming interested?" " I am sorry to have to answer no ; but you it is different with you." She nuist have heard of him. Instantly he wondered if Miiiam had told her of his cure ; if so, how had she told it? lie could not say more,' until he had discovered just what she knew or thought ; so he asked another direct question. " Have you heard my story, ^Miss Kothwell ? " "I saw your story. I Avas present at that meeting, when your friends brought you, helpless, .on a cot. Yes ; I had heard of you as an utterly helpless and hopeless man ; and I saw you rise iind walk away in all the triunq)h of perfect health. I had never at that time seen anything so wonder- ful ; I can never forget it, and [ am certain that you cannot wish to." Tbey were fairly laundied at last upou the topig f "I WILL SEEK HIM. »> 143 which was evidently of keenest interest to both. Miss llothwell was an enthusiastic talker, and she found an eager listener in David Ifolnian. Story after story, each in itself a marvel, flowed from luir lips, glowing with the vividness that came from her being a sympathetic eye-witness. " But his deeds, wonderful as they are, are not more faith-inspiring than his words," she said at last. " You sliould hear one of his talks ; I do not know whether to call them sermons or lectures. Tliey seem, when one is present, more like conver- sation with one's friends. The people have no hesitancy in interrupting him to ask questions ; and he never acts as though he considered it an interruption." " Have you ever questioned him, ]\Iiss Roth- well ? " " Not in public ; but I have often done so in the quiet of our own home. He stops with us whenever he comes to the city, or at least when- ever he can get away from the crowds ; he comes here to rest, and we try not to have him disturbed while with us. He must be in sad need of rest; tlie people throng and press him all the time. We had hoped that he would be with us this week, but he has gone away again without taking any rest." A sununon,' to the tea-table interrupted their conversation, and after tea there seemed no good opportunity for renewing it. The talk became I»# I! > f ril ' 144 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. general; and Mrs. Synioiuls, who was very unlike lier sister, led, and indeed at times monopolized it. :Mary llotliwell slipped (piietly away, and seated herself alone on the moonlighted porcli, where David looked out at lier wistfully from time to time. He would have been glad of an excuse for joining her. So eager had his heart grown for more talk about the new friend witli wliom she was so well accpiainted, that he found it difficult to hold his thoughts in the direction of connnon conversation. He was glad when their liost pro- posed early retirement, in view of the fatigues of the day. As he led the way to the guest-cluunber, he said, — ''We are giving j^ou a signal honor to-night, Mr. Ilolnian; I hope your heart appreciates it. This is the room which our si)ecial friend occu- pies ^^iu■ncver he can get away for a night of rest. AVe rarely offer it to otheis ; we like to hold it ready for his use at any moment that he may choose to come ; but some domestic an-angements, or changes, luive put our guest-chand)er tempora- rily out of order, therefore we make you welcome here. We hoped we had nnison for believing that you would enjoy the room all the better because of its usual oecu{)ant." "f am honored indeed! " said David; and his voice was so full of feeling that his host made sure he was not mistaken in his estimate, k <( I WILL SEEK HIM.' 145 ^1 lie Left to himself, David threw himself upon a couch that had evidently been prepared with a view to giving as much rest as possible to a weary body, and gave himself up to keen satisfaction over the thought that he Avas actually sitting where that man was in the habit of resting. He leaned forward presently, and touched with reve- rent hand the rows of books on the well-filled shelves at the end of the couch ; he imagined the hands of the stranger touching them ; he tried to think how he must look with his face in repose, and his thoughts on books, and other every-day matters such as filled common lives. Never in his life had David Holman's heart thrilled with the thought of any person's friendship, as the mere mention of this stranger's name had begun to thrill him. The feeling, instead of quieting with the passing days, was increasing in power. What was to be the outcome ? Evidently he was the guest of a family who undei-stood such a mental condi- tion, and shared it ; indeed, in them it was per- haps intensified, as would be natural with those who knew the stranger well, who were indeed privileged to call him their friend. "And yet," mused David, "he cannot be to them Avhat he is to me. What is friendship com- pared with a relationship born of infinite heljiful- ness ? Let me remember what a word, a look, from him did for me. Is it any wonder that I have a feeling of loving reverence for him that amounts 146 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. almost to worship ? Yet that, of course, is wrong, and is unlike me ; I must hold myself in check. But 1 must know more about that man ; I must understand from himself what his power over me is. I must brave my father and Miriam and everybody', if necessary, in order to know this. It is net possible to be content with less than this ; indeed, after what has passed, I cannot think it would be right." Having rea(;hcd a decision that he meant sliOuhl not be altered, he tried to i)ut it all aside, and knelt for his evening prayer. lUit here again was an experience that disturbed, even shocked him. The image of the stranger came between him and his heavenly Father! came persistently, refusing to be put aside, lie arose at last, shocked and distressed. AVhat did it all mean? Was his mother right in attributing the influence to tlu* great enemy of men? Eveji though it were rea- sonable to suppose that the age of prophets had come again, a prophet should not come between man and liis God. That were idolatry ! All things considered, the night was a disturbed one. David's brok-^n sleep was troubled by per- l»l('xing, contradictory dreams, and his waking thoughts were liardly less disquieting. Morning found him with only one fixed idea, --the determi- nation to seek a pei-sonal interview with this mas- ter of his tlioughts as soon as it was possible to do so. 1 "HE IS DESPISED AND liEJECTED." 147 CIIArTER XIII. "HE IS DESPISED AND liK-IKLTED OF MEX." "INSTEAD of returning home the next day, as ^ lie luul expected to do, David Ilolnian Avas detained for several days, 'i'he niornijig nmil broug-bt an important letter from iiis fatber, wlio seemed to liave ronsed to the fact tbat be bad a son Avbo could sbare bis business burdens. David was desired to call upon several men in neigbbor- ing towns, and attend to certain matters of busi- ness tbat bad been for some time Avaitino-. o It was, tberefore, not until tbe evening of tbe fiftb day after bis departure tbat David readied bonie agabi, to find a state of tilings tbat en- grossed bis time and tbougbts. Word bad come from tbe IJrownlees tbat tbe young son and beir was very seiiously ill ; and Margaret, wbo bad been bis playmate in ebildbood, bis daily companion during bis sebool boy life, and was almost as fond of bim as sbe would bave been of a younger brotber, bad gone to see wbat belp sbe could offer to tbe disti-acted inolber. " Ibe messenger asked for you," Frances ex- plained, " and said tbat Mrs. Brownlee would be 148 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. m< distressed to hear that you were not at home. That was yesterday morning ; we did not write, because we expected you last night, you remember. This morning I had a line from Miriam. John is no better, and she says that he asks constantly for you. He is delirious, I suppose ; for he does not seem to understand that you are away, and keei)S imploring them to go and bring you." David arose promptly from the table where he had been taking a hurried supper, and announced his intention of going at once to the sick boy. ( )h, no, he was not tired ; not seriously so, at least. He had rested well the night before. " Besides, I am very strong, remember," he had replied to his mother's solicitations, with a reassuring smile. He should remain through the night at least, prob- ably longer; they must be in need of some man about, besides the servants. He should return a^ soon as he could consistently, because there was so nuich in the way of business to explain to his father; ])ut there was nothing that a few days' delay would injure. As lie le slowly up the steep hillside in the gathering darkness, he could not help reflecting on the Providence that seemed to be hedging his patli. He had come home strong in the resolve to let not another day pass b3fore he had a talk with his father, and explained to him how posi- tively he had decided upon that next step. His ideas of honor held him from taking it until the t ^ "HE5 IS DESPISED AND REJECTED. j> 149 father understood, but he had meant that thr-e slioukl be no more delay. Now here was dehiy, not of his planning. Was it an omen? Did it mean that he liad been about to take a step that was wrong ? There was no comfort to be luid from reasoning in a circle, and he ^ied to dismiss the subject until he could see his way i)lainer. Arrived at the Brownlees', he found an almost distracted household. Miriam, who had been so much in her uncle's home that her cousin John seemed as a brother to her, was scarcely less dis- tressed than was his mother. "O David!" she exclaimed, going back to the familiar name of long ago, as she met him at the door, " you cannot think what a comfort it is to see you! How could you wait so long? Poor John is tossing from one side of the bed to the otlier, calling constantly for you. Not that he knows wiuit he is saying, poor boy! lie is burn- ing with fever. Still, we tliought it might pos- sibly soothe him to see you, even if he did not quite recognize you. Auntie is almost wild with fear. O David! if John dies, what shall we do?" This was the beginning of days and niglits of watching and anxiety, relieved by occasional gleams of hope of such short dui-ation that they seemed to serve oidy to make the anxiety more intense. Tlirough it nil David llolman proved himself a very tower of streiigtli. After the firet 150 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. day of watching, he took in the situation, realizing wliat a long-, liurd struggle was before them at the best. He went liome tliat night, luul that impor- tant business talk with his father, putting all de- tails as to what had been accomplished in his liands, then mad% preparations for a long stay on the hilltop, and returned to install himself as head nurse. He was invaluable during the long night vigils, being the only one who could' effectively relieve tlie mother. It took but the experience of one night to prove his skill as a nurse. '* I have not been taken care of for years, with- out learning something of how it is done," he said to iNIiriam, wlien she commented on his deft ways in the sick-room. Perhaps he had also learned in the same school how to judge of illness better than did those al)out him. From the fii-st he had had very little hope of the young man's recovery. As the days passed, and what hope there was grew hourly fainter, there developed in David's heart a strong and ever- increasing desire to summon the new and wonder- working doctor to this bedside. Yet he saw no way of bringing tliis to pass. He felt the impos- sil)ility of doing anything so long as the motlior clung to a shred of hope. But as days passed, and the fever raged with unabated violence, and then as still graver symptoms appeared, and the doctors in almost constant attendance grew more if i f i "HE IS DKSrrSED AND Tltil.TECTED.'* 151 '-■1 and more reticent, and liiiiilly in ivsponse to car- nest questions could only soiTowfnlly sluike tlieir head.s and speak no woid, David's resolve waa made, lie would try to urge the strange physi- cian upon lier as a last nsort. She could hut refuse, and at least his own haunting I'cai' that something was itciiig left uiiilouc that icight spare to them the vahi'.' I life wo-;) 1 he relieved. It was something to h.iv > r > ;;>):i;!h:iity shifted. Hut the task was l'o;i:i,l l > !■■ h;'".! •;• even than he had imagined it. M: . !! o-,a'e> hal all the vio- lent prejudices of a \v ■: ': ■ > :; i '-.ho hud trained herself to believe t'.:'. :\:i : li'.^y; o^itiwde of the well-defined, highly ics;) •• Brownlees and the llrainar was of course very impro[)er, if not radically siti- fuL She shuddered, and exclaimed, and cried over the suggestion. "My dear David I liow have you had the cour- age even to mention such an i3 of others to work misehi* f ; but he is o' ei 'each; -g himself; he will find that the govern, Moni- i» far more powerful than he has imagineu. If you think that I will lift my linger to help bring that man into my aunts house, you are greatly mistaken. I should not dare do it. I hope you will believe me in time when I tell you tliere is danger in this thing ; I know what I am talking about." She stopped as if for breath, nud then went on in tones a shade gentler. "David, I am not surprised that you should feel as you do concerning him. In your weak state, you were not able to realize what time, medicine, and good nursing had done for you ; and the man seemed to you to exercise some marvel- lous power that had to do with your recovery. But it seems very strange that you should sup- I Ml ^ 156 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. pose an attack of fever could be cured in the same manner ! The David Holman whom I used to know could not have been so easily imposed upon. At all events" — her voice was growing hard again — " the Brownlees decline to be en- tangled in any such fanaticism. If poor John must die, let him die as he has lived, and not mix with the rabble. Perhaps he is to be taken away from influences that would ruin him, and break his mother's heart. I beg your pardon, David ; I know my language sounds too strong ; but I know ever so nnicli more about this matter than you think I do. If I could speak more plainly, I would, for the sake of saving you ; all I can say now is, that to have anything to do with that man or his teachings is dangerous. The time is coming when you will understand, and will thank me for my warning." Even after this, David did not utterly despair. It was vain, of coui^se, to hope for Miriam's influ- ence ; but he had prayed for help, and what he l)elieved was faith made him cling to a strange feeling that, before it Avas quite too late, some power would intervene, and bring to their aid the one on whom his hopes centred. As the night waned, he asked himself whether, instead of faith, it could 1)(! su[)i'rstiti()n. Steadily the shadows closed about them. There was a nioiiRnt of ap])arLut conscionsncss, in which flohn's eyes rovfnl anxiously from one to another of the group "HE IS DESPISED AND KEJECTED, >» 157 around liis bed, and he murmured, "David." David came forward instantly, bent over the dying face, and strove in vain to understand the nun-mured word; but with that beseeching look in his eyes that David thouglit he could never forget, John Brownlee took the mysterious jour- ney that we name death. It was David's hand that felt the last convul- sive grasp of those white fingers. It was David who did for the lifeless body all those last tender acts that love can perform. After that he went away. Ahirgaret had been in attendance almost as steadily as he had himself, Mrs. lirownlee seem- ing to cling to her, in memory of her long friend- ship for John ; and there were othei-s, ready and waiting to show all possible attention, so David felt that he could be well spared, that indeed, in view of what had passed, his absence would be better than his presence, and for himself, he longed to be alone. There was need for him at home. The father had lict'n unexpectedly called away again, by urgent business, and iiis mother was ill. Not alarmingly so; but to have the busy mother, on whom every one in the family leaned, ill enough to lie [)assive dui-ing the working hours of the day, Avas sufficiently strange to awaken anxiety. It was on the morning after his return home that David unnoiuiced to Frances that he iiad determined not to attend the funeral, lie was i,.: 158 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. not more anxious about their mother, she seemed nnich better to him ; but he believed that course would be the wiser. Mrs. lirownlce had not seemed to care to talk with him since that morn- ing when he urged upon her what she would not do. Possibly the sight of him now, when it was too bite, might arouse unavailing regret that she had not tried even that. He did. not wish to make her l)urden heavier than it already was. There was excuse enough for his absence, with their father away and their mother ill. So brother and sister remained at home, and tried to do their work as usual, and gave themselves to many sad and tender nu^mories of the bright-faced boy who was gone ; they had all been fond of him. During his earlier years the tAVO families had been neigh- bors, and John had felt almost as much at home with them as he had with his father and mother. It was a bitter thought to David that the boy had been allowed to slip out of life without that supreme effort to save him on which his heart had been set. n 1 y "HE HATH SENT ME." 159 CHAPTER XIV. i I ii "HE HATH SENT ME TO BIND UP THE BEOKEN- HEAllTED." I DON'T think I iindoi-stand your feeling," Frances said, w'aan her hrotlicr ee true, but portions of it are well authenticated. Had vou heard these things? How are they u^ l=o recon- ciled with ideas like those you hint at ? " m lOtJ YKSTKHDAV FUAMKI) IN TO-DAY. * ' i lil U I " My friend, if I were not entirely sure tliiit y • fci :he jMirpose of gainin^r time; lo (piict his nv, n intense feelino;, and to give Philip a chiince tn reco\ . r himself, thau because he thought he carci; for the answer. ''I hens J ;.iis., I'lrownlee say, with Ihut disdain- ful laugh of hei-s, • Your hoasted teacher is a nuie carpenter, who worked every day at his plebeian trade, until his and)ition \\as roused to he a re- former, or a i)ublic character of sonu' sort. What is it that he pi'oposes to accoii^ilish, besides mis- chief, do you think?' Ihe tone was more insult- ing than the words. I cannot describe to you how it stung me. If she had not been a woman "' — He clu'cked further speech, a' . stiuggled w ih his indignation and his j)ain. As for David, h" had been silenced; he had not tiiought to heai' a quotation from .Miriam. There was silence ' the ro(mi for several min- utes ; tlien Philip spoke again, his tone quite changed. Forgi\ me, Di-vid; I know you question in no such spirit as that : and as for me, my spirit is V ry ditfercnt from th;'*^ of him whom I am trying to follow, i.ct me explain my position, if I can, since we have begun this talk. I do uoL profess •'HK HATir SKNT MK. 1»}7 to uiulei-staiKl fully, but it is h'een chiefly men who were interested only in political questions. These, he had found, looked upon the stranger as an intriguer, who had a deep-laid scheme for usurping power. David felt that he could afford to smile over these, as men who were frightened by their own shadows. Could any man who was really work- mg up a p' vcrful following have been in his right mind and gone about it as this stranger had? The fewness of his chosen friends and the com- 1 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 14^ [ 2.8 3.2 IIIIM m 1.4 2.5 1 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 ^ /IPPLIED IN/MGE Inc =^. 1653 East Main Street S^g Rochester. New York 14609 USA JSS (716) 482 - OJOO - Plione BS: (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 182 YESTERDAY TEAMED IN TO-DAY. I I liionness of their lives excluded such an idea. Whatever had been quoted, from a reliable source, as having come from his lips, excluded such a thought. Whoever or whatever he was, it would certainly seem as though sane people must agree that he had done not one act to cause alarm, and that his entire character and bearing were such as to give him the right to testify for himself. "And to be believed," said David, concluding his mental survey with this emphatic thought. " I have gone over the ground a hundred times, and find that I always come back to the point that Frances reached by intuition, — to believe impli- citly Avhat he says of himself, without regard to what others say. To this end I must see him. I wonder what will hedge my way next? If I were superstitious, I miglit conclude that neither of my two distinctly resolved upon courses of action was destined to be." *'CAn god prepare a table? ♦ > 18^ CHAl^TER XVt. "CA>J god I'llKPAHK A TABLE IX THE WlhUEU- KESS ? " TAKING a cross-cut tlirougli tlie oiitsldrts of the town, David came suddenly upon Pliilip Nelson resting under the sliadow of a stone wall. They exchanged warm greetings, and David in- quired half anxiously about his own home ; no letters had reached him for several days. "They are quite well, I think," said Philip; "at least your mother is in her accustomed seat. I was there last evening. INIargaret is the least well of any of them, I should say. Oh, she is not ill, does not call herself so, but she looks far from well. Her eyes have an unnatural brilliancy that I do not like. Frances thinks that her nerves have received too great a shock." "I am afraid they have," said David, gravely. " Do you know if jMasters still continues to call at our house ? " "He was there last evening, and I have the impression that he calls quite as frequently as usual. Have you all confidence in that young man, David ? " 184 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. "I know almost nothing about him. If you mean, am I personally drawn toward him, I am not. Still, I know nothing against his character. My father seems to have faith in him." Said Philip, " I wish I had, — for Maigaret's sake. But I am like you, I have no definite charges to make. What have you seen and heard, my friend, coi:oerning the all-important matter, since you have been away?" " What is the ' all-important matter ' ? " David asked, smiling. He could not keep his own thought away from Miriam Brownlee. But Philip Nelson's face kept its gr-ive pre- occupied look, as he said : " I am coming to feel that there is but one. You must have heard much about our teacher; his fame is spreading everywhere ; it seems strange that you have not yet come into pei-sonal contact with him." " I have not, save once. But, as you say, one hears about him continually ; and what I have heard has deepened my interest. Is there anything new ? " "Everything is new," said Philip, with a far- av/ay look in his eyes. " Every day sliows us new truths, m /onders, new power. If you had only been .. .u us yesterday ! We went into the country for a :ay of rest. At least t.jat was what we supposed. It proved to be anything but rest, for him. By some means our plans became known to the crowd, and they followed us. Tlie throngs were simply amazing. Men, women, and children, "CAN GOD PREPARE A TABLE?" 185 hundreds of them, thousands of them ! They were there to welcome us when we went asliore ; we crossed to the other side of the lake ; it is a very- quiet, restful point over there, j^ou know. Very few people seem to have found it out, uniil yester- day, — but I have not seen anywhere, such throngs as swarmed us all day long. We thought he would go away ; but instead, he stayed all day, talking with groups of people, or s])eaking to as many in the crowd as his voice could reach. An open-air service ; l)ut service like it was never held on this earth before. David, there were peo- ple there who have gone about for years, bent double Nv'ith disease ; there were lame people, and deaf people, and those who you and I know Avere born blind, and he cured every one who asked for help. Think of it ! Men who had hobbled there on crutches threw them away, and shouted, and ran 1 You remember that man with the helpless arm? He was there ; I saw him swinging both arms high in air, and shouting himself hoarse for joy. There is no use in trying to describe such a scene ; but I feel as though you could appreciate it better than others. There were so many of them ! I had never seen so much suffering repre- sented in a crowd before. They must have fol- lowed him for the express purpose of testing his power; those who had heard the stories, you know. He has a multitude of witnesses now, who can give pei-sonal testimony. 1^ < El \ n I il m YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. I;-' .1 " Nor was that all. ft grew late in the afternoon, and the throngs were pressing hin^ as eagerly as ever. Some of us became anxious as to what was to be done next. We had taken no luncheon with us; I supposed that toward afternoon we would go on to one of those villages over there, and get food, and perhaps spend the night ; but there was no indication that such was his plan. We thought he ought to dismiss the congregation and advise the people to go home ; some of them must have come long distances, and there had been no eating, so far as we could see, througli the day. It had simply been an unpremeditated rush after the worker of wonders, without thought of food or of night ; and he seemed to be staying on with them, in nnich the same spirit. After talking it over among ourselves, we resolved to speak to him, and suggest that they be sent home for food and rest. "What do you think he said? 'They need not go away for food; give them something to eat.' David, I thought I knew the man, but I confess tliat that bewildered me. What did he mean? He knew, for Ave had spoken of it, that we had taken no food even for ourselves. It occurred to me that perhaps he wanted us to go to the village and buy bread ; that would do for ourselves : but thiidc of feeding that crowd! Of course we couldn't do it. I tried to make a mental calcula- tion, and decided that it would take more money than we were all worth, besides the folly of ex- "CAi? GOD PREPARE A TABLE?" 187 pectlng any of those country villages to be pre- pared for sucli an onset I Still, I asked if that was what he meant ; and he replied by asking if there were any among tlie crowd who had brought food. Somebody luid seen that little lame Jimmie, who lives at the foot of the mountain, you know, witli a basket of luncho'^n. He had been too busy re- j(Hcing over the iact that he was not lame any more, to think of eating ; so he had it just as it came from home, — five little rolls and two small dried fishes. The supply was so absurdly inade- quate to the demand, that I laughed when I reported it ; but judge, if you can, of my bewilder- ment over his reply : ' Seat the people in some sort of order, in groups of fifties, so you can pass among them.' " Think of us trying to execute such commands as those, with that crowd to manage ! " ' What do you want us to sit down for ? ' came from all sides. The utmost we could say was, that we were under orders. There was much laughing, and exclaiming, and endless questions ; but that it could be done at all, shows what power he has over the crowds. They seemed willing to do whatever he said. I'll tell you who helped us, David, splendidly, John Brownlee. " He moved rapidly among the throngs, seeming to be everywhere, his voice eager and ringing. ' Do just as he tells you, whatever it is ; no one will ever regret it.' They could not resist liira, 188 YESTEKDAVr FRAMED IN "O-DAV, ||. ■: you know; they luul heard his story. In a sur- prisingly shirt time the order had been obeyed, and the expected crowd were seated. 'Humi he called for the little fellow's bread and lish, and dividing them among us, sent us out to feed five thousand people I " "Is it possible?" exclaimed David Ilolman. His voice expressed more than astonishment; there was awe in it. Philip felt the tone, and his own grew solenni. ''I shall never be able to tell you how I felt when I took that bit of bread in my hand. It was but a mouthful ; a child would have eaten it all, and cried for more. Could I go to a company of waiting hundreds and offer it as food ? Yet I had entered into a solemn compact with myself to follow this man wherever he led; to obey implicitly whatever commands he gave, whether they seemed heavenly wisdom or folly. I believe that had he told me to step into the lake, and walk across it to the town in search of food, I should have made the attempt. I honestly don't know how to com- plete my story ; words seem inadequate. I don't know how it came to pass. I know I offered my bit of bread to the first man I reached ; and that he took it, and broke some from it, and returned it ; and that he had as much as he wanted, and that there was more for the next one, and the next, and the next! Does that sound like the rant of a wild man, David? It is solenni fact. "CAN GOD PKKPAUE A TABLK?' 189 Nothing that he has ever done has impressed did that simple act ith h inch power, s of creation. I do not know that I can make the reason i)hiin ; bnt whcui the helphsss leap up and Avalk, and the dead speak, there is an excitement ahont tne act itself that holds part of the atten- tion ; hut tliat quiet exercise of creative power, without noise or visible effort of any kind, spoke to nic with a voice that I had not heard before. Do you rcnienib(;r who it was, in our historic past, that 'Olive them bread from heaven to eat'? ''The marvel went on l)efore onr eyes, until eveiy j)ers()n in tliat vast tlirong wus cntii'dy satisfied with food ; and as tht; scene progressed, the picture grew. An artist who could repro- duce it, would innnortalize himself. When the meal began, there were [)laiidy sneers on the faces of some, and good-natured jokes and laughter abounded. Only a few faces wore looks of ex- pectancy, and these, I think, were not exi)ecting hread ; the look meant soul-hunger, ('nn vou imagine the changes of expression, as the hands were held out f'/r bread, aiul received, and more ap[)lie(l, and were satisfied? No, you cannot im- agine it; and it biiifles all description. I tell yon, you nuist see fn man in order to iniderstand. Still, I can give you facts ; and you have my word of honor that every man, woman, and child in that company were fed until they would receive no more. iVnd the added touch was so wonderful. iiil m 190 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. 'Gather up the fnigiuents,' said our host. Frag- ments! aFter such a iiioal ! Vet cadi of ns (illcd a basket full of the broken pieees I David, I <-minot tiiink that any sane man, studying him carefully, and studying the I5il)le, can doubt who our leader is! 'And a man shall l)e as a hiding-place from the wind and a covert from the tempest; — as the shadow of a great rock in a w(>ary land.'" lie quoted the familiar Avords with a triumi)liant smile, and a significant glance toward 1' e wall of i-ock that threw its grateful shadow over the spot where they were resting. David turned anxious eyes u})(»n him. "But there were miracles performed of old," lie said. " 'J'he prophets fui-iiished food in a miiac- ulous manner; they even raised the dead. I do not see why, because of such work, one should pass to such a startling conclusion as youi-s." "Perhaps one should not; I am simply telling you how I have been impressed. Yes, there were miracles performed, but can you recall one in which the power of God was not invoked? This man commaiuls ; and the helpless, and deaf, yes, even the dead, obey him. When one is present to sec these marvels, instead of hearing about them, the efPect is different. I wish, my friend, that you could break away from all the influences that tram- mel you, and come and be one of us for awhile. I know your heart is there. Why not study the problem in the bust of ail ways ? " "can god puepark a table?" 191 Frag- s filled a I ''iimiot iirct'ully, ir leader U'(3 from — iis tlio ' " II In; Jt sinilo, of I'oek )l where .f old," u inirjic- l. I do sliould >• telling re were II which lis man !S, even i to see Bin, the lat yon it trani- lile. I dy tliu t;^ "There are serious oKstacles in my way," David answered with exceeding gravity ; " I nnist tliink of my father; he is growing old, and I have been for years a steady weight upon him. I nnist not luirt him more than I can help ; hut you are right in estimating the interest I have, and it is a ques- tion that nnist soon he decided. I am not exactly lialting between two opinions, dear friend. If I must grieve others, why then I nnist." Philip returned no answer. It was not David's father whose influence he feared for him ; but he felt that it would be intrusive to speak first of any other. The world was aglow with moonlight when David Ilolman started upon that long delayed errand to the lirownlee home. As he neared the house, the importance of his errand grew upon him. He told himself that if Miriam should not be in, he could hardly endure the disappoint- ment ; he had waited so long ! As he came in sight of that lovely moonlighted piazza and saw the flutter of white garments, he felt his pulses thrill with joy and hope. He had vivid memories of other moonlighted nights, in which Miriam, all in white, had sat in that very corner waiting for him. It was delightful that she was quite alone. " Do you know that you are an immense re- lief?" she said, as she came down the steps to welcome him. " 1 have been sittino- here for the 192 YESTERDAY FIIA.MED IN TO-DAY. last lialf hour, watcliing for Joljn and auni'g. When I saw that the carriage windnig up the hill contained hut one pcraon, I knew it could not be auntie's carriage, and I was afraid it belonged to — well, to some one else." Her soft laugh flowed out, quite as lie remembered it. " The sentence is anibicruous," said David ; " but if I am not 'some one else,' and you have discovered it, may I hope you are not sorry that it is I ? " The reply was quick and graceful. "Were your friends ever other than glad to see you? We have waited long for your congratulations." "You know that I have been absent from home?" he asked quickly. "Nothing but neces- sity has kept me away for so long. Why, I have not even seen John I and I thought to see him, without fail, that very next day." "John is quite well," said Miss Brownlee, lightly, "and extremely full of energy; almost too much so; he exhausts us. He and auntie drove to town several hours ago ; I am expecting their return every moment. Shall we go inside, or will you enjoy the moonlighted piazza as I remember you used to?" " Let US stay here by all means if it pleases you," he said with a quickening of his pulses over those suggestive words. Certainly she re- membered their past. " I like the moonlight on this particular piazza an I used to," he said, as he took the veil kJZH/lCl. LUU m "CAN GOD rUKPAIlK A TAIJLL ? 193 seat beside her. And the yours tluit had roHed hetweeii them since he hist sat there, seemed to liini as a dream. The trailing vines with their faint, delicate o(h)r were as they nsed to he, and the same old moon looked down npon them ; the young man believed that his own heart and tiiat of the woman beside him were the same. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to speak of those other days. " Do you remember iiow we used to sit in this very corner and talk ? " "Do 1 remember ! " The feeling that she threw into those three words almost startled him. All the loneliness of the l;)ng yeai-s between seemed to sound in them. They hurried him on, to speak the words of which his heart was full. Why should one try to tell the old story ? It has been repeated so many times that it is new only to those who are the actors, and it seems but just that they should have it to themselves. Let it suffice to say that the young man had no diffi- culty in making his meaning very plain, and that before Oiey were interrupted, it had been settled that they were to spend their lives together. Not that they tried to plan their future, there was not time for that ; and, besides, they seemed to like to linger in the past. They made mutual confessions of long, lonely days and years, during which they had desired only each other. " Do not let us allow anything ever to separate m 194 YESTEEDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. US again," murmured Miriam; and the slight shud- der, that ran through her frame, might have been from a memory of the past. David drew her to him, wrapped the fleecy white shawl she wore more closely about her, and answered solemnly : — " No, never again ! Nothing but death can sepa- rate us, Miriam ; and even death is powerless, save for a little while." "THEY HAVE TAUGHT THEIR TONGUE." 195 CHAPTER XVII. "THEY HAVE TAUGHT THEIR TONGUE TO SPEAK LIES." THEN he had thought to tell her immediately of that glad new life of his, which flowed in upon his soul even before physical strength came to him, determining him henceforth to live for God. He was sure that the news would be received joy- fully ; for in the years gone by, Miriam had often spoken an earnest little word to him, that he had always warded off ; sometimes with tender merri- ment, sometimes with a sentimental half-promise, forgotten almost as soon as made. Miriam had been far ahead of him in those days; he had a glad surprise for her. There need be no divided lives for them. There should be on this subject, as on all others of importance, oneness of thought and purpose. But there was no opportunity for these revela- tions. John Brownlee's carriage interrupted them, and it was followed closely by another carriao-e with four occupants. "Oh, dear ! " said Miriam, " we are going to have calls. I feared it; this moonlight is so enticing hM Bl 1 196 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. to-night, that I felt sure we would be used as an excuse for a drive. Who can it be ? Is not that your sister Margaret's voice, replying to auntie ? ' " Yes," said David, rising ; " Margaret is on the front seat, with Mr. Mastei-s. I do not recognize the othei-s. We shall have no opportunity for further talk to-night, Miriam." "No," she answered, with a little sigh that ended in a laugli. " That sounds hospitable, does it not? I do not always feel so averse to seeing my friends. But I am sure there is no hope for us; people make such long calls in the country. Never mind, dear, the years will be filled with evenings, just for us." With tlie glow of that last word in his heart, he went down to assist the ladies. '• Oh, David ! " said John Brownlee, springing to the ground, and grasping David's hand in one of his while with the other he held the reins. " Take care, John ! " said his mother. " Selma doesn't like such treatment as that; look after your horse; David will wait." " I have been in such haste to see you ! " said John. "Selma is all right, mother; she knows her master. David, Avhen did you get home ? I have been down twice to see you. I am impatient for a talk with you." "And his mother wants a talk with you, before John has a cliance," said Mrs. Brownlee, as they stood waiting fur the other carriage, while John "THEY HAVE TAUGHT THEIR TONGUE.'* 197 f..; led Selma out of the way. "You are so much older than iny dear boy, Mr. Ilolman, and have so much influence over him, that I look to you to steady his impulses. If he should wander off, in the direction in which he is just now tempted, I think it would break his mother's heart. He is an enthusiast, you know, naturally; and being so young, it is not strange that enthusiasm should mislead him. He sadly needs a father's counsel. But the help of an older brother, who is wise and well poised, would be an immense relief. He looks upon you almost as a brother. I know you will try to help me, David, and not indulge him in fancies that are offensive to his mother. I am sorry that I have not opportunity to speak plainer, but perhaps I have said enough to put you on your guard." And, as David turned to help his sister Margaret from the carriage, he felt that he under- stood Mi-s. Brownlee very well indeed. " You here ! " said Margaret. " Frances ought to have come, and we could have had a family gathering." The others were introduced as Miss Masters, and her friend^^b. Compton. The piazza ^W' deserted. No better place could be found for two, but to a gay company of half a dozen, the brightly-lighted parlor offered greater attractions. To the merry convei-sation which at once began, David Hohnan found him- self listening curiously, almost wonderingly. till 1^ i |i 198 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. How gay they were ! what utter nonsense they talked! Life had for years heen such a serious matter to him; the days all tinged with the r( ;i- sonable probability that each might be the last of earth, that he had, to a degree, forgotten h,.v, full of triviality is the average social talk. J I is sister Margaret seemed to be in her element, tlu- gayest of the gay. He could not but note that she used a half-mocking tone in speaking to him, as though he lived outside the circle to which' she belonged, was of another world than theii-s. Indeed, the entire party appeared to look upon hira as one who could be expected only to toler- ate their fun, not join in it; yet they admitted Miriam with glee at once into the centre of their talk. As he listened, and tried occasionally to join, David wondered if their estimate were not correct, and he was indeed an outsider. He had not kept himself posted as to the doings of tlie social world; but he had not supposed that his sister Margaret knew much about the world. If her knowledge came through Felix Masters, slie must have been an apt pupil. She seemed to be quite at home upon all topics tM[f ctime up for discussion, and, indeed, often lecmT con venation. Of course Miriam was at home in all society matters. He must expect that; her life liad been such as to make it a necessity. It did not, how- ever, follow that such a life was to lier taste. Now that she had admitted him to the first place ♦*THEV HAVE TAUGHT THEIR TONGUE." 199 ley liiul in her heart, many thiiitrs would be different. He listened critically to every word she spoke, and maae constant allowances for any that jarred ; and assured himself that she did not seom as worldly, after all, as did his sister, who had been shielded all her life. It became increasingly evident that Margaret was indeed learning to see with Mr. Masters's eyes, and to think his thoughts. Presently David became keenly alive to the fact that the conversation had drifted to the one topic which he had hoped would not be touched that night. He felt how utterly out of accord with the subject this company would be ; and he shrank from having Miriam hear more concerning it, until he could have opportunity to set matters before her in their true light. He would not admit to himself that he dreaded to hear words from her lips that would jar upon his sensitive nerves. Yet apparently no instinct told her from what he shrank. It was she who replied to Mr. Mas- ters's question as to whether they had heard of the latest sensation. "Indeed we have ! You need not think we live out of the world, because we are on a hill-top. Do you mean the mammoth picnic? How many people participated in it to-day? The last I heard it was six or eight thousand; but it was said that some had it fifty thousand. Isn't it L^OO VHSTHIIDAV FIIAMKD IN TO-DAY. Mh astonishing how tliose stories increase in mag- nitude?" ^ ''Oh, no," said Mr. Musters, "not at all strange ; history is simply repeating itself. There have been gaping erowds swarming after some- thmg new, with open eyes and mouths, ever since the world was peopled; an exaggeration was ever their trade-mark." How light and sweet Miriam's laugh was' "'Open-mouths' is a phrase that exactly tits the situation, Mr. Mix.stei-s. Was it used advisedly'^ W ho would not oi)en his mouth wide, to he fed m so mysterious a manner? It is far superior to the way the poor birds get their living, I am sure. "Pray enlighten us," said Mr. Compton. «I do not think that Miss Masters and I have the slightest idea about what you are talking. Have there been any remarkable demonstrations in the hne of picnics lately ? " "Oh, I have heard about the picnic," said Miss Masters, with a gay little laugh. '' Felix tries to keep me informed ; but I pay very little atten- tion to these matters. I shall have to confess that I never was deeply interested in the com- mon people; they have always some craze or other to excite them. I do not understand why so many comparatively respectable people interest themselves in this strange man and his perform- ances. Why don't they let the rabble have •'THEY IIAVK TAIKillT THKIU TON'GUK." 201 peaceable possession of him, and enjoy their nine days' wondei", as they have Ixifore?" "Because tliis is a very different excitement from the ordinary," said Felix Masters ; and his face was dark and frowning. " TIk; man is very keen; he is a close observer, a student of human nature, and, in a certain sense, wise — long-headed. Unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall have reason to regret that we allowed liim to get such a hold upon the rabble before taking the matter in hand." " I insist upon hearing about the picnic," said Mr. Compton, in the tone of one who felt that the conversation might be growing too serious. '• Miss Mastei-s and I extended our ride this morniiifr be- yond the limits of civilization, and nearly starved before we reached a point where we could obtain refreshments ; so we are in sympathy with the starving multitude, if such they Avere, and in a condition to appreciate deliverance, if such they had. Give us the story, please, INIiss Brownlee." "I?" said ]\Iiriam, gayly. "-Oh, it should be some one who has more dramatic talent than 1 1 Do you know about it, Margaret? You will be just the one to describe the scene." Margaret shook her head. "• I live in the back- woods," she said ; " and David has been away from home. I do not hear of wondere, until afterwards. What is it that has happened ? " "Why, the story goes," began Miriam, "that iii h 202 YKSTEHDAY FRAMKI) IN TO-nA<" the (.tlier day 'the rubble '— which is INfr. Mas- U'l-s's name for tliem, not mine — folh.wed their niysterions U'ader to an out-of-the-uay phiee, and pei-sisted in keepin.tr him company all day. What lie did to hold their attention, j am sure I don't know. 'Talked,' one of them said; told them Mnmderfnl thinos.' Imagine a man talking 'won- derful thinprs' to that class of people! However it was, what with the delights of the country, and the pleasure of escaping work all day, with the 'talk' thrown in, they contrived to stay, dinner- less, and, as the day drew near its close, apparently suppei-less. Some compassionate creature began to wonder what was to become of them, before they reached home. In truth, the probability was, I suppose, that the most of them would not find much to eat when they did get home. That class of peoi.Ie are not specially provident at any time ; the passing moment seems to be all that they think about." ''They are very much like the other class of society in that respect," laughed Mrs. Brownlee. " I have noticed that you young people generally arrange for the present hour, without regard to the effect it will have upon to-morrow." Miriam gave her aunt's hand a loving little admonitory pat as she said : " Now, auntie, please don't moralize. This story has no moral ; it is for entertainment, and I want to finish it. Where was l:'' Oh, they were hungry, all those people; "THEY HAVE TAUr;ilT TffJCHt TONGUE." 203 thousands of tliorn ; a huiidiod thou.sand, if you choose — nuinbcm seem not t<^j have made any dif- ference. The only proviflent one anjon^ thein seems to liave l>een a little fellow vvIjo had half-a- dozen rolls and a dried fish or two. He planned systematically, you see, for a day's pleasuring, and took his lunch with him like a sensible boy. Now comes the remarkable part of the story. That little fellow's lunch was seized upon, — or he was petitioned to present it, — I am not up on the details ; by some management the rolls were placed in the hands of this wonderful teacher, or preacher, or whatever name should \Ai his — and what did he do but divide them into twelve por- tions and give them out to his satellites, with orders to pass them around the crowd I" Bursts of laughter followed ; and Miriam, appar- ently stimulated thereby, went on briskly : •• Oh, you needn't laugh I Cheering would be more appropriate. I want you to understand that eveiy man, woman, and cliild was fed from those rolls ! More than that, they gathered up. I won't pretend to say how many basketsful of food when the meal was over." The laughter that followed was hilarious. When Mr. Compton could l)e heard, he asked: "But do the people really believe such stories? How is it possible for even their credulity to W equal to such a strain?" Standing a little in the shadow, near the mantel, 204 YKSTKIIDAY FIIAMICD IN TO-DAV. with his arm resting upon it, was John Brownlee< Ho had not joined in tlie convei-sation ; and j' , one, unU'ss it may have heen his mother, was notieing him. She may have observed that he did not smile throughout the reeital, and that there was an ominous llasli in his bright brown eyes. Sud- denly he dashed into the convei-sation by a question: — • " Excuse me, sir, but just what do you mean by 'their eredulity ' ? Had you been one of the * rabble ' on that day, if you will allow me to ask you to streteh your imagination to sueh a degree, would you eonsider youi-self open to the eharge of credulity because you believed what you saw and experienced ? " Mr. Compton turned toward him graciously, con- descension in voice and manner. *^ I might not undei-stand the word, my dear young friend ; but I think you woidd be perfectly justilied in making use of it, provided I really believed that I had been fed, in company with several thousand others, in the maimer which has been described." " Well, sir, how would you account for it? If you had been a looker-on, and had seen thou- sands of people, all eating as much as they wanted, and had watched the gathering up of baskets full of food that remained, \yhat would 3'ou have concluded?" Before Mr. Compton could reply, Felix Masters interposed. "THEY HAVE TAUGHT Til HI II TONGUK." 20.') '•Ij " Joliii, my boy, tluit question is too simple for Com[)toii. lie is a regular warrior in the matter of lo^Mc. Of course, in this case, the inevitable conclusion of a reasoning being would be, that somebody, for reasons best known to liimself, had taken the trouble to have prepared, and secreted, large quantities of food, and had arranged to ap- pear to us(; very little of it. We have all heard of sleight-of-hand performances. I saw a fellow the other evening take dozens of eggs out of his hair, his whiskei-s, even his eyebrows ! but I haven't the slightest idea that he really did so, have you? " This time there was not only laughter, but clapi)ing of hands. John lirownlee turned and abruptly left the room. " Poor John ! " said his mother, restraining her laughter. " He is very nervous since his illness. A little matter excites him; and his imagination has been wrought upon by these absurd stories, until really he does not know what to think. I wish very much we could pei'suade him to go away for awhile, where he would not lu'ar any of these follies. I think when one has been through such an experience as his, one's nerves remain unstrung for a long time." Mr. Masters promptly agreed with her, and added, that stories such as the public were now being fed upon, did harm in many ways ; the originator of them ought, by all means, to be nun e \ 206 YESTEIIDAY FHAMKI) I\ TO-DAY. sup- taken in hand by the authorities, and I)re8sed. Miriam lirownlee's laugh was as silvery as it had been in days gone by. It floated out n, ^v, and was foHowed hy these words: "I cannot un- dei-stand why you n-ntlemon shoukl be so solemn over it. Of coui-se, there are some things offen- sive to good taste ; the gatherings in the streets are horrid, and oiiglit not to be permitted ; but when they simply go off by themselves for an ex- traordinary i)icnic, what harm can it d<»^ I have not been so amused in a long time, as I have been over the various accounts of this affair. Why cjm't we all take the fun there is in it, and let it go?" "AS THE IIAKT I'ANTETU.' 207 CIIAPTEk XVIII. "AS THE HART I'ANTETH AFTER THE WATER BROOKS." lirHETHKIi UmivM liad planned thai she V V would not look in the direction of David's eyes while this topic was up for consider.'>tion, i e could not determhie. lie had certainly f; d in every attempt to gain her attention, t'lough ^e sat not far from her. He had held himself to utter silence through it all, and there was not tlie s( n- hlance of a smile upon his face. The voii u which he at last broke his silence was stari in its sternness. " Do you all forget tliat you are speaking of t man who, but a very few days ago, nitt the men bei-s of this household ( n their way to the gra\ ,to bury their dead, and, with a word, restored t .them the light and joy o! their home?" "Oh, Mr, IJolman! don't! DON'T!" .cried Mrs. Brownlee, before ret ring into her handker- chief, to give vent to liystci cal sobs. It ^v as then, for the first time, that Min m darted a quick, an- noyed glance at the astonis ed David as she made her hurried exiilanation. H ■ 208 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. " Auntie's nerves were so fearfully wrought upon during- John's illness, that she cannot bear the slightest allusion to the subject. Auntie, dear, do try to control yourself; it is all over now, you know." The sobs grew a little less violent; hut the embarrassed guests looked at one another, and seemed not to know what to say next. This does not include David, who looked simply stern. He held himself as one who was keeping l)ack further utterance by a strong effort. Mr. Mastere came gracefully to the rescue. " Holman is right ; it is not at all strange that John, under the circumstances, sliould be greatly excited and unable to control his sympathies. He is 3'oung yet, and cannot be expected to under- stand that his experience, unusual as it is, has its parallels even in modern history. Cases of sus- pended animation, even nuich longer than his, are upon record, and are exceedingly well authenti- cated. Still, as I said, it is not surprising that a young man whose mental condition bad been ex- hausted by serious illness, should have imbibed false ideas as to the causes of his recovery. The surprise is, that persons of mature mind should allow themselves to become so confused as to im- agine anything supernatural about it I I confess myself to have been disappointed as regards that. It is this tendency to credulity, which we find in certain j^i-sons wbom we supjjosed to have been "AS THE HART PANTETH." 209 wrought not bear Auntie, all over but the lier, and riiis does ?vn. He \i. further 31's came nge that ! greatly ies. He uuder- S has its > of sus- 1 his, are luthenti- ig that a been ex- inibibed y. The 1 should IS to ini- confess fds that. ; find in ive been better informed and better balanced, which makes thoughtful men anxious about the whole matter, and unable to dismiss it as something to be amused at for the moment. That the connnon people are agape over these sleight-of-hand performances is to be expected and smiled over. But when a few young and susceptible minds, like John's for instance, may be seriously injured while we are laughing, it is a matter for grave consideration. In my judgment, we should take hold of it with energy, and, after deciding what ought to be done, do it without further delay. A crowd of unthink- ing, illiterate people is capable on very slight provo- cation of degenerating into an unmanageable mob. They have secured a leader this time who is very keen, and whose influence over them is becoming unbounded. In short, I do assure you. Miss Brownlee, that this whole subject, to thinking men, who have tlie interests of the country at stake, has its very serious side." " Oh, yes," said Miriam, trying to throw off all sense of anxiety and still speak lightly ; " I sup- pose you men must be serious sometimes ; but we ladies, who cannot do anytliing, ought to be allowed to be amused. John, for instance, simply annises me. I am not anxious about him, as his mother is. He '-^ merely a boi/, carried away just now by strong pereonal feeling; but he is a Brownlee, and has the hard sense of generations to fall back upon. When he recovers from this 210 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. excitement — if the attack is not made too much of — his common sense will come to the rescue. I am not afraid for John." Mr. liolman arose suddenly. His face was very- pale, and his eyes had a stern look with which Miriam was not acquainted. He made his adieus very briefly, and got out once more to the moonlighted piazza. Tliei-e he found John. The boy turned as he heard foot- steps, and, recognizing his friend, held out his hand. His voice trembled with excitement. " Isn't it dreadful I " he said ; "simply horrible I the way they talk about that man ! How am I to endure it ? /, who know what he did for me ! Cannot any one be made to realize that I have been among the dead ? " David's only reply was to clasp the young fel- low's hand with almost painful force. At last he said : " John, dear fellow ! I sympathize with you utterly. Come and see me as soon as you can ; we will talk it all over. I cannot talk to-night. I must get away." What a ride was that wliich he took over the familiar road once more in the solemn moonlight ! What had he done? Othei-s had laughed, and sneered, some good-naturedly, some as cynics. But he had deliberately closed his eyes to i)roba- bilities, and chosen for his companion for life one who ridiculed deeds that were to liim divine! What had he been about, to imagine for a moment 'I » {. "AS THE HART PANTEIH." 211 too much le rescue. was very til which I got out There he 3artl foot- l out liis nent. horrible ! .V am I to [ for me ! it I have '^oung fel- \.t last he with you you can ; to-night. over the oonlight t :hed, and s cynics, to proba- r life one 1 divine ! I moment that he could influence to higher living one who had heard unmoved that voice of power? Siie had leaned over her cousin when he died ; she had watched the light go out of his eyes, and seen Die clay grow beautiful in the majesty of death. Then, at the command of a voice that had power to reach the ears of death, she had seen him rise, and go about in radiant health. Yet she could laugh, and talk fluently and merrily about picnics and sleight- of-hand ! Only that morning — was it, or was it ages ago — that he sat under the shadow of the rock and heard Philip Nelson tell the story of the breaking of bread for that hungiy multitude ? Every fibre of his being had responded to the power of the story. And she had ridiculed it, and accepted the sneering explanation which set it down among the sleight-of-hand entertainments for the gaping crowd ! What had he done ? He who believed in this man as one sent from God ? Sent perhaps — his tongue did not frame the words in his heart, but the hushed silence seemed to pulse with them — yet he had asked her, the story-teller of the evening, the one who had turned it all into ridi- cule, to be his wife ! Many a time while lying on his couch of imin, David Holiiian had waded through deep waters, fought many battles, but never in his life had he felt the power of pain, awful soul-pain, as he felt it that night. IL 1: 212 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. He did not call upon Miriam Brownlee on the evening following. There was no good reason why he should not, except that which he found in him- self ; in his bitter unrest of soul he shrank fiom meeting her just yet; shrank from the ordeal which he felt might be before him. An overpow- ering desire to get away from everybody, and be alone, took possession of him. There were tre- mendous questions to be settled ; he had to define his position to Miriam, and it by no means seemed the easy task that he had thought it but the day before. From his severe self-questioning 'le came out humiliated. It seemed that after w^aiting so many years he had at last been a creature of im- pulse. He owned to his conscience that he had no clear story to tell to Miriam. What was his position? He did not know. What he ought to have done was to have settled that fii-st, instead of putting it aside as secondary, when in the depths of his soul he knew that it must forever be first with him. Uncertain what step should be taken next, he waited in great and troubled doubt all day. The second morning's mail brought a letter that de- cided his innnediate course ; it was from Mr. Roth- well, and contained an earne'st invitation to him to spend the coming Festival W^eek in their city, and make their house his home. "I have learned," said the letter, " that our very dear friend, in whom I believe you have special reason for being inter- "AS THE HART PANTETH.** 213 ested, will be present during the week, and will spetik at some of the meetings. It occurred to me that this might be your opportunity to hear him, and perhaps meet him personally, as I judged, from some words of yours when with us, that you would like to do. We hope to have him as our guest at least a portion of the time." Before David had finished this paragraph, he knew that he had decided to attend the festival, thougli this had not been included in his previous plans. " Mr. Rothwell ! " said his father, with evident interest, when David made his invitation known. " Tiiat is an unusual honor, if all I hear of the Rothwells is true ; you must have made a very favorable impression. Well, I would by all me is go: I wish we could all attend. In my young days, I did not suppose tliat anything could keep me from being present during Festival Week." The sentence closed with a sigh. After a mo- ment he added, regretfully : " It is a matter of grief to me, that I have not been able to give my family opportunities of this kind. I i-ememlxn- that the music of Festival Week used to linger with me tln-ough the year. What a treat it would be to Margaret ! Ah, well, the future is befoi-e her and the rest of you. Perhaps, David, you can do for your sisters what I have not been able to. A friendship with the Rothwells is something to be desired. If there should be any ox^portunity to *^filti' 214 YfiSOJERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAV. talk about business, there are some matters tluil I would like to have you bring up." Evidently there was to be no difficulty in guv ting away for Festival Week ; yet David was only half pleased. It Avas his nature to be frank, but he had said notliing about that paragraph in the letter which had decided him. Ought he to do so? lie considered the question carefully, and finally replied to it in the negative. He was not a mere boy, bound in honor to abide by his father's decisions. Tlie very probability, pressing upon 1dm, tliat he should eventually have to de- cide against Ids father, held him from making pain- fid revelations before the time. The least cruel way Avas to be quite silent, until he knew just what he ought to say, and just what he meant to do. But to Frances the letter was shown ; and David, looking over her slioulder while she read, IDointed silently to the important paragraph ; then they exchanged significant smiles that were tinged with sadness. To Miriam, David wrote a very brief note to tlie effect that duty had called him away from home for a few days, and that he would see her as soon as possible after his return. He paused over that word "duty." Was it duti/ that called? Un- doubtedly it was inclination. Yes, he told him- self, after careful study, it was also duty. TIo must know the ground on wliici.. he stood, and :r *'Ad TliE hart! PAlJTETH. M 215 VH tlijit I ^ in gci- vas only ank, but li in the le to do lly, and was not by liis pressing e to de- ng pain- Lst cruel lew just iieant to n ; and he read, li ; then e tinged ;e to tlie in home as soon k^er that L? Vu- •Id hiin- ty. TTe od, and understand his future so far as it could be known, before he talked with Miriam Brownlee again. He owed thus much to lier, and it was bewildering, that he had lot fully realized it before. It was ten years since David llolman had been inside the magnilicent building where the services of Festival Week were held. As a boy he iiad been very familiar with the time-honored festivab and had looked forward eagerly to being present. At that time the city was always in holiday at- tire, and was crowded to overllowing with visitors. He had not been very deeply interested in the reli- gious part of the service, but the music, he remem- bered, was entrancing. No d()u])t, to his boyish imagination, everything was far more beautiful than the reality would warrant; still, the very streets leading to the church, as he recalled them, were festooned with evergreen, and were aglow with flowers and lights. And the music seemed to him to roll out Avith continuous strain : " O give thanks unto the Lord ; for he is good ; for his mercy endure th forever." Many a time, lying on his bed of pain, he had closed his eyes and seemed to hear again the jubilant outburst from the choir, and the refrain by the people : " Save now, I be- seech thee, O Lord; O Lord send now prosper- ity." As he made his way along the thronged streets, and neared once more the great building that had delighted his beauty-loving lieart as a boy, and heard the same outbui-st of triumphant I 216 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. I'l song, — " O give thanks unto the Lord ; for he is good ! " David's lieart thrilled with more than tiie old feeling. He told himself, that boyish imagina- tion had not exaggerated the scene • it was won- derful, glorious ! How many years it was since he had been a member of that very choir! There had been times when it seemed as though the memories of liis boyhood were but dreams ; some other boy, not he, had walked the streets, and seen the sights and heard the sounds about which he lay and dreamed; it could never have been he ! But as he run up the steps of the church on this first evening of his arrival, he told himself that this was real; he remembered it all. The words of the choral, as they kept throbbing in the air, were real, too; more ^-eal than in his gay and thoughtless boyhood he had dreamed. "For his mercy en- dureth forever ! " " Aye, it does ! it has endured for me!" said h'3 exultant heart. "O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name to- gether. O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me ! Thou hast turne«l for me my mourning into dancing ; and hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness. To the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto thee forever ! " Was the anthem written expressly for him? Could words be made more fitted to his experi- ences? The music swelled and roiled through for he is than the imagiiia- was won- ; since he ! There oiigh the IS ; some and seen ch he lay e ! But this first / this was is of the ^ere real, )ughtless ercy en- endured magnify lame to- hee, and I for me . off my To the and not thanks )r him? ex peri- through "AS THE HAIIT rANTliTH." 217 the great building, and the young, exultant heart, that cried its eager "Amen!" to every refrain, could scarce contain its joy. llow had it been possible for him to have thought of staying away from the Festival? This was his place; the i)la(!e of every one who had a song of gratitude to offer ; and who had not? But none so great as he; surely he was blessed above all others in this world ! And voice as well as heart took up the strain : " O give thanks unto the Lord ; for he is good." The exalted mood did not last. As the days passed, and David, a regular attendant upon all the services, grew more accustomed to the sights and sounds, he became conscious of a painful re- action. Between the services he mingled with the people, and heard much talk that was not in accord with the exalted strains of music. Much of it began to seem to him like meaningless rei)e- tition; some of it like solenni mockery; a great want for something better kept growing in his soul. Dismayed and almost ashamed at this state of feeling, he kept his growing disappointment quite to himself, and went back and forth Avith the Koth- wells as one who shared their interest. By de- grees it can to him that his disappointment and pain and eager desire for something better were shared by his friends. He could not liave told just how he made this discovery, they said no 4: ;i I It f] ?' 1 1} m 21S YESTERDAY FRA>tED IN TO-DAY. 'li such words to each other. Possibly he heard it in Mary Rothwell's sigh, as she walked down the aisle one evening, the service over for the day. It had been a day of great enthusiasm, and the choral service of the evening had suri)assed in grandeur any that had yet been given. Hut Mary Rothwcll's face was grave even to sadness, and her sigh had been one that expressed a kind of patient weariness. Mr. Uothwell was being detained by some offi- cials ; and his sister, with David, waited for him near the door. Groups of people were standing about, convei-sing. Some of their talk arrested the attention of the two. "IJ' AK AN THIR '" — 210 heard it lown the the day. and the lassed in n. But sadness, d a kind ome ofli- for him standing arrested CHAPTER XIX. " IP ANY MAN TFIIRST " — ' " T HEARD that he was certainly coming," said i. one. " I was told Ijy a man that I thought would be sure to know, and I have not missed a service, in the hope of seeing him; but it is get- ting very late in the week." " Do you think he will dare to come? " inquired a grave-faced man, drawing nearer the group. " I am afraid he is in trouble. I heard from a very reliable source that there had actually been some sort of an attempt to arrest him ; or, at least, a plan to do so, which was frustrated in an unex- pected way. I think now that their sclieme is to dispose of the whole matter quietly, without let- ting the people know anything about it ; they are afraid of the crowd." " They have need to be ! " exclaimed one, in tones of subdued excitement. " The question is, Why are they afraid of him? Has anybody ever heard of his doing any harm ? I'll tell you wliat I believe, and that is, that he is a good man, and those who arc trying to injure him are no better than they should be." m YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. " I believe more than that," came from another voice on the outskirts of the groiij) ; '* and I liavc heard that he has hinted at something of the kind himself. What if he should prove to be the promised One ? " "What is that?" asked David Ilolnmn, sud denly pressing his way into the centre of the comi)any. "I beg your pardon, friends, but I ove "heard some of your words. Did I understand you to say that this stranger has made any claim such as j'ou suggested ? " " Hush ! " said a peremptory voice from the outside. " You need to be careful what you say. These are dangerous times. I tell you it is not safe to trust your tongue or your thoughts." " You may trust me," said David, earnestly. " I do not know very much about the man of whom you are speaking, but I am deeply interested in him ; and I am sure of one thing, that he cured me of a hopeless disease." " Aye," said the voice, who had made the start- ling claim; ''there are a good many of us Avho know that much ; and, for my part, I do not see why we should need to know more, before we believe in him." "You need to be careful, I tell you," cautioned the peremptory voice again. "It is dangerous business to proclaim one's self a friend of that man. Things are growing worse and Avorse, and befor e very long they will I'cach a climax. I know .1^ "IF ANY MAX TIIIIIST »» 221 w'liereof I s[)oalc, and I Wiini yoii as a friond. Do not gather in groups and talk about tliis matter; above all things do not join yourselves to any of those who are known to be his friends; if you do, you will certainly become objects of suspicion, and very likely do him harm as well as youi-selves." Still David lingered in liope of hearing more; but th«! caution took cttect at last. The people grew afraid of one another, and especially were they afraid of him, a stranger. "Are you not afraid of us?" asked ^fary IJoth- well, with a grav(dy significant smile, as David at last moved back to hcrsich We are his friend.^ remember, and we shall not hesitate to proclaim it from the housetop if we ever have opportunity." '• Vou heanl the caution, then ? " "Oh, yes, I heard. How little they understand him or his friends I As though personal safety could hinder us from owning him everywhere, if he would but i)ermit it." David came late to the service next mornintr. idthough he had started out before any of the family. The strain of the past few days was tell- ing on his jierves, and he had felt the necessity of getting away alone to (piiet himself; so he went for a long walk. As he entered the church the anthem was swelling through it in great waves of melody : " With joy shall ye draw Avater out of the wells of salvation," And then tl!'.» c.^u- tinual refrain : " O give thanks unto the Lord ; for \>h 222 YESTERDAY FllAMED IN TO-DAY. he is good," Following the burst of song, came that peculiar hush which a sensitive i)erson can always feel when there is a great expectant audi- ence. There was that this morning; the scene was strangely impressive. David, who had taken a seat which commanded a view of a large portion of the worshippers, was struck with the \\aiting at- titude of the people. The very air throbbed with a sense of expectancy. The influence reached to the late comer and connnanded him. He felt as though another crisis in his life was approach- ing. From what source, or how to be pressed ujjon him, he could not divine. He did not understand his own heart, save that there seemed to be in it a great longing cry for God. Suddenly penetrating the silence came a voice that he instantly recognized ; no other voice had been to him what this one had. The words spoken were clear, strong, connnanding : — " If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink." David, his heart beating so that it seemed to him it must be heard by those around him, turned in the direction of the voice, and looked. Yet afterwards, when he tried to tell Frances about it, he confessed that he could not describe the man, nor explain the effect that his call had upon the great audience. He stood there calm and grave, nothing unusual in dress or manner. Simply a man among men. Yet what message was that, the echo of which still filled the air? Y. "IF ANY MAN THIRST" — 223 ong, came )ers()ii can taut audi- tlie scene bad taken ge portion vaiting at- bbed with e readied He felt approacli- ssed upon nderstand be in it le a voice voice had ds spoken me, and it seemed und him, looked. 1 Fi'ances ; describe call had lere calm ■ manner. message the air? " If any man thirst, let him come unto jVIE, and drink." The emphasis on the pronoun was marked and peculiar. The attention of every one had been arrested, but it did not require close observ- ing to discover that the audience was differently impressed. Unmistakable indignation, aye, abso- lute hatred, filled the faces of some. There were others who half arose, and the look in their eyes said that they were ready to go to him at once, if that was wliat he meant. The chorus rang out again, wonderful singing, swelling up among the arches, and filling all the aisles like angelic presences. Perhaps it was the best way to calm the multitude. Many heads were bowed, but the thoughts of the woi'shi[)pers were not in the song. David, at least, could think of nothing but that connnanding voice, and those remarkable words. It had not been an invitation to come to God, or to prayer ; it had been utterly unlike the usual forms of speech ; the pronoun had been instinct with personality. It certainly was not surprising that the audience hardly waited that morning for the formal dismissal, before their tongues were busy discussing the strange inter- ruption there had been to the service. Among them were some who said distinctly, in low, awe- stricken tones, that this man, this remarkable stranger, must be the promised One. There were others who quoted glibly from the prophets, and proved iu their wisdom that this man, who was the 224 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. son of a carpenter, and was himself a carpenter, could not by any possibility be the one for whom the world was looking. Meantime, the leaders of public affairs were fairly ablaze with anger. Rumors of all sorts filled the air. By night the story was afloat that officers had been sent to the church itself to ar- rest the bold stranger, and had returned without him, affirming that they had never heard any man speak like him, and they had not felt it wise or safe to arrest him. Rumors of an excited debate in the council, hurriedly called together, were also rife. It was said that during this debate a sneer- ing voice had asked whether any of the leading people had taken part in the popular excitement ; and had tried to prove that it was the crowd, the rabble, the low and ignorant, who were always agape over some new wonder, that had interested themselves in the stranger. Violent measures were urged violently; but the story was, that certain clear-headed men of influence had been present who had urged that nothing rash be done. The people were undouucedly in a peculiar frame of mind, and it could not be denied that strange things had happened to make them feel as they did. It was eminently important that every step the leadei-s took should be in exact accordance with law. They were reminded that the stranger, even though it should prove that he was a de- ceiver, and a traitor to his country, could, never- "IF ANY MAN THIRST" 225 a sneer- theless, demand to be tried according to law, and must not be condemned until he was so tried. It was reported that these wise words were re- ceived angrily by certain ones, leading men, who did not hesitate to accuse the speaker of being himself interested in the deceiver and traitor; and that the outcome was simply the breaking up of the council in some confusion, with nothing defi- nite accomplished. How much of all this to be- lieve, the anxious outsiders did not know. It was only too evident, however, that serious trouble lay ahead. By degrees the great crowds of people on the streets scattered to their various homes, and the city grew outwardly as quiet as usual, but in reality it seethed and boiled with excitement. It is very difficult to describe such excitement as was felt by some of them ; for instance, David Holman. Every nerve in liis body quivered with an emotion that was closely akin to pain. He had heard once again the voice that had made It endurable for him to live, and it had thrilled him as even that first message had not done. It had been with the utmost difficulty that he had held himself from outward demonstration of any sort. When that strong, solemn voice filled the church with his call, " If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink," every fibre of David Holman's being longed to cry out: "I tliirst, and I come ! " He would luave been willing then and there to bow at the feet of the stranger, 226 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. and ask his way. " Willing ! " he longed to do it. Only the fear that he should in this way have jeopardized that stranger's interests held him hack. He walked home with Mary Kothwell in almost utter silenee, a long walk away from the turmoil of the crowded city. For a time they kept utter silence. David felt that he had no words for the occasion, and his companion seemed not anxious to break the spell of silence. He felt, however, that she was by no means so wrougiit upon as himself; and the desire to know what she thought of all the strange events of the day pressed liim at last to speech. He began as one who had no need for explana- tion. She would know what he meant. " What are we to think ? " Perhaps her reply was the crowning surprise of that day. "I long ago settled that question for myself, my friend. I know exactly what I think," He turned eager, hungry eyes upon her. If she 4id, she ought to be able to help him, ." Won't you tell me, then ? " he said, as .one who grasped at possible relief, " My soul is in such a tumult as I never before realized Ay^is possible.. If some one, who has passed over the xoad before, is at rest, — and your voice sounds as thoug^h you rested, — then surely the way can be pointed out to another." " Yes, if you are ready for it. My rest is to believe every word that my Friend says, every •■^■•■jiiLi lY. ged to do I way liiive him back. in almost lie turmoil kept utter i-ds for the anxious to ^ever, that s himself; b of all the at last to T explana- nirprise of estion for 1 1 think," :r. If she ,s one who in such ^i possible, ad before, loug^h you linted out rest is to lys, every a IP ANY MAX thirst" — 227 i word; and follow his directions as closely as I can, and where I do not understand, trust. A great deal of it I do not understand. I can feel, Mr. Holman, that you want to ply me with questions, and I tell you frankly that I cannot answer them. I do not know enougli — not yet. I know only this ; that lie conies from God, and that as fast as he leads I will follow ; and that he makes no mis- takes." "Miss Roth well, I beg you to speak plainly. I question from no idle curiosity ; it is a matter of life or death to me. Do you mean that you trust this man as your Saviour? " The tremendous thought was put at last into actual words, and he waited with bated breath for his answer. Mary Rothwell could feel the blood rolling in waves over her face, but her voice was steady and sweet. " He has saved me, Mr. Holman. He has come entirely contrary to all my preconceived ideas ; he lives contrary to them every day : he shocks my prejudices in numberless ways ; but when I study his acts carefully, I do not find that he shocks my knowledge, only my preconceived notions, my prejudices. I do not know why he came as he did, nor why he lives in poverty and oljscurity, even in humiliation ; but when I study my Bible I cannot help discovering, what I never saw be- fore, that he was promised so to come, I do not know how long these conditions are to last; but if 228 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. I> i they were to last forever, I should still trust him implicitly, and know that what he did was always best. Am 1 being plain enough ? " David drew a long, quivering sigh as he replied, in a voice tliat trembled with emotion: — " If you feel all that, you may indeed be at rest. I would that I could arrive at such a stop- l)ing-phice, but my brain whirls when I try to follow you." " I will tell you what you need, ]\Ir. Holman." The quality of ^hiry's voice had changed ; her words carried conviction with them. '•'• You need to see this 'leachcr, to talk with him, and be lielped by him, as no other can help. If he comes to us for rest before he leaves the city, I mean to try to arrange so that you can iiave a private inter- view with him. I am sure it is Avliat you need. No words of mine can explain or describe the power that he has over human hearts ; but now that you have heard liiin speak again, I think you must have an idea of what I mean." " Yes," he said breathlessly ; "yes, I understand in part. What it would be to me to be able to see and talk with him alone, I could not put into words." The tense strain upon liis emotions lingered tiu-ough the night, and came with him into the quiet of tiie Sabbath morning. I lis host and family went early to church to attend to their several classes. He accompanied Mr. Kothwell y. *'IF ANY MAN tHiRST '' — 229 trust him ^as always le replied, ied be at ch a stop- I try to Holman." iged ; her You need , and be he comes I mean to ^^ate inter- you need, scribe the but now think you nderstand be able i not put lingered 1 into the host and 1 to their I^othwell to the door, and then, promising to join the family later, for the church service, moved on down the street. Mis brain was still in such a tumult that tlie quiet and inaction of the church seemed un- endurable, and he resolved to try to walk off some of his excitement. He moved, however, with slow steps down the quiet street; the day did not invite to haste ; the usual sights and sounds of the city streets were absent; a Sabbath calm seemed to rest upon the world. The very air was still and balmy. The flutter of wings was in all the trees as the birds chirped sweetly about their own affaii-s. David, usually so susceptible to Nature's influences, felt a strange sense of irritation at the calm which surrounded him. How could earth and air and sky be so entirely at rest, or even the senseless birds chirp so contentedly about their nests and tlieir housekeeping, when such tremendous inter- ests were knocking at human hearts ? Just a little way ahead of him, groping his way along after the uncertain manner belonging to the blind, was a man apparently of about his own age. David felt his heart swell with pity at the sight. He might be almost irritated over the beauty of the morning, but it would bo a (headful thing not to be able to see this lovely earth. He readily overtook the hesitating steps, and asked in sympathetic voice the question that had occurred to him : — 230 YESTEFIDAY FUAMKD IK TO-r)AY. " How long have you been blind, my t'liend ? " The man turned his sightless eyes in tiie >lii'ec- tion of the voice, and answered with that i.ielan- choly cadence in his tones, which the hopelessly blind nearly always have. "I never knew, sir, what it was to see." The answer seemed to strike David ITolman's heart like a blow. Always blind! Ar.d he, wlio had been laid on a bed of pain for a few }ears, had felt often that his burden was greater than he could bear; yet he had always bten able to see his friends, and, in intervals of pain, to watcli the sunsets and the ever changing clouds. What would have become of him had he lost the use of his eyes? Yet this man lived always in per- petual darkness ! He lingered with him, accom- modating his pace to the other's uncertain steps, and expressing words of sympathy. The tliought that was now never far from his mind, came this time in the form of a wonderment as to w liut would happen if this man and the wondrous stranger should ever meet. It made him ask next if the man had any hope of over being able to see. " Well," said the blind man, hesitatingly, '' I can't exactly say that I liave any hope of it; I was born blind, you see — but there have been things that have made me say; ' What if — but I don't get any farther than that." He was evidently afraid to speak more plainly. (( IP ANY MAN TriIRST" — 231 David's heart met him lialf way. " I understand you," he said quickly. " You need not l)e afraid of such words with me. I know tliere have heen wonderful cures wrought. Wlio sliould know, if not I? Have you ever met tlie man of wliom we are both thinking ? " " Oil, no 1 if I only coidd, — hut once ! Who knows what might " — Tlien he stopped, as one who dare not say more. 282 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. CHAPTER XX. (( TO OPEN THE BLIND EYES. JUST thea tliey turned the corner. They had taken but a few steps on this new street before David l)ecanie aware of footsteps beliind tlieni, and the murmur of voices. He glanced back, and, for tlie moment, it seemed to him as thoug)i his very heart stood still. Jiehold, coming with quickened footsteps almost at their side was the stranger. Philip Nelson walking beside him was talking earnestly ; following them were the other men who had attached themselves to him, and following them, still, was a small company composed ol boys and street loungers. It was as Miriam Brownlee liad said. "The rabble wei-e always following close at his heels." Without taking time for con- sideration, David laid his hand on the arm of his blind companion and spoke quickly. " My friend, the opportunity of a lifetime is at hand. The man of whom we have been thinking is just behind you. He and liis followers are mov- mg down this street." He distinctly felt the ti-emor which ran through the man's frame, but no word was spoken; the "TO orKN THK tMASD EYES." 2ns mail merely stopped aiul stood perfectly still. David, who had taken his arm the hetter to direet his steps, stopped also. At that moment the com- pany just behind, came up with them, and the eyes of the stran^n' physician were innnediately fasten<'d on those blind ones. Instinctively David dropi)ed hack a ])ace or two, for the man was s[)eakinj^ to his companion in low tones. Then he bent down and gathered some of the clay at his feet. A few touches made of it a kind of paste, which he s[)read over the blind eyes. Then came the bev/ildering direction, quite as if this were an ordinary occur- rence. "Go to yonder fountain and bathe your eyes." Immediately at a signal from him, the company moved on, and David and iiis strange comi)anion were left behind. For the moment, David forgot him ; he looked after that advancing form with inexpressible longing in his heart. Oh to have for a single half hour Philip Xelson's opportunity ! Oh to be able to ask a single one of the questions that were surging through his mind! Of course he nnist not intrude. These friends had been chosen from ainong the crowd, and especially and pei-sonally invited to keep their teacher company. It would ])e unpardon- al)le to join them uninvited. Then he turned and looked at those mud-beplastered eyes. It was well that the man could not know what an object had been made of him ! Why had it been done ? 234 YESTERDAY FRAMED IN TO-DAY. "What are you going to do next?" he asked; and the intensity of the ivi^ly was impressive. " I am going over to that fountain. I would go to the woi Id's end and attempt tlie impossible at that man s direction." "•Yes," said David; "so would I. Come with me ; I will take you there." Tiie streets were by no means as quiet as they had been. People were begiiniing to pass in groups on their way to the early service. They all bestowed curious glances on David's companion, and liad a second curious glance for David himself. Some of the words floated back to them. " That is a strange-looking couple ! What do you suppose that older one hos on his eyes ? " "Dear me! Isn't that blind Joe? Who can have been disfiguring him '/ Or perhaps it is some patent medicine he is trying ! " The boys, those omnipresent creatures, especially upon city streets, began to gather from only they knew where, and follow the two, shouting funny speeches after Joe, and laughing derisively over his strange appear- ance. It was a walk for David Holman to remem- ber. Never but once before had he been the subject of ridicule on the street. The remembivance of it caused his face to burn. He had been ovir- coine with liquor so that he staggered; and the (juick-witted boys had discovered it, and followed after liim^ imitatin