And she said, every now and then, that she felt ’so
much better—so much stronger,’ and
made old Sally sit by her, and talk to her, and smiled
so happily, and there again were all her droll engaging
little ways. And when the good rector came in,
that evening, she welcomed him in the old pleasant
way: though she could not run out, as in other
times, when she heard his foot on the steps, to meet
him at the door, and there was such a beautiful colour
in her clear, thin cheeks, and she sang his favourite
little song for him, just one verse, with the clear,
rich voice he loved so well, and then tired.
The voice remained in his ears long after, and often
came again, and that little song, in lonely reveries,
while he sat listening, in long silence, and twilight,
a swan’s song.
’You see, your little Lily is growing quite
well again. I feel so much better.’
There was such a childish sunshine in her smile, his
trembling heart believed it.
‘Oh! little Lily, my darling!’ he stopped—he
was crying, and yet delighted. Smiling all the
time, and crying, and through it a little laugh, as
if he had waked from a dream of having lost her, and
found her there—his treasure—safe.
’If anything happened to little Lily, I think
the poor old man’—and the sentence
was not finished; and, after a little pause, he said,
quite cheerily—’But I knew the spring
would bring her back. I knew it, and here she
is; the light of the house; little Lily, my treasure.’
And so he blessed and kissed her, and blessed her
again, with all his fervent soul, laying his old hand
lightly on her fair young head; and when she went
up for the night, with gentle old Sally, and he heard
her room door shut, he closed his own, and kneeling
down, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, in a
rapture of gratitude, he poured forth his thanksgivings
before the Throne of all Mercies.
These outpourings of gratitude, all premature, for
blessings not real but imagined, are not vain.
They are not thrown away upon that glorious and marvellous
God who draws near to all who will draw near to Him,
reciprocates every emotion of our love with a tenderness
literally parental, and is delighted with his creatures’
appreciation of his affection and his trustworthiness;
who knows whereof we are made, and remembers that
we are but dust, and is our faithful Creator.
Therefore, friend, though thou fearest a shadow, thy
prayer is not wasted; though thou rejoicest in an
illusion, thy thanksgiving is not in vain. They
are the expressions of thy faith recorded in Heaven,
and counted—oh! marvellous love and compassion!—to
thee for righteousness.
IN WHICH TWO ACQUAINTANCES BECOME, ON A SUDDEN, MARVELLOUSLY
FRIENDLY IN THE CHURCH-YARD; AND MR. DANGERFIELD SMOKES
A PIPE IN THE BRASS CASTLE, AND RESOLVES THAT THE
DUMB SHALL SPEAK.
On Sunday, Mervyn, after the good doctor’s sermon
and benediction, wishing to make enquiry of the rector
touching the movements of his clerk, whose place was
provisionally supplied by a corpulent and unctuous
mercenary from Dublin, whose fat presence and panting
delivery were in signal contrast with the lank figure
and deep cavernous tones of the absent official, loitered
in the church-yard to allow time for the congregation
to disperse, and the parson to disrobe and emerge.
