so far as men had imagined him,—was but
a lesson, a type, a witness from everlasting to everlasting
of the spiritual unity of man. As we grew in grace,
in humanity, in civilisation, our recognition of this
truth would be transfigured from a duty to a privilege,
a joy, a heavenly rapture. Many men might go
through life harmlessly without realising this, perhaps,
but sterilely; only those who had had the care of others
laid upon them, lived usefully, fruitfully. Let
no one shrink from such a burden, or seek to rid himself
of it. Rather let him bind it fast upon his neck,
and rejoice in it. The wretched, the foolish,
the ignorant whom we found at every turn, were something
more; they were the messengers of God, sent to tell
his secret to any that would hear it. Happy he
in whose ears their cry for help was a perpetual voice,
for that man, whatever his creed, knew God and could
never forget him. In his responsibility for his
weaker brethren he was Godlike, for God was but the
impersonation of loving responsibility, of infinite
and never-ceasing care for us all.
When Sewell came down from his pulpit, many people
came up to speak to him of his sermon. Some of
the women’s faces showed the traces of tears,
and each person had made its application to himself.
There were two or three who had heard between the
words. Old Bromfield Corey, who was coming a
good deal more to church since his eyes began to fail
him, because it was a change and a sort of relief from
being read to, said—
“I didn’t know that they had translated
it Barker in the revised version. Well, you must
let me know how he’s getting on, Sewell, and
give me a chance at the revelation, too, if he ever
gets troublesome to you again.”
Miss Vane was standing at the door with his wife when
Sewell came out. She took his hand and pressed
it.
“Do you think I threw away my chance?”
she demanded. She had her veil down, and at first
Sewell thought it was laughter that shook her voice,
but it was not that.
He did not know quite what to say, but he did say,
“He was sent to me.’”
As they walked off alone, his wife said—
“Well, David, I hope you haven’t preached
away all your truth and righteousness.”
“I know what you mean, my dear,” answered
Sewell humbly. He added, “You shall remind
me if I seem likely to forget.” But he concluded
seriously, “If I thought I could never do anything
more for Barker, I should be very unhappy; I should
take it as a sign that I had been recreant to my charge.”
The minister heard directly from Barker two or three
times during the winter, and as often through Statira,
who came to see Mrs. Sewell. Barker had not got
the place he had hoped for at once, but he had got
a school in the country a little way off, and he was
doing something; and he expected to do better.
