418 A GIRL OF THE PAST. near she would enjoy it with her Bible, her tracts, and books, and think, whilst thinking power remained. A small house was chosen, and in it she lived alone some years, no servant to interrupt her. Was not the Master with her? The urging of friends to live with someone of her relations who would care for her were quite useless. What more could she want? She needed little-her wants were soon attended to; then her reading and meditating over her patchwork. Patchwork was her amusement; quilts, cushions, slowly built up of small hexagons, Bible never far off, sometimes in shape of the Greek Testament, sometimes an old black letter "Breeches" edition. Indoor occupations, frequently varied with excursions in which she literally followed in the path of Him who went about doing good. Old friends were looked up; many an aged pilgrim encouraged by the friendly helpful word, often by the helpful gift. Debts she would pay for others that the cause of Christ might not have a reproach cast on it, services of which none were ever cognisant except those immediately concerned; they were done for one who had taught that the left hand should not know what the right hand did; and the spirit of His injunctions would be best met, she believed, by actual secrecy wherever that was attainable, if not counter-indicated by direct good otherwise to be achieved. During the quiet retirement of this time, her ideas developed in a direction in which such a thing is not very common late in life. She had, most of her life, been troubled as to the fate of the heathen abroad, and the uninstructed at home. Questions would arise: What is the lot of those who, knowing not God, still live, as far as can be seen, up to the small light they have? Surely they are not punished for their circumstances? And again, what is the duration of the punishment of the wicked? The "orthodox" teaching on these and kindred subjects she had been familiar with all her life; but the more she thought, the less certain she felt of its truth. Her knowledge of the original showed her that much of the glib talk of shallow men on these solemn themes was based on words that appeared to her misinterpreted. Sometimes words had come to have meanings attached to them not contemplated at the time of their use. What was the character of future punishment? Merely penal ? or disciplinary? Would not God be honoured more by the latter than the former? She mused, and "dared to hope" that it might be that none "Should perish in a fruitless fire;" Still it was no subject to ventilate, no one must be "unsettled" by her doubts or thoughts. About the same time a series of articles appeared weekly in a religious newspaper* on these themes, ably advocating the views of their respective writers. These led to conversation with one who, she found, was as far as herself from being settled in the accepted dogmas. They met on Sunday afternoons, for some time, to converse about these matters; both were seeking light, both were solemnly impressed with the necessity of nnlearning much they had been taught to receive as the teaching of scripture. If the scriptures did not teach that the unsaved existed in everlasting torments, what was their teaching? The various theories were had under review on these Sunday afternoons. As difficulties were discussed, hopes brightened; and if *The Christian World. FRIEND OR FOE? 419 certainty was not attained, as the word is ordinarily used, perhaps something else was. Something perhaps even more important than the solution of the hidden mysteries. These may remain hidden if the great lessons of hope in the Divine power and implicit trust in the Divine goodness are learned. Of those Sunday afternoons it is said it was good to be there, to learn how the most earnest search after truth may combine with the most reverent trust; to remember her patient thought and unswerving faith; her confidence that the God of all will do right; her thankful appreciation of whatever made for consolation, because it told of hope for all mankind, for the . . . trust that, somehow, good will be the final goal of ill. "That nothing walks with aimless feet, Whatever may be our personal views, may we not ask the question that Tennyson asks in the following verse? "The wish that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, (Concluded in our next.) Friend or Foe? A SEQUEL TO "OLIVER RAYMOND." BY E. JOSEPH AXTON. CHAPTER XI.—SURPRISES. "You THAT Christmas evening Mr. Bradford sat alone in the pretty sitting-room of Daisy Villa-alone, saving the presence of the Ogre, Bankruptcy, which was staring him triumphantly in the eyes. A pleasant companion that, on Christmas night! How it seemed to grin, and point out the blunders of his victim. You remember that summer afternoon," the Ogre asked, "when you brought out that bottle of old crusted port? Ha, ha!" and he mocked again. remember how you left that young fellow entirely at the mercy of his youth and inexperience? Now, if you had but kept your eye on your books, you might still have been safe! But I shall drive you out-into the street, into the cold, into the workhouse-ha, ha!" and the demon seemed to shriek in triumph. Nice Christmas company, truly! What would the victim have given to be free from that gouty foot, which held him to be taunted and tortured. Ha! a knock, sudden and startling. Welcome-though it be but a pack of wolfish creditors. In another moment the grey-haired Mr. Weston has burst into the room, leading a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman, with bronzed face, heavy brown beard, and merry grey eyes. 66 Now, sir!" cries Mr. Weston to the stranger-but he stops suddenly, looking round the room. He is evidently very excited. Where is Miss Vaughan ?" he asks of his friend. The latter replies that Joyce came a little while ago, and they both went out together, he doesn't know where. "Do you know thisthis man?" Mr. Weston continues. He is very nearly saying villain. The stranger suddenly throws off his merry air, advancing with outstretched hand to Mr. Weston. 'Forgive me," he says, in a deep rich voice, "forgive me for this levity. I have been cruising all about the country for a month, trying to overhaul the 420 FRIEND OR FOE? Vaughans, when suddenly you clap me on the shoulder, and swear you will make me do Miss Vaughan justice. God knows, I have been praying for the moment when I could do that justice. Where is my friend Vaughan ?" "You killed him!" bluntly rejoined the other. "God forgive me! Is he dead ?" I suppose you have been so busy, that even in twelve years you could not spare ten minutes to write and know," angrily retorts Mr. Weston. "Written! I have written a hundred times, and the letters, after six months, and sometimes a year, have come back to me. Weston, believe me, as the heavens are above, I have rued that miserable piece of work, and have always looked forward to the moment when I could undo it, if possible." Mr. Weston is silent, his thoughts being busy with the time when Alfred Vaughan fled from the scene of his failure, leaving no trace behind. Mr. Bradford has forgotten, for a moment, the presence of his ogre; but he cannot understand the scene before him, until his friend, grown calmer, asks him if he does not remember Mr. Grant, whom he often met when visiting at the Vaughan's, years before. And then much explanation is made, on all sides; Mr. Weston fixing his eyes on the visitor as he tells how Vaughan and his wife died, and how Elsie would be begging her bread if it were not for her uncle, and seeming to wonder whether Grant is really honest; Mr. Bradford saying little, but thinking much-of his own troubles; Grant looking very downcast. Then there is another knocking at the door, and the servant admits Rearden and Joyce. Does Amos turn pale, as he gazes so keenly at the stranger? He does not hide the fact that he recognizes him, but goes up at once and puts out his hand, which Grant takes rather coldly. "Thought we'd come round and keep you company a little!" Rearden says, turning to Mr. Bradford; but I had no idea of meeting so old a friend as Captain Grant. I had the pleasure," he added, in explanation, "of sailing under him for sometime. How strangely people sometimes meet!" More explaining; talks of old times; increasing sadness on Grant's part, and confidence on Mr. Weston's; Mr. Bradford becoming less and less-self absorb as wine circulates; and all the time many and frequent questions as to what can have become of Elsie. At last, as Joyce, who has seemed all along by his manner to know something about it, is going to say something, there is another knock and ring. It is Elsie, followed by a gaunt, shabby-looking, pale young man, the ghost of Oliver Raymond as he was. Mr. Bradford's brow grows black as a thunder-cloud, as also does Mr. Weston's, as, seeing Raymond, the former asks: "So you've come back, have you? I don't want a thief and forger in my presence. Therefore, the sooner you leave again" "Oliver is no thief and forger, uncle!" cries Elsie, with flashing eyes. "He says so" "What! have you been to bring him here? Do you defend him who has robbed you of your home and your bread? Still cling to a robber"— "Uncle-Mr. Bradford," says Oliver-how hollow is his voice!"I have heard this story from Elsie, and vow, before my God, that I know nothing of it. I have done wrong, terrible wrong, I know; but not that. I have returned now, partly at Elsie's urgent desire, partly for shame at my cowardice in running away, to❞— Mr. Bradford uttered something much like an oath. "What effrontery is this!” he cried, passionately. 'What do you mean by denying this thing? Isn't it enough to bring me and that girl to the work house, without coming here, after your booty is spent, and flinging insults in my teeth? By the heavens above, you shall repent ever coming back. I meant to let you go; but this is too much, and the law shall take its course. Joyce, call me a policeman, at once!" "Uncle, uncle!" cried Elsie, in sudden wild terror. But the other was roused, and, like an angry bull-dog, was not to be easily turned from the object on which he had fastened. "Get a policeman!" he fairly roared, seeing Joyce hesitate, while he put Elsie rather roughly from him, when she flung herself at his feet. Oliver stood erect, but with bowed head, like one who meant to take his just punishment, whatever it might be, calmly and meekly. Rearden, grown very FRIEND OR FOE? 421 pale, stood silent, like Captain Grant and Mr. Weston, as if awaiting the upshot of the strange scene. "Uncle, uncle, have mercy-have mercy!" cried Elsie, seeming to lose all self-restraint in presence of the terrible prospect before Oliver-" He is not guilty-I am sure" "Be silent girl-you don't know what you are talking about. The fellow is a common thief. I suppose," he added, looking at Oliver with an angry sneer, "You mean to infer that your friend, or someone else, must have forged those cheques, eh ?" Oliver calmly returned the gaze of the other. "I accuse Rearden of nothing," he said, quietly, "except giving me unwholesome advice. Whom else can I accuse ? You will not believe me, I fear, but God knows I am ignorant of your meaning" 66 "Will you stand there and lie to my face, sir?" roared Mr. Bradford, growing livid with rage. 'You unmitigated scoundrel! have I been fostering a hypocrite as well as a villain”— "Mr. Bradford"-Rearden here came forward-"pray keep yourself calm, sir. Anger is useless in any case. Will you not let me persuade you to forego this matter? Let me plead for one who was my friend." Elsie, on being repulsed by her uncle, had risen and gone to Oliver's side, where she stood with her hand pressed to her heart, looking round from one to another with hopeless eyes and white despairing face. On hearing the voice of Rearden, of whose presence she had seemed quite unconscious till now, she suddenly fired up. "There is the author of all this mischief!" she cried, pointing at him, "that is the man that should go to prison. If it hadn't been for him”"Silence!" growled her uncle, roughly. At this moment Joyce entered, followed by a policeman. The latter was quiet and business-like, as usual with his brotherhood; but the former seemed strangely pale and excited, and he looked round the room nervously. "Take that man away," said Mr. Bradford to the policeman, pointing to Oliver. "I charge him with embezzlement." "Let me say one word before I go?" Oliver uttered the words with white lips, and took a step forward. "I came here to work, if you would let me, and make good, as far as I could, the mischief I have done; but, I repeat, I have no knowledge of any forged checques" The policeman here interrupted with the usual warning; but he, in his turn, was interrupted by Joyce, who, paler perhaps than anybody else present, said: "Mr. Bradford, I feel that I should be criminal if I did not speak now. If anyone is guilty of forgery, it is not Mr. Raymond. During the week he has been away I have, at Miss Elsie's request, been trying to find him, and I found him this afternoon, starving. But I have here a proof"-taking from his breast a pocket-book, and from that a slip of paper-" that foul play, or something much like it, has been going on somewhere. It is a leaf from Mr. Rearden's pocket-book"-all eyes here turned on Rearden, who starts visibly-"and I found it in his room. It is covered with the name of Mr. Raymond, as if someone had been trying to copy his signature. But more than that, I to-day received confirmation of a suspicion I have long had, namely, that goods have been sent by Mr. Rearden to at least two customers, for which no money has been paid into the firm, and for which there is nothing to show in the books. This I can prove through one of the carmen and others." He hesitated a moment, but added: "I hope, sir, you will forgive me for not speaking before, but I had only suspicions; and besides, I-I-have just married, and-but whatever risk I run I cannot stand and see one whom I believe innocent in almost every way taken to prison." Joyce closed his excited and hurried speech with a defiant look at Rearden, and seemed very glad to have finished. This put an entirely new face on matters. Mr. Bradford looked at Rearden as if he would read his very heart; Mr. Weston was astounded, as well he might be, having been used to look upon Rearden as not only the smartest and keenest business fellow, but also the most honest one, he had ever met. Captain Grant continued a spectator of the little drama, muttering once to himself: "Repeating his old games, eh ;" while to the pale cheeks of Elsie and Oliver, as they 422 GENERAL BAPTIST PREACHERS' INSTITUTE. stood side by side, came a little flush, like a herald of hope, and their eyes grew brighter. Oliver Raymond was not the one who went with the policeman to prison. He spent that night beneath the roof of Daisy Villa, awake, yet dreaming; dreaming, yet awake. Mr. Bradford, too, had his dreams-dreams of that Ogre, who had grinned and mocked in his face. And awaking, he seemed only to be dreaming still. Was it true? or was it all a fairy tale? Had someone suddenly appeared from across the sea, strong enough to bind that monster in chains? He looked round upon his room-the familiar walls and ceiling, and furniture, grown dear in the prospect of his being driven from them. No. It was real. Captain Grant had brought Elsie a fortune; Elsie had given it up for her uncle's use. Do you wonder, O reader, if the strong man turned his face to the wall, and wept? General Baptist Gospel Mission and Preachers' Justitute, London.* THE second annual meeting was held at Westbourne Park Chapel, Oct. 8th. After tea J. Clifford, the President, took the chair, and W. J. Avery, as Secretary, made his statement. Classes were held (weekly) at Westbourne Park on thirty-four evenings during the past session, and out of a membership of thirty students there was an average attendance of fifteen. Lectures were given by J. Clifford on (1) " Biblical Interpretation" and (2) "Preaching," by Rev. R. P. Cook on "English Composition," and by Rev. J. Batey on "How and what to preach." Rev. G. W. M'Cree has conducted some Biblical studies, Dr. Burns has directed a comparative study of the Authorized and Revised Versions of 1 Timothy, and J. Clifford has introduced the critical reading of Dr. Miller's " Fetich in Theology." The "sermon class" has also been continued with very great interest. An examination, conducted by Mr. A. H. Moore (Ealing), Revs. J. Fletcher, R. P. Cook, and G. W. M'Cree, has resulted thus:-Papers on the lectures, &c.: Mr. F. E. Miller (Westbourne Park), first prize; Mr. J. Tinkler (Crouch End), second prize. Sermons: Mr. F. E. Miller, first prize; Mr. F. Staniland (Westbourne Park), second prize; Mr. Staniland also taking the prize for "sermon outline." With reference to the sermons, Mr. M'Cree reports:-"I can speak most highly of them. The men who prepared them must be individually marked by many of the best characteristics of good preachers." The students have delivered upwards of sixty sermons at Crouch End Chapel, under the superintendence of Mr. Batey, and have rendered acceptable service to many other churches on Sundays. They have also conducted open-air preaching, and week-evening services in some of our chapels. Mr. James Whitford (Praed Street) has just passed out of the Institute into our College at Nottingham, and two or three other members are contemplating the same course. Mr. Batey, the Treasurer, reported an income of £21 5s. 2d., whilst the expenditure (inclusive of £10 voted to the Crouch End Chapel Building Fund) has been £17 Os. 9d. Addresses were given by Revs. Dr. Burns, W. Harvey Smith, and W. Bampton Taylor (Chesham); Messrs. R. Lacey, J. Lawrance, F. Staniland, and J. Tinkler (students). It is now proposed to organize the Institute in connection with the Southern Conference according to the scheme printed on page 30 of the current General Baptist Year Book, and entitled "Local Preachers and the Conferences." It has hitherto been under the management of the London Ministers' Fraternal Association. Any Conference or Local Preachers' Association that desires further information as to the working of this "Institute," will have it readily supplied on application to the Secretary. *Cf. General Baptist Magazine, Nov. 1882, p. 427. |