Susan Warner - The Letter of Credit

"There comes in your other mistake," said he. "I can, because I am free.

It is you who are the slave."

"I? How, Mr. Digby?"

"You said just now, you wished you could be a Christian, but you could not. Are you free to do what you wish?"

"But can I help my will?"

The gentleman took out of his pocket a slim little New Testament which always went about with him, and put it into Rotha's hands open at a certain place, bidding her read.

"'Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'" Rotha stopped and looked up at her companion.

"Go on," he bade her; and she read further.

"'They answered him, We be Abraham's seed, and were never in bondage to any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free?

"'Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin. And the servant abideth not in the house forever: but the Son abideth ever. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.'" Rotha looked at the words, after she had done reading.

"Mr. Digby," she said then again, "can I help my will?"

"No," said he, "for you are a poor bond-slave. But see what is written there. What you cannot do, Christ can."

"Why don't he do it, then?" she said defiantly.

"You have not asked him, or wished him to do it."

"But why shouldn't he do it without my asking, or wishing, if he can?"

"It is not his way. He says, 'Ask, and ye shall receive'; but he promises nothing to those who do not apply to him. And the application must be in good earnest too, Rotha; not the form of the thing, but the truth. 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness; for they shall be filled.'"

"Then, if I asked him, could he change my will?"

"He says, he can make you free. It was one thing he came to do; to deliver people from the bondage of sin and the power of Satan."

"The power of Satan!" said Rotha. "I am not under his power!"

"Certainly you are. There are only two parties in the world; two kingdoms; those who do not belong to the one, belong to the other."

"But Mr. Digby," said Rotha, now much exercised, "I hate the devil as much as you do."

"Don't help, Rotha. 'From the power of Satan to God,' is the turn people take when they become Christians."

"What makes you think I am under his power?"

"Because I see you are not under the rule of Christ. And because I see you are doing precisely what Satan would have you do."

"What?" said Rotha.

"Refusing the Lord Jesus Christ, or putting off accepting him."

Rotha was silent. Her breast was heaving, her breath coming thick and short. Mr. Digby's conclusions were very disagreeable to her; but what could she say?

"I can't help my will," she said doggedly.

"You see you are not honest with yourself. You have just learned that there is a remedy for that difficulty."

"But Mr. Digby," said Rotha, "how is it that you can do what you like?"

He smiled down at her, a pleasant, frank smile, which witnessed to the truth of his words and wrought more with Rotha than the words themselves; while the eyes that she admired rested on her with grave penetration.

"There is an old promise the Lord gave his people a great while ago; that in the new covenant which he would make with them in Christ, he would write all his laws in their hearts. He has done that for me."

"You mean – " said Rotha.

"Yes, go on, and say what you think I mean."

"You mean, – that what you like to do, is just what God likes you to do."

"And never anything else, Rotha," he said gravely.

"Well, Mr. Digby," said Rotha slowly, "after all, you have given up yourself."

"And very glad to be rid of that personage."

"But I don't want to give up myself."

"I see."

And there followed a long silence. Mr. Digby did not wish to add anything to his words, and Rotha could not to hers; and they both sat in meditation, until the girl's lighter humour got away from the troublesome subject altogether. Watching her, Mr. Digby saw the pleased play of feature which testified to her being again absorbed in the scene before her; her eye was alive, her lip moved with a coming and going smile.

"It amuses you, does it not?" he said.

"O yes!" Rotha exclaimed with a long breath. "I wish mother could see it."

"She can," said Mr. Digby. "We will have a carriage and take her out. I don't know why I never thought, of it before."

"A carriage? For mother? And bring her here?" said Rotha breathless.

"Yes, to-morrow, if the day is good. It will refresh her. And meanwhile, Rotha, I am afraid we must leave this scene of enchantment."

Rotha had changed colour with excitement and delight; now she rose up with another deep sigh.

"There are more people than ever," she remarked; "more carriages. Mr.

Digby, I should think they would be perfectly happy?"

"What makes you think they are not?" said he amused.

"They don't look so."

"They are accustomed to it. They come every day or two."

"Does that make it less pleasant?"

"It takes off the novelty, you know. Most pleasures are less pleasant when the novelty is gone."

"Why?"

Mr. Digby smiled again. "You never found it so?" he said.

"No. I remember when we were at Medwayville, everything I liked to do, I liked it more the more I did it."

"You are of a happy temperament. What did you use to like to do there?"

"O a load of things!" said Rotha sighing. "I liked our old dog, and my kittens; and riding about; and I liked very much going to the hay field and getting into the cart with father and riding home. And then – "

But Rotha's words stopped suddenly, and her companion looking down at her saw that her eyes were brimming full of tears, and her face flushed with the emotion which almost mastered her. A little kind pressure of the hand he held was all the answer he made; and then they made their way through the crowd and got into the cars to go home.

He had not discharged his commission; how could he? Things had taken a turn which made it almost impossible. It must be done another day. Poor child! The young man's mind was filled with sympathy and compassion, as he looked at Rotha sitting beside him and noted how her aspect had changed and brightened; just with this afternoon's pleasure and the new thoughts and mental stir and hope to which it had given rise. Poor child! what lay before her, that she dreamed not of, yet must face and meet inevitably. That in the near future; and beyond – what? No friend but himself in all the world; and how was he to take care of her? The young man felt a little pity for himself by the way. Truly, a girl of this sort, brimfull of mental capacity and emotional sensitiveness, was a troublesome legacy for a young man situated as he was. However, his own trouble got not much regard on the present occasion; for his heart was burdened with the sorrow and the tribulation coming upon these two, the mother and daughter. And these were but two, in a world full of the like and of far worse. He remembered how once, in the sight of the tears and sorrowing hearts around him and in view of the great flood of human miseries of which they were but instances and reminders, "Jesus wept;" and the heart of his servant melted in like compassion. But he shewed none of it, when he came with Rotha into her mother's presence again; he was calm and composed as always.

"Mrs. Carpenter," he said, as he found himself for a moment alone with her, Rotha having run off to change her dress, – "you did not tell me your sister's name. I think I ought to know it."

"Her name?" said Mrs. Carpenter starting and hesitating. What did he want to know her sister's name for? But Mr. Digby did not look as if he cared about knowing it; he had asked the question indifferently, and his face of careless calm reassured her. She answered him at last.