“my first sabbath in this land of the east!” thought io, as her eyes first unclosed on sunday morning. “this is a communion sabbath too. oh, shall i to-day be granted the priceless blessing, which i have not enjoyed since my marriage, of having my heart’s beloved at my side when i approach the lord’s table? may my oscar, as well as his wife, make this a day of new consecration to any work which the master may give us to do! may we both begin a closer ‘walk with god,’ and find happiness in the consciousness of his abiding presence!”
such were io’s hopes; her fears need not be recorded.
the coldstreams preferred walking to church, though io was to return in a palanquin to avoid the heat of the sun as the day advanced. thud sauntered along beside his sister.
“i shall like to hear the chaplain preach,” observed io.
“i don’t expect much from that pale little man, though i daresay he’s a good sort of fellow,” said thud in a patronizing way. “i don’t think he’ll give us anything new.”
“in religion the old things are best,” remarked io. “so in nature what we have had longest we value most; indeed, speaking of such things, ‘old’ is not the right word. the sun, moon, stars, the breezes, the glorious sea, never grow old. even of the flowers i like to think that we see the very same kind of blossoms that bloomed under the eye of eve.”
“but ‘the trail of the serpent is over them all,’” murmured oscar under his breath.
“not all—oh, not all!” exclaimed io, catching the figurative meaning of moore’s mournful line. “such love as ours is a pure fragrant flower of eden—resembling this.” io plucked a very beautiful rose from a bush; for in southern climes even november and december have their roses.
“that rose has a worm in it,” said thud; “don’t you see the little round hole in the petals?”
“you are quick-sighted to see the blemish in the beautiful,” observed oscar coldstream.
“oh yes, i am pretty quick-sighted,” said thucydides thorn with self-satisfaction.
the church was at no very great distance. the congregation was small, but to io there was peaceful joy in finding herself again in a place of worship, and hearing in her native tongue dear familiar words of prayer. she sang god’s praises with heart and soul, though the music was hardly such as would have pleased a critical ear, and the rich, deep voice which used formerly to blend with hers was silent now. only once did oscar join in a single verse, “from lowest depths of woe,” and then he was silent again. oscar knelt silently during the prayers, save that in a low tone he repeated the first responses in the litany; in the thanksgiving io could not catch the sound of his voice.
it has been mentioned that the moulmein congregation was a small one; at the communion service it became smaller still. io noticed with a pang that oscar left her side and walked out of the church before that part of the service began. thud had departed almost before the blessing was pronounced. he did not walk home with oscar, but joined young pogson, whose society was more congenial to the lad.
“i say, it must be jolly to you to have a comfortable nest to roost in, with such a pretty sister to keep house, and such a gay, lively companion as coldstream, instead of having to elbow your way through the world like me,” observed pogson, who was lighting a cigar.
“gay—lively!” echoed thud with as much surprise as his heavy countenance could express. “why, oscar’s as grave as judge, jury, and criminal all put together!—give me a cigar, will you?” thud thought it a dignified thing to smoke.
“coldstream must be wonderfully changed then since his marriage,” quoth pogson. “i thought that he looked very grave, but he always was solemn in church.”
“i’ve a theory that marriage does make men grave and solemn,” said thud. “marriage alters them altogether. i never mean to marry, or let any girl have a chance of altering me.”
“you think that no alteration could be an improvement,” said pogson with a smile. the sarcasm was lost on thucydides thorn; he seldom understood when he was the object of satire.
joy and sorrow, hope and fear, were commingled in the heart of io coldstream as she returned in her palanquin to her new home. the service in church had refreshed her spirit; it was sweet to the young christian to try to lay her burden down at the saviour’s feet. but she still felt where the burden had chafed; there was not perfect repose in her soul. often and often did io review in her mind her conversation with the chaplain on the subject of oscar’s depression.
“very holy men have before now had spiritual difficulties and mental trials,” reflected io. “does not bunyan represent even his christian and hopeful in doubting castle under the tyranny of giant despair? they indeed had strayed from the narrow path. i cannot think that oscar has ever thus strayed, but yet he may have his giant to fight. christian had the key of promise in his bosom, and so, i am sure, has my husband. i will be oscar’s hopeful, and we will escape together. no doubts can for long imprison those whom the truth has set free.”
io found oscar sitting in the veranda, a volume of herbert’s poems in his hand, but he did not appear to be reading. mr. coldstream rose when the palanquin was set down by the bearers, and helped his wife out of the conveyance. he then brought another chair from the house, and he and io sat down together. the lady wished to bring on conversation on some religious subject, and naturally recurred to the chaplain’s sermon, the first which the coldstreams had heard from his lips.
“did you not think the preacher’s words very comforting?” said io after a pause, feeling that she must be the first to break the silence.
“searching, incisive,” was the reply.
“to what part do you allude, dear oscar? the address was all upon following the lord and receiving his blessing.”
“a conditional blessing,” said oscar.
“surely not, dearest. our salvation is free; mr. lawrence pressed that point on us,” observed io coldstream.
“was there nothing in the sermon about cutting off the right hand and plucking out the right eye?” asked her husband.
“that is but a figure of speech.”
“a figure, i grant you, but conveying a fact. it is too much the way with men to take all that is pleasant and soothing in scripture and to leave out the sterner truths. that figure does imply the surrender, at any cost, of what is dear as a hand or an eye.”
there was rather a prolonged silence; then io lovingly laid her hand on her husband’s arm, and softly said, “do you not think that the greatest trial which we can ever be called on to bear is to lose one whom we love?”
“no; there is a heavier cross even than that,” muttered oscar, as if speaking to himself rather than to his young wife.
io felt a little perplexed, and even hurt; but she ventured not to ask for any explanation of words so strange. she was pleased to see mr. lawrence at a little distance approaching the house.
“i will leave him and my husband to have a quiet talk together,” thought mrs. coldstream. rising, and saying that she had not yet given maha her sunday lesson, io glided into the house.
during his walk to the dwelling of the coldstreams mark’s soul had been engaged in fervent prayer. the saturday evening had been chiefly devoted to searching learned books, written for the special purpose of refuting infidel views and clearing up doubts on difficult doctrines.
oscar received his visitor with his usual courtesy, and mark was invited to occupy the seat which io had quitted.
the chaplain had revolved in his mind how he could best lead the conversation with his friend to the point which he had in his view. he must not wound, he must not startle, above all he must not offend. after a few insignificant observations, which with our shy nation seem indispensable as a shoe-horn to real conversation, mr. lawrence observed, “you went home, i believe, in the argus?”
coldstream assented by a slight movement of the head.
“you must have met on board a passenger of the name of john mace?”
there was again the mute sign of assent.
“may i ask what you thought of him?” inquired the chaplain.
“i thought him intelligent and gentlemanly,” replied oscar, “but he had imbibed some very erroneous views.”
“i know it—i know it,” said mark lawrence. “mr. mace made no secret of them here. did you ever enter into conversation with him on religious subjects?”
“very often,” was the quiet reply.
mark felt that he was drawing near to his point. “may i ask what impression mr. mace made on your mind?” said the chaplain.
“at first a painful impression; but mace was candid, and open to conviction. he came on board the argus an infidel; he left it, i have good reason to hope, a truly converted man.”
“is it possible!” exclaimed the clergyman joyfully. “and you—you were the happy instrument of his conversion?”
oscar’s face did not reflect the look of pleasure on that of his friend. “god sometimes uses strange instruments,” was his only reply.
“but this is a thing to be a joy to you all your life!” exclaimed mark. “you have then never had doubts yourself?”
“any difficulties which suggested themselves to my mind in my younger days were but as thin vapours which rather clothe a rock than hide it. they only led me to examine more closely, and so believe more firmly. i could always see the rock behind the vapour, and i long since planted my feet firmly upon it.”
“thank god! thank god!” was mark’s inward ejaculation. “but if it be no doubt on speculative religion that oppresses my poor friend, what cause can there be for his deep-rooted sadness? coldstream is happily married; he has good social position, competence, and high reputation; why should he be as one oppressed by a secret grief?”
again came the painful suspicion, “can this be melancholy madness?”
