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INTO MARVELOUS LIQHT
A
s rapidly as possible, John Marsden was
formulating his plans for resigning his
charge of “The Christian Mission,” as
he had fully made up his mind to leave
New’ York for some foreign field, even
though it meant the refusal of $2,000,-
000 for his New York work. His resig
nation would be a hard task, because he
u “ ——J could not discuss with his best friend,
much less with the public, the real reasons for his
leaving-. p, n t he knew that the spirit of God was
guiding- him, and, secure in that knowledge, he was
impregnable to all entreaties.
At the regular meeting of the Advisory Board of
‘‘The Christian Mission,” John Marsden handed
in his written resignation, then asked to be excused.
But a warm triend protested. The resignation was
so unexpected and so unwelcome, the hour which
followed was one of the most trying of his life.
Trying, in the first place, because his heart was
almost breaking in making this resignation; trying
in the second place because, to the brethren, the
reasons given by him for his resignation, as com
pared with the reasons thev gave for his remaining,
were so unacceptable to them.
In the midst of a most heated discussion, to the
great surprise of every one present, Julian Deveaux
entered the room. He did not wait to be told that
it was a private meeting upon which he was intrud
ing, nor to be asked to have a seat. He hurriedly
walked to the side of the chairman and began:
“Gentlemen, so important is my mission here, I
shall not even go through with the formality of ask
ing your pardon for my intrusion. I have just
called at Mr. Marsden’s home. The servant did not
know that he was out and requested me to go to
his room. Finding the door ajar, I thought perhaps
he would return in a moment, so I went in and sat
down by a table on which was an open note. Some
thing attracted my attention to it. I had only to
look down to read it, and obtaining from it an idea
of the nature of this meeting this evening, I have
hastened here to plead with him publicly and with
you, his closest friends, not to make any final de
cision now regarding this resignation.”
For thirty minutes he pleaded as he would have
done for the life of an only son. He offered the
$2,000,000 to the Board for the work of the Mission
provided John Marsden remained in charge. When
he had finished speaking, not a dry eye was in the
room. It was taken for granted that the resigna
tion would be withdrawn, of course, and one hy one
the company dispersed, feeling overjoyed at the
wonderful future in store for the Mission with such
a royal endowment.
But John Marsden was just as unmoved in his de
termination, though he saw that it would be wise to
be silent for a little lime, until God should make the
way clear. He was commanded “to stand still,”
for a season, “and wait on the Lord.”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The morning after the Board meeting at “The
Christian Mission” almost every New York paper
had several columns reporting the resignation of
the Rev. John Marsden, the refusal of the Board to
accept his resignation. the $2,000,000 endowment
offered by one of the wealthy supporters of his
work, whose name was not given to the public, and
giving a detailed history of the Mission and of its
founder.
When John saw the glaring headlines, he knew in
stantly that it was Julian Deveaux who had given
the matter such publicity. He abhorred sensation
al notoriety, and his soul was enraeed. He saw
that Julian Deveaux was determined to use every
mears to make him withdraw’ his resignation, and to
accept the endowment gift. He was all the more
determined not to accept it, with thp restrictions
accompanying it. Let the world call him a crank,
a fanatic, or say that he had refused to accept
“tainted money” for religious work, or whatever
The Golden Age for August 30, 1906.
B> LLEWELYN STEP HE N Si.
else it might choose to attribute to his motives, he
knew that God had guided him in his decision, and
whenever he was inclined to turn with longing to
ward the tree whose fruit looked good to the eye
and sweet to the taste, the vision of Christ’s temp
tations in the wilderness never failed to come before
him.
* *
Christiana’s strength had returned so slowly,
everything of an exciting nature had been as strict
ly guarded from her by Dr. Gordon as if she had
been his own daughter. She knew nothing of her
husband’s temporary collapse, of John Marsden’s
frequent visits to the house, or of the mental and
spiritual struggles the two men were having. It
was only during the past week that she had been
permitted to even glance at the magazines and pa
pers, and that her mail had been brought directly to
her room. Now it was not thought necessary to re
strict her in this respect. Hence the papers con
taining the announcement regarding John Marsden
was the first intimation she or Mrs. Wayland had
had of his intention to leave New York for JTome
foreign field. She did not make any outcry or re
mark upon it even to her aunt; but meditated upon
it in secret, until her heart could hide its pain no
longer, but cried aloud in its confession to Mrs.
Wayland, as has been recorded.
But, during these weeks of quiet and of silent
meditation, her soul had not been dormant, but was
as the seed which rests in the soil for a season, be
ing nurtured by the life giving power of God, until
the overrunning fullness of that life bursts through
the earth and up to greet the air—the breath of
God—to kiss the sun—the light of God—and to
dwell in the beautiful world—the temple of God.
And as the bud develops and blooms and fruits,
so her soul was expanding. Her life had been like
the angel which Michael Angelo saw in every block
of marble. Had it been left undeveloped on a moun
tain in Tennessee, it might have been useful as a
dorstep to some country home, or perhaps aspired
to adorn a church tower; but out of the same block
of marble, after it had been cut, and hammered
and chiseled by some great sculptor, who modeled
alter the figure of the angel in his soul, we see pro
duced a form of ideal beauty.
For a time it may have seemed that the mold into
which the Divine Sculptor was placing Christiana
was but a fiery furnace in which to consume her and
that He was destroying her soul with the saw and
hammer and chisel of his anger; when, behold, it
look the furnace of suffering and the blows of sor
row to release the angel from the stone.
Chapter XL.
When Christiana unburdened her heart to her
aunt, the latter decided frankly to discuss the whole
matter with John. She surmised his reason for
leaving New York, and realized as no one else the
trials he was undergoing and the sacrifices he was
making in taking himself away from temptation.
She loved him as mi own son, and had always been
so in sympathy with him in his work and in his as
pirations, often she had been able to cheer and com
fort him above any one else. And now, in this
critical hour, he must need some friend, indeed,
who understood all. She did not hesitate to re
quest him to call one evening when she could'
anticipate seeing him without interruption. Mr.
Deveaux was absent, and Christiana had not yet
been allowed to leave her room.
How he had longed for just such a visit with her,
but he had not presumed to request it, himself. He
wanted tier fully to understand the situation, so
that when he was gone and when she thought it
wise, some day she could explain all to Christiana
that she might not judge his seeming indifference
too harshly.
“No, Mrs. Wayland, I cannot trust myself to tell
even Maybelle goodbye, much less Annie. But
some day, maybe not until Annie and I have be-
come aged and gray, when without such keen heart
aches, and when we shall cling only to the sweet
memory of what wo might have been to each other,
perhaps—if you should ever think it wise—you may
tell Annie—what—she was—to me—some day—
when—”
The sentence was unfinished. John Marsden
arose and groped his way from the room like a
blinded man. His heart was bidding goodbye to
the home which held her, to the air she breathed,
to the presence of her spirit which had like a sweet
perfume, pervaded everywhere she had moved. His
soul almost cried aloud for her, but he shut his lips
together and literally ran down the great winding
stairway. Through his tears ho did not see that he
was running against a woman, until he had caught
her in his arms to prevent pushing her backward.
Forgetful of everything else in the wide world, he
exclaimed;
“O my beloved, my heart, my very life, how can
I say good-bye!”
She gave a little cry of mingled surprise, fright
and unguarded joy, and clung to him panting and
trembling in every fiber of her being. For a mo
ment his hold upon her tightened until he felt her
heart throbbing against his. Iler whispered:
“John!”
And his whispered; ,
“Annie! ”
Brought their half smiling lips together once,
twice, thrice. Then with a stifled groan;
“O God!”
He almost crushed the frail little form against
his heart, and all but roughly placing her to one
side, he continued down the stairway, not in haste
this time, but slowly and deliberately, and with the
expression of a man walking in his sleep. When
he reached the outer door, he hesitated, retraced his
steps and entered a secluded drawing room which
was seldom used. He tried to realize what had oc
curred, but was not so soon recovered from the in
toxication of the pain-ladened joy, to be fully aware
that this was the crucial hour of his life—not only
of his own life but also that of two others so close
ly interwoven with his own. lie was locked within
the lion’s den at last, fighting the beasts of almost
every human passion. Until now, he had always
had such confidence in his own strength of purpose.
Often he had somewhat sharply rebuked others for
falling under temptation. lie had not had unfail
ing sympathy for and patience with the weak and
stumbling ones of his church at all times. Until
now he had never been able to realize what battles
even Julian Deveaux had been fighting. Had Julian
been right? Was this world but hell itself after
all? Through the despair of this hour he saw it
so for the first time. And what almost crazed him
was that he could not, in an hour of such darkness,
understand God’s dealings with him. Over and
over again his soul cried in unutterable anguish:
“My Father, my Brother, my Comforter in every
time past, thou hast known the uppermost desire
of my soul from my earliest knowledge of Thee,
thou hast known my desire to do Thy will in all
things, thou hast known my desire to consecrate my
life wholly to thy service, thou hast known my de
sire to keep myself a fit temple for the indwelling
of thy Spirit. And, yet, I now covet the wife of
the man for the salvation of whose soul I have of
fered Thee my life. And Thou hast taken me at
my word. Thou art requiring of me, my life! my
life ! yes, my very life! The very last drop of sweet,
warm, thrilling blood of human passion left throb
bing within my heart! Did I know what it meant
when I offered Thee my all! No, no, I did not
know until this hour! I did not know. How could
I know? For this has been my first hour of the
sweetness to the full which this life can hold. Let
me still hold it to my heart just a little while, a
little while!”
• •**
(Continued next week.)
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