Thomas Owen went to his room, but not to bed. Taking a Bible from thetable, he consulted reference after reference.
"The promise is clear," he said aloud presently, as he shut the book;"clear and often repeated. There is no escape from it, and nopossibility of a double meaning. If it is not true, then it would seemthat nothing is true, and that every Christian in the world is trickedand deluded. But if it /is/ true, why do we never hear of miracles?
The answer is easy: Because we have not faith enough to work them. TheApostles worked miracles; for they had seen, therefore their faith wasperfect. Since their day nobody's faith has been quite perfect; atleast I think not. The physical part of our nature prevents it. Orperhaps the miracles still happen, but they are spiritual miracles."Then he sat down by the open window, and gazing at the dreamy beautyof the summer night, he thought, for his soul was troubled. Oncebefore it had been troubled thus; that was nine years ago, for now hewas but little over thirty. Then a call had come to him, a voice hadseemed to speak to his ears bidding him to lay down great possessionsto follow whither Heaven should lead him. Thomas Owen had obeyed thevoice; though, owing to circumstances which need not be detailed, todo so he was obliged to renounce his succession to a very largeestate, and to content himself with a younger son's portion of thirtythousand pounds and the reversion to the living which he had now heldfor some five years.
Then and there, with singular unanimity and despatch, his relationscame to the conclusion that he was mad. To this hour, indeed, thosewho stand in his place and enjoy the wealth and position that were hisby right, speak of him as "poor Thomas," and mark their disapprobationof his peculiar conduct by refusing with an unvarying steadiness tosubscribe even a single shilling to a missionary society. How "poorThomas" speaks of them in the place where he is we may wonder, but asyet we cannot know--probably with the gentle love and charity thatmarked his every action upon earth. But this is by the way.
He had entered the Church, but what had he done in its shadow? Thiswas the question which Owen asked himself as he sat that night by theopen window, arraigning his past before the judgment-seat ofconscience. For three years he had worked hard somewhere in the slums;then this living had fallen to him. He had taken it, and from that dayforward his record was very much of a blank. The parish was small andwell ordered; there was little to do in it, and the Salvation Army hadseized upon and reclaimed two of the three confirmed drunkards itcould boast.
His guest's saying echoed in his brain like the catch of a tune--"that/you/ might lead that life and attain that death." Supposing that hewere bidden so to do now, this very night, would he indeed "thinkdifferently"? He had become a priest to serve his Maker. How would itbe were that Maker to command that he should serve Him in this extremeand heroic fashion? Would he flinch from the steel, or would he meetit as the martyrs met it of old?
Physically he was little suited to such an enterprise, for inappearance he was slight and pale, and in constitution delicate. Also,there was another reason against the thing. High Church and somewhatascetic in his principles, in the beginning he had admired celibacy,and in secret dedicated himself to that state. But at heart Thomas wasvery much a man, and of late he had come to see that which isagainst nature is presumably not right, though fanatics may nothesitate to pronounce it wrong. Possibly this conversion to moregenial views of life was quickened by the presence in theneighbourhood of a young lady whom he chanced to admire; at least itis certain that the mere thought of seeing her no more for ever smotehim like a sword of sudden pain.
*****That very night--or so it seemed to him, and so he believed--the Angelof the Lord stood before him as he was wont to stand before the men ofold, and spoke a summons in his ear. How or in what seeming thatsummons came Thomas Owen never told, and we need not inquire. At theleast he heard it, and, like the Apostles, he arose and girded hisloins to obey. For now, in the hour of trial, it proved that thisman's faith partook of the nature of their faith. It was utter andvirgin; it was not clogged with nineteenth-century qualifications; ithad never dallied with strange doctrines, or kissed the feet ofpinchbeck substitutes for God. In his heart he believed that theAlmighty, without intermediary, but face to face, had bidden him to goforth into the wilderness there to perish. So he bowed his head andwent.
On the following morning at breakfast Owen had some talk with hisfriend the Deputation.
"You asked me last night," he said quietly, "whether I would undertakea mission to that people of whom you were telling me--the Sons ofFire. Well, I have been thinking it over, and come to the conclusionthat I will do so----"At this point the Deputation, concluding that his host must be mad,moved quietly but decidedly towards the door.
"Wait a moment," went on Owen, in a matter-of-fact voice, "the dog-cart will not be round for another three-quarters of an hour. Tell me,if it were offered to you, and on investigation you proved suitable,would you care to take over this living?""Would I care to take over this living?" gasped the astonishedDeputation. "Would I care to walk down that garden and find myself inHeaven? But why are you making fun of me?""I am not making fun of you. If I go to Africa I must give up theliving, of which I own the advowson, and it occurred to me that itmight suit you--that is all. You have done your share; your health isbroken, and you have many dependent upon you. It seems right,therefore, that you should rest, and that I should work. If I do nogood yonder, at the least you and yours will be a little benefited."*****That same day Owen chanced to meet the lady who has been spoken of ashaving caught his heart. He had meant to go away without seeing her,but fortune brought them together. Hitherto, whilst in reality leadinghim on, she had seemed to keep him at a distance, with the result thathe did not know that it was her fixed intention to marry him. To her,with some hesitation, he told his plans. Surprised and frightened intocandour, the lady reasoned with him warmly, and when reason failed tomove him she did more. By some subtle movement, with some sudden word,she lifted the veil of her reserve and suffered him to see her heart.
"If you will not stay for aught else," said her troubled eyes, "then,love, stay for me."For a moment he was shaken. Then he answered the look straight out, aswas his nature.
"I never guessed," he said. "I did not presume to hope--now it is toolate! Listen! I will tell you what I have told no living soul, thoughthereafter you may think me mad. Weak and humble as I am, I believemyself to have received a Divine mission. I believe that I shallexecute it, or bring about its execution, but at the ultimate cost ofmy own life. Still, in such a service two are better than one. If you--can care enough--if you----"But the lady had already turned away, and was murmuring her farewellin accents that sounded like a sob. Love and faith after this sortwere not given to her.
Of all Owen's trials this was the sharpest. Of all his sacrifices thiswas the most complete.