Barriers Burned Away | Page 7

a
little easier, he looked up and saw his son, and exclaimed: "Thank
God--my boy--thank God--you are here. Ah, my son--I have learned
much--since we spoke together last. I have seen that--I have much
more--need of forgiveness than--to forgive. Thanks to your--mother's
prayers--I believe--I feel sure that I am forgiven."
"More thanks to God's love, Dennis," said his wife. "God wanted to
forgive you all the time more than we wanted Him to. Thank God, who
is rich in mercy, for His great love wherewith He loved us. He is
longsuffering to usward, not willing that any should perish."
"Those are sweet words, wife, and I have found them true."
For a little time they sat with clasped hands, their hearts too full to
speak. Faint streaks along the eastern horizon showed that the dawn
was near. The sick man gave a slight shiver, and passed his hands
across his eyes as if to clear away a mist, and then said, feebly: "Dennis,
my son--won't you turn up the lamp a little--and fix the fire? The room
seems getting so cold--and dark."
The wife looked at her son in quick alarm. The stove was red-hot, and
the lamp, no longer shaded, stood openly on the table.
The son saw that he must take the lead in the last sad scene, for in the
presence of death the heart of the loving, constant woman clung to her
husband as never before. Throwing herself on her knees by his side, she
cried with loud, choking sobs, "Oh, Dennis--husband--I fear--you are
leaving me!"

"Is this death?" he asked of his son, in an awed tone.
"I fear it is, father," said the young man, gently.
After a moment his father said, composedly: "I think you are right. I
feel that--my end is near, Ethel--darling--for my sake--try to be
calm--during the last few moments I am with you."
A few stifled sobs and the room was still.
"I have but little time to--put my house--in order--and if I had
months--I could not do it. Dennis, I leave you--little else--than
debts--embarrassments, and the record of many failures. You must
do--the best you can. I am not able to advise you. Only never love this
world as I have. It will disappoint you. And, _whatever happens, never
lose faith in the goodness of God_. This has been my bane. It has
poisoned my life here, and, had it not been for this dear wife, it would
have been my destruction here-after. For long years--only her patient
love--has stood between me and a miserable end. Next to God--I
commit her and your little sisters to your care. Be true to this most
sacred trust.
"Ethel, dear, my more than wife--my good angel--what shall I say to
you?" and the man's lip quivered, and for a time he could say no more.
But the unwonted composure had come into his wife's manner. The
eyes were gaining that intent look which was their expression when
picturing to herself scenes in the life beyond.
"Oh, Dennis, we seem just on the confines of a glorious world--it is so
near, so real--it seems as if but a step would take us all into it. Oh! if
you could but see its beauties, its glories--if you could hear the music,
you would not fear to enter. It seems as if we were there together now."
"Oh, Ethel, come back, come back," cried her husband, piteously. "I am
not worthy of all that. I have no heart for glory now. I can see only my
Saviour's face looking--at me--with love and forgiveness. That is
heaven enough for me--and when you come--my cup will be more than
full. And now--farewell--for a little while."

For a few moments they clung to each other. Then the little girls were
brought, and their father pressed his cold lips to their warm, fresh
young faces. They wondered at a scene they could not understand, and
were tearful because of the tears of others.
He was now going very fast. Suddenly he turned to his son and said,
"Dennis, repeat to me that verse, 'This is a faithful saying--'"
With a voice hoarse and broken by emotion, his son complied: "This is
a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came
into the world to save sinners."
"Of whom I am chief," said his father, emphatically. "And yet"--his
face lighting up with a wan smile, like a sudden ray of light falling on a
clouded landscape before the sun sinks below the horizon--"and yet
forgiven."
By and by he again whispered, "Forgiven!" Then his eyes closed, and
all was still. They thought he was gone. But as they stood over him in
awed, breathless silence, his lips again moved. Bending down, they
heard in faint, far-away tones, like