Elizabeth: The Disinherited Daugheter | Page 7

devices to harbor gloomy forebodings, but a wretched sinner, about to destroy soul and body in hell, on the verge of destruction to character, and all good influences by an act of her own! Desperately, in spite of her dread of prayer, she cried to God against that dreadful temptation, and instantly she had full victory over it. The eyes, long dried in the desert of despair, were moistened with tears of wonder and gratitude. Astonished at such a clear answer to prayer, she prayed again for deliverance from Satan's power and all his enchantments, and they fled away like the shadow of a cloud. Her dungeon flamed with light, before which the horrible decrees also vanished, falling into line, and following their author to the land of darkness, never to trouble her more.
The light shone on, more and more; and although at dead of night, her room seemed to her to shine above the brightness of the sun at noonday; and the doctrines of free grace seemed to flash about her with transcendent glory, until investing her entire being. She knew she was not a reprobate; for God had heard her desperate cry against that greatest of sins. She saw in God's own light the blessed assurance that Jesus died for her and for all; and in driving away the enemy and the dense cloud of error, that had long shrouded her dungeon in Egyptian darkness, she clearly saw glorious demonstrations of divine clemency in store for her. She deplored her unbelief, and humbly sought forgiveness and full restoration; and there, and then, by faith in Jesus, she accepted Him again as her Saviour.
Instantly her raptures returned, with more than their former power and glory, and she went off into a perfect gale of ecstasy. Such sounds had never been heard in that mansion before, and the family hastened to learn the cause. There lay the wasted form upon what they thought to be the bed of death. Her thin arms were stretched upward, and her pale hands came together with frequency and energy quite remarkable. Her countenance seemed lighted up with an unearthly glow, and her words were ready and full of heavenly felicity, and uttered with a strength and sweetness of voice quite beyond her power. All these evidences, added to the fact that their tender and anxious questions remained unanswered, and their presence and weeping seemed entirely unnoticed, struck them as demonstrations that "the angels had come for poor, dear Betsey," and that in her triumphant flight from her cruel sufferings "she had already passed beyond them, and would never speak to them again."
After some time, however, she seemed to them to have been brought back by their lamentations and self-accusations, and, hushing them to silent attention, she assured them that this was "not dying," but "living, and preparing to live," by a return of her first love and a glorious victory over temptation and error.
From that blessed night her convalescence was much more rapid than anyone had thought possible. Peace of mind is a marvelous restorer, especially when despondency has driven health away.
On a beautiful morning, a few weeks after, Elizabeth was agreeably surprised by an unexpected announcement made at the door of her room. She had had remarkable liberty that morning in conducting family prayer, which by consent of her parents she resumed soon after her recent victory. Her father came to her door, and, in a voice which sounded so much like the good days gone by, announced his plan for "a short ride." Her own horse was at the block; and as the strong arms of her father placed her in the saddle the noble beast gave signs of joy over her returning health.
The horseman by her side, in the ride of that and several following mornings, seemed agitated by conflicting emotions, yet making special efforts to be social and attentive. O, how she enjoyed those morning rides! Yet now and then she felt, though she could scarcely tell why, that a strange agitation, embarrassed her father's spirits. Was he trying to muster courage to acknowledge his wrong in persecuting her? Was he really "under concern" for his own soul? or was he unhappy because she was not more gay and worldly? It was useless for her to conjecture; he was a reticent man, and allowed no one to meddle with his thoughts.
She had now nearly regained her usual strength, and the time drew near for her to attend church. One morning, after a pleasant ride of unusual length, drawing near home, the father broke out in tremulous tones: "Now, Betsey, you won't go with the Methodists any more, will you? I can't allow it--no more at all. I command you to have nothing more to do with that people."
They had reached