The Letter of Credit

"and my very darling." And he allowed himself the kisses now. "Was that all, Rotha?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "You have nothing else on your mind?"

  "No."

  "Then come to breakfast. It is always bad to go to breakfast with anything on your mind. It is only on _my_ mind that it is so long to next June!"

  Rotha however was very willing it should be so. She wanted all these months, to study, to work, to think, to make herself as ready as she could be for what was before her.

  The train could not take them until eleven o'clock. After breakfast Rotha sat for a time meditating, no longer on troublesome subjects, while Mr. Southwode finished the letter he had begun earlier. As he began to fold up his paper, she came out with a question.

  "Mr. Southwode, what do you think I had better specially study this winter?"

  He did not smile, for if the question was put like a child, the work he knew would be done like a woman. He asked quietly,

  "What is your object in going to school at all?"

  The answer lingered, till his eyes looked up for it; then Rotha said, while a lovely flush covered the girl's face,--

  "That you may not be ashamed of me."

  "That contingency never came under my consideration," he said, commanding his gravity.

  "But indeed it did under mine!"

  "Allow me to ask a further question. After that, do you expect to make it the main business of your life to please me?"

  "I suppose so," said Rotha, flushing deeper but speaking frankly, as her manner was. "It would be nothing new."

  "I should think that would come to be terribly monotonous!" he said with feigned dryness.

  "On the contrary!" said Rotha. "That is just what saves life from monotony." And then her colour fairly flamed up; but she would not qualify her words.

  "Right in principle," he said, smiling now, "but wrong in application."

  "How, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, a little abashed.

  He threw his letter on one side, came and sat down by her, and putting his arm round her shoulders, answered first by one of those silent answers which--sometimes--say so much more than anything spoken.

  "I should be a sorry fellow," he said, "if I did not estimate those words at their full value, which to me is beyond value. I know you of old, and how much they mean. But, Rotha, this is not to be the rule of your life,--nor of mine."

  "Why not?" she asked shyly.

  "Because we are both servants of another Master, whom we love even better than we love each other."

  Did they? Did _she?_ Rotha leaned her head upon her hand and queried. Was she all right there? Or, as her heart was bounding back to the allegiance she had so delighted to give to Mr. Digby, might she be in danger of putting that allegiance first? He would not do the like. No, he would never make such a mistake; but she?--Mr. Southwode went on,

  "That would put life at a lower figure than I want it to be, for you or for myself. No, Christ first; and his service, and his honour, and his pleasure and his will, first. After that, then nothing dearer, and nothing to which we owe more, than each of us to the other."

  As she was silent, he asked gently, "What do you say to it, Rotha?"

  "Of course you are right. Only--I am afraid I have not got so far as you have."

  "You only began the other day. But we are settling principles. I want this one settled clearly and fully, so that we may regulate every footstep by it."

  "Every footstep?" Rotha repeated, looking up for a glance.

  "You do not understand that?"

  "No."

  "It is the rule of all my footsteps. I want it to be the rule of all yours. Let me ask you a question. In view of all that Christ has done for us, what do we owe him?"

  "Why--of course--all," said Rotha looking up.

  "What does 'all' mean? There is nothing like defining terms."

  "What can 'all' mean _but_ all?"

  "There is a general impression among many Christians that the whole does not include the parts."

  "Among Christians?"

  "Among many who are called so."

  "But how do you mean?"

  "Do you know there is such a thing as saying 'yes' in general, and 'no' in particular? What in your understanding of it, does 'all' include?"

  "Everything, of course."

  "That is my understanding of it. Then we owe to our Master all we have?"

  "Yes--" said Rotha with slight hesitation. Mr. Southwode smiled.

  "That is certainly the Bible understanding of it. 'For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead; and that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them and rose again.'"

  "But how much is involved in that 'living to him'?"

  "Let us find out, if we can. Turn to Lev. xiv. and read at the 14th verse. These are the directions for the cleansing of a leper who has been healed of his leprosy." He gave her his Bible, and she read.

  "'And the priest shall take some of the blood of the trespass offering, and the priest shall put it upon the tip of the right ear of him that is to be cleansed, and upon the thumb of his right hand, and upon the great toe of his right foot. And the priest shall take some of the log of oil, and pour it into the palm of his own left hand, and shall sprinkle of the oil with his finger seven times before the Lord: and of the rest of the oil that is in his hand shall the priest put upon the tip of the right ear of him that is to be cleansed, and upon the thumb of his right hand, and upon the great toe of his right foot, upon the blood of the trespass offering.'"

  "I do not see the meaning of that," said Rotha.

  "Yet it is very simple.--Head and hand and foot, the whole man and every part of him was cleansed by the blood of the sacrifice; and whereever the redeeming blood had touched, there the consecrating oil must touch also. Head and hand and foot, the whole man was anointed holy to the Lord."

  "_Upon the blood of the trespass offering_. O I see it now. And how beautiful that is! and plain enough."

  "Turn now to Rom. xii. 1."

  "'I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to the Lord.'"

  "You understand?"

  "Partly; I think, only partly."

  "The priests of old offered whole rams and bullocks upon the altar as tokens and emblems of the entireness with which the worshipper was given to God; the whole offering was consumed by fire and went up to heaven in smoke and fume, all except the little remainder of ashes. We are to be _living_ sacrifices, as wholly given, but given in life, and with our whole living powers to be used and exist for God."

  "Yes," said Rotha. "I see it now."

  "Are you glad to see it?"

  "I think I am. It makes me catch my breath a little."

  "Why?"

  "It must be difficult to live so."

  "Not if we love Christ. Indeed if we love him much, it is impossible to live any other way."

  "I understand so far," Rotha said after a pause; "but I do not quite know what you are coming to."

  "I am coming to something serious; for I do not know whether in this matter you will like what I like."

  In Rotha's eyes there flashed an innocent unconscious response to this speech, saying plainly that she could like nothing else! It was so innocent and so unconscious, and withal so eloquent of the place he held with her, that Mr. Southwode could have smiled; did smile to himself; but he would not be diverted, nor let her, from the matter in hand; which, as he said, was serious. He wished to have it decided on its own merits too; and perceived there would be some difficulty about that. Rotha's nature was so passionately true to its ruling affection that, as he knew, that honest glance of her eyes had told but the simple truth. Mr. Southwode looked grave, even while he could willingly have returned an answer in kind to her eyes' sweet speech. But he ke
pt his gravity and his composed manner, and went on with his work.

  "Read one more passage," he said. "1 Cor-vi. 20."

  "'Ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's.' That is again just like the words in Leviticus," said Rotha;--"head and hand and foot redeemed, and head and hand and foot belonging to the Redeemer."

  "Exactly," said Mr. Southwode. "That is not difficult to recognize. The question is, will we stand to the bargain?"

  "Why?"

  "It costs so much, to let it stand."

  "It has not cost _you_ much," said Rotha. "I should not say, by your face, it has cost you anything."

  "It has cost me all I have."

  "Well, in a way--"

  "Truly," he said, meeting her eyes. "I do not count anything I have my own."

  "But in practice--"

  "In practice I use it all, or I try to use it all, for my Master; in such way as I think he likes best, and such as will best do his work and honour his name."

  "And you do not find that disagreeable or hard," said Rotha. "That is what I said."

  "Neither disagreeable nor hard. On the contrary. I am sure there is no way of using oneself and one's possessions that gets so much enjoyment out of them. No, not the thousandth part."

  "Then what do you mean by its 'costing so much'?"

  "Read 1 Cor. x. 31."

  "'Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.'" Rotha read, and this time did not look up.

  "What do you think of going by that rule?"

  "You mean, for Christ's sake," said Rotha slowly. She knew she was willing to go by any rule for her lover's sake. "Mr. Southwode, I do not think I ever studied it out."

  "Shall we study it out now?"

  "O yes, please! But you must help me."

  "Let us come to particulars. What sorts of things that are bought with money, for instance, do you take most pleasure in?"

  Rotha looked up, curious, questioning, wondering, pondering, very honest.

  "I do not know what _most_," she said. "I take so much pleasure in everything. Books especially. And pictures I delight in. And--do not laugh at me, Mr. Digby! I always did,--I take pleasure in nice, pretty, comfortable, becoming, dresses and clothes generally. So do you, don't you?"

  It went beyond Mr. Southwode's power of gravity, the quaint frankness of this speech; and he laughed. Rotha joined in the laugh at herself, but looked seriously for the answer.

  "It is a comfort to talk to you," he said. "One can get at the point. And here we have it, Rotha. I think your liking of all the things specified is thoroughly justified and perfectly right; and as you suggest, I share it with you. Now comes the question. The word says 'whatsoever'; therefore it covers books and pictures and dresses too. Take then the homeliest instance. Are you willing, in buying a gown or a bonnet or anything else, to do it always, as well as you know how, to the glory of God?"

  "How can it be done so?"

  "Think. If this is your rule, you will choose such a bonnet or gown as you can best do your work--God's work,--in. Therefore it will not be chosen to give the impression that you wish to excite attention or admiration, or that you wish to impose by your wealth, or that dress occupies a large place in your thoughts; it _will_ be such as suits a refined taste, such as becomes you and sets off your good qualities to the very best advantage; and it will not cost more than is truly necessary for these ends, because the Lord has more important work for his money to do. Perhaps I rather overrate than underrate the importance of good dressing; it is an undoubted power; but really good dressing is done for Christ, as his servant and steward equips herself for his service; but she uses no more of the Lord's silver and gold than is needful, because that would be unfaithfulness in stewardship."

  "But that makes dressing a noble art!" cried Rotha. Her eyes had looked eagerly into the speaker's eyes, taking in his words with quick apprehension.

  "Carry out the principle into all other lines of action, then; and see what it will make the rest of life."

  "'To the glory of God.' The Bible says, eating and drinking?"

  "Yes."

  "Well how that, Mr. Southwode?"

  "And if eating and drinking, then the houses in which we assemble, and the tables at which we sit down."

  "Yes, but you are going a little faster than I can follow," said Rotha. "In the first place, it seems to me that people in general do not think as you do."

  "I told you so."

  "Hardly anybody."

  "Hardly anybody!"

  "Then, is it not possible--"

  "That I am straining the point? You have read the Bible testimony yourself; what do you think?"

  Rotha was silent. Could all the Christian world, almost all of it, be wrong, and only Mr. Southwode right? Was the rule indeed to be drawn so close? She doubted. The Bible words, to be sure,--but then, why did not others see them too?

  "Read Rom. xii. 1, again."

  Rotha read it, and looked up in silence. Mr. Southwode's face wore a slight smile. He did not look, she thought, like a man who felt the poorer for what he had given up.

  "Well?--" said he. "Well. I have read this often," said Rotha. "I know the words."

  "Have you obeyed them?"

  "I--do--not--know. I am afraid, not."

  "When a man has given his body a living sacrifice, has he anything left to give beside?"

  "Why not?"

  "Think. In that case, his hands are his Master's. They cannot do anything inconsistent with his use of them, or interrupting it, or hindering it. All they do will be, indirectly or directly, for Him."

  "Yes--" said Rotha. "But nothing for himself, then?"

  "Anything, that will fit him for service, or help him in it."

  "But for instance. I am very fond of fancy work," said Rotha.

  "Useless fancy work?"

  "I am afraid you would call it so."

  "Never mind what I call it," said Mr. Southwode, laughing a little; for Rotha's frankness and directness were delightful;--"I am not skilled in fancy work, and I speak in ignorance. What do you call it?"

  "Some of it is not of any use," Rotha said thoughtfully; "it is just a putting together of lovely colours. Of course, people must have mats and rugs and cushions and things; and it is pretty work to make them; but they could be bought cheaper, what would do just as well."

  "Then the question rises, in view of all these pretty things,--Is it the best use I can make of my time and my money?"

  Rotha's fingers drummed upon the table.

  "But one must have amusement," she said. "One cannot be always studying."

  "Quite true. The question remains, whether this is the best amusement to be had."

  "I give that up," said Rotha. "I see what you think."

  "Never mind what I think--for once," said he smiling. "Try the question on its own merits."

  "I give that up," Rotha repeated. "Except for odds and ends of chances, it does take a fearful amount of time, and money too. But go on, Mr. Digby; I am getting dreadfully interested."

  "You can go on without my help."

  "But I want it. Please go on."

  "You can transfer to eyes and ears and lips and feet what I have said about hands. All would be the Lord's servants. Have I anything else left to give, if I have once given my body a living sacrifice?"

  "No. Nothing. But why did I never see that before?"

  "What do you think of it, now you do see it?"

  "It is grand!" said the girl thoughtfully. "And beautiful. Such a life would be woven all of golden threads. But Mr. Southwode, it would make one different from everybody else in the whole world!"

  "Did not Jesus say? 'Ye are not of the world, _even as I am not of the world_.' And--'Therefore the world hateth you.'"

  "Yes,--" said Rotha slowly--"I see."

  "How would you furnish a house, on this principle?" M
r. Southwode went on.

  "A house?" Rotha repeated.

  "Yes. Suppose the old house at Southwode was to be refurnished; how should we do it? I would like to have everything there please you."

  "But on your principle," said Rotha, colouring beautifully, though she laughed, "you would not arrange it to please me at all."

  "If my principle were your principle?"--he said with a flash in his eye which was part pleasure and part amusement.

  "I never considered the subject," she said shyly.

  "Well let us consider it. What are the points to be principally regarded, in furnishing a house?"

  Rotha pondered, a good deal amused; this whole discussion was so novel to her. "I suppose," she said, "one ought to aim at a good appearance--according to one's means,--and the comfort of the family that are to live in the house,--and prettiness,--and