The Minister's Wooing
CHAPTER XXXIX.
OUR fathers believed in special answers to prayer. They were notstumbled by the objection about the inflexibility of the laws ofnature, because they had the idea that when the Creator of the worldpromised to answer human prayers, He probably understood the lawsof nature as well as they did; at any rate, the laws of nature wereHis affairs and not theirs. They were men very apt, as the Duke ofWellington said, to ‘look to their marching-orders;’ which, beingfound to read, ‘be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayerand supplication let your requests be made known unto God,’ they didit. ‘They looked unto Him, and were likened, and their faces were notashamed.’ One reads in the memoirs of Dr. Hopkins how Newport Gardner,one of his African catechumens, a negro of singular genius and ability,being desirous of his freedom, that he might be a missionary to Africa,and having long worked without being able to raise the amount required,was counselled by Dr. Hopkins that it might be a shorter way to seekhis freedom from the Lord by a day of solemn fasting and prayer. Thehistorical fact is, that on the evening of a day so consecrated hismaster returned from church, called Newport to him, and presented himwith his freedom. Is it not possible that He who made the world mayhave established laws for prayer, as invariable as those for the sowingof seed and raising of grain? Is it not as legitimate a subject ofinquiry when petitions are not answered, _which_ of these laws has beenneglected?
But be that as it may, certain it is, that a train of events wereset in operation this day which went directly towards answeringMary’s morning supplication for guidance. Candace, who on thisparticular morning had contrived to place herself where she couldsee Mary and James in the singers’ seat, had certain thoughts ‘bornein’ on her mind, which bore fruit afterwards in a solemn and selectconversation held with Miss Prissy at the end of the horse-shed bythe meeting-house, during the intermission between the morning andafternoon sermons.
Candace sat on a fragment of a granite boulder which lay there, herblack face relieved against a clump of yellow mulleins, then inmajestic altitude. On her lap was spread a check pocket-handkerchief,containing rich slices of cheese and a store of her favourite browndough-nuts.
‘Now, Miss Prissy,’ she said, ‘der’s _reason_ in all things; and a gooddeal _more_ in some things dan der is in others. Dere’s a good dealmore reason in two young, handsome folks coming together dan der isin——’
Candace finished the sentence by an emphatic flourish of her dough-nut.
‘Now as long as everybody thought Massa Jim was dead, dere wa’n’tnothin’ in de world else _to be_ done _but_ for Miss Mary to marrythe Doctor. But, good Lord! I heard him a-talkin’ to Mrs. Marvyn lastnight; it kinder most broke my heart. Why dem two poor creeturs—dey’sjust as onhappy’s dey can be; and she’s got too much feelin’ for theDoctor to say a word, and _I_ say _he orter be told on’t_; dat’s what Isay,’ said Candace, giving a decisive bite to her dough-nut.
‘I say so too,’ said Miss Prissy: ‘why I never had such feelings in mylife as I did yesterday when that young man came down to our house; hewas just as pale as a cloth. I tried to say a word to Mrs. Scudder, butshe snapped me up so; she’s an awful decided woman when her mind’s madeup. I was telling Cerinthy Ann Twitchel, she come round me this noon,that it didn’t exactly seem to me right that things should go on asthey’re gone to; and says I, “Cerinthy Ann, I don’t know anything whatto do.” And says she, “If I was you, Miss Prissy, I know what I’d do;I’d tell the Doctor.” Says she, “Nobody ever takes offence at anything_you_ do, Miss Prissy.” To be sure,’ added Miss Prissy, ‘I _have_talked to people about a good many things that it’s rather strange Ishould, ’cause I ain’t one somehow that can let things go that seem towant doing. I always told folks that I should spoil a novel before itgot half-way through the first volume, by blirting out some of thosethings that they let go trailing on till everybody gets so mixed upthey don’t know what they’re doing.’
‘Well, now, honey,’ said Candace, authoritatively, ‘ef you’ve got anynotion o’ that kind, I think it must a come from de good Lord; and I’vise ye to be ’tendin’ to it right away. You just go ’long and tell deDoctor yo’self all you knows, and den let’s see what’ll come on’t. Itell you I b’lieves it’ll be one o’ the best day’s works _you_ ever didin your life.’
‘Well,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I guess to-night before I go to bed I’llmake a dive at him. When a thing’s once out it’s out, and can’t be gotin again, even if people don’t like it, and that’s a mercy anyhow. Itreally makes me feel most wicked to think of it, for the Doctor is theblessedest man.’
‘That’s what he _is_,’ said Candace. ‘But den de blessedest men in theworld ought fur to know de truth, that’s what _I_ think.’
‘Yes, true enough,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I’ll tell him anyway.’
Miss Prissy was as good as her word, for that evening when the Doctorhad retired to his study, she took her light in her hand, and walkingsoftly as a cat, tapped rather timidly at the study door, which theDoctor opening, said benignantly—
‘Ah! Miss Prissy!’
‘If you please, sir,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I’d like a littleconversation.’
The Doctor was well enough used to such requests from the femalemembers of his church, which generally were the prelude to somedisclosures of internal difficulties or spiritual experiences. Hetherefore graciously motioned her to a chair.
‘I thought I must come in,’ she began, busily twirling a bit of herSunday gown. ‘I thought—that is I felt it my duty—I thought—perhaps—Iought to tell you—that perhaps you ought to know—’
The Doctor looked civilly concerned. He did not know but Miss Prissy’swits were taking leave of her. He replied, however, with his usualhonest stateliness,
‘I trust, dear madam, that you will feel at perfect freedom to open tome any exercises of mind that you may have.’
‘It isn’t about myself,’ said Prissy. ‘If you please, it’s about _you_,sir, and Mary.’
The Doctor _now_ looked awake in right earnest, and very muchastonished besides; and he looked eagerly at Miss Prissy to have her goon.
‘I don’t know how you would view such a matter,’ said Miss Prissy; ‘butthe fact is, that James Marvyn and Mary always did love each other eversince they were children.’
Still the Doctor was unawakened to the real meaning of the words, andhe answered, simply,—
‘I should be far from wishing to interfere with so very natural andinnocent a sentiment, which I make no doubt is all quite as it shouldbe.’
‘No! but,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘you don’t understand what I mean. I meanthat James Marvyn wanted to marry Mary, and that she was—well! shewasn’t engaged to him—but—’
‘MADAM!!’ said the Doctor, in a voice that frightened Miss Prissy outof her chair, while a blaze like sheet-lightning shot from his eyes andhis face flushed crimson.
‘Mercy on us! Doctor, I hope you’ll excuse me, but there, the fact isout! I’ve said it out; the fact is they wa’n’t engaged, but that Maryloved him ever since he was a boy, as she never will and never can loveany man again in this world, is what I’m just as sure of as that I’mstanding here; and I’ve felt you ought to know it, ’cause I’m quitesure that if he’d been alive, she’d never given the promise she has—thepromise that she means to keep if her heart breaks and his too; therewouldn’t anybody tell you, and I thought I must tell you, ’cause Ithought you’d know what was right to do about it.’
During all this latter speech the Doctor was standing with his backto Miss Prissy and his face to the window, just as he did some timebefore when Mrs. Scudder came to tell him of Mary’s consent. He madea gesture backward, without speaking, that she should leave theapartment; and Miss Prissy left with a guilty kind of feeling, as ifshe had been plunging a knife in her pastor; and rushing distractedlyacross the entry into Mary’s little bedroom, she bolted the door, threwherself on the bed, and began to cry.
‘Well! I’ve done it,’ she
said to herself. ‘He’s a very strong, heartyman,’ she soliloquized, ‘so I hope it won’t put him in a consumption.Men do go in a consumption about such things sometimes. I rememberAbner Seaforth did—but then he was always narrow-chested, and had theliver complaint, or something. I don’t know what Mrs. Scudder _will_say, but I’ve done it. Poor man! such a good man too! I declare I feeljust like Herod taking off John the Baptist’s head. Well! well! it’sdone, and can’t be helped.’
Just at this moment Miss Prissy heard a gentle tap at the door, andstarted as if it had been a ghost—not being able to rid herself of theimpression that somehow she had committed a great crime, for whichretribution was knocking at the door.
It was Mary, who said, in her sweetest and most natural tones, ‘MissPrissy, the Doctor would like to see you.’ Mary was much astonished atthe frightened, discomposed manner with which Miss Prissy received thisannouncement, and said, ‘I’m afraid I’ve waked you up out of sleep. Idon’t think there’s the least hurry.’
Miss Prissy didn’t either; but she reflected afterwards that she mightas well get through with it at once, and therefore, smoothing hertumbled cap-border, she went to the Doctor’s study. This time he wasquite composed, and received her with a mournful gravity, and requestedher to be seated.
‘I beg, madam,’ he said, ‘you will excuse the abruptness of my mannerin our late interview. I was so little prepared for the communicationyou had to make that I was perhaps unsuitably discomposed. Will youallow me to ask whether you were requested by any of the parties tocommunicate to me what you did?’
‘No, sir,’ said Miss Prissy.
‘Have any of the parties ever communicated with you on the subject atall?’ said the Doctor.
‘No, sir,’ said Miss Prissy.
‘That is all,’ said the Doctor. ‘I will not detain you. I am very muchobliged to you, madam.’
He rose and opened the door for her to pass out, and Miss Prissy,overawed by the stately gravity of his manner, went out in silence.