CHAPTER. XVIII.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 156, 12 June 1886, Page 8

CHAPTER. XVIII.

A LAST REQUEST. | 'Tia she I That tempers him to thia oxtremity. — RIOHAKO 111. The night had fallen. .1 was in a strange and awe struck mood. The manuscript, which after some difficulty I had succeeded in finding, lay before me unopened. A feeling as of an invipible presence was in the air. I hesitated to turn the page, written, as I already felt, with the life-blood of the man in whose mysterious doom the happiness of my own life had become entangled. Waiting for courage, I glanced mechanically about the room. How strangely I had been led in thie affair ! How from the first I seemed to have been picked out and appointed for the solving of this mystery, till now I sat in the very room, at the very desk, in front of the very words, of its victim. I thought of Dwight Pollard struggling with his fate, and uuconscious that in a few ndinutes the pecret of Mr Barrows's death would be known; of Rhoda Colvfell, cohfiiient of her revenge, and blind to the fact that I h«ld in my hand what might possibly blunt her sharpest weapon, and make her most vindictive effort useleea. Then each and every consideration of a purely personal nature vanished, and l f thought only of the grand and tortdred soul of him upon who^e solemn and awesome history I was about to ' enter. Was" it, as his letter 'seemed to imply, a martyr's story ? I looked at the .engraving of Cranmer, which had been a puzzle to me a, few days before, and understanding it now gathered fortitude by. w hat it, seemed to suggest, and hastily unrolled ' the , manuscript. . . « „'/!, .This is what I read ':> , *?,*<*«, *' He that would save his life shall lose if,"

In order that the folding taje of sin and. ita expiation paay „be, understood,' . % r njuot" give a few words i<Kths >m,otiYe*s andl&pes under, which I.antered thg - , ,t., t . / I anija, believer in ( thQi v eapt:ed. character of, my profe^on,, an/d thja^bpolvite, and unqualified, devotion of^thpse embracing* it to the aims and purposes of the n Christian, religion*! /Though coqvertod,as it is called, in my sixteenth year, I' cannot remember the^ipae, my pulse d£d .not, beat withVdp-' preciation for,, those .nob'le^eouls" who had sacrificed every joy and , of this'" temporal life for the 'sake of their faith and', the glory of, God., I delighted in, Tox's 'Book of Martyrs,' and while' ? l shuddered t over { its pages in a horror I did not wholly' understand, X read them again 'and agap, till there > was not a saint whosp life I did not know by, heart, with just the death he died and the pangs he experienced. Such a mania did this become with me at one time, .that I grew, visibly ill,, and had to have the book taken away from me and' cheerful reading substituted in its stead. Feeling thus strongly in childhood, when half, if not all, my interest sprang from the fascination which horrors nave upon the' impressible mind, what were my emotions and longings when the real meaning of the Christian lile was revealed to me, and I saw in this steadfastness of the spirit unto death the triumph of the immortal soul over the weakness of the flesh and the terrors of a purely transitory suffering ! That the days for such display of firmness in the fiery furnace were over was almost a matter of regret to me in the first flush of my enthusiasm for the cause I had espoused I wished so profoundly to show my love, and found all modern ways so tame in comparison to those which demanded the yielding up of one's blood and life. Poor fool ! did I never think that those who are the bravest in imagination fail often the most lamentably when brought face to face with the doom they have invoked ? I have never been a robust man, and consequently have never entered much into those sports and exercises incident to youth and early manhood that show a man of jwbat stuff he is made. 1 have lived in my books till I came to S , since which I have tride to live in the joys and sorrows of my fellow-beings The great rule of Christian living has seemed te me imperative. Love your neighbour as youraelf, or, as I have always interpreted it, more than yourself. For a man, then, to sacrifice that neighbourto save himself from physical er mental distress has always seemed to me not only the height of cowardice, but a direct denial of those truths upon which are founded the Christian's ultimate hope. As a man myself, I despise with my whole heart such weaklings; as a Christian minister I denounce them. Nothing can excuse a soul for wavering in its duty because that duty is hard. It is the hard things we should take delight in facing ; otherwise we are babes not men, and our faith a matter of expediency, and not that stern and immovable belief in God and His purposes which can alone please Deity and bring us into that immediate communion with His spirit v Inch it should be the end and aim of every human soul to enjoy. Such are my principles. Let us see how I have illustrated them in the events of the last six weeks. On the sixteenth of August, five weeks ago to-day, I was called to the bedside of Samuel Pollard. He had been long sinking with an incurable disease, and now the end was at hand and my Christian offices required. I was in the full tide of sermonwriting when the summons came, and I hesitated at first whether to follow the messenger at once or wait till the daylight had quite disappeared, and with it my desire to place on paper the thoughts that were inspiring me with more than ordinary fervour. But a question to my own heart decided me. Not my sermon, but the secret disinclination I always felt to enter this special family, was what in reality held me back and this was a reason which, as you will have seen from the words I have already written, I could not countenance. lac cordiugly signified to the messenger that I would be with Mr Pollard in a few moments, and putting away my papers, prepared to leave the room. There is a saying in the Bible to Ibe effect that no man livethfor himself, nordieth for himself. If in the course of this narrative I seem to show little consideration for the secrets of othera, let this be at once my explanation and excuse : That only in the cause of truth do I speak at all ; and that in holding up before you the follies and wrong-doings of persons you know, I subject them to »o heavier penalty than that which I have incurred through my own sin. I shall neither gloss over or suppress any fact bearing upon a full explanation of my fate ; and when I say I hesitated to go to Mr Pollard because of my inherent dislike to enter his house, I will proceed to give as for my reason this dislike, my unconquerable distrust of his wife, who, a fine looking and capable woman, is certainly one to be feared by every candid and truth-loving nature. But, as I said before, 1 did not yield to the impulse I had within me to stay ; and, merely stopping to cast a parting glance about my room — why, I do not know, for I could have no premonition of the fact that I was bidding good-bye to the old life of hope and peace for ever — I hastened after the messenger whom I had sent on before me to Mr Pollard's home. Small occurrences sometimes make great impressions on the mind. As I was turning the corner at Halsey-street, the idiot boy Col well came rushing by, and almost fell into my arms. I started back, shuddering, as 'if some calamity had befallen me An invincible repugnance to anything deformed or even half-witted has always been one of my weaknesses, and for him to have touched me . I hate myself as I write it, but I cannot think of it now without a chill in my veins and an almost unbearable feeling of physical contamination. Yet as I would be as just to myself as I hope to be to others, I did not let this incident pass, without a struggle' to conquer my lower nature. Standing still, I called the boy back, and deliberately, 'and with a reverential thought of the Chrißt, I laid my hand on his arm, and stooping, kissed him. It cost me much, but 1 could never have passed that corner without doing it ; nor, were If o live years on the earth, instead of a few short days, should I ever let another week go by without forcing my body into some such contact with what nature has afflicted and man contemned. The pallor which I therefore undoubtedly showed upon'- entering Mr Pollard's room was owing to the memory of this incident rather than to any effect which the eight of the dying man had upon me. But, before I bad bebh many minutes in th,e room, I found my .'pulse shrilling with new excitement and my manhood roused to repel a fresh influence more dangerous, if less repulsive, than the last. s , Let me s^ee if I can make it plain to you. Mr Pollard, wjiom we tiaye'"all s known'as an excellent /but weak man, lay with his face turned towards the voqin, and his gaze fixed with what I felt to be 1 more' than' the ; .cqmmpji anxiety of the dying upoh mine ,At his\^ide sat/bis'wife, cold, 'formidable,' 5 alert;, her hand on, his hand; her eye* on .his eye, and all lier iey x and .implacable will set, as, l could plainly see,- ! between him and "any comfort or encouragement' l' might en-

, la^gOfftja^oqmmandiap Jfiguv© W jasur§> the pl t ace^Bually accorded t6 me on suet* occa: qions, and when, after a'f utile efforfc or so on' .my-part^to break down 'the' barrier , of restraint, , that such a' presence necessarily imposed, I cirqae fr#m\my seat'at'the'fobt'of ihe /Bed, 1 !and; ' approaching /closer, ' would havje learieH 6y l e£ / her, husband; she;put out her other hand, andlmperatiyely; waved me aside/ remarking' : ' ' " ',* '' ' ' * " The,doctqr gays he must have air." v ' ' There are sonae persons whose looks and lords' are 'strangely controlling.', Mrs Pollard is, one of these, and I naturally drew back/, But a glance 6,t'Mr Pollard's 'face made me question if I was doing right' in this. . j3uch , disappointment, such despair,' I had' seldom seen expressed in a look' ; and convinced that he had something .of real purport to say to me, I turned towards his wife, and resolutely remarked ; "The dying frequently have communications to make to which only their pastor's ear is welcome. Will you excuse me, then, if I request a moment's solitudte with Mr Pollard, that I may find out if his soul is at rest before I raise my prayers in its behalf ?" But, before 1 had finished, I saw that any such appeal' would be unavailing. If her immovable expression had not given me this assurance, the hopeless closing of his' weak anl fading eyes would have sufficiently betrayed the fact. " 1 cannot leave Mr Pollard," were the words with which she tempered her refusal. " If he has any communication to make, let him make it in my presence. lam his wife." And hei hand pressed more firmly upon his, and her eyes, which had not stirred from his face even when I addressed her, assumed a dark, if not threatening look, which gradually forced his to open and meet them. I felt that something must be done. "Mr Pollard," said I, "is there anything you wish to impart to me before you die ? If so, speak up freely and with confidence, for I am here to do a friend and a paster's duty by you, even to the point of fulfilling any request you may have to make, so it be only actuated by right feeling and judgment. " And determinedly ignoring her quick move of astonishment, I pressed forward and bent above him, striving with what I felt to be a purely righteous motive to attract his glance from hers, which was slowly withering him away as if it were a basilisk's. And I succeeded. After an effort that brought the sweat out on his brow, he turned his look on mine, and, gathering strength from my expression probably, gave me one eager and appealing glance, and thru3t his left hand under his pillow His wile, who saw everything, leaned forward with an uneasy gesture. " What have you there ?" she asked. But he had already drawn forth a little book and placed it in my hand. " Only my old prayer-book,'' he faltered. " I Zelt as if I should like Mr Barrows to have it." She gave him an incredulous stare, and allowed her glance to follow the book. I immediately put it in my pocket, " I shall take a great deal of pleasure in possessing it," I remarked. "Read it," he murmured ; " read it carefully." And a tone of relief was in his voice that seemed to alarm her greatly ; for she half rose to her feet and mads a gesture to some one I did not see, after which she bent again toward 9 the dying man and whispered in his ear. But, though her manner had all its wonted force, and her words, whatever they were, were lacking in neither earnestness nor pur- j pose, he did not seem affected by them. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he rose superior to that insidious influence, and, nervbd by^ the near approach of death, kept his gaze axed on mine, and finally stammered : " Will you do something else for me ?" "I will," I began, and might have said more, but he turned from me and with sudden energy addressed hiß wife. "Margaret," said ha, "bring me mv desk." Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, she could not have looked more astonished I had never heard that tone from him before, " My desk !" he cried again ; " I want it here." At this repetition of his request, uttered this time with all the vehemence of despair, Mrs Pollard moved, though she did not rise. At the same moment a quick, soft step was heard, and through the gloom of the now rapidly darkening chamber I saw their youngest son draw near and take his stand at the foot of the bed. " I have but a few minutes," murmured the sick man. " Will you refuse to make them comfortable, Margaret?" " No, no," 3he answered hastily guided as I could not but see by an almost imperceptible movement of her son's hand ; and rising with a great show of compliance, she proceeded to the other end of the room. lat once took her place by the side of his pillow. " Is there no word of comfort I can give you?" said I, anxious for the soul thus tortured by earthly anxieties on 'the very brink of the grave. But his mind, filled with one thought, refused to entertain any other. "Pray God that my strength hold out," he whispered. "I have an act of reparation to make." Then, as his son made a move as if to advance, he caught my hand in hia, and drew my ear down to his mouth. " The book," he gasped ; " keep it safely — they may try to take it away— don't — " But here his son intervened with some word of warning ; and Mrs Pollard, hurriedly approaching, laid the desk on the bed in such a way that I was compelled to draw back. But this did not seem to awaken in him , any special distress. From trie instant his eyes fell upon the desk, a feverish strength seemed to seize him, and looking at me with something of his old brightness of look and manner, he asked to have it opened and its contents taken out. Naturally embarrassed at such a request, I turned to Mrs Pollard. " It oeems a strange thing for me to do," I began ; but a lightning glance had already passed between her and her son, and with the cold and haughty dignity for which she is remarkable, she calmly stopped me with a quiet wave of her hand. "The whims of the' dying must be respected," she remarked, and reseated herself in her old place at his side. I at once proceeded to 1 empty the desk. It contained 'mainly letters, and one legallooking document, which I took to be his will. As I lifted this out, I saw mother and son both cast him a quick glance, as if they expected some move on his part But though his hands trombled somewhat, he made no special sign of wishing to see or touch it, and at once I detected on their faces a look of surprise that soon took on the character of dismay, as with the lifting of the last paper from the desk he violently exclaimed : ' " Now break in the bottom and take out the paper you will find there. It is my last will and testament/ and ' by every eacred right you hold in this world, I charge, you to carry 'it' to Mr Nicholls, and see that jno man Or' woman touches it till you give it into his hands " ' > "His will?"^ .echoed' Mrs -Pollard, as-! ' ' ;,,',< "He don't -know what he says. This is his will," Bhe was probably, going to assert, for her hand was pointing' to the legal-

looking documeiit JL have befdjro mentiop^dfJV hut - s a -"* gesture 1 fjjom-* aer."son^mad6h^r stop before "" the last word waaw. uttered. " He" must be wandering in hia mindW She]d|clated | { ~V~) n u (\r^.\\ u n i i" We Itnow of htf will hldoWawa^ in Hte'^ desk. Ah!" , , The last exclamation was called forth by the sudden slipping' into view' oial foldedfaper from between thejprevices of the desk, had found the secret spring. The next instant the bottdm fdlout', and the paper slipped to the floor. I was quick to recover it. Bad I not"been, : Mrslfollard would have had it in her grasp. As it was, our hands met, not without a shock, I fear, on either side..: : A ecaep of t mtenae suspense., came from the bed. , "Keep it," the dying eye's seemed te sayj 1 ' and if mine spoke as plainly as his did, theyx answered with full as much .meaning and>< force : ;.■,., ••I will." ' „' «. , ,'! ' ' Guy Pollard and his mother looked at each other, then at the pocket into which I had already thrust the paper. The, dying; man followed their glance^, and with a final exertion of 1 strength, raised himself on hia elbow. " My curse on him or her who, seeks tostep'between me and; the late reparation I have sought to make. Weaker than most men, I havesubmitted to your will, Margaret, up to this hour, but your reign is over at last, and — and-" The passionate, words died, away, the feverish energy succumbed, and with one last look into my face, Samuel, Pollard fell back upon his pillow dead. , (To be Continued.) * '.