_ CHAPTER XLIX. HE WEPT
Mr. Harman was beginning to take the outward circumstances of his life with great quietness. What, three months before, would have caused both trouble and distress, now, was received with equanimity. The fact was, he felt himself day by day getting so near eternity, that the things of time, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, were assuming to him their true proportions.
John Harman was being led by a dark road of terrible mental suffering to his God; already he was drawing near, and the shadow of that forgiveness which would yet encircle him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand.
Days, and even weeks, went by, and there was no news of Jasper. John Harman would once have been sorely perplexed, but now he received the fact of his brothers absence with a strange quietness, even apathy. Charlotte's postponed marriage, a little time back, would have also fretted him, but believing surely that she would be happy after his death, he did not now trouble; and he could not help owning to himself that the presence of his dearly loved daughter was a comfort too great to be lightly dispensed with. He was too much absorbed with himself to notice the strangeness of Hinton's absence, and he did not perceive, as he otherwise would have done, that Charlotte's face was growing thin and pale, and that there was a subdued, almost crushed manner about the hitherto spirited creature, which not even his present state of health could altogether account for.
Yes, John Harman lived his self-absorbed life, going day by day a little further into the valley of the shadow of death. The valley he was entering looked very dark indeed to the old man, for the sin of his youth was still unforgiven, and he could not see even a glimpse of the Good Shepherd's rod and staff. Still he was searching day and night for some road of peace and forgiveness; he wanted the Redeemer of all the world to lay His hand upon his bowed old head. The mistake he was still making was this--he would not take God's way of peace, he must find his own.
One evening, after Charlotte had left him, he sat for a long time in his study lost in thought. After a time he rose and took down once more from the shelf the Bible which he had opened some time before; then it had given him the reverse of comfort, and he scarcely, as he removed it from the place where he had pushed it far back out of sight, knew why he again touched it. He did, however, take it in his hand, and return with it to his chair. He drew the chair up to the table and laid the old Bible upon it. He opened it haphazard; he was not a man who had ever studied or loved the Bible; he was not acquainted with all its contents and the story on which his eyes rested came almost with the freshness of novelty.
"Two men went up into the Temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican.
"The publican would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me, a sinner.
"I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other."
John Harman read the story twice.
"This man went down to his house justified rather than the other."
The other! he fasted, and gave alms, and thanked God that he was not as this publican--this publican, who was a sinner.
But the Bible words were clear enough and plain enough. He, the sinner, was justified.
John Harman covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he fell on his knees.
"God be merciful to me a sinner," he said.
He said the few words twice aloud, in great anguish of spirit, and as he prayed he wept.
Afterwards he turned over the Bible pages again. This time he read the story of Zacchaeus.
"If I have taken anything from any man, I restore him fourfold."
It was very late when Mr. Harman at last went to bed, but he slept better that night than he had done for years. He was beginning to see the possible end. _