Therefore my Hope arose From out her swound and gazed upon Thy face.
And, meeting there that soft subduing look Which Peter's spirit shook Sunk downward in a rapture to embrace Thy pierced hands and feet with kisses close, And prayed Thee to assist her evermore To "reach the things before." E.B.Browning "I'm really thankful it is the last time I shall have to get this abominable paper money," said Raeburn, coming down the stairs.
"Just count these twos and fives for me, dear; fifteen of each there should be."At that moment Brian had just passed the tall, white column disappearing into the street which leads to the Borgo Ogni Santi.
Erica turned to begin her new chapter of life heavily handicapped in the race for once more that deadly faintness crept over her, a numbing, stifling pressure, as if Pain in physical form had seized her heart in his cold clasp.But with all her strength she fought against it, forcing herself to count the hateful little bits of paper, and thankful that her father was too much taken up with the arrangement of his purse to notice her.
"I am glad we happened to meet Brian," he remarked; "he goes by an earlier train that I thought.Now, little son Eric, where shall we go? We'll have a day of unmitigated pleasure and throw care to the winds.I'll even forswear Vieusseux; there won't be much news today.""Let us take the Pitti Palace first," said Erica, knowing that the fresh air and the walk would be the only chance for her.
She walked very quickly with the feeling that, if she were still for a single moment, she should fall down.And, luckily, Raeburn thought her paleness accounted for by yesterday's headache and the wakeful night, and never suspected the true state of the case.On they went, past fascinating marble shops and jewelers' windows filled with Florentine mosaics, across the Ponte Vecchio, down a shady street, and into the rough-hewn, grim-looking palace.It was to Erica like a dream of pain, the surroundings were so lovely, the sunshine so perfect, and her own heart so sore., But within that old palace she found the true cure for sore hearts.
She remembered having looked with Brian at an "Ecce Home," by Carlo Dolci and thought she would like to see it again.It was not a picture her father would have cared for, and she left him looking at Raphael's "Three Ages of Man," and went by herself into the little room which is called the "Hall of Ulysses." The picture was a small one and had what are considered the usual faults of the painter, but it was the first "Ecce Homo" that Erica had ever cared for; and, whatever the shortcomings of the execution, the ideal was a most beautiful one.The traces of physical pain were not brought into undue prominence, appearing not at all in the face, which was full of unutterable calm and dignity.The deep, brown eyes had the strange power which belongs to some pictures; they followed you all over the room there was no escaping them.They were hauntingly sad eyes, eyes in which there lurked grief unspeakable; not the grief which attends bodily pain, but the grief which grieves for others the grief which grieves for humanity, for its thousand ills and ignorances, its doubts and denials, its sins and sufferings.There was no bitterness in it, no restlessness, no questioning.It was the grief of a noble strong man whose heart is torn by the thought of the sin and misery of his brothers, but who knows that the Father can, and will, turn the evil into the means of glorious gain.
As Erica looked, the true meaning of pain seemed to flash upon her.
Dimly she had apprehended it in the days of her atheism, had clung to the hope that the pain of the few brought the gain of the many;but now the hope became certainty, the faith became open vision.
For was it not all here, written in clearest characters, in the life of the Ideal Man? And is not what was true for him, true for us too? We talk much about "Christ our example," and struggle painfully along the uphill road of the "Imitation of Christ,"meaning by that too often a vague endeavor to be "good," to be patient, to be not entirely absorbed in the things which are seen.
But when pain comes, when the immense misery and evil in the world are borne in upon us, we too often stumble, or fail utterly, just because we do not understand our sonship; because we forget that Christians must be sin-bearers like their Master, pain bearers like their Master; because we will let ourselves be blinded by the mystery of evil and the mystery of pain, instead of fixing our eyes as Christ did, on the joy that those mysteries are sure to bring.
"Lo, I come to do Thy will." And what is the will of even a good earthly father but the best possible for all his children?
Erica saw for the first time that no pain she had ever suffered had been a wasted thing, nor had it merely taught her personally some needful lesson; it had been rather her allotted service, her share of pain-bearing, sin-bearing, Christ-following; her opportunity of doing the "Will" not self-chosen, but given to her as one of the best of gifts by the Father Himself.
"Oh, what a little fool I've been!" she thought to herself with the strange pang of joy which comes when we make some discovery which sweetens the whole of life, and which seems so self-evident that we can but wonder and wonder at our dense stupidity in not seeing it sooner."I've been grudging Brian what God sees he most wants!
