Matilda was slow in getting over her sickness. It would not do to think of lessons or let her do anything that would weary her. Instead of that, she was taken to drive, and supplied with materials and patterns for worsted work, and had books at command. Whatever would please her, in short; at least whatever Mrs. Laval could think of; for Matilda made no demands on anybody. She was very happy; feeling well but weak, just so as to draw out everybody's kindness; and obliged to be quiet enough to thoroughly enjoy her happiness. She made great progress in the affections of the family during this rime; they found a sweetness and grace and modesty in her that presently seemed like to make her the house darling. "She is not selfish," said Mrs. Lloyd. "She is really a very graceful little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She is honest," said David. "She is the gentlest, most dutiful child in the world," said Mrs. Laval; but Mrs. Laval did not say much about it. She was growing excessively fond of Matilda. Norton declared she was a brick. Judy said nothing. Then they would begin again. "She is a thoroughly courteous child," said Mrs. Lloyd. "I do think she is a good little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She has her own opinions," said Norton, who liked her the better for it. "They are not bad opinions either," remarked David.
"Aren't they!" put in Judy. "Wise andextremelycourteous she was about the liqueur glasses, don't you think so?"
"What about the liqueur glasses?" Mrs. Lloyd demanded; and though Norton and David both tried to stop the recital, out it would come, for the second time. Judy would not be stopped. Mrs. Lloyd seemed rather serious but by no means as much disgusted as Judy would have liked.
"She had her own opinions, as Norton says," David remarked; "but she behaved perfectly well about the whole affair; perfectlycourteous, Judy."
"Very ridiculous, though, for such a child," his mother added.
"How should she be courteous?" said Judy, scornfully. "She has had no sort of bringing up."
"I should be glad to see you as courteous, and as graceful about it," said Mrs. Bartholomew. Whereat Judy tossed her head spitefully and meditated mischief.
They did not know how it was. All was true they had said respecting Matilda's manners; and this was the secret of them; she was most simply trying to live up to her motto. For this Matilda studied her Bible, watched, and prayed. It was not herself she was thinking of, or trying to please; her obedience and her pleasantness and her smallest actions were full of the very spirit of reverence and good-will; no wonder it was all done gracefully. The days and weeks of sickness and feebleness had been a good time for the little girl, and the kindness she received made her heart very tender. She sought ways to please; above all, ways to please God. It was in doing "all in the name of the Lord Jesus" that her manners became so lovely and her presence so welcome to almost all the family; and her happy little face was an attraction for even old Mrs. Lloyd, who did not confess to finding many things in the whole world attractive now. But Judy vowed in secret she would disturb this opinion of Matilda, if she could manage it.
So she chose her time. Mrs. Lloyd, and indeed all the elders of the family, were extremely particular and punctilious about table manners; exacting the utmost care and elegance in everything that was done. One Sunday there was company at dinner; only one or two gentlemen who were familiar friends, however, so that the young people were not debarred their weekly pleasure and privilege of dining with their grandmother. Judy managed to place herself next to Matilda, and held her position, though Norton as openly as he dared reminded her she had no right to be there. It was impossible to make a disturbance and he was obliged to give up the point. Matilda wondered at what she supposed an uncommon mark of favour in Judy; and resolved to be as nice a neighbour as she could. There was not much chance, for of course talking, except a low word now and then, was out of the question. It happened that one of the servants was for some reason out of the way, and there was not the usual abundant service of the table. Just when everybody was helped, Judy somewhat officiously handed somebody's plate to Matilda to be passed for some oysters. The plate came back to her full; it had meat and gravy and oysters and maccaroni on it, and was heavy as well as full. Carefully giving it, as she thought, into Judy's hand, Matilda was dismayed to find it seemingly slip from her own; and down it went, taking impartially Judy's dress and her own in its way. Turkey gravy and oysters lodged on Judy's blue silk; while the maccaroni, rich with butter and cheese, made an impression never to be effaced on Matilda's crimson. The little girl absolutely grew pale as she looked down at the disastrous state of things, and then up at Judy. Judy's eyes were snapping.
"Did I do that?" said Matilda, in a bewildered consciousness that she hadnotdone it.
"O, I guess not," replied Judy; in a tone which civilly said, "Of course you did!" Matilda dared not look at anybody else.
"You had better go up and change your dress, Matilda," said Mrs. Laval gravely. And Matilda went, greatly disconcerted. She was a very dainty child herself; rudeness and awkwardness were almost as abhorrent to her as they were even to Mrs. Lloyd; and now she felt that she had disgraced herself, mortified Mrs. Laval, and displeased the old lady; besides drawing down the censure and slighting remark of Mrs. Bartholomew. Buthadshe done the thing? She was supposed to have done it, that was clear, from the tone of Mrs. Lloyd's voice and from Mrs. Laval's command, as well as from Judy's words; that young lady herself had kept her place in the dining room, for all that appeared. And Matilda's beautiful crimson dress was spoiled. No doubt about it; when she had got it off and looked at it she saw that the butter and cheese had done their work too thoroughly to leave any hope that it might be undone. No acid or French chalk would be of any avail there. Poor Matilda! she was very much dismayed. She had a particular fancy for the colour of that dress; it was a beautiful shade; and Mrs. Laval liked it; and Matilda wondered if she was displeased; and wondered with still increasing persuasion that the fault had not lain with her. But who could prove that? And as it was, the charge of gross carelessness and inelegance lay at her door; a charge above others that she was unwilling to bear.
She would not venture down to the dining-room again, not knowing whether she would be welcome; she sat in the dark thinking, and crying a little. But when there came a knock at her door, she got rid of all traces of tears. There was Norton, who had brought her some Chantilly cake which she was very fond of; and close behind him stood David, smiling, and bearing on a plate a great slice of ice cream. Matilda's hands were both filled.
"Oh thank you!" she said from the bottom of her heart; "O how kind you are!" Then as she glanced again at David's benign face, she half exclaimed, "Did I do that?"
"No," said David, the smile vanishing.
"She didn't?" cried Norton. "Who did?"
"Judy."
"Judy!" echoed Norton.
"IthoughtI didn't do it," said Matilda, forgetting her ice cream; "but I was so bewildered, and Judy seemed to think it was I—"
"I saw the whole thing," said David. "It was not you. You were not to blame at all. Your fingers had unclosed from the plate before hers did."
"Did she do it on purpose?" said Norton wrathfully, "and let Pink bear the blame? She shan't bear it two minutes longer!"
He was rushing away, but Matilda made one spring and planted herself right in his way.
"What are you going to do?"
"Set this thing to rights."
"How?"
"How? Why by telling the truth."
"Stop, Norton; there is company."
"All the more reason. Should you be disgraced before company?"
"Hush, Norton, stop," said Matilda eagerly, and getting both her plates in one hand that she might lay hold of him with the other. "You mustn't, Norton. Don't stir, or you'll make me throw down my ice cream, and then Ishallbe disgraced."
To prevent the possibility of such a catastrophe, David took the plates from her, and Matilda grasped Norton with both her little hands.
"I'm going!" he said.
"No, you aren't."
"I am, I tell you, Pink. I'll not stand by and allow it. I'll expose Judy and clear you, before everybody, this minute."
"Stop, Norton. You can't do it. Listen to me. You mustn't."
"Now is the very time."
"You mustn't do it at all. I'll tell mamma. I may do that; but you must not say one word about Judy to anybody. I shall get mamma to keep quiet too. You must, Norton."
"She's right, old fellow, that this isn't the time," said David. "Grandmamma would stop your argument very short."
"And you must not say a word, Norton. For my sake! You couldn't prove anything, Norton, and it would only make mischief and do harm. Let it alone, and then it is nothing."
"Nothing!" cried Norton in great dudgeon.
"Nothing but a little inconvenience to me, and that will be all over by to-morrow. Promise me, Norton; and then I can eat my ice cream in peace."
"You must promise quickly then," said David, "for it is beginning to melt."
Norton scolded and grumbled yet, however Matilda saw that she might take her cake and cream; and she eat it looking at him, and enjoying it very much.
"What's the use of being right then," said Norton, "if nobody is to know it? And you are provoking, Pink! you look just as if nothing was the matter."
"Nothing is the matter, thank you," said the little girl.
"You don't look angry."
"I don't think I am angry."
"You ought to be."
"I think I'm too happy to be angry," said Matilda, finishing her ice. And she looked so cool that Norton could not keep hot. He and David took her empty plates away for her; and so ended that day's trouble. Nevertheless, fruits of it appeared afterwards.
A little while after this Sunday, Norton sickened with the same fever Matilda had had. There followed a long, very quiet time, during which she was much left to herself. Mrs. Laval was in the sick room; for if she was not a skilled nurse, she was a most affectionate mother; and in the cases of both her children, she either did herself or watched over everything that was done. Matilda was not allowed to be with Norton and help, which she would have liked; it was thought that her strength was not sufficiently recovered. So the little girl lived in her room; crept down and up for her meals; was as quiet as a mouse; and endured not a little mischief from Judy's hands. Judy revelled. She was as full of life as of mischief, and she made Matilda her butt. The children generally dining together alone, she had a fair field; for David could not interpose to prevent Judy's sly provocations. They were too sly, and too quick and shifting, and too various and unlooked for. Sometimes she patronized Matilda, as a little country girl; sometimes she admonished her, very unnecessarily, in the same character; sometimes Judy took a tone more offensive still and accused her of artful practices to gain Mrs. Laval's favour. David and others were present; but they did not always see what was going on; or if they attempted to put Judy in order, the attempt was too apt to provoke more trouble than it stopped. Matilda bore a good deal of trial, those weeks; for she was naturally a spirited child, ready to resent injuries; and besides that, she was a clever child, quite able to return Judy's sharp speeches. She said very little to them, however, except what was good-humoured. Her cheek flushed now and then; sometimes her little head took its old set on her shoulders, extremely expressive, and equally graceful and unconscious; the boys would laugh, and Judy toss her own head in a different fashion. These things gave Matilda a good deal of work in her own room. She used to hunt out passages that spoke of forgiveness and kindness and the management of the tongue and the bridling of anger; and then she used to pray over them, and not once or twice. So Judy never could prevail much with her. However, Matilda wished for many reasons that Norton would get strong and well again and Mrs. Laval be in her old place. As he grew better, she began to be very much in his room; taking care of him, reading or talking to him, and having very nice times planning garden for Briery Bank when they should go home. That would not be early this year, Norton said he was afraid, because of his school; but at any rate they would run up at the Easter holidays and set things in train.
One day Matilda was coming upstairs, after an uncomfortable lunch with Judy alone. She came slowly, for she was weak yet, thinking that Judy was a very difficult person to get along with. David had not appeared at the meal. Just as Matilda reached the head of the stairs at her own door, he came out of his room.
"Tilly," said he in a choked kind of voice, "come here! I want you."
A very odd way for David to speak, she thought; and looking at him she perceived that he had not his usual calmness and gravity, in face any more than in voice. He was flushed and agitated, and troubled, it seemed to her. Matilda obeyed his call instantly and he led the way into his room and shut the door. Then she waited for him to speak and tell what he wanted of her; but that seemed to be somehow difficult. David hesitated, struggling with himself, she could see; yet no words came. Matilda was too much in awe of him to speak first. David had been very kind to her lately; but he was older, older even than Norton, and much graver; and she did not know him so well. She waited.
As for David, he could hardly speak, or he had great difficulty in the choice of words. He fidgeted a little, taking one or two turns across the room, flushed and paled again, then faced Matilda and spoke with desperate resolution.
"Tilly, what do you know about—that person—I mean the One you think so much of, and call your Messiah?"
Matilda was extremely astonished. "Do you mean—Jesus?" she asked doubtfully and not a little afraid.
"Yes—yes. What do you know about him?"
Matilda hesitated.
"I know he loves me," she said softly.
"Lovesyou! How do you know that? how can you know that?"
"Because I love him, David; and I know he loves me. He has said so."
"Said so! I beg your pardon. How has be said so?"
"In a great many places. And in a great many ways, David. He died for me."
"Died!" repeated David again; then controlling his excitement, which was very great, he again asked Matilda's pardon. "What do you mean by saying he died for you? foryou, or anybody? He was put to death by the Romans, because he set himself up for a king."
"He didn't," said Matilda eagerly; "not in the way the people said. He told Pilate himself that his kingdom was not of this world; and he told the Jews to pay tribute to Caesar. They accused him for envy."
"Anyhow, he was put to death like any other criminal. Why should you say he diedfor you?Have you any reason?"
"Have you got a Bible here, David?"
"Not your Bible. I have the Scriptures of Moses and the prophets."
"Those are what Jesus said told about him. But just let me run and get my Bible, David; I want to shew you something. I'll be back in one minute."
He made no objection; and Matilda rushed out to her own room, threw off her cloak and hat, dropped down on her knees for one instant to pray that the Lord would teach her what to say to David; then seized her Bible and ran back to him. She was almost as excited now, outwardly, as he seemed; her little fingers trembled as she turned the leaves over.
"See here, David," she said. "That night, the night of the passover, you know; the night before he died; he was at supper with the twelve disciples—"
"What twelve disciples?"
"Those who were always with him; they were the apostles afterwards. Look here. He broke bread and told them to eat it, and said it was his body broken for them; and then a cup of wine; and this is what he said about that. See."
"Read it," said David.
"'This is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.' Testament is the same word as covenant, Mr. Wharncliffe says."
"Covenant!" cried David.
"Yes. In this other place he says, 'This cup is the new testament or covenant, in my blood, which is shed for you.' That is the new covenant that Jeremiah promised."
"Jeremiah!" cried David again; "what do you know of Jeremiah? Isthatin your Bible?"
"Certainly it is. Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all of them."
"But what do you mean about that new covenant? you don't know what you are talking of, Tilly."
"O yes, I do, David. Look here; here is the place in Jeremiah; we had all about this in our lesson last Sunday. Look here, David. 'Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; not according to the covenant that I made with their fathers, in the day that I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt; which my covenant they brake, although I was a husband unto them, saith the Lord.
"'But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel; After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the Lord: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.'"
Matilda stopped and looked up at David.
"I know all that very well," he replied; "that will be in the days of Messiah."
"Jesus said it was then. He said, 'This cup is the new covenantin my blood.'"
"How could that be? what meaning is there in that?"
"Why, David,—don't you see? His blood did it."
"Did what?"
"Why! bought forgiveness for us, so that God could give us the new covenant. It is a covenant to forgive us and make us holy for Jesus' sake. Mr. Wharncliffe was explaining it only last Sunday."
"I don't want to hear what Mr. Wharncliffe said. Tell me only what you know."
"Well, David, I know it's all true."
"Tilly, how can you?"
"Why, David,—I know Jesus has taken away my sins; and I think he is writing his laws on my heart."
"But Tilly!" David exclaimed with a sort of anxious impatience, "you don't know what you are talking about. You mean that this—Jesus—was our Messiah."
"Yes," said Matilda. "He said he was."
"Hesaid he was?" exclaimed David.
"Yes, to be sure he did."
"But you don't know. The Scriptures of the prophets declare that Messiah will be a great king."
"Yes," Matilda answered slowly, looking at him. "Jesus is a great King."
"No!" said David quickly. "He was crucified."
"But he rose again, and went back to heaven."
"They stole his body away," said David, "and made believe he was risen."
"O no, that was what the priests told the soldiers to say; but weknowhe rose again, David, for they saw him—the apostles and Mary Magdalene, and all of them; over and over again."
"But the Scriptures say he shall, I mean Messiah, he shall conquer the enemies of Israel and deliver us."
"I think that means thetrueIsrael," said Matilda.
"The true Israel!" said David. "Who are the true Israel? I am one of them. Abraham's children."
The boy spoke proudly, defiantly, as if he felt the noble blood of kings and prophets in his veins, and the inheritance his own. Matilda found it very difficult to go on. So far she had been able to answer him, having given attention to her Sunday school teaching and that teaching having lately run in a course fitted to instruct her on some of the points that David started. But she did not know what to say now. She was silent.
"Look here," said David in the same tone. He seized his Bible which lay at hand, and turning over the leaves stopped at the prophecy of Daniel, and read, not after the common English version—
"'I was seeing in the visions of the night, and lo, with the clouds of the heavens as a son of man was one coming, and unto the Ancient of Days he hath come, and before him they have brought him near. And to him is given dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, and all peoples, nations and languages do serve him; his dominion is a dominion age-during, that passeth not away, and his kingdom that which is not destroyed.'" David read, and paused, and looked up at Matilda.
"Yes," said Matilda nodding; "that is just what the angel said about Jesus."
"What angel?"
"The angel that came to tell that he was coming. See, David, wait,—I'll find it; here it is! 'He shall be great; and shall be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David;and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.'" And in her turn Matilda looked up at David.
"But what kingdom hashe?" David asked, between anxiously and scornfully.
"Why, I remember he said, 'All power is given unto me, in heaven and in earth.'"
"It don't shew," said David. "Christians are a small part of the world, and not the strongest part by any means."
"No, I didn't say they were. I only said Jesus is the King."
"And I say again, Tilly; you have nothing but words to shew for it. How is he king?"
"O but, David, wait; look here,—I'll find the place in a minute or two—"
She sought it eagerly, but it took a little while to find any of the words she wanted. David waited patiently, having evidently much on his mind. At last Matilda's face lighted up.
"Here, David; this is what I mean; I was afraid to put it in my own words. 'And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come,'—you see they thought as you do;—'he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall they say, Lo, here! or Lo, there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.' That's it, David, don't you see? He is king in people's hearts."
"The Messiah is to reign in another fashion than that," David returned. "The Targum says, 'a King shall arise from Jacob, and Messiah be exalted from Israel; then he shall kill the great ones of Moab, and he shall rule over all the children of men;' and 'to him are all the kingdoms of earth to be subjected.' The Lord will destroy his enemies who rise to put his people to shame; he will thunder upon them with a loud voice from the heavens; the Lord shall exact vengeance from Magog, and from the army of the thundering nations who come with him from the ends of the earth, and he will give strength to his King, and magnify the kingdom of his Messiah.'"
"That isn't out of the Bible, is it?" said Matilda, bewildered.
"No; it's the Targums."
"I don't know what the Targum is."
"It is a book, or books rather, of the words of our wise Rabbis; explaining the Scripture."
"I don't know anything but the Bible," said Matilda meekly; "and I don't know but a little of that."
"Well, you see, Tilly, thatourMessiah is to be King in a grand fashion, and rule over all kingdoms; and make his people rule with him."
"Othat'slike the New Testament!" Matilda cried.
"What part of it?"
"I don't know exactly where it is; I'll look; but David, Jesus is going to reign so by and by, I know."
"You know!" said David.
"Yes; for he said so."
"Who said so?"
"Why, Jesus. Here—stop!—no, here it is, one place. Listen, David, just to this. 'And as they heard these things, he added and spake a parable, because he was nigh to Jerusalem, and because they thought that the kingdom of God should immediately appear.'—That's what you thought, David."
"Well, but,—" David began.
"Just listen. 'He said therefore, A certain nobleman went into a far country to receive for himself a kingdom and to return.'"
"What's that?" said David.
"Why, don't you understand?"
"No. Not what it has to do with what I was talking about."
"Why, David, the far country is heaven; and Jesus is gone there until the kingdom is ready, or till he is ready to take it."
"You have nothing but words to shew for it."
"No, of course; but they are God's words, David; so they are true."
"Take care!" said he, and his dark eye fired and glowed; "you mustn't talk so. You know I don't believe that."
"Believe what?
"Thathiswords are God's words."
"But don't you remember," said Matilda, to whom the words seemed to come in her puzzle, to help her out,—"don't you remember in the Psalms—"
"The Psalms of David?"
"Yes, to be sure, the Psalms of David; don't you remember how it says—Oh, I wish I could find it!—something about 'sitting at my right hand' till his enemies shall be,—I forget what."
"I know!" said David with a curious change of countenance; and in his own book he immediately turned to the place.
"'The affirmation of Jehovah to my Lord: Sit at my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool.'"
"That's it!" cried Matilda. "Jesus is there now, and by and by he is coming to take the kingdom."
It did not seem as if David heard her; so deep was his pondering over the passage he had just read. Little Matilda watched him curiously; his brow was dark, with what sort of thoughts she could not guess; his eye sometimes flashed and at other times grew intense with looking into what he was studying. But what struck Matilda most was the look of trouble; the expression of grave care upon his lip. He lifted up his head at last, and his eye met her eye, and he was going to speak; when the clang of the dinner bell pealed through the house. That day, for some reason, the children were to dine with their elders. Mrs. Lloyd was particular about attendance at the minute; David and Matilda parted with one consent and without another word, to make themselves ready to go down.
Before Matilda had any chance for more talk in private with David, the week came to an end; and Sunday afternoon found her in Sunday school as usual. But not as usual, she had hardly a word or a minute to spare for Sarah, who was telling of her progress in learning to use a sewing machine and of her own and her mother's bettered health. Delightful as it was, and as Sarah's face was, all luminous with grateful and glad feeling, Matilda through the whole of it was intent upon Mr. Wharncliffe and his motions; and the instant Sarah had left her she sprang to his side.
"Are you busy, sir? can I talk to you?"
"Talk?" said Mr. Wharncliffe; "then we want some time for it, do we?"
"If you please, sir; a little."
"Then we'll talk as we walk. Now, what is it?"
But Matilda waited, until they were out of hearing of all that they knew; then in the solitude of the wide avenue she began.
"Mr. Wharncliffe, I want some advice. I don't just know how to manage something."
"Very likely. Let us hear."
"I want to know how to speak to somebody who does not know about Jesus, and who wants to know."
"That often calls for wisdom," said Mr. Wharncliffe; "but I should think it would not be difficult in your case. You can tell what you know; what Jesus has done and is doing for you, and what he has promised to do for everybody."
"Yes, sir, but it is notthat. It is somebody who wants to know whether Jesus is the Messiah?" And Matilda looked up very eagerly in her teacher's face.
"Well. When 'somebody' has found out that Jesus is the Saviour, he will have no doubt that he is the One 'anointed to save.' You know, Messiah, and Christ, mean simply 'anointed.'"
"Yes, sir, I know. But—this person—"
"What of him?" said Mr. Wharncliffe smiling. "Is he a very difficult person?"
"Rather," said Matilda slowly; "because—he has never known that Jesusisthe Messiah."
"My dear child, to know that truly, in the full meaning and scope of the words, is what no one ever does except by the teaching of the Spirit of God."
"Thatisn't it," said Matilda. "This person—does not know whether to believe the New Testament."
"I would not advise you, Matilda, to hold arguments with an infidel, young or old."
"O he is not an infidel, sir! He is a Jew."
"A Jew!" exclaimed Mr. Wharncliffe.
"Yes. And now, he wants to know whether Jesus is the Messiah."
"Is he in earnest, or talking for talk's sake?"
"Oh, in earnest, sir! very much in earnest."
There came a sudden veil over the clear blue eyes that looked down at Matilda; then their owner said,
"I must take you home with me."
It was not far, down a cross street. Mr. Wharncliffe left Matilda in the parlour a few moments, and returned with a book in his hand.
"This is the best I can do for you," he said. "Unless you could bring your friend to see me?"
"Oh no, sir! he would not. I don't think he has spoken to anybody but me."
"Nobody but you? Has he no one to speak to?"
"No, sir. Not about this."
"Well, my child, as I said, this is the best thing I can do for you."
"What is it, sir?"
"A first-rate reference Bible."
"I have got a Bible."
"I know that. But this has references, which you will find will explain a vast many things to you. I advise you not to talk much, because you might not always know just what to say. Do this. Let your friend bring any word or promise about the Messiah that he knows of in the Old Testament Scriptures; you find the place in this little Bible, and see what passages of theNewTestament it refers to; see, here are the words of the Bible on one page and the references to each verse on the page opposite. You know what these abbreviations mean?"
"O yes, sir. O thank you, sir!" said Matilda, whose hands had now received the volume and whose eyes were eagerly scanning it. "I will take great care of it, sir."
"I hope you will; but not for my sake. I wish you to keep it, Matilda. It will be useful to you very often. And I shall want to hear how you get on."
He took back the book to put her name in it, while Matilda coloured high, and could hardly find words to speak her thanks. Her teacher smiled at her, escorted her to her own door again, and Matilda went in a happy child.
She was eager now for another chance to talk with David, and she fancied he wished for it too; but demands of school on the one hand, and Norton and Mrs. Laval on the other, for days made it impossible. For Matilda well understood that the matter was not to be openly spoken of, and the opportunity must be private when it came. She studied her new little Bible meanwhile with great assiduity, hoping to prepare herself for David's questions; however, she soon found she could not do that. She could only get familiar with the arrangements of her book; what David might ask or might say, it was impossible to guess.
Meantime Judy's disagreeable attentions continued.
"Why do you not eat your soup, Matilda?" Mrs. Lloyd asked one day. It was Sunday of course; the day when the young folks dined with the old ones.
"It is very hot, grandmamma."
"Hot? mine isn't hot. It is not hot at all; nottoohot."
"It is hot with pepper, I think."
"Pepper? There is not pepper enough in it."
Matilda thought that Mrs. Lloyd's palate and her own perhaps perceived pepper differently. But when the first course was served and Matilda had taken curry, of which she was very fond, this was again hot; so sharp, in fact, that she could not eat it.
"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Lloyd,—"pepper there too?"
"It is very hot, ma'am," said Matilda, while Judy burst out laughing.
"Curry always is hot, child," said the old lady. "Why do you take it, if you do not like it?"
"I like it very much, grandmamma; only to-day—"
"It is not any hotter than usual, to-day. You should know what you want before you take it. You can make your dinner of rice, then."
The rice was as hot as the rest of it, Matilda thought. She could not eat; and she was hungry, for she had had a good walk and a brisk lesson in Sunday school; but the fiery portion on her plate quite baffled her hunger. She was never helped to pudding or pie more than once; she went hungry to bed.
That did her no harm; but it happened again and again that, if not starved, she was at least disappointed of eating something she liked, or had something she did eat, spoiled by its seasoning. Very indulgent as Mrs. Lloyd was about things in general, respecting table manners and all the etiquette of graceful behaviour at meal times she was exceedingly particular. She did not allow the young people to make any ado about what they eat. She gave them liberty enough of choice, but once the choice made, it was made; and mistakes were at the person's own risk. So when Matilda's salad was very spicy with cinnamon, or her ice cream excessively and unaccountably salt, or her oysters seemed to have been under a heavy shower of red pepper, there was no resource but to be quiet; unless she would have made a scene; as it was, she got credit for being fanciful and very dainty.
Weeks passed before she and David could be alone together; eager and curious and sympathetic as she was. David did not change; the gloom of his troublesome thoughts hung over him, she could see, all the while; though nobody else seemed to notice it. At last, one evening in March, it fell out that all the family were going to the theatre. Even Mrs. Lloyd; for some particular attraction was just then drawing crowds to the nightly spectacle; and Norton and Judy had put in their claim to be allowed to go, and it had been granted. David was invited, but he refused without ceremony. Mrs. Laval turned to Matilda; and Mrs. Lloyd asked graciously if she would like to go? Now Matilda would have liked very much to go, on one side of the question; yet her answer was a grateful negative.
"What's the reason?" said the old lady. "It is no use asking for Davy's reasons, for they are sure to be immovable; but you, Tilly, what's the matter with you? Were you ever there?"
"No, ma'am, never."
"It'll amuse you, child; come! Judy's going."
It was difficult to answer; but Matilda remembered words she had heard from Mr. Richmond, which shewed that he did not think the theatre a place for a Christian to be amused in; and without in the least understanding his reasons, Matilda did not dare go. She said, and truly, that she would rather stay at home; and so it fell out that she and David were left for a whole evening alone.
The carriage had driven off; the two came back into the little reception room where the family usually had tea and spent the evening; Matilda having slipped upstairs and brought down her two Bibles. David turned up the gas and looked at her.
"What have you got there, Tilly?"
"A book that will help us, I hope."
"I wish it would help me!" said David, as he sat down and buried his face in his hands.
"We've got all the evening to ourselves, if we want it," said Matilda a little timidly.
"Yes. They will not be home before twelve o' clock."
But David did not seem in a hurry to avail himself of his opportunity. He sat with his head in his hands, and then got up and walked about, looking dark enough. Matilda waited and watched him, wondering and anxious.
"What do you think of Judy?" he said suddenly, coming to a stand opposite Matilda.
"I think she likes to amuse herself," Matilda answered, very much surprised.
"How do you like her amusing herself at your expense?"
"I don't like it, David."
"Why don't you get angry?"
"I do."
"So do I, sometimes; but it is your affair. Why don't you speak out?"
"She wouldn't care, David; it wouldn't make any difference."
"Judy? No, not with her; but why don't you speak out to grandmamma, or aunt Zara? They would care."
Matilda's cheeks flushed, and her eyes even looked a little watery; she did not answer at once.
"I don't want to do that, David."
"Why not?"
"It wouldn't be returning good for evil, you know."
"Good for evil! no," said David; "but it would be right."
"I don't think it would be right," Matilda said gently.
"Why wouldn't it? Good for evil? that is not the law; and it is not justice. The law is, 'Life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.'"
"I don't want to do justice," said Matilda smiling.
"Why not?" He was observing the little girl closely.
"I don't know, David; it would be no pleasure. Besides—"
"Besides what?"
"Jesus says we mustn't."
"Mustn't what? Do justice?"
"Yes. No—not to ourselves sometimes. You asked me what I knew about him; this is one thing. He says we must not return evil for evil; nor be angry."
"You were angry at Judy, though?"
"Well, for a little while, sometimes. I couldn't always help it; or Icould, I suppose, but I didn't."
"How could you?" said David. "I cannot. When I am angry, I am angry; and there is nothing to do but wait till I get over it."
"That's another thing I know about Jesus," said Matilda gravely. "He takes the anger away." She wished that David would begin upon his former line of inquiry, now that she had her little book to consult; but she could not hurry him. David looked hard at her, and then his gloom seemed to come over him. He sunk his head again; and Matilda waited.
"What can you tell me?" he said at last.
"I don't know. Perhaps, if you would try it, my book would tell you something."
"What could it tell me?"
"Answer some of your questions, perhaps."
David at last roused to action. He went off upstairs and brought downhisBible—half a Bible, it looked to Matilda's eyes; and under the bright gas lights the two sat down to compare notes.
"I don't know but a part of the things that are said about the Messiah," said David, turning over the leaves; "but what I do know, seem to me impossible to be fulfilled in him you Gentiles think the Messiah. And yet—they said—"
David stopped, in great perplexity.
"What are some of those things?"
"Well, this is one. He is to be of the seed of David; for so Isaiah prophesied."
"'And a rod hath come out from the stock of Jesse, and a branch from his roots is fruitful. Rested on him hath the Spirit of Jehovah, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and fear of Jehovah.'"
"Well, David, Jesus was that. See,—here is the whole list of the names of the people." And she put in the boy's hands the first chapter of Matthew.
"'The son of David, the son of Abraham'!" cried he; but then immediately became so absorbed in the chapter and in that list of names which Matilda had always thought very uninteresting, that she could only watch him and doubt if he would come back to talk with her any more that evening.
"But," said David at last, handing back her book, "that is only one thing. Listen to this. The promise was to David—' I have raised up thy seed after thee, who is of thy sons, and I have established his kingdom; he doth build for me a house, and I have established his throne unto the age.' Where is the throne of—of your Messiah, as you call him? And see here again, in the Psalms of David—
"'I have made a covenant for my chosen,'I have sworn to David my servant,'Even to the age do I establish thy seed,'And have built from generation to generation thy throne.'"
"What is 'to the age'?" Matilda asked.
"For ever! Where is the throne of your Jesus?"
"It is in heaven," said Matilda promptly.
"But Messiah is to reign on earth."
"Now listen, David; this is what the angel said of Jesus, when he came to tell Mary that he should be her son. 'He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David; and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.'"
"Well," said David, "but when? and where?"
"Here is another place that my book turns to, David; now listen. 'David himself saith in the book of Psalms, The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool.'"
"Yes, I know, it says so."
"Well, David, then don't you see he will be up in heaven until the time comes? Here is another passage—it begins about something else, and then goes on; 'Which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places, far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come; and hath put all things under his feet.' And here again—'But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God; from henceforth expecting till his enemies be made his footstool.'"
"When will that be?" said David.
"I don't know. I don't think it tells."
"But Messiah is to be a Conqueror," David went on, passing from one thing to another. It is written,—
"'Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O mighty,'Thy glory and thy majesty!'As to thy majesty—prosper!—ride!'Because of truth and meekness—righteousness.
'And thy right hand sheweth thee fearful things.'Thine arrows are sharp,'Peoples fall under thee—'In the heart of the enemies of the king.'"
"Where is that?" Matilda asked, and David told her. She eagerly consulted her little book, and then cried out,
"Why it is the very same thing! Look here, David; or just listen, and I will read.
"'And I saw heaven opened'—"
"Stop.Whosaw heaven opened? Who said that?"
Matilda paused. "It is in the Revelation," she said.
"Yes, but what is that?"
"I don't know exactly; but I know it is the things that were shown to John, the apostle, about what is going to be by and by."
"Who was that John?"
"Why, one of the apostles, David; one of the twelve apostles, that were always with Jesus, and went everywhere with him and saw all that he did. Then after he was gone, they preached to the people, and told what they had seen and heard."
"After he was gone where?"
"Back to heaven."
"Well—read," said David, with a troubled sigh.
"'And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat on him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew but he himself. And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood; and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in white linen, white and clean. And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations; and he shall rule them with a rod of iron; and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God. And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.'"
"But he was to be a Prophet, like Moses," said David; "and he was to be born in Bethlehem in the land of Judah."
"Well, he was," said Matilda.
"Then how should he be allthat?" And the boy's frame shook, as if a nervous shudder had taken him.
"Don't you remember the 110th Psalm?" said Matilda after a little more study. "'The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.' Look at it."
David did so, in his own Scriptures, and pondered the words a second time.
"And this is what the Lord Jesus said about those very words, David. 'While the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them, saying, What think ye of Christ? whose son is he? They say unto him, The son of David. He saith unto them, How then doth David in spirit call him Lord, saying, The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool? If David then call him Lord, how is he his son?'"
"What did they say?" asked David eagerly.
"Who?"
"Those Pharisees. What did they answer?"
"It says 'no man was able to answer him a word.'"
Poor David was in the same condition. "Well, go on," he said, between puzzle and despondency.
Matilda consulted her references to see with what she should go on; and then read the three first verses of the epistle to the Hebrews.
"'God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds; who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high.'"
"But—but,—" said David looking up, "Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem of Judah, for so said the prophet Micah."
"Jesus was born in Bethlehem," Matilda replied.
"But—he was called the Nazarene," said David with a kind of shiver. The boy was terribly excited, though he controlled the outward expression of his excitement as much as possible.
"He lived in Nazareth," said Matilda eagerly; "that was his home."
"Then how could he be born in Bethlehem? it's near a hundred miles off, I think."
"But don't you know?" said Matilda. "Caesar Augustus ordered everybody to be—what is it you call it? I forget;—to have their names put down, in a list of all the families and tribes, so that they might be taxed—"
"Taking the census?"
"I don't know; maybe it's that. And so, Joseph and Mary had to go to Bethlehem to have their names put down there, because it was David's city, you know, and they were of the house of David. And while they were there, Jesus was born. But after a while they went back and lived in Nazareth."
David looked dark, and eager; he made no answer.
"And it says in the first chapter of Matthew, David, that the prophet said, 'they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.'"
"It is true," said David. "So spoke the prophet Isaiah. But how then did he speak also of Messiah's sufferings? how could that be?"
"Where, David? and how?"
The boy turned over gloomily the leaves of the book which he held, and began to read at the fifty-third chapter.
"'Who hath given credence to that which we heard? and the arm of Jehovah, on whom hath it been revealed?'"
"What chapter is that?" Matilda asked; and he told her. She turned to the place.
"'Who hath believed our report?' that is it exactly, David. Don't you see? You do not believe it, and all the Jews do not believe it, when it is told to them."
"What?" said David.
"Why, that Jesus is the Messiah; and all about him. 'He is despised and rejected of men'—see how it goes on."
"What does this mean, I wonder," said David as he looked over the chapter—"'He is pierced for our transgressions, Bruised for our iniquities, The chastisement of our peace is on him, And by his bruise there is healing to us'?"
"This is what it means, David; 'the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.' That is in Matthew. And here in Romans—'God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him.' And in Corinthians—'He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.' Don't you see?"
"O hush! stop!" said David; "you bewilder me. Here Isaiah goes on
"'Each to his own way we have turned,'And Jehovah hath caused to meet on him'The punishment of us all.
'It hath been exacted, and he hath answered.'And he openeth not his mouth,'As a lamb to the slaughter he is brought—'"
David stopped again, and Matilda searched for words to answer him, and presently read,
"'So Christ was once offered to bear the sin of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.'"
"The second time?" said David.
"Yes; when he comes to take the kingdom, you know."
David sighed deeply.
"David," said Matilda hesitatingly, she had been watching for a chance to say it, "don't you know what Zechariah says about him?"
"Zechariah?"
"Yes; the prophet Zechariah. Mr. Wharncliffe says that is a time coming to your people;—in the twelfth chapter. You can read it best for yourself in your own book. It begins at the ninth verse—what I mean."
"This?" said David.
"'And I have poured on the house of David,'And on the inhabitants of Jerusalem,'A spirit of grace and supplications,'And they have looked unto me whom they pierced,'And they have mourned over it,'Like a mourning over the only one,'And they have been in bitterness for it,'Like a bitterness over the first-born.
'In that day great is the mourning in Jerusalem,'As the mourning of Hadadrimmon in the valley of Megiddon;'And mourned hath the land—every family apart;'The family of the house of David apart,'And their women apart;'The family of the house of Nathan apart,'And their women apart;'The family of the house of Levi apart,'And their women apart;'The family of Shimei apart,'And their women apart,'All the families that are left,'Every family apart, and their women apart!'"