FATHER! Father!" called a weak voice, and a yellow head sank back wearily upon the pillow, exhausted by the fatiguing effort of supporting its own weight for a moment, while pale-faced Gwen looked round the room.
Captain Wilson stepped quickly to the bedside, and taking the wasted hand in his, said gently, “What is it, my pretty one?"
“Where has Alice an' Deane gone?”
“Alice has fallen asleep by the fire, darling, and Deane's gone to Milston Harbor to get you a bit of tea?”
“Tea, tea! What for? We never have tea."
“No; but the milk has disagreed with you lately, so Alice thought you might fancy some tea."
“Father," the girl said, after a few minutes' silence,” you seem changed somehow; what is it? "
"Ay, ay," the old man said, laying his head down on the pillow beside her; “I am changed, and, God helping me, I mean to lead a changed life for the future. No more smuggling and drink, no more cursing and swearing. Thanks be to God, your terrible illness has brought me to my senses, and I see myself as I am, a lost and undone sinner; and Alice, bless her pointed me out the way to the Fountain, where I can get my sins washed away. But," he added, musingly, half to himself, “poor Deane doesn't see it as clearly as I do; he can't believe that Christ is able and willing to save him. I am afraid that in his misery and despair he'll do himself some mischief. But there, darling, you mustn't talk anymore; try and sleep a bit."
“God has answered my prayer. I asked Him to make you give up the drink, father," the girl said, closing her heavy eye-lids. Soon her feeble fingers relaxed their hold of her father's hand, and she sank back into a deep sleep.
As the days flew by she gained strength slowly but surely, her hollow cheeks filled out a little, and a healthy color crept into them again. During her long and tedious convalescence, Evil Deane was invaluable in amusing her; many a long talk they had together; Evil Deane would allow no one to speak to him of religion but Gwen. Almost every day she would entreat him to read the wonderful story (as she still called it) to her, and listened with rapt attention, while he laboriously pored over the long words. She would tell him about the thief on the cross, and how willing God was to forgive all who came unto Him through Christ.
“Ah!" Evil Deane would cry out, “but not me! I'm too bad; a murderer at 'art, that's what I am."
"But, Deane," the girl said, “If I, father, and Alice can forgive and love you, don't you think God can?”
This would give him new hope, and he would go away comforted for the time being, but the next day he was as down-hearted and desponding as before. He had managed to get some regular work in Milston Harbor since the loss of the cutter, for he felt he must do something, and loading and unloading the ships was just the work he liked.
“Gwen," he said one Sunday, as she sat by the window, propped up with pillows, " tell me what you was a-saying last week."
The girl took her eyes off the heavily-falling snow and answered with a smile, "I was only trying to repeat a hymn that Alice knows, but I never can remember more than one verse. It's—
"I love to tell the story,
More wonderful it seems
Than all the golden fancy
Of all our golden dreams.
I love to tell the story,
It did so much for me,
And that is just the reason
I tell it now to thee."
“You seem to feel sure about it all," said Deane, as he smoked away at his pipe, “ain’t you got doubts? S’pose’t ain't all true what's in the Bible; all folks don't believe it."
"Doubts!" cried Gwen, opening her blue eyes wide with astonishment, " there's no room for doubts, it's all as plain as can be; it's so plain that it says that even a wayfaring man, though a fool, cannot err therein.' I don't know what you mean. Alice says Christ came to save sinners, and that's us, Deane, sure enough."
"Sure enough," muttered Deane, and he sat in silence till Alice and the Captain came in and put an end to the conversation.
The months dragged wearily by; the winter was not a happy one for any of them, for Evil Deane was very wretched; he seemed as if he could find no rest for his soul; he grew thin, and his face wore a troubled, care-worn expression never there before. He came in to sit an hour or two with Gwen every evening after his work was done, and she always greeted him with something new that Alice or her father had read to her during the day. Now it was, " Fancy, Deane, it says in the Bible, the hairs of our head are all numbered;' " or, " Just think, Deane, that if people didn't praise Christ for all His goodness the very stones would cry out and praise Him.' Only think how wonderful!" But what he liked best to hear her exclaim was, “Oh, Deane! it says in the Bible that though our sins are as scarlet, He will make them white as snow.' “She knew this best, and used to repeat it frequently.
After all traces of the snow had passed away, and the cornfields began to look green, and the earth rejoiced because the glad Spring had come again, Evil Deane was observed to become more quiet and contented, and his terrible fits of despair became less frequent. He explained the cause one evening when the Captain, Alice, and Gwen had walked across the fields to meet him as he returned from work.
"You step on with Alice," he said to the Captain. “Do you know," he said to Gwen, "I'm more settled in my mind like, and if I could only reckon on God's forgiving me all, I should be quite comfortable."
"You should think how much God loves you," said Gwen, pushing the bright curls of her face, “then you would believe He would forgive you all. He gave His only Son to save us. He loves you and wants you to believe in His forgiveness through what Christ has done for us."
"Does He now? Then I think I can believe He will forgive me all."
They neither spoke for some time after, and they walked through the cornfields almost in silence, but just as he left her to go to his own cottage, he said, " I reckon I shan't be faithless no more, but believing. I believe He'll forgive me all now, that I do."
One more peep at Sunlight village after ten years have rolled by. It is fast ceasing to be a village now. Numbers of houses have sprung up between it and Milston Harbor; there are six or seven shops in the High Street; it boasts a place of worship, and there is some talk of a fish market even being held there. The inhabitants, too, have vastly improved during these ten years; most of those that drank have gone back to their old sober, industrious ways, since the terrible curse was removed from their midst. But it had left its mark nevertheless, for in more than one home there is a vacant place caused by the drink; and though the remaining inmates of these cottages now drink nothing but water, in some instances good resolutions have come too late, for they cannot bring the dead to life. Some will always have the heart-breaking memory that one of their number died a drunkard's death. But brave young Ben has suffered most; his home has been utterly ruined. He cannot bear the sight of the demon; his father last year fell over the cliff while drunk and incapable. But, through the mercy of God, Ben has been saved, and has become an active Christian worker. One house on the beach still remains, the other has been pulled down long ago. There are three or four fishing-smacks and many smaller boats drawn up on the beach, five of which belong to Deane. He works hard, for there are a good many depending on him for bread now; but he likes it, and even manages to put by a small sum for Gwen and the bouncing baby-boy, who rejoices in the name of Peter James Andrew Deane.
It is a delightful evening, the close of a hot summer day; the setting sun throws its red glory over "Grandfather," as he sits in his big arm-chair outside the cottage door. There is a peaceful expression on the old man's face, as he gazes dreamily at the distant horizon, and listens to the soft murmur of the calm sea as it rises higher and higher. In a few more years he will be going home, and patiently he waits every day for the Master's summons to come. Beside his chair stands Alice, grown into a gentle, pleasant-looking young woman. She takes a class in the newly-formed Sunday school, and is ever ready to nurse the sick and help the poor, bearing in mind our Lord's words, who said, "Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your servant." Her busy fingers are now engaged in knitting a tiny sock, while her eyes wander every now and again to Gwen, who is seated on the edge of a boat, a little way off, with her boy on her knee; the two heads of yellow curls mingle, as the young mother pours into his ear the story of the Baby King born in a manger, and finishes by singing in her clear treble the verse—
"I love to tell the story,
More wonderful it seems
Than all the golden fancy
Of all our golden dreams."
Evil Deane looks up from the net he is mending, and gazing from his boy's bright eyes to his wife's joyous, trustful face, he bursts out in his deep bass, with his heart overflowing with thankfulness to his Maker—
"I love to tell the story,
It did so much for me,
And that is just the reason
I tell it now to thee."