Chapter 6 - Page 2

that remorse for sin which needs no material fiery adjunct to make
a hell for the soul. The Bishop watched him with infinite pity, but
for several days offered him no consolation. He thought it well he
should sorrow; he wished him to know fully that humiliation which Jesus
exalts, that wretchedness which he consoles, that darkness which he
lightens.

So, when he heard him one night, muttering as he walked gloomily up
and down, "O that I could forget! O that I could forget!" he answered,
"Not so, son Richard. Can you escape eternity by forgetting it? And
even for this life to forget is a kind of moral forfeiture, a treason
against your own soul. Forget nothing, carry every thing about yourself
to God--your weakness, your regrets, and your desires."

"How can the infinite God heed my pitiful regrets and desires?"

"Because he loves men individually; he deals with them soul by soul.
You, Richard Fontaine, you, your very self, must go to him. You are
not only a sinner in the general mass, but a particular sinner under
your own name and in your special person. So, then, for you he has
a special pardon. He has the special help you need; the very word of
grace, that your soul, and yours only, may be able to understand."

"O that God would pity me!"

"You belong to the God of compassions. He resists the proud, but he
comes to abide with the broken in spirit."

"If I was only sure Phyllis would recover!"

"And if not?"

"Then I have no hope for this life or the other."

"God will do what seemeth good to him."

"I do not understand--God seems so indifferent to my cries."

"My son, God's indifference does not exist; and if to comprehend the
cross of Christ, you must suffer to extremity, I would not spare you,
Richard; though I love you. There are four words that you can say,
which will shake the gates of heaven; which will make the Father meet
you, and the elder Brother welcome you, and the angels sing for joy.
Desolate souls, full of anguish, and yet full of hope, have
comprehended them: _Have mercy upon me!_"

But the soul is a great mystery. How often is it called, and will not
answer. Richard for many weeks could neither believe, nor yet ardently
desire. The hour in which he heard that Phyllis was out of danger was
the hour of his spiritual deliverance. Then a speechless, overwhelming
gratitude took possession of him. He went into his room, and, amid
tears and broken prayers of thankfulness, his heart melted. A wondrous
revelation came to him, the revelation of a love greater than his sin.
He was lost in its rapture, and arose with the