CHAPTER IV.

ELLEN BUCHAN.

She was the pride Of her familiar sphere,--the daily joy Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze, And in the light and music of her way Have a companion's portion. Who could feel, While looking upon beauty such as hers, That it would ever perish?--WILLIS.

That night, and for many days, Hubert knew no peace; sleeping or waking, Harris was ever in his thoughts; turn where he would, there was a remembrance of his dead companion, the loss of whom he deeply mourned. Out of health himself, his bereavement was more felt, especially as he was unable to seek other comrades with whom he might drive gloomy thoughts away. At other times, when he had been ill, Harris had ever sought him; but now, no one save those who waited upon him entered his room, and he began to hate the sound of their footsteps, because he felt that he paid for their sympathy. Poor Harris! how he missed him; how long the days seemed, and how slow his recovery! Who shall say it was not an opportunity vouchsafed by the Almighty to bring back his own wandering soul? Why did he not pray in his hours of distress? No; the heart long used to the neglect of that holy privilege and duty but ill knows how to fly to the throne of grace in the hour of woe, and too often throws back the hand of God with ungrateful murmurings. Hubert never once poured out his burden of distress, never once looked to that loving God whose eye, notwithstanding his wickedness, watched over him with a father's love, but fretted and repined at the calamity which had befallen him, until every pure and good feeling fled away once more, and he began to be as cold and callous about the death of poor Harris as he was about other things.

Time, the great soother of woe in the human heart, threw its power over Hubert; as it passed, it brought him returning health, and, once again mingling in the busy scenes of his profession, the wounded arm, the dead companion, and the warning, all shared the doom of the other events of his life: they were gone, and he was happy in forgetting them. The difficulty into which he had fallen with respect to his money matters, however, taught him a lesson; and though he again joined the society of many of his former companions, he never again fell into that terrible vice which had so nearly ruined his worldly prospects.

Some weeks had passed away; all the little effects belonging to poor Harris were being collected, for the captain of his company had found amongst some letters the names of some of the poor fellow's relations in England. Hubert heard of what was being done, and one morning, meeting the doctor of the regiment, they began talking the matter over. "I can tell you where his mother lives," said Hubert, "if you will step into my rooms; for now I remember it, I have by me a little note for her,--at least I have her address upon it."

They walked along together, talking of various matters, and having reached Hubert's rooms he took from a little desk a small piece of paper, and, without a thought, said, as he handed it to the doctor, "I think you'll find it on that."

The doctor read the note, and as he did so a sad expression stole over his face, and then, looking at Hubert, he said, "Oh, Goodwin, what a letter! Poor Harris! What a warning for us all. And what an escape you had; the ball passed you, but it pierced his lungs. It might have been your lot; though I trust a better account than this would have been sent home of you."

"Come now, doctor, no preaching; I cannot tell what account will be given of me when I'm knocked off."

"A true one, I have no doubt," was the reply.

"Perhaps so; but I don't care what people say; I do my duty, no one can deny that, and soldiers can't be preachers."

"But they can be Christians, and find as much need of the Bible as the sword. As much! Ah! more; it is a double weapon, a sword and a shield: try it, Goodwin, if you never have, and see if I am not correct. If any man is in heaven, my father is; he was thirty-four years a soldier, fought in forty-one battles, and had as many wounds. And what preserved him? What made him go cheerfully through all the trials of a soldier's life? What made his name honoured and respected, as you yourself have often observed? Was it the battles he fought, or the fame he won? No. He read his Bible every day of his life, and tried to live as that holy book says men ought to live. He infused, by God's help, the same spirit into his company, and many a year must roll by before the words, 'Good Captain Martin,' will cease to be heard; and the influence of his example will linger still longer. No one can tell the power of example; and it is a serious reflection that we each have to answer for the amount we exercise over our fellow creatures."

Hubert had thrown himself into an easy chain, and, with his hands thrust into his pockets, he silently listened to the doctor; but now he replied: "But surely we cannot possibly help persons imitating what we do. I don't see that we are to be responsible for the folly and evil deeds of others."

"Certainly not, Goodwin; but still, how can we be sure that our conduct has not caused many of the deeds you mention? Thousands of noble-hearted pure-minded youths who have entered the army have been ruined, both in body and soul, by the example of some wicked comrade."

"Do you refer to Harris?" asked Hubert, starting up from his seat; "because if you do, I may tell you at once that I am not going to be accused of anything he did. If he chose to make a fool of himself, it is nothing to me: my conscience is clear."

"I refer to truth," said the doctor, "and my own experience; and if we would only ask ourselves how far our conduct will affect those around us, we should be better men. Man _will_ imitate, and it is what he imitates that ennobles or debases him; it is example which has filled the heart of man with all that is good and noble, and it has also helped to make up long catalogues of crime. Our blessed Saviour knew the power of it when He said to His disciples, 'Be ye perfect, as I am perfect.'"

The calm and gentle manner of the doctor subdued Hubert's rising anger, and as he listened to him _he_ also felt the deep power of example. Before any other man who had dared to refer to Harris, as his heart told him the doctor had done, he would have given way to the passion which his guilty conscience prompted; but there was an overpowering influence in the calm demeanour of that good man, which Hubert felt; and when he was gone the room seemed very lonely, and Hubert paced it with rapid stride, as he thought over the past: the life he had led and was still leading, the dead Harris, and the warning note smote upon his memory, and he wished--oh, how earnestly he wished!--that he were but half like that good man who had just left him. It was a difficult matter, however, for Hubert to profit much by what had transpired; the wish to lead a better life was earnest enough, but old habits and evil associates had forged their chains of fascination round him, and he went out to seek company which would soon snap the silver cord of purity that was beginning once more to form holy tracery on his heart.

Thus it ever is with the heart that is continually striving against the influences and power of the Spirit. To keep down the still small voice of conscience, nothing is so effectual as the whirlwind of pleasure, and man runs headlong from one sin to another, until the fatal hour dawns when God's Spirit will no longer strive. Repeated warnings disregarded, and opportunities neglected, ruined Hubert's better nature: in scenes of dissipation the germs of holiness perished, and he sank down deep, deeper still into sin, growing older in wickedness as he grew stronger in manhood, belying, as many do, the noble image on his brow by the mark of _Cain_ upon his heart.

It was seldom that the regiment to which Hubert belonged remained longer than a few years in one place, so that his stock of worldly possessions had not greatly increased; but it was eighteen years since he left home, and he was now about changing into another regiment, one more stationary than his own, and marrying the daughter of an old English resident at Agra. During the time Hubert had been in India, he had experienced many vicissitudes often marching through the country, often in battle, and occasionally sick and in hospital. He had grown from the pretty rosy boy to a tall, dark sunburnt man, and was now a captain. In military things he had improved; but though of those who went out with him to India more than half had either fallen in battle or died of disease, nothing softened his heart, and it was a wicked boast he frequently made in the mess-room, that when he was unable to fight any longer he would think about going home and being religious. Thus he went on wasting the vigour of his life, tempting by his blasphemy the merciful God that was sparing him, neglecting every opportunity for repentance, and occasionally tearing up his Bible.

The doctor, who had been nearly the same time in the regiment that Hubert had, but who in age was ten years his senior, never lost an opportunity of trying to influence the soldiers for good. Many a rebuff was the reward of the good man's efforts, but he never wearied. Hubert, though he listened to him once, had grown vain with his military promotion, and shunned the good man who had once brought his heart near to heaven. Dr. Martin, however, never lost sight of the reckless sinner, but breathed many a sigh as he thought of one so gifted, and placed so far above the wants of life, rushing fast to his ruin; and then he prayed, with all the earnestness of a devoted heart, that God's Spirit would stay him in his course of sin.

Like a gleam of light upon a darkened object came the intelligence that Hubert was about to be married to Ellen Buchan. Nearly every one in Agra knew her, and there were but few who did not also know how good she was; she and her family were distinguished for their piety, and many a darkened soul in the idolatrous city where they resided learnt by their teaching and example to place Christianity above the idol-worship of their childhood, and became followers of the meek and lowly Jesus. Surely such companionship as Ellen Buchan would be a blessing to Hubert, and a change must come upon him, else he would be no helpmate for one so good as she was; and the doctor wondered whether a change had not already come over him, by his having expressed an intention of moving into another regiment.

How fervently he hoped that it might be so; and though he now seldom exchanged a word with Hubert, he did not forget him, but still hoped that he might lead a better life. Imperceptibly to Hubert, a change had indeed stolen over him since he knew Ellen; many of his old haunts were forsaken, former friends were given up, and Hubert had something to bear from the taunting words and manners of his old associates; but he had other thoughts, new habits were being formed, life had a thousand charms, and his face beamed more joyous and more handsome every day; his chief desire was to sell out, and purchase in the regiment stationed at Agra. A few disappointments attended Hubert's change of regiment: it was delayed longer than he had expected; still, the matter was now, to all appearance, nearly settled, and preparations were being made for the marriage. If Hubert had ever been thoroughly happy, he appeared so now: his past life, with all its associations, was absorbed in the present, in Ellen every thought was centred.

Alas! how frail are man's hopes. One sultry evening a messenger came to tell Hubert to come at once to Mr. Buchan's, for something had happened.

With a beating heart and hurried step he hastened to the house, but there was sorrow there. Ellen had been complaining all day, and, as the evening drew on, her illness increased, and she was found to be suffering from fever. Hubert was frightened, for the fever had been prevalent, and frequently fatal. That night and the next day he stayed at the house, and then, how dreadful came the intelligence that her life was despaired of! Now Hubert felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, the bitter woe of hopes all crushed; for the thought of losing Ellen was terrible. What could he do! All around him was a scene of woe. Changed he apparently was in his conduct and habits, but his heart was the same, and his sorrow gave way to murmuring and raving about the affliction. How earnestly he hoped for her recovery, yet how unchastened was his spirit! for upon meeting Dr. Martin, who, after inquiring about Ellen, added kindly, "I hope, if only for your sake, she will recover," he replied sharply, "Sir, you hope nothing of the kind; if she dies you will upbraid and taunt me." Unjust and cruel as this remark was, the doctor pitied and forgave him, and stood gazing after him as he turned away.

Ellen died. We need not tell the deep bereavement it was to all who loved her. Reader! it matters nothing to thee; but there was a home made desolate, and more than one heart riven. Such is life! A time will come when the deep mystery of such dealings shall be explained; till then, hope on! trust on! believe on! Satan would tempt thee in the weak, trying hour to doubt, but remember God does not willingly afflict; the finest gold has been seven times purified, and happy is he who can look upward, even though it be through his tears, and say, "It is thy will, Lord; do with me as it seemeth thee good."

All who knew Hubert pitied him under the deep affliction which had befallen him, and for a time his spirit bowed beneath it; he overcame it, however, sooner than many had expected, joined himself again to many of his old companions, and gave up all intention of selling out of his regiment, and very soon he bade farewell to the friends he had made in Agra, and moved with his regiment to a station further up the country.