I had never
seen him weep before; his had always been agony rather than sorrow. I
augured well from the circumstance. I let him weep on uninterrupted.
When the service was ended we left the church. He hung on my arm as we
walked homewards, with something of a softer and more subdued manner;
instead of that nervous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He
alluded to the service we had heard. "Music," said he, "is indeed the
voice of heaven; never before have I felt more impressed by the story
of the atonement of our Saviour. Yes, my friend," said he, clasping his
hands with a kind of transport, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, and I heard
him for some time busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened before
daylight. The young man stood by my bed-side, dressed for travelling.
He held a sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he laid
on the table. "Farewell, my friend," said he, "I am about to set forth
on a long journey; but, before I go, I leave with you these
remembrances. In this packet you will find the particulars of my story.
When you read them, I shall be far away; do not remember me with
aversion. You have been, indeed, a friend to me. You have poured oil
into a broken heart,--but you could not heal it.--Farewell--let me kiss
your hand--I am unworthy to embrace you." He sunk on his knees, seized
my hand in despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with
kisses.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77