"Not a bit. I see what you mean," said Dolly, colouring a little.
"Do you think there is anything friends can give one another, so precious as such trust?"
"No--I suppose not."
"Is it wonderful, if the Lord wants it of His children?"
"No. O Mr. Shubrick, I am ashamed of myself! What is the reason that I can give it to you, for instance, and not to Him? Is it just wickedness?"
"It is rather, distance."
"Distance! Then how shall I get near?"
"Do you know what a question you are asking me? One of the grandest that a creature can ask. It is the question of questions. For, to get near, is to see the Lord's beauty; and to see Him is to love Him, and to love with that absolute confidence. 'Thou wilt keep Him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.' And, 'This is life eternal, to know thee.'"
"Then how, Mr. Shubrick?" said Dolly. "How is one to do?" She was almost tearful in her earnestness. But he spoke, earnestly enough, yet with a smile.
"There are two sides to the question. On your side, you must do what you would do in any case where you wanted to cultivate a friendship.
How would that be?"
Dolly pondered. "I never put it so to myself," she said slowly, "and yet I suppose it must be so. Why, in any such case I should try to see a great deal of the person I wanted to make a friend of. I would be in the person's company, hear him talk, or hear her talk, if it was a woman; and talk to her. It would be the only way we could become known to each other."
"Translate, now."
"Translate?" said Dolly. "You mean,"----
"Apply to the case in hand."
"You mean," said Dolly, "that to study the Bible is to hear the Lord speak; and to pray, is to speak to Him."
"To study the Bible with a heart ready to obey all it finds--_that_ is hearing the Lord speak; and if prayer is telling Him your thoughts and wishes in your own language, that is speaking to Him."
"But it is speaking without an answer."
"I beg your pardon. It is speaking without an audible answer; that is all."
"Then how does the answer come?"
"In receiving what you ask for; in finding what you seek."
Dolly brushed away a tear again.
"One needs to take a good deal of time for all that," she said presently.
"Can you cultivate a friendship on any other terms?"
"Perhaps not. This is quite a new view of the whole matter, Mr.
Shubrick. To me."
"Common sense. And Bible."
"Does the Bible speak of it?"
"The Bible speaks of the life of religion as contained in our knowing God and in His knowing us."
"But He,--He knows everybody."
"Not in this way. It is the sweet knowledge of intimate friendship and relations of affection. 'I know thee by name,' was one of the reasons given why the Lord would grant Moses' bold prayer. 'I have called thee by thy name, thou art Mine,' is the word to His people Israel. 'He calleth His own sheep by name,' you know it is said of the Good Shepherd. And 'they shall all know Me,' is the promise concerning the Church in Christ. While, you remember, the sentence of dismissal to the others will be simply, 'I know you not.' And, 'the Lord knoweth them that are His.'"
There was silence; and then Dolly said, "You said there were two sides to the question."
"Yes. Your part we have talked about; it is to study, and ask, and obey, and believe. The Lord's part is to reveal Himself to you. It is a matter of revelation. You cannot attain it by any efforts of your own, be they never so determinate. Therefore your prayer must be constantly like that of Moses--'I beseech thee, show me Thy glory.' And you see, that makes your part easy, because the other part is sure."
"Mr. Shubrick, you are a very comforting talker!" said Dolly.
"Nay, I am only repeating the Lord's words of comfort."
"So I am to study, and yet study will not do it," said Dolly; "and I am to pray, and yet prayer will not give it."
"Study will not do it, certainly. But when the Lord bestows His light, study becomes illumination. No, prayer does not give it, either; yet you must ask if yon would have. And Christ's promise to one who loves Him and keeps His commandments is,--you recollect it,--'I will love him _and will manifest Myself to him_.'"
"That will do, Mr. Shubrick, thank you," said Dolly rising. "You need not say any more. I think I understand. And I am very much obliged to you."
Mr. Shubrick made no answer. They went saunteringly along under the great trees, rather silent both of them after that. As the sun got lower the beauty of the wooded park ground grew more exceeding. All that a most noble growth of trees could show, scattered and grouped, all that a most lovely undulation of ground surface could give, in slope and vista and broken light and shadow, was gilded here and there with vivid gold, or filled elsewhere with a sunny, misty glow of vapourous rays, as if the air were streaming with gold dust among the trees. All tints and hues of greensward, moss, and fern, under all conditions of illumination, met their wondering eyes; and for a while there was little spoken but exclamations of delight and discussion of beautiful effects that came under review. They went on so, from point to point, by much the same way that Dolly had taken on her first visit to the park; till they came out as she had done from the thinner part of the woodland, and stood at the edge of the wide plain of open greensward which stretched on up to the House. Here they stood still.
The low sun was shining over it all; the great groups of oaks and elms stood in full revealed beauty and majesty; and in the distance the House looked superbly down over the whole.
"There is hardly anything about Brierley that I like better than this,"
said Dolly. "Isn't it lovely? I always delight in this great slope of wavy green ground; and see how it is emphasised and set off by those magnificent trees? And the House looks better from nowhere than from here."
"It is very noble--it is exceeding beautiful," Mr. Shubrick assented.
"Now this, I suppose, one could not see in America," Dolly went on; "nor anything like it."
"America has its own beauties; doubtless nothing like this. There is the dignity of many generations here. But, Miss Dolly, as I said before,--it would be difficult to use all this for Christ."
"I do not see how it could be done," said Dolly. "Mr. Shubrick, I happen to know, it takes seven or eight thousand a year--or more--to keep the place up. Pounds sterling, I mean; not dollars. Merely to keep the establishment up and in order."
"And yet, if I were its owner, I should find it hard to give up these ancestral acres and trees, or to cease to take care of them. I am glad I am a poor man!"
"Give them up?" said Dolly. "Do you think _that_ would be duty?"
"I do not know. How could I take seven or eight thousand pounds a year just to keep up all this magnificence, when the money is so wanted for the Lord's work, in so many ways? When it would do such great things, given to Him."
"Then, Mr. Shubrick, the world must be very much mistaken in its calculations. People would not even understand you, if they heard you say that."
"Do _you_ understand me?"
"Oh yes. And yet I cannot tell you what delight I take in all this, every time I see it. The feeling of satisfaction seems to go to my very heart. And so when I am in the house,--and the gardens. Oh, you have not seen the gardens, nor the House either; and there is no time to-day. But I do not know that I enjoy anything much more than this view. Though the House is delicious, Mr. Shubrick."