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CHAPTER VII

Matilda was slow in getting over her sickness. It would not do to think of lessons or let her do anything that would weary her. Instead of that, she was taken to drive, and supplied with materials and patterns for worsted work, and had books at command. Whatever would please her, in short; at least whatever Mrs. Laval could think of; for Matilda made no demands on anybody. She was very happy; feeling well but weak, just so as to draw out everybody's kindness; and obliged to be quiet enough to thoroughly enjoy her happiness. She made great progress in the affections of the family during this rime; they found a sweetness and grace and modesty in her that presently seemed like to make her the house darling. "She is not selfish," said Mrs. Lloyd. "She is really a very graceful little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She is honest," said David. "She is the gentlest, most dutiful child in the world," said Mrs. Laval; but Mrs. Laval did not say much about it. She was growing excessively fond of Matilda. Norton declared she was a brick. Judy said nothing. Then they would begin again. "She is a thoroughly courteous child," said Mrs. Lloyd. "I do think she is a good little thing," said Mrs. Bartholomew. "She has her own opinions," said Norton, who liked her the better for it. "They are not bad opinions either," remarked David.

"Aren't they!" put in Judy. "Wise and extremely courteous she was about the liqueur glasses, don't you think so?"

"What about the liqueur glasses?" Mrs. Lloyd demanded; and though Norton and David both tried to stop the recital, out it would come, for the second time. Judy would not be stopped. Mrs. Lloyd seemed rather serious but by no means as much disgusted as Judy would have liked.

"She had her own opinions, as Norton says," David remarked; "but she behaved perfectly well about the whole affair; perfectly courteous, Judy."

"Very ridiculous, though, for such a child," his mother added.

"How should she be courteous?" said Judy, scornfully. "She has had no sort of bringing up."

"I should be glad to see you as courteous, and as graceful about it," said Mrs. Bartholomew. Whereat Judy tossed her head spitefully and meditated mischief.

They did not know how it was. All was true they had said respecting Matilda's manners; and this was the secret of them; she was most simply trying to live up to her motto. For this Matilda studied her Bible, watched, and prayed. It was not herself she was thinking of, or trying to please; her obedience and her pleasantness and her smallest actions were full of the very spirit of reverence and good-will; no wonder it was all done gracefully. The days and weeks of sickness and feebleness had been a good time for the little girl, and the kindness she received made her heart very tender. She sought ways to please; above all, ways to please God. It was in doing "all in the name of the Lord Jesus" that her manners became so lovely and her presence so welcome to almost all the family; and her happy little face was an attraction for even old Mrs. Lloyd, who did not confess to finding many things in the whole world attractive now. But Judy vowed in secret she would disturb this opinion of Matilda, if she could manage it.

So she chose her time. Mrs. Lloyd, and indeed all the elders of the family, were extremely particular and punctilious about table manners; exacting the utmost care and elegance in everything that was done. One Sunday there was company at dinner; only one or two gentlemen who were familiar friends, however, so that the young people were not debarred their weekly pleasure and privilege of dining with their grandmother. Judy managed to place herself next to Matilda, and held her position, though Norton as openly as he dared reminded her she had no right to be there. It was impossible to make a disturbance and he was obliged to give up the point. Matilda wondered at what she supposed an uncommon mark of favour in Judy; and resolved to be as nice a neighbour as she could. There was not much chance, for of course talking, except a low word now and then, was out of the question. It happened that one of the servants was for some reason out of the way, and there was not the usual abundant service of the table. Just when everybody was helped, Judy somewhat officiously handed somebody's plate to Matilda to be passed for some oysters. The plate came back to her full; it had meat and gravy and oysters and maccaroni on it, and was heavy as well as full. Carefully giving it, as she thought, into Judy's hand, Matilda was dismayed to find it seemingly slip from her own; and down it went, taking impartially Judy's dress and her own in its way. Turkey gravy and oysters lodged on Judy's blue silk; while the maccaroni, rich with butter and cheese, made an impression never to be effaced on Matilda's crimson. The little girl absolutely grew pale as she looked down at the disastrous state of things, and then up at Judy. Judy's eyes were snapping.

"Did I do that?" said Matilda, in a bewildered consciousness that she had not done it.

"O, I guess not," replied Judy; in a tone which civilly said, "Of course you did!" Matilda dared not look at anybody else.

"You had better go up and change your dress, Matilda," said Mrs. Laval gravely. And Matilda went, greatly disconcerted. She was a very dainty child herself; rudeness and awkwardness were almost as abhorrent to her as they were even to Mrs. Lloyd; and now she felt that she had disgraced herself, mortified Mrs. Laval, and displeased the old lady; besides drawing down the censure and slighting remark of Mrs. Bartholomew. But had she done the thing? She was supposed to have done it, that was clear, from the tone of Mrs. Lloyd's voice and from Mrs. Laval's command, as well as from Judy's words; that young lady herself had kept her place in the dining room, for all that appeared. And Matilda's beautiful crimson dress was spoiled. No doubt about it; when she had got it off and looked at it she saw that the butter and cheese had done their work too thoroughly to leave any hope that it might be undone. No acid or French chalk would be of any avail there. Poor Matilda! she was very much dismayed. She had a particular fancy for the colour of that dress; it was a beautiful shade; and Mrs. Laval liked it; and Matilda wondered if she was displeased; and wondered with still increasing persuasion that the fault had not lain with her. But who could prove that? And as it was, the charge of gross carelessness and inelegance lay at her door; a charge above others that she was unwilling to bear.

She would not venture down to the dining-room again, not knowing whether she would be welcome; she sat in the dark thinking, and crying a little. But when there came a knock at her door, she got rid of all traces of tears. There was Norton, who had brought her some Chantilly cake which she was very fond of; and close behind him stood David, smiling, and bearing on a plate a great slice of ice cream. Matilda's hands were both filled.

"Oh thank you!" she said from the bottom of her heart; "O how kind you are!" Then as she glanced again at David's benign face, she half exclaimed, "Did I do that?"

"No," said David, the smile vanishing.

"She didn't?" cried Norton. "Who did?"

"Judy."

"Judy!" echoed Norton.

"I thought I didn't do it," said Matilda, forgetting her ice cream; "but I was so bewildered, and Judy seemed to think it was I – "

"I saw the whole thing," said David. "It was not you. You were not to blame at all. Your fingers had unclosed from the plate before hers did."

"Did she do it on purpose?" said Norton wrathfully, "and let Pink bear the blame? She shan't bear it two minutes longer!"

He was rushing away, but Matilda made one spring and planted herself right in his way.

"What are you going to do?"

"Set this thing to rights."

"How?"

"How? Why by telling the truth."

"Stop, Norton; there is company."

"All the more reason. Should you be disgraced before company?"

"Hush, Norton, stop," said Matilda eagerly, and getting both her plates in one hand that she might lay hold of him with the other. "You mustn't, Norton. Don't stir, or you'll make me throw down my ice cream, and then I shall be disgraced."

To prevent the possibility of such a catastrophe, David took the plates from her, and Matilda grasped Norton with both her little hands.

"I'm going!" he said.

"No, you aren't."

"I am, I tell you, Pink. I'll not stand by and allow it. I'll expose Judy and clear you, before everybody, this minute."

"Stop, Norton. You can't do it. Listen to me. You mustn't."

"Now is the very time."

"You mustn't do it at all. I'll tell mamma. I may do that; but you must not say one word about Judy to anybody. I shall get mamma to keep quiet too. You must, Norton."

"She's right, old fellow, that this isn't the time," said David. "Grandmamma would stop your argument very short."

"And you must not say a word, Norton. For my sake! You couldn't prove anything, Norton, and it would only make mischief and do harm. Let it alone, and then it is nothing."

"Nothing!" cried Norton in great dudgeon.

"Nothing but a little inconvenience to me, and that will be all over by to-morrow. Promise me, Norton; and then I can eat my ice cream in peace."

"You must promise quickly then," said David, "for it is beginning to melt."

Norton scolded and grumbled yet, however Matilda saw that she might take her cake and cream; and she eat it looking at him, and enjoying it very much.

"What's the use of being right then," said Norton, "if nobody is to know it? And you are provoking, Pink! you look just as if nothing was the matter."

"Nothing is the matter, thank you," said the little girl.

"You don't look angry."

"I don't think I am angry."

"You ought to be."

"I think I'm too happy to be angry," said Matilda, finishing her ice. And she looked so cool that Norton could not keep hot. He and David took her empty plates away for her; and so ended that day's trouble. Nevertheless, fruits of it appeared afterwards.

A little while after this Sunday, Norton sickened with the same fever Matilda had had. There followed a long, very quiet time, during which she was much left to herself. Mrs. Laval was in the sick room; for if she was not a skilled nurse, she was a most affectionate mother; and in the cases of both her children, she either did herself or watched over everything that was done. Matilda was not allowed to be with Norton and help, which she would have liked; it was thought that her strength was not sufficiently recovered. So the little girl lived in her room; crept down and up for her meals; was as quiet as a mouse; and endured not a little mischief from Judy's hands. Judy revelled. She was as full of life as of mischief, and she made Matilda her butt. The children generally dining together alone, she had a fair field; for David could not interpose to prevent Judy's sly provocations. They were too sly, and too quick and shifting, and too various and unlooked for. Sometimes she patronized Matilda, as a little country girl; sometimes she admonished her, very unnecessarily, in the same character; sometimes Judy took a tone more offensive still and accused her of artful practices to gain Mrs. Laval's favour. David and others were present; but they did not always see what was going on; or if they attempted to put Judy in order, the attempt was too apt to provoke more trouble than it stopped. Matilda bore a good deal of trial, those weeks; for she was naturally a spirited child, ready to resent injuries; and besides that, she was a clever child, quite able to return Judy's sharp speeches. She said very little to them, however, except what was good-humoured. Her cheek flushed now and then; sometimes her little head took its old set on her shoulders, extremely expressive, and equally graceful and unconscious; the boys would laugh, and Judy toss her own head in a different fashion. These things gave Matilda a good deal of work in her own room. She used to hunt out passages that spoke of forgiveness and kindness and the management of the tongue and the bridling of anger; and then she used to pray over them, and not once or twice. So Judy never could prevail much with her. However, Matilda wished for many reasons that Norton would get strong and well again and Mrs. Laval be in her old place. As he grew better, she began to be very much in his room; taking care of him, reading or talking to him, and having very nice times planning garden for Briery Bank when they should go home. That would not be early this year, Norton said he was afraid, because of his school; but at any rate they would run up at the Easter holidays and set things in train.

One day Matilda was coming upstairs, after an uncomfortable lunch with Judy alone. She came slowly, for she was weak yet, thinking that Judy was a very difficult person to get along with. David had not appeared at the meal. Just as Matilda reached the head of the stairs at her own door, he came out of his room.

"Tilly," said he in a choked kind of voice, "come here! I want you."

A very odd way for David to speak, she thought; and looking at him she perceived that he had not his usual calmness and gravity, in face any more than in voice. He was flushed and agitated, and troubled, it seemed to her. Matilda obeyed his call instantly and he led the way into his room and shut the door. Then she waited for him to speak and tell what he wanted of her; but that seemed to be somehow difficult. David hesitated, struggling with himself, she could see; yet no words came. Matilda was too much in awe of him to speak first. David had been very kind to her lately; but he was older, older even than Norton, and much graver; and she did not know him so well. She waited.

As for David, he could hardly speak, or he had great difficulty in the choice of words. He fidgeted a little, taking one or two turns across the room, flushed and paled again, then faced Matilda and spoke with desperate resolution.

"Tilly, what do you know about – that person – I mean the One you think so much of, and call your Messiah?"

Matilda was extremely astonished. "Do you mean – Jesus?" she asked doubtfully and not a little afraid.

"Yes – yes. What do you know about him?"

Matilda hesitated.

"I know he loves me," she said softly.

"Loves you! How do you know that? how can you know that?"

"Because I love him, David; and I know he loves me. He has said so."

"Said so! I beg your pardon. How has be said so?"

"In a great many places. And in a great many ways, David. He died for me."

"Died!" repeated David again; then controlling his excitement, which was very great, he again asked Matilda's pardon. "What do you mean by saying he died for you? for you, or anybody? He was put to death by the Romans, because he set himself up for a king."

"He didn't," said Matilda eagerly; "not in the way the people said. He told Pilate himself that his kingdom was not of this world; and he told the Jews to pay tribute to Caesar. They accused him for envy."

"Anyhow, he was put to death like any other criminal. Why should you say he died for you? Have you any reason?"

"Have you got a Bible here, David?"

"Not your Bible. I have the Scriptures of Moses and the prophets."

"Those are what Jesus said told about him. But just let me run and get my Bible, David; I want to shew you something. I'll be back in one minute."

He made no objection; and Matilda rushed out to her own room, threw off her cloak and hat, dropped down on her knees for one instant to pray that the Lord would teach her what to say to David; then seized her Bible and ran back to him. She was almost as excited now, outwardly, as he seemed; her little fingers trembled as she turned the leaves over.

"See here, David," she said. "That night, the night of the passover, you know; the night before he died; he was at supper with the twelve disciples – "

"What twelve disciples?"

"Those who were always with him; they were the apostles afterwards. Look here. He broke bread and told them to eat it, and said it was his body broken for them; and then a cup of wine; and this is what he said about that. See."

"Read it," said David.

"'This is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.' Testament is the same word as covenant, Mr. Wharncliffe says."

"Covenant!" cried David.

"Yes. In this other place he says, 'This cup is the new testament or covenant, in my blood, which is shed for you.' That is the new covenant that Jeremiah promised."

"Jeremiah!" cried David again; "what do you know of Jeremiah? Is that in your Bible?"

"Certainly it is. Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all of them."

"But what do you mean about that new covenant? you don't know what you are talking of, Tilly."

"O yes, I do, David. Look here; here is the place in Jeremiah; we had all about this in our lesson last Sunday. Look here, David. 'Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; not according to the covenant that I made with their fathers, in the day that I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt; which my covenant they brake, although I was a husband unto them, saith the Lord.

"'But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel; After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the Lord: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.'"

Matilda stopped and looked up at David.

"I know all that very well," he replied; "that will be in the days of Messiah."

"Jesus said it was then. He said, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood.'"

"How could that be? what meaning is there in that?"

"Why, David, – don't you see? His blood did it."

"Did what?"

"Why! bought forgiveness for us, so that God could give us the new covenant. It is a covenant to forgive us and make us holy for Jesus' sake. Mr. Wharncliffe was explaining it only last Sunday."

"I don't want to hear what Mr. Wharncliffe said. Tell me only what you know."

"Well, David, I know it's all true."

"Tilly, how can you?"

"Why, David, – I know Jesus has taken away my sins; and I think he is writing his laws on my heart."

"But Tilly!" David exclaimed with a sort of anxious impatience, "you don't know what you are talking about. You mean that this – Jesus – was our Messiah."

"Yes," said Matilda. "He said he was."

"He said he was?" exclaimed David.

"Yes, to be sure he did."

"But you don't know. The Scriptures of the prophets declare that Messiah will be a great king."

"Yes," Matilda answered slowly, looking at him. "Jesus is a great King."

"No!" said David quickly. "He was crucified."

"But he rose again, and went back to heaven."

"They stole his body away," said David, "and made believe he was risen."

"O no, that was what the priests told the soldiers to say; but we know he rose again, David, for they saw him – the apostles and Mary Magdalene, and all of them; over and over again."

"But the Scriptures say he shall, I mean Messiah, he shall conquer the enemies of Israel and deliver us."

"I think that means the true Israel," said Matilda.

"The true Israel!" said David. "Who are the true Israel? I am one of them. Abraham's children."

The boy spoke proudly, defiantly, as if he felt the noble blood of kings and prophets in his veins, and the inheritance his own. Matilda found it very difficult to go on. So far she had been able to answer him, having given attention to her Sunday school teaching and that teaching having lately run in a course fitted to instruct her on some of the points that David started. But she did not know what to say now. She was silent.

"Look here," said David in the same tone. He seized his Bible which lay at hand, and turning over the leaves stopped at the prophecy of Daniel, and read, not after the common English version —

"'I was seeing in the visions of the night, and lo, with the clouds of the heavens as a son of man was one coming, and unto the Ancient of Days he hath come, and before him they have brought him near. And to him is given dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, and all peoples, nations and languages do serve him; his dominion is a dominion age-during, that passeth not away, and his kingdom that which is not destroyed.'" David read, and paused, and looked up at Matilda.

"Yes," said Matilda nodding; "that is just what the angel said about Jesus."

"What angel?"

"The angel that came to tell that he was coming. See, David, wait, – I'll find it; here it is! 'He shall be great; and shall be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David; and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.'" And in her turn Matilda looked up at David.

"But what kingdom has he?" David asked, between anxiously and scornfully.

"Why, I remember he said, 'All power is given unto me, in heaven and in earth.'"

"It don't shew," said David. "Christians are a small part of the world, and not the strongest part by any means."

"No, I didn't say they were. I only said Jesus is the King."

"And I say again, Tilly; you have nothing but words to shew for it. How is he king?"

"O but, David, wait; look here, – I'll find the place in a minute or two – "

She sought it eagerly, but it took a little while to find any of the words she wanted. David waited patiently, having evidently much on his mind. At last Matilda's face lighted up.

"Here, David; this is what I mean; I was afraid to put it in my own words. 'And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come,' – you see they thought as you do; – 'he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall they say, Lo, here! or Lo, there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.' That's it, David, don't you see? He is king in people's hearts."

"The Messiah is to reign in another fashion than that," David returned. "The Targum says, 'a King shall arise from Jacob, and Messiah be exalted from Israel; then he shall kill the great ones of Moab, and he shall rule over all the children of men;' and 'to him are all the kingdoms of earth to be subjected.' The Lord will destroy his enemies who rise to put his people to shame; he will thunder upon them with a loud voice from the heavens; the Lord shall exact vengeance from Magog, and from the army of the thundering nations who come with him from the ends of the earth, and he will give strength to his King, and magnify the kingdom of his Messiah.'"

"That isn't out of the Bible, is it?" said Matilda, bewildered.

"No; it's the Targums."

"I don't know what the Targum is."

"It is a book, or books rather, of the words of our wise Rabbis; explaining the Scripture."

"I don't know anything but the Bible," said Matilda meekly; "and I don't know but a little of that."

"Well, you see, Tilly, that our Messiah is to be King in a grand fashion, and rule over all kingdoms; and make his people rule with him."

"O that's like the New Testament!" Matilda cried.

"What part of it?"

"I don't know exactly where it is; I'll look; but David, Jesus is going to reign so by and by, I know."

"You know!" said David.

"Yes; for he said so."

"Who said so?"

"Why, Jesus. Here – stop! – no, here it is, one place. Listen, David, just to this. 'And as they heard these things, he added and spake a parable, because he was nigh to Jerusalem, and because they thought that the kingdom of God should immediately appear.' – That's what you thought, David."

"Well, but, – " David began.

"Just listen. 'He said therefore, A certain nobleman went into a far country to receive for himself a kingdom and to return.'"

"What's that?" said David.

"Why, don't you understand?"

"No. Not what it has to do with what I was talking about."

"Why, David, the far country is heaven; and Jesus is gone there until the kingdom is ready, or till he is ready to take it."

"You have nothing but words to shew for it."

"No, of course; but they are God's words, David; so they are true."

"Take care!" said he, and his dark eye fired and glowed; "you mustn't talk so. You know I don't believe that."

"Believe what?

"That his words are God's words."

"But don't you remember," said Matilda, to whom the words seemed to come in her puzzle, to help her out, – "don't you remember in the Psalms – "

"The Psalms of David?"

"Yes, to be sure, the Psalms of David; don't you remember how it says – Oh, I wish I could find it! – something about 'sitting at my right hand' till his enemies shall be, – I forget what."

"I know!" said David with a curious change of countenance; and in his own book he immediately turned to the place.

"'The affirmation of Jehovah to my Lord: Sit at my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool.'"

"That's it!" cried Matilda. "Jesus is there now, and by and by he is coming to take the kingdom."

It did not seem as if David heard her; so deep was his pondering over the passage he had just read. Little Matilda watched him curiously; his brow was dark, with what sort of thoughts she could not guess; his eye sometimes flashed and at other times grew intense with looking into what he was studying. But what struck Matilda most was the look of trouble; the expression of grave care upon his lip. He lifted up his head at last, and his eye met her eye, and he was going to speak; when the clang of the dinner bell pealed through the house. That day, for some reason, the children were to dine with their elders. Mrs. Lloyd was particular about attendance at the minute; David and Matilda parted with one consent and without another word, to make themselves ready to go down.