Chapter 6
499 Words
It was four weeks before Theodora could leave her room, and for long afterwards she was an invalid. But in her sickness she had peace, and the solacing company of her friends, Mrs. Robertson and Mrs. Oliphant; and as the winter passed her health and strength and beauty returned to her. This renewed vitality was indeed so certain that the announcement of the Easter services contained a promise that Mrs. Campbell would sing some suitable solo.
At the breakfast table on Easter Sunday, Robert Campbell spoke of this event to his family.
"Theodora will sing at this morning's service, mother," he said.
"The minister has already made fuss enough about the circumstance. There is no necessity for you to go over the news."
"I think you had better not go to church this morning."
"I assure you I intend to go-for your sake. And am I to be denied the comfort of my Easter sermon, because of a song which I shall not listen to?"
"Please yourself. This time you have been warned."
"I shall do my duty, that always pleases me. And I need no warnings. I am not a creature made of nerves and fancies. I am afraid of no woman."
"Christina, as you are so fond of music, Theodora will take you with her to the organ-loft if you wish."
"O, brother, how happy I shall be!"
"Christina Campbell, you will sit decently in our own pew with your sister and myself."
"Poor Christina!" said Robert, and he laid his hand kindly on her shoulder as he passed.
"Poor Robert! Say that, and you say the truth," answered Mrs. Campbell.
It was a glorious day, the church and even the aisles were crowded and the doctor preached the finest sermon of his long pastorate. His tall, stately form, his piercing eyes, his thin face-austere but tender-were never so immediate and so solemnly authoritative, and every heart thrilled as in a grand resonant voice he cried:
"Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept."
His preaching was usually logical, invasive, not to be forgotten, but this morning all he said was vitalized by his own lively, living faith. He had caught the very spirit of Paul, and was carried by it far beyond, and above all arguments and sequences, until his glowing climax could find no grander words than:
"Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept."
To these words he emphatically closed the Testament, and there were a few moments of profound, sensitive silence. Then, like a lark mounting heaven-ward, Theodora burst into the triumphant melody:
"I know that my Redeemer liveth!"
It was an angelic "Amen" to that old sanguine assurance, which possesses so immovably the heart of humanity. The ecstasy of hope, the surety of faith, the glory of man's destiny filled with unspeakable joy the whole building, and many of the reverent souls in it had momentary experience of
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