Beryl's Triumph by Eglanton Thorne

IN the afternoon, when Mrs. Despard was sleeping, Lucy took the children for a walk. They went through part of the village, and then ascended a steep hill, which led them to a narrow winding path high above the waves, and commanding a splendid prospect of sea and sky. Ferns and mosses grew plenteously on the landward side of this path, but its outer edge overhung the cliff, and was unguarded, so Lucy held little Coral's hand, lest the child should unwarily venture too near the dangerous brink. The path led to some barren fields shelving down to the beach. Near the gate of the first field a stone bench had been erected, which seemed to invite the passer-by to halt and admire the grand sea-view spread before it.

When Beryl was much younger, her nurse had often brought her to this spot, and allowed her to play at will amongst the thin grass, whilst she sat on the bench and knitted, an occupation of which Lucy never tired. Lucy now sat down and gazed silently at the sea for a few moments. She saw, without knowing how beautiful it was, the constant play of light and shadow on the shimmering water, and the glorious stretch of blue sky with its snowy clouds drifting slowly to the west.

Yet, though unconscious of the beauty about her, some of the gladness of the hour stole into Lucy's spirit. She thought, not with shuddering horror, but with deep thankfulness for his safety, of how nearly her brother had found his death beneath the blue waves now dancing so joyously in the sunlight.

But Lucy could not long indulge in such musings, for Beryl was impatient to pass on through the fields to the little pebbly cove beyond. When they reached the stile, from which a steep, narrow path ran down to the beach, they saw, to their surprise, a little crowd of persons standing below within the shelter of the cliff.

It was not unusual for there to be a number of boys and girls playing on the beach on a Sunday afternoon; but though the majority were children, there were several grown-up persons in the little company standing so quietly below.

"What are they doing, Lucy? Why do they stand there? " asked Beryl.

"Don't you see there is a gentleman talking to them, Miss Beryl? " said Lucy. "I remember now that Joe told me there was a gentleman from London, an artist, he said he was, had taken to preaching to the folks down here on a Sunday afternoon; but I forgot all about it when I said we would walk this way."

"I am very glad we came," said Beryl; "let us go down and hear what he is saying."

And she started at a run down the steep path. Lucy and Coral followed more cautiously; Lucy feeling rather doubtful of the propriety of her allowing Miss Beryl to attend "the preaching."

But Beryl, very curious as to this unusual proceeding, pushed her way into the little crowd gathered about the speaker. Seeing her approach, the people respectfully made place for her, and so it happened that Beryl soon found herself close beside the gentleman, who stood leaning against the cliff, as he spoke in simple words to his untaught, childish audience.

Beryl liked the look of the speaker, and did not doubt his right to be called a gentleman, though he had not the well-to-do, easy air her father always wore, and his clothes were of poor material, and well worn. Even to the child's glance there was something beyond the ordinary in his appearance and bearing. His face was thin, and he had the pallid complexion which betokens delicate health. He wore his black hair rather long, and a thick, dark beard covered his chest. His eyes were of a deep, clear grey, and had the open, steadfast look those only have which can look beyond self, having escaped the thraldom of personal desires and ambitions. There was a winning gentleness in the man's expression, and though his voice was not strong, its tones went home to every heart.

"Last Sunday, my friends," he said, "we were talking together about the first petition in that prayer which you say so often at church or chapel: 'Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. ' Now, to-day I want to speak to you about the second petition of that prayer: 'Thy kingdom come. ' And first let us ask what is meant by a kingdom? What do you understand now that a kingdom is?"

He paused and awaited an answer; but the question was a difficult one to his hearers, and though several of the rough, honest faces before him looked thoughtful, as if they were considering the matter, no one ventured a reply.

"We often use the word kingdom, do we not," he went on, "in speaking of the country or countries over which a king or queen rules? We speak, for instance, of 'the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. ' But the word is sometimes used to represent the power and sovereignty of a king, and sometimes, too, it means the living beings, the human hearts over which he reigns. Now, I think there is somewhat of all three meanings included in this petition. 'Thy kingdom come; ' whose kingdom do we mean when we say this?"

"God's," answered a young girl standing near Beryl.

"Yes, it is the kingdom of God; and what is the relation God bears to us? What were we talking about last Sunday?"

"Our Father, which art in heaven," said a sad-faced woman with a baby in her arms.

"Yes, you have given us the answer, my friend," said the speaker, looking kindly at her. "Jesus taught us that God is our Father; so you see it is our Father's kingdom that we pray may come. God is at once our Father and our King. Think for a moment what it is to have a King who is our Father. I remember that when I was a boy, and had lessons to do, I was constantly finding in my books this sentence: 'A good king is the father of his people. ' Now, that is a grand description of what a king should be, because it is founded on the Divine idea of kingship."