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diff --git a/8407.txt b/8407.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9384a4d --- /dev/null +++ b/8407.txt @@ -0,0 +1,23124 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Christian, by Hall Caine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Christian + A Story + +Author: Hall Caine + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8407] +This file was first posted on July 8, 2003 +Last Updated: May 31, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Thomas +Berger, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN + +_A STORY_ + +By Hall Caine + +_Author of The Manxman_ + + * * * * * + +_The period of the story is the last quarter of the nineteenth century. +No particular years are intended. The time occupied by the incidents of +the first Book is about six months, of the Second Book about six months, +of the Third Book about six months; then there is an interval of half a +year, and the time occupied by the incidents of the Fourth Book is about +six weeks. An Author's Note will be found at the end._ + + * * * * * + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN. + + + + +FIRST BOOK. + +_THE OUTER WORLD_. + + + + +I. + +On the morning of the 9th of May, 18--, three persons important to +this story stood among the passengers on the deck of the Isle of Man +steamship _Tynwald_ as she lay by the pier at Douglas getting up steam +for the passage to Liverpool. One of these was an old clergyman of +seventy, with a sweet, mellow, childlike face; another was a young man +of thirty, also a clergyman; the third was a girl of twenty. The older +clergyman wore a white neckcloth about his throat, and was dressed in +rather threadbare black of a cut that had been more common twenty years +before; the younger clergyman wore a Roman collar, a long clerical +coat, and a stiff, broad-brimmed hat with a cord and tassel. They stood +amidships, and the captain, coming out of his room to mount the bridge, +saluted them as he passed. + +"Good morning, Mr. Storm." + +The young clergyman returned the salutation with a slight bow and the +lifting of his hat. + +"Morning to you, Parson Quayle." + +The old clergyman answered cheerily, "Oh, good morning, captain; good +morning." + +There was the usual inquiry about the weather outside, and drawing up to +answer it, the captain came eye to eye with the girl. + +"So this is the granddaughter, is it?" + +"Yes, this is Glory," said Parson Quayle. "She's leaving the old +grandfather at last, captain, and I'm over from Peel to set her off, you +see." + +"Well, the young lady has got the world before her--at her feet, I +ought to say.--You're looking as bright and fresh as the morning, Miss +Quayle." + +The captain carried off his compliment with a breezy laugh, and went +along to the bridge. The girl had heard him only in a momentary flash +of consciousness, and she replied merely with a side glance and a smile. +Both eyes and ears, and every sense and every faculty, seemed occupied +with the scene before her. + +It was a beautiful spring morning, not yet nine o'clock, but the sun +stood high over Douglas Head, and the sunlight was glancing in the +harbour from the little waves of the flowing tide. Oars were rattling up +the pier, passengers were trooping down the gangways, and the decks fore +and aft were becoming thronged. + +"It's beautiful!" she was saying, not so much to her companions as to +herself, and the old parson was laughing at her bursts of rapture over +the commonplace scene, and dropping out in reply little driblets of +simple talk--sweet, pure nothings--the innocent babble as of a mountain +stream. + +She was taller than the common, and had golden-red hair, and magnificent +dark-gray eyes of great size. One of her eyes had a brown spot, which +gave at the first glance the effect of a squint, at the next glance a +coquettish expression, and ever after a sense of tremendous power +and passion. But her most noticeable feature was her mouth, which was +somewhat too large for beauty, and was always moving nervously. When she +spoke, her voice startled you with its depth, which was a kind of soft +hoarseness, but capable of every shade of colour. There was a playful +and impetuous raillery in nearly all she said, and everything seemed +to be expressed by mind and body at the same time. She moved her body +restlessly, and while standing in the same place her feet were always +shuffling. Her dress was homely--almost poor--and perhaps a little +careless. She appeared to smile and laugh continually, and yet there +were tears in her eyes sometimes. + +The young clergyman was of a good average height, but he looked taller +from a certain distinction of figure. When he raised his hat at the +captain's greeting he showed a forehead like an arched wall, and a +large, close-cropped head. He had a well-formed nose, a powerful chin, +and full lips--all very strong and set for one so young. His complexion +was dark--almost swarthy--and there was a certain look of the gipsy in +his big golden-brown eyes with their long black lashes. He was clean +shaven, and the lower part of his face seemed heavy under the splendid +fire of the eyes above it. His manner had a sort of diffident restraint; +he stood on the same spot without moving, and almost without raising his +drooping head; his speech was grave and usually slow and laboured; his +voice was bold and full. + +The second bell had rung, and the old parson was making ready to go +ashore. + +"You'll take care of this runaway, Mr. Storm, and deliver her safely at +the door of the hospital?" + +"I will." + +"And you'll keep an eye on her in that big Babylon over there?" + +"If she'll let me, sir." + +"Yes, indeed, yes; I know she's as unstable as water and as hard to hold +as a puff of wind." + +The girl was laughing again. "You might as well call me a tempest +and have done with it, or," with a glance at the younger man, "say a +storm--Glory St---- Oh!" + +With a little catch of the breath she arrested the name before it +was uttered by her impetuous tongue, and laughed again to cover her +confusion. The young man smiled faintly and rather painfully, but the +old parson was conscious of nothing. + +"Well, and why not? A good name for you too, and you richly deserve +it.--But the Lord is lenient with such natures, John. He never tries +them beyond their strength. She hasn't much leaning to religion, you +know." + +The girl recalled herself from the busy scene around and broke in again +with a tone of humour and pathos mixed. + +"There, call me an infidel at once, grandfather. I know what you mean. +But just to show you that I haven't exactly registered a vow in heaven +never to go to church in London because you've given me such a dose of +it in the Isle of Man, I'll promise to send you a full and particular +report of Mr. Storm's first sermon. Isn't that charming of me?" + +The third bell was ringing, the blast of the steam whistle was echoing +across the bay, and the steamer was only waiting for the mails. Taking a +step nearer to the gangway, the old parson talked faster. + +"Did Aunt Anna give you money enough, child?" + +"Enough for my boat fare and my train." + +"No more! Now Anna is so----" + +"Don't trouble, grandfather. Woman wants but little here below--Aunt +Anna excepted. And then a hospital nurse----" + +"I'm afraid you'll feel lonely in that great wilderness." + +"Lonely with five millions of neighbours?" + +"You'll be longing for the old island, Glory, and I half repent me +already----" + +"If ever I have the blue-devils, grandpa, I'll just whip on my cape and +fly home again." + +"To-morrow morning I'll be searching all over the house for my runaway." + +Glory tried to laugh gaily. "Upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's +chamber." + +"'Glory,' I'll be crying, 'Where's the girl gone at all? I haven't heard +her voice in the house to-day. What's come over the old place to strike +it so dead?'" + +The girl's eyes were running over, but in a tone of gentle raillery and +heart's love she said severely: "Nonsense, grandfather, you'll forget +all about Glory going to London before the day after to-morrow. Every +morning you'll be making rubbings of your old runes, and every night +you'll be playing chess with Aunt Rachel, and every Sunday you'll be +scolding old Neilus for falling asleep in the reading desk, and--and +everything will go on just the same as ever." + +The mails had come aboard, one of the gangways had been drawn ashore, +and the old parson, holding his big watch in his left hand, was diving +into his fob-pocket with the fingers of the right. + +"Here"--panting audibly, as if he had been running hard--"is your +mother's little pearl ring." + +The girl drew off her slack, soiled glove and took the ring in her +nervous fingers. + +"A wonderful talisman is the relic of a good mother, sir," said the old +parson. + +The young clergyman bent his head. + +"You're like Glory herself in that though--you don't remember your +mother either." + +"No-no." + +"I'll keep in touch with your father, John, trust me for that. You and +he shall be good friends yet. A man can't hold out against his son for +nothing worse than choosing the Church against the world. The old man +didn't mean all he said; and then it isn't the thunder that strikes +people dead, you know. So leave him to me; and if that foolish old +Chalse hasn't been putting notions into his head----" + +The throbbing in the steam funnel had ceased and in the sudden hush a +voice from the bridge cried, "All ashore!" + +"Good-bye, Glory! Good-bye, John! Good-bye both!" + +"Good-bye, sir," said the young clergyman with a long hand-clasp. + +But the girl's arms were about the old man's neck. "Good-bye, you dear +old grandpa, and I'm ashamed I--I'm sorry I--I mean it's a shame of me +to--good-bye!" + +"Good-bye, my wandering gipsy, my witch, my runaway!" + +"If you call me names I'll have to stop your mouth, sir. +Again--another----" + +A voice cried, "Stand back there!" + +The young clergyman drew the girl back from the bulwarks, and the +steamer moved slowly away. + +"I'll go below--no, I won't; I'll stay on deck. I'll go ashore--I can't +bear it; it's not too late yet. No, I'll go to the stern and see the +water in the wake." + +The pier was cleared and the harbour was empty. Over the white churning +water the sea gulls were wheeling, and Douglas Head was gliding slowly +back. Down the long line of the quay the friends of the passengers were +waving adieus. + +"There he is, on the end of the pier! That's grandpa waving his +handkerchief! Don't you see it? The red-and-white cotton one! God bless +him! How _wae_ his little present made me! He has been keeping it all +these years. But my silk handkerchief is too damp--it won't float at +all. Will you lend me----Ah, thank you! Good-bye! good-bye! good----" + +The girl hung over the stern rail, leaning her breast upon it and waving +the handkerchief as long as the pier and its people were in sight, and +when they were gone from recognition she watched the line of the land +until it began to fade into the clouds, and there was no more to be seen +of what she had looked upon every day of her life until to-day. + +"The dear little island! I never thought it was so beautiful! Perhaps I +might have been happy even there, if I had tried. Now, if I had only had +somebody for company! How silly of me! I've been five years wishing and +praying to get away, and now! ... It _is_ lovely, though, isn't it? Just +like a bird on the water! And when you've been born in a place ... the +dear little island! And the old folks, too! How lonely they'll be, after +all! I wonder if I shall ever.... I'll go below. The wind's freshening, +and this water in the wake is making my eyes... Good-bye, little birdie! +I'll come back--I'll.... Yes, never fear, I'll----" + +The laughter and impetuous talking, the gentle humour and pathos, +had broken at length into a sob, and the girl had wheeled about and +disappeared down the cabin stairs. John Storm stood looking after her. +He had hardly spoken, but his great brown eyes were moist. + + + + +II. + +Her father had been the only son of Parson Quayle, and chaplain to the +bishop at Bishopscourt. It was there he had met her mother, who +was lady's maid to the bishop's wife. The maid was a bright young +Frenchwoman, daughter of a French actress, famous in her day, and of +an officer under the Empire, who had never been told of her existence. +Shortly after their marriage the chaplain was offered a big mission +station in Africa, and, being a devotee, he clutched at it without +fear of the fevers of the coast. But his young French wife was about to +become a mother, and she shrank from the perils of his life abroad, so +he took her to his father's house at Peel, and bade her farewell for +five years. + +He lived four, and during that time they exchanged some letters. His +final instructions were sent from Southampton: "If it's a boy, call him +John (after the Evangelist); and if it's a girl, call her Glory." At the +end of the first year she wrote: "I have shortened our darling, and you +never saw anything so lovely! Oh, the sweetness of her little bare arms, +and her neck, and her little round shoulders! You know she's red--I've +really got a red one--a curly red one! Such big beaming eyes, too! And +then her mouth, and her chin, and her tiny red toes! I don't know how +you can live without seeing her!" Near the end of the fourth year he +sent his last answer: "Dear Wife--This separation is bitter; but God has +willed it, and we must not forget that the probabilities are that we may +pass our lives apart." The next letter was from the English consul on +the Gaboon River, announcing the death of the devoted missionary. + +Parson Quayle's household consisted only of himself and two maiden +daughters, but that was too much for the lively young Frenchwoman. While +her husband lived, she suffocated under the old-maid _regime_; and when +he was gone she made no more fight with destiny, but took some simple +ailment, and died suddenly. + +A bare hillside frowned down on the place where Glory was born; but the +sun rose over it, and a beautiful river hugged its sides. A quarter of +a mile down the river there was a harbour, and beyond the harbour a bay, +with the ruins of an old castle standing out on an islet rock, and then +the broad sweep of the Irish Sea-the last in those latitudes to "parley +with the setting sun." The vicarage was called Glenfaba, and it was half +a mile outside the fishing town of Peel. + +Glory was a little red-headed witch from the first, with an air of +general uncanniness in everything she did and said. Until after she +was six there was no believing a word she uttered. Her conversation was +bravely indifferent to considerations of truth or falsehood, fear or +favour, reward or punishment. The parson used to say, "I'm really afraid +the child has no moral conscience--she doesn't seem to know right from +wrong." This troubled his religion, but it tickled his humour, and it +did not disturb his love. "She's a perfect pagan--God bless her innocent +heart!" + +She had more than a child's genius for make-believe. In her hunger for +child company, before the days when she found it for herself, she made +believe that various versions of herself lived all over the place, and +she would call them out to play. There was Glory in the river, under the +pool where the perches swam, and Glory down the well, and Glory up in +the hills, and they answered when she spoke to them. All her dolls were +kings and queens, and she had a gift for making up in strange and grand +disguises. It was almost as if her actress grandmother had bestowed on +her from her birth the right to life and luxury and love. + +She was a born mimic, and could hit off to a hair an eccentricity or an +affectation. The frown of Aunt Anna, who was severe, the smile of Aunt +Rachel, who was sentimental, and the yawn of Cornelius Kewley, the clerk +who was always sleepy, lived again in the roguish, rippling face. She +remembered some of her mother's French songs, and seeing a street-singer +one day, she established herself in the market-place in that character, +with grown people on their knees around her, ready to fall on her and +kiss her and call her Phonodoree, the fairy. But she did not forget to +go round for the ha'pennies either. + +At ten she was a tomboy, and marched through the town at the head of an +army of boys, playing on a comb between her teeth and flying the vicar's +handkerchief at the end of his walking-stick. In these days she climbed +trees and robbed orchards (generally her own) and imitated boys' voices, +and thought it tyranny that she might not wear trousers. But she wore +a sailor's blue stocking-cap, and it brightened existence when, for +economy's sake and for the sake of general tidiness, she was allowed to +wear a white woollen jersey. Then somebody who had a dinghy that he did +not want asked her if she would like to have a boat. Would she like to +have paradise, or pastry cakes, or anything that was heavenly! After +that she wore a sailor's jacket and a sou'wester when she was on the +sea, and tumbled about the water like a duck. + +At twelve she fell in love--with love. It was a vague passion interwoven +with dreams of grandeur. The parson being too poor to send her to the +girls' college at Douglas, and his daughters being too proud to send her +to the dame's school at Peel, she was taught at home by Aunt Rachel, +who read the poetry of Thomas Moore, knew the birthdays of all the royal +family, and was otherwise meekly romantic. From this source she gathered +much curious sentiment relating to some visionary world where young +girls were held aloft in the sunshine of luxury and love and happiness. +One day she was lying on her back on the heather of the Peel hill, with +her head on her arms, thinking of a story that Aunt Rachel had told her. +It was of a mermaid who had only to slip up out of the sea and say +to any man, "Come," and he came--he left everything and followed her. +Suddenly the cold nose of a pointer rubbed against her forehead, a +strong voice cried, "Down, sir!" and a young man of two and twenty, in +leggings and a shooting-jacket, strode between her and the cliffs. She +knew him by sight. He was John Storm, the son of Lord Storm, who had +lately come to live in the mansion house at Knockaloe, a mile up the +hill from Glenfaba. + +For three weeks thereafter she talked of nobody else, and even began to +comb her hair. She watched him in church, and told Aunt Rachel she was +sure he could see quite well in the dark, for his big eyes seemed to +have the light inside of them. After that she became ashamed, and if +anybody happened to mention his name in her hearing she flushed up to +the forehead and fled out of the room. He never once looked at her, +and after a while he went away to Canada. She set the clock on the back +landing to Canadian time, so that she might always know what he was +doing abroad, and then straightway forgot all about him. Her moods +followed each other rapidly, and were all of them overpowering and all +sincere, but it was not until a year afterward that she fell in love, in +the church vestry, with the pretty boy who stood opposite to her in the +catechism class. + +He was an English boy of her own age, and he was only staying in the +island for his holidays. The second time she saw him it was in the +grounds at Glenfaba, while his mother was returning a call indoors. She +gave him a little tap on the arm and he had to run after her--down a +bank and up a tree, where she laughed and said. "Isn't it nice?" and he +could see nothing but her big white teeth. + +His name was Francis Horatio Nelson Drake, and he was full of great +accounts of the goings-on in the outer world, where his school was, and +where lived the only "men" worth talking about. Of course he spoke of +all this familiarly and with a convincing reality which wrapped Glory in +the plumage of dreams. He was a wonderful being, altogether, and in due +time (about three days) she proposed to him. True, he did not jump at +her offer with quite proper alacrity, but when she mentioned that it +didn't matter to her in the least whether he wanted her or not, and that +plenty would be glad of the chance, he saw things differently, and +they agreed to elope. There was no particular reason for this drastic +measure, but as Glory had a boat, it seemed the right thing to do. + +She dressed herself in all her Confirmation finery, and stole out to +meet him under the bridge where her boat lay moored. He kept her half an +hour waiting, having sisters and other disadvantages, but "once aboard +her lugger," he was safe. She was breathless, and he was anxious, and +neither thought it necessary to waste any time in kissing. + +They slipped down the harbour and out into the bay, and then ran up the +sail and stood off for Scotland. Being more easy in mind when this +was done, they had time to talk of the future. Francis Horatio was for +work--he was going to make a name for himself. Glory did not see it +quite in that light. A name, yes, and lots of triumphal processions, but +she was for travel--there were such lots of things people could see if +they didn't waste so much time working. + +"What a girl you are!" he said derisively; whereupon she bit her lip, +for she didn't quite like it. But they were nearly half an hour +out before he spoiled himself utterly. He had brought his dog, a +she-terrier, and he began to call her by her kennel name and to say what +a fine little thing she was, and what a deal of money they would make +by her pups. That was too much for Glory. She couldn't think of eloping +with a person who used such low expressions. + +"What a girl you are!" he said again; but she did not mind it in the +least. With a sweep of her bare arm she had put the tiller hard aport, +intending to tack back to Peel, but the wind had freshened and the sea +was rising, and by the swift leap of the boat the boom was snapped, and +the helpless sail came napping down upon the mast. Then they tumbled +into the trough, and Glory had not strength to pull them out of it, and +the boy was of no more use than a tripper. She was in her white muslin +dress, and he was nursing his dog, and the night was closing down on +them, and they were wobbling about under a pole and a tattered rag. But +all at once a great black yacht came heaving up in the darkness, and a +grown-up voice cried, "Trust yourself to me, dear." + +It was John Storm. He had already awakened the young girl in her, and +thereafter he awakened the young woman as well. She clung to him like a +child that night, and during the four years following she seemed always +to be doing the same. He was her big brother, her master, her lord, her +sovereign. She placed him on a dizzy height above her, amid a halo +of goodness and grandeur. If he smiled on her she flushed, and if he +frowned she fretted and was afraid. Thinking to please him, she tried to +dress herself up in all the colours of the rainbow, but he reproved her +and bade her return to her jersey. She struggled to comb out her red +curls until he told her that the highest ladies in the land would give +both ears for them, and then she fondled them in her fingers and admired +them in a glass. + +He was a serious person, but she could make him laugh until he screamed. +Excepting Byron and "Sir Charles Grandison," out of the vicar's library, +the only literature she knew was the Bible, the Catechism, and the +Church Service, and she used these in common talk with appalling freedom +and audacity. The favourite butt of her mimicry was the parish clerk +saying responses when he was sleepy. + +The parson: "O Lord, open thou our lips" (no response). "Where are you, +Neilus?" + +The clerk (awakening suddenly in the desk below): "Here I am, your +reverence--and our mouth shall show forth thy praise." + +When John Storm did laugh he laughed beyond all control, and then Glory +was entirely happy. But he went away again, his father having sent him +to Australia, and all the light of her world went out. + +It was of no use bothering with the clock on the back landing, because +things were different by this time. She was sixteen, and the only tree +she climbed now was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and that +tore her terribly. John Storm was the son of a lord, and he would be +Lord Something himself some day. Glory Quayle was an orphan, and her +grandfather was a poor country clergyman. Their poverty was sweet, +but there was gall in it, nevertheless. The little forced economies in +dress, the frocks that had to be turned, the bonnets that were beauties +when they were bought, but had to be worn until the changes of fashion +made them frights, and then the mysterious parcels of left-off clothing +from goodness knows where--how the independence of the girl's spirit +rebelled against such humiliations! + +The blood of her mother was beginning to boil over, and the old-maid +_regime_, which had crushed the life out of the Frenchwoman, was +suffocating the Manx girl with its formalism. She was always forgetting +the meal times regulated by the sun, and she could sleep at any time +and keep awake until any hour. It tired her to sit demurely like a young +lady, and she had a trick of lying down on the floor. She often laughed +in order not to cry, but she would not even smile at a great lady's +silly story, and she did not care a jot about the birthdays of the royal +family. The old aunts loved her body and soul, but they often said, +"Whatever is going to happen to the girl when the grandfather is gone?" + +And the grandfather--good man--would have laid down his life to save her +a pain in her toe, but he had not a notion of the stuff she was made of. +His hobby was the study of the runic crosses with which the Isle of Man +abounds, and when she helped him with his rubbings and his casts he was +as merry as an old sand-boy. Though they occupied the same house, and +her bedroom that faced the harbour was next to his little musty study +that looked over the scullery slates, he lived always in the tenth +century and she lived somewhere in the twentieth. + +The imprisoned linnet was beating at the bars of its cage. Before she +was aware of it she wanted to escape from the sleepy old scene, and had +begun to be consumed with longing for the great world outside. On summer +evenings she would go up Peel Hill and lie on the heather, where she had +first seen John Storm, and watch the ships weighing anchor in the bay +beyond the old dead castle walls, and wish she were going out with +them--out to the sea and the great cities north and south. But existence +closed in ever-narrowing circles round her, and she could see no way +out. Two years passed, and at eighteen she was fretting that half her +life had wasted away. She watched the sun until it sank into the sea, +and then she turned back to Glenfaba and the darkened region of the sky. + +It was all the fault of their poverty, and their poverty was the fault +of the Church. She began to hate the Church; It had made her an orphan; +and when she thought of religion as a profession it seemed a selfish +thing anyway. If a man was really bent on so lofty an aim (as her own +father had been) he could not think of himself; he had to give up life +and love and the world, and then these always took advantage of him. But +people had to live in the world for all that, and what was the good of +burying yourself before you were dead? + +Somehow her undefined wishes took shape in visions of John Storm, and +one day she heard he was home again. She went out on the hill that +evening and, being seen only by the gulls, she laughed and cried and +ran. It was just like poetry, for there he was himself lying on the +edge of the cliff near the very spot where she had been used to lie. On +seeing him she went more slowly, and began to poke about in the +heather as if she had seen nothing. He came up to her with both hands +outstretched, and then suddenly she remembered that she was wearing her +old jersey, and she flushed up to the eyes and nearly choked with shame. +She got better by-and-bye and talked away like a mill-wheel, and then +fearing he might think it was from something quite different, she began +to pull the heather and to tell him why she had been blushing. He did +not laugh at all. With a strange smile he said something in his deep +voice that made her blood run cold. + +"But I'm to be a poor man myself in future, Glory. I've quarrelled with +my father. I'm going into the Church." + +It was a frightful blow to her, and the sun went down like a shot. But +it burst open the bars of her cage for all that. After John Storm had +found a curacy in London and taken Orders, he told them at Glenfaba that +among his honorary offices was to be that of chaplain to a great West +End hospital. This suggested to Glory the channel of escape. She would +go out as a hospital nurse. It was easier said than done, for hospital +nursing was fashionable, and she was three years too young. With great +labour she secured her appointment as probationer, and with greater +labour still overcame the fear and affection of her grandfather. But the +old parson was finally appeased when he heard that Glory's hospital was +the same that John Storm was to be chaplain of, and that they might go +up to London together. + + + + +III. + +"Dear Grandfather Of Me, And Everybody At Glenfaba: Here I am at last, +dears, at the end of my Pilgrim's Progress, and the evening and the +morning' are the first day. It is now eleven o'clock at night, and I +am about to put myself to bed in my own little room at the hospital of +Martha's Vineyard, Hyde Park, London, England. + +"The captain was quite right; the morning was as fresh as his flattery, +and before we got far beyond the Head most of the passengers were spread +out below like the three legs of Man. Being an old sea-doggie myself, I +didn't give it the chance to make me sick, but went downstairs and lay +quiet in my berth and deliberated great things. I didn't go up again +until we got into the Mersey, and then the passengers were on deck, +looking like sour buttermilk spilt out of the churn. + +"What a glorious sight! The ships, the docks, the towers, the town! I +couldn't breathe for excitement until we got up to the landing-stage. +Mr. Storm put me into a cab, and for the sake of experience I insisted +on paying my own way. Of course he tried to trick me, but a woman's a +woman for a' that. As we drove up to Lime Street station there befell--a +porter. He carried my big trunk on his head (like a mushroom), and when +I bought my ticket he took me to the train while Mr. Storm went for +a newspaper. Being such a stranger, he was very kind, so I flung the +responsibility on Providence and gave him sixpence. + +"There were two old ladies in the carriage beside ourselves, and the +train we travelled by was an express. It was perfectly delightful, and +for all the world like plunging into a stiff sou'wester off the rocks +at Contrary. But the first part of the journey was terrible. That tunnel +nearly made me shriek. It was a misty day too at Liverpool, and all the +way to Edge Hill they let off signals with a noise like battering-rams. +My nerves were on the rack; so taking advantage of the darkness of the +carriage, I began to sing. That calmed me, but it nearly drove the old +ladies out of their wits. _They_ screamed if I didn't; and just as I was +summoning the Almighty to attend to me a little in the middle of that +inferno, out we came as innocent as a baby. There was another of these +places just before getting into London. I suppose they are purgatories +through which you have to pass to get to these wonderful cities. Only +if I had been consulted in the making of the Litany ('from sudden death, +good Lord, deliver us') I should have made an exception for people in +tunnels. + +"You never knew what an absolute ninny Glory is! I was burning with +such impatience to see London that when we came near it I couldn't see +anything for water under the brain. Approaching a great and mighty city +for the first time must be like going into the presence of majesty. Only +Heaven save me from such palpitation the day I become songstress to the +Queen! + +"Mercy! what a roar and boom--a deep murmur as of ten hundred million +million moths humming away on a still evening in autumn! On a nearer +view it is more like a Tower-of-Babel concern, with its click and +clatter. The explosion of voices, the confused clamour, the dreadful +disorder--cars, wagons, omnibuses--it makes you feel religious and +rather cold down the back. What a needle in a haystack a poor girl must +be here if there is nobody above to keep track of her! + +"Tell Aunt Rachel they are wearing another kind of bonnet in +London--more pokey in front--and say if I see the Queen I'll be sure to +tell her all about it. + +"We didn't get to the hospital until nine, so I've not seen much of it +yet. The housekeeper gave me tea and told me I might go over the house, +as I wouldn't be wanted to begin duty before morning. So for an hour I +went from ward to ward like a female Wandering Jew. Such silence! I'm +afraid this hospital nursing is going to be a lockjaw business. And now +I'm going to bed--well, not homesick, you know, but just 'longing a lil +bit for all.' To-morrow morning I'll waken up to new sounds and sights, +and when I draw my blind I'll see the streets where the cars are forever +running and rattling. Then I'll think of Glenfaba and the birds singing +and rejoicing. + +"Dispense my love throughout the island. Say that I love everybody just +the same now I'm a London lady as when I was a mere provincial girl, and +that when I'm a wonderful woman, and have brought the eyes of England +upon me, I'll come back and make amends. I can hear what grandfather is +saying: 'Gough bless me, what a girl, though!' Glory. + +"P. S.--I've not said much about Mr. Storm. He left me at the door of +the hospital and went on to the house of his vicar, for that is where +he is to lodge, you know. On the way up I expended much beautiful poetry +upon him on the subject of love. The old girlies having dozed off, I +chanced to ask him if he liked to talk of it, but he said no, it was a +profanation. Love was too sacred, it was a kind of religion. Sometimes +it came unawares, sometimes it smouldered like fire under ashes, +sometimes it was a good angel, sometimes a devil, making you do things +and say things, and laying your life waste like winter. But I told +him it was just charming, and as for religion, there was nothing under +heaven like the devotion of a handsome and clever man to a handsome and +clever woman, when he gave up all the world for her, and his body and +his soul and everything that was his. I think he saw there was something +in that, for though he said nothing, there came a wonderful light +into his splendid eyes, and I thought if he wasn't going to be a +clergyman--but no matter. So long, dear!" + + + + +IV. + +John Storm was the son of Lord Storm (a peer in his own right), and +nephew of the Prime Minister of England, the Earl of Erin. Two years +before John's birth the brothers had quarrelled about a woman. It was +John's mother. She had engaged herself to the younger brother, and +afterward fallen in love with the elder one. The voice of conscience +told her that it was her duty to carry out her engagement, and she did +so. Then the voice of conscience took sides with the laws of life and +told the lovers that they must renounce each other, and they both did +that as well. But the poor girl found it easier to renounce life than +love, and after flying to religion as an escape from the conflict +between conjugal duty and elemental passion she gave birth to her child +and died. She was the daughter of a rich banker, who had come from the +soil, and she had been brought up to consider marriage distinct from +love. Exchanging wealth for title, she found death in the deal. + +Her husband had never stood in any natural affinity to her. On his +part, their marriage had been a loveless and selfish union, based on the +desire for an heir that he might found a family and cancel the unfair +position of a younger son. But the sin he committed against the +fundamental law, that marriage shall be founded only in love, brought +its swift revenge. + +On hearing that the wife was dead, the elder brother came to attend the +funeral. The night before that event the husband felt unhappy about the +part he had played. He had given no occasion for scandal, but he had +never disguised, even from the mother of his son, the motives of his +marriage. The poor girl was gone; he had only trained himself for the +pursuit of her dowry, and the voice of love had been silent. Troubled by +such thoughts, he walked about his room all night long, and somewhere +in the first dead gray of dawn he went down to the death chamber that he +might look upon her face again. Opening the door, he heard the sound of +half-stifled sobs. Some one was leaning over the white face and weeping +like a man with a broken heart. It was his brother. + +From that time forward Lord Storm considered himself the injured person. +He had never cared for his brother, and now he designed to wipe him out. +His son would do it. He was the heir to the earldom, for the earl had +never married. But a posthumous revenge was too trivial. The earl had +gone into politics and was making a name. Lord Storm had missed his own +opportunities, though he had got himself called to the Upper House, but +his son should be brought up to eclipse everything. + +To this end the father devoted his life to the boy's training. All +conventional education was wrong in principle. Schools and colleges and +the study of the classics were drivelling folly, with next to nothing to +do with life. Travel was the great teacher. "You shall travel as far +as the sun," he said. So the boy was taken through Europe and Asia +and learned something of many languages. He became his father's daily +companion, and nowhere the father went was it thought wrong for the boy +to go also. Conventional morality was considered mawkish. The chief +aim of home training was to bring children up in total ignorance, if +possible, of the most important facts and functions of life. But it was +_not_ possible, and hence suppression, dissimulation, lying, and, under +the ban of secret sin, one half the world's woe. So the boy was taken to +the temples of Greece and India, and even to Western casinos and dancing +gardens. Before he was twenty he had seen something of nearly everything +the world has in it. + +When the time came to think of his career England was in straits about +her colonial empire. The vast lands over sea wanted to take care of +themselves. It was the moment of the "British North America Act," and +that gave the father his cue for action. While his brother the earl was +fiddling the country to the tune of limited self-government for Crown +colonies, the father of John Storm conceived the daring idea of breaking +up the entire empire, including the United Kingdom, into self-governing +states. They were to be the "United States of Great Britain." + +This was to be John Storm's policy, and to work it out Lord Storm set up +a house in the Isle of Man where he might always look upon his plan in +miniature. There he established a bureau for the gathering of the data +that his son would need to use hereafter. Newspapers came to him in his +lonely retreat from all quarters of the globe, and he cut out everything +relating to his subject. His library was a dusty room lined all around +with brown-paper pockets, which were labelled with the names of colonies +and counties. + +"It will take us two generations to do it, my boy, but we'll alter the +history of England." + +At fifty he was iron-gray, and had a head like a big owl. + +Meanwhile the object of these grand preparations, the offspring of that +loveless union, had a personality all his own. It seemed as if he had +been built for a big man every way, and Nature had been arrested in the +making of him. When people looked at his head they felt he ought to have +been a giant, but he was far from rivalling the children of Anak. When +they listened to his conversation they thought he might turn out to be a +creature of genius, but perhaps he was only a man of powerful moods. The +best strength of body and mind seemed to have gone into his heart. It +may be that the sorrowful unrest of his mother and her smothered passion +had left their red stream in John Storm's soul. + +When he was a boy he would cry at a beautiful view in Nature, at a +tale of heroism, or at any sentimental ditty sung excruciatingly in the +streets. Seeing a bird's nest that had been robbed of its eggs he burst +into tears; but when he came upon the bleeding, broken shells in the +path, the tears turned to fierce wrath and mad rage, and he snatched +up a gun out of his father's room and went out to take the life of the +offender. + +On coming to the Isle of Man he noticed as often as he went to church +that a little curly red-headed girl kept staring at him from the vicar's +pew. He was a man of two-and-twenty, but the child's eyes tormented him. +At any time of day or night he could call up a vision of their +gleaming brightness. Then his father sent him to Canada to watch the +establishment of the Dominion, and when he came back he brought a +Canadian canoe and an American yacht, and certain democratic opinions. + +The first time he sailed the yacht in Manx waters he sighted a disabled +boat and rescued two children. One of them was the girl of the vicar's +pew, grown taller and more winsome. She nestled up to him when he lifted +her into the yacht, and, without knowing why, he kept his arms about +her. + +After that he called his yacht the _Gloria_, in imitation of her +name, and sometimes took the girl out on the sea. Notwithstanding the +difference of the years between them, they had their happy boy and girl +days together. In her white jersey and stocking-cap she looked every +inch a sailor. When the wind freshened and the boat plunged she stood to +the tiller like a man, and he thought her the sweetest sight ever seen +in a cockpit. And when the wind saddened and the boom came aboard she +was the cheeriest companion in a calm. She sang, and so did he, and +their voices went well together. Her favourite song was "Come, Lasses +and Lads"; his was "John Peel"; and they would sing them off and on for +an hour at a spell. Thus on a summer evening, when the bay was lying +like a tired monster asleep, and every plash of an oar was echoing on +the hills, the people on the land would hear them coming around the +castle rock with their-- + + "D'ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay? + D'ye ken John Peel at the break of day? + D'ye ken John P-e-e-l...." + +For two years he amused himself with the child, and then realized that +she was a child no longer. The pity of the girl's position took hold +of him. This sunny soul with her sportfulness, her grace of many gifts, +with her eyes that flashed and gleamed like lightning, with her voice +that was like the warble of a bird, this golden-headed gipsy, this +witch, this fairy--what was the life that lay before her? Pity gave +place to a different feeling, and then he was aware of a pain in the +breast when he thought of the girl. As often as her eyes lasted upon +him he felt his face tingle and burn. He began to be conscious of an +imprisoned side to his nature, the passionate side, and he drew back +afraid. This wild power, this tempest, this raging fire within, God +only knew whither it was to lead him. And then he had given a hostage to +fortune, or his father had for him. + +From his father's gloomy house at Knockaloe, where the winds were ever +droning in the trees, he looked over to Glenfaba, and it seemed to him +like a little white cloud lit up by the sunshine. His heart was forever +calling to the sunny spot over there, "Glory! Glory!" The pity of it was +that the girl seemed to understand everything, and to know quite well +what kept them apart. She flushed with shame that he should see her +wearing the same clothes constantly, and with head aside and furtive +glances she talked of the days when he would leave the island for good, +and London would take him and make much of him, and he would forget +all about his friends in that dead old place. Such talk cut him to the +quick. Though he had seen a deal of the world, he did not know much +about the conversation of women. + +The struggle was brief. He began to wear plainer clothes--an Oxford +tweed coat and a flannel shirt--to talk about fame as an empty word, and +to tell his father that he was superior to all stupid conventions. + +His father sent him to Australia. Then the grown-up trouble of his life +began. + +He passed through the world now with eyes open for the privations of the +poor, and he saw everything in a new light. Unconsciously he was doing +in another way what his mother had done when she flew to religion +from stifled passion. He had been brought up as a sort of imperialist +democrat, but now he bettered his father's instructions. England did not +want more Parliaments, she wanted more apostles. It was not by giving +votes to a nation, but by strengthening the soul of a nation, that it +became great and free. The man for the hour was not he who revolved +schemes for making himself famous, but he who was ready to renounce +everything, and if he was great was willing to become little, and if he +was rich to become poor. There was room for an apostle--for a thousand +apostles--who, being dead to the world's glory, its money or its calls, +were prepared to do all in Christ's spirit, and to believe that in the +renunciation, which was the "secret" of Jesus, lay the only salvation +remaining for the world. + +He tramped through the slums of Melbourne and Sydney, and afterward +through the slums of London, returned to the Isle of Man a Christian +Socialist, and announced to his father his intention of going into the +Church. + +The old man did not fume and fly out. He staggered back to his room like +a bullock to its pen after it has had its death-blow in the shambles. +In the midst of his dusty old bureau, with its labelled packets full of +cuttings, he realized that twenty years of his life had been wasted. A +son was a separate being, of a different growth, and a father was only +the seed at the root that must decay and die. + +Then he made some show of resistance. + +"But with your talents, boy, surely you are not going to throw away your +chances of a great name?" + +"I care nothing for a great name, father," said John. "I shall win a +greater victory than any that Parliament can give me." + +"But, my boy, my dear boy! one must either be the camel or the +camel-driver; and then society----" + +"I hate society, and society would hate me. It is only for the sake of +the few godly men that God spares it as he spared Sodom for Lot's sake." + +Having braved this ordeal and nearly broken the heart of his old father, +he turned for his reward to Glory. He found her at her usual haunt on +the headlands. + +"I was blushing when you came up, wasn't I?" she said. "Shall I tell you +why?" + +"Why?" + +"It was this," she said, with a sweep of her hand across her bosom. + +He looked puzzled. + +"Don't you understand? This old rag--it's the one I was wearing before +you went away." + +He wanted to tell her how well she looked in it--better than ever now +that her bosom showed under its seamless curves, and her figure had +grown so lithe and shapely. But though she was laughing he saw she was +ashamed of her poverty, and he thought to comfort her. + +"I'm to be a poor man myself in future, Glory. I've quarrelled with my +father. I'm going to take Orders." + +Her face fell. "Oh, I didn't think anybody would be poor who could help +it. To be a clergyman is all right for a poor man, perhaps, but I hate +to be poor; it's horrid." + +Then darkness fell upon his eyes and he felt sad and sick. Glory had +disappointed him. She was vain, she was worldly, she was incapable of +the higher things; she would never know what a sacrifice he had made +for her; she would think nothing of him now; but he would go on all the +same, the more earnestly because the devil had drawn a bow at him and +the arrow had gone in up to the feathers. + +"With God's help I shall nail my colours to the mast," he said. + +Thus he made up his mind to follow the unrolling of the scroll. He had +the strength called character. The Church had been his beacon before, +but now it was to be his refuge. + +He found no difficulty in making the necessary preparations. For a year +he read the Anglican divines--Jeremy Taylor, Hooker, Butler, Waterland, +Pearson, and Pusey--and when the time came for his ordination his uncle, +the Earl of Erin, who was now Prime Minister, obtained him a title to +a curacy under the popular and influential Canon Wealthy of All Saints, +Belgravia. The Bishop of London gave letters dimissory to the Bishop of +Sodor and Man, by whom he was examined and ordained. + +On the morning of his departure for London his father, with whom there +had in the meantime been trying scenes, left him this final word of +farewell: "As I understand that you intend to lead the life of poverty, +I presume that you do not need your mother's dowry, and I shall hold +myself at liberty to dispose of it elsewhere, _unless_ you require it +for the use of the young lady who is, I hear, to go up with you." + + + + +V. + +"I will be a poor man among poor men," said John Storm to himself as he +drove to his vicar's house in Eaton Place, but he awoke next morning +in a bedroom that did not answer to his ideas of a life of poverty. A +footman came with hot water and tea, and also a message from the canon +overnight saying he would be pleased to see Mr. Storm in the study after +breakfast. + +The study was a sumptuous apartment immediately beneath, with soft +carpets on which his feet made no noise, and tiger-skins over the +backs of chairs. As he entered it a bright-faced man in middle life, +clean-shaven, wearing a gold-mounted _pince-nez_, and bubbling over with +politeness, stepped forward to receive him. + +"Welcome to London, my dear Mr. Storm. When the letter came from +the Prime Minister I said to my daughter Felicity--you will see her +presently--I trust you will be good friends--I said, 'It is a privilege, +my child, to meet any wish of the dear Earl of Erin, and I am proud +to be in at the beginning of a career that is sure to be brilliant and +distinguished.'" + +John Storm made some murmur of dissent. + +"I trust you found your rooms to your taste, Mr. Storm?" + +John Storm had found them more than he expected or desired. + +"Ah, well, humble but comfortable, and in any case please regard them as +your own, to receive whom you please therein, and to dispense your own +hospitalities. This house is large enough. We shall not meet oftener +than we wish, so we can not quarrel. The only meal we need take together +is dinner. Don't expect too much. Simple but wholesome--that's all we +can promise you in a clergyman's family." + +John Storm answered that food was an indifferent matter to him, and that +half an hour after dinner he never knew what he had eaten. The canon +laughed and began again. + +"I thought it best you should come to us, being a stranger in London, +though I confess I have never had but one of my clergy residing with +me before. He is here now. You'll see him by-and-bye. His name is +Golightly, a simple, worthy young man, from one of the smaller colleges, +I believe. Useful, you know, devoted to me and to my daughter, but of +course a different sort of person altogether, and--er----" + +It was a peculiarity of the canon that whatever he began to talk about, +he always ended by talking of himself. + +"I sent for you this morning, not having had the usual opportunity of +meeting before, that I might tell you something of our organization and +your own duties.... You see in me the head of a staff of six clergy." + +John Storm was not surprised; a great preacher must be followed by +flocks of the poor; it was natural that they should wish him to help +them and to minister to them. + +"We have no poor in my parish, Mr. Storm." + +"No poor, sir?" + +"On the contrary, her Majesty herself is one of my parishioners." + +"That must be a great grief to you, sir?" + +"Oh, the poor! Ah, yes, certainly. Of course, we have our associated +charities, such as the Maternity Home, founded in Soho by Mrs. +Callender--a worthy old Scotswoman--odd and whimsical, perhaps, but +rich, very rich and influential. My clergy, however, have enough to do +with the various departments of our church work. For instance, there is +the Ladies' Society, the Fancy Needlework classes, and the Decorative +Flower Guild, not to speak of the daughter churches and the ministration +in hospitals, for I always hold--er----" + +John Storm's mind had been wandering, but at the mention of the hospital +he looked up eagerly. + +"Ah, yes, the hospital. Your own duties will be chiefly concerned with +our excellent hospital of Martha's Vineyard. You will have the spiritual +care of all patients and nurses--yes, nurses also--within its precincts, +precisely as if it were your parish. 'This is my parish,' you will say +to yourself, and treat it accordingly. Not yet being in full Orders, +you will be unable to administer the sacrament, but you will have one +service daily in each of the wards, taking the wards in rotation. There +are seven wards, so there will be one service in each ward once a week, +for I always say that fewer----" + +"Is it enough?" said John. "I shall be only too pleased----" + +"Ah, well, we'll see. On Wednesday evenings we have service in the +church, and nurses not on night duty are expected to attend. Some fifty +of them altogether, and rather a curious compound. Ladies among them? +Yes, the daughters of gentlemen, but also persons of all classes. You +will hold yourself responsible for their spiritual welfare. Let me +see--this is Friday--say you take the sermon on Wednesday next, if that +is agreeable. As to views, my people are of all shades of colour, so I +ask my clergy to take strictly _via media_ views--strictly _via media_. +Do you intone?" + +John Storm had been wandering again, but he recovered himself in time to +say he did not. + +"That is a pity; our choir is so excellent--two violins, a viola, +clarinet, 'cello, double bass, the trumpets and drums, and of course the +organ. Our organist himself----" + +At that moment a young clergyman came into the room, making apologies +and bowing subserviently. + +"Ah, this is Mr. Golightly--the-h'm--Hon. and Rev. Mr. Storm.--You will +take charge of Mr. Storm and bring him to church on Sunday morning." + +Mr. Golightly delivered his message. It was about the organist. His +wife had called to say that he had been removed to the hospital for +some slight operation, and there was some difficulty about the singer of +Sunday morning's anthem. + +"Most irritating! Bring her up." The curate went out backward. "I shall +ask you to excuse me, Mr. Storm. My daughter, Felicity--ah, here she +is." + +A tall young woman in spectacles entered. + +"This is our new housemate, Mr. Storm, nephew of dear Lord Erin. +Felicity, my child, I wish you to drive Mr. Storm round and introduce +him to our people, for I always say a young clergyman in London----" + +John Storm mumbled something about the Prime Minister. + +"Going to pay your respects to your uncle now? Very good and proper. +Next week will do for the visits. Yes, yes. Come in, Mrs. Koenig." + +A meek, middle-aged woman had appeared at the door. She was dark, and +had deep luminous eyes with the moist look to be seen in the eyes of a +tired old terrier. + +"This is the wife of our organist and choir master. Good day! Kindest +greetings to the Prime Minister.... And, by the way, let us say Monday +for the beginning of your chaplaincy at the hospital." + +The Earl of Erin, as First Lord of the Treasury, occupied the narrow, +unassuming brick house which is the Treasury residence in Downing +Street. Although the official head of the Church, with power to appoint +its bishops and highest dignitaries, he was secretly a sceptic, if not +openly a derider of spiritual things. For this attitude his early love +passage had been chiefly accountable. That strife between duty and +passion which had driven the woman he loved to religion had driven him +in the other direction and left a broad swath of desolation in his soul. +He had seen little of his brother since that evil time, and nothing +whatever of his brother's son. Then John had written, "I am soon to +be bound by the awful tie of the priesthood," and he had thought it +necessary to do something for him. When John was announced he felt a +thrill of tender feeling to which he had long been a stranger. He got +up and waited. The young man with his mother's face and the eyes of an +enthusiast was coming down the long corridor. + +John Storm saw his uncle first in the spacious old cabinet room which +looks out on the little garden and the Park. He was a gaunt old man +with, meagre mustache and hair, and a face like a death's head. He +held out his hand and smiled. His hand was cold and his smile was half +tearful and half saturnine. + +"You are like your mother, John." + +John never knew her. + +"When I saw her last you were a child in arms and she was younger than +you are now." + +"Where was that, uncle?" + +"In her coffin, poor girl." + +The Prime Minister shuffled some papers and said, "Well, is there +anything you wish for?" + +"Nothing. I've come to thank you for what you've done already." + +The Prime Minister made a deprecatory gesture. + +"I almost wish you had chosen another career, John. Still, the Church +has its opportunities and its chances, and if I can ever----" + +"I am satisfied; more than satisfied," said John. "My choice is based, I +trust, on a firm vocation. God's work is great, sir; the greatest of all +in London. That is why I am so grateful to you. Think of it, sir----" + +John was leaning forward in his chair with one arm stretched out. + +"Of the five millions of people in this vast city, not one million cross +the threshold of church or chapel. And then remember their condition. A +hundred thousand live in constant want, slowly starving to death, every +day and hour, and a quarter of the old people of London die as paupers. +Isn't it a wonderful scene, sir? If a man is willing to be spiritually +dead to the world--to leave family and friends--to go forth never to +return, as one might go to his execution----" + +The Prime Minister listened to the ardent young man who was talking to +him there with his mother's voice, and then said-- + +"I'm sorry." + +"Sorry?" + +"I'm afraid I've made a mistake." + +John Storm looked puzzled. + +"I've sent you to the wrong place, John. When you wrote, I naturally +supposed you were thinking of the Church as a career, and I tried to put +you in the way of it. Do you know anything of your vicar?" + +John knew that fame spoke of him as a great preacher--one of the few +who had passed through their Pentecost and come out with the gift of +tongues. + +"Precisely!" The Prime Minister gave a bitter little laugh. "But let me +tell you something about him. He was a poor curate in the country where +the lord of the manor chanced to be a lady. He married the lady of the +manor. His wife died and he bought a London parish. Then, by the help +of an old actor who gave lessons in elocution, he--well, he set up his +Pentecost. Since then he has been a fashionable preacher and frequents +the houses of great people. Ten years ago he was made an honorary +canon, and, when he hears of an appointment to a bishopric, he says in a +tearful voice, 'I don't know what the dear Queen has got against me.'" + +"Well, sir?" + +"Well, if I had known you felt like that I should scarcely have sent you +to Canon Wealthy. And yet I hardly know where else a young man of your +opinions ... I'm afraid the Church has a good many Canon Wealthys in +it." + +"God forbid!" said John. "No doubt there are Pharisees in these days +just as in the days of Christ, but the Church is still the pillar of the +State----" + +"The caterpillar, you mean, boy--eating out its heart and its vitals." + +The Prime Minister gave another bitter little laugh, then looked quickly +into John's flushed face and said: + +"But it's poor work for an old man to sap away a young man's +enthusiasm." + +"You can't do that, uncle," said John, "because God is the absolute +ruler of all things, good and bad, and he governs both to his glory. Let +him only give us strength to endure our exile----" + +"I don't like to hear you talk like that, John. I think I know what the +upshot will be. There's a gang of men about--Anglican Catholics they +call themselves; well, remember the German proverb, 'Every priestling +hides a popeling.' ... And if you _are_ to be in the Church, John, is +there any reason why you shouldn't marry and be reasonable? To tell you +the truth, I'm rather a lonely old man, whatever I may seem, and if your +mother's son would give me a sort of a grandson--eh?" + +The Prime Minister was pretending to laugh again. + +"Come, John, come, it seems a pity--a fine young fellow like you, too. +Are there no sweet young girls about in these days? Or are they all dead +and gone since I was a young fellow? I could give you a wide choice, you +know, for when a man stands high enough ... in fact, you would find +me reasonable--you might have anybody you liked, rich or poor, dark or +fair.----" + +John Storm had been sitting in torment, and now he rose to go. "No, +uncle," he said, in a thicker voice, "I shall never marry. A clergyman +who is married is bound to life by too many ties. Even his affection for +his wife is a tie. And then there is her affection for the world, its +riches, its praise, its honours.----" + +"Well, well, we'll say no more. After all, it's better than running +wild, and that's what most young men seem to be doing nowadays. But +then your long education abroad--and your poor father left to look after +himself! Good-day to you. Come and see me now and then. How like your +mother you are sometimes! Good-day!" + +When the door of the cabinet room closed on John Storm the Prime +Minister thought, "Poor boy, he's laying up for himself a big heartache +one of these fine days!" + +And John Storm, going down the street with uncertain step, said to +himself: "How strange he should talk like that! But, thank God, he +didn't produce a flicker in me. I died to all that a year ago." + +Then he lifted his head and his footstep lightened, and deep in some +secret place the thought came proudly, "She shall see that to renounce +the world is to possess the world--that a man may be poor and have all +the kingdom of the world at his feet." + +He went back by the Underground from Westminster Bridge. It was midday, +and the train was crowded. His spirits were high and he talked with +every one near him. Getting out at Victoria, he came upon his vicar on +the platform and saluted him rather demonstratively. The canon responded +with some restraint and then stepped into a first-class carriage. + +On turning into Eaton Place he came upon a group of people standing +around something that lay on the pavement. It was an old woman, a +tattered, bedraggled creature with a pinched and pallid face. "Is it +an accident?" a gentleman was saying, and somebody answered, "No, +sir, she's gorn off in a faint." "Why doesn't some one take her to the +hospital?" said the gentleman, and then, like the Levite, he passed +by on the other side. The butcher's cart drew up at the curb, and the +butcher jumped down, saying, "There never _is_ no p'lice about when +they're wanted for anythink." + +"But they aren't wanted here, friend," said somebody from the outside. +It was John Storm, and he was pushing his way through the crowd. + +"Will somebody knock at that door, please?" He lifted the old thing in +his arms and carried her toward the canon's house. The footman looked +aghast. "Let me know when the canon returns," said John, and then +marched up the carpeted stairs to his rooms. + +An hour afterward the old woman opened her eyes and said: "Anythink gorn +wrong? Wot's up? Is it the work'us?" + +It was a clear case of destitution and collapse. John Storm began to +feed the old creature with the chicken and milk sent up for his own +lunch. + +Some time in the afternoon he heard the voice and step of the vicar in +the room below. Going down to the study, he was about to knock; but the +voice continued in varying tones, now loud, now low. During a pause he +rapped, and then, with noticeable irritation, the voice cried, "Come +in!" + +He found the vicar, with a manuscript in hand, rehearsing his Sunday's +sermon. It was a shock to John, but it helped him to understand what his +uncle had said about the canon's Pentecost. + +The canon's brow was clouded. "Ah, is it you? I was sorry to see you +getting out of a third-class carriage to-day, Mr. Storm." + +John answered that it was the poor man's class, and therefore, he +thought, it ought to be his. + +"You do yourself an injustice, Mr. Storm. Besides, to tell you the +truth, I don't choose that my assistant clergy----" + +John looked ashamed. "If that is your view, sir," he said, "I don't know +what you'll say to what I've been doing since." + +"I've heard of it, and I confess I'm not pleased. Whatever your old +_protegee_ may be, my house is no place for her. I help to maintain +charitable institutions for such cases, and I will ask you to lose no +time in having her removed to the hospital." + +John was crushed. "Very well, sir, if that is your wish; only I thought +you said my rooms----Besides, the poor old thing fills her place as well +as Queen Victoria, and perhaps the angels are watching the one as much +as the other." + +Next day John Storm called to see the old woman at Martha's Vineyard, +and he saw the matron, the house doctor, and a staff nurse as well. +His adventure was known to everybody at the hospital. Once or twice he +caught looks of amused compassion, and heard a twitter of laughter. As +he stood by the bed, the old woman muttered: "I knoo ez it wuzn't the +work'us, my dear. He spoke to me friendly and squeedged my 'and." + +Coming through the wards he had looked for a face he could not see; but +just then he was aware of a young woman, in the print dress and white +apron of a nurse, standing in silence at the bed-head. It was Glory, and +her eyes were wet with tears. + +"You mustn't do such things," she said hoarsely; "I can't bear it," and +she stamped her foot. "Don't you see that these people----" + +But she turned about and was gone before he could reply. Glory was +ashamed for him. Perhaps she had been taking his part! He felt the blood +mounting to his face, and his cheeks tingling. Glory! His eyes were +swimming, and he dared not look after her; but he could have found it in +his heart to kiss the old bag of bones on the bed. + +That night he wrote to the parson in the island: "Glory has left off +her home garments, and now looks more beautiful than ever in the white +simplicity of the costume of the nurse. Her vocation is a great one. +God grant she may hold on to it!" Then something about the fallacy +of ceremonial religion and the impossibility of pleasing God by such +religious formalities. "But if we have publicans and Pharisees now, even +as they existed in Christ's time, all the more service is waiting for +that man for whom life has no ambitions, death no terrors. I thank God I +am in a great measure dead to these things.... I will fulfil my promise +to look after Glory. My constant prayer is against Agag. It is so easy +for him to get a foothold in a girl's heart here. This great new world, +with its fashions, its gaieties, its beauty, and its brightness--no +wonder if a beautiful young girl, tingling with life and ruddy health, +should burn with impatience to fling herself into the arms of it. Agag +is in London, and as insinuating as ever." + + + + +VI. + +On Sunday morning his fellow-curate came to his room to accompany him +to church. The Rev. Joshua Golightly was a little man with a hook nose, +small keen eyes, scanty hair, and a voice that was something between +a whisper and a whistle. He bowed subserviently, and made meek little +speeches. + +"I do trust you will not be disappointed with our church and service. We +do all we can to make them worthy of our people." + +As they walked down the streets he talked first of the church +officers--there were honorary wardens, gentlemen sidesmen, and lady +superintendents of floral decorations; then of the choir, which +consisted of organist and choir master, professional members, voluntary +members, and choir secretary. The anthem was sung by a professional +singer, generally the tenor from the opera; the canon could always +get such people--he was a great favourite with artistes and "the +profession." Of course, the singers were paid, and the difficulty this +week had been due to the exorbitant fee demanded by the Italian barytone +from Covent Garden. + +Disappointment and disenchantment were falling on John Storm at every +step. + +All Saints' was a plain, dark structure with a courtyard in front. +The bells were ringing, and a line of carriages was drawing up at the +portico as at the entrance to a theatre, discharging their occupants +and passing on. Vergers in yellow and buff, with knee-breeches, silk +stockings, and powdered wigs, were receiving the congregation at the +doors. + +"Let us go in by the west door--I should like you to see the screen to +advantage," said Mr. Golightly. + +The inside of the church was gorgeous. As far up as the clerestory +every wall was frescoed, and every timber of the roof was gilded. At the +chancel end there was a wrought-iron screen of delicate tracery, and the +altar was laden with gold candlesticks. Above the altar and at either +side of it were stained glass windows. The morning sun was shining +through them and filling the chancel with warm splashes of light. Ladies +in beautiful spring dresses were following the vergers up the aisles. + +"This way," the curate whispered, and John Storm entered the sacristy by +a low doorway like the auditorium entrance to a stage. There he met +some six others of his fellow-curates. They nodded to him and went +on arranging their surplices. The choir were gathering in their own +quarters, where the violins were tuning up and the choir boys were +laughing and behaving after their kind. + +The bell slackened and stopped, and the organ began to play. When all +were ready they stepped into a long corridor and formed in line with +their faces to the chancel and their backs to a little door, at which a +verger in blue stood guard. + +"The canon's room," whispered Mr. Golightly. + +A prayer was said by some one, the choir sang the response, and then +they walked in procession to their places in the chancel, the choir +boys first, the canon last. Seen through the tracery of the screen, the +congregation appeared to fill every sitting in the church with a blaze +of light and colour, and the atmosphere was laden with delicate perfume. + +The service was choral. An anthem was sung at the close of the sermon, +the collection being made during the hymn before it. The professional +singer looked like any other chorister in his surplice, save for his +swarthy face and heavy mustache. + +The canon preached. He wore his doctor's hood of scarlet cloth. His +sermon was eloquent and literary, and it was delivered with elocutionary +power. There were many references to great writers, painters, and +musicians, including a panegyric on Michael Angelo and a quotation +from Browning. The sermon concluded with a passage from Dante in the +original. + +John Storm was dazed and perplexed. When the service was over he came +out alone, returning down the nave, which was now empty but still +fragrant. Among other notices pasted on a board in the porch he found +this one: "The vicar and wardens, having learned with regret that purses +have been lost on leaving the church, recommend the congregation to +bring only such money as they may need for the offertory." + +Had he been to the house of God? No matter! God ruled the world in +righteousness and wrought out everything to his own glory. + +Next morning he began duty as chaplain at the hospital, and when he had +finished the reading of his first prayers he could see that he had lived +down some of the derision due to his adventure with the old woman. That +poor old bag of bones was sinking and could not last much longer. + +Going out by way of the dispensary, he saw Glory again, and heard that +she had been at church the day before. It was lovely. All those hundreds +of nice-looking people in gay colours, with the rustle of silk and the +hum of voices--it was beautiful--it reminded her of the sea in summer. +He asked her what she thought of the sermon, and she said, "Well, +it wasn't religion exactly--not what I call religion--not a 'reg'lar +rousing rampage for sowls,' as old Chalse used to say, but----" + +"Glory," he said impetuously, "I'm to preach my first sermon on +Wednesday." + +He did not ask her to come, but inquired if she was on night duty. She +answered No, and then somebody called her. + +"She'll be there," he told himself, and he walked home with uplifted +head. He would look for her; he would catch her eye; she would see that +it was not necessary to be ashamed of him again. + +And then close behind, very close, came recollections of her appearance. +He could reconstruct her new dress by memory--her face was easy to +remember. "After all, beauty is a kind of virtue," he thought. "And all +natural friendship is good for the progress of souls if it is built upon +the love of God." + +He wrote nothing and learned nothing by heart. The only preparation he +made for his sermon was thought and prayer. When the Wednesday night +came he was very nervous. But the church was nearly empty, and the +vergers, who were in their everyday clothes, had only partially lit +up the nave. The canon had done him the honour to be present; his +fellow-curates read the prayers and lessons. + +As he ascended the pulpit he thought he saw the white bonnets of a group +of nurses in the dim distance of one of the aisles, but he did not see +Glory and he dared not look again. His text was, "My kingdom is not +of this world." He gave it out twice, and his voice sounded strange to +himself--so weak and thin in that hollow place. + +When he began to speak his sentences seemed awkward and difficult. The +things of the world were temporal and the nations of the world were out +of harmony with God. Men were biting and devouring each other who ought +to live as brothers. "Cheat or be cheated" was the rule of life, as +the modern philosopher had said. On the one side were the many dying of +want, on the other side the few occupied with poetry and art, writing +addresses to flowers, and peddling--in the portraiture of the moods +and methods of love, living lives of frivolity, taking pleasure in mere +riches and the lusts of the eye, while thousands of wretched mortals +were grovelling in the mire.... Then where was our refuge? ... +The Church was the refuge of God's people ... from Christ came the +answer--the answer--the---- + +His words would not flow. He fought hard, threw out another passage, +then stammered, began again, stammered again, felt hot, made a fresh +effort, flagged, rattled out some words he had fixed in his mind, +perspired, lost his voice, and finally stopped in the middle of a +sentence and said, "And now to God the Father--" and came down from the +pulpit. + +His sermon had been a failure, and he knew it. On going back to the +sacristy the Reverend Golightly congratulated him with a simper and a +vapid smile. The canon was more honest but more vain. He mingled lofty +advice with gentle reproof. Mr. Storm had taken his task too lightly. +Better if he had written his sermon and read it. Whatever might +serve for the country, congregations in London--at All Saints' +especially--expected culture and preparation. + +"For my own part I confess--nay, I am proud to declare--my watchword is +Rehearse! Rehearse! Rehearse!" + +As for the doctrine of the sermon it was not above question. It was +necessary to live in the _nineteenth_ century, and it was impossible to +apply to its conditions the rules of life that had been proper to the +first. + +John Storm made no resistance. He slept badly that night. As often as he +dozed off he dreamed that he was trying to do something he could not do, +and when he awoke he became hot as with the memory of a disgrace. And +always at the back of his shame was the thought of Glory. + +Next morning he was alone in his room and fumbling the toast on his +breakfast table, when the door opened and a cheery voice cried, "May I +no come in, laddie?" + +An elderly lady entered. She was tall and slight and had a long, fine +face, with shrewd but kindly eyes, and nearly snow-white hair. + +"I'm Jane Callender," she said, "and I couldna wait for an introduction +or sic bother, but must just come and see ye. Ay, laddie, it was a +bonnie sermon yon! I havena heard the match of it since I came frae +Edinburgh and sat under the good Doctor Guthrie. Now _he_ was nae +slavish reader neither--none of your paper preachers was Thomas. My +word, but you gave us the right doctrine, too! They're given over to +the worship of Beelzebub--half these church-going folks! Oh, these +Pharisees! They are enough to sour milk. I wish they had one neck and +somebody would just squeeze it. Now, where did ye hear that, Jane? But +no matter! And the lasses are worse than the men, with their fashions +and foldololls. They love Jesus, but they like him best in heaven, not +bothering down in Belgravia. But I must be going my ways. I left James +on the street, and there's nae living with the man if you keep his +horses waiting. Good-morning til ye! But eh, laddie, I'm afraid for ye! +I'm thinking--I'm thinking ... but come and see me at Victoria Square. +Good-morning!" + +She had rattled this off at a breath, and had hardly given time for a +reply, when her black silk was rustling down the stairs. + +John Storm remembered that the canon had spoken of her. She was the good +woman who kept the home for girls at Soho. + +"The good creature only came to comfort me," he thought. But Glory! What +was Glory thinking? That morning after prayers at the hospital he went +in search of her in the out-patient department, but she pretended to be +overwhelmed with work, and only nodded and smiled and excused herself. + +"I haven't got a moment this morning either for the king or his dog. I'm +up to my eyes in bandages, and have fourteen plasters on my conscience, +and now I must run away to my little boy whose leg was amputated on +Saturday." + +He understood her, but he came back in the evening and was resolved to +face it out. + +"What did you think of last night, Glory?" Then she put on a look of +blank amazement. + +"Why, what happened? Oh, of course, the sermon! How stupid of me! Do you +know I forgot all about it?" + +"You were not there, then?" + +"Don't ask me. Really, I'm ashamed; after my promise to grandfather, +too! But Wednesday doesn't count anyway, does it? You'll preach on +Sunday--and then!" + +His feeling of relief was followed by a sense of deeper humiliation. +Glory had not even troubled herself to remember. Evidently he was +nothing to her, nothing; while she---- + +He walked home through St. James's Park, and under the tall trees the +peaceful silence of the night came down on him. The sharp clack of the +streets was deadened to a low hum as of the sea afar off. Across the +gardens he could see the clock in the tower of Westminster, and hear +the great bell strike the quarters. London! How little and selfish all +personal thoughts were in the contemplation of the mighty city! He had +been thinking only of himself and his own little doings. It was all so +small and pitiful! + +"Did my shame at my failure in the pulpit proceed solely from fear of +losing the service of God, or did it proceed from wounded ambition, from +pride, from thoughts of Glory----" + +But the peaceful stars were over him. It was a majestic night. + + + + +VII. + +"Martha's Vineyard. + +"Dear Auntie Rachel: Tell grandpa, to begin with, that John Storm +preached his first sermon on Wednesday last, and, according to +programme, I was there to hear it. Oh, God bless me! What a time I had +of it! He broke down in the middle, taking stage fright or pulpit fright +or some such devilry, though there was nothing to be afraid of except a +bandboxful of chattering girls who didn't listen, and a few old +fogies with ear-trumpets. I was sitting in the darkness at the back, +effectually concealed from the preacher by the broad shoulders of Ward +Sister Allworthy, who is an example of 'delicate femaleism' just verging +on old-maidenism. They tell me the 'discoorse' was a short one, but +I never got so many prayers into the time in all my born days, and my +breath was coming and going so fast that the Sister must have thought +they had set up a pumping-engine in the pew behind her. Our poor, +heavy-laden Mr. Storm has been here since then with his sad and eager +face, but I hadn't the stuff in me to tell him the truth about the +sermon, so I told him I had forgotten to go and hear it, and may the +Lord have mercy on my soul! + +"You want to know how I employ my time? Well, lest you should think I +give up my days to dreams and my nights to idleness, I hasten to tell +that I rise at 6, breakfast at 6.30, begin duty at 7, sup at 9.30 P.M., +gossip till 10, and then go into my room and put myself to bed; and +there I am at the end of it. Being only a probationer, I am chiefly in +the out-patient department, where my duties are to collect the things +wanted at the dispensary, make the patients ready to see the surgeon, +and pass them on to the dressers. My patients at present are the +children, and I love them, and shall break my heart when I have to leave +them. They are not always too well looked after by the surgeon, but +that doesn't matter in the least, because, you see, they are constantly +watched by the best and most learned doctor in the world--that's me. + +"Last Saturday I had my first experience of the operating theatre. +Gracious goodness! I thought I shouldn't survive it. Fortunately, I had +my dressings and sponges to look after, so I just stiffened my back with +a sort of imaginary six-foot steel bar, and went on 'like blazes.' But +some of these staff nurses are just 'ter'ble'; they take a professional +pleasure in descending to that inferno, and wouldn't miss a 'theatre' +for worlds. On Saturday it was a little boy of five who had his leg +amputated, and now when you ask the white-faced darling where he's going +to he says he's going to the angels, and he'll get lots of gristly pork +up there. He _is_ too. + +"The _personnel_ of our vineyard is abundant, but there are various sour +grapes growing about. We have a medical school (containing lots of nice +boys, only a girl may not speak to them even in the corridors), and a +full staff of honorary and visiting physicians and surgeons. But the +only doctor we really have much to do with is the house surgeon, a young +fellow who has just finished his student's course. His name is Abery, +and since Saturday he has so much respect for Glory that she might even +swear in his presence (in Manx), but Sister Allworthy takes care that +she doesn't, having designs on his celibacy herself. He must have sung +his _Te Deum_ after the operation, for he got gloriously drunk and +wanted to inject morphia in a patient recovering from trouble of the +kidney. It was an old hippopotamus of a German musician named Koenig, +and he was in a frantic terror. So I whispered to him to pretend to go +to sleep, and then I told the doctor I had lost the syringe. But--'Gough +bless me sowl!'--what a dressing the Sister gave me! + +"Yesterday was visiting-day, and when the friends of the patients come +even an hospital can have its humours. They try to sneak in little +dainties which may be delicious in themselves, but are deadly poison +to the people they are intended for. Then we have to search under the +bedclothes of the patients, and even feel the pockets of their visitors. +The mother of my little boy came yesterday, and I noticed such a large +protuberance at her bosom under her ulster that I began to foresee +another operation. It was only a brick of currant cake, paved with +lemon peel. I hauled it out and moved round like a cloud of thunder and +lightning. But she began to cry and to say she had made it herself for +Johnnie, and then--well, didn't I just get a wigging from the Sister, +though! + +"But I don't mind what happens here, for I am in London, and to be in +London is to live, and to live is to be in London. I've not seen much +of it yet, having only two hours off duty every day--from ten to +twelve--and then all I can do is to make little dips into the park and +the district round about, like a new pigeon with its wings clipped. +But I watch the great new world from my big box up here, and see the +carriages in the park and the people riding on horseback. They have +a new handshake in London. You lift your hand to the level of your +shoulder, and then waggle horizontally as if you had put your elbow out; +and when you begin to speak you say, 'I--er--' as if you had got the +mumps. But it is beautiful! The sound of the traffic is like music, and +I feel like a war-horse that wants to be marching to it. How delightful +it is to be young in a world so full of loveliness! And if you are not +very ugly it's none the worse. + +"All hospital nurses are just now basking in the sunshine of a +forthcoming ball. It is to be given at Bartimaeus's Hospital, where they +have a lecture theatre larger than the common, and the dancing there is +for once to be to a happier tune. All the earth is to be present--all +the hospital earth--and if I could afford to array myself in the +necessary splendour, I should show this benighted London what an +absolute angel Glory is! But then my first full holiday is to be on the +24th, when I expect to be out from 10 A. M. until 10 P. M. I am nearly +crazy whenever I think of it, and when the time comes to make my first +plunge into London, I know I shall hold my breath exactly as if I were +taking a header off Creg Malin rocks.... Glory." + + + + +VIII. + +On the morning of the 24th Glory rose at five, that she might get +through her work and have the entire day for her holiday. At that hour +she came upon a rough-haired nurse wearing her cap a little on one side +and washing a floor with disinfectants. Being in great spirits, Glory +addressed her cheerfully. + +"Are you off to-day too?" she said. + +The nurse gave her a contemptuous glance and answered: "I'm not one of +your paying probationers, Miss--playing probationers _I_ call them. We +nurses are hard-working women, whose life spells duty; and we've got no +time for sight-seeing and holiday-making." + +"No, but you are one of those who ruin the profession altogether," said +a younger woman who had just come up. "They will expect everybody to do +the same. This is my day off, but I have to do the grate, and sweep the +ward, and make the bed, and tidy the Sister's room--and it's all through +people like you. Small thanks you get for it either, for a girl may not +even wear her hair in a fringe, and she is always expecting to hear the +matron's 'You're not fit for nursing, Miss.'" + +Glory looked at her. She was an exquisitely pretty girl, with dark hair, +pink and ivory cheeks, and light-gray eyes; but her hands were coarse, +and her finger nails flat and square, and when you looked again there +was a certain blemished appearance about her beauty as of a Sevres vase +that is cracked somewhere. + +"Do you say you are off to-day?" said Glory, + +"Yes, I am; are you?" + +"Yes, but I'm strange to London. Could you take me with you--if you are +going nowhere in particular?" + +"Certainly, dear. I've noticed you before and wanted to speak to you. +You're the girl with the splendid name--Glory, isn't it?" + +"Yes; what is yours?" + +"Polly Love." + +At ten o'clock that morning the two girls set out for their long day's +jaunt. + +"Now where shall we go?" said Polly. + +"Let's go where we can see a great many people," said Glory. + +"That's easy enough, for this is the Queen's birthday, and----" + +Glory thought of Aunt Rachel and made a cry of delight. + +"And now that I think of it," said Polly, as if by a sudden memory, +"I've got tickets for the trooping of the colours--the Queen's colours, +you know." + +"Shall we see her?" said Glory. + +"What a question! Why, no, but we'll see the soldiers, and the generals, +and perhaps the Prince. It's at ten-thirty, and only across the park." + +"Come along," said Glory, and she began to drag at her companion and to +run. + +"My gracious, what a girl you are, to be sure!" + +But they were both running in another minute, and laughing and +chattering like children escaped from school. In a quarter of an hour +they were at the entrance to the Horse Guards. There was a crowd at the +gates, and a policeman was taking tickets. Polly dived into her pocket. + +"Where are mine? Oh, here they are. A great friend gave me them," she +whispered. "He has a chum in one of those offices." + +"A gentleman," said Glory with studied politeness; but they were +crushing through the gate by that time, and thereafter she had eyes and +ears for nothing but the pageant before her. + +It was a beautiful morning, and the spring foliage of the park was +very green and fresh. Three sides of the great square were lined with +redcoats; the square itself was thronged with people, and every window +and balcony looking over it was filled. There were soldiers, sentries, +policemen, the generals in cocked hats, and the Prince himself in a +bearskin, riding by with the jingle of spurs and curb-chain. Then the +ta-ra-ta-ta-ra of the bugle, the explosive voice crying, "Escort for +the colour!" the officer carrying it, the white gloves of the staff +fluttering up the salute, the flash of bayonets, the march round, and +the band playing The British Grenadiers. It was like a dream to Glory. +She felt her bosom heaving, and was afraid she was going to cry. + +Polly was laughing and prattling merrily. "Ha, ha, ha! see that soldier +chasing a sunshade? My! he has caught it with his sword." + +"I suppose these are all great people," whispered Glory. + +"I should think so," said Polly. "Do you see that gentleman in the +window opposite?--that's the Foreign Office." + +"Which?" said Glory, but her eyes were wandering. + +"The one in the frock-coat and the silk hat, talking to the lady in the +green lawn and the black lace fichu and the spring bonnet." + +"You mean beside that plain girl wearing the jungle of rhododendrons?" + +"Yes; that's the gentleman that gave my friend the tickets." + +Glory looked at him for a moment, and something very remote seemed to +stir in her memory; but the band was playing once more, and she was +wafted away again. It was God save the Queen this time, and when it +ended and everybody cried "All over!" she took a long, deep breath and +said, "_Well!_" + +Polly was laughing at her, and Glory had to laugh also. They set each +other off laughing, and people began to look at them, and then they had +to laugh again and run away. + +"This Glory is the funniest girl," said Polly; "she is surprised at the +simplest thing." + +They went to look at the shops, passing up Regent Street, across the +Circus and down Oxford Street toward the City, laughing and talking +nonsense all the time. Once when they made a little purchase at a shop +the shopwoman looked astonished at the freedom with which they carried +themselves, and after that they felt inclined to go into every shop in +the street and behave absurdly everywhere. In the course of two +hours they had accomplished all the innocent follies possible to the +intoxication of youth, and were perfectly happy. + +By this time they had reached the Bank and were feeling the prickings +of hunger, so they looked out a restaurant in Cheapside and went in for +some dinner. The place was full of men, and several of them rose at +once when the two girls entered. They were in their out-door hospital +costume, but there was something showy about Polly's toilet, and the men +kept looking their way and smiling. Glory looked back boldly and said in +an audible voice, "What fun it must be to be a barmaid, and to have the +gentlemen wink at you, and be laughing back at them!" But Polly nudged, +her and told her to be quiet. She looked down herself, but nevertheless +contrived to use her eyes as a kind of furtive electric battery in the +midst of the most innocent conversation. It was clear that Polly had +flown farthest in the ways of the world, and when you looked at her +again you could see that the balance of her life had been deranged by +some one. + +After dinner the girls got into an omnibus and went still farther east, +sitting at opposite sides of the car, and laughing and talking loudly to +each other, amid the astonishment of the other occupants. But when +they came to mean and ugly streets with green-grocers' barrows by the +curbstone, and weird and dreary cemeteries in the midst of gaunt, green +sticks that were trying to look like trees, Glory thought they had +better return. + +They went back by the Thames steamboat from some landing stage among the +docks. The steamer picked up passengers at every station on the river, +and at London Bridge a band came aboard. As they sailed under St. Paul's +the boat was crowded with people going west to see the celebrations in +honour of the birthday, and the band was playing And her Golden Hair was +hanging down her Back. + +At one moment Glory was wild with delight, and at the next her gaiety +seemed to be suddenly extinguished. The sun was setting behind the +towers of Westminster in a magnificent lake of fire, and it seemed +like the sun going down at Peel, except that the lights beneath, which +glistened and flashed, were windows, not waves, and the deep hum was not +the noise of the mighty sea, but the noise of mighty millions. + +They landed at Westminster Bridge and went to a tearoom for tea. When +they came out it was quite dark, and they got on to the top of an +omnibus. But the town was now ablaze with gas and electric lights that +were flinging out the initials of the Queen, and Whitehall was dense +with carriages going to the official receptions. Glory wanted to be in +the midst of so much life, so the girls got down and walked arm in arm. + +As they passed through Piccadilly Circus they were laughing again, for +the oppression of the crowds made them happy. The throng was greatest +at that point and they had to push their way through. Among others there +were many gaily-dressed women, who seemed to be waiting for omnibuses. +Glory noticed that two of these women, who were grimacing and lisping, +had spoken to a man who was also lounging about. She tugged at Polly's +arm. + +"That's strange! Did you see that?" she said. + +"That! Oh, that's nothing. It's done every day," said Polly. + +"What does it mean?" said Glory. + +"Why, you don't mean to say--well, this, Glory---- Really your friends +ought to take care of you, my dear, you are so ignorant of the world." + +And then suddenly, as by a flash of lightning, Glory had her first +glimpse of the tragic issues of life. + +"Oh, my gracious! Come along," she whispered, and dragged Polly after +her. + +They were panting past the end of St. James's Street when a man with +an eye-glass and a great shield of shirt-front collided with them and +saluted them. Glory was for forging ahead, but Polly had drawn up. + +"It's only my friend," said Polly in another voice.--"This is a new +nurse. Her name is Glory." + +The man said something about a glorious name and a glorious pleasure to +be nursed by such a nurse, and then both the girls laughed. He was glad +they had found his tickets useful, but sorry he could not see them +back to the hospital, being dragged away to the bally Foreign Office +reception in honour of the Queen's birthday. + +"But I'm coming to the ball, you know, and," with a glance at Glory, +"I've half a mind to bring my chum along with me!" + +"Oh, do," said Polly, partly covering the pupils of her eyes with her +eyelids. + +The man lowered his voice and said something about Glory which Glory did +not catch, then waved his white-kid glove, saying "Ta-ta," and was gone. + +"Is he married?" said Glory. + +"Married! Good gracious, no; what ridiculous ideas you've got!" + +It was ten minutes after ten as the girls turned in at a sharp trot at +the door of the hospital, still prattling and chattering and bringing +some of the gaiety and nonsense of their holiday into the quiet +precincts of the house of pain. The porter shook his finger at them with +mock severity, and a ward Sister going through the porch in her white +silence stopped to say that a patient had been crying out for one of +them. + +"It's me--I know it's me," said Polly. "I've got a brother here out of +a monastery, and he can't do with anybody else about him. It makes me +tired of my life." + +But it was Glory who was wanted. The woman whom John Storm had picked +up out of the streets was dying. Glory had helped to nurse her, and the +poor old thing had kept herself alive that she might deliver to Glory +her last charge and message. She could see nobody, so Glory leaned over +the bed and spoke to her. + +"I'm here, mammie; what is it?" she said, and the flushed young face +bent close above the withered and white one. + +"He spoke to me friendly and squeedged my 'and, he did. S'elp me never, +it's true. Gimme a black cloth on the corfin, my dear, and mind yer tell +'im to foller." + +"Yes, mammie, yes. I will-be sure I--I--Oh!" + +It was Glory's first death. + + + + +IX. + +John Storm had been through his first morning call that afternoon. For +this ordeal he had presented himself in a flannel shirt in the hall, +where the canon was waiting for him in patent-leather boots and kid +gloves, and his daughter Felicity in cream silk and white feathers. +After they had seated themselves in the carriage the canon, said: "You +don't quite do yourself justice, Mr. Storm. Believe me, to be well +dressed is a great thing to a young man making his way in London." + +The carriage stopped at a house that seemed to be only round the corner. + +"This is Mrs. Macrae's," the canon whispered. "An American lady-widow +of a millionaire. Her daughter--you will see her presently--is to marry +into one of our best English families." + +They were walking up the wide staircase behind the footman in blue. +There was a buzz of voices coming from a room above. + +"Canon--er--Wealthy, Miss Wealthy, and--er--the--h'm--Rev. Mr. Storm!" + +The buzz of voices abated, and a bright-faced little woman, showily +dressed, came forward and welcomed them with a marked accent. There were +several other ladies in the room, but only one gentleman. This person, +who was standing, with teacup and saucer in hand, at the farther side, +screwed an eyeglass in his eye, looked across at John Storm, and then +said something to the lady in the chair beside him. The lady tittered +a little. John Storm looked back at the man, as if by an instinctive +certainty that he must know him when he saw him again. He was engulfed +in a high, stiff collar, and was rather ugly; tall, slender, a +little past thirty; fair, with soft, sleepy eyes, and no life in his +expression, but agreeable; fit for good society, with the stamp of good +breeding, and capable of saying little humorous things in a thin "roofy" +voice. + +"I was real sorry I didn't hear Mr. Storm Wednesday evening," Mrs. +Macrae was saying, with a mincing smile. "My daughter told me it was +just too lovely.--Mercy, this is your great preacher. Persuade him to +come to my 'At Home' Tuesday." + +A tall, dark girl, with gentle manners and a beautiful face, came slowly +forward, put her hand into John's, and looked steadily into his eyes +without speaking. Then the gentleman with the eyeglass said suavely, +"Have you been long in London, Mr. Storm?" + +"Two weeks," John answered shortly, and half turned his head. + +"How--er--interesting!" with a prolonged drawl and a little cold titter. + +"Oh, Lord Robert Ure--Mr. Storm," said the hostess. + +"Mr. Storm has done me the honour to become one of my assistant clergy, +Lord Robert," said the canon, "but he is not likely to be a curate +long." + +"That is charming," said Lord Robert. "It is always a relief to hear +that I am likely to have one candidate the less for my poor perpetual +curacy in Pimlico. They're at me like flies round a honey-pot, don't you +know. I thought I had made the acquaintance of all the perpetual curates +in Christendom. And what a sweet team they are, to be sure! The last of +them came yesterday. I was out, and my friend Drake--Drake of the Home +Office, you know--couldn't give the man the living, so he gave him +sixpence instead, and the creature went away quite satisfied." + +Everybody seemed to laugh except John, who only stared into the air, and +the loudest laughter came from the canon. But suddenly an incisive voice +said: + +"But why sharpen your teeth on the poor curates? Is there no a canon or +a bishop handy that's better worth a bite?" + +It was Mrs. Callender. + +"I tell ye a story too, only _mine_ shall be a true one." + +"Jane! Jane!" said the hostess, shaking her fan as a weapon; and Lord +Robert stretched his neck over his collar and made an amiable smile. + +"A girl of eighteen came to me this morning at Soho, and she was in the +usual trouble. The father was a wicked rector. He died last year +leaving thirty-one thousand pounds; and the mother of his unfortunate +child--that is to say, his mistress--is now in the Union." + +It was the first sincere word that had been spoken, where every tone +had been wrong, every gesture false, and it fell on the company like a +thunderclap. John Storm drew his breath hard, looked up at Lord Robert +by a strange impulse, and felt himself avenged. + +"What a beautiful day it has been!" said somebody. Everybody looked up +at the maker of this surprising remark. It was a lady, and she blushed +until her cheeks burned again. + +A painful silence followed, and then the hostess turned to Lord Robert +and said: + +"You spoke of your friend Drake, didn't you? Everybody is talking of +him, and as for the girls, they seem to be crazy about the man. So +handsome, they say; so natural, and such a splendid talker. But then, +girls are so quick to take fancies to people. You really must take care +of yourself, my dear." (This to Felicity.) "Who is he? Lord Robert will +tell you--an official of some kind, and son of Sir something Drake, of +one of the northern counties. He knows the secret of getting on in the +world, though he doesn't go about too much. But I've determined not to +live any longer without making the acquaintance of this wonderful being, +so Lord Robert must just bring him along Tuesday evening, or else----" + +John Storm escaped at last, without promising to come to the "At Home." +He went direct to the hospital and learned that Glory was out for the +day. Where she could have gone, and what she could be doing, puzzled him +grievously. That she had not put herself under his counsel and direction +on her first excursion abroad hurt his pride and wounded his sense of +responsibility. As the night fell his anxiety increased. Though he knew +she would not return until ten, he set out at nine to meet her. + +At a venture he took the eastward course, and passed slowly down +Piccadilly. The facade of nearly every club facing the park was flaming +with electric light. Young men in evening dress were standing on the +steps, smoking and taking the air after dinner, and pretty girls in +showy costumes were promenading leisurely in front of them. Sometimes, +as a girl passed, she looked sharply up and the corner of her mouth +would be raised a little, and when she had gone by there would be a +general burst of laughter. + +John's blood boiled, and then his heart sank; he felt so helpless, his +pity and indignation were so useless and unnecessary. All at once he saw +what he had been looking for. As he went by the corner of St. James's +Street he almost ran against Glory and another nurse in the costume of +their hospital. They did not observe him; they were talking to a man; it +was the man he had met in the afternoon--Lord Robert Ure. + +John heard the man say, "Your Glory is such a glorious----" and then he +lowered his voice, and appeared to say something that was very amusing, +for the other girl laughed a great deal. + +John's soul was now fairly in revolt, and he wanted to stop, to order +the man off and to take charge of the two nurses as his duty seemed to +require of him. But he passed them, then looked back and saw the group +separate, and as the man went by he watched the girls going westward. +There was a glimpse of them under the gas-lamp as they crossed the +street, and again a glimpse as they passed into the darkness under the +trees of the park. + +He could not trust himself to return to the hospital that night, and +his indignation was no less in the morning. But there was a letter from +Glory saying that his poor old friend was dead, and had begged that he +would bury her. He dressed himself in his best ("We can't take liberties +with the poor," he thought) and walked across to the hospital at once. +There he asked for Glory, and they went downstairs together to that +still chamber underground which has always its cold and silent occupant. +It is only a short tenancy that anybody can have there, so the old woman +had to be buried the same morning. The parish was to bury her, and the +van was at the door. + +He was standing with Glory in the hall, and his heart had softened to +her. + +"Glory," he said, "you shouldn't have gone out yesterday without telling +me, the dangers of London are so great." + +"What dangers?" she asked. + +"Well, to a young girl, a beautiful girl----" + +Glory peered up under her long eyelashes. + +"I mean the dangers from--I'm ashamed in my soul to say it--the dangers +from men." + +She shot up a quick glance into his face and said in a moment, "You saw +us, didn't you?" + +"Yes, I saw you, and I didn't like your choice of company." + +She dropped her head demurely and said, "The man?" + +John hesitated. "I was speaking of the girl. I don't like the freedom +with which she carries herself in this house. Among these good and +devoted women is there no one but this--this----?" + +Glory's lower lip began to show its inner side. "She's bright and +lively, that's all I care." + +"But it's not all _I_ care, Glory, and if such men as that are her +friends outside----" + +Glory's head went up. "What is it to me who are her friends outside?" + +"Everything, if you allow yourself to meet them again." + +"Well," doggedly, "I am going to meet them again. I'm going to the +Nurses' Ball on Tuesday." + +John answered with deliberation, "Not in that girl's company." + +"Why not?" + +"I say _not_ in that girl's company." + +There was a short pause, and then Glory said with a quivering mouth: +"You are vexing me, and you will end by making me cry. Don't you see you +are degrading me too? I am not used to being degraded. You see me with +a weak silly creature who hasn't an idea in her head and can do nothing +but giggle and laugh and make eyes at men, and you think I'm going to be +led away by her. Do you suppose a girl can't take care of herself?" + +"As you will, then," said John, with a fling of his hand, going off down +the steps. + +"Mr. Storm--Mr. Storm--Jo--Joh----" + +But he was out on the pavement and getting into the workhouse van. + +"Ah!" said a mincing voice beside her. "How jolly it is when anybody is +suffering for your sake!" It was Polly Love, and again her eyelids were +half covering her eyes. + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Glory. Her own eyes were +swimming in big tear-drops. + +"Don't you? What a funny girl you are! But your education has been +neglected, my dear." + +It was a combination van and hearse with the coffin under the driver's +box, and John Storm (as the only discoverable mourner) with the +undertaker on the seat inside. + +"Will ye be willin' ter tyke the service at the cimitery, sir?" said the +undertaker, and John answered that he would. + +The grave was on the paupers' side, and when the undertaker, with his +man, had lowered the coffin to its place, he said, "They've gimme abart +three more funerals this morning, so I'll leave ye now, sir, to finish +'er off." + +At the next moment John Storm in his surplice was alone with the dead, +and had opened his book to read the burial service which no other human +ear was to hear. + +He read "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," and then the bitter loneliness +of the pauper's doom came down on his soul and silenced him. + +But his imprisoned passion had to find a vent, and that night he wrote +to the Prime Minister: "I begin to understand what you meant when you +said I was in the wrong place. Oh, this London, with its society, its +worldly clergy, its art, its literature, its luxury, its idle life, +all built on the toil of the country and compounded of the sweat of the +nameless poor! Oh, this 'Circe of cities,' drawing good people to it, +decoying them, seducing them, and then turning them into swine! It seems +impossible to live in the world and to be spiritually-minded. When I try +to do so I am torn in two." + + + + +X. + +On the following Tuesday evening two young men were dining in their +chambers in St. James's Street. One of them was Lord Robert Ure; the +other was his friend and housemate, Horatio Drake. Drake was younger +than Lord Robert by some seven or eight years, and also beyond +comparison more attractive. His face was manly and handsome, its +expression was open and breezy; he was broad-shouldered and splendidly +built, and he had the fair hair and blue eyes of a boy. + +Their room was a large one, and it was full of beautiful and valuable +things, but the furniture was huddled about in disorder. A large +chamber-organ, a grand piano, a mandolin, and two violins, pictures +on the floor as well as on the walls, many photographs scattered +about everywhere, and the mirror over the mantelpiece fringed with +invitation-cards, which were stuck between the glass and the frame. + +Their man had brought in the coffee and cigarettes. Lord Robert was +speaking in his weary drawl, which had the worn-out tone of a man who +had made a long journey and was very sleepy. + +"Come, dear boy, make up your mind, and let us be off." + +"But I'm tired to death of these fashionable routs." + +"So am I." + +"They're so unnatural--so unnecessary." + +"My dear fellow, of course they're unnatural--of course they're +unnecessary; but what would you have?" + +"Anything human and natural," said Drake. "I don't care a ha'p'orth +about the morality of these things--not I--but I am dead sick of their +stupidity." + +Lord Robert made languid puffs of his cigarette, and said, in a tearful +drawl: "My dear Drake, of course it is exactly as you say. Who doesn't +know it is so? It has always been so and always will be. But what refuge +is there for the poor leisured people but these diversions which you +despise? And as for the poor titled classes--well, they manage to make +their play their business sometimes, don't you know. Confess that they +do sometimes, now, eh?" + +Lord Robert was laughing with an awkward constraint, but Drake looked +frankly into his face and said: + +"How's that matter going on, Robert?" + +"Fairly, I think, though the girl is not very hot on it. The thing came +off last week, and when it was over I felt as if I had proposed to the +girl and been accepted by the mother, don't you know. I believe this +rout to-night is expressly in honour of the event, so I mustn't run away +from my bargain." + +He lay back, sent funnels of smoke to the ceiling, and then said, with +a laugh like a gurgle: "I'm not likely to, though. That eternal dun was +here again to-day. I had to tell him that the marriage would come off in +a year certain. That was the only understanding on which he would agree +to wait for his money. Bad? Of course it's bad; but what would you have, +dear boy?" + +The men smoked in silence for a moment, and then Lord Robert said again: +"Come, old fellow, for friendship's sake, if nothing else. She's a +decent little woman, and dead bent on having you at her house to-night. +And if you're badly bored we'll not stay long. We'll come away early +and--listen--we'll slip across to the Nurses' Ball at Bartimaeus's +Hospital; there'll be fun enough there, at all events." + +"I'll go," said Drake. + +Half an hour later the two young men were driving up to the door of +Mrs. Macrae's house in Belgrave Square. There was a line of carriages +in front of it, and they had to wait their turn to approach the gate. +Footmen in gorgeous livery were ready to open the cab door, to help the +guests across the red baize that lay on the pavement, to usher them into +the hall, to lead them to the little marble chamber where they entered +their names in a list intended for the next day's _Morning Post_, and +finally to direct them to the great staircase where the general crush +moved slowly up to the saloon above. + +In the well of the stairs, half hidden behind a little forest of palms +and ferns, a band in yellow and blue uniform sat playing the people in. +On the landing the hostess stood waiting to receive, and many of the +guests, by a rotary movement like the waters of a maelstrom, moved past +her in a rapid and babbling stream, twisted about her, and came down +again. She welcomed Lord Robert effusively, and motioned to him to stand +by her side. Then she introduced her daughter to Drake and sent them +adrift through the rooms. + +The rooms were large ones with parquet flooring from which all furniture +had been removed, except the palms and ferns by the walls and the heavy +chandeliers overhead. It was not yet ten o'clock, but already the house +was crowded, and every moment there were floods of fresh arrivals. +First came statesmen and diplomatists, then people who had been to +the theatres, and toward the end of the evening some of the actors +themselves. The night was close and the atmosphere hot and oppressive. +At the farther end of the suite there was a refreshment-room with its +lantern lights pulled open; and there the crush was densest and the +commotion greatest. The click-clack of many voices cut the thick air +as with a thousand knives, and over the multitudinous clatter there was +always the unintelligible boom of the band downstairs. + +Most of the guests looked tired. The men made some effort to be +cheerful, but the women were frankly jaded and fagged. Bedizened with +diamonds, coated with paint and powder, laden with rustling silks, they +looked weary and worn out. When spoken to they would struggle to smile, +but the smiles would break down after a moment into dismal looks of +misery and oppression. + +"Had enough?" whispered Lord Robert to Drake. + +Drake was satisfied, and Lord Robert began to make their excuses. + +"Going already!" said Mrs. Macrae. "An official engagement, you +say?--Mr. Drake, is it? Oh, don't tell me! I know--_I_ know! Well, +you'll be married and settled one of these days--and then!" + +They were in a hansom cab driving across London in the direction of +Bartimaeus's Hospital. Drake was bare-headed and fanning himself with +his crush hat. Lord Robert was lighting a cigarette. + +"Pshaw! What a stifling den! Did you ever hear such a clitter-clatter? +A perfect Tower of Babel building company! What in the name of common +sense do people suppose they're doing by penning themselves up like that +on a night like this? What are they thinking about?" + +"Thinking about, dear boy? You're unreasonable! Nobody wants to think +about anything in such scenes of charming folly." + +"But the women! Did you _ever_ see such faded, worn-out dummies for the +display of diamonds? Poor little women in their splendid misery! I was +sorry for your _fiancee_, Robert. She was the only woman in the house +without that hateful stamp of worldliness and affectation." + +"My dear Drake, you've learned many things, but there's one thing you +have not yet learned--you haven't learned how to take serious things +as trifles, and trifles as serious things. Learn it, my boy, or you'll +embitter existence. You are not going to alter the conditions of +civilization by any change in your own particular life; so just look out +the prettiest, wittiest, wealthiest little woman who is a dummy for the +display of diamonds----" + +"Me? Not if I know it, old fellow! Give me a little nature and +simplicity, if it hasn't got a second gown to its back." + +"All right--as you like," said Lord Robert, flinging out the end of his +cigarette. "You've got the pull of some of us--you can please yourself. +And here we are at old Bartimaeus's, and this is a very different pair +of shoes!" + +They were driving out of one of London's main thoroughfares, through a +groined archway, into one of London's ancient buildings with its quiet +quadrangle where trees grow and birds sing. Every window of the square +was lighted up, and there was a low murmur of music being played +within. + +"Listen!" said Lord Robert. "I am here ostensibly as the guest of the +visiting physician, don't you know, but really in the interests of the +little friend I told you of." + +"The one I got the tickets for last week?" + +"Precisely." + +At the next moment they were in the ballroom. It was the lecture theatre +for the students of the hospital school--a building detached from the +wards and of circular shape, with a gallery round its walls, which were +festooned with flags and roofed with a glass dome. Some two hundred +girls and as many men were gathered there; the pit was their dancing +ring and the gallery was their withdrawing room. The men were nearly all +students of the medical schools; the girls were nearly all nurses, and +they wore their uniform: There was not one jaded face among them, not +one weary look or tired expression. They were in the fulness of youth +and the height of vigour. The girls laughed with the ring of joy, their +eyes sparkled with the light of happiness, their cheeks glowed with the +freshness of health. + +The two men stood a moment and looked on. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" said Lord Robert. + +Drake's wide eyes were ablaze, and his voice came in gusts. + +"Think of it!" he said. "It's wonderful! It's glorious!" + +Lord Robert's glass had dropped from his eye, and he was laughing in his +drawling way. + +"What are you laughing at? Women like these are at least natural, and +Nature can not be put on." + +The mazurka had just finished, and the dancers were breaking into +groups. + +"Robert, tell me who is that girl over there--the one looking this way? +Is it your friend?" + +Lord Robert readjusted his glass. + +"The pretty dark girl with the pink-and-white cheeks, like a doll?" + +"Yes; and the taller one beside her--all hair, and eyes, and bosom. +She's looking across now. I've seen that girl before somewhere. Now, +where have I seen her? Look at her--what fire, and life, and movement! +The dance is over, but she can't keep her feet still." + +"I see--I see. But let me introduce you to the matron and doctors first, +and then----" + +"I know now--I know where I've seen her! Be quick, Robert, be quick!" + +Lord Robert laughed again in his tired drawl. He was finding it very +amusing. + + + + +XI. + +When Glory learned that all nurses eligible to attend the ball were to +wear hospital uniform, being on day duty she decided to go to it. But +then came John Storm's protest against the company of Polly Love, and +she felt half inclined to give it up. As often as she remembered his +remonstrance she was disturbed, and once or twice when alone she shed +tears of anger and vexation. + +Meantime Polly was full of arrangements, and Glory found herself day by +day carried along in the stream of preparation. When the night came the +girls dressed in the same cubicle. Polly was prattling like a parrot, +but Glory was silent and almost sad. + +By help of the curling tongs and a candle Polly did up her dark hair +into little knowing curls that went in and out on her temples and played +hide-and-seek around the pretty shells of her pink-and-white ears. Glory +was slashing the comb through her golden-red hair by way of preliminary +ploughing, when Polly cried: "Stop! Don't touch it any more, for +goodness' sake! It's perfect! Look at yourself now." + +Glory stood off from the looking glass and looked. "Am I really so +nice?" she thought; and then she remembered John Storm again, and had +half a mind to tear down her glorious curls and go straight away to bed. + +She went to the ball instead, and, being there, she forgot all about +her misgivings. The light, the colour, the brilliance, the perfume +transported her to an enchanted world which she had never entered +before. She could not control her delight in it. Everything surprised +her, everything delighted her, everything amused her--she was the very +soul of girlish joy. The dark-brown spot on her eye shone out with a +coquettish light never seen in it until now, and the warble in her +voice was like the music of a happy bird. Her high spirits were +infectious--her lighthearted gaiety communicated itself to everybody. +The men who might not dance with her were smiling at the mere sight +of the sunshine in her face, and it was even whispered about that the +President of the College of Surgeons, who opened the ball, had said that +her proper place was not there--a girl like that young Irish nurse would +do honour to a higher assembly. + +In that enchanted world of music and light and bright and happy faces +Glory lost all sense of time; but two hours had passed when Polly Love, +whose eyes had turned again and again to the door, tugged at her sleeve +and whispered: "They've come at last! There they are--there--directly +opposite to us. Keep your next dance, dear. They'll come across +presently." + +Glory looked where Polly had directed, and, seeing again the face she +had seen in the window of the Foreign Office, something remote and +elusive once more stirred in her memory. But it was gone in a moment, +and she was back in that world of wonders, when a voice which she +knew and yet did not know, like a voice that called to her as she was +awakening out of a sleep, said: + +"Glory, don't you remember me? Have you forgotten me, Glory?" + +It was her friend of the catechism class--her companion of the adventure +in the boat. Their hands met in a long hand-clasp with the gallop of +feeling that is too swift for thought. + +"Ah, I thought you would recognise me! How delightful!" said Drake. + +"And you knew me again?" said Glory. + +"Instantly--at first sight almost." + +"Really! It's strange, though. Such a long, long time--ten years at +least! I must have changed since then." + +"You have," said Drake; "you've changed very much." + +"Indeed now! Am I really so much changed for all? I've grown older, of +course." + +"Oh, terribly older," said Drake. + +"How wrong of me! But you have changed a good deal, too. You were only a +boy in jackets then." + +"And you were only a girl in short frocks." + +They both laughed, and then Drake said, "I'm so glad we've changed +together!" + +"Are you?" said Glory. + +"Why, yes," said Drake; "for if you had changed and I hadn't----" + +"But what nonsense we're talking!" said Glory; and they both laughed +again. + +Then they told each other what had happened in that infinite cycle +of time which had spun round since they parted. Glory had not much to +narrate; her life had been empty. She had been in the Isle of Man all +along, had come to London only recently, and was now a probationer-nurse +at Martha's Vineyard. Drake had gone to Harrow and thence to Oxford, +and, being a man of artistic leanings, had wished to take up music, but +his father had seen no career in it; so he had submitted--he had entered +the subterranean catacombs of public life, and was secretary to one of +the Ministers. All this he talked of lightly, as became a young man of +the world to whom great things were of small account. + +"Glory," said Polly, at her elbow, "the waltz is going to begin." + +The band was preluding. Drake claimed the dance, and Glory was +astonished to find that she had it free (she had kept it expressly). + +When the waltz was over he gave her his arm and led her into the +circular corridor to talk and to cool. His manners were perfect, and his +voice, so soft and yet so manly, increased the charm. In passing out of +the hot dancing room she threw her handkerchief over her head, and, with +the hand that was at liberty, held its ends under her chin. She wished +him to look at her and see what change this had made; so she said, quite +innocently: + +"And now let me look at you again, sir!" + +He recognised the dark-brown spot on her eye, and he could feel her arm +through her thin print dress. + +"You've told me a good deal," he said, "but you haven't said a syllable +about the most important thing of all." + +"And pray what is that?" said she. + +"How many times have you fallen in love since I saw you last?" + +"Good gracious, what a question!" said Glory. + +His audacity was delightful. There was something so gracious and yet so +masterful about him. + +"Do you remember the day you carried me off--eloped with me, you know?" +said Drake. + +"I? How charming of me! But when was that, I wonder?" said Glory. + +"Never mind; say, do you remember?" + +"Well, if I do? What a pair of little geese we must have been in those +days!" + +"I'm not so sure of that--_now_,'" said he. + +"You didn't seem very keen about me _then_, as far as I can remember," +said she. + +"Didn't I?" said he. "What a silly young fool I must have been!" + +They laughed again. She could not keep her arm still, and he could +almost feel its dimpled elbow. + +"And do _you_ remember the gentleman who rescued us?" she said. + +"You mean the tall, dark young man who kept hugging and kissing you in +the yacht?" + +"Did he?" + +"Do you forget that kind of thing, then?" + +"It was very sweet of him. But he's in the Church now, and the chaplain +of our hospital." + +"What a funny little romantic world it is, to be sure!" + +"Yes; it's like poetry, isn't it?" she answered. + +Lord Robert came up to introduce Drake to Polly (who was not looking her +sweetest), and he claimed Glory for the next dance. + +"So you knew my friend Drake before?" said Lord Robert. + +"I knew him when he was a boy," said Glory. + +And then he began to sing his friend's praises--how he had taken a +brilliant degree at Oxford, and was now private secretary to the Home +Secretary, and would go into public life before long; how he could paint +and act, and might have made a reputation as a musician; how he went +into the best houses, and was a first-rate official; how, in short, he +had the promised land before him, and was just on the eve of entering +it. + +"Then I suppose you know he is rich--enormously rich?" said Lord Robert. + +"Is he?" said Glory, and something great and grand seemed to shimmer a +long way off. + +"Enormously," said Sir Robert; "and yet a man of the most democratic +opinions." + +"Really?" said Glory. + +"Yes," said Lord Robert; "and all the way down in the hansom he has been +trying to show me how impossible it is for him to marry a lady." + +"Now why did you tell me that I wonder?" said Glory, and Lord Robert +began to fidget with his eye-glass. + +Drake returned with Polly. He proposed that they should take the air in +the quadrangle, and they went off for that purpose, the girls arm-in-arm +some paces ahead. + +"There's a dash of Satan himself in that red-headed girl," said Lord +Robert. "She understands a man before he understands himself." + +"She's as natural as Nature," said Drake. "And what lips--what a mouth!" + +"Irish, isn't she? Oh, Manx! What's Manx, I wonder?" + +The night was very warm and close, and there was hardly more air in the +courtyard. The sound of the band came to them there, and Glory, who +had danced with nearly everybody within, must needs dance by herself +without, because the music was more sweet and subdued out there, and +dancing in the darkness was like a dream. + +"Come and sit down on the seat, Glory," said Polly fretfully; "you are +getting on my nerves, dear." + +"Glory," said Drake, "how do the Londoners strike you?" + +"Much like other mortals," said Glory; "no better, no worse--only +funnier." + +The men laughed at that description, and Glory proceeded to give +imitations of London manners--the high handshake, the "Ha-ha" of the +mumps, the mouthing of the canon, and the mincing of Mr. Golightly. + +Drake bellowed with delight; Lord Robert drawled out a long owlish +laugh; Polly Love said spitefully, "You might give us your friend, the +new curate, next, dearest," and then Glory went down like a shot. + +"Really," began Drake, "it's not hospital nursing, you know----" + +But there were low murmurings of thunder and some large splashes of +rain, and they returned to the ballroom. The doctors and the matrons +were gone by this time; only the nurses and the students remained, +and the fun was becoming furious. One young student was pulling down a +girl's hair, and another was waltzing with his partner carried bodily in +his arms. Somebody lowered the lights, and they danced in a shadow-land; +somebody began to sing, and they all sang in chorus; then somebody began +to fling about paper bags full of tiny white wafers, and the bags +burst in the air like shells, and their contents fell like stars from a +falling rocket, and everybody was covered as with flakes of snow. + +Meantime the storm had broken, and above the clash and clang of the +instruments of the band and the rhythmic shuffle of the feet of the +dancers and the clear, joyous notes of their happy singing, there was +the roar of the thunder that rolled over London, and the rattle of the +rain on the glass dome overhead. + +Glory was in ecstasies; it was like a mist on Peel Bay at night with the +moon shining through it and the waves dancing to a northwest breeze. It +was like a black and stormy sea outside Contrary, with the gale +coming down from the mountains. And yet it was a world of wonder and +enchantment and beauty, and bright and happy faces. + +It was morning when the ball broke up, and then the rain had abated, +though the thunder was still rumbling. The men were to see the girls +back to the hospital, and Glory and Drake sat in a hansom-cab together. + +"So you always forget that kind of thing, do you?" he said. + +"What kind of thing?" she asked. + +"Never mind; _you_ know!" + +She had put up the hood of her outdoor cape, but he could still see the +gleam of her golden hair. + +"Give me that rose," he said; "the white one that you put in your hair." + +"It's nothing," she answered. + +"Then give it to me. I'll keep it forever and ever." + +She put up her hand to her head. + +"Ah! how sweet of you! And what a lovely little hand! But no; let me +take it for myself." + +He reached one arm around her shoulder, put his hand under her chin, +tipped up her face, and kissed her on the lips. + +"Darling!" he whispered. + +Then in a moment she awoke from her world of wonder and enchantment, and +the intoxication of the evening left her. She did not speak; her head +dropped; she felt her cheeks burn red, and she hid her face in her +hands. There was a momentary sense of dishonour, almost of outrage. +Drake treated her lightly, and she was herself to blame. + +"Forgive me, Glory!" he was saying, in a voice tremulous and intense. +"It shall never happen again--never--so help me God!" + +The day was dawning, and the last raindrops were splashing on the wet +and empty pavement. The great city lay asleep, and the distant thunder +was rolling away from it. + + + + +XII. + +The chaplain of Martha's Vineyard had not been to the hospital ball. +Before it came off he had thought of it a good deal, and as often as he +remembered that he had protested to Glory against the company of Polly +Love he felt hot and ashamed. Polly was shallow and frivolous, and had a +little crab-apple of a heart, but he knew no harm of her. It was hardly +manly to make a dead set at the little thing because she was foolish and +fond of dress, and because she knew a man who displeased him. + +Then she was Glory's only companion, and to protest against Glory going +in her company was to protest against Glory going at all. That seemed a +selfish thing to do. Why should he deny her the delights of the ball? +He could not go to it himself--he would not if he could; but girls liked +such things--they loved to dance, and to be looked at and admired, and +have men about them paying court and talking nonsense. + +There was a sting in that thought, too; but he struggled to be +magnanimous. He was above all mean and unmanly feelings--he would +withdraw his objection. + +He did not withdraw it. Some evil spirit whispered in his heart that +Glory was drifting away from him. This was the time to see for certain +whether she had passed out of the range of his influence. If she +respected his authority she would not go. If she went, he had lost his +hold of her, and their old relations were at an end. + +On the night of the ball he walked over to the hospital and asked for +her. She had gone, and it seemed as if the earth itself had given way +beneath his feet. + +He could not help feeling bitterly about Polly Love, and that caused +him to remember a patient to whom her selfish little heart had shown no +kindness. It was her brother. He was some nine or ten years older, +and very different in character. His face was pale and thin--almost +ascetic--and he had the fiery and watery eyes of the devotee. He had +broken a blood-vessel and was threatened with consumption, but his +case was not considered dangerous. When Polly was about, his eyes would +follow her round the ward with something of the humble entreaty of a +dog. It was clear that he loved his sister, and was constantly thinking +of her. But she hardly ever looked in his direction, and when she spoke +to him it was in a cold or fretful voice. + +John Storm had observed this. It had brought him close to the young +man, and the starved and silent heart had opened out to him. He was a +lay-brother in an Anglican Brotherhood that was settled in Bishopsgate +Street. His monastic name was Brother Paul. He had asked to be sent to +that hospital because his sister was a nurse there. She was his only +remaining relative. One other sister he had once had, but she was +gone--she was dead--she died---- But that was a sad and terrible story; +he did not like to talk of it. + +To this broken and bankrupt creature John Storm found his footsteps +turning on that night when his own heart lay waste. But on entering the +ward he saw that Brother Paul had a visitor already. He was an elderly +man in a strange habit--a black cassock which buttoned close at the neck +and fell nearly to his feet, and was girded about the waist by a black +rope that had three great knots at its suspended ends. And the habit +was not more different from the habit of the world than the face of the +wearer was unlike the worldly face. It was a face full of spirituality, +a face that seemed to invest everything it looked upon with a holy +peace--a beautiful face, without guile or craft or passion, yet not +without the signs of internal strife at the temples and under the eyes; +but the battles with self had all been fought and won. + +As John Storm stepped up, the old man rose from his chair by the +patient's bed. + +"This is the Father Superior, sir," said Brother Paul. + +"I've just been hearing of you," said the Father in a gentle voice. "You +have been good to my poor brother." + +John Storm answered with some commonplace--it had been a pleasure, +a happiness; the brother would soon leave them; they would all miss +him--perhaps himself especially. + +The Father resumed his chair and listened with an earnest smile. "I +understand you, dear friend," he said. "It is so much more blessed to +give than to receive! Ah, if the poor blind world only knew! How it +fights for its pleasures that perish, and its pride of life that passes +away! Yet to succour a weaker brother, or protect a fallen woman, or +feed a little child will bring a greater joy than to conquer all the +kingdoms of the earth." + +John Storm sat down on the end of the bed. Something had gone out to +him in a moment, and he was held as by a spell. The Father talked of the +love of the world--how strange it was, how difficult to understand, how +tragic, how pitiful! The lusts of the flesh, the lusts of the eye--how +mean, how delusive, how treacherous! To think of the people of that +mighty city day by day and night by night making themselves miserable in +order that they might make themselves merry; to think of the children +of men scouring the globe for its paltry possessions, that could not add +one inch to the stature of the soul, while all the time the empire of +peace and joy and happiness lay here at hand, here within ourselves, +here in the little narrow compass of the human heart! To give, not to +get, that was the great blessedness, and to give of yourself, of your +heart's love, was the greatest blessedness of all. + +John Storm was stirred. "The Church, sir," he said, "the Church itself +has to learn that lesson." + +And then he spoke of the hopes with which he had come up to London, +and how they were being broken down and destroyed; of his dreams of the +Church and its mission, and how they were dying or dead already. + +"What liars we are, sir! How we colour things to justify ourselves! Look +at our sacraments--are they a lie, or are they a sacrilege? Look at +our charities--are we Pharisees or are we hypocrites? And our clergy, +sir--our fashionable clergy! Surely some tremendous upheaval will shake +to its foundations the Church wherein such things are possible--a Church +that is more worldly than the world! And then the woman-life of the +Church, see how it is thrown away. That sweetest and tenderest and +holiest power, how it goes to waste under the eye and with the sanction +of the Church in the frivolities of fashion--in drawing-rooms, in +gardens, in bazars, in theatres, in balls----" + +He stopped. His last word had arrested him. Had he been thinking only +of himself and of Glory? His head fell and he covered his face with his +hand. + +"You are right, my son," said the Father quietly, "and yet you are +wrong, too. The Church of God will not be shaken to its foundations +because of the Pharisees who stand in its public places, or because +of the publicans who haunt its purlieus. Though the axe be laid to the +rotten tree, yet the little seed will save its kind alive." + +Then with an earnest smile and in a gentle voice he spoke of their +little brotherhood in Bishopsgate Street; how ten years ago they had +founded it for detachment from earthly cares and earthly aims, and for +hiddenness with God; how they had established it in the midst of the +world's, busiest highway, in the heart of the world's greatest market, +to show that they despised gold and silver and all that the blind and +cheated world most prizes, just as St. Philip and St. Ignatius had +established the severest of modern rules in a profane and self-indulgent +century, to show that they could stamp out every suggestion of the flesh +as a spark from the fires of hell. + +And then he lifted his cord and pointed to the knots at the end of it, +and told what they were--symbols of the three bonds by which he was +bound--the three vows he had taken: the vow of poverty, because Christ +chose it for himself and his friends; the vow of obedience, because he +had said, "He that heareth you heareth Me"; and the vow of chastity, +because it was our duty to guard the gates of the senses, and to keep +our eyes and ears and tongue from all inordinateness. + +"But the lawful love of home and kindred," said John; "what of that?" + +"We convert it into what is spiritual," said the Father. "All human +love must be based on the love of God if it is to be firm and true +and enduring, and the reason of so much failure of love in natural +friendship is that the love of the creature is not built upon the love +of the Creator." + +"But the love--say of mother and son--of brother and sister?" + +"Ah, we have placed ourselves above the ordinary conditions of life +that none may claim our affections in the same way as Christ. Man has +to contend with two sets of enemies--those from within and those from +without; and no temptations are more subtle than those which come in the +name of our holiest affections. But the sword of the spirit must keep +the tempter away. There is the Judas in all of us, and he will betray us +with a kiss if he can." + +John Storm's breast was heaving. He could scarcely conceal his +agitation; but the Father had risen to go. + +"It is eight o'clock, and I must be back to Compline," he said. And +then he laughed and added: "We never ride in cabs; but I must needs walk +across the park to-night, for I have given away all my money." + +At that the smile of an angel came into his old face, and lie said, with +a sweet simplicity: + +"I love the park. Every morning the children play there, and then it is +the holy Catholic Church to me, and I like to walk in it and to lay my +hands on the heads of the little ones, and to ask a blessing for them, +and to empty my-self. This morning as I was coming here I met a little +boy carrying a bundle. 'And what is _your_ name, my little man?' I said, +and he told me what it was. 'And how old are you?' I asked. 'Twelve +years,' he answered. 'And what have you got in your bundle?' 'Father's +dinner, sir,' he said. 'And what is your father, my son?' 'A carpenter,' +said the boy. And I thought if I had been living in Palestine nineteen +hundred years ago I might have met another little Boy carrying the +dinner of his father, who was also a carpenter, in a little bundle which +Mary had made up for him. So I felt in my pocket, and all I had was my +fare home again, and I gave it to the little man as a thank-offering to +God that he had suffered me to meet a sweet boy of twelve whose father +was a carpenter." + +John Storm's eyes were dim with tears. + +"Good-bye, Brother Paul, and God send you back to us soon!--Good-bye to +you, dear friend; and when the world deals harshly with you come to +us for a few days in Retreat, that in the silence of your soul you may +forget its vanities and vexations and fix your thoughts above." + +John Storm could not resist the impulse--he dropped to his knees at the +Father's feet. + +"Bless me also, Father, as you blessed the carpenter's boy." + +The Father raised two fingers of his right hand and said: + +"God bless you, my son, and be with you and strengthen you, and when he +smiles on you may the frown of man affect you not!--Father in heaven, +look down on this fiery soul and succour him! Help him to cast off every +anchor that holds him to the world, and make him as a voice crying in +the wilderness, 'Come out of her, my people, saith our God.'" + +When John rose from his knees the saintly face was gone, and all the air +seemed to be filled with a heavenly calm. + +While he had been kneeling for the Father's blessing he had been +aware of a step on the floor behind him. It was his fellow-curate, the +Reverend Golightly, who was still waiting to deliver his message. + +The canon had been disappointed in one of his preachers for Sunday, and +being himself engaged to preside over the annual dinner of a dramatic +benevolent fund to be held on the Saturday night, and therefore +incapable of extra preparation, he desired that Mr. Storm should take +the sermon on Sunday morning. + +John promised to do so; and then his fellow-curate smiled, bowed, +coughed, and left him. A small room was kept for the chaplain on the +ground floor of the hospital, and he went down to it and wrote a letter. + +It was to the parson at Peel. + +"No doubt you hear from Glory frequently, and know all about her +progress as a probationer. She seems to be very well, and certainly I +have never seen her look so bright and so cheerful. At the moment of +writing she is out at a ball given by some of the hospital authorities. +Well, it is a perfectly harmless source of pleasure, and with all my +heart I hope she is enjoying herself. No doubt some form of amusement +is necessary to a young girl in the height of her youth and health +and beauty, and he would be only a poor sapless man who could not take +delight in the thought that a good girl was happy. Her fellow-nurses, +too, are noble and devoted women, doing true woman's work, and if there +are some black sheep among them, that is no more than might be expected +of the purest profession in the world. + +"As for myself, I have tried to carry out-my undertaking to look after +Glory, but I can not say how long I may be able to continue the task. +Do not be surprised if I am compelled to give it up. You know I am +dissatisfied with my present surroundings, and I am only waiting for the +ruling and direction of the pillar of cloud and fire. God alone can tell +how it will move, but God will guide me. I don't go out more than I can +help, and when I do go I get humiliated and feel foolish. The life of +London has been a great and painful surprise. I had supposed that I knew +all about it, but I have really known nothing until now. Its cruelty, +its deceit, and its treachery are terrible. London is the Judas that +is forever betraying with a kiss the young, the hopeful, the innocent. +However, it helps one to know one's self, and that is better than +lying wrapped in cotton wool. Give my kindest greetings to everybody at +Glenfaba--my love to my father, too, if there are any means of conveying +it." + +The letter took him long to write, and when it was written he went out +into the hall to post it. There he saw that a thunderstorm was coming, +and he concluded to remain until it had passed over. He stepped into the +library and selected a book, and returned to his room to read it. The +book was St. John Chrysostom on the Priesthood, and the subject was +congenial, but he could not keep his mind on the printed page: +He thought of the Father Superior, of the little brotherhood in +Bishopsgate, and then of Glory at the hospital ball, and again of Glory, +and yet again and again of Glory. Do what he would, he could not help +but think of her. + +The storm pealed over his head, and when he returned to the hall two +hours later it was still far from spent. He stood at the open door and +watched it. Forks of lightning lit up the park, and floods of black rain +made the vacant pavements like the surface of the sea. A tinkling cab +slid past at intervals, with its driver sheeted in oilskins, and now and +then there was an omnibus, full within and empty without. Only one other +living thing was to be seen anywhere. An Italian organ-man had stationed +himself in front of a mansion to the left and was playing vigorously. + +John Storm walked through the hospital. It was now late, and the house +was quiet. The house-doctor had made the last of his rounds and turned +into his chambers across the courtyard, and the night-nurses were +boiling little kettles in their rooms between the wards. The surgical +wards were darkened, and the patients were asleep already. In the +medical wards there were screens about certain of the beds, and weary +moans came from behind them. + +It was after midnight when John Storm came round to the hall again, and +then the rain had ceased, but the thunder was still rumbling. He might +have gone home at length, but he did not go; he realized that he was +waiting for Glory. Other nurses returned from the ball, and bowed to him +and passed into the house. He stepped into the porter's lodge, and sat +down and watched the lightning. It began to be terrible to him, because +it seemed to be symbolical. What doom or what disaster did this storm +typify and predict? Never could he forget the night on which it befell. +It was the night of the Nurses' Ball. + +He thought he must have slept, for he shook himself and thought: "What +nonsense! Surely the soul leaves the body while we are asleep, and only +the animal remains!" + +It was now almost daylight, and two hansom-cabs had stopped before +the portico, and several persons who were coming up the steps were +chattering away like wakened linnets. One voice was saying: + +"Mr. Drake proposes that we should all go to the theatre, and if we can +get a late pass I should like it above everything." It was Glory, and a +fretful voice answered her: + +"Very well, if _you_ say so. It's all the same to _me_." It was Polly; +and then a man's voice said: + +"What night shall it be, then, Robert?" + +And a second man's voice answered, with a drawl, "Better let the girls +choose for themselves, don't you know." + +John Storm felt his hands and feet grow cold, and he stepped out into +the porch. Glory saw him coming and made a faint cry of recognition. + +"Ah, here is Mr. Storm! Mr. Storm, you should know Mr. Drake. He was in +the Isle of Man, you remember----" + +"I do _not_ remember," said John Storm. + +"But you saved his life, and you ought to know him----" + +"I do _not_ know him," said John Storm. + +She was beginning to say, "Let me introduce----" But she stopped +and stood silent for a moment, while the strange light came into her +gleaming eyes of something no word could express, and then she burst +into noisy laughter. + +A superintendent Sister going through the hall at the moment drew up and +said, "Nurse, I am surprised at you! Go to your rooms this instant!" and +the girls whispered their adieus and went off giggling. + +"What a glorious night it has been!" said Glory, going upstairs. + +"I'm glad you think so," said Polly. "To tell you the truth, I found it +dreadfully tiresome." + +The two men lit their cigarettes and got back into one of the hansoms +and drove away. + +"What a bear that man is!" said Lord Robert. + +"Rude enough, certainly," said Drake; "but I liked his face for all +that; and if the Fates put it into his head to stand between me and +death--well, I'm not going to forget it." + +"Give him a wide berth, dear boy. The fellow is an actor--an affected +fop. I met him at Mrs. Macrae's on Thursday. He is a religious actor and +a poseur. He'll do something one of these days, take my word for it." + +And meanwhile John Storm had buttoned his long coat up to his throat and +was striding home through the echoing streets, with both hands clinched +and his teeth set hard. + + + + +XIII. + +"Martha's. + +"Oh, Lord-a-massy! Oh, Gough bless me sowl! Oh, my beloved grandfather! +John Storm has done for himself at last! That man was never an author +of peace and a lover of concord; but, my gracious, if you had heard his +sermon in church on Sunday morning! Being a holy and humble woman of +heart myself, I altered the Litany the smallest taste possible, and +muttered away from beginning to end, 'O Lord, close thou our lips'; but +the Lord didn't heed me in the least, with the result that everybody on +earth is now screaming and snarling at our poor Mr. Storm exactly as if +he had been picking the pockets of the universe. + +"It was all about the morality of men. The text was as innocent as a +baby: 'Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the +flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof.' And when he began in the usual way, +the dear old goodies in glasses thought he had been wound up like +the musical box and had just turned on the crank, so they cuddled in +comfortably for forty winks before the anthem. There were two natures +in man, and man's body might be good or bad according as spiritual +or carnal affections swayed it, and all the rest of the good old +change-for-sixpence-and-a-ha'penny-out, you know. But the lesson had +been from Isaiah, where the unreasonable old prophet is indignant with +the ladies of Zion because they don't want to look like dowdies, you +remember: 'Tremble, ye women that are at ease, strip you and make you +bare and gird sackcloth upon your loins.' And off he went like a comet, +with the fashionable woman for his tail. If matrimony nowadays didn't +always mean monogamy, who was chiefly to blame? Men were generally as +pure as women required that they should be; and if the lives of men were +bad it was often because women did not demand that they should be +good. Tremble, ye women, that are at ease, and say why you allow your +daughters to marry men who in fact and effect are married already. Strip +you, and be ashamed for the poor women who were the first wives of your +daughters' husbands, and for the children whom such men abandon and +forget! In leading your innocent daughters to courts and receptions +you are only leading them to the auction-room; and in dressing and +decorating them you are preparing them for the market of base men. Last +week some titled philanthropist had hauled up a woman in the East End +of London for attempting to sell her daughter. How shocking! everybody +said. What a disgrace to the nineteenth century! But the wretched +creature had only been doing the best according to her light for the +welfare of her miserable child; while here--with their eyes open, with +their cultured consciences--the wives of these same philanthropists were +doing the same thing every day--the very same! + +"Having gone for the mammies like this, he went for the dear girls +themselves one better. Let them gird sackcloth on their loins and hide +their faces. Why did they suffer themselves to be sold? The woman who +married a man for the sake of his title or his position or any worldly +advantage whatever was no better than an outcast of the streets. Her act +was the same, and in all reason and justice her name should be the same +also. + +"Hey, nonny, nonny! I told you how he broke down before; but on Sunday +morning, in spite of mine own amended Litany, I had just as much hope of +the breakdown of the Falls of Niagara, or a nineteen-feet spring tide. +You would have said his face was afire, and those great eyes of his were +lit up like the red lamps on Peel pier. + +"Pulpit oratory! I don't know what it is, only I never heard the like +of it in all my born days. I begin to think the real difference between +preachers is the difference of the fire beneath the crust. In some it +burns so low that it doesn't even warm the surface, and you couldn't get +up enough puff to boil the kitchen kettle; but in others--look out! It's +a volcano, and the lava is coming down with a rush. + +"Mercy me, how I cried! 'Oh, my daughter, oh, my child, what a ninny you +are!' I told myself; but it was no use talking. His voice was as hoarse +as a raven's, and sometimes you would have thought his very heart was +breaking. + +"But the congregation! You should have seen the transformation scene! +They had come in bowing and smiling and whispering softly until the +church was a perfect sheet of sunshine, an absolute aurora borealis; but +they went out like a northeast gale, with mutterings of thunder and one +man overboard. + +"And John Storm having put his foot in it, of course Glory Quayle had +to get her toe in too. Coming down the aisle some of the dear ladies +of Zion, who looked as if they wanted to 'swear in their wrath,' were +mumbling all the lamentations of Jeremiah. Who was he, indeed, to talk +to people like that? Nobody had ever heard of him except his mother. +And in the porch they came upon a fat old dump in a velvet dollman +who declared it was perfectly scandalous, and she had come out in the +middle. Whereupon Glory, not being delivered that day from all evil and +mischief, said, 'Quite right, ma'am, and you were not the only one who +had to leave the church in the middle of that sermon.' 'Why, who else +had to go?' said this female Pharisee. 'The devil, ma'am!' said Glory, +and then left her with that bone to gnaw. + +"It turns out that the old girlie in the dollman is a mighty patron of +this hospital, so everybody says I am in for nasty weather. But hoot! +My heart's in the Hielan's, my heart is not here; my heart's in the +Hielan's, sae what can I fear! + +"John Storm is in for it too, and they say his vicar waited for him +in the vestry, but he looked like forked lightning coming out of the +pulpit, so the good man thought it better to keep his rod in pickle +awhile. It seems that the Lords of the Council and all the nobility were +there, and it is a point of religious etiquette in London that in the +hangman's house nobody speaks of the rope; but our poor John gave them +the gibbet as well. It was a fearful thing to do, but nobody will make +me believe he had not got his reasons. He hasn't been here since, but +I am certain he has his eye on some fine folks, and, whoever they are, +I'll bet 'my bottom dollar' they deserved all they got. + +"But heigho! I haven't left myself breath to tell you about the ball. I +was there! You remember I was lamenting that I hadn't got the necessary +finery. In fact, I had put in a bit at the end of my prayers about it. +'O God, be good to me this once and let me look nice.' And he _was_. He +put it into the heads of the nabobs of this vineyard that nurses should +'appear at the Nurses' Ball in regulation uniform only.' So my cloak and +my bonnet and my gray dress and my apron covered a multitude of sins. + +"You should have seen Glory that night, grandfather. She was a redder +young lobster than ever somehow, but she put a white rose in her carroty +curls, and, Gough bless me, what a bogh [* Dear] she was, though! Of +course, she made the acquaintance of the 'higher ranks of society,' and +danced with all the earth. The great surgeon of something opened the +ball with the matron of Bartimaeus's, and she went round on his arm like +a dolly in a dolly-tub; but he soon saw what a marvellous and miraculous +being Glory was, and after I had waltzed so beautifully with the ancient +personage I had the hearts of all the young men flying round at the hem +of my white petticoat--it was a nice new one for the occasion. + +"But the strangest thing was that somebody from the Isle of Man flopped +down on me there just as if he had descended from the blue. It was that +little English boy Drake, who used to come to the catechism class, only +now he is one of the smartest and handsomest young men in London. When +he came up and announced himself I am sure he expected me to expire on +the spot or else go crazy, and of course I was trembling all over, but +I behaved like a rational person and stood my ground. He looked at me as +much as to say, 'Do you know you've grown to be a very fine young woman, +and I admire you very much?' Whereupon I looked back as much as to +reply, 'That's quite right, my dear young sir, and I should have a poor +opinion of you if you didn't.' So, being of the same opinion on the only +subject worth thinking about (that's me), I behaved charmingly to him, +and even forgave him when he carried off my white rose at the end. + +"Mr. Drake has a friend who is always with him. He is a willowy person +who owns sixteen setters and three church livings, they say, and wears +(on week days) a thunder-and-lightning suit of clothes--_you_ know, a +pattern so large that one man can't carry the whole of it and somebody +else goes about with the rest. His name is Lord Robert Ure, and I intend +to call him Lord Bob, for, since he is such a frivolous person himself, +I must make a point of being severe. I danced with him, of course, and +he kept telling me what a wonderful future Mr. Drake had, and how the +Promised Land was before him, and even hinting that it wouldn't be a bad +thing to be Mrs. Joshua. Fancy Glory making a tremendous match with a +leader of society! And if I hadn't gone to that hospital ball no doubt +the history of the nineteenth century would have been different! + +"They are going to take me next week to something far, far better than a +ball, only I must not tell you anything about it yet, except that I +keep awake all night sometimes to think of it. But thou sure and firmest +earth, hear not my steps which way they walk! + +"It's late, and I'm just going to cuddle in. Good-night! My kisses for +the aunties, and my love to everybody! In fact, you can serve out my +love in ladles this time--being cheap at present, and plenty more where +this is coming from. + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened when we returned to the +hospital! It was shockingly late, and the gentlemen had brought us back, +but there was our John Storm with his sad and anxious face waiting up to +see us safely home. He was angry with me, and I didn't mind that in the +least; but when I saw that he liked me well enough to be rude to the +gentlemen I fell a victim to the crafts and assaults of the devil, and +couldn't help laughing out loud; and then Ward Sister Allworthy came +along and lifted her lip and showed me her tusk. + +"It was a wonderful night altogether, and I was never so happy in my +life, but all the same I had a good cry to myself alone before going to +bed. Too much water hadst thou, poor Ophelia! Talk about two natures in +one; I've got two hundred and fifty, and they all want to do different +things! Ah me! the 'ould Book' says that woman was taken out of the +rib of a man, and I feel sometimes as if I want to get back to my old +quarters. Glory. + +"P.S.--I'll write you a full and particular account of the great event +of next week after it is over. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest +chuck, till thou applaud the deed. You see I don't want you to eat your +meal in fear--or your porridge either. But I am burning with impatience +for the night to come, and would like to run to it. Oh, if it were done, +when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly! See? I am going +in for a course of Shakespeare!" + + + + +XIV. + +A week later Glory made her first visit to the theatre. Her companions +were Drake, who was charmed with her _naivete_; Lord Robert, who was +amused by it; and Polly Love, who was annoyed and ashamed, and uttered +little peevish exclamations. + +As they entered the box which they were to occupy, the attendant drew +back the curtain, and at sight of the auditorium she cried, "Oh!" and +then checked herself and coloured deeply. With her eyes down she sat +where directed in one of the three seats in front, Polly being on her +right and Drake on her left, and Lord Robert at the back of the lace +curtain. For some minutes she did not smile or stir, and when she spoke +it was always in whispers. A great awe seemed to have fallen upon her, +and she was behaving as she behaved in church. + +Drake began to explain the features of the theatre. Down there were +the stalls, and behind the stalls was the pit. The body? Well, yes--the +body, so to speak. And the three galleries were the dress circle, the +family circle, and the gallery proper. The organ loft? No, there was no +organ, but that empty place below was the well for the orchestra. + +"And what is this little vestry?" she said. + +"Oh, this is a private box where we can sit by ourselves and talk!" said +Drake. + +At every other explanation she had made little whispered cries of +astonishment and delight; but when she heard that conversation was not +forbidden she was entirely happy. She thought a theatre was even more +beautiful than a church, and supposed an actor must have a wonderful +living. + +The house was filling rapidly, and as the people entered she watched +them intently. + +"What a beautiful congregation!" she whispered--"audience, I mean!" + +"Do you think so?" said Polly; but Glory did not hear her. + +It was delightful to see so many lovely faces and listen to the low hum +of their conversation. She felt happy among them already and quite kind +to everybody, because they had all come together to enjoy themselves. +Presently she bowed to some one in the stall with a face all smiles, and +then said to Polly: + +"How nice of her! A lady moved, to me from the body. How friendly they +are in theatres!" + +"But it was to Mr. Drake," said Polly; and then Glory could have buried +her face in her confusion. + +"Never mind, Glory," said Drake; "that's a lady who will like you the +better for the little mistake.--Rosa," he added, with a look toward Lord +Robert, who smoothed his mustache and bent his head. + +Polly glanced up quickly at the mention of the name; and Drake explained +that Rosa was a friend of his own--a lady journalist, Miss Rosa +Macquarrie, a good and clever woman. Then, turning back to Glory, he +said: + +"She has been standing up for your friend Mr. Storm this week. You know +there have been attacks upon him in the newspapers?" + +"Has she?" said Glory, recovering herself and looking down again. "Which +pew--stall, I mean----" + +But the people were clapping their hands and turning their faces to +the opposite side of the theatre. Some great personage was entering the +royal box. + +"My chief, the Home Secretary," said Drake; and, when the applause +had subsided and the party were seated, the great man recognised his +secretary and bowed to him; whereupon it seemed to Glory that every face +in the theatre turned about and looked at her. + +She did not flinch, but bore herself bravely. There was a certain thrill +and a slight twitching of the head, such as a charger makes at the first +volley in battle--nothing more, not even the quiver of an eyelid. This +was the atmosphere in which Drake lived, and she felt a vague gratitude +to him for allowing her to move in it. + +"Isn't it beautiful!" she whispered, turning toward Polly; but Polly's +face was hidden behind the curtain. + +The orchestra was coming in, and Glory leaned forward and counted the +fiddles, while Drake talked with Lord Robert across her shoulder. + +"I found him reading Rosa's article this morning, and it seems he was +present himself and heard the sermon," said Drake. + +"And what's his opinion?" asked Lord Robert. + +"Much the same as your own. Affectation--the man is suffering from the +desire to be original--more egotism than love of truth, and so forth." + +"Right, too, dear boy. All this vapouring is as much as to say: 'Look at +me! I am the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Thingamy, nephew of the Prime Minister; +and yet----'" + +"I don't at all agree with the chief," said Drake, "and I told him +so. The man has enthusiasm, and that's the very salt of the earth at +present. We are all such pessimists in these days! Thank God for anybody +who will warm us up with a little faith, say I!" + +Glory's bosom heaved, and she was just about to speak, when, there was +a sudden clap as of thunder, and she leaped up in her seat. But it was +only the beginning of the overture, and she sat down laughing. There was +a tender passage in the music; and after it was over she was very quiet +for a while, and then whispered to Polly that she hoped little Johnnie +wasn't worse to-night, and it seemed wicked to enjoy one's self when any +one was so poorly. + +"Who is that?" said Drake. + +"My little boy whose leg was amputated," said Glory. + +"This Glory is so funny!" said Polly. "Fancy talking of that here!" + +"Hush!" said Lord Robert; "the curtain is going up." And at the next +moment Glory was laughing because they were all in the dark. + +The play was Much Ado about Nothing, and Glory whispered to Drake that +she had never seen it before, but she had read Macbeth, and knew all +about Shakespeare and the drama. The first scene took her breath +away, being so large and so splendid. It represented the outside of a +gentleman's house, and she thought what a length of time it must have +taken to build it, considering it was to last only a single night. But +hush! The people were going indoors. No; they preferred to talk in the +street. Oh, we were in Italy? Yes, indeed, that was different. + +Leonato delivered his first speeches forcibly, and was rewarded with +applause. Glory clapped her hands also, and said he was a very good +actor for such a very old gentleman. + +Then Beatrice made her entrance, and was greeted with cheers, whereupon +Glory looked perplexed. + +"It's Terry," whispered Polly; and Drake said, "Ellen Terry"; but Glory +still looked puzzled. + +"They are calling her 'Beatrice,'" she said. Then, mastering the +situation, she looked wise and said: "Of course--the actress--I quite +understand; but why do they applaud her--she has done nothing yet?" + +Drake explained that the lady playing Beatrice was a great favourite, +and that the applause of the audience had been of the nature of a +welcome to a welcome guest, as much as to say they had liked her before, +and were glad to see her again. Glory thought that was beautiful, and, +looking at the gleaming eyes that shone out of the darkness, she said: + +"How lovely to be an actress!" + +Then she turned back to the stage, where all was bright and brilliant, +and said, "What a lovely frock, too!" + +"Only a stage costume, my dear," said Polly. + +"And what beautiful diamonds!" + +"Paste," said Lord Robert, + +"Hush!" said Drake; and then Benedick entered, and the audience received +him with great cheering. "Irving," whispered Drake; and Glory looked +more perplexed than before and said: + +"But you told me it was Mr. Irving's theatre, and I thought it would +have been his place to welcome----" + +The vision of Benedick clapping his hands at his own entrance set Lord +Robert laughing in his cold way: but Drake said, "Be quiet, Robert!" + +Glory, like a child, had ears for no conversation except her own, and +she was immersed in the play in a moment. The merry war of Beatrice and +Benedick had begun, and as she watched it her face grew grave. + +"Now, that's very foolish of her," she said; "and if, as you say, she's +a great actress, she shouldn't do such things. To talk like that to a +man is to let everybody see that she likes him better than anybody else, +though she's trying her best to hide it. The silly girl--he'll find her +out!" + +But the curtain had gone down on the first act, the lights had suddenly +gone up, and her companions were laughing at her. Then she laughed also. + +"Of course, it's only a play," she said largely, "and I know all about +plays and about acting, and I can act myself, too." + +"I'm sure you can," said Polly, lifting her lip. But Glory took no +notice. + +Throughout the second act she put on the same airs of knowledge, +watching the masked ball intently, but never once uttering a laugh and +hardly ever smiling. The light, the colour, the dresses, the gay young +faces enchanted her; but she struggled to console herself. It was only +her body that was up there, leaning over the front of the box with lips +twitching and eyes gleaming; her soul was down on the stage, clad in a +lovely gown, and carrying a mask and laughing and joking with Benedick; +but she held herself in, and when the curtain fell she began to talk of +the acting. + +She was still of the opinion that Leonato was excellent for such an +elderly gentleman, and when Polly praised Claudio she agreed that he was +good too. + +"But Benedick is my boy for all," she said. In some way she had +identified herself with Beatrice, and hardly ever spoke of her. + +During the third act this air of wisdom and learning broke down badly. +In the middle of the ballad, "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more," she +remembered Johnnie, and whispered to Drake how ill he had been when they +left the hospital. And when it was over, and Benedick protested that the +song had been vilely sung, she sat back in her seat and said she didn't +know how Mr. Irving could say such a thing, for she was sure the boy had +sung it beautifully. + +"But that's the author," whispered Drake; and then she said wisely: + +"Oh, yes, I know--Shakespeare, of course." + +Then came the liming of the two love-birds, and she declared that +everybody was in love in plays of that sort, and that was why she liked +them; but as for those people playing the trick, they were very simple +if they thought Beatrice didn't know she loved Benedick. Claudio fell +woefully in her esteem in other respects also, and when he agreed to spy +on Hero she said he ought to be ashamed of himself anyhow. + +"How ridiculous you are!" said Polly. "It's the author, isn't it?" + +"Then the author ought to be ashamed of himself, also, for it is unjust +and cruel and unnecessary," said Glory. + +The curtain had come down again by this time, and the men were deep in +an argument about morality in art, Lord Robert protesting that art had +no morality, and Drake maintaining that what Glory said was right, and +there was no getting to the back of it. + +But the fourth act witnessed Glory's final vanquishment. When she found +the scene was the inside of a church and they were to be present at a +wedding, she could not keep still on her seat for delight; but when the +marriage was stopped and Claudio uttered his denunciation of Hero, +she said it was just like him, and it would serve him right if nobody +believed him. + +"Hush!" said somebody near them. + +"But they are believing him," said Glory quite audibly. + +"Hush! Hush!" came from many parts of the theatre. + +"Well, that's shameful--her father, too----" began Glory. + +"Hush, Glory!" whispered Drake; but she had risen to her feet, and when +Hero fainted and fell she uttered a cry. + +"What a girl!" whispered Polly. "Sit down--everybody's looking!" + +"It's only a play, you know," whispered Drake; and Glory sat down and +said: + +"Well, yes; of course, it's only a play. Did you suppose----" + +But she was lost in a moment. Beatrice and Benedick were alone in the +church now; and when Beatrice said, "Kill Claudio," Glory leaped up +again and clapped her hands. But Benedick would not kill Claudio, and +it was the last straw of all. That wasn't what she called being a great +actor, and it was shameful to "sit and listen to such plays. Lots of +disgraceful scenes happened in life, but people didn't come to the +theatre to see such things, and she would go. + +"How ridiculous you are!" said Polly; but Glory was out in the corridor, +and Drake was going after her. + +She came back at the beginning of the fifth act with red eyes and +confused smiles, looking very much ashamed. From that moment onward she +cried a good deal, but gave no other sign until the green curtain came +down at the end, when she said: + +"It's a wonderful thing! To make people forget it's not true is the most +wonderful thing in the world!" + +Lord Robert, standing behind the curtain at the back of Polly's chair, +had been laughing at Glory with his long owlish drawl, and making +cynical interjections by way of punctuating her enthusiasm; and now he +said, "Would you like to have a nearer view of your wonderful world, +Glory?" + +Glory looked perplexed, and Drake muttered, "Hold your tongue, Robert!" +Then, turning to Glory, he said shortly: "He only asked if you would +like to go behind the scenes; but I don't think----" + +Glory uttered a cry of delight. "Like it? Better than anything in the +world!" + +"Then I must take you to a rehearsal somewhere," said Lord Robert; "and +you'll both come to tea at the chambers afterward." + +Drake made some show of dissent; but Polly, with her most voluptuous +look upward, said it would be perfectly charming, and Glory was in +raptures. + +The girls, by their own choice, went home without escort by the +Hammersmith omnibus. They sat on opposite sides and hardly talked at +all. Polly was humming idly. "Sigh no more, ladies." + +Glory was in a trance. A great, bright, beautiful world had that night +swum into her view, and all her heart was yearning for it with vague +and blind aspirations. It might be a world of dreams, but it seemed more +real than reality, and when the omnibus passed the corner of Piccadilly +Circus she forgot to look at the women who were crowding the pavement. + +The omnibus drew up for them at the door of the hospital, and they took +long breaths as they went up the steps. + +In the corridor to the surgical ward they came upon John Storm. His head +was down and his step was long and measured, and he seemed to be trying +to pass them in his grave silence; but Glory stopped and spoke, while +Polly went on to her cubicle. + +"You here so late?" she said. + +He looked steadily into her face and answered, "I was sent for--some one +was dying." + +"Was it little Johnnie?" + +"Yes." + +There was not a tear now, not a quiver of an eyelid. + +"I don't think I care for this life," she said fretfully. "Death is +always about you everywhere, and a girl can never go out to enjoy +herself but----" + +"It is true woman's work," said John hotly, "the truest, noblest work a +woman can have in all the world!" + +"Perhaps," said Glory, swinging on her heel. "All the same----" + +"Good-night!" said John, and he turned on his heel also. + +She looked after him and laughed. Then with a little hard lump at her +heart she took herself off to bed. + +Polly Love, in the next cubicle, was humming as she undressed: + + Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, + Men were deceivers ever. + +That night Glory dreamed that she was back at Peel. She was sitting up +on the Peel hill, watching the big ships as they weighed anchor in the +bay beyond the old dead castle walls, and wishing she were going out +with them to the sea and the great cities so far away. + + + + +XV. + +John Storm was sitting in his room next morning fumbling the leaves of a +book and trying to read, when a lady was announced. It was Miss Macrae, +and she came in with a flushed face, a quivering lip, and the marks of +tears in her eyes. She held his hand with the same long hand-clasp as +before, and said in a tremulous voice: + +"I am ashamed of coming, and mother does not know that I am here; but I +am very unhappy, and if you can not help me----" + +"Please sit down," said John Storm. + +"I have come to tell you----" she said, and then her sad eyes moved +about the room and came back to his face. "It is about Lord Robert Ure, +and I am very wretched." + +"Tell me everything, dear lady, and if there is anything I can do----" + +She told him all. It was a miserable story. Her mother had engaged her +to Lord Robert Ure (there was no other way of putting it) for the sake +of his title, and he had engaged himself to her for the sake of her +wealth. She had never loved him, and had long known that he was a man of +scandalous reputation; but she had been taught that to attach weight to +such considerations would be girlish and sentimental, and she had fought +for a while and then yielded. + +"You will reproach me for my feebleness," she said, and he answered +haltingly: + +"No, I do not reproach you--I pity you!" + +"Well," she said, "it is all over now, and if I am ruined, and if my +mother----" + +"You have told her you can not marry him!" + +"Yes." + +"Then who am I to reproach you?" he said; and rising to his feet, he +threw down his book. + +Her dark eyes wandered about the room, and came back to his face again +and shone with a new lustre. + +"I heard your sermon on Sunday, Mr. Storm, and I felt as if there were +nobody else in the church, and you were speaking to me alone. And last +night at the theatre----" + +"Well?" + +He had been tramping the room, but he stopped. + +"I saw him in a box with his friend and two--two ladies." + +"Were they nurses from the hospital?" + +She made a cry of surprise and said, "Then you know all about it, and +the sermon _was_ meant for me?" + +He did not speak for a moment, and then he said with a thick utterance: + +"You wish me to help you to break off this marriage, and I will try. But +if I fail--no matter what has happened in the past, or what awaits you +in the future----" + +"Oh," she said, "if I had your strength beside me I should be brave--I +should be afraid of nothing." + +"Good-bye, dear lady," said John Storm; and before he could prevent her +she had stooped over his hand and kissed it. + +John Storm had returned to his book and was clutching it with nervous +fingers, when his fellow-curate came with a message from the canon to +request his presence in the study. + +"Tell him I was on the point of going down," said John. And the Reverend +Golightly coughed and bowed himself out. + +The canon had also had a visitor that morning. It was Mrs. Macrae +herself. She sat on a chair covered with a tiger skin, sniffed at her +scented handkerchief, and poured out all her sorrows. + +Mercy had rebelled against her authority, and it was entirely the fault +of the new curate, Mr. Storm. She had actually refused to carry out her +engagement with Lord Robert, and it all came of that dreadful sermon on +Sunday. It was dishonourable, it was unprincipled, and it was a pretty +thing to teach girls to indulge their whims without regard to the wishes +of parents! + +"Here have I been two years in London, spending a fortune on the girl +and trying to do my best for her, and the moment I fix her in one of the +first English families, this young man--this curate--this---- Upon my +honour, it's real wicked, it's shameful!" And the handkerchief steeped +in perfume went up from the nose to the eyes. + +The canon swung his _pince-nez_. "Don't put yourself about, my dear Mrs. +Macrae. Leave the matter to me. Miss Macrae will give up her objections, +and----" + +"Oh, you mustn't judge her by her quietness, canon. You don't know her +character. She's real stubborn when her mind's made up. But I'll be +as stubborn as she is--I'll take her back to America--I'll never spend +another penny----" + +"And as for Mr. Storm," continued the canon, "I'll make everything +smooth in that quarter. You mustn't think too much about the unhappy +sermon--a little youthful _esprit fort_--we all go through it, you +know." + +When Mrs. Macrae had gone, he rang twice for Mr. Golightly and said, +"Tell Mr. Storm to come down to me immediately." + +"With pleasure, sir," said the little man; and then he hesitated. + +"What is it?" said the canon, adjusting his glasses. + +"I have never told you, sir, how I found him the night you sent me to +the hospital." + +"Well, how?" + +"On his knees to a Catholic priest who was visiting a patient." + +The canon's glasses fell from his eyes and his broad face broke into +strange smiles. + +"I thought the Sorceress of Rome was at the bottom of it," he said. "His +uncle shall know of this, and unless I am sadly deceived--but fetch him +down." + +John Storm was wearing his flannel shirt that morning, and he came +downstairs with a heavy tread and swung himself, unasked, into the chair +that had just before been occupied by Mrs. Macrae. + +The perpendicular wrinkles came between the canon's eyebrows and he +said: "My dear Mr. Storm, I have postponed as long as possible a +most painful interview. The fact is, your recent sermon has given the +greatest offence to the ladies of my congregation, and if such teaching +were persisted in we should lose our best people. Now, I don't want to +be angry with you, quite the contrary, but I wish to put it to you, as +your spiritual head and adviser, that your idea of religion is by no +means agreeable to the needs and necessities of the nineteenth century. +There is no freedom in such a faith, and St. Paul says, 'Where the +Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.' But the theory of your +religion is not more unscriptural than its application is unwholesome. +Yours is a gloomy faith, my dear Storm, and what did Luther say of a +gloomy faith?--that the devil was very apt to be lurking behind it. As +for himself he married, you may remember; he had children, he played +chess, he loved to see young people dancing----" + +"I don't object to the dancing, sir," said John Storm. "I only object to +the tune." + +"What do you mean?" said the canon, not without insolence, and the +perpendicular wrinkles became large and heavy. + +"I mean, sir," said John Storm, "that half the young people +nowadays--the young women in the west of London especially--are asked to +dance to the Dead March." + +And then he spoke of the infamous case of Mercy Macrae, how she was +being bought and sold, and how scandalous was the reputation of the man +she was required to marry. + +"That was what I was coming down to speak about, sir--to ask you to save +this innocent girl from such a mockery of holy wedlock. She is not a +child, and the law can not help her, but you can do so, because the +power of the Church is at your back. You have only to set your face +against this infamy, and say----" + +"My dear Mr. Storm," the canon was smiling condescendingly and swinging +his glasses, "the business of the Church is to solemnize marriages, not +to make them. But if the young lady comes to me I will say: 'My dear +young lady, the conditions you complain of are more common than you +suppose; put aside all foolish, romantic notions, make a nest for +yourself as comfortably as you can, and come back in a year to thank +me.'" + +John Storm was on his feet; the blood was mounting to his face and +tingling in his fingers. + +"And so these men are to make their wives of the daughters of the poor +first, and then ask the Church to solemnize their polygamy----" + +But the canon had lifted his hand to silence him. + +"My dear young friend, a policy like yours would decimate the House of +Commons and abolish the House of Lords. Practical religion has a sweet +reasonableness. We are all human, even if we are all gentlemen; and +while silly young things----" + +But John Storm was out in the hall and putting on his hat to see Glory. + +Glory had not yet awakened from her trance. While others were living +in to-day she was still going about in yesterday. The emotion of the +theatre was upon her, and the world of reality took the tone and colour +of drama. This made her a tender woman, but a bad nurse. + +She began the day in the Outpatient Department, and a poor woman came +with a child that had bitten its tongue. Its condition required that it +should remain in the house a day or two. "Let me put the pore thing to +bed; she's allus used to me," said the woman piteously. "Are you the +mother?" said the Sister. "No, the grandmother." "The mother is the only +person who can enter the wards except on visiting day." The poor woman +began to cry. Glory had to carry the child to bed, and she whispered to +the grandmother, "Come this way," and the woman followed her. When they +came to the surgical ward, she said to the nurse in charge, "This is the +child's mother, and she has come to put the poor little thing to bed." + +Later in the morning she was sent up to help in the same ward. A patient +in great pain called to her and said, "Loosen this bandage for me, +nurse; it is killing me!" And she loosened it. + +But the glamour of the theatre was upon her as well as its sentiment and +emotion, and in the space before the bed of one of the patients, at a +moment when the ward Sister was away, she began to make imitations of +Beatrice and Benedick and the singer of "Sigh no more, ladies." The +patient was Koenig, the choirmaster of "All Saints'," a little fat +German with long mustaches, which he waxed and curled as he lay in +bed. Glory had christened him "the hippopotamus," and at her mimicry +he laughed so much that he rolled and pitched and dived among the +bedclothes. + +"Ach, Gott!" he cried, "vot a girl! Never--I haf never heard any one so +goot on de stage. Vot a voice, too! A leetle vork under a goot teacher, +and den, mein Gott! Vot is it de musicians say?--the genius has a +Cremona inside of him on which he first composes his immortal vorks. You +haf the Cremona, my dear, and I will help you to bring it out. Vot you +tink?" + +It was the hour of the morning when the patients who can afford it have +their newspapers brought up to them, but the newspapers were thrown +aside; every eye was on Glory, and there was much noisy laughter and +even some clapping of hands. + +Ward Sister Allworthy entered with the house doctor. + +"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. Glory told the truth, and +was reproved. + +"Who has loosened this bandage?" said the doctor. The patient tried to +prevaricate, but Glory told the truth again, and was reproved once more. + +"And who permitted this woman to come into the ward?" said the nurse. + +"I did," said Glory. + +"You're not fit to be a nurse, miss, and I shall certainly report you as +unfit for duty." + +Glory laughed in the Sister's face. + +It was at this moment that John Storm arrived after his interview with +the canon. He drew Glory into the corridor and tried to pacify her. + +"Oh, don't suppose I'm going to do hospital nursing all my life," she +said. "It may be good womanly work, but I want to be a human being +with a heart, and not a machine called Duty. How I hate and despise +my surroundings! I'll make an end of them one of these days. Sooner or +later it must come to that." + +"Your life has been deranged, Glory, and that is why you disdain your +surroundings. You were at the theatre last night." + +"Who told you that? Well, what of it? Are you one of those who think the +theatre----" + +"I don't object to the theatre, Glory. It is the derangement of your +life I am thinking of; and if anybody is responsible for that he is your +enemy, not your friend." + +"You will make me angry again, as you did before," and she began to bite +her quivering lip. + +"I did not come to make you angry, Glory. I came to ask you--even to +entreat you--to break off this hateful connection." + +"Because you know nothing of this--this connection, as you say--you call +it hateful." + +"I know what I am talking about, my child. The life these men live is +worse than hateful; and it makes my heart bleed to see you falling a +victim to it." + +"You are degrading me again; you are always degrading me. Other men try +to be agreeable to me, but you---- Besides, I can not hear my friends +abused. Yes, they _are_ my friends. I _was_ at the theatre with them +last night, and I am going to take tea at their chambers on my next +holiday. So please----" + +"Glory!" + +With one plunge of his arm he had gripped her by the wrist. + +"You are hurting me." + +"You are never to set foot in the rooms of those men!" + +"Let me go!" + +"You are as inexperienced as a child, Glory, and it is my duty to +protect you against yourself." + +"Let go, I say!" + +"Don't destroy yourself. Think while there's time--think of your good +name, your character!" + +"I shall do as I please." + +"Listen! If I have chosen to be a clergyman, it's not because I've lived +all my life in cotton wool. Let me tell you what the lives of such men +really are--the best of them, the very best. He gets up at noon, walks +in the park, takes tea with some one, grunts and groans that he must +go to somebody's dinner party, escapes to the Gaiety Theatre, sups at a +so-called club----" + +"You mean Lord Robert. But what right have you to say----" + +"The right of one who knows him to be as bad as this, and worse--ten +times worse! Such a man thinks he has a right to play with a girl if she +is poor. She may stake her soul, her salvation, but he risks nothing. +To-day he trifles with her; to-morrow he marries another, and flings her +to the devil!" + +"There's something else in this. What is it?" + +But John Storm had swung about and left her. + +As soon as she was at liberty she went in search of Polly Love, +expecting to find her in her cubicle, but the cubicle was empty. Coming +out of the little room she saw a piece of paper lying on the floor. It +was a letter, carefully folded. She picked it up, unfolded it, and read +it, hardly knowing what she was doing, for her head was dizzy and her +eyes were swimming in unshed tears. It ran: + +"You ask, Do I mean to adopt entirely? Yes; to bring up just the same +as if it were born to me. I hope yours will be a strong and healthy boy; +but if it is a girl----" + +Glory could not understand what she was reading. Whose letter could it +be? It was addressed "X. Y. Z., Office of _Morning Post_." + +There was a hurried footstep approaching, and Polly came in, with her +eyes on the ground as if looking for something she had dropped. At the +next moment she had snatched the letter out of Glory's hand, and was +saying: + +"What are you doing in my room? Has your friend the chaplain told you to +spy upon me?" + +The expression on her face was appalling, and Glory, who had flushed up +with shame, turned away without a word. + +When John Storm got back to his room he found the following letter from +the canon on his table: + + +"Since our interview of this morning (so strangely abridged) I have had +the honour to visit your dear uncle, the Prime Minister, and he agrees +with me that the strain of your recent examinations and the anxieties of +a new occupation have probably disturbed your health, and that it +will be prudent of you to take a short vacation. I have therefore the +greatest pleasure in assuring you that you are free from duty for a +week, a fortnight, or a month, as your convenience may determine; and +during your much-regretted absence I will do my best to sustain the +great loss of your invaluable help." + + +On reading the message, John Storm flung himself into a chair and burst +into a long peal of bitter laughter. But when the laughter was spent +there came a sense of great loneliness. Then he remembered Mrs. +Callender, and went across to her little house in Victoria Square, and +showed her the canon's letter and told her everything. + +"Lies, lies, lies!" she said. "Ah, laddie, laddie! to lie, to know you +lie, to be known to lie, and yet to go on lying--that is the whole art +of life with these fashionable shepherds and their fashionable flock. +As for that woman--ugh! She was separated from her husband for two years +before his death; and he died in a hotel abroad without kith or kin +to comfort him: and now she wears his hair in a gold locket on her +bosom--that's what she is! But all's well that ends well, laddie. The +_holly_ will do ye good, for you were killing yerself with work. You'll +no be spending it in your little island, now, eh?" + +John Storm was sitting with one leg across the other, and his head on +his hand and his elbow on his knee. + +"I shall spend it," he said, "in Retreat at the Brotherhood in +Bishopsgate." + +"God bless me, man! is that the change of air ye'll be going to gie +yoursel'? It may be well enough for men with water in their veins; but +you have blood, laddie--blood! Tak' care, tak' care!" + + + + +XVI. + +"Still at Martha's. + +"Quite right, dear Aunt Anna, the terms 'authority' and 'obedience' must +be known and honoured. Only, when it is a case of put a penny in the +slot and out comes the word of command, you can't exactly feel that way. +The board of directors put the penny into the slot of this institution, +and the word of command, so far as I am concerned, comes out of the +mouth of Ward Sister Allworthy. I call her the White Owl. She is five +feet ten, and has big round cheeks which sometimes I should dearly +love to slap--as mothers slap their 'childers' when they administer a +humiliating punishment. + +"So you think you notice 'a certain want of aptitude'? Well, I don't +think I am naturally a bad nurse, Aunt Anna. The patients like me, +and they don't die of the dumps when I am about. Only I can't practise +nursing by the rule of three, and as a consequence I get myself +reported. Sister Allworthy has reported me three times, bless her! +Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed, and now she threatens to have me up +before the matron. That dear soul has difficulties of locomotion, being +buried under the Pelion on Ossa of a mountain of fat. She inhabits a +cave of Adullam on the edge of the Inferno--i. e., the 'theatre'--below +stairs, and has a small dog with a bad heart and broken wind always +nagging on her knee. I call her the Chief Broker in Breakages and Head +Dealer in Diseases, and she is only seen once a day when she comes round +to take stock. You have to be nice with her Majesty,' for she can haul +you up at the weekly board, and put a score against you in the black +book, and send you away without a certificate. If that happens, a girl +who expects to earn her living as a nurse has never any particular need +to pray, 'In all time of our wealth, good Lord deliver us.' + +"But, oh, my dear grandfather, what do you think of our John Storm +now? After uttering the lamentations of Jeremiah and predicting all the +plagues of Egypt, he has gone off to hold his peace--that is to say, he +has gone to make his 'Retreat,' which, being interpreted, means praying +without ceasing, and also without speaking, eighteen hours a day, six +days at a spell, and sometimes sixty. When he comes back reeking with +all that holiness I shall feel myself such a miserable sinner---- + +"Soberly, I could cry to think of it, though, and when I remember that +perhaps I was partly to blame---- + +"It was this way: In that 'ter'ble discoorse' I told you he had +scotched the snake, not killed it, and his vicar (I call him Mr. +Worldly Wiseman), finding that his ladies and nobility went out like the +Pharisees, one by one, told our poor John he was ill and stood in need +of instant rest. It looked like it certainly, and the trouble must have +been a sort of human rabies in which the poor victim bites at his best +friends first. He came here with his lower lip hanging like an old +dog's, and I was so stupid as not to see that he was being hunted like a +dog too, and only told myself how ugly and untidy he had grown of late. +But the Sister had just before been showing me her tusks again, and +being possessed with a fury, I gave it him world without end. He was +very unreasonable though, and seemed to say that I must have no friends +and no amusements that were not of his choosing, and that after spending +my days walking through the inside of this precious hospital I must +spend my nights walking round the outside of it. Being a woman of like +passions with himself, I had a 'ter'ble dust' with him on the subject, +and the next I heard was that he was going to make Retreat in a kind of +English-church monastery somewhere in the city, where he would 'try +to disentangle' himself 'from the world' and see what he 'ought to do +next.' He sent me his blessing with this message, and I sent him back +mine--a less holy one, but he'll make it do. + +"I thought you would remember Mr. Drake's mother, dear Auntie Rachel. +Yes, he is fair also, and wears his hair brushed across his forehead, +much as you see in the portraits of Napoleon. In fact, he is a sort of +fair-haired Napoleon in nature as well. + +"He took me to the theatre the other evening, and that was the great +event I intended to tell you about. It was quite a proper sort of place, +and nobody behaved badly except Glory, who kept talking and preaching +and going silly with excitement all the evening through, with the result +that everybody was staring mewards and wanting to turn me out. + +"Since then Mr. Drake's friend, Lord Bob, who knows all the actors on +earth seemingly, has taken us 'behind,' and we have seen a rehearsal. +Things don't look quite the same behind as before, but nothing in the +world does that, and I wasn't a bit disenchanted. In fact, I found +everything delightfully romantic and amusing, and really I do not think +it _can_ be so very wicked to be an actress. Do you? + +"My friend Polly Love was with us. Polly is a probationer also, and +sleeps in the cubicle next to mine, and after the rehearsal we went to +the gentlemen's chambers to tea. I can hear what Aunt Anna is saying: +'Goodness gracious! you didn't do that, girl?' Well, yes, I did though. +In the interest of my sex I wanted to see how two boys could live in +rooms all by themselves, and it's perfectly shocking how well they get +on without a woman. Of course I wasn't such a silly as to let wit about +that, but after I had examined their sitting-room and cross-examined its +owners on its numerous photographs (chiefly feminine) and tried how it +feels to hold their big pipes between one's teeth, I whipped off my hat +at once and began to put things straight for them, and then I made the +tea. + +"By this time the gentlemen had changed into their jackets, and I sent +them flying around for cups and saucers and sugar basins. It turned out +that they had only one teaspoon in the place, and when anybody wanted +to stir her tea she said, 'Will you oblige me with _spoon_ please?' +What fun it was! We laughed until we cried--at least one of us did--and +eventually we managed to break the teapot and a slop basin and to +overturn a standing lamp. It was perfectly delightful! + +"But the best sport was after tea was over, and Glory was called on +for imitations of the people we had seen at the theatre. Of course she +couldn't imitate a man when she was in a woman's frock, so being as +bright as diamonds that night and twice 'as impudent as a white stone,' +[* A Manx proverb] she actually conceived the idea of dressing up in +man's clothes. Naturally the gentlemen were enchanted, so I hope Auntie +Rachel isn't terribly shocked. Mr. Drake lent me his knickerbockers and +a velvet jacket, and Polly and I went into the bedroom, where she helped +me to find the way to put them on. With my own blouse and my own hat +(I am wearing a felt one now with a broad brim and a feather), and _of +course_ my own slippers and stockings, I made a bogh of a boy, I can +tell you. I thought Polly would have died of delight in the bedroom, +but when we came out she kept covering her face and crying, 'Glory, how +_can_ you!' + +"I'm afraid I sang and talked more than was good for the soul, but it +was all Mr. Drake's doing. He declared I was such a marvellous mimic +that it was simply a waste of time and the good gifts of God to go on +hospital nursing any longer. And I do believe that if anything happened, +and the need arose, he would---- + +"Only fancy Glory a public person, and all the world and his wife going +down on their knees to her! But then it's fearful to think of being an +actress, isn't it? + +"After all such glorious 'outs' I have to go 'in' to the hospital, and +then comes my fit again. Do you remember my little boy who said he was +going to the angels, and he would get lots of gristly pork up there? He +has gone, and I don't think I like nursing children now. Oh, how I long +to go out into the world! I want to shine in it. I want to become great +and glorious. I could do it too, I know I could. I have got it in me, +I am sure I have. Yet here I am in a little dark corner crying for the +sunshine! + +"How silly this is, isn't it? It sounds like madness. My dears, allow me +to introduce you to some one-- + +"Glory Quayle, 'March Hare and Madwoman.'" + + + + +XVII. + +The board room of the hospital of Martha's Vineyard was a large and +luxurious chamber, with an oval window at its farther end, and its two +side walls panelled with portraits of former chairmen and physicians. In +great oaken armchairs, behind ponderous oaken tables, covered with green +cloth and furnished with writing pads, the Board of Governors sat in +three sides of a square, leaving an open space in the middle. This +open space was reserved for patients seeking admission or receiving +discharge, and for officers of the hospital presenting their weekly +reports. + +On a morning in August the matron's report had closed with a startling +item. It recommended the immediate suspension of a nurse on the ground +of gross impropriety of conduct. The usual course in such a case was +for the board of the hospital to depute the matron to act for them in +private, but the chairman in this instance was a peppery person, with a +stern mouth and a solid under-jaw. + +"This is a most serious matter," he said. "I think--this being a public +institution--I really think the board should investigate the case for +itself. We ought to assure ourselves that--that, in fact, no other +irregularity is going on in the hospital." + +"May it please your lordship," said a rotund voice from, one of the +side tables, "I would suggest that a case like this of grievous moral +delinquency comes directly within the dispensation of the chaplain, and +if he has done his duty by the unhappy girl (as no doubt he has) he must +have a statement to make to the board with regard to her." + +It was Canon Wealthy. + +"I may mention," he added, "that Mr. Storm has now returned to his +duties, and is at present in the hospital." + +"Send for him," said the chairman. + +When John Storm entered the board room it was remarked that he looked no +better for his holiday. His cheeks were thinner, his eyes more hollow, +and there was a strange pallor under his swarthy skin. + +The business was explained to him, and he was asked if he had any +statement to make with regard to the nurse whom the matron had reported +for suspension. + +"No," he said, "I have no statement." + +"Do you mean to tell the board," said the chairman, "that you +know nothing of this matter--that the case is too trivial for your +attention--or perhaps that you have never even spoken to the girl on the +subject?" + +"That is so--I never have," said John. + +"Then you shall do so now," said the chairman, and he put his hand on +the bell beside him, and the messenger appeared. + +"You can not intend, sir, to examine the girl here," said John. + +"And why not?" + +"Before so many--and all of us men save one. Surely the matron----" + +The canon rose to his feet again. "My young brother is naturally +sensitive, my lord, but I assure him his delicate feelings are wasted on +a girl like this. He forgets that the shame lies in the girl's sin, not +in her just and necessary punishment." + +"Bring her in," said the chairman. The matron whispered to the +messenger, and he left the room. + +"Pardon me, sir," said John Storm; "if it is your expectation that I +should question the nurse on her sin, as the canon says, I can not do +so." + +"Can not?" + +"Well, I will not." + +"And is that your idea of your duty as a chaplain?" + +"It is the matron's duty, not the chaplain's, to----" + +"The matron! The matron! This is your parish, sir--your parish. A great +public institution is in danger of a disgraceful scandal, and you who +are responsible for its spiritual welfare--really, gentlemen----" + +Again the canon rose with a conciliatory smile. + +"I think I understand my young friend," he said, "and your lordship and +the hoard will appreciate his feelings, however you may disapprove of +his judgment. What generous heart can not sympathize with the sensitive +spirit of the youthful clergyman who shrinks from the spectacle of guilt +and shame in a young and perhaps beautiful woman? But if it will relieve +your lordship from an embarrassing position, I am myself willing----" + +"Thank you," said the chairman; and then the girl was brought into the +room in charge of Sister Allworthy. + +She was holding her head down and trying to cover her face with her +hands. + +"Your name, girl?" said the canon. + +"Mary Elizabeth Love," she faltered. + +"You are aware, Mary Elizabeth Love, that our excellent and indulgent +matron" (here he bowed to a stout lady who sat in the open space) "has +been put to the painful duty of reporting you for suspension, which is +equivalent to your immediate discharge. Now, I can not hold out a hope +that the board will not ratify her recommendation, but it may perhaps +qualify the terms of your 'character' if you can show these gentlemen +that the unhappy lapse from good conduct which brings you to this +position of shame and disgrace is due in any measure to irregularities +practised perhaps within this hospital, or to the temptations of any one +connected with it." + +The girl began to cry. + +"Speak, nurse; if you have anything to say, the gentlemen are willing to +hear it." + +The girl's crying deepened into sobs. + +"Useless!" said the chairman. + +"Impossible!" said the canon. + +But some one suggested that perhaps the nurse had a girl friend in the +hospital who could throw light on the difficult situation. Then Sister +Allworthy whispered to the matron, who said, "Bring her in." + +John Storm's face had assumed a fixed and absent expression, but he saw +a girl of larger size than Polly Love enter the room with a gleam, as it +were, of sunshine on her golden-red hair. It was Glory. + +There was some preliminary whispering, and then the canon began again: + +"You are a friend and companion of Mary Elizabeth Love?" + +"Yes," said Glory. + +Her voice was full and calm, and a look of quiet courage lit up her +girlish beauty. + +"You have known her other friends, no doubt, and perhaps you have shared +her confidence?" + +"I think so." + +"Then you can tell the board if the unhappy condition in which she finds +herself is due to any one connected with this hospital." + +"I think not." + +"Not to any officer, servant, or member of any school attached to it?" + +"No." + +"Thank you," said the chairman, "that is quite enough," and down the +tables of the governors there were nods and smiles of satisfaction. + +"What have I done?" said Glory. + +"You have done a great service to an ancient and honourable +institution," said the canon, "and the best return the board can +make for your candour and intelligence is to advise you to avoid such +companionship for the future and to flee such perilous associations." + +A certain desperate recklessness expressed itself in Glory's face, and +she stepped up to Polly, who was now weeping audibly, and put her arm +about the girl's waist. + +"What are the girl's relatives?" said the chairman. + +The matron replied out of her book. Polly was an orphan, both her +parents being dead. She had a brother who had lately been a patient in +the hospital, but he was only a lay-helper in the Anglican Monastery at +Bishopsgate Street, and therefore useless for present purposes. + +There was some further whispering about the tables. Was this the +girl who had been recommended to the hospital by the coroner who had +investigated a certain notorious and tragic case? Yes. + +"I think I have heard of some poor and low relations," said the canon, +"but their own condition is probably too needy to allow them to help her +at a time like the present." + +Down to this moment Polly had done nothing but cry, but now she flamed +up in a passion of pride and resentment. + +"It's false!" she cried. "I have no poor and low relations, and I want +nobody's help. My friend is a gentleman--as much a gentleman as anybody +here--and I can tell you his name, if you like. He lives in St. James's +Street, and he is Lord----" + +"Stop, girl!" said the canon, in a loud voice. "We can not allow you +to compromise the honour of a gentleman by mentioning his name in his +absence." + +John stepped to one of the tables of the governors and took up a +pamphlet which lay there. It was the last annual report of Martha's +Vineyard, with a list of its governors and subscribers. + +"The girl is suspended," said the chairman, and reaching for the +matron's book, he signed it and returned it. + +"This," said the canon, "appears to be a case for Mrs. Callender's +Maternity Home at Soho, and with the consent of the board I will request +the chaplain to communicate with that lady immediately." + +John Storm had heard, but he made no answer; he was turning over the +leaves of the pamphlet. + +The canon hemmed and cleared his throat. "Mary Elizabeth Love," he +said, "you have brought a stain upon this honourable and hitherto +irreproachable institution, but I trust and believe that ere long, and +before your misbegotten child is born, you may see cause to be grateful +for our forbearance and our charity. Speaking for myself, I confess it +is an occasion of grief to me, and might well, I think, be a cause of +sorrow to him who has had your spiritual welfare in his keeping" (here +he gave a look toward John), "that you do not seem to realize the +position of infamy in which you stand. We have always been taught to +think of a woman as sweet and true and pure; a being hallowed to our +sympathy by the most sacred associations, and endeared to our love +by the tenderest ties, and it is only right" (the canon's voice was +breaking), "it is only right, I say, that you should be told at once, +and in this place--though tardily and too late--that for the woman who +wrongs that ideal, as you have wronged it, there is but one name known +among persons of good credit and good report--a hard name, a terrible +name, a name of contempt and loathing--the name of _prostitute!_" + +Crushing the pamphlet in his hand, John Storm had taken a step toward +the canon, but he was too late. Some one was there before him. It was +Glory. With her head erect and her eyes flashing, she stood between the +weeping girl and the black-coated judge, and everybody could see the +swelling and heaving of her bosom. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "You say you have been taught to think of a +woman as sweet and pure. Well, _I_ have been taught to think of a _man_ +as strong and brave, and tender and merciful to every living creature, +but most of all to a woman, if she is erring and fallen. But you are not +brave and tender; you are cruel and cowardly, and I despise you and hate +you!" + +The men at the tables were rising from their seats. + +"Oh, you have discharged my friend," she said, "and you may discharge +me, too, if you like--if you _dare_! But I will tell everybody that +it was because I would not let you insult a poor girl with a cruel and +shameful name, and trample upon her when she was down. And everybody +will believe me, because it is the truth; and anything else you may say +will be a lie, and all the world will know it!" + +The matron was shambling up also. + +"How dare you, miss! Go back to your ward this instant! Do you know whom +you are speaking to?" + +"Oh, it's not the first time I've spoken to a clergyman, ma'am. I'm the +daughter of a clergyman, and the granddaughter of a clergyman, and +I know what a clergyman is when he is brave and good, and gentle and +merciful to all women, and when he is a man and a gentleman--not a +Pharisee and a crocodile!" + +"Please take that girl away," said the chairman. + +But John Storm was by her side in a moment. + +"No, sir," he said, "nobody shall do that." + +But now Glory had broken down too, and the girls, like two lost +children, were crying on each other's breasts. John opened the door and +led them up to it. + +"Take your friend to her room, nurse: I shall be with you presently." + +Then he turned back to the chairman, still holding the crumpled pamphlet +in his hand, and said calmly and respectfully: + +"And now that you have finished with the woman, sir, may I ask what you +intend to do with the man?" + +"What man?" + +"Though I did not feel myself qualified to sit in judgment on the +broken heart of a fallen girl, I happen to know the name which she was +forbidden to mention, and I find it here, sir--here in your list of +subscribers and governors." + +"Well, what of it?" + +"You have wiped the girl out of your books, sir. Now I ask you to wipe +the man out also." + +"Gentlemen," said the chairman, rising, "the business of the board is at +an end." + + + + +XVIII. + +John Storm wrote a letter to Mrs. Callender explaining Polly Love's +situation and asking her to call on the girl immediately, and then he +went out in search of Lord Robert Ure at the address he had discovered +in the report. + +He found the man alone on his arrival, but Drake came in soon afterward. +Lord Robert received him with a chilly bow; Drake offered his hand +coldly; neither of them requested him to sit. + +"You are surprised at my visit, gentlemen," said John, "but I have just +now been present at a painful scene, and I thought it necessary that you +should know something about it." + +Then he described what had occurred in the board room, and in doing so +dwelt chiefly on the abjectness of the girl's humiliation. Lord Robert +stood by the window rapping a tune on the window pane, and Drake sat in +a low chair with his legs stretched out and his hands in his trousers +pockets. + +"But I am at a loss to understand why you have thought it necessary to +come here to tell that story," said Lord Robert. + +"Lord Robert," said John, "you understand me perfectly." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Storm, I do not understand you in the least." + +"Then I will not ask you if you are responsible for the girl's +position." + +"Don't." + +"But I will ask you a simpler and easier question." + +"What is it?" + +"When are you going to marry her?" + +Lord Robert burst into ironical laughter and faced round to Drake. + +"Well, these men--these curates--their assurance, don't you know... +May I ask your reverence what is _your_ position in this matter--your +standing, don't you know?" + +"That of chaplain of the hospital." + +"But you say she has been, turned out of it." + +"Very well, Lord Robert, merely that of a man who intends to protect an +injured woman." + +"Oh, I know," said Lord Robert dryly, "I understand these heroics. I've +heard of your sermons, Mr. Storm--your interviews with ladies, and so +forth." + +"And I have heard of your doings with girls," said John. "What are you +going to do for this one?" + +"Exactly what I please." + +"Take care! You know what the girl is. It's precisely such girls---- +At this moment she is tottering on the brink of hell, Lord Robert. If +anything further should happen--if you should disappoint her--she is +looking to you and building up hopes--if she should fall still lower and +destroy herself body and soul----" + +"My dear Mr. Storm, please understand that I shall do everything or +nothing for the girl exactly as I think well, don't you know, without +the counsel or coercion of any clergyman." + +There was a short silence, and then John Storm said quietly: "It is no +worse than I expected. But I had to hear it from your own lips, and I +have heard it. Good-day." + +He went back to the hospital and asked for Glory. She was banished with +Polly to the housekeeper's room. Polly was catching flies on the window +(which overlooked the park) and humming, "Sigh no more, ladies." Glory's +eyes were red with weeping. John drew Glory aside. + +"I have written to Mrs. Callender, and she will be here presently," he +said. + +"It is useless," said Glory. "Polly will refuse to go. She expects Lord +Robert to come for her, and she wants me to call on Mr. Drake." + +"But I have seen the man myself." + +"Lord Robert?" + +"Yes. He will do nothing." + +"Nothing!" + +"Nothing, or worse than nothing." + +"Impossible!" + +"Nothing of that kind is impossible to men like those." + +"They are not so bad as that though, and even if Lord Robert is all you +say, Mr. Drake----" + +"They are friends and housemates, Glory, and what the one is the other +must be also." + +"Oh, no. Mr. Drake is quite a different person." + +"Don't be misled, my child. If there were any real difference between +them----" + +"But there is; and if a girl were in trouble or wanted help in +anything----" + +"He would drop her, Glory, like an old lottery ticket that has drawn a +blank and is done for." + +She was biting her lip, and it was bleeding slightly. + +"You dislike Mr. Drake," she said, "and that is why you can not be +just to him. But he is always praising and excusing you, and when any +one----" + +"His praises and excuses are nothing to me. I am not thinking of myself. +I am thinking----" + +He had a look of intense excitement, and his speaking was abrupt and +disconnected. + +"You were splendid this morning, Glory, and when I think of the girl who +defied that Pharisee, being perhaps herself the victim--The man asked +me what my standing was, as if that--But if I had really had a right, if +the girl had been anything to me, if she had been somebody else and not +a light, shallow, worthless creature, do you know what I should have +said to him? 'Since things have gone so far, sir, you must marry the +girl now, and keep to her and be faithful to her, and love her, or else +I----" + +"You are flushed and excited, and there is something I do not +understand----" + +"Promise me, Glory, that you will break off this bad connection." + +"You are unreasonable. I can not promise." + +"Promise that you will never see these men again." + +"But I must see Mr. Drake at once and arrange about Polly." + +"Don't mention the man's name again; it makes my blood boil to hear you +speak it!" + +"But this is tyranny; and you are worse than the canon; and I can not +bear it." + +"Very well; as you will. It's of no use struggling--What is the time?" + +"Six o'clock nearly." + +"I must see the canon before he goes to dinner." + +His manner had changed suddenly. He looked crushed and benumbed. + +"I am going now." he said, turning aside. + +"So soon? When shall I see you again?" + +"God knows!--I mean--I don't know," he answered in a helpless way. + +He was looking around, as if taking a mental farewell of everything. + +"But we can not part like this," she said. "I think you like me a little +still, and----" + +Her supplicating voice made him look up into her face for a moment. +Then he turned away, saying, "Good-bye, Glory." And with a look of utter +exhaustion he went out of the room. + +Glory walked to a window at the end of the corridor that she might see +him when he crossed the street. There was just a glimpse of his back as +he turned the corner with a slow step and his head on his breast. She +went back crying. + +"I could fancy a fresh herring for supper, dear," said Polly. "What do +you say, housekeeper?" + +John Storm went back to the canon's house a crushed and humiliated man. +"I can do no more," he thought. "I will give it up." His old +influence with Glory must have been lost. Something had come between +them--something or some one. "Anyhow it is all over and I must go away +somewhere." + +To go on seeing Glory would be useless. It would also be dangerous. As +often as he was face to face with her he wanted to lay hold of her and +say, "You must do this and this, because it is my wish and direction +and command, and it is _I_ that say so!" In the midst of God's work how +subtle were the temptations of the devil! + +But with every step that he went plodding home there came other +feelings. He could see the girl quite plainly, her fresh young face, so +strong and so tender, so full of humour and heart's love, and all the +sweet beauty of her form and figure. Then the old pain in his breast +came back again and he began to be afraid. + +"I will take refuge in the Church," he thought. In prayer and penance +and fasting he would find help and consolation. The Church was +peace--peace from the noise of life, and strength to fight and to +vanquish. But the Church must be the Church of God--not of the world, +the flesh, and the devil. + +"Ask the canon if he can see me immediately," said John Storm to the +footman, and he stood in the hall for the answer. + +The canon had taken tea that day in the study with his daughter +Felicity. He was reclining on the sofa, propped up with velvet cushions, +and holding the teacup and saucer like the wings of a butterfly in both +hands. + +"We have been deceived, my dear" (sip, sip), "and we must pay the +penalty of the deception. Yet we have nothing to blame ourselves +for--nothing whatever. Here was a young man, from Heaven knows where, +bent on entering the diocese. True, he was merely the son of a poor +lord who had lived the life of a hermit, but he was also the nephew, and +presumably the heir, of the Prime Minister of England" (sip, sip, sip). +"Well, I gave him his title. I received him into my house. I made +him free of my family--and what is the result? He has disregarded my +instructions, antagonized my supporters, and borne himself toward me +with an attitude of defiance, if not disdain." + +Felicity poured out a second cup of tea for her father, sympathized +with him, and set forth her own grievances. The young man had no +conversation, and his reticence was quite embarrassing. Sometimes +when she had friends, and asked him to come down, his silence--well, +really---- + +"We might have borne with these little deficiencies, my dear, if the +Prime Minister had been deeply interested. But he is not. I doubt if he +has ever seen his nephew since that first occasion. And when I called +at Downing Street, about the time of the sermon, he seemed entirely +undisturbed. 'The young man is in the wrong place, my dear canon; send +him back to me.' That was all." + +"Then why don't you do it?" said Felicity. + +"It is coming to that, my child; but blood is thicker than water, you +know, and after all----" + +It was at this moment the footman entered the room to ask if the canon +could see Mr. Storm. + +"Ah, the man himself!" said the canon, rising. "Jenkyns, remove the +tray." Dropping his voice: "Felicity, I will ask you to leave us +together. After what occurred this morning at the hospital anything +like a scene----" Then aloud: "Bring him in, Jenkyns.--Say something, my +dear. Why don't you speak?--Come in, my dear Storm.--You'll see to that +matter for me, Felicity. Thanks, thanks! Sorry to send you off, but I'm +sure Mr. Storm will excuse you. Good-bye for the present." + +Felicity went out as John Storm came in. He looked excited, and there +was an expression of pain in his face. + +"I am sorry to disturb you, but I need not detain you long," he said. + +"Sit down, Mr. Storm, sit down," said the canon, returning to the sofa. + +But John did not sit. He stood by the chair vacated by Felicity, and +kept beating his hat on the back of it. + +"I have come to tell you, sir, that I wish to resign my curacy." + +The canon glanced up with a stealthy expression, and thought: "How +clever of him! To resign before he is told plainly that he has to +go--that is very clever." + +Then he said aloud: "I am sorry, very sorry. I'm always sorry to part +with my clergy. Still--you see I am entirely frank with you--I have +observed that you have not been comfortable of late, and I think you are +acting for the best. When do you wish to leave me?" + +"As soon as convenient--as early as I can be spared." + +The canon smiled condescendingly. "That need not trouble you at all. +With a staff like mine, you see---- Of course, you are aware that I am +entitled to three months' notice?" + +"Yes." + +"But I will waive it; I will not detain you. Have you seen your uncle on +the subject?" + +"No." + +"When you do so please say that I always try to remove impediments +from a young man's path if he is uncomfortable--in the wrong place, for +example." + +"Thank you," said John Storm, and then he hesitated a moment before +stepping to the door. + +The canon rose and bowed affably. "Not an angry word," he thought. "Who +shall say that blood does not count for something?" + +"Believe me, my dear Storm," he said aloud, "I shall always remember +with pride and pleasure our early connection. Perhaps I think you are +acting unwisely, even foolishly, but it will continue to be a source of +satisfaction to me that I was able to give you your first opportunity, +and if your next curacy should chance to be in London, I trust you will +allow us to maintain the acquaintance." + +John Storm's face was twitching and his pulses were beating violently, +but he was trying to control himself. + +"Thank you," he said; "but it is not very likely----" + +"Don't say you are giving up Orders, dear Mr. Storm, or perhaps that you +are only leaving our church in order to unite yourself to another. Ah! +have I touched on a tender point? You must not be surprised that +rumours have been rife. We can not silence the tongues of busybodies +and mischief-makers, you know. And I confess, speaking as your spiritual +head and adviser, it would be a source of grief to me if a young +clergyman, who has eaten the bread of the Establishment, and my own as +well, were about to avow himself the subject and slave of an Italian +bishop." + +John Storm came back from the door. + +"What you are saying, sir, requires that I should be plain spoken. In +giving up my curacy I am not leaving the Church of England; I am only +leaving you." + +"I am so glad, so relieved!" + +"I am leaving you because I can not live with you any longer, because +the atmosphere you breathe is impossible to me, because your religion is +not my religion, or your God my God!" + +"You surprise me. What have I done?" + +"A month ago I asked you to set your face as a clergyman against the +shameful and immoral marriage of a man of scandalous reputation, but +you refused; you excused the man and sided with him. This morning you +thought it necessary to investigate in public the case of one of that +man's victims, and you sided with the man again--you denied to the girl +the right even to mention the scoundrel's name!" + +"How differently we see things! Do you know I thought my examination of +the poor young thing was merciful to the point of gentleness! And that, +I may tell you--notwithstanding the female volcano who came down on +me--was the view of the board and of his lordship the chairman." + +"Then I am sorry to differ from them. I thought it unnecessary and +unmanly and brutal, and even blasphemous!" + +"Mr. Storm! Do you know what you are saying?" + +"Perfectly, and I came to say it." + +His eyes were wild, his voice was hoarse; he was like a man breaking the +bonds of a tyrannical slavery. + +"You called that poor child a prostitute because she had wasted the +good gifts which God had given her. But God has given good gifts to you +also--gifts of intellect and eloquence with which you might have raised +the fallen and supported the weak, and defended the downtrodden and +comforted the broken-hearted--and what have you done with them? You have +bartered them for benefices, and peddled them for popularity; you have +given them in exchange for money, for houses, for furniture, for things +like this--and this--and this! You have sold your birthright for a mess +of pottage, therefore _you_ are the prostitute!" + +"You're not yourself, sir; leave me," and, crossing the room, the canon +touched the bell. + +"Yes, ten thousand times more the prostitute than that poor fallen girl +with her taint of blood and will! There would be no such women as she is +to fall victims to evil companionship if there were no such men as you +are to excuse their betrayers and to side with them. Who is most the +prostitute--the woman who sells her body, or the man who sells his +soul?" + +"You're mad, sir! But I want no scene----" + +"You are the worst prostitute on the streets of London, and yet you are +in the Church, in the pulpit, and you call yourself a follower of the +One who forgave the woman and shamed the hypocrites, and had not where +to lay his head!" + +But the canon had faced about and fled out of the room. + +The footman came in answer to the bell, and, finding no one but John +Storm, he told him that a lady was waiting for him in a carriage at the +door. + +It was Mrs. Callender. She had come to say that she had called at the +hospital for Polly Love, and the girl had refused to go to the home at +Soho. + +"But whatever's amiss with ye, man?" she said. "You might have seen a +ghost!" + +He had come out bareheaded, carrying his hat in his hand. + +"It's all over," he said. "I've waited weeks and weeks for it, but it's +over at last. It was of no use mincing matters, so I spoke out." + +His red eyes were ablaze, but a great load seemed to be lifted off his +mind, and his soul seemed to exult. + +"I have told him I must leave him, and I am to go, immediately. The +disease was dire, and the remedy had to be dire also." + +The old lady was holding her breath and watching his flushed face with +strained attention. + +"And what may ye be going to do now?" + +"To become a religious in something more than the name; to leave +the world altogether with its idleness and pomp and hypocrisy and +unreality." + +"Get yoursel' some flesh on your bones first, man. It's easy to see +ye've no been sleeping or eating these days and days together." + +"That's nothing--nothing at all. God can not take half your soul. You +must give yourself entirely." + +"Eh, laddie, laddie, I feared me this was what ye were coming til. But +a man can not bury himself before he is dead. He may bury the half of +himself, but is it the better half? What of his thoughts--his wandering +thoughts? Choose for yoursel', though, and if you must go--if you must +hide yoursel' forever, and this is the last I'm to see of ye--ye may +kiss me, laddie--I'm old enough, surely.--Go on, James, man, what for +are ye sitting up there staring?" + +When John Storm returned to his room he found a letter from Parson +Quayle. It was a good-natured, cackling epistle, full of sweet nothings +about Glory and the hospital, about Peel and the discovery of ancient +ruins in the graveyards of the treen chapels, but it closed with this +postscript: + +"You will remember old Chalse, a sort of itinerant beggar and the +privileged pet of everybody. The silly old gawk has got hold of your +father and has actually made the old man believe that you are bewitched! +Some one has put the evil eye on you--some woman it would seem--and that +is the reason why you have broken away and behaved so strangely! It is +most extraordinary. That such a foolish superstition should have taken +hold of a man like your father is really quite astonishing, but if it +will only soften his rancour against you and help to restore peace we +may perhaps forgive the distrust of Providence and the outrage on common +sense. All's well that ends well, you know, and we shall all be happy." + + + + +XIX. + +"Martha's. + +"Lost, stolen, or strayed--a man, a clergyman, answers to the name of +John Storm. Or rather he does not answer, having allowed himself to be +written to twice without making so much as a yap or a yowl by way of +reply. Last seen six days ago, when he was suffering from the sulks, +after being in a de'il of a temper, with a helpless and innocent maiden +who 'doesn't know nothin',' that can have given him offence. Any one +giving information of his welfare and whereabouts to the said H. and I. +M. will be generously and appropriately rewarded. + +"But, soberly, my dear John Storm, what has become of you? Where are +you, and whatever have you been doing since the day of the dreadful +inquisition? Frightful rumours are flying through the air like knives, +and they cut and wound a poor girl woefully. Therefore be good enough to +reply by return of post--and in person. + +"Meantime please accept it as a proof of my eternal regard that after +two knock-down blows received in silence I am once more coming up +smiling. Know, then, that Mr. Drake has justified all expectations, +having compelled Lord Robert to provide for Polly, who is now safely +ensconced in her own country castle somewhere in St. John's Wood, +furnished to hand with servants and vassals complete. Thus you will be +charmed to observe in me the growth of the prophetic instinct, for you +will remember my positive prediction that if a girl were in trouble, +and the necessity arose, Mr. Drake would be the first to help her. Of +course, he had a great deal to say that was as sweet as syrup on the +loyalty of my own friendship also, and he expended much beautiful +rhetoric on yourself as well. It seems that you are one of those who +follow the impulse of the heart entirely, while the rest of us divide +our allegiance with the head; and if you display sometimes the severity +of a tyrant of our sex, that is only to be set down as another proof of +your regard and of the elevation of the pedestal whereon you desire us +to be placed. Thus he reconciles me to the harmony of the universe, and +makes all things easy and agreeable. + +"This being the case, I have now to inform you that Polly's baby has +come, having hastened his arrival (it is a man, bless it!) owing either +to the tears or the terrors of the crocodile. And being on night duty +now, and therefore at liberty from 6.30 to 8.30, I intend to pay him my +first call of ceremony this evening, when anybody else would be welcome +to accompany me who might be willing to come to his shrine of innocence +and love in the spirit of the wise men of the East. But, lest anybody +_should_ inquire for me at the hospital at the first of the hours +aforesaid, this is to give warning that the White Owl has expressly +forbidden all intercourse between the members of her staff and +the discharged and dishonoured mother. Set it down to my spirit of +contradiction that I intend to disregard the mandate, though I am only +too well aware that the poor discharged and dishonoured one has no other +idea of friendship than that of a loyalty in which she shares but is not +sharing. Of course, woman is born to such selfishness as the sparks fly +upward; but if I should ever meet with a man who isn't I will just give +myself up to him--body and soul and belongings--unless he has a wife +or other encumbrance already and is booked for this world, and in that +event I will enter into my own recognisances and be bound over to him +for the next. Glory." + + +At six-thirty that evening Glory stood waiting in the portico of the +hospital, but John Storm did not come. At seven she was ringing at the +bell of a little house in St. John's Wood that stood behind a high wall +and had an iron grating in the garden door. The bell was answered by a +good-natured, slack-looking servant, who was friendly, and even familiar +in a moment. + +"Are you the young lady from the hospital? The missis told me about you. +I'm Liza, and come upstairs--Yes, doing nicely, thank you, both of 'em +is--and mind your head, miss." + +Polly was in a little bandbox of a bedroom, looking more pink and white +than ever against the linen of her frilled pillow slips. By the bedside +a woman of uncertain age in deep mourning, with little twinkling eyes +and fat cheeks, was rocking the baby on her knee and babbling over it in +words of maudlin endearment. + +"Bless it, 'ow it do notice! Boo-loo-loo!" + +Glory leaned over the little one and pronounced it the prettiest baby +she had ever seen. + +"Syme 'ere miss. There ain't sech another in all London! It's jest the +sort of baby you can love. Pore little thing, it's quite took to me +already, as if it wanted to enkirridge you, my dear." + +"This is Mrs. Jupe," said Polly, "and she's going to take baby to +nurse." + +"Boo-loo-loo-boo! And a nice new cradle's awaiting of it afront of the +fire in my little back parlour. Boo-loo!" + +"But surely you're never going to part with your baby!" said Glory. + +"Why, what do you suppose, dear? Do you think I'm going to be tied to +a child all my days, and never be able to go anywhere or do anything or +amuse myself at all?" + +"Jest that. It'll be to our mootual benefit, as I said when I answered +your advertisement." + +Glory asked the woman if she was married and had any children of her +own. + +"Me, miss? I've been married eleven years, and I've allwiz prayed the +dear Lord to gimme childring. Got any? On'y one little girl; but I want +to adopt another from the birth, so as to have something to love when my +own's growed up." + +Glory supposed that Polly could see her baby at any time, but the woman +answered doubtfully: + +"Can she see baby? Well, I would rather not, certingly. If I tyke it +I want to feel it is syme as my very own and do my dooty by it, pore +thing! And if the mother were coming and going I should allwiz feel as +she 'ad the first claim." + +Polly showed no interest in the conversation until Mrs. Jupe asked for +the name of her "friend," in lieu of eighty pounds that were to be paid +down on delivery of the child. + +"Come, myke up your mind, my dear, and let me tyke it away at onct. Give +me 'is nyme, that's good enough for me." + +After some hesitation Glory gave Lord Robert's name and address, and the +woman prepared the child for its departure. + +"Don't tyke on so, my dear. 'Tain't sech a great crime, and many a laidy +of serciety 'as done worse." + +At the street door Glory asked Mrs. Jupe for her own address, and the +woman gave her a card, saying if she ever wanted to leave the hospital +it would be easy to help such a fine-looking young woman as she was to +make a bit of living for herself. + +Polly recovered speedily from the trouble of the child's departure, +and presently assumed an easy and almost patronizing tone toward Glory, +pretending to be amused and even a little indignant when asked how soon +she expected to be fit for business again, and able to do without Lord +Robert's assistance. + +"To tell you the truth," she said, "I was as much to blame as he was. I +wanted to escape from the drudgery of the hospital, and I knew he would +take me when the time came." + +Glory left early, vowing in her heart she would come no more. When she +changed her omnibus at Piccadilly the Circus was very full of women. + +"Letter for you, nurse," said the porter as she entered the hospital. It +was from John Storm. + + +"Dear Glory: I have at length decided to enter the Brotherhood at +Bishopsgate Street, and I am to go into the monastery this evening. It +is not as a visitor that I am going this time, but as a postulant or +novice and in the hope of becoming worthy in due course to take the vows +of lifelong consecration. Therefore I am writing to you probably for the +last time, and parting from you perhaps forever. + +"Since we came up to London together I have suffered many shocks and +disappointments, and I seem to have been torn in ribbons. My cherished +dreams have proved to be delusions; the palaces I had built up for +myself have turned out to be pasteboard, gilt, and rubbish; I have been +robbed of all my jewels, or they have shown themselves to be shingle +stones. In this condition of shame and disillusionment I am now resolved +to escape at the same time from the world and from myself, for I am +tired of both alike, and already I feel as if a great weight had been +lifted off me. + +"But I wish to speak of you. You must have thought me cantankerous, and +so I have been sometimes, but always by conviction and on principle. I +could not countenance the fashionable morality that is corrupting the +manhood of the laity, or endure the toleration that is making the clergy +thoroughly wicked; I could not without a pang see you cater to the +world's appetites or be drawn into its gaieties and frivolities; and it +was agony to me to fear that a girl of your pure if passionate nature +might perhaps fall a victim to a gamester in life's follies--an actor +indulging a pastime--a mere cheat. + +"And what you tell me of your friend's altered circumstances does not +relieve me of such anxieties. The man who has deceived a girl once is +likely to deceive her again. Short of marriage itself, such connections +should be cut off entirely, whatever the price. When they are maintained +in relations of liberty the victim is sure to be further victimized, and +her last state is always worse than the first. + +"However, I do not wish to blame anybody, least of all you, who have +done everything for the best, and especially now when I am parting from +you forever. You have never realized how much you have been to me, and +I doubt if I knew it myself until to-day. You know how I was brought +up--with a solitary old man--God be with him!--who tried to be good to +me for the sake of his ambitions, and to love me for the sake of his +revenge. I never knew my mother, I never had a sister, and I can never +have a wife. You were all three to me and yourself besides. There were +no women in our household, and you stood for woman in my life. I have +never told you this before, but now I tell it as a dying man whispers +his secret with his parting breath. + +"I have written my letters of farewell--one to my father, asking his +forgiveness if I have done him any wrong; one to my uncle, with my love +and thanks; and one to your good old grandfather, giving up my solemn +and sacred trust of you. My conduct will of course be condemned as +weak and foolish from many points of view, but by my departure some +difficulties will be removed, and for the rest I have come to see that +everything is done by the spirit and nothing by the flesh, and that by +prayer and fasting I can help and protect you more than by counsel and +advice. Thus everything is for the best. + +"The rule under which the Brothers live in community forbids them to +write and receive letters without special permission, or even to think +too constantly of the world outside; and now that I am on the eve of +that new life, memories of the old one keep crowding on me as on a +drowning man. But they are all of one period--the days when we were at +Peel in your sweet little island, before the vain and cruel world came +in between us, when you were a simple, merry girl, and I was little more +than a happy boy, and we went plunging and laughing through your bright +blue sea together. + +"But earth's joys grow very dim and its glories are fading. That also is +for the best. I have my Koh-i-noor--my desire to depart and surrender my +life to God. John Storm." + + +"Anything wrong, nurse? Feeling ill, ain't ye? Only dizzy a bit? +Unpleasant news from home, perhaps?" + +"No, something else. Let me sit in your room, porter." + +She read the letter again and again, until the words seemed blurred and +the lines irregular as a spider's web. Then she thought: "We can not +part forever like this. I must see him again whatever happens. Perhaps +he has not yet gone." + +It was now half-past eight and time to go on duty, but she went upstairs +to Sister Allworthy and asked for an hour's further leave. The request +was promptly refused. She went downstairs to the matron and asked for +half an hour, only that she might see a friend away on a long journey, +and that was refused too. Then she tightened her quivering lips, +returned to the porter's room, fixed her bonnet on before the scratched +pier-glass, and boldly walked out of the hospital. + +It was now quite dark and the fashionable dinner hour of Belgravia, and +as she hurried through the streets many crested and coroneted carriages +drew up at the great mansions and discharged their occupants in evening +dress. The canon's house was brilliantly lighted, and when the door was +opened in answer to her knock she could see the canon himself at the +head of his own detachment of diners coming downstairs with a lady in +white silk chatting affably on his arm. + +"Is Mr. Storm at home?" + +The footman, in powdered wig and white cotton gloves, answered +haltingly. "If it is--er--anything about the hospital, miss, +Mr.--er--Golightly will attend." + +"No, it is Mr. Storm himself I wish to see." + +"Gorn!" said the footman, and he shut the door in her face. + +She had an impulse to hammer on the door with her hand, and command +the flunky to go down on his knees and beg her pardon. But what was the +good? She had no time to think of herself now. + +As a last resource she would go to Bishopsgate. How dense the traffic +seemed to be at Victoria! She had never felt so helpless before. + +It was better in the city, and as she walked eastward, in the direction +indicated by a policeman, every step brought her into quieter streets. +She was now in that part of London which is the world's busiest +market-place by day, but is shut up and deserted at night. Her light +footsteps echoed against the shutters of the shops. The moon had risen, +and she could see far down the empty street. + +She found the place at last. It was one of London's weather-beaten old +churches, shouldered by shops on either hand, and almost pushed back by +the tide of traffic. There was an iron gate at the side, leading by +an arched passage to a little courtyard, which was bounded by two high +blank walls, by the back wall of the church, and by the front of a large +house with a small doorway and many small windows. In the middle of the +courtyard there was a tree with a wooden seat round its trunk. + +And being there, she felt afraid and almost wished she had not come. +The church was dimly lighted, and she thought perhaps the cleaners were +within. But presently there was a sound of singing, in men's voices +only, and without any kind of musical accompaniment. Just then the clock +in the steeple struck nine, and chimes began to play: + + Days and moments quickly flying. + +The singing came to an end, and there was some low, inarticulate +droning, and then a general "Amen." The hammer of the bell continued +to beat out its hymn, and Glory stood under the shadow of the tree to +collect her thoughts. + +Then the sacristy door opened and a line of men came out. They were in +long black cassocks, and they crossed the courtyard from the church +to the house with the measured and hasty step of monks, and with their +hands clasped at their breasts. Almost at the end of the line, walking +with an old man whose tread was heavy, there was a younger one who was +bareheaded, and who did not wear the cassock. The moon threw a light on +his face, which looked pale and worn. It was John Storm. + +Glory gave a faint cry, a gasp, and he turned round as if startled. + +"Only the creaking of the sycamore," said the Superior. And then the +mysterious shadows took them; they passed into the house, the door was +closed, and she was alone with the chimes: + + Days and moments quickly flying, + Blend the living with the dead. + +Glory's strength had deserted her, and she went away as she came. When +she got back to Victoria, she felt for the first time as if her own +little life had been swallowed up in the turmoil of London, and she had +gone down to the cold depths of an icy sea. + +It was a quarter to ten when she returned to the ward, and the matron, +with her dog on her lap, was waiting to receive her. + +"Didn't I tell you that you could not go out to-night?" + +"Yes, ma'am," said Glory. + +"Then how did you dare to go?" + +Glory looked at her unwaveringly, with glittering eyes that seemed to +smile, whereupon the matron picked up her dog, gathered up her train, +and swept out of the ward, saying: + +"Nurse, you can leave me at the end of your term; and you need never +cross the doors of this institution again." + +Then Glory, who had all night wanted to cry, burst into laughter. The +ward Sister reproved her, but she laughed in the woman's fat face, and +would have given worlds to slap it. + +There was not a nurse in the hospital who showed more bright and +cheerful spirits when the patients were being prepared for the night. +But next morning, in the gray dawn, when she had dragged herself to bed, +and was able at length to be alone, she beat the pillows with both hands +and sobbed in her loneliness and shame. + + + + +XX. + +But youth is rich in hope, and at noon, when Glory awoke, the thought of +Drake flashed upon her like light in a dark place. He had compelled Lord +Robert to assist Polly in a worse extremity, and he would assist her in +her present predicament. How often he had hinted that the hospital was +not good enough for her, and that some day and somewhere Fate would +find other work for her and another sphere. The time had come; she would +appeal to him, and he would hasten to help her. + +She began to revive the magnificent dreams that had floated in her mind +for months. No need to tell the people at home of her dismissal and +disgrace; no need to go back to the island. She would be somebody in +her own right yet. Of course, she would have to study, to struggle, to +endure disappointments, but she would triumph in the end. And when at +length she was great and famous she would be good to other poor girls; +and as often as she thought of John Storm in his solitude in his cell, +though there might be a pang, a red stream running somewhere within, +she would comfort herself with the thought that she, too, was doing her +best; she, too, had her place, and it was a useful and worthy one. + +Before that time came, however, there would be managers to influence and +engagements to seek, and perhaps teachers to pay for. But Drake was rich +and generous and powerful; he had a great opinion of her talents, and he +would stop at nothing. + +Leaping out of bed, she sat down at the table as she was and wrote to +him: + + +"Dear Mr. Drake: Try to see me to-night. I want your advice immediately. +What do you think? I have got myself 'noticed' at last, and as a +consequence I am to leave at the end of my term. So things are urgent, +you see. I 'wave my lily hand' to you. Glory. + +"P.S.--save time I suggest the hour and the place: eight o'clock, St. +James's Park, by the bridge going down from Marlborough House." + + +Drake received this note as he was sitting alone in his chambers smoking +a cigarette after drinking a cup of tea, in that hour of glamour that +is between the lights. It seemed to bring with it a secret breath of +passion out of the atmosphere in which it had been written. At the first +impulse it went up to his lips, but at the next moment he was smitten +by the memory of something, and he thought: "I will do what is right; I +will play the game fair." + +He dined that night with a group of civil servants at his club in St. +James's Street, but at a quarter to eight, notwithstanding some playful +bantering, he put on his overcoat and turned toward the park. The autumn +night was soft and peaceful; the stars were out and the moon had risen; +a fragrant mist came up from the lake, and the smoke of his cigar was +hardly troubled by the breeze that pattered the withered tassels of +the laburnums. Big Ben was striking eight as he reached the end of the +little bridge, and almost immediately afterward he was aware of soft and +hurrying footsteps approaching him. + +Glory had come down by the Mall. The whispering of the big white trees +in the moonlight was like company, and she sang to herself as she +walked. Her heart seemed to have gone into her heels since yesterday, +for her step was light and sometimes she ran a few paces. She arrived +out of breath as the great clock was striking, and seeing the figure of +a gentleman in evening dress by the end of the bridge, she stopped to +collect herself. + +Her hand was hot and a little damp when Drake took it, and her face was +somewhat flushed. She had all at once become ashamed that she had come +to ask him for anything, and she took out her pocket-handkerchief and +began to roll it in her palms. He misunderstood her agitation, and +trying to cover it he offered her his arm and took her across the +bridge, and they turned westward down the path that runs along the +margin of the lake. + +"Mr. Storm has gone," she said, thinking to explain herself. + +"I know," he answered. + +"Is it generally known, then?" + +"I had a letter from him yesterday." + +"Was it about me?" + +"Yes." + +"You must not mind if he says things, you know." + +"I don't, Glory. I set them down to the egotism of the religious man. +The religious man can not believe that anybody can live a moral life and +act on principle except from the religious impulse.... I suppose he has +warned you against me, hasn't he?" + +"Well--yes." + +"I'm at a loss to know what I've done to deserve it. But time must +justify me. I am not a religious man myself, you know, though I hate +to talk of it. To tell you the truth, I think the religious idea a +monstrous egotism altogether, and the love of God merely the love of +self. Still, you must judge for yourself, Glory." + +"Are we not wasting our time a little?" she said. "I am here; isn't that +proof enough of my opinion?" And then in an agitated whisper she added: +"I have only half an hour, the gates will be closing, and I want to ask +your advice, you know. You remember what I told you in my letter?" + +He patted the hand on his arm and said, "Tell me how it happened." + +She told him everything, with many pauses, expecting every moment that +he would break in upon her and say, "Why didn't you box the woman's +ears?" or perhaps laugh and assure her that it did not matter in the +least, and she was making too much of a mere bagatelle. But he listened +to every syllable, and after she had finished there was silence for +a moment. Then he said: "I'm sorry--very sorry; in fact, I am much +troubled about it." + +Her nerves were throbbing hard and her hand on his arm was twitching. + +"If you had left of your own accord after that scene in the board room, +it would have been so different--so easy for me to help you!" + +"How?" + +"I should have spoken to my chief--he is a governor of many +hospitals--and said, 'A young friend of mine, a nurse, is uncomfortable +in her present place and would like to change her hospital.' It would +have been no sooner said than done. But now--now there is the black book +against you, and God knows if ... In fact, somebody has laid a trap for +you, Glory, intending to get rid of you at the first opportunity, and +you seem to have walked straight into it." + +She felt stunned. "He has forgotten all he has said to me," she thought. +In a feeble, expressionless voice she asked: + +"But what am I to do now?" + +"Let me think." + +They walked some steps in silence. "He is turning it over," she thought. +"He will tell me how to begin." + +He stopped, as if seized by a new idea. + +"Did you tell them where you had been?" + +"No," she replied, in the same weak voice. + +"But why not do so? There is hope in that. The chaplain was your +friend--your only friend in London, so far as they know. Surely that is +an extenuating circumstance so plausible----" + +"But I cannot----" + +"I know it is bitter to explain--to apologize--and if I can do it for +you----" + +"I will not allow it!" she said. Her lips were set, and her breath was +coming through them in gusts. + +"It is a pity to allow the hospitals to be closed against you. Nursing +is a good profession, Glory--even a fashionable one. It is true womanly +work, and----" + +"That was what he said." + +"Who? John Storm? He was right. Indeed, he was an entirely honourable +and upright man, and----" + +"But _you_ always seemed to say there were other things more worthy of a +girl, and if she had a mind to---- But no matter. We needn't talk about +the hospitals any longer. I am not fit for them and shall never go back +to them, whatever happens." + +He looked down at her. She was biting her lips, and the tears were +gathering in her eyes. + +"Well, well, never mind, dear," he said, and he patted her hand again. + +The moon had begun to wane, and out of the dark shadows they walked in +they could see the lines of houses lit up all around. + +"Look," she said, with a feeble laugh, "in all this great busy London is +there nothing else I'm fit for?" + +"You are fit for anything in the world, my dear," he answered. + +Her nerves were throbbing harder than ever. "Perhaps he doesn't +remember," she thought. Should she tell him what he said so often about +her talents, and how much she might be able to make of them? + +"Is there nothing a girl can do except go down on her knees to a woman?" + +He laughed and talked some nonsense about the kneeling. "Poor little +woman, she doesn't know what she is doing," he thought. + +"I shouldn't mind what people thought of me," she said, "not even my own +people, who have been brought up with such narrow ideas, you know. +They might think what they liked, if I felt I was in the right place at +last--the right place for me, I mean." + +Her nervous fingers were involuntarily clutching at his coat sleeve. +"Now, any other man----" he thought. + +She began to cry. "He _won't_ remember," she told herself. "It was +only his way of being agreeable when he praised me and predicted such +wonderful things. And now his good breeding will not allow him to tell +me there are hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of girls in London +as likely to----" + +"Come, you mustn't cry, Glory. It's not so bad as that." + +She had never seemed to him so beautiful, and he wanted to take her in +his arms and comfort her. + +"I had no one but you to come to," she murmured in her confusion. But +she was thinking: "Why didn't you stop me before? Why have you let me go +on all these months?" + +"I must try to think of something, and I'll speak to my friend +Rosa--Miss Macquarrie, you know." + +"You are a man," said Glory, "and I thought perhaps----" But she could +not speak of her fool's paradise now, she was so deeply ashamed and +abased. + +"That's just the difficulty, my dear. If I were not a man, I might so +easily help you." + +What did he mean? The frogs kept croaking at the margin of the lake, +disturbed by the sound of their footsteps. + +"Whatever you were to tell me to do I should do it," she said, in +the same confused murmur. She was ruining herself with every word she +uttered. + +He drew up and stood before her, so close that she could feel his +breath, on her face. "My dear Glory," he said passionately, "don't think +it isn't terrible to me to renounce the happiness of helping you, but I +must not, I dare not, I will not take it." + +She could scarcely breathe for the shame that took sudden hold of her. + +"Heaven knows I would give anything to have the joy of looking after +your happiness, dear, but I should despise myself forever if I took +advantage of your circumstances." + +Good God! What did he think she had been asking of him? + +"I am thinking of yourself, Glory, because I want to esteem you +and honour you, and because your good name is above everything +else--everything else in the world." + +Her shame was now abject. It stifled her, deafened her, blinded her. She +could not speak or hear or see. + +He took her hand and pressed it. + +"Let me go," she stammered. + +"Stay--do not go yet!" + +"Let me go, will you?" + +"One moment----" + +But with a cry like the cry of a startled bird she disappeared in the +shadow of the trees. + +He stood a moment where she had left him, tingling in every nerve, +wanting to follow her, and overtake her, and kiss her, and abandon +everything. But he buttoned up his overcoat and turned away, telling +himself that whatever another man might have done in the same case he at +least had done rightly, and that men like John Storm were wrong if they +thought it was impossible to act on principle without the impulse of +religion. + +Meanwhile Glory was flying through the darkness and weeping in the +bitterness of her disappointment and shame. The big trees overhead were +all black now and very gaunt and grim, and the breeze was moaning in +their branches. + +"I had disgrace enough already," she thought; "I might have spared +myself a degradation like this!" + +Drake had supposed that she came to plead for herself to-night as she +had pleaded for Polly a week ago. How natural that he should think so! +How natural and yet how hideous! + +"I hate him! I hate him!" she thought. + +John Storm had been right. In their heart of hearts these men of society +had only one idea about a girl, and she had stumbled on it unawares. +They never thought of her as a friend and an equal, but only as a +dependent and a plaything, to be taken or left as they liked. + +"Oh, how shameful to be a woman--how shameful, how shameful!" + +And Drake had renounced her! In the hideous tangle of his error he had +renounced her! For honour's sake, and her own sake, and for sake of +his character as a gentleman--renounced her! Oh, there was somebody who +would never have renounced her whatever had happened, and yet she had +driven him away, and he was gone forever! + +"I hate myself! I hate myself!" + +She remembered how often out of recklessness and daring and high +spirits, but without a thought of evil, she had broken through the +barrier of manners and given Drake occasion to think lightly of her--at +the ball, at the theatre, at tea in his chambers, and by dressing +herself up as a man. + +"I hate myself! I hate myself!" + +John Storm was right, and Drake in his different way was right too, and +she alone had been to blame. But Fate was laughing at her, and the jest +was very, very cruel. + +"No matter. It is all for the best," she thought. She would be the +stronger for this experience--the stronger and the purer too, to stand +alone and to face the future. + +She got back to the hospital just as the great clock of Westminster was +chiming the half-hour, and she stood a moment on the steps to listen to +it. Only half an hour had passed, and yet all the world had changed! + + + + +XXI. + +It was the last day of Glory's probation, and, dressed in the long blue +ulster in which she came from the Isle of Man, she was standing in +the matron's room waiting for her wages and discharge. The matron was +sitting sideways at her table, with her dog snarling in her lap. She +pointed to a tiny heap of gold and silver and to a foolscap paper which +lay beside it. + +"That is your month's salary, nurse, and this is your 'character.' The +'character' has given me a deal of trouble. I have done all I could for +you. I have said you were bright and cheerful, and that the patients +liked you. I trust I have not committed myself too far." + +Glory gathered up the money, but left the "character" untouched. + +"You need not be anxious, ma'am; I shall not require it." + +"Have you got a situation?" + +"No." + +"Then where are you going next?" + +"I don't know--yet." + +"How much money have you saved?" + +"About three months' wages." + +"Only three pounds altogether!" + +"It will be quite sufficient." + +"What friends have you got in London?" + +"None--that is to say--no, none whatever." + +"Then why don't you go back to your island?" + +"Because I don't wish to be a burden upon my people, and because earning +my living in London doesn't depend on the will or the whim of any +woman." + +"That's just like you. I might have dismissed you instantly, but for the +sake of the chaplain I've borne with your rudeness and irregularities, +and even tried to be your friend, and yet---- I dare say you've not even +told your people why you are leaving the hospital?" + +"I haven't--I haven't told them yet that I'm leaving at all." + +"Then I've a great mind to do it for you. A venturesome, headstrong girl +who flings herself on London is in danger of ruin." + +"You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am," said Glory, opening the door to +go. + +"Why so?" said the matron. + +Glory stood at her full height and answered: + +"Because if you said that of me there is nobody in the world would +believe you!" + +Her box had been brought down to the hall, and the porter, who wished to +be friendly, was cording it. + +"May I leave it in your care, porter, until I am able to call for it?" + +"Certingly, nurse. Sorry you're goin'. I'll miss your face, too." + +"Thank you. I'll call for my letters also." + +"There's one just come." + +It was from Aunt Anna, and was full of severe reproof and admonition. +Glory was not to think of leaving the hospital; she must try to be +content with the condition to which God had called her. But why had her +letters been so few of late? and how did it occur that she had never +told them about Mr. Storm? He had gone for good into that strange +Brotherhood, it seemed. Not Catholic, and yet a monastery. Most +extraordinary! They were all eagerly waiting to hear more about it. +Besides, the grandfather was anxious on Glory's account. If half they +heard was true, the dangers of London---- + +The house-surgeon came down to say good-bye. He had always been as free +and friendly as Sister Allworthy would allow. They stood a moment at the +door together. + +"Where are you going to?" he asked. + +"Anywhere--nowhere--everywhere; to 'all the airts the wind can blaw.'" + +It was a clear, bright morning, with a light, keen frost. On looking +out, Glory saw that flags were flying on the public buildings. + +"Why, what's going on?" she said. + +"Don't you know? It's the ninth of November--Lord Mayor's Day." + +She laughed merrily. "A good omen. I'm the female Dick Whittington! Here +goes for it! Good-bye, hospital nursing.--By-bye, doctor." + +She dropped him a playful curtsy at the bottom of the steps, and then +tripped along the street. + +"What a girl it is!" he thought. "And what is to become of her in this +merciless old London?" + +She had taken less than a score of steps from the hospital when blinding +teardrops leaped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks; but she only +dropped her veil and walked on boldly. + + + + +SECOND BOOK. + +_THE RELIGIOUS LIFE._ + + + + +I. + +The Society of the Holy Gethsemane, popularly called the Bishopsgate +Fathers, was one of the many conventual institutions of the English +Church which came as a sequel to the great upheaval of religious feeling +known as the Tractarian or Oxford movement. Most of them gave way under +the pressure of external opposition, some of them broke down under +the strain of internal dissension, and a few lived on as secret +brotherhoods, in obedience to a rule which was never divulged by their +members, who were said to wear a hair shirt next the skin and to scourge +themselves with the lash of discipline. + +Of these conventual institutions the Society of the Holy Gethsemane had +been one of the earliest, and it was now quite the oldest, although it +had challenged not only the traditions of the Reformed Church but the +spirit of the age itself by establishing its place of prayer at the +very doors of the Stock Exchange--that crater of volcanic emotions, that +generating house for the electric currents of the world. + +Its founder and first Superior had been a man of iron will, who had +fought his way through ecclesiastical courts and popular anger, and even +family persecution, which had culminated in an effort of his own +brother to shut him up as a lunatic. His first disciple and most stanch +supporter had been the Rev. Charles Frederic Lamplugh, a fellow of +Corpus, newly called to orders after an earlier career which had been +devoted to the world, and, according to rumour, nearly wrecked in an +affair of the heart. + +When the community had proved its legal right to exist within the +Establishment and public clamour had subsided, this disciple was +despatched to America, and there he established a branch brotherhood and +became great and famous. At the height of his usefulness and renown he +was recalled, and this exercise of authority provoked a universal outcry +among his admirers. But he obeyed; he left his fame and glory in America +and returned to his cell in London, and was no more heard of by the +outer world until the founder of the society died, when he was elected +by the brothers to the vacant place of Superior. + +Father Lamplugh was now a man of seventy, so gentle in his manner, so +sweet in his temper, so pious in his life, that when he stepped out of +his room to greet John Storm on his arrival in Bishopsgate Street it +seemed as if he brought the air of heaven in the rustle of his habit, +and to have come from the holy of holies. + +"Welcome! welcome!" he said. "I knew you would come to us; I have been +expecting you. The first time I saw you I said to myself: 'Here is one +who bears a burden; the world can not satisfy the cravings of a heart +like that; he will surrender it some day.'" + +Having been there before, though in "Retreat" only, he entered at once +into the life of the Brotherhood. It was arranged that he was to spend +some two or three months as postulant, then to take the vow of a novice +for one year, and finally, if he proved his vocation, to seal and +establish his calling by taking the three life vows of poverty, +chastity, and obedience. + +The home of the Brotherhood was one of those old London mansions in +the heart of the city, which were built perhaps for the palaces of +dignitaries of the Church, and were afterward occupied as the houses and +offices of London merchants and their apprentices, and have eventually +descended to the condition of warehouses and stores and tenement +dwellings for the poor. Its structure remained the same, but the +brothers made no effort to support its ancient grandeur. Nothing more +simple can be imagined than the appointments of their monastery. The +carved-oak staircase was there, but the stairs wore carpetless, and the +panelled and parqueted hall was bare of ornament, except for a picture, +in a pale oaken frame, of the head of Christ in its crown of thorns. A +plain clock in a deal case was nailed up under the floral cornice, +and beneath it there hung the text: "Lord, who shall dwell in thy +tabernacle, or who shall rest upon thy holy hill? Even he that leadeth +an uncorrupt life." The old dining-room was now the community room, the +old kitchen was the refectory, the spacious bedrooms were partitioned +into cells, and the corridors, which had once been covered with +tapestry, were now coated with whitewash, and bore the inscription, +"Silence in the passages." + +In this house of poverty and dignity, of past grandeur and present +simplicity, the brothers lived in community. They were forty in number, +consisting of ten lay brothers, ten novices, and twenty professed +Fathers. The lay brothers, who were under the special direction of their +own Superior, the Father Minister, and were rarely allowed to go into +the street, had to clean the house and bake the bread and cook and +serve the food which was delivered at the door, and thus, in that narrow +circle of duty, they proved their piety by their devotion to a lot which +condemned them to scour and scrub to the last day of life. The clerical +brothers, who were nearly all in full orders, enjoyed a more varied +existence, being confined to the precincts only during a part of their +novitiate, and then sent out at the will of the Superior to preach +in the churches of London or the country, and even despatched on +expeditions to establish missions abroad. + +The lay brothers had their separate retiring room, but John Storm met +his clerical housemates on the night of his arrival. It was the hour +of evening recreation, and they were gathered in the community room for +reading and conversation. The stately old dining-room was as destitute +as the corridors of adornments or even furniture. Straw armchairs stood +on the clean, white floor; a bookcase, containing many volumes of +the Fathers, lined one of the panelled walls; and over the majestic +fireplace there was a plain card with the inscription, "There be eunuchs +which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake." + +The brothers gathered about him and examined him with a curiosity which +was more than personal. To this group of men, detached from life, the +arrival of some one from the outer world was an event of interest. +He knew what wars had been waged, what epidemics were raging, what +Governments had risen and fallen. He might not speak of these things in +casual talk, for it was against rule to discuss, for its own sake, what +had been seen or heard outside, but they were in the air about him, and +they were happening on the other side of the wall. + +And he on his part also examined his housemates, and; tried to guess +what manner of men they were and what had brought them to that place. +They were men of all ages, and nearly every school of the Church had +sent its representatives. Here was the pale face of the ascetic, and +there the guileless eyes of the saint. Some were keen and alert, others +were timid and slow. All wore the long black cassock of the community, +and many wore the rope with three knots. They spoke little of the world +outside, but it was clear that they could not dismiss it from their +thoughts. Their talk was cheerful, and the Father told stories of +his preaching expeditions which provoked some laughter. They had no +newspapers (except one well-known High-Church organ) and no games, and +there was no smoking. + +The bell rang for supper, and they went down to the refectory. It was +a large apartment in the basement, and it still bore the emblems of its +ancient service. Over the great kitchen ingle there was yet another card +with the inscription, "Neither said any of them that aught of the things +which he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common." A +table, scoured white, ran round three sides of the room, the seats were +forms without backs, and there was one chair--the Superior's chair--in +the middle. + +The supper consisted of porridge and milk and brown bread, and it was +eaten out of plates and cans of pewter. While it lasted one of the +brothers, seated at a raised desk, read first a few passages of +Scripture, and then some pages, of a secular book which the religious +were thus hearing at their meals. The supper was hardly over when the +bell rang again. It was time for Compline, the last service of the +day, and the brothers formed in procession and passed out of the house, +across the courtyard, into the little church. + +The old place was dimly lighted, but the brothers occupied the chancel +only. They sat in two companies on opposite sides of the choir, in three +rows of stalls, the lay brothers in front, the novices next, and the +Fathers at the back. Each side had its leader in the recitation of +the prayers. The Miserere was said kneeling, the Psalms were sung +with frequent pauses, each of the duration of the words "Ave Maria," +producing the effect of a broken wail. The service was short, and it +ended with "May the Lord Almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect +end." There was another stroke of the bell, and the brothers returned to +the house in silence. + +John Storm walked with the Superior, and passing through the courtyard, +in the light of the moon that had risen while they were at prayers, he +was startled by the sound of something. + +"Only the creaking of the sycamore," said the Father. + +He had thought it was the voice of Glory, but he had been hearing her +cry throughout the service, so he dismissed the circumstance as a dream. +Half an hour later the household had retired for the night, the lights +were put out, and the Society of the Gethsemane was at rest. + +John's cell was on the topmost floor, next to the quarters of the lay +brothers. There was nothing above it but a high lead flat, which was +sometimes used by the religious as watch-tower and breathing place. +The cell was a narrow room with bare floor, a small table, one chair, a +prayingstool, a crucifix, and a stump bed, having a straw pillow and a +crimson coverlet marked with a large white cross. + +"Here," he thought, "my journey is at an end. This is my resting-place +for life." The mighty hand of the Church was on him and he felt a deep +peace. He was like a ship that had been tossed at sea and was lying +quiet in harbour at last. + +Without was the world, the fantastic world, forever changing; within +were gentle if strict rules and customs securely fixed. Without was the +ceaseless ebb and flow of the financial tide; within were content and +sweet poverty and no disturbing fears. Without were struggle and strife +and the fever of gain; within were peace and happiness and the grand +mysteries which God reveals to the soul in solitude. + +He began to pass his life in review and to think: "Well, it is all over, +at all events. I shall never leave this place. Friends who forgive me, +good-bye! And foes who are unforgiving, good-bye to you too! + +"And the world--the great, vain, cruel, hypocritical world--farewell +to it also! Farewell to its pomp and its glory! Farewell to life, and +liberty, and--love----" + +The wind was rustling the leaves of the tree in the courtyard, and he +could not help but hear again the voice he had heard when crossing from +the church. His eyes were closed, but Glory's face, with its curling +and twitching lip and its laughing and liquid eyes, was printed on the +darkness. + +"Ave Maria," he murmured; and saying this again and again, he fell +asleep. + +Next morning the daylight had not quite dawned when he was awakened by a +knock at his door and a low voice saying, "Benedicamus Domino!" + +It was the Father Superior, who made it his rule to rouse the household +himself, on the principle of "whosoever will be chief among you, let him +be your servant." + +"Deo Gratias," he answered, and the voice went on through the corridor. +Then the bell rang for Lauds and Prime, and John left his cell to begin +his life as Brother Storm. + + + + +II. + +Though it was against the rule of the Order to indulge in particular +friendships, yet in obedience to the rule of Nature he made friends +among the brothers. His feeling for the Superior became stronger than +love and approached to adoration, and there were certain of the Fathers +to whom his heart went out with a tender sympathy. The Father Minister +was a man of a hard, closed soul, very cantankerous and severe; but the +rest were gentle and timid men for the most part, with a wistful outlook +on the world. + +It was due in part to the proximity of his cell to the quarters assigned +to the lay brothers that his two closest friendships were made among +them. One was with a great creature, like an overgrown boy, who kept the +door to the monastery by day, and alternated that duty with another by +night. He was called Brother Andrew--for the lay brothers were known by +their Christian names--and he was one of those characterless beings who +are only happy when they have merged their individuality in another's +and joined their fate to his. He attached himself to John from the +first, and as often as he was at liberty he was hanging about him, ready +to fetch and carry in his shambling gait, which was like the roll of an +old dog. The expression of his beardless face was that of a boy, and he +had no conversation, for he always agreed with everything that was said +to him. + +The other of John's friendships was with the lay brother whom he had +known outside--the brother of Polly Love--but this was a friendship of +slower growth, impeded by a tragic obstacle. John had seen him first in +the refectory on the night of his arrival, and observed in his face the +marks of suffering and exhaustion. At various times afterward he had +seen him in the church and encountered him in the corridors, and had +sometimes bowed to him and smiled, but the brother had never once given +sign of recognition. At length he had begun to doubt his identity, +and one morning, going upstairs from breakfast side by side with the +Superior, he said: + +"Father, is the lay brother with the melancholy eyes and the pale face +the one whom I knew at the hospital?" + +"Yes," said the Father; "but he is under the rule of silence." + +"Ah! Does he know what has become of his sister?" + +"No." + +It was the morning hour of recreation, and the Father drew John into the +courtyard and talked of Brother Paul. + +He was much tormented by thoughts of the world without, and being a +young man of a weak nervous system and a consumptive tendency, such +struggles with the evil one were hurtful to him. Therefore, though it +was the rule that a lay brother should not be consecrated until after +long years of service, it had been decided that he should take the vows +immediately, in order that Satan might yield up his hold of him and the +world might drag at him no more. + +"Is that your experience?" said John; "when a religious has taken the +vows, are his thoughts of the world all conquered?" + +"He is like the sailor making ready for his voyage. As long as he lies +in harbour his thoughts are of the home he has left behind him; but when +he has once crossed the bar and is out on the ocean he thinks only of +the haven where he would be." + +"But are there no backward glances, Father? The sailor may write to the +friends he has parted from--surely the religious may pray for them." + +"As brothers and sisters of the spirit, yes, always and at all times; as +brothers and sisters of the flesh, no, never, save in hours of especial +need. He is the spouse of Christ, my son, and all Christ's children are +his kindred equally." + +As a last word the Father begged of John to abstain from reference to +anything that had happened at the hospital, lest Brother Paul might hear +of it and manifold evils be the result. + +The warning seemed needless. From that day forward John tried to avoid +Brother Paul. In church and in the refectory he kept his eyes away from +him. He could not see that worn face, with its hungry look, and not +think of a captured eagle with a broken wing. It was with a shock that +he discovered that their cells were side by side. If they came near to +each other in the corridors he experienced a kind of terror, and was +thankful for the rule of silence which forbade them to speak. Under the +smouldering ashes there might be coals of fire which only wanted a puff +to fan them into flame. + +They came face to face at last. It was on the lead flat of the tower +above their cells. John had grown accustomed to go there after Compline, +that he might look on London from that eminence and thank God that he +had escaped from its clutches. The stars were out, and the city lay like +a great monster around and beneath. Something demoniacal had entered +into his view of it. Down there was the river, winding like a serpent +through its sand, and here and there were the bridges, like the scales +across it, and farther west was the head of the great creature, just +beginning to be ablaze with lights. + +"She is there," he thought, and then he was startled by a sound. Had +he uttered the words aloud? But it was some one else who had spoken. +Brother Paul was standing by the parapet with his eyes in the same +direction. When he became conscious that John was behind him he +stammered something in his confusion, and than hurried away as if he had +been detected in a crime. + +"God pity him!" thought John. "If he only knew what has happened!" + +Going back to his cell, he began to think of Glory. By the broken +links of memory he remembered for the first time, since coming into the +monastery, the condition of insecurity in which he had left her. How +uncertain her position at the hospital, how perilous her relations with +her friend! + +The last prayer of the day for the brothers of the Gethsemane was the +prayer before the crucifix by the side of the bed: "Thanks be to God for +giving me the trials of this day!" To this he added another petition: +"And bless and protect her wheresoever she may be!" + +He ceased to frequent the tower after that, and did not go up to it +again until the morning of the day on which he was to make his vows. By +this time his soul had spent itself so prodigally in prayer that he +had almost begun to regard himself as one already in another world. The +morning was clear and frosty, and he could see that something unusual +was taking place on the earth below. Traffic was stopped, the open +spaces were crowded, and processions were passing through the streets +with bands of music playing and banners flying. Then he remembered what +day it was--it was Lord Mayor's Day, the 9th of November--and once again +he thought of Glory. She would be there, for her heart was light and she +loved the world and all its scenes of gaiety and splendour. + +It was the day of his final preparation, and he was under the rule of +silence, so he returned to his cell and shut the door. But he could not +shut out the sounds of the streets. All day long the bands were playing +and the horses prancing, and there was the tramp of many feet. And even +in the last hour before the ceremony, when he was on his knees in front +of the crucifix and the palms of his hands were pressed against his +face, he could see the gay spectacle and the surging throngs--the men, +the women, the children in every window, on every parapet, and Glory in +the midst of them with her laughing lips and her sparkling eyes. + +Night brought peace with it at length, and then the bell rang and he +went down to service. The brothers were waiting for him in the hall, and +they formed into line and passed into the church: first, Brother Andrew +with the cross, then Brother Paul with the incense, and the other lay +brothers with the candles, then the religious in their cassocks, and the +Superior in his cope, and John Storm last of all. + +The altar was decorated as for a feast, and the service was strange +but solemn. John had drawn up in writing a promise of stability and +obedience, and this he placed with his own hand on the altar. Down to +that moment he had worn his costume as a secular priest, but now he was +to be robed in the habit of the Order. + +The Father stood on the altar steps with the habit lying at his feet. He +took it up and blessed it and then put it on John, saying as he bound +it with the cord, "Take this cord and wear it in memory of the purity +of heart wherewith you must ever hereafter seek to abide in the love and +service of our Lord Jesus." + +At that moment a door was suddenly and loudly slammed, to signify that +the world was being shut out; the choir said the Gloria Patri, and then +sang a hymn beginning: + + Farewell, thou world of sorrow, + Unrest, and schism and strife! + I leave thee on the threshold + Of the celestial life. + +It was the occasion of Brother Paul's life vows also, and as John stood +back from the altar steps the lay brother was brought up to them. He was +very pale and nervous, and he would have stumbled but for the help of +the Father Minister and Brother Andrew, who walked on either side of +him. + +Then the same ceremony was gone through again, but with yet more solemn +accessories. The burial service was read, the De Profundis was sung, the +bell was tolled, the Ecce quam bonum was intoned, and finally the chant +was chanted: + + Dead to Him, then death is over, + Dead and gone are death's dark fears. + +John Storm was profoundly stirred. The heavens seemed to open and all +the earth to pass away. It was difficult to believe that he was still in +the flesh. + +When he was able to collect himself he was on the tower again, but in +his cassock now and gripping the cord by which it was tied. The +frosty air of the morning had thickened to a fog, the fog-signals were +sounding, and the mighty monster below seemed to be puffing fire from a +thousand nostrils and bellowing from a thousand throats. + +Some one had come up to him. It was Brother Paul. He was talking +nervously and even pretending to laugh a little. + +"I am so happy to see you here. And I am glad the silence is at an end +and I am able to tell you so." + +"Thank you," said John, and he tried to pass him. + +"I always knew you would come to us--that is to say, after the night I +heard you at the hospital--the night of the Nurses' Ball, you remember, +and the Father's visit, you know. Still, I trust there was nothing +wrong--nothing at the hospital, I mean----" + +John was fumbling for the door to the dormer. + +"Everybody loved you too--the patients and the nurses and everybody! +How they will miss you there! I trust you left everybody well--and happy +and--eh?" + +"Good-night," said John from the head of the stair. + +There was silence for a moment, and then the brother said, in another +voice: + +"Yes, I understand you. I know quite well what you mean. It is a fault +to speak of the outer world except on especial need. We have taken the +vows, too, and are pledged for life--I am, at all events. Still, if you +could have told me anything---- But I am much to blame. I must confess +my fault and do my penance." + +John was diving down the stair and hurrying into his room. + +"God help him!" he thought. "And me too! God help both of us! How am +I to live if I have to hide this secret? Yet how is he to live if he +learns it?" + +He sat on the bed and tried to compose himself. Yes, Brother Paul was an +object for pity. In all the moral universe there was no spectacle more +pitiable than that of a man who had left the world while his heart was +still in it. What was he doing here? What had brought him? What business +had such a one in such a place? And then his pitiful helplessness for +all the uses of life and duty! Could it be right, could it be necessary, +could it be God's wish and will? + +Here was a man whose sister was in the world. She was young and vain, +and the world was gay and seductive. Without a hand to guide and guard +her, what evils might not befall? She was sunk already in shame and +degradation, and he had put it out of his power to save her. Whatever +had happened in the past, whatever might happen in the future, he was +lost to her forever. The captured eagle with the broken wing was now +chained to the wall as well. But prayer! Prayer was the bulwark of +chastity, and God was in need of no man's efforts. + +John fell on his knees before the crucifix. With the broken logic of +reverie he was thinking of Glory, and Brother Paul, and Polly and Drake. +They crossed his brain and weighed upon it and went out and returned. +The night was cold, but the sweat stood on his brow in beads. In the +depths of his soul something was speaking to him, and he was trying not +to listen. He was like a blind man who had stumbled to the edge of a +precipice, and could hear the waves breaking on the rocks beneath. + +When he said his last prayer that night he omitted the petition for +Glory (as duty seemed to require of him), and then found that all life +and soul and strength had gone out of it. In the middle of the night he +awoke with a sense of fright. Was it only a dream that he was dead and +buried? He raised his head in the darkness and stretched out his hand. +No, it was true. Little by little he pieced together the incidents of +the previous day. Yes, it had really happened. + +"After all, I am not like Paul--I am not bound for life," he told +himself, and then he lay back like a child and was comforted. + +He was ashamed, but he could not help it; he was feeling already as if +he were a prisoner in a dungeon looking forward to his release. + + + + +III. + +"5a Little Turnstile, High Holborn, London, W. C., November 9, 18--. + +"Oh yiz, oh yiz, oh yiz! This is to announce to you with due pomp and +circumstance that I, Glory Quayle, am no longer at the hospital--for +the present. Did I never tell you? Have you never noticed it in the +regulations? Every half-year a nurse is entitled to a week's holiday, +and as I have been exactly six months to-day at Martha's Vineyard, and +as a week is too short a time for a trip to the 'oilan,' [* Island.] +and as a good lady whose acquaintance I have made here had given me a +pressing invitation to visit her---- See? + +"Being the first day since I came up to London that I have been sole +mistress of my will and pleasure, I have been letting myself loose, like +Caesar does the moment his mad hoofies touch the grass. I must tell you +all about it. The day began beautifully. After a spell of laughing and +crying weather, and all the world sneezing and blowing its nose, there +came a frosty morning with the sun shining and the air as bright as +diamonds. I left the hospital between, eleven and twelve o'clock, and +crossing the park by Birdcage Walk I noticed that flags were flying on +Buckingham Palace and church bells ringing everywhere. It turned out +to be the birthday of the Prince of Wales, and the Lord Mayor's Day as +well, and by the time I got to Storey's Gate bands of music were playing +and people were scampering toward the Houses of Parliament. So I ran, +too, and from the gardens in front of Palace Yard I saw the Lord Mayor's +Show. + +"Do you know what that is, good people? It is a civic pageant. Once a +year the City King makes a royal procession through the streets with his +soldiers and servants and keepers and pipers and retainers, bewigged and +bepowdered and bestockinged pretty much as they used to be in the days +before the flood. There have been seven hundred of him in succession, +and his particular vanity is to show that he is wearing the same clothes +still. But it was beautiful altogether, and I could have cried with +delight to see those grave-looking signiors forgetting themselves for +once and pretending they were big boys over again. + +"Such a sight! Flags were flying everywhere and festoons were stretched +across the streets with mottoes and texts, such as 'Unity is strength' +and 'God save the Queen,' and other amiable if not original ideas. +Traffic was stopped in the main thoroughfares, and the 'buses were sent +by devious courses, much to the astonishment of the narrow streets. +Then the crowds, the dense layers of potted people with white, upturned +faces, for all the world like the pictures of the round stones standing +upright at the Giant's Causeway--it was wonderful! + +"And then the fun! Until the procession arrived the policemen were +really obliging in that way. The one nearest me was as fat as Falstaff, +and a slim young Cockney in front kept addressing intimate remarks to +him and calling him Robert. The young impudence himself was just as +ridiculous, for he wore a fringe which was supported by hair-oil and +soap, and rolled carefully down the right side of his forehead so that +he could always keep his left eye on it. And he did, too. + +"But the pageant itself! My gracious! how we laughed at it! There were +Epping Forest verderers, and beef-eaters from the Tower, and pipers of +the Scots Guards, and ladies of the ballet shivering on shaky stools and +pretending to be 'Freedom' and 'Commerce,' and last of all the City King +himself, smiling and bowing to all his subjects, and with his liegemen +behind him in yellow coats and red silk stockings. Perhaps the most +popular character was a Highlander in pink tights, where his legs ought +to have been, walking along as solemnly as if he thought it was a sort +of religious ceremony and he was an idol out for an airing. + +"And then the bands! There must have been twenty of them, both brass and +fife, and they all played the Washington Post, but no two had the luck +to fall on the same bar at the same moment. It was a medley of all the +tunes in music, an absolute kaleidoscope of sounds, and meantime there +was the clash of bells from the neighbouring belfries in honour of the +Prince's birthday, and the rattle of musketry from the Guards, so that +when the double event was over I felt like the man whose wife presented +him with twins--I wouldn't have lost either of them for a million of +money, but I couldn't have found it in my heart to give a bawbee for +another one. + +"The procession took half an hour to pass, and when it was gone, +remembering the ladies in lovely dresses who had rolled by in their +gorgeous carriages, looking not a bit cleverer or handsomer than other +people, I turned away with a little hard lump at my heart and a limp in +my left foot--the young Cockney with the fringe had backed on to my toe. +I suppose they are feasting with the lords and all the nobility at the +Guildhall to-night, and no doubt the crumbs that fall from the rich +man's table will go in pies and cakes to the alleys and courts where +hunger walks, and I dare say little Lazarus in the Mile End Road is +dreaming at this very moment of Dick Whittington and the Lord Mayor of +London. + +"It must have been some waking dream of that sort which took possession +of me also, for what do you suppose I did? Shall I tell you? Yes, I +will. I said to myself: 'Glory, my child, suppose you were nearly as +poor as he was in this great, glorious, splendid London; suppose--only +suppose--you had no home and no friends, and had left the hospital, or +perhaps even been turned away from it, and hadn't a good lady's door +standing open to receive you, what would you do first, my dear?' To all +which I replied promptly, 'You would first get yourself lodgings, my +child, and then you would just go to work to show this great, glorious +London what a woman can do to bring it to her little feet.' + +"I know grandfather is saying, 'Gough bless me, girl! you didn't try it, +though?' Well, yes, I did--just for fun, you know, and out of the spirit +of mischief that's born in every daughter of Eve. Do you remember that +Manx cat that wouldn't live in the house, notwithstanding all the bribes +and corruption of Aunt Rachel's new milk and softened bread, but went +off by the backyard wall to join the tribe of pariah pussies that snatch +a living how they may? Well, I felt like Rumpy for once, having three +'goolden sovereigns' in my pocket and a mind superior to fate. + +"It was glorious fun altogether, and the world is so amusing that I +can't imagine why anybody should go out of it before he must. I hadn't +gone a dozen yards in my new character as Dick Whittington _fille_ +before a coachman as fat as an elephant was shouting, 'Where d'ye think +yer going ter?' and I was nearly run down in the Broad Sanctuary by a +carriage containing two brazen women in sealskin jackets, with faces so +thick with powder and paint that you would have thought they had been +quarrelling on washing day and thrown the blue bag at each other's eyes. +I recognised one of them as a former nurse who had left the hospital in +disgrace, but happily she didn't see me, for the little hard lump at +my heart was turning as bitter as gall at that moment, so I made some +philosophical observations to myself and passed on. + +"Oh, my gracious, these London landladies! They must be female Shylocks, +for the pound of flesh is the badge of all their tribe. The first one I +boarded asked two guineas for two rooms, and lights and fires extra. +'By the month?' says I. 'Yus, by the month if ye like,' says she. 'Two +guineas a month?' says I. Marry come up! I was out of that house in a +twinkling. + +"Then I looked out a group of humbler thoroughfares, not far from the +Houses of Parliament, where nearly every house had a card fixed up on a +little green blind. At last I found a place that would do--for my week, +only my week, you know. Ten shillings and no extras. 'I'll take them,' +said I with a lofty air, and thereupon the landlady, a grim person, with +the suspicion of a mustache, began to cross-examine me. Was I married? +Oh, dear, no! Then what was my business? Fool that I was, I said I had +none, being full of my Dick Whittingtonism, and not choosing to remember +the hospital, for I was wearing my private clothes, you know. But hoot! +She didn't take unmarried young ladies without businesses, and I was out +in the street once more. + +"I didn't mind it, not I indeed, and it was only for fun after all; but +since people objected to girls without businesses, I made up my mind to +be a singer if anybody asked me the question again. My third landlady +had only one room, and it was on the second floor back, but before I +got the length of mounting to this eyry I went through my examination +afresh. 'In the profession, miss?' 'What profession?' 'The styge, of +course.' 'Well, ye--yes, something of that sort.' 'Don't tyke anybody +that's on the styge.' + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I could have screamed, it was so ridiculous; but +time was getting on, Big Ben was striking four, and the day was closing +in. Then I saw the sign, 'Home for Girls.' 'Wonder if it is a charity?' +thinks I; but no, it didn't look like that, so in I went as bold as +brass, and inquired for the manageress. 'Is it the matron you mean, +miss?' 'Very well, the matron then,' said I, and presently she came +up--no, not smiling, for she wasn't an amiable-looking Christian, but +I thought she would smother me with mysterious questions. 'Tired of +the life, are you, my dear? It _is_ a cruel one, isn't it?' I stood +my ground for some minutes, and then, feeling dreadfully thick in the +throat, and cold down the back, I asked her what she was talking about, +whereupon she looked bewildered and inquired if I was a good girl, and +being told that I hoped so, she said she couldn't take me in there, and +then pointed to a card oh the wall which, simpleton that I was, I hadn't +read before: 'A home and rescue is offered to women who desire to leave +a life of misery and disgrace.' + +"I _did_ scream that time, the world was so nonsensical. At one place, +being 'on the styge' I was not good enough to be taken in, at another I +was not bad enough, and what in the name of all that was ridiculous was +going to happen next? But it was quite dark by this time, the air was +as black as a northwest gale, and I was 'aweary for all my wings,' +so forgetting Dick Whittington _fille_, and only remembering the good +female Samaritan who had asked me to stay with her, I made a dart for +Victoria Street and jumped into the first 'bus that came along, just as +the hotels and the clubs and the great buildings were putting' out the +Prince of Wales's feathers as sign and symbol of the usual rejoicings +within. + +"It was an 'Atlas' omnibus, and it took me to Piccadilly Circus, and +that being the wrong direction, I had to change. But a fog had come down +in the meanwhile, and lo, there I was in the middle of it! + +"O Ananias, Azarias, and Misael! Do you know what a London fog is? +It's smoke, it's soot, it's sulphur. It is darker than night, for it +extinguishes the lights, and denser than the mist on the Curragh, and +filthier than the fumes of the brick-kiln. It makes you think the whole +round earth must be a piggery copper and that London has lifted the lid +off. In the midst of this inferno the cabs crawl and the 'buses creep, +and foul fiends, who turn out to be men merely, go flitting about with +torches, and you grope and croak and cough, and the most innocent faces +come puffing and snorting down on you like the beasts in the Apocalypse. + +"I thought it good fun at first, but presently I could only keep from +crying by having a good laugh, and I was doing that, and asking somebody +the way to the Holborn omnibus, when a policeman pushed me and said: +'Come, move on; none of yer lyterin' abart here!' + +"I could have choked, but remembering something I had seen on that very +spot on the night of my first day out, I dived across the street and ran +in spite of curses and collisions. But the 'somebody,' whoever he was, +had followed me, and he put me into the right 'bus, so I got here +at last. It took two mortal hours to do it, and after that spell of +purgatory this house is like a blessed paradise, peopled with angels of +mercy and grace, as paradise ought to be. + +"The good Samaritan was very kind, and she made tea for me in a +twinkling and slaughtered the fatted calf in the shape of a pot of +raspberry jam. Her name is Mrs. Jupe, and her husband is something in a +club, and she has one child of eleven, whose bedfellow I am to be, and +here I am now with Miss Slyboots in our little bedroom feeling safe and +sound and monarch of all I survey. + +"Good-night, good people! Half an hour hence I'll be going through a mad +march of the incidents of the day, turned topsy-turvy according to the +way of dreams. But wae's me! wae's me! If it had all been true--if I +had been really homeless and friendless and penniless, instead of having +three 'goolden' pounds in my purse, and Providence in the person of Mrs. +Jupe, to fall back upon! When I grow to be a wonderful woman and have +brought the eyes of all the earth upon me, I am going to be good to poor +girls who have no anchorage in London. John Storm was right: this +great, glorious, brilliant, delightful London can be very cruel to them +sometimes. It calls to them, beckons to them, smiles on them, makes them +think there must be joy in the blaze of so much light and luxury and +love by the side of so many palaces, and then---- + +"But perhaps the mischief lies deeper down; and though I'm not going to +cut my hair and wear a waistcoat and stand up for the equal rights of +the sexes, I feel at this moment that if I were only a man I should be +the happiest woman in the world, God bless me! Not that I am afraid of +London, not I indeed; and to show you how I long to take a header into +its turbulent tides, I hereby warn and apprize and notify you that +perhaps I may use my week's holiday to find a more congenial employment +than that of deputy White Owl at the hospital. I am not in my right +place yet, Aunt Anna, notwithstanding, so look out for revelations! 'To +be or not to be? that is the question.' Just say the word and I'll +leave it to Providence, which is always a convenient legatee, and in any +case--but wait, only wait and see what a week will bring forth! + +"Greet the island for me to the inmost core of its being. The dear +little 'oilan!' Now that I am so far away, I go over it in my mind's +eye with the idiotic affection of a mother who knows every inch of her +baby's body and would like to gobble it. The leaves must be down by this +time, and there can be nothing on the bare boughs but the empty nests +where the little birdies used to woo and sing. My love to them and three +tremendous kisses for yourselves! + +"Glory. + +"P.S.--Oh, haven't I given you the 'newses' about John Storm? There are +so many things to think about in a place like London, you see. Yes, he +has gone into a monastery--communication cut off--wires broken down by +the 'storm,' etc. Soberly, he has gone for good seemingly, and to talk +of it lightly is like picking a penny out of a blind man's hat. Of +course, it was only to be expected that a man with an upper lip like +that should come to grief with all those married old maids and elderly +women of the opposite sex. Canons to right of him, canons to left of +him, canons in front of him--but rumour says it was John himself who +volleyed and thundered. He wrote me a letter when he was on the point +of going, saying how London had shocked and disappointed him, and how +he longed to escape from it and from himself at the same time, that he +might dedicate his life to God. It was right and true, no doubt; but +wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? He also mentioned something about +myself, how much I had been to him; for he had never known his mother, +and had never had a sister, and could never have a wife. All which was +excellent, but a mere woman like Glory doesn't want to read that sort of +thing in a letter, and would rather have five minutes of John Storm the +man than a whole eternity of John Storm the saint. His letter made me +think of Christian on his way to the eternal city; but that person +has always seemed to me a doubtful sort of hero anyway, taking Mrs. +Christian into account and the various little Christians, and I can't +pity him a pin about his bundle, for he might just as well have left +behind him what he couldn't enjoy of God's providence himself. + +"But this is like hitting a cripple with his crutch, John being gone and +past all defending himself, and when I think of it in the streets I have +to run to keep myself from doing something silly, and then people think +I'm chasing an omnibus, when I'm really only chasing my tears. I can't +tell you much about the Brotherhood. It looks like a cross between a +palace and a penitentiary, and it appears that ritualism has gone one +better than High-Churchmanship, and is trying to introduce the monastic +system, which, to an ordinary woman of the world, seems well enough for +the man in the moon, though the man in the moon might have a different +way of looking at things. They say the brothers are all celibates and +live in cells, but I think I've seen a look in John Storm's eyes that +warns me that he wasn't intended for 'the lek o' that' exactly. To +tell you the truth, I half blame myself for what has happened, and I +am ashamed when I remember how jauntily I took matters all the time our +poor John was fighting with beasts at Ephesus. But I am vexed with him +too; and if only he had waited patiently before taking such a serious +step in order to hear _my_ arguments---- But no matter. A jackdaw isn't +to be called a religious bird because it keeps a-cawing on the steeple, +and John Storm won't make himself into a monk by shutting himself up in +a cell. Good-night." + + + + +IV. + +The house to which Glory had fled out of the fog was a little dingy +tobacconist's shop opening on a narrow alley that runs from Holborn into +Lincoln's-Inn Fields. It was kept by the baby farmer whom she had met at +the house of Polly Love, and the memory of the address thrust upon her +there had been her only resource on that day of crushing disappointment +and that night of peril. Mrs. Jupe's husband, a waiter at a West End +club, was a simple and helpless creature, very fond of his wife, +much deceived by her, and kept in ignorance of the darker side of her +business operations. Their daughter, familiarly called "Booboo," a +silent child with cunning eyes and pasty cheeks, was being brought up to +help in the shop and to dodge the inspector of the school board. + +On coming downstairs next morning to the close and dingy parlour at the +back, Glory had looked about her as one who had expected something she +did not see, whereupon Mrs. Jupe, who was at breakfast with her husband, +threw up her little twinkling eyes and said: + +"Now I know what she's a-lookin' for; it's the byeby." + +"Where is it?" said Glory. + +"Gorn, my dear." + +"Surely you don't mean----" + +"No, not dead, but I 'ad to put it out, pore thing!" + +"Ye see, miss," said Mr. Jupe with his mouth full, "my missus couldn't +nurse the byeby and 'tend to the biziniss as well, so as reason was----" + +"It brikes my 'eart to think it; but it made such a n'ise, pore +darling!" + +"Does the mother know?" said Glory. + +"That wasn't necessary, my dear. It's gorn to a pusson I can trust to +tyke keer of it, and I'm trooly thenkful----" + +"It jest amarnts to this, miss: the biziness is too much for the missus +as things is----" + +"I wouldn't keer if my 'ealth was what it used to be, in the dyes when I +'ad Booboo." + +"But it ain't, and she's often said as how she'd like a young laidy to +live with her and 'elp her with the shop." + +"A nice-lookin' girl might 'ave a-many chawnces in a place syme as this, +my dear." + +"Lawd, yus; and when I seen the young laidy come in at the door, 'Strike +me lucky!' thinks I, 'the very one!'" + +"Syme 'ere, my dear. I reckkernized ye the minute I seen ye; and if ye +want to leave the hospital and myke a stawt, as you were saying--last +night----" + +Glory stopped them. They were on the wrong trace entirely. She had +merely come to lodge with them, and if that was not agreeable---- + +"Well, and so ye shell, my dear; and if ye don't like the shop all at +onct, there's Booboo, she wants lessons----" + +"But I can pay," said Glory, and then she was compelled to say something +of her plans. She wanted to become a singer, perhaps an actress, and +to tell them the truth she might not be staying long, for when she got +engagements---- + +"Jest as you like, my dear; myke yerself at 'ome. On'y don't be in a +'urry about engygements. Good ones ain't tots picked up by the childring +in the streets these dyes." + +Nevertheless it was agreed that Glory was to lodge at the tobacconist's, +and Mr. Jupe was to bring her box from the hospital on coming home that +night from his work. She was to pay ten shillings a week, all told, so +that her money would last four or five weeks, and leave something to +spare. "But I shall be earning long before that," she thought, and her +resources seemed boundless. She started on her enterprise instantly, +knowing no more of how to begin than that it would first be necessary to +find the office of an agent. Mr. Jupe remembered one such place. + +"It's in a street off of Waterloo Road," he said, "and the name on the +windows is Josephs." + +Glory found this person in a fur-lined coat and an opera hat, sitting in +a room which was papered with photographs, chiefly of the nude and the +semi-nude, intermingled with sheafs of playbills that hung from the +walls like ballads, from the board of the balladmonger. + +"Vell, vot's yer line?" he asked. + +Glory answered nervously and indefinitely. + +"Vot can you do then?" + +She could sing and recite and imitate people. + +The man shrugged his shoulders. "My terms are two guineas down and ten +per cent on salary." + +Glory rose to go. "That is impossible. I can not----" + +"Vait a minute. How much have you got?" + +"Isn't that my business, sir?" + +"Touchy, ain't ye, miss? But if you mean bizness, I'll tyke a guinea and +give you the first chawnce what comes in." + +Reluctantly, fearfully, distrustfully, Glory paid her guinea and left +her address. + +"Daddle doo," said the agent. + +Then she found herself in the street. + +"Two weeks less for lodgings," she thought, as she returned to the +tobacconist's. But Mrs. Jupe seemed entirely satisfied. + +"What did I tell ye, my dear? Good engygements ain't chasing nobody +abart the streets these dyes, and there's that many girls now as can do +a song and a dance and a recitashing----" + +Three days passed, four days, five days, six days, a week, and still +no word from Mr. Josephs. Glory called on him again. He counselled +patience. It was the dead season at the theatres and music halls, but if +she only waited---- + +She waited a week longer and then called again, and again, and yet +again. But she brought nothing back except her mimicry of the man's +manner. She could hit him off to a hair--his raucous voice, his guttural +utterance, and the shrug of his shoulders that told of the Ghetto. + +Mrs. Jupe shrieked with laughter. That lady's spirits were going up as +Glory's came down. At the end of the third week she said, "I can't abear +to tyke yer money no longer, my dear, you not doing nothink." + +Then she hinted at a new arrangement. She had to be much from home. +It was necessary; her health was poor--an obvious fiction. During her +absence she had to leave Booboo in charge. + +"It ain't good for the child, my dear, and it ain't good for the shop; +but if anybody syme as yerself would tyke a turn behind the counter----" + +Having less than ten shillings in her pocket, Glory was forced to +submit. + +There was a considerable traffic through the little turnstile. Lying +between Bedford Row and Lincoln's Inn, it was the usual course of +lawyers and lawyers' clerks passing to and fro from the courts. They +were not long in seeing that a fresh and beautiful face was behind the +counter of the dingy little tobacco-shop. Business increased, and Mrs. +Jupe became radiant. + +"What did I tell ye, my dear? There's more real gentlemen a-mooching +rahnd here in a day than a girl would have a chawnce of meeting in a +awspital in a twelvemonth." + +Glory's very soul was sickening. The attentions of the men, their +easy manners, their little liberties, their bows, their smiles, their +compliments--it was gall and wormwood to the girl's unbroken spirit. +Nevertheless she was conscious of a certain pleasure in the bitterness. +The bitterness was her own, the pleasure some one else's, so to speak, +who was looking on and laughing. She felt an unconquerable impulse to +sharpen her wit on Mrs. Jupe's customers, and even to imitate them to +their faces. They liked it, so she was good for business both ways. + +But she remembered John Storm and felt suffocated with shame. Her +thoughts turned to him constantly, and she called at the hospital to ask +if there were any letters. There were two, but neither of them was from +Bishopsgate Street. One was from Aunt Anna. Glory was not to dream of +leaving the hospital. With tithes going down every year, and everything +else going up, how could she think of throwing away a salary and adding +to their anxieties? The other was from her grandfather: + + +"Glad to hear you have had a holiday, dear Glory, and trust you are +feeling the better for the change. Must confess to being a little +startled by the account of your adventure on Lord Mayor's Day, with the +wild scheme for cutting adrift from the hospital and taking London by +storm. But it was just like my little witch, my wandering gipsy, and +I knew it was all nonsense; so when Aunt Anna began to scold I took my +pipe and went upstairs. Sorry to hear that John Storm has gone over to +Popery, for that is what it comes to, though he is not under the Romish +obedience. I am the more concerned because I failed to make his peace +with his father. The old man seems to blame me for everything, and has +even taken to passing me on the road. Give my best respects to Mrs. +Jupe, when you see her again, with my thanks for taking care of you. And +now that you are alone in that great and wicked Babylon, take good care +of yourself, my dear one. To know that my runaway is well and happy and +prosperous is all I have left to reconcile me to her absence. Yes, +the harvest is over and threshed and housed, and we have fires in the +parlour nearly every day, which makes Anna severe sometimes, coals being +so dear just now, and the turf no longer allowed to us." + + +It was ten days overdue. That night, in her little bedroom, with its low +ceiling and sloping floor, Glory wrote her answer: + + +"But it isn't nonsense, my dear grandfather, and I really have left the +hospital. I don't know if it was the holiday and the liberty or what, +but I felt like that young hawk at Glenfaba--do you remember it?--the +one that was partly snared and came dragging the trap on to the lawn by +a string caught round its leg. I had to cut it away, I had to, I had +to! But you mustn't feel one single moment's uneasiness about me. An +able-bodied woman like Glory Quayle doesn't starve in a place like +London. Besides, I am provided for already, so you see my bow abides in +strength. The first morning after my arrival Mrs. Jupe told me that if I +cared to take to myself the style and title of teacheress to her little +Slyboots I had only to say the word and I should be as welcome as +the flowers in May. It isn't exactly first fiddling, you know, and it +doesn't bring an ambassador's salary, but it may serve for the present, +and give me time to look about. You mustn't pay too much attention to my +lamentations about being compelled by Nature to wear a petticoat. Things +being so arranged in this world I'll make them do. But it does make +one's head swim and one's wings droop to see how hard Nature is on a +woman compared to a man. Unless she is a genius or a jelly-fish there +seems to be only one career open to her, and that is a lottery, with +marriage for the prizes, and for the blanks--oh dear, oh dear! Not that +I have anything to complain of, and I hate to be so sensitive. Life is +wonderfully interesting, and the world is such an amusing place that +I've no patience with people who run away from it, and if I were a +man--but wait, only wait, good people!" + + + + +V. + +John Storm had made one other friend at Bishopsgate Street--the dog of +the monastery. It was a half-bred bloodhound, and nobody seemed to know +whence he came and why he was there. He was a huge, ungainly, and most +forbidding creature, and partly for that reason, but chiefly because it +was against rule to fix the affections on earthly things, the brothers +rarely caressed him. Unnoticed and unheeded, he slept in the house by +day and prowled through the court by night, and had hardly ever been +known to go out into the streets. He was the strictest monk in the +monastery, for he eyed every stranger as if he had been Satan himself, +and howled at all music except the singing in the church. + +On seeing John for the first time, he broadened his big flews and +stiffened his thick stern, according to his wont with all intruders, +but in this instance the intruder was not afraid. John patted him on the +peaked head and rubbed him on the broad nose, then opened his mouth and +examined his teeth, and finally turned him on his back and tickled his +chest, and they were fast friends and comrades forever after. + +Some weeks after the dedication they were in the courtyard together, and +the dog was pitching and plunging and uttering deep bays which echoed +between the walls like thunder at play. It was the hour of morning +recreation, between Terce and Sext, and the religious were lolling about +and talking, and one lay brother was sweeping up the leaves that had +fallen from the tree, for the winter had come and the branches were +bare. The lay brother was Brother Paul, and he made sidelong looks at +John, but kept his head down and went on with his work without speaking. +One by one the brothers went back to the house, and John made ready +to follow them, but Paul put himself in his way. He was thinner +than before, and his eyes were red and his respiration difficult. +Nevertheless, he smiled in a childlike way, and began to talk of the +dog. What life there was in the old creature still! and nobody had +known, there was so much play in it. + +"You are not feeling so well, are you?" said John. + +"Not quite so well," he answered. + +"The day is cold, and this penance is too much for you." + +"No, it's not that. I asked for it, you know, and I like it. It's +something else. To tell you the truth, I'm very foolish in some ways. +When I've got anything on my mind I'm always thinking. Day and night +it's the same with me, and even work----" + +His breathing was audible, but he tried to laugh. + +"Do you know what it is this time? It's what you said on the roof on the +night of the vows, you remember. What you didn't say, I mean--and +that's just the trouble. It was wrong to talk of the world without +great necessity, but if you had been able to say 'Yes' when I asked if +everybody was well you would have done it, wouldn't you?" + +"We'll not talk of that now," said John. + +"No, it would be the same fault as before. Still----" + +"How keen the air is! And your asthma is so troublesome! You must really +let me speak to the Father." + +"Oh, that's nothing. I'm used to it. But if you know yourself what it is +to be always thinking of anybody----" + +John called to the dog, and it capered about him. "Good-morning, Brother +Paul." And he went into the house. The lay brother leaned on his besom +and drew a long sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his chest. + +John had hastened away, lest his voice should betray him. + +"Awful!" he thought. "It must be awful to be always thinking of +somebody, and in fear of what has happened to her. Poor little Polly! +She's not worthy of it, but what does that matter? Blood is blood and +love is love, and only God is stronger." + +A few days afterward the air darkened and softened, and snow began to +fall. Between Vespers and Evensong John went up to the tower to see +London under its mantle of white. It was like an Eastern city now under +an Eastern moonlight, and he was listening to the shouts and laughter of +people snowballing in the streets when he heard a laboured step on the +stair behind him. It was Brother Paul coming up with a spade to shovel +away the snow. His features were pinched and contracted, and his young +face was looking old and worn. + +"You really must not do it," said John. "To work like this is not +penance, but suicide. I'll speak to the Father, and he'll----" + +"Don't; for mercy's sake, don't! Have some pity, at all events! If you +only knew what a good thing work is for me--how it drives away thoughts, +and stifles----" + +"But it's so useless, Brother Paul. Look! The snow is still falling, and +there's more to come yet." + +"All the same, it's good for me. When I'm very tired I can sleep +sometimes. And then God is good to you if you don't spare yourself. Some +day perhaps he'll tell me something." + +"He'll tell us everything in his own good time, Brother Paul." + +"It's easy to counsel patience. If I were like you I should be counting +the days until my time was over, and that would help me to bear things. +But when you are dedicated for life----" + +He stopped at his work and looked over the parapet, and seemed to be +gazing into the weary days to come. + +"Have you anybody of your own out there?" + +"You mean any----" + +"Any relative--any sister?" + +"No." + +"Then you don't know what it is; that's why you won't give me an +answer." + +"Don't ask me, Brother Paul." + +"Why not?" + +"It might only make you the more uneasy if I told you what----" + +The lay brother let his spade fall, then slowly, very slowly, picked it +up again and said: + +"I understand. You needn't say any more. I shall never ask you again." + +The bell rang for Evensong, and John hurried away. "If it were only some +one who was deserving of it!" he thought--"some one who was worthy that +a man should risk his soul to save her!" + +At supper and in church he saw Brother Paul going about like a man in a +waking dream, and when he went up to bed he heard him moving restlessly +in the adjoining cell. The fear of betraying himself was becoming +unbearable, and he leaped up and stepped out into the corridor, +intending to ask the Superior to give him another room elsewhere. But +he stopped and came back. "It's not brave," he thought, "it's not kind, +it's not human," and, saying this again and again, as one whistles when +going by a haunted house, he covered his ears and fell asleep. + +In the middle of the night, while it was still quite dark, he was +awakened by a light on his face and the sense of some one looking down +on him in his sleep. With a shudder he opened his eyes and saw Brother +Paul, candle in hand, standing by the bed. His eyes were red and +swollen, and when he spoke his voice was full of tears. + +"I know it's a fault to come into anybody else's cell," he said, "but +I would rather do my penance than endure this torture. Something has +happened--I can see that quite well; but I don't know what it is, and +the suspense is killing me. The certainty would be easier to bear; and +I swear to you by Him who died for us that if you tell me I shall be +satisfied! Is she dead?" + +"Not that," said John by a sudden impulse, and then there was an awful +silence. + +"Not dead!" said Paul. "Then would to God that she were dead, for it +must be something worse, a thousand times worse!" + +John felt as if the secret had been stolen from him in his sleep; but +it was gone, and he could say nothing. Brother Paul's lips trembled, his +respiration quickened, and he turned away and smote his head against the +wall and sobbed. + +"I knew it all the time," he said. "Her sister went the same way, and I +could see that she was going too, and that was why I was so anxious. Oh, +my poor mother! my poor mother!" + +For two days after that John saw no more of Brother Paul. "He is doing +his penance somewhere," he thought. + +Meanwhile the snow was still falling, and when the brothers went out to +Lauds at 6 A.M. they passed through a cutting of snow which was banked +up afresh every morning, though the day had not then dawned. On the +third day John was the first to go down to the hall, and there he met +Brother Paul, with his spade in his hands, coming out of the courtyard. +He looked like a man who was melting before a fire as surely as a piece +of wax. + +"I am sorry now that I told you," said John. + +Brother Paul hung his head. + +"It is easy to see that you are suffering more than ever; and it is all +my fault. I will go to the Father and confess." + +Between breakfast and Terce John carried out this intention. The +Superior was sitting before a handful of fire, in a little room that +was darkened by leather-bound books and by the flakes of snow which were +falling across the window panes. + +"Father," said John, "I am a cause of offence to another brother, and +it is I who should be doing his penance." And then he told how he had +broken the observance which forbids any one to talk of his relations +with the world without + +The Father listened with great solemnity. + +"My son," he said, "your temptation is a testimony to the reality of the +religious life. Satan's rage against the home of consecrated souls is +terrible, and he would fain break in upon it if he could with worldly +thoughts and cares and passions. But we must conquer him by his own +weapons. Your penance, my son, shall be of the same kind with your +offence. Go to the door and take the place of the doorkeeper, and stay +there day and night until the end of the year. Thus shall the evil one +be made aware that you are the guardian of our house, to be tampered +with no more." + +Brother Andrew was troubled when John took his place at the door that +night, but John himself was unconcerned. He was doorkeeper to the +household, so he began on the duties of his menial position. As the +brothers passed in and out on their mission-errands he opened the door +and closed it. If any one knocked he answered, "Praise be to God!" then +slid back the little grating in the middle panel of the door and looked +out at the stranger. The hall was a chill place, with a stone floor, and +he sat on a form that stood against one of its walls. His bed was in an +alcove which had formerly been the cloak-room, and a card hung over it +with the inscription, "Children, obey your parents in the Lord." He had +no company except big Brother Andrew, who stole down sometimes to cheer +him with his speechless presence, and the dog, which was always hanging +about. + + + + +VI. + +It was at least some comfort to be out of the proximity of Brother Paul. +The sounds of the lay brother in the neighbouring cell had brought back +recollections of Glory, and he had more than he could do to conquer his +thoughts of her. Since he had taken his vows and had ceased to mention +her in his prayers she had been always with him, and his fears for her +fate had been pricked and goaded by the constant presence of Brother +Paul's anxieties. + +On the other hand, it was some loss that he could not go to the church, +and he remembered with a pang how happy he had been after a night of +terrors when he had gone into God's house in the morning and cast his +burden on him with one yearning cry of "God bless all women and young +children!" + +It was now the Christmas season, and his heart tingled and thrilled as +the brothers passed through the door at midday and talked of the women +who attended the Christmas services. Were they really so calm as they +seemed to be, and had they conquered their natural affections? + +Sometimes during the midday service he would slide back the grating and +listen for the women's voices. He heard one voice in all of them, but he +knew it was only a dream. Then he would watch the snow falling from the +little patch of dun-coloured sky crossed by bars, and tell himself that +that was all he was to see of the world henceforth. + +The sky emptied itself at last, and Brother Paul came again to shovel +away the snow. He was weaker than ever, for the wax was melting +away. When he began to work, his chest was oppressed and his face was +feverish. John snatched the spade out of his hand and fell to doing his +work instead of him. + +"I can't bear to see it, and I won't!" he said. + +"But the Father----?" + +"I don't care--you can tell him if you like. You are killing yourself by +inches, and you are a failing man any way." + +"Am I really dying?" said Brother Paul, and he staggered away like one +who had heard his sentence. + +John looked after, him and thought: "Now what should I do if I were in +that man's place? If the case were Glory's, and I fixed here as in a +vice?" + +He was ashamed when he thought of Glory like that, and he dismissed the +idea, but it came back with mechanical obstinacy and he was compelled to +consider it. His vows? Yes, it would be death to his soul to break them. +But if she were lost who had no one but him to look to--if she went down +to wreck and ruin, then the fires of hell would be as nothing to his +despair! + +Brother Paul came to him next day and sat on the form by his side and +said: + +"If I'm really dying, what am I to do?" + +"What would you like to do, Brother Paul?" + +"I should like to go out and find her." + +"What good would there be in that?" + +"I could say something that would stop her and put an end to +everything." + +"Are you sure of it?" + +A wild light came into his eyes and he answered, "Quite sure." + +John played the hypocrite and began to counsel patience. + +"But a man can't live without hope and not go mad," said Brother Paul. + +"We must trust and pray," said John. + +"But God never answers us. If it were your own case what would you do? +If some one outside were lost----" + +"I should go to the Father and say, 'Let me go in search of her.'" + +"I'll do it," said Brother Paul. + +"Why not? The Father is kind and tender and he loves his children." + +"Yes, I _will_ do it," said Paul, and he made for the Father's room. + +He got to the door of the cell and then came back again. "I can't," he +said. "There's something you don't know. I can't look in his face and +ask." + +"Stay here and I'll ask for you," said John. + +"God bless you!" said Paul. + +John made three hasty strides and then stopped. + +"But if he will not----" + +"Then--God's will be done!" + +It was morning, and the Superior was reading in his room. + +"Come in, my son," he said, and he laid his book on his lap. "This is +a book you must read some day--the Inner Life of Pere Lacordaire. Most +fascinating! An inner life of intolerable horror until he had conquered +his natural affections." + +"Father," said John, "one of our lay brothers has a little sister in the +world and she has fallen into trouble. She has gone from the place where +he left her, and God only knows where she is now! Let him go out and +find her." + +"Who is it, my son?" + +"Brother Paul--and she is all he has, and he can not help but think of +her." + +"This is a temptation of the evil one, my son. Brother Paul has newly +taken the vows and so have you. The vows are a challenge to the powers +of evil, and it is only to be expected that he who takes them will be +tested to the uttermost." + +"But, Father, she is young and thoughtless. Let him go out and find her +and save her, and he will come back and praise God a thousand times the +more." + +"The temptations of Satan are very subtle; they come in the guise of +duty. Satan is tempting our brother through love, and you, also, through +pity. Let us turn our backs on him." + +"Then it is impossible?" + +"Quite impossible." + +When John returned to the door Brother Paul was standing by the alcove +gazing with wet eyes on the text hanging above the bed. He saw his +answer in John's face, and they sat down on the form without speaking. + +The bell rang for service and the religious began to pass through +the hall. As the Father was crossing the threshold Brother Paul flung +himself down at his feet and clutched his cassock and made a frantic +appeal for pity. + +"Father, have pity upon me and let me go!" + +The Father's eyes became moist but his will remained unshaken. "As a +man I ought to have pity," he said, "and as the Father of all of you +I should be kind to my children; but it is not I who refuse you, it is +God, and I should be guilty of a sin if I let you go." + +Then Paul burst into mad laughter and the religious gathered round and +looked at him in astonishment. There was foam on his lips and fire in +his eyes, and he threw up his hands and fell back fainting. + +The Father made the sign of the cross on his breast and his lips moved +in silence for a moment. Then he said to John, who had raised the lay +brother in his arms: + +"Leave him there. Damp his forehead and hold his hands." + +And turning to the religious he added: "I ask the prayers of the +community for our poor brother. Satan is fighting for his soul. Let us +wrestle in prayer that we may expel the spirit that possesses him." + +At the next moment John was alone with the unconscious man, except for +the dog which was licking his forehead. And looking after the Superior, +he told himself that such unlimited power over the body and soul of +another the Almighty could have meant for no man. The love of God and +the fear of the devil had swallowed up the love of man and stifled all +human affections. Such religion must have hardened the best man ever +born. As for the poor broken creature lying there so still, his vows +had been made to heaven, and to heaven alone his obedience was due. The +nature within him had spoken too loudly, but there were laws of Nature +which it was a sin to resist. Then why should he resist them? The cry of +blood was the voice of God, or God had no voice and He could speak to no +man. Then, why should he not listen? + +Brother Paul recovered consciousness and raised his head. The waves of +memory flowed back upon him and his eyes flamed and his lips trembled. + +"I will go if I have to break my vows!" he said. + +"No need for that," said John. + +"Why so?" + +"Because I will let you out at night and let you in again in the +morning." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I. Listen!" + +And then these two crushed and fettered souls, bound by no iron +bonds, confined by no bolts and bars, but only under the shadow of +the supernatural, sat together like prisoners in a dungeon concocting +schemes for their escape. + +"The Father locks the outer gate himself," said John. "Where does he +keep the key?" + +"In his own room on a nail above his bed," said Paul. + +"Who is the lay brother attending to him now?" + +"Brother Andrew." + +"Brother Andrew will do anything for me," said John. + +"But the dog?" said Paul. "He is always in the court at night, and he +barks at the sound of a step." + +"Not my step," said John. + +"I'll do it," said Paul. + +"I will send you to some one who can find your sister. You'll tell her +you come from me and she'll take you with her." + +They could hear the singing in the church, and they paused to listen. + +"When I come back in the morning I'll confess everything and do my +penance," said Paul. + +"And I too," said John. + +The sun had come out with a sudden gleam and the thawing snow was +dripping from the trees in drops like diamonds. The singing ceased, the +service ended, and the brothers came back to the house. When the Father +entered, Paul was clothed and in his right mind and sitting quietly on +the form. + +"Thank God for this answer to our prayers!" said the Father. "But you +must pray without ceasing lest Satan should conquer you again. Until +the end of the year say your Rosary in the church every night alone from +Compline to midnight." + +Then turning to John he said with a smile: "And you shall be like the +anchoret of old to this household, my son. We monks pray by day, but +the anchoret prays by night. Unless we know that in the dark hours the +anchoret guards the house, who shall rest on his bed in peace?" + + + + +VII. + +At the end of the fourth week, after Glory had paid her fee to the +agent, she called on him again. It was Saturday morning, and the +vicinity of his office was a strange and surprising scene. The staircase +and passages to the house, as well as the pavement of the streets far as +to the public-house at the corner, were thronged with a gaudy but shabby +army of music-hall artistes of both sexes. When Glory attempted to pass +through them she was stopped by a cry of, "Tyke yer turn on Treasury +day, my dear," and she fell back and waited. + +One by one they passed upstairs, came down again with cheerful faces, +shouted their adieus and disappeared. Meanwhile they amused themselves +with salutations, all more or less lively and familiar, told stories and +exchanged confidences, while they danced a step or stamped about to keep +away the cold. "You've chucked the slap [* Rouge.] on with a mop this +morning, my dear," said one of the girls. "Have I, my love? Well, I was +a bit thick about the clear, so I thought it would keep me warm." "It +ain't no use facing the doner of the casa with that," said a man who +jingled a few coins as he came downstairs, and away went two to the +public-house. Sometimes a showy brougham would drive up to the door and +a magnificent person in a fur-lined coat, with diamond rings on both +hands, would sweep through the lines and go upstairs. When he came down +again his carriage door would be opened by half a dozen "pros" who would +call him "dear old cully" and tell him they were "down on their luck" +and "hadn't done a turn for a fortnight." He would distribute shillings +and half-crowns among them, cry "Ta-ta, boys," and drive away, whereupon +his pensioners would stroke their cuffs and collars of threadbare +astrakhan, tip winks after the carriage, and say, "That's better than +crying cabbages in Covent Garden, ain't it?" Then they would all laugh +knowingly, and one would say, "What's it to be, cully?" and somebody +would answer, "Come along to Poverty Point then," and a batch of the +waiting troop would trip off to the corner. + +One of the gorgeous kind was coming down the stairs when his eye fell on +Glory as she stood in a group of girls who were decked out in rose pink +and corresponding finery. He paused, turned back, reopened the office +door, and said in an audible whisper, "Who's the pretty young ginger +you've got here, Josephs?" A moment afterward the agent had come out and +called her upstairs. + +"It's salary day, my dear--vait there," he said, and he put her into an +inner room, which was tawdrily furnished in faded red plush, with piano +and coloured prints of ballet girls and boxing men, and was full of the +odour of stale tobacco and bad whisky. + +She waited half an hour, feeling hot and ashamed and troubled with +perplexing thoughts, and listening to the jingle of money in the +adjoining room, mingled with the ripple of laughter and sometimes the +exchange of angry words. At length the agent came back, saying, "Vell, +vat can I do for you to-day, my dear?" + +He had been drinking, his tone was familiar, and he placed himself on +the end of the sofa upon which Glory was seated. + +Glory rose immediately. "I came to ask if you have heard of anything for +me," she said. + +"Sit down, my dear." + +"No, thank you." + +"Heard anything? Not yet, my dear. You must vait----" + +"I think I've waited long enough, and if your promises amount to +anything you'll get me an appearance at all events." + +"So I vould, my dear. I vould get you an extra turn at the Vashington, +but it's very expensive, and you've got no money." + +"Then why did you take what I had if you can do nothing? Besides, I +don't want anything but what my talents can earn. Give me a letter to a +manager--for mercy's sake, do something for me!" + +There was a shrug of the Ghetto as the man rose and said, "Very vell, if +it's like that, I'll give you a letter and velcome." + +He sat at a table and wrote a short note, sealed it carefully in an +envelope which was backed with advertisements, then gave it to Glory, +and said, "Daddle doo. You'll not require to come again." + +Going downstairs she looked at the letter. It was addressed to an acting +manager at a theatre in the farthest west of London. The passages of +the house and the pavements outside were now empty; it was nearly two +o'clock, and snow was beginning to fall. She was feeling cold and a +little hungry, but, making up her mind to deliver the letter at once, +she hastened to the Temple station. + +There was a _matinee_, so the acting manager was "in front." He took +the letter abruptly, opened it with an air of irritation, glanced at +it, glanced at Glory, looked at the letter again, and then said in a +strangely gentle voice, "Do you know what's in this, my girl?" + +"No," said Glory. + +"Of course you don't--look," and he gave her the letter to read. It ran: + + +"Dear ----: This wretched young ginger is worrying me for a shop. She +isn't worth a ----. Get rid of her, and oblige Josephs." + + +Glory flushed up to the forehead and bit her lip; then a little nervous +laugh broke from her throat, and two great tears came rolling from her +eyes. The acting manager took the letter out of her hands and tapped her +kindly on the shoulder. + +"Never mind, my child. Perhaps we'll disappoint him yet. Tell me all +about it." + +She told him everything, for he had bowels of compassion. "We can't put +you on at present," he said, "but our saloon contractor wants a young +lady to give out programmes, and if that will do to begin with----" + +It was a crushing disappointment, but she was helpless. The employment +was menial, but it would take her out of the tobacco shop and put her +into the atmosphere of the theatre, and bring fifteen shillings a week +as well. She might begin on Monday if she could find her black dress, +white apron, cap, and cuffs. The dress she had already, but the apron, +cap, and cuffs would take the larger part of the money she had left. + +By Sunday night she had swallowed her pride with one great gulp and was +writing home to Aunt Anna: + +"I'm as busy as Trap's wife these days; indeed, that goddess of industry +is nothing to me now; but Christmas is coming, and I shall want to buy a +present for grandfather (and perhaps for the aunties as well), so please +send me a line in secret saying what he is wanting most. Snow! snow! +snow! The snow it snoweth every day." + +On the Monday night she presented herself at the theatre and was handed +over to another girl to be instructed in her duties. The house was one +of the best in London, and Glory found pleasure in seeing the audience +assemble. For the first half hour the gorgeous gowns, the beautiful +faces, and the distinguished manners excited her and made her forget +herself. Then little by little there came the pain of it all, and by +the time the curtain had gone up her gorge was rising, and she crept out +into the quiet corridor where her colleague was seated already under an +electric lamp reading a penny number. + +The girl was a little, tender black and white thing, looking like a +dahlia. In a quarter of an hour Glory knew all about her. During the +day she served in a shop in the Whitechapel Road. Her name was Agatha +Jones--they called her Aggie. Her people lived in Bethnal Green, but +Charlie always came to the theatre to take her home. Charlie was her +young man. + +In the intervals between the acts Glory assisted in the cloak-room, and +there the great ladies began to be very amusing. After the tinkle of +the electric bell announcing the second act she returned to the deserted +corridor, and before her audience of one gave ridiculous imitations in +dead silence of ladies using the puff and twiddling up their front hair. + +"My! It's you as oughter be on the styge, my dear," said Aggie. + +"Do you think so?" said Glory. + +"I'm going on myself soon. Charlie's getting me on the clubs." + +"The clubs?" + +"The foreign clubs in Soho. More nor one has begun there." + +"Really?" + +"The foreigners like dancing best. If you can do the splits and shoulder +the leg it's the mykings of you for life." + +When the performance was over they found Charlie waiting on the square +in front of the house. Glory had seen him before, and she recognised +him immediately. He was the young Cockney with the rolled fringe who had +bantered the policeman by Palace Yard on Lord Mayor's Day. They got into +the Underground together, and when Glory returned to the subject of the +foreign clubs Charlie grew animated and eloquent. + +"They give ye five shillings a turn, and if yer good for anythink ye +may do six turns of a Sunday night, not ter speak of special nights, and +friendly leads and sech." + +When Glory got out at the Temple Aggie's head was resting on Charlie's +shoulder, and her little gloved fingers were lightly clasped in his +hand. + +On the second night Glory had conquered a good deal of her pride. The +grace of her humour was saving her. It was almost as if somebody else +was doing servant's duty and she was looking on and laughing. After all +it was very funny that she should be there, and what delicious thoughts +it would bring later! Even Nell Gwynne sold oranges in the pit at first, +and then some day when she had risen above all this---- + +It must have been a great night of some sort. She had noticed red baize +and an awning outside, and the front of one of the boxes was laden with +flowers. When its occupants entered, the orchestra played the national +anthem and the audience rose to their feet. It was the Prince with the +Princess and their daughters. The audience was only less distinguished, +and something far off and elusive moved in her memory when a lady handed +her a check and said in a sweet voice: + +"A gentleman will come for this seat." + +Glory's station was in the stalls, and she did not go out when the +lights went down and the curtain rose. The play was a modern one--the +story of a country girl who returned home after a life of bitterness and +shame. + +It moved her and thrilled her, and stirred the smouldering fires of her +ambition. She was sorry for the actress who played the part--the poor +thing did not understand--and she would have given worlds to pour her +own voice through the girl's mouth. Then she was conscious that she +was making a noise with her hands, and looking down at them she saw the +crumpled programmes and her white cuffs, and remembered where she was, +and what, and she murmured, "O God, do not punish me for these vain +thoughts!" + +All at once a light shot across her face as she stood in the darkness. +The door of the corridor had been opened, and a gentleman was coming in. +He stood a moment beside her with his eyes on the stage and said in a +whisper: + +"Did a lady leave a seat?" + +It was Drake! She felt as if she would suffocate, but answered in a +strained voice: + +"Yes, that one. Programme, please." + +He took the programme without looking at her, put his fingers into his +waistcoat pocket, and slid something into her hand. It was sixpence. + +She could have screamed. The humiliation was too abject. Hurrying out, +she threw down her papers, put on her cloak and hat and fled. + +But next morning she laughed at herself, and when she took out Drake's +sixpence she laughed again. With the poker and a nail she drove a hole +through the coin and then hung it up by a string to a hook over the +mantelpiece, and laughed (and cried a little) every time she looked at +it. Life was so funny! Why did people bury themselves before they were +dead? She wouldn't do it for worlds! But she did not go back to the +theatre for all that, and neither did she return to the counter. + +Christmas was near, the shops became bright and gay, and she remembered +what beautiful presents she had meant to send home out of the money +she had hoped to earn. On Christmas Eve the streets were thronged with +little family groups out shopping, and there were many amusing sights. +Then she laughed a good deal; she could not keep from laughing. + +Christmas Day opened with a rimy, hazy morning, and the business +thoroughfares were deserted. They had sucking pig for dinner, and Mr. +Jupe, who was at home for the holiday, behaved like a great boy. It was +afternoon before the postman arrived with a bag as big as a creel, and +full of Christmas cards and parcels. There was a letter for Glory. It +was from Aunt Anna. + +"We are concerned about the serious step you have taken, but trust it is +for the best, and that you will give Mrs. Jupe every satisfaction. Don't +waste your savings on us. Remember there are post-office savings banks +everywhere, and that there is no friend like a little money." + +At the bottom there was a footnote from Aunt Rachel: "Do you ever see +the Queen in London, and the dear Prince and Princess?" + +She went to service that night at St. Paul's Cathedral. Entering by the +west door, a verger in a black cloak directed her to a seat in the +nave. The great place was dark and chill and half empty. All the singing +seemed to come from some unseen region far away, and when the preacher +got into the curious pulpit he looked like a Jack-in-the-box, and it +seemed to be a drum that was speaking. + +Coming out before the end, she thought she would walk to the Whitechapel +Road, of which Aggie had told her something. She did so, going by +Bishopsgate Street, but turning her head away as she passed the church +of the Brotherhood. The motley crowd of Polish Jews, Germans, and +Chinamen, in the most interesting street in Europe, amused her for a +while, and then she walked up Houndsditch and passed through Bishopsgate +Street again. + +At the Bank she took an omnibus for home. The only other fare was a +bouncing girl in a big hat with feathers. + +"Going to the market, my dear? No? I hates it myself, too, so I goes to +the 'alls instead. Come from the country, don't ye? Same here. Father's +a farmer, but he's got sixteen besides me, so I won't be missed. Live? +I live at Mother Nan's dress-house now. Nice gloves, ain't they? My hat? +Glad you like the style. I generally get a new hat once a week, and as +for gloves, if anybody likes me----" + +That night in her musty bedroom Glory wrote home while little Slyboots +slept: "'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft aglee.' Witness +me! + +"I intended to send you some Christmas presents, but the snow has +been so industrious that not a mouse has stirred if he could help it. +However, I send three big kisses instead, and a pair of mittens for +grandfather--worked with my own hands, because I wouldn't allow any +good Brownie to do it for me. Tell Aunt Rachel I _do_ see the Prince and +Princess sometimes. I saw them at the theatre the other night. Yes, the +theatre! You must not be shocked--we are rather gay in London--we go +to the theatre occasionally. It is so interesting to meet all the great +people! You see I am fairly launched in fashionable society, but I love +everybody just the same as ever, and the moment the candle is out I +shall be thinking of Glenfaba and seeing the 'Waits,' and 'Oiel Verree,' +and 'Hunting the Wren,' and grandfather smoking his pipe in the study +by the light of the fire, and Sir Thomas Traddles, the tailless, purring +and blinking at his feet. Merry Christmas to you, my dears! By-bye." + + + + +VIII. + +"'Where's that bright young Irish laidy?' the gentlemen's allwiz sayin', +my dear," said Mrs. Jupe, and for very shame's sake, having no money to +pay for board and lodgings, Glory returned to the counter. + +A little beyond Bedford Row, in a rookery of apartment houses in narrow +streets, there lives a colony of ballet girls and chorus girls who are +employed at the lighter theatres of the Strand. They are a noisy, merry, +reckless, harmless race, free of speech, fond of laughter, wearing false +jewellery, false hair, and false complexions, but good boots always, +which they do their utmost not to conceal. + +Many of these girls pass through the Turnstile on their way to their +work, and toward seven in the evening the tobacconist's would be full of +them. Nearly all smoked, as the stained forefinger of their right +hands showed, and while they bought their cigarettes they chirruped and +chirped until the little shop was like a tree full of linnets in the +spring. + +Most of them belonged to the Frailty Theatre, and their usual talk +was of the "stars" engaged there. Chief among these were the "Sisters +Bellman," a trio of singers in burlesque, and a frequent subject of +innuendo and rapartee was one Betty, of that ilk, whose name Glory could +remember to have seen blazing in gold on nearly every hoarding and sign. + +"Says she was a governess in the country, my dear." "Oh, yus, I dare +say. Came out of a slop shop in the Mile End Road though, and learned +'er steps with the organ man in the court a-back of the jam factory." +"Well, I never! She's a wide un, she is!" "About as wide as Broad +Street, my dear. Use ter sell flowers in Piccadilly Circus till somebody +spoke to 'er, and now she rides 'er brougham, doncher know." Then the +laughter would be general, and the girls would go off with their arms +about each other's waists, and singing, in the street substitute for the +stage whisper, "And 'er golden 'air was 'anging dahn 'er back!" + +This yellow-haired and yellow-fingered sisterhood saw the game of life +pretty clearly, and it did not take them long to get abreast of Glory. +"Like this life, my dear?" "Go on! Do she look as if she liked it?" + +"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't," said Glory. + +"Tell that to the marines, my dear. I use ter be in a shop myself, but +I couldn't a-bear it. Give me my liberty, I say; and if a girl's got any +sort o' figure----Unnerstand, my dear?" + +Late that night one of the girls came in breathless and cried: "Hooraa! +What d'ye think? Betty wants a dresser, and I've got the shop for ye, +my dear. Guinea a week and the pickings; and you go tomorrow night on +trial. By-bye!" + +Glory's old infirmity came back upon her, and she felt hot and +humiliated. But her vanity was not so much wounded by the work that +she was offered as her honour was hurt by the work she was doing. Mrs. +Jupe's absences from home were now more frequent than ever. If the +business that took her abroad was akin to that which had taken her to +Polly Love---- + +To put an end to her uneasiness, Glory presented herself at the stage +door. + +"You the noo dresser, miss?" said the doorkeeper. "Collins has orders to +look after you.--Collins!" + +A scraggy, ugly, untidy woman who was passing--through an inner door +looked back and listened. + +"Come along of me then," she said, and Glory followed her, first down +a dark passage, then through a dusty avenue between stacks of scenery, +then across the open stage, up a flight of stairs, and into a room of +moderate size which had no window and no ventilation and contained three +cheval glasses, a couch, four cane-bottom chairs, three small toilet +tables with gas jets suspended over them, three large trunks, some boxes +of cigarettes, and a number of empty champagne bottles. Here there was +another woman as scraggy and untidy as the first, who bobbed her head at +Glory and then went on with her work, which was that of taking gorgeous +dresses out of one of the trunks and laying them on the end of the +couch. + +"She told me to show you her first act," said the woman called Collins, +and, throwing open another of the trunks, she indicated some of the +costumes contained in it. + +It was a new world to Glory, and there was something tingling and +electrical in the atmosphere about her. There were the shouts and curses +of the scene-shifters on the stage, the laughing voices of the chorus +girls going by the door, and all the multitudinous noises of the theatre +before the curtain rises. Presently there was a rustle of silk, and +two young ladies came bouncing into the room. One was tall and pink +and white, like a scarlet runner, the other was little and dainty. They +stared at Glory, and she was compelled to speak. + +"Miss Bellman, I presume?" + +"Ye mean Betty, down't ye?" said the tall lady, and at that moment +Betty herself arrived. She was a plump person with a kind of vulgar +comeliness, and Glory had a vague sense of having seen her before +somewhere. + +"So ye've came," she said, and she took possession of Glory straightway. +"Help me off of my sealskin." + +Glory did so. The others were similarly disrobed, and in a few moments +their three ladyships were busy before the toilet tables with their +grease and rose-pink and black pencils. + +Glory was taking down the hair of her stout ladyship, and her stout +ladyship was looking at Glory in the glass. + +"Not a bad face, girls, eh?" + +The other two glanced at Glory approvingly. "Not bad," they answered, +and then hummed or whistled as they went on with their making-up. + +"Oh, _thank_ you," said Glory, with a low courtesy, and everybody +laughed. It was really very amusing. Suddenly it ceased to be so. + +"And what's it's nyme, my dear?" said the little lady. + +A sort of shame at using in this company the name that was sacred to +home, to the old parson, and to John Storm, came creeping over Glory +like a goosing of the flesh, and by the inspiration of a sudden memory +she answered, "Gloria." + +The little lady paused with the black pencil at her eyebrows, and said: + +"My! What a nyme for the top line of a bill!" + +"Ugh! Mykes me feel like Sundays, though," said the tall lady with a +shudder. + +"Irish, my dear?" + +"Something of that sort," said Glory. + +"Brought up a laidy, I'll be bound?" + +"My father was a clergyman," said Glory, "but----" + +A sudden peal of laughter stopped her, whereupon she threw up her head, +and her eyes flashed: but her stout ladyship patted her hands and said: + +"No offence, Glo, but you re'lly mustn't--they're all clergymen's +daughters, doncher know?" + +A sharp knock came to the door, followed by the first call of the +call-boy. "Half-hour, ladies." Then there was much bustle and some +irritation in the dressing-room and the tuning up of the orchestra +outside. The knock came again. "Curtain up, please." The door was thrown +open, the three ladies swept out--the tall one in tights, the little one +in a serpentine skirt, the plump one in some fancy costume--and Glory +was left to gather up the fragments, to listen to the orchestra, which +was now in full power, to think of it all and to laugh. + +The ladies returned to the dressing-room again and again in the coarse +of the performance, and when not occupied with the changing of their +dresses they amused themselves variously. Sometimes they smoked +cigarettes, sometimes sent Collins for brandy and soda, sometimes talked +of their friends in front: 'Lord Johnny's 'ere again. See 'im in the +prompt box? It's 'is sixtieth night this piece, and there's only +been sixty-nine of the run--and sometimes they discussed the audience +generally: "Don't know what's a-matter with 'em to-night; ye may work +yer eyes out and ye can't get a 'and." + +The curtain came down at length, the outdoor costumes were resumed, the +call-boy cried "Carriages, please," the ladies answered "Right ye are, +Tommy," her plump ladyship nodded to Glory, "You'll do middling, my +dear, when ye get yer 'and in"; and then nothing was left but the dark +stage, the blank house, and the "Good-night, miss," of the porter at the +stage door. + +So these were favourites of the footlights! And Glory Quayle was +dressing and undressing them and preparing them for the stage! Next +morning, before rising, Glory tried to think it out. Were they so very +beautiful? Glory stretched up in bed to look at herself in the glass, +and lay down again with a smile. Were they so much cleverer than other +people? It was foolishness to think of it, for they were as empty as a +drum. There must be some explanation if a girl could only find it out. + +The second night at the theatre passed much like the first, except that +the ladies were visited between the acts by a group of fellow-artistes +from another company, and then the free-and-easy manners of familiar +intercourse gave way to a style that was most circumspect and precise, +and, after the fashion of great ladies, they talked together of morning +calls and leaving cards and five-o'clock tea. + +There was a scene in the performance in which the three girls sang +together, and Glory crept out to the head of the stairs to listen. When +she returned to the dressing-room her heart was bounding, and her eyes, +as she saw them in the glass, seemed to be leaping out of her head. It +was ridiculous! To think of all that fame, all that fuss about voices +like those, about singing like that, while she--if she could only get a +hearing! + +But the cloud had chased the sunshine from her face in a moment, and +she was murmuring again, "O God, do not punish a vain, presumptuous +creature!" + +All the same she felt happy and joyous, and on the third night she was +down at the theatre earlier than the other dressers, and was singing to +herself as she laid out the costumes, for her heart was beginning to be +light. Suddenly she became aware of some one standing at the open door. +It was an elderly man, with a bald head and an owlish face. He was the +stage manager; his name was Sefton. + +"Go on, my girl," he said. "If you've got a voice like that, why don't +you let somebody hear it?" + +Her plump ladyship arrived late that night, and her companions were +dressed and waiting when she swept into the room like a bat with +outstretched wings, crying: "Out o' the wy! Betty Bellman's coming! +She's lyte." + +There were numerous little carpings, backbitings, and hypocrisies during +the evening, and they reached a climax when Betty said, "Lord Bobbie is +coming to-night, my dear." "Not if _I_ know it, my love," said the +tall lady. "We are goin' to supper at the Nell Gwynne Club, dearest." +"Surprised at ye, my darling." "_You_ are a nice one to preach, my pet!" + +After that encounter two of their ladyships, who were kissing +and hugging on the stage, were no longer on speaking terms in the +dressing-room, and as soon as might be after the curtain had fallen, +the tall lady and the little one swept out of the place with mysterious +asides about a "friend being a friend," and "not staying there to see +nothing done shabby." + +"If she don't like she needn't, my dear," said the boycotted one, and +then she dismissed Glory for the night with a message to the friend who +would be waiting on the stage. + +The atmosphere of the dressing-room had become oppressive and stifling +that night, and, notwithstanding the exaltation of her spirits since the +stage manager had spoken to her, Glory was sick and ashamed. The fires +of her ambition were struggling to burn under the drenching showers that +had fallen upon her modesty, and she felt confused and compromised. + +As she stepped down the stairs the curtain was drawn up, the auditorium +was a void, the stage dark, save for a single gas jet that burned at the +prompter's wing, and a gentleman in evening dress was walking to and fro +by the extinguished footlights. She was about to step up to the man when +she recognised him, and turning on her heel she hurried away. It was +Lord Robert Ure, and the memory that had troubled her at the first sight +of Betty was of the woman who had ridden with Polly Love on the day of +the Lord Mayor's show. + +Feeling hot and foolish and afraid, she was scurrying through the dark +passages when some one called her. It was the stage manager. + +"I should like to hear your voice again, my dear. Come down at eleven in +the morning, sharp. The leader of the orchestra will be here to play." + +She made some confused answer of assent, and then found herself in the +back seat, panting audibly and taking long breaths of the cold night +air. She was dizzy and was feeling, as she had never felt before, that +she wanted some one to lean upon. If anybody had said to her at that +moment, "Come out of the atmosphere of that hot-bed, my child, it is +full of danger and the germs of death," she would have left everything +behind her and followed him, whatever the cost or sacrifice. But she had +no one, and the pain of her yearning and the misery of her shame were +choking her. + +Before going home she walked over to the hospital; but no, there was +still no letter from John Storm. There was one from Drake, many days +overdue: + + +"Dear Glory: Hearing that you call for your letters, I write to ask if +you will not let me know where you are and how the world is using you. +Since the day we parted in St. James's Park I have often spoken of you +to my friend Miss Macquarrie, and I am angry with myself when I remember +what remarkable talents you have, and that they are only waiting for the +right use to be made of them. + +"Yours most kindly, + +"F. H. N. Drake." + + +"Many thanks, good Late-i'-th'-day," she thought, and she was crushing +the latter in her hand when she saw there was a postscript: + + +"P. S.--This being the Christmas season, I have given myself the +pleasure of sending a parcel of Yuletide goodies to your dear old +grandfather and his sweet and simple household; but as they have +doubtless long forgotten me, and I do not wish to embarrass them +with, unnecessary obligations, I will ask you not to help them to the +identification of its source." + + +She straightened out the letter and folded it, put it in her pocket and +returned home. Another letter was waiting for her there. It was from the +parson: + + +"So you sent us a Christmas-box after all! That was just like my +runaway, all innocent acting and make-believe. What joy we had of +it!--Rachel and myself, I mean, for we had to carry on the fiction that +Aunt Anna knew nothing about it, she being vexed at the thought of our +spendthrift spending so much money. Chalse brought it into the parlour +while Anna was upstairs, and it might have been the ark going up to +Jerusalem it entered in such solemn stillness. Oh, dear! oh, dear! The +bun-loaf, and the almonds, and the cheese, and the turkey, and the pound +of tobacco, and the mull of snuff! On account of Anna everything had +to be conducted in great quietness, but it was a terrible leaky sort of +silence, I fear, and there were hot and hissing whispers. God bless you +for your thought and care of us! Coming so timely, it is like my dear +one herself, a gift that cometh from the Lord; and when people ask me if +I am not afraid that my granddaughter should be all alone in that great +and wicked Babylon, I tell them: 'No; you don't know my Glory; she is +all courage and nerve and power, a perfect bow of steel, quivering with +sympathy and strength.'" + + + + +IX. + +Christmas had come and gone at the Brotherhood, and yet the project was +unfulfilled. John himself had delayed its fulfilment from one trivial +cause after another. The night was too dark or not dark enough; the moon +shone or was not shining. His real obstacle was his superstitious fear. +The scheme was very easy of execution, and the Father himself had made +it so. This, and the Father's trust in him, had almost wrecked the +enterprise. Only his own secret anxieties, which were interpreted to his +consciousness by the sight of Brother Paul's wasting face, sufficed to +sustain his purpose. + +"The man's dying. It can not be unpleasing to God." + +He said this to himself again and again, as one presses the pain in +one's side to make sure it is still there. Under the shadow of +the crisis his character was going to ruin. He grew cunning and +hypocritical, and could do nothing that was not false in reality or +appearance. When the Father passed him he would drop his head, and it +was taken for contrition, and he was commended for humility. + +It was now the last day of the year, and therefore the last of his duty +at the door. + +"It must be to-night," he whispered, as Paul passed him. + +Paul nodded. Since the plan of escape had been projected he had lost all +will of his own and become passive and inert. + +How the day lingered! And when the night came it dragged along with feet +of lead! It seemed as if the hour of evening recreation would never +end. Certain of the brothers who had been away on preaching missions +throughout the country had returned for the Feast of the Circumcision, +and the house was bright with fresh faces and cheerful voices. John +thought he had never before heard so much laughter in the monastery. + +But the bell rang for Compline, and the brothers passed into church. It +was a cold night, the snow was trodden hard, and the wind was rising. +The service ended, and the brothers returned to the house with clasped +hands and passed up to their cells in silence, leaving Brother Paul at +his penance in the church. + +Finally the Father put up his hood and went out to lock the gate, and +the dog, who took this for his signal, shambled up and followed him. +When he returned he shuddered and shrugged his shoulders. + +"A bitter night, my son," he said. "It's like courting death to go out +in it. Heaven help all homeless wanderers on a night like this!" + +He was wiping the snow from his slippers. + +"So this is the last day of your penance, Brother Storm, and to-morrow +morning you will join us in the community room. You have done well; you +have fought a good fight and resisted the assaults of Satan. Good-night +to you, my son, and God bless you!" + +He took a few steps forward and then stopped. "By the way, I promised +you the Life of Pere Lacordaire, and you might come to my room and fetch +it." + +The Father's room was on the ground floor to the left of the staircase, +and it was entered from a corridor which cut the house across the +middle. The rooms that opened out of this corridor to the front looked +on the courtyard, and those to the back looked across the City in the +direction of the Thames. The Father's room opened to the back. It was +as bare of ornament as any of the cells, but it had a small fire, and a +writing-table on which a lamp was burning. + +As they entered the room together the Father hung the key of the gate +on one of many hooks above the bed. It was the third hook from the end +nearest the window, and the key was an old one with very few wards. John +watched all this, and even observed that there were books on the floor, +and that a man might stumble if he did not walk warily. The Father +picked up one of them. + +"This is the book, my son. A most precious document, the very mirror of +a living human soul. What touched me most, perhaps, were the Father's +references to his mother. A monk may not have his mother to himself, and +if the love of woman is much to him he is miserable indeed until he has +fixed his eyes on the most blessed among women. But the religious life +does not destroy natural affection. It only kills in order to bring +forth new life. The corn of wheat dies that it may live again. That +is the true Christian asceticism, my son, and so it is with our vows. +Goodnight!" + +As John was coming out of the Father's room, he met Brother Andrew going +into it, with clean linen over one arm and a ewer of water in the other +hand. He threw on his bed in the alcove the book which the Father had +given him, and sat down on the form at the door and tried to strengthen +himself in his purpose. + +"The man is dying for the sight of his sister. He can save her soul if +he can only see her. It can not be displeasing to the Almighty." + +When he lifted his head the house was silent, except for the wind that +whistled outside its walls. Presently there was a scarcely perceptible +click, as of a door closing, and Brother Andrew came from the direction +of the Superior's room. John called to him and he stepped up on tip-toe, +for the monk hates noise as an evil spirit. The sprawling features of +the big fellow were all smiles. + +"Has the Father gone to bed?" said John. + +"Yes." + +"Just gone?" + +"No; half an hour ago." + +"Then he will be asleep by this time." + +"He was asleep before I left him." + +"So he doesn't lock his door on the inside?" + +"No, never." + +"Does the Father sleep soundly?" + +"Sometimes he does, and sometimes a cat would waken him." + +"Brother Andrew----" + +"Yes." + +"Would you do something for me if I wanted, it very much?" + +"You know I would." + +"Even if you had to run some risk?" + +"I'm not afraid of that" + +"And if I got you into trouble, perhaps?" + +"But you wouldn't. _You_ wouldn't get anybody into trouble." + +John could go no further. The implicit trust in the simple face was too +much for him. + +"What is it?" said Brother Andrew. + +"Oh, nothing--nothing at all," said John. "I was only trying you, but +you are too good to be tempted, and I am ashamed. You must go to bed +now." + +"Can I put out the lights for you?" + +"No, I'm not ready yet. Ugh! what a cruel wind! A cold night for Brother +Paul in the church." + +"Tell me, Brother Storm, what is the matter with Brother Paul? He makes +me think of my mother, I don't know why." + +John made no answer, and the lay brother began to go upstairs. Two steps +up he stopped and whispered: + +"Won't you let me do something for you, then?" + +"Not to-night, Brother Andrew." + +"Good-night, Brother Storm." + +"Good-night, my lad." + +John listened to his footsteps until they stopped far overhead, and then +all was quiet. Only the whistling of the wind broke the stillness of +the peaceful house. He slid back the grating and looked out. All was +darkness except for the tiny gleam of coloured light that came from the +church, where Brother Paul sat to say his Rosary. + +This fortified his courage, and he got up to put out the lamps in the +staircase and corridors. He began at the top, and as he came down he +listened on every landing and looked carefully around. There was no +sound anywhere except the light fall of his own deadened footstep. His +superstitious fears came back upon him, and his restless conscience +created terrors. The old London mansion, with its mystic cells, seemed +full of strange shadows, and the wind howled around it like a fiend. +One by one he extinguished the lamps. The last of them hung in the hall +under the picture of Christ in his crown of thorns. As he put it out he +thought the eyes looked at him, and he shuddered. + +It was now half-past ten, and time to carry out his project. The back +of his neck was aching and his breath was coming quick. With noiseless +steps he walked to the door of the Father's room and listened again. +Hearing nothing, he opened the door wide and stepped into the room. + +The fire was slumbering out, but it cast a faint red glow on the ceiling +and on the bed. A soft light rested on the Father's face, and he was +sleeping peacefully. There was no sound except the wind in the chimney +and a whistle sounding from a steamer in the river. + +To reach the key, where it hung above the bed, it was necessary to step +between the fire and the sleeping man. As John did so his black shadow +fell on the Father's face. He stretched out his hand for the key and +found that a bunch of other keys were now hanging over it. When he +removed them they jingled slightly, and then his heart stood still, but +the Father did not stir, and he took the key of the gate off the hook, +put the other keys back in their place, and turned to go. + +The dog began to howl--somebody was playing music in the street--and the +open door made the wind to roar in the chimney. The Father sighed, and +John stood with a quivering heart and looked over his shoulder. But it +was only a deep human sigh uttered in sleep. + +At the next moment John had returned to the corridor and closed the door +behind him. His throat was parched, his eyelids were twitching, and his +temples were beating like drums. He went gliding along like a thief, and +as he passed the picture of Christ in the darkness the wind seemed to be +crying "Judas!" + +Back in the hall he dropped on to the form, for his knees could support +him no longer. Love and conscience, humanity and religion clamoured +loud in his heart and tore him in pieces. "Traitor!" cried one. "But the +man's dying!" cried another. "Judas!" "She is hovering on the brink +of hell and he may save her soul from death and damnation!" When the +struggle was over, conscience and religion were worsted, and he was more +cunning than before. + +Then the clock chimed the three quarters, and he raised his head. +The streets, usually so quiet at that hour, were becoming noisy with +traffic. There were the shuffling of many feet on the hard snow and the +sharp crack of voices. + +He opened the great door of the house with as little noise as possible +and stepped out into the courtyard. The bloodhound started from its +quarters and began to growl, but he silenced it with a word, and the +creature came up and licked his hand. He crossed the court with quick +and noiseless footsteps, lifted the latch of the sacristy and pushed +through into the church. + +There was a low, droning sound in the empty place. It ran a space and +was then sucked in like the sound of the sea at the harbour steps. +Brother Paul was sitting in the chancel with a lamp on the stall by his +side. His head leaned forward, his eyes were closed, and the light on +his thin face made it look pallid and lifeless. John called to him in a +whisper. + +"Paul!" + +He rose quickly and followed John into the courtyard, looking wild and +weak and lost. + +"But the lamp--I've forgotten it," he said. "Shall I go back and put it +out?" + +"How simple you are!" said John. "Somebody may be lying awake in the +house. Do you want him to see that you've left your penance an hour too +soon?" + +"True." + +"Come this way--quietly." + +They passed on tip-toe to the passage leading to the street, where some +flickering gleams of the light without fell over them. + +"Where's your hat?" said John. + +"I forgot that too--I left it in the church." + +"Take mine," said John, "and put up your hood and button your +cassock--it's a cruel night." + +"But I'm afraid," said Paul. + +"Afraid of what?" + +"Now that the time has come I'm afraid to learn the truth about her. +After all uncertainty is hope, you know, and then----" + +"Tut! Be a man! Don't give way at the last moment. Here, tie my +handkerchief about your neck! How helpless you are, though! I've half a +mind to go myself instead." + +"But you don't know what I want to say, and if you did you couldn't say +it." + +"Then listen! Are you listening?" + +"Yes." + +"Go to the hospital where your sister used to be a nurse." + +"Martha's Vineyard?" + +"Ask for Nurse Quayle--will you remember?" + +"Nurse Quayle." + +"If she is on night duty she will see you at once. But if she is on day +duty she may be in bed and asleep, and in that case----" + +"What?" + +"Here, take this letter. Have you got it?" + +"Yes." + +"Give it to the porter. Tell him it comes from the former chaplain--you +remember. Say it concerns a matter of great importance, and ask him to +send it up to the dormitories immediately. Then----" + +"Well?" + +"Then _she_ must tell you what to do next." + +"But if she is out?" + +"She may be-this is New Year's Eve." + +"Ah!" + +"Wait in the porch till she comes in again." + +John's impetuous will was carrying everything before it, and the +helpless creature began to overwhelm him with grateful blessings. + +"Pooh! We'll not talk of that.... Have you any money?" + +"No." + +"Neither have I. I brought nothing here except the little in my purse, +and I gave that up on entering." + +"I don't want any--I can walk." + +"It will take you an hour then." + +A clock was striking somewhere. "Hush! One, two, three ... eleven +o'clock. It will be midnight when you get there. Now go!" + +The key was grating in the lock of the gate. "Remember Lauds at six in +the morning." + +"I'll be back at five." + +"And I'll open the gate at 5.30. Only six hours to do everything." + +"Good-night, then." + +"Wait!" + +"What is it?" + +Paul was in the street, but John was in the darkness of the passage. + +"Very likely you'll cross London in a cab with her." + +"My sister?" + +"Your sister went to live somewhere in St. John's Wood, I remember." + +"St. John's Wood?" + +"Tell her"--John was striving to keep his voice firm--"tell her I am +happy--and cheerful--and looking strong and well, you know." + +"But you're not. You're too good, and you're wearing away in my----" + +"Tell her I am often thinking of her, and if she has anything to +say--anything to send--any word--any message ... it can't be displeasing +to the Almighty.... But no matter! Go, go!" + +The key had grated in the lock again, the lay brother was gone, and John +was left alone. + +"God pity and forgive me!" he muttered, and then he turned away. + +The traffic in the streets was increasing every moment, and as he +stumbled across the courtyard a drunken man going by the gate stopped +and cried into the passage, "Helloa, there! I'm a-watchin' of ye!" The +bloodhound leaped up and barked, but John hurried into the house and +clashed the door. + +He sat on the form and tried to compose himself. He thought of Paul as +he had seen him at the last moment--the captured eagle with the broken +wing scudding into the night, the night of London, but free, free! + +In his mind's eye he followed him through the streets--down Bishopsgate +Street into Threadneedle Street and along Cheapside to St. Paul's +churchyard. Crowds of people would be there to-night waiting for the +striking of the clock at midnight that they might raise a shout and wish +each other a happy New Year. + +That made him think of Glory. She would be there too, for she loved a +rich and abounding life. He could see her quite plainly in the midst of +the throng with her sparkling eyes and bounding step. It would be so new +to her, so human and so beautiful! Glory! Always Glory! + +He thought he must have been dreaming, for suddenly the clocks were all +striking, first the clock in the hall, then the clocks of the churches +round about, and finally the great clock of the cathedral. Almost at the +same moment there was a distant sound like the rattle of musketry, and +then the church bells began to ring. + +The noises in the street were now tumultuous. People were shouting and +laughing. Some of them were singing. At one moment it was the Salvation +chorus, at the next a music-hall ditty. First "At the Cross, at the +Cross," then "Mr. 'enry 'awkins," and then an unfamiliar ditty. With +measured steps over the hardened snow of the pavement there came +tramping along a line of boys and girls, crying: + + D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay? + D'ye ken John Peel at the break of day? + D'ye ken John P-e-e-l---- + +Their shrill trebles broke like a rocket on the topmost note, and there +was loud laughter. + +Glory again! Always, always Glory! + +Then the scales fell from his eyes and he saw himself as he was, a +self-deluded man and a cheat. The impulses that had prompted him to this +night's work had really centred in Glory. It had been Glory first and +Glory last, and his pity for Brother Paul and his fear for the fate of +Polly had been only a falsehood and pretence. + +The night wind was still howling about the house. Its noise mingled +with the peal of the church bells, and together they seemed to utter the +voices of mocking fiends: Judas! Traitor! Fool! Fool! Traitor! Judas! + +He covered his ears with his hands and his head fell into his breast. + + + + +X. + +"The Little Turnstile, + +"New Year's Eve. + +"Hooraa! hooraa! + +"Feeling like bottled yeast this evening and liable to go off, I thank +my stars I have three old babies at home to whom I am bound to tell +everything. So lizzen, lizzen for all! Know ye then, all men (and women) +by these presents that there is a gentleman in London who predicts +wonderful things for Glory. His name is Sefton, and I came to know him +through three ladies--I call them the Three Graces--whose acquaintance +I have made by coming to live here. He is only an old mushroom with a +bald, white head; and if I believed everything their ladyships say I +should conclude that he is one of those who never sin except twice a +year, and that is all the time before Christmas and all the time after +it. But their Graces belong to that saintly sisterhood who would take +away the devil's character if they needed it (they don't), and though +the mushroom's honour were as scarce as the middle cut in salmon, yet in +common loyalty Glory would have to believe in it. + +"It is all about my voice. Hearing it by accident when I was humming +about the house like a blue-bottle, he asked me to let him hear it again +in a place where he could judge of it to more advantage. That turned out +to be a theatre--yes, indeed, a theatre--but it was the middle of the +morning, and nobody was there except ourselves and a couple of cleaners, +so Aunt Anna needn't be afraid. Yes, the chief of the orchestra was +present, and he sat before a piano on the edge of the maelstrom, in +what we should call the High Bailiff's pews--but they call them the +stalls--while the mushroom himself went back to the cavernous depths of +the body, which in a theatre they have properly christened the pit, and +this morning it looked like the bottomless one. + +"Lor'-a-massey! Ever see the inside of a theatre in the daytime? Of +course you've not, my dears. It is what the world itself was the day +before the first day--without form and void, and darkness is on the face +of the deep. Not a ray of daylight anywhere, except the adulterated kind +that comes mooching round corridors and prowling in at half-open doors, +and floating through the sepulchral gloom like the sleepy eyes of the +monsters that terrified me in the caves at Gob-ny-Deigan when I used to +play pirate, you remember. + +"The gentlemen had left me alone on the stage with five or six +footlights--which they ought to call face-lights--flashing in my eyes, +and when the pianist began to vamp and I to sing it was like pitching +my voice into a tunnel, and I became so dreadfully nervous that I was +forced to laugh. That seemed to vex my unseen audience, who thought me +'rot'; so I said, 'Let there be more light then.' and there was more +light, 'and let the piano cease from troubling,' and it was so. Then I +just stiffened my back and gave them one of mother's French songs, and +after the first verse I called out to the manager at the back," Can +you hear me?' and he called back, 'Go on; it's splendid!' So I did +'Mylecharaine' in the Manx, and I suppose I acted both of my songs; but +I was only beginning to be aware that my voice in that great place was +a little less like a barrel-organ than usual when suddenly there came +a terrific clatter, such as comes with the seventh wave on the shingle, +and my two dear men in the dark were clapping the skin of their hands +off! + +"Oh, my dears! my dears! If you only knew how for weeks and weeks I +had been moaning and lamenting that it was because I wasn't clever that +people took no notice of me, you would forgive a vain creature when she +said to herself, 'My daughter, you are really somebody, after all--you, +you, you!' It was a beautiful moment, though, and when the old mushroom +came back to the stage saying: 'What a voice! What expression! What +nature!' I felt like falling on his bald head and kissing it, not being +able to speak for lumps in the throat and feeling like the Methodist +lady who poured out whisky for the class leaders after they had +presented her with a watch, and then told the reporters to say she had +suitably responded. + +"Heigho! I have talked about the fashionable people I meet in London, +but I don't want to be one of them. They do nothing but rush about, +dress, gossip, laugh, love, and plunge into all the delights of +life. That is not my idea of existence. I am ambitious. I want to do +something. I am tired in my soul of doing nothing. Yes, it _has_ been +that all along, though I didn't like to tell you so before. There are +people who are born in the midst of greatness and they don't know how to +use it. But to be one of the world's celebrities, that is so different! +To have won the heart of the world, so that the world knows you and +thinks of you and loves you! Say it is by your voice you do it and that +your world is the concert hall, or even the music hall--what matter? You +needn't _live_ music hall, whatever the life inside of it. And then that +great dark void peopled with faces; that laugh or cry just as you please +to make them--confess; that it would be magnificent, my dear ones! + +"I am to go again to-night to hear what Mr. Sefton has to propose, but +already this dingy little bedroom smiles upon me, and even the broken +tiles in the backyard might be the pavement of paradise! If it is true +what he tells me---Well, he that hath the bride is the bridegroom, and +if my doings hereafter don't make your hair curl I will try to show the +inhabitants of this stupid old earth what a woman can do in spite of +every disadvantage. I shall not be sorry to leave this place either. The +rats in these old London houses (judging by their cries of woe) hold a +nightly carnival for the eating up of the younger members of the family. +And then Mrs. Jupe and Mr. Jupe--Mr. Dupe I call him--she deceives him +so dreadfully with her gadding about----But anon, anon, good people! + +"It is New Year's Eve to-day, and nearly nine months since I came up to +London. _Tempus fugit!_ In fact _tempus_ is _fugit_-ing most fearfully, +considering that I am twenty-one on Sunday next, you know, and that I +haven't begun to do anything really. The snowdrops must be making a peep +at Glenfaba by this time, and Aunt Rachel will be cutting slips of the +rose trees and putting them in pots. Yandher place must he _urromassy_ +[* Out of mercy.] nice though, with snow on the roof and the sloping +lawn, and the windows glistening with frost--just like a girl in her +confirmation veil as she stands hack to look at herself in the glass. +I intend to see the New Year in this time on the outside of St. Paul's +Cathedral, where people congregate in thousands as twelve o'clock +approaches to carry on the beautiful fiction that there is still only +one clock in London, and they have to hold their noses in the air to +watch for the moment when it is going to strike. But in the midst of the +light and life of this splendid city I know my heart will go back with +a tender twinge to the little dark streets on the edge of the sea, where +the Methodist choirs will be singing, 'Hail, smiling morn,' preparatory +to coffee and currant cake. + +"Who will be your 'first foot' this year, I wonder? It was John Storm +last year, you remember, and being as dark as a gipsy, he made a +perfect _qualtagh_. [* Manx for "first foot."] And how we laughed when, +disguised in the snow that was falling at the time, he pretended to be +a beggar and came in just as grandfather was reading the bit about the +Good Shepherd, and how he loved his lambs--and then I found him out! Ah +me! + +"I am looking perfectly dazzling in a new hat to-day, having been going +about hitherto in one of those little frights that used to be cocked up +on the top of your hair like a hen on a cornstack. But now I am carrying +about the Prince of Wales's feathers, and if he could only see me +himself in them!---- + +"You see what a scatter-brained creature I am! Leaving the hospital has +made me grow so much younger every day that I am almost afraid I may +come to contemplate short frocks. But really it's the first time I've +looked nice for an eternity, and now I entirely retract and repent me of +all I said about wishing to be a man. Being a girl, I'll put up with it, +and if all the old mushroom says on that head also is true---- But then +men are such funny things, bless them! Glory. + +"P.S.--No word from John Storm yet. Apparently he never thinks of us +now--of me at all events--and I suppose he has resigned himself and +taken the vows. That's one kind of religion, I dare say, but I can't +understand it; and I don't know how a dog, even, can be nailed up to a +wall and not go mad. In the night lying in bed I sometimes think of +him. A dark cell, a bench for a bed, a crucifix, and no other furniture, +praying with trembling limbs and chattering teeth--No; such things are +too high for me; I can not reach to them. + +"It seems impossible that _he_ can be in London too. What a place this +London is! Such a mixture! Fashion, religion, gaiety, devotion, pride, +depravity, wealth, poverty! I find that for a girl to succeed in London +her moral colour must be heightened a little. _Pinjane_ [* Manx dish, +like Devonshire junket] alone won't do. Give her a slush of _pissaves_ +[* Preserves] and she'll go down sweeter. Angels are not wanted here at +all. The only angels there are in London are kept framed in the church +windows, and I half suspect that even they were women once, and liked +bread and butter. And then Nell Gwynne's flag floats from the steeple +of St. Martin's in the Fields, and now and again they ring the bells for +her!" + + + + +XI. + +At eleven o'clock that night Glory was putting on her hat and cloak to +return home when the call-boy came to the dressing-room door to say that +the stage manager was waiting to see her. With a little catch, in her +breath, and then with a tightening of the heart-strings, she followed +him to the stage manager's office. It was a stuffy place over the +porter's lodge, approached by a flight of circular iron stairs and +lumbered with many kinds of theatrical property. + +"Come in, my dear," said the stage manager, and pushing away some models +of scenery he made room for her on a sofa which stood by a fast-dying +fire. Then shutting the door, he bobbed his head at her and winked with +both eyes, and said in a familiar whisper: + +"It's all right, my dear. I've settled that little matter for you." + +"Do you mean----" began Glory, and then she waited with parted lips. + +"It's as good as done, my dear. Sit down." Glory had risen in her +excitement. "Sit down and I'll tell you everything." + +He had spoken to his management. "Gentlemen," he had said, "unless I'm +mistaken I've found a prize." They had laughed. He was always finding +prizes. But he knew what he was talking about, and they had given him +_carte blanche_. + +"You think there is really some likelihood, then----" began Glory, with +the catch in her breath again, for her throat was thick and her breast +was heaving. + +"Sit down, now do sit down, my dear, and listen." + +He was suave, he was flattering, he was intimate, he was, coaxing. She +was to leave everything to him. Of course, there was much to be done +yet. She had a wonderful voice; it was finer than music. She had style +as well; it was astonishing how she had come by it. Only a dresser, +too--not even in the chorus. But stars were never turned out by Nature. +She had many things to learn, and would have to be coached up carefully +before she could be brought out. He had done it for others, though, and +he could do it for her; and if---- + +Glory's eyes were shining and her heart was beating like a drum. + +"Then you think that eventually--if I work hard--after years +perhaps----" + +"You can't do it on your own, my dear, so leave yourself in my hands +entirely, and don't whisper a word about it yet." + +"Ah!" It was like a dream coming true; she could scarcely believe in it. +The stage manager became still more suave and flattering and familiar. +If she "caught on," there was no knowing what he might not get for +her--ten pounds a week--fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, even fifty +perhaps. + +Glory's palpitation was becoming painful, and at the bottom of her +heart there was a certain fear of this sudden tide of fortune, as if +Providence had somehow made a mistake and would as suddenly find it out. +To appease her conscience she began to think of home and how happy she +might make everybody there if God was really going to be so good to her. +They should want for nothing; they should never know a poor day again. + +Meantime the stage manager was painting another picture. A girl didn't +go a-begging if he once took her up. There was S----. She was only an +"auricomous" damsel, serving in a tobacconist's shop in the Haymarket +when he first found her, and now where was she? + +"Of course, I've no interest of my own to serve, my dear--none whatever. +And there'll be lots of people to tempt you away from me when your name +is made." + +Glory uttered some vehement protest, and then was lost in her dreams +again. + +"Well, well, we'll see," said the stage manager. He was looking at her +with glittering eyes. + +"Do you know, my dear, you are a very fine-looking young woman?" + +Glory's head was down, her face was flushed, and she was turning her +mother's pearl ring around her finger. He thought she was overwhelmed by +his praises, and coming closer, he said: + +"Dare say you've got a good stage figure too, eh? Pooh! Only business, +you know! But you mustn't be shy with me, my dear. And besides, if I am +to do all this for you, you must do something for me sometimes." + +She hardly heard him. Her eyes were still glistening with the far-off +look of one who gazes on a beautiful vision. + +"You are so good," she said. "I don't know what to say, or how to thank +you." + +"This way," he whispered, and leaning over to her he lifted her face and +kissed her. + +Then her poor dream of glory and grandeur and happiness was dispelled +in a moment, and she awoke with a sense of outrage and shame. The man's +praises were flattery; his predictions were a pretence; he had not +really meant it at all, and she had been so simple as to believe +everything. + +"Oh!" she said, with the feeble, childish cry of one who has received +a pistol wound in battle. And then she rose and turned to go. But the +stage manager, who was laughing noisily out of his hot red face, stepped +between her and the door. + +"My dear child, you can't mean--a trifle like that--!" + +"Open the door, please," she said in her husky voice. + +"But surely you don't intend--In this profession we think nothing, you +know----" + +"Open the door, sir!" + +"Really--upon my word----" + +When she came to herself again she was out in the dark back street, and +the snow was hard and dirty under foot, and the wind was high and cold, +and she was running along and crying like a disappointed child. + +The bitterest part of it all was the crushing certainty that she had no +talents and no chances of success, and that the man had only painted up +his fancy picture as a means of deceiving her. Oh, the misery of being a +woman! Oh, the cruelty of this great, glorious, devilish London, where a +girl, if she was poor and alone, could live only by her looks! + +With God knows what lingering remnant of expectation, but feeling broken +and beaten after her brave fight for life, and with the weak woman +uppermost at last, she had turned toward the hospital. It was nearly +half-past eleven when she got there, and Big Ben was chiming the half +hour as she ascended the steps. Bracing herself up, she looked in at the +porter's door with a face that was doing its best to smile. + +"Any letters to-night, porter?" + +"Not to-night, miss." + +"No? Well--none to get, none to answer, you know. Happy New Year to +you!" + +But there was a sob in her laughter, and the man said: "I'd be sorry to +miss your face, nurse, but if you'll leave your address I'll send your +letters on and save you the journey so late at night." + +"Oh, no-no, there'll be no more letters now, porter, and--I'll not come +again. Here!" + +"No, no, miss." + +"Yes, yes, you must." + +She forced a shilling into the porter's hand in spite of his protests, +and then fled from the look in his face which seemed to her to say that +he would like to return her sixpence. + +John Storm was lost to her. It was foolishness to go on expecting +to hear from him. Had he not told her that the rule under which the +brothers lived in community forbade them to write and receive letters +except by special permission? But she had expected that something would +happen--some accident, some miracle, she hardly knew what. That dream +was over now; she was alone; it was no use deceiving herself any longer. + +She went home by the back streets, for people were peering into her +face, and she thought perhaps she had been crying. Late as it was, being +New Year's Eve, there were groups about every corner, and in some of the +flagged courts and alleys little girls were dancing to the music of the +Italian organ man or turning catherine-wheels. As she was going down +Long Acre a creachy voice saluted her. + +"Evening, miss! Going home early, ain't ye?" + +It was a miserable-looking woman in clothes that might have been stolen +from a scarecrow. + +"Market full to-night, my dear? Look as if the dodgers had been at ye. +Live? I live off of the lane. But lor' bless ye, I've lived in a-many +places! Seen the day I lived in Soho Square. I was on the 'alls then. +Got a bit quisby on my top notes, you know, and took the scarlet +fever--soldier, I mean, my dear. But what's the use of frettin'? + +"I likes to be jolly, and I allwiz is. Doing now? Selling flowers +outside the theatres--police is nasty if you've got nothink. Ain't I +going home? Soon as I get a drain of white satin. Wish you luck, my +dear!" + +As she came up to the shop in the Turnstile she could hear that it +was noisy with the voices of men and girls, so she turned back through +Lincoln's-Inn Fields and passed down to Fleet Street. It was approaching +twelve o'clock by this time, and streams of people were flowing in +the direction of St. Paul's Cathedral. Glory turned eastward also and +allowed herself to be carried along with the current which babbled and +talked like a river in the night. + +Immediately in front of her there was a line of girls walking arm-in-arm +across the width of the pavement. They were factory girls in big hats +with ostrich feathers, and as they skipped along with their free step +they sang snatches of Salvation hymns and music-hall songs. All at once +they gave a shrill peal of laughter, and one of them cried, "Tell me +what it is and I'll give it a nyme." At the next moment a strange figure +was forging past their line, going westward with long strides. It was +a man in the habit of a monk, with long black cassock and broad-brimmed +hat. Glory caught a glimpse of his face as he passed her. It was a +hungry, eager face, with big, melancholy eyes, and it seemed to her that +she must have seen it before somewhere. The wind was very cold, and the +great cross on the dome of the cathedral stood out like a beacon against +flying clouds. + +St. Paul's churchyard was thronged with noisy, happy people, and down to +the last minute before the hour they shouted and joked and laughed. Then +there was a hush, the great crowds seemed to hold their breath as if +they had been a single living creature, and every face was turned upward +to the clock. The clock struck, the bells of the cathedral began to +ring, the people cheered and saluted each other and shook hands on every +side, and then the dense mass broke up. + +Glory could have cried for joy of it all--it was so simple, so human, +so childlike. But she listened to the laughter and salutations of the +people about her and felt more lonely than the Bedouin in the desert; +she remembered the bubbling hopes that had carried her through the day, +and her heart fell low; she thought of the letter which she had posted +home on her way to the theatre, and two great tears came rolling from +her eyes. + +The face of the monk tormented her, and suddenly she bethought herself +whose face it must have been. It must have been the face of Polly Love's +brother. He belonged to the Bishopsgate Fathers, and had once been a +patient in the hospital, and perhaps he was going there now on some +errand or urgent message--to the doctors or to---- + +"It was foolish not to leave my address when the porter asked me," she +thought. She would go back and do so. There could be no harm in that; +and if anything had really happened, if John---- + +"Happy New Year to you, my dear!" + +Somebody in the drifting crowd was standing before her and blocking +the way. It was Agatha Jones in a mock seal-skin coat and big black +hat surmounted by black feathers, and with Charlie Wilkes (with his +diminutive cap pushed back from his oily fringe and pimpled forehead) +leaning heavily on her arm. + +"Well, I never! Who'd have thought of meeting you in St. Paul's +churchyawd!" + +Glory tried to laugh and to return the salutation over the noises of the +people and the clangour of the bells. And then Aggie put her face close, +as women do who are accustomed to talking in the streets, and said: +"Thought we'd seen the lahst of you, my dear, when you went off that +night sudden. Selling programmes somewhere else now?" + +"Something of that sort," said Glory. + +"I'm not. I've been left the old red church this fortnight and more. +Charlie's got me on the clubs. But my word!" turning to Charlie, "it's +her as oughter be there, my dear!" + +"She cheeks me out," said Charlie, "as you'll knock the stuffing out of +Betty Bellman 'erself if you once myke a stawt." + +And Aggie said: "I might get you to do a turn almost any Sunday, if you +like, my dear. There's always somebody as down't come, and they're glad +of an extra turn to tyke the number if she's only clever enough to get a +few 'ands. Going 'ome, dear?" + +"Yes," said Glory. + +"Where d'ye live?" said Aggie, and Glory told her. + +"I'll call for you Sunday night at eight, and if you down't tyke your +chawnce when you get it, you're a foolisher woman than I thought you +were, that's stright! By-bye!" + + + + +XII. + +Always at half-past five in the morning the Father Superior began to +awaken the Brotherhood. It took him a quarter of an hour to pass through +the house on that errand, for the infirmities of his years were upon +him. During this interval John Storm had intended to open the gate to +Paul and then return the key to its place in the Father's room. The time +was short, and to lose no part of it he had resolved to remain awake the +whole night through. + +There was little need to make a call on that resolution. With fear and +remorse he could not close his eyes, and from hour to hour he heard +every sound of the streets. At one o'clock, the voices singing outside +were strained and cracked and out of tune; at two, they were brutish +and drunken and mingled with shrieks of quarrelling; at three, there was +silence; at four, the butchers' wagons were rattling on the stones from +the shambles across the river to the meat markets of London, with the +carcasses of the thousands of beasts that were slaughtered overnight to +feed the body of the mammoth on the morrow; and at five, the postal vans +were galloping from the railway stations to the post-office with the +millions of letters that were to feed its mind. + +At half-past five the Father had come out of his room and passed slowly +upstairs, and John Storm was in the courtyard opening the lock of the +outer gate. Although there was a feeling of morning in the freezing air +it was still quite dark. + +"Paul," he whispered, but there was no answer. + +"Brother Paul!" he whispered again, and then waited, but there was no +reply. + +It was not at first that he realized the tremendous gravity of what had +occurred--that Brother Paul had not returned, and that he must go back +to the house without him. He kept calling into the darkness until he +remembered that the Father would be down in his room again soon and +looking for the key where he had left it. + +Back in the hall, he reproached himself with his haste, and concluded to +return to the gate. There would be time to do it; the Father was still +far overhead; his "Benedicamus Domino" was passing from corridor to +corridor; and Paul might be coming down the street. + +"Paul! Paul!" he cried again, and opening the gate he looked out. +But there was no one on the pavement except a drunken man and a girl, +singing themselves home in the dead waste of the New Year's morning. + +Then the truth fell on him like a thundercloud, and he hurried back to +the house for good. By this time the Father was coming down the stairs, +and had reached the landing of the first story. Snatching up from +the bed in the alcove the book which had been lying there all night +unregarded, he crept into the Father's room. He was coming out of it +when he came face to face with the Father himself, who was on the point +of going in. + +"I have been returning the book you lent me," he said, and then he tried +to steal away in his shame. But the Father held him a while in playful +remonstrance. The hours were not all saved that were stolen from the +night, and his swelled eyes this morning were a testimony to the musty +old maxim. Still, with a book like that, his diligence was not to be +wondered at, and it would be interesting to hear what he thought of it. +He couldn't say as yet. That wasn't to be wondered at either. Somebody +had said that a great book was like a great mountain--not to be seen to +the top while you were still too near to it. + +John's duplicity was choking him. His eyes were averted from the +Father's face, for he had lost the power of looking straight at any +one, and he could see the key of the gate still shaking from the hook on +which his nervous fingers had placed it. When he escaped at length, the +Father asked him to ring the bell for Lauds, as Brother Andrew, whose +duty it was, had evidently overslept himself. + +John rang the bell, and then took his lamp and some tapers from a shelf +in the hall and went out to the church to light the candles, for that +also was Brother Andrew's duty. As he was crossing the courtyard on his +way back to the house, he passed the Father going to open the gate. + +"But what has become of your hat?" said the Father, and then, for the +first time, John remembered what he had done with it. + +"I've lent--that is to say, I've lost it," he answered, and then +stood with his eyes on the ground while the Father reproved him for +heedlessness of health, and so forth. + +It is part of the perversity of circumstance that while an incident of +the greatest gravity is occurring, its ridiculous counterpart is usually +taking place by the side of it. When the religious had gathered in the +church it was seen that three of the stalls were vacant--Brother Paul's, +Brother Andrew's, and the Father Minister's. The service had hardly +begun when the bell was heard to ring again, and with a louder clangour +than before, whereupon the religious concluded that Brother Andrew had +awakened from his sleep, and was remembering with remorse his belated +duty. + +But it was the Father Minister. That silent and severe person had +oftentimes rebuked the lay brother for his sleepiness, and this morning +he had himself been overcome by the same infirmity. Awakening suddenly +a little after six by the watch that hung by his bed, he had thought, +"That lazy fellow is late again--I'll teach him a lesson." Leaping to +his feet (the monk sleeps in his habit), he had hastened to the bell +and rung it furiously, and then snatched up a taper and hurried down +the stairs to light the candles in the church. When he appeared at the +sacristy door with a lighted taper in his hand and confusion on his +face, the brothers understood everything at a glance, and not even the +solemnity of the service could smother the snufflings of their laughter. + +The incident was a trivial one, but it diverted attention for a time +from the fact of Paul's absence, and when the religious went back to the +house and found Brother Andrew returned to his old duty as doorkeeper, +the laughter was renewed, and there was some playful banter. + +The monk is so far a child that the least thing happening in the morning +is enough to determine the temper of the day, and as late as the hour +for breakfast the house was still rippling with the humour of the +Father Minister's misadventure. There was one seat vacant in the +refectory--Brother Paul's--and the Superior was the first to observe it. +With a twinkle in his eye, he said: + +"I feel like Boy Blue this morning. Two of my stray sheep have come +home, bringing their tails behind them. Will anybody go in search of the +third?" + +John Storm rose immediately, but a lay brother was before him, so he sat +down again with his white cheeks and quivering lips, and made an effort +to eat his breakfast. + +The reader for the week recited the Scripture for the day, and then took +up the book which the brothers were hearing at their meals. It was the +Life and Death of Father Ignatius of St. Paul, and the chapter they had +come to dealt with certain amusing examples of vanities and foibles. +An evil spirit might have selected it with special reference to the +incidents of the morning, for at every fresh illustration the Father +Minister squirmed on his seat, and the brothers looked across at him and +laughed with a spice of mischief, and even a touch of malice. + +John's eyes were on the door, and his heart was quivering, but the +messenger did not return during breakfast, and when it was over the +Superior rose without waiting for him and led the way to the community +room. + +A fire was burning in the wide grate, and the room was cheerful with +reflected sun-rays, for the sun was shining in the courtyard and +glistening on the frosty boughs of the sycamore. It was a beautiful New +Year's morning, and the Father began to tell some timely stories. In +the midst of the laughter that greeted them the lay brother returned and +delivered his message. Brother Paul could not be found, and there was +not a sign of him anywhere in the house. + +"That's strange," said the religious. + +"Perhaps he is in his cell," said the Father. + +"No, he is not there," said the messenger, "and his bed has not been +slept in." + +"Now, that explains something," said the Father. "I thought he didn't +answer when I knocked at his door in the morning, but my ears grow dull +and my eyes are failing me, and I told myself perhaps----" + +"It's very strange'" said the religious, with looks of astonishment. + +"But perhaps he staid all night at his penance in the church," said the +Father. + +"Apparently his hat did so at all events," said one of the brothers. "I +saw it lying with his lamp on the stall in front of me." + +There was silence for a moment, and then the Father said with a smile: + +"But my children are so amusing in such matters! Only this morning I had +to reprove Brother Storm for losing his hat somewhere, and now Brother +Paul----" + +By an involuntary impulse, obscure to themselves, the brothers turned +toward John, who was standing in the recess of one of the windows with +his pale face looking out on the sunshine. + +John was the first to speak. + +"Father," he said, "I have something to say to you." + +"Come this way," said the Superior, and they passed out of the room +together. + +The Father led the way to his room and closed the door behind them. +But there was little need for confession; the Father seemed to know +everything in an instant. He sat in his wicker chair before the fire and +rocked himself and moaned. + +"Well, well, God's wrath comes up against the children of disobedience, +but we must do our best to bear our punishment." + +John Storm made no excuses. He had stood by the Father's chair and told +his story simply, without fear or remorse, only concealing that part of +it which concerned himself in relation to Glory. + +"Yes, yes," said the Father, "I see quite plainly how it has been. He +was like tinder, ready to take fire at a spark, and you were thinking I +had been hard and cruel and in-human." + +It was the truth; John could not deny it; he held down his head and was +silent. + +"But shall I tell you why I refused that poor boy's petition? Shall I +tell you who he was, and how he came to be here? Yes, I will tell you. +Nobody in this house has heard it until now, because it was his secret +and mine and God's alone--not given me in confession, no, or it would +have to be locked in my breast forever. But you have thrust yourself +in between us, so you must hear everything, and may the Lord pity and +forgive you and help you to bear your burden!" + +John felt that a cold damp was breaking out on his forehead, but he +clinched his moist hands and made ready to control himself. + +"Has he ever spoken of another sister?" + +"Yes, he has sometimes mentioned her." + +"Then perhaps you have been told of the painful and tragic event that +happened?" + +"No," said John, but something that he had heard at the board meeting +at the hospital returned at that moment with a stunning force to his +memory. + +"His father, poor man, was one of my own people--one of the lay +associates of our society in the world outside. But his health gave way, +his business failed him, and he died in a madhouse, leaving his three +children to the care of a friend. The friend was thought to be a worthy, +and even a pious man, but he was a scoundrel and a traitor. The younger +sister--the one you know--he committed to an orphanage; the elder one he +deceived and ruined. As a sequel to his sin, she lived a life of shame +on the streets of London, and died by suicide at the end of it." + +John Storm put up one hand to his head as if his brain was bursting, and +with the other hand he held on to the Father's chair. + +"That was bad enough, but there was worse to follow. Our poor Paul +had grown to be a man by this time, and Satan put it into his heart to +avenge his sister's dishonour. 'As the whirlwind passeth, so the wicked +are no more.' The betrayer of his trust was found dead in his room, +slain by an unknown assassin. Brother Paul had killed him." + +John Storm had fallen to his knees. If hell itself had opened at his +feet he could not have been stricken with more horror. In a voice +strangled by fear he stammered: "But why didn't you tell me this before? +Why have you hidden it until now?" + +"Passions, my son, are the same in a monastery as outside of it, and I +had too much reason to fear that the saintliest soul in our Brotherhood +would have refused to live and eat and sleep in the same house with a +murderer. But the poor soul had come to me like a hunted beast, and who +was I that I should turn my back upon him? Before that he had tramped +through the streets and slept in the parks, under the impression that +the police were pursuing him, and thereby he had contracted the lung +disease from which he suffers still. What was I to do? Give him up to +the law? Who shall tell me how I could have held the balance level? +I took him into my house; I sheltered him; I made him a member of our +community; Heaven forgive me, I suffered myself to receive his vows. +It was for me to comfort his stricken body, for the Church to heal his +wounded soul; and as for his crime, that was in God's hands, and God +alone could deal with it." + +The Father had risen to his feet, and he spoke the last words with +uplifted hand. + +"Now you know why I refused that poor boy's petition. I loved him as a +son, but neither the disease of his body nor the weakness of his mind +could break the firmness of the rule by which I held him. I knew that +Satan was dragging him away from me, and I would not give him up to the +sufferings and dangers which the Evil One was preparing for him in the +world. But how subtle are the temptations of the devil! He found the +weak place in my armour at last. He found you, my son--you; and he +tempted you by all your love, by all your pity, by all your tenderness, +and you fell, and this is the consequence." + +The Father clasped his hands at his breast and walked to and fro in the +little room. + +"The bitterness of the world against religious houses is great already; +but if anything should happen now, if a crime should be committed, if +our poor brother, clad in the habit of our Order----" + +He stopped and crossed himself and lifted His eyes, and said in a +tremulous whisper: "O God, whom have I in heaven but thee? My flesh and +my heart faileth; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion +forever." + +John had staggered to his feet like a drunken man. "Father," he said, +"send me away from you. I am not fit to live by your side." + +The Father laid both hands on his shoulders. "And shall I lower my flag +to the enemy like that? There is only one way to defeat the devil, and +that is to defy him. No, no, my son, you shall remain with me to the +last." + +"Punish me, then. Give me penance. Let me be the lowest of the low and +the meanest of the mean. Only tell me what I am to do and I will do it." + +"Go back to the door and resume your duty as doorkeeper." + +John looked at the Father with an expression of bewilderment. + +"I thought you had done with it, my son, but Heaven knew better. And +promise that when you are there you will pray for our wandering brother, +that he may not be allowed to fulfil the errand on which you sent him +out; pray that he may never find his sister, or anybody who knows her +and can tell him where she is and what has become of her; pray that +she may never cross his path to the last hour of life and the first +of death's sundering; promise to pray for this, my son, night and day, +morning and evening, with all your soul and strength, as you would pray +for God's mercy and your soul's salvation." + +John did not answer; he was like a man in a stupor. "Is it possible?" he +said. "Are you sending me back to the door? Can you trust me again?" + +The Father stepped to the side of the bed and took the key of the gate +from its place under the shelf. "Take this key with you, too, because +for the future you are to be the keeper of the gate as well." + +John had taken the key mechanically, hardly hearing what was being said. + +"Is it true, then--have you got faith in me still?" + +The Father put both hands on his shoulders again and looked into his +face. "God has faith in you, my child, and who am I that I should +despair?" + +When John Storm returned to the door his mind was in a state of +stupefaction. Many hours passed during which he was only partly +conscious of what was taking place about him. Sometimes he was aware +that certain of the brothers had gathered around, with a tingling, +electrical atmosphere among them, and that they were asking questions +about the escape, and whispering together as if it had been something +courageous and almost commendable, and had set their hearts beating. +Again, sometimes he was aware that big Brother Andrew was sitting by his +side on the form, stroking his arm from time to time, and talking in his +low voice and aimless way about his mother and the last he saw of her. +"She followed me down the street crying," he said, "and I have often +thought of it since and been tempted to run away." Also he was aware +that the dog was with him always, licking the backs of his stiff hands +and poking up a cold snout into his downcast face. + +All this time he was doing his duties automatically and apparently +without help from his consciousness, opening and closing the door as the +brothers passed in and out on their errands to the dead and dying, and +saying, "Praise be to God!" when a stranger knocked. It may be that his +body was merely answering to the habits of its intellect, and that +his soul, which had sustained a terrible blow, was lying stunned and +swooning within. + +When it revived and he began to know and to feel once more, there was no +one with him, for the brothers were asleep in their beds and the dog was +in the courtyard, and the house was very quiet, for it was the middle of +the night. And then it came back to him, like a dream remembered in the +morning, that the Father had asked him to pray for Brother Paul that he +might fail in the errand on which he had sent him out into the world, +and though with his lips he had not promised, yet in his heart he had +undertaken to do so. + +And being quite alone now, with no one but God for company, he went down +on his knees in his place by the door and clasped his hands together. + +"O God," he prayed, "have pity on Paul, and on me, and on all of us! +Keep him from all danger and suffering and from the snares and assaults +of the Evil One! Grant that he may never find his sister--or anybody who +knows her--or anybody who can tell him where she is and what has become +of her----" + +But having got so far he could get no farther, for suddenly it occurred +to him that this was a prayer which concerned Glory and himself as well. +It was only then that he realized the magnitude and awfulness of the +task he had undertaken. He had undertaken to ask God that Paul might not +find Glory either, and therefore that he on his part might never hear of +her again. When he put it to himself like that, the sweat started from +his forehead and he was transfixed with fear. + +He rose from his knees and sat on the form, and for a long hour he +laboured in the thought of a thousand possibilities, telling himself +of the many things which might befall a beautiful girl in a cruel and +wicked city. But then again he thought of Paul and of his former crime +and present temptation, and remembered the shadow that hung over the +Brotherhood. + +"O God, help me," he cried; "strengthen me, support me, guide me!" + +He tried to frame another prayer, but the words would not come; he tried +to kneel as before, but his knees would not bend. How could he pray +that Glory also might be lost--that something might have happened to +her--that somewhere and in some way unknown to him---- + +No, no, a thousand times no! The prayer was impossible. Let come what +would, let the danger to Paul and to the Brotherhood be what it might, +let Satan and all his legions fall on him, yet he could not and would +not utter it. + + + + +XIII. + +The stars were paling, but the day had not yet dawned, when there came +a knock at the door. John started and listened. After an interval the +knock was repeated. It was a timid, hesitating tap, as if made with the +tips of the fingers low down on the door. + +"Praise be to God!" said John, and he drew the slide of the grating. He +had expected to see a face outside, but there was nothing there. + +"Who is it?" he asked, and there came no answer. + +He took up the lamp that was kept burning in the hall and looked out +through the bars. There was nothing in the darkness but an icy mist, +which appeared to be rising from the ground. + +"Only another of my dreams," he thought, and he laid his hand on the +slide to close it. + +Then he heard a sigh that seemed to rise out of the ground, and at the +same moment the dog uttered a deep bay. He laid hold of the door and +pulled it quickly open. At his feet the figure of a man was kneeling, +bent double and huddled up. + +"Paul!" he cried in an excited whisper. + +Brother Paul raised his head. His face was frightfully changed. It was +gray and wasted. His eyes wandered, his lips trembled, and he looked +like a man who had been flogged. + +"Good Lord, what a wreck!" thought John. He helped him to rise and +enter. The poor creature's limbs were stiff with cold, and he stumbled +from weakness as he crossed the threshold. + +"But, thank God, you are back and no harm done!" said John. "How anxious +we've been! You must never go out again--never! There, brother, sit +there." + +The wandering eyes looked up with a supplicating expression. "Forgive +me. Brother Storm----" + +But John would not listen. "Hush, brother! what have I to forgive? How +cold you are! Your hands are like ice. What can I do? There's no fire in +the house at this time of night--even in the kitchen it will be out now. +But wait, I can rub you with my hands. See, I'm warm and strong. There's +a deal of blood in me yet. That's better, isn't it? Tingling, eh? That's +right--that's good! Now for your feet--your feet will be colder still." + +"No, brother, no. I ought to be kissing the feet of everybody in the +house and asking the prayers of the community, and yet you----" + +"Tut! what nonsense! Let me take off this shoe. Dear me, how it sticks! +Why, you've worn it through and through. Look! What a mercy the snow was +hard! If there had been thaw, now! How far you must have walked!" + +"Yes, I've wandered a long way, brother." + +"You shall tell me all about it. I want to hear everything--every single +thing." + +"There's nothing to tell. I've failed in my errand--that's all." + +John, who was on his knees, drew back and looked up. "Do you mean, +then---Have you not seen your sister?" + +"No, she's gone, and nobody knows anything about her." + +"Well, perhaps it's for the best, brother. God's will be done, you know. +If you had found her--who knows?--you might have been tempted--But tell +me everything." + +"I can not do that, I'm so weak, and it's not worth while." + +"But I want to hear all that happened. See, your feet are all right +now--I've rubbed them warm again. Though I fast so much and look so +thin I've a deal of life in me. And I've been pouring it all into you, +haven't I? That's because I want you to revive and be strong and tell +me everything. Hush! Speak low; don't waken anybody! Did you find the +hospital?" + +"Yes." + +"Then Nurse Quayle sees nothing of your sister now? That's the pity of +the life she is leading, poor girl! No friends, no future----" + +"It wasn' that, brother." + +"What then?" + +"The nurse was not there." + +A silence followed, and then John said in another voice: "I suppose +she was on a holiday. It was very stupid of me; I didn't think of that. +Twice a year a hospital nurse is entitled to a week's holiday, and no +doubt----" + +"But she was gone." + +"Gone? You mean left the hospital?" + +"Yes." + +"Well," in a husky voice, "that isn't to be wondered at either. +A high-spirited girl finds it hard to be bound down to rule and +regulation. But the porter--he is an intelligent man--he would tell you +where she had gone to." + +"I asked him; he didn't know. All he could say was that she left the +hospital on the morning of Lord Mayor's Show-day." + +"That would be the 9th of November--the day we took our vows." + +There was another pause; the big dark eyes were wandering vacantly. + +"After all, he is only a porter; you asked for the matron, didn't you?" + +"Yes; I thought she might know what had become of my sister. But she +didn't. As for Nurse Quayle, she had been dismissed also, and nobody +knew anything about her." + +John had seated himself at Paul's side and the form itself was +quivering. + +"Now that's just like her," he said hoarsely. "That matron was always +a hard woman. And to think that in that great house of love and pity +nobody----" + +"I'm forgetting something, brother." + +"What is it?" + +"The porter told me that the nurse called for her letters from time to +time. She had been there that night--not half an hour before." + +"Then you followed her, didn't you? You asked which, way she had gone, +and you hurried after her?" + +"Yes; but half an hour in London is a week anywhere else. Let anybody +cross the street and she is lost--more lost to sight than a ship in +a storm on the ocean. And then it was New Year's Eve, and the +thoroughfares were crowded, and thousands of women were coming and +going--and--what could I do?" he said helplessly. + +John answered scornfully: "What could you do? Do you ask me what you +could do?" + +"What would you have done?" + +"I should have tramped every street in London and looked into the face +of every woman I met until I had found her. I should have worn my shoes +to the welt and my skin to the bone before I should have come crawling +home like a snail with my shell broken over my head! + +"Don't be hard on me, brother, least of all now, when I have come home +like a snail, as you say, with my shell broken. I was very tired and ill +and did all I could. If I had been strong like you and brave-hearted I +might have struggled longer. Bid I _did_ tramp the streets and look into +the women's faces. She must have been among them, if she's living the +life you speak of; but God would not let me find her. Why was it that +my search was fruitless? Perhaps there was evil in my heart at first--I +don't mind telling you that now--but I swear to you by Him who died for +us that at last I only wanted to find my sister that I might save her. +But I am such a helpless creature, and----" + +John put his arm about Paul's shoulders. + +"Forgive me, brother. I was mad to talk to you like that--I who sent +you out on that cruel night and staid at home myself. You did what you +could----" + +"You think that--really?" + +"Yes, only at the moment it seemed as if we had changed places somehow, +and it was I who had lost a sister and been out to find her, and +given up the search too soon, and come home empty and useless and +broken-spirited, and----" + +Paul was looking up at him with a face full of astonishment. + +"Do you really think I did all I could to find her--the nurse, I mean?" + +But John had turned his own face away, and there was no answer. Paul +tried to say something, but he could not find the words. At last in a +choked voice he murmured: "We must keep close together, brother; we are +in the same boat now." + +And feeling for John's hand, he took it and held it, and they sat for +some minutes with bowed heads, as if a ghost were going by. + +"There's nothing but prayer and penance and fasting left to us, is +there?" + +Still John made no reply, and the broken creature began to comfort him. + +"We have peace here at all events, and you wouldn't, think what +temptations come to you in the world when you've lost somebody, and +there seems to be nothing left to live for. Shall I tell you what I +did? It was in the early morning and I was standing in a doorway in +Piccadilly. The cabs and the crowds were gone, and only the nightmen +were there swilling up the dirt of the pavements with their hose-pipes +and water. 'My poor girl is lost,' I thought, 'We shall never see one +another again. This wicked city has ruined her, and our mother, who was +so holy, was fond of her when she was a little child.' And then my heart +seemed to freeze up within me... and I did it. You'll think I was mad--I +went to the police station and told them I had committed a crime. Yes, +indeed, I accused myself of murder, and began to give particulars. It +was only when they noticed my habit that I remembered the Father, and +then I refused to answer any more questions. They put me in a cell, and +that was where I spent the night, and next morning I denied everything, +and they let me go." + +Then, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper, he said: "That wasn't what +brought me back, though. It was the vow. You can't think what a thing +the vow is until you've broken it. It's like a hot iron searing your +very soul, and if you were dying and at the farthest ends of the earth, +and you had to crawl on your hands and knees, you would come back----" + +He would have said more, but an attack of coughing silenced him, and +when it was over there was a sound of some one moving in the house. + +"What is that?" + +"It is the Father," said John. "Our voices have wakened him." + +Paul struggled to his feet. + +"It's only a life of penance and suffering you've come back to, my poor +lad." + +"That's nothing--nothing at all--But are you sure you think I did +everything?" + +"You did what you could. Are you going somewhere?" + +"Yes, to the Father." + +"God bless you, my lad!" + +"And God bless you too, brother!" + +Half an hour later, by the order of the Superior, John Storm, with the +help of Brother Andrew and the Father Minister, carried Brother Paul to +his cell. The bell had been rung for Lauds, and going up the stairs they +passed the brothers coming down to service. News of Paul's return had +gone through the house like a cutting wind, and certain of the brothers +who had gathered in groups on the landings were whispering together, as +if the coming back had been a shameful thing which cast discredit on all +of them. It wasn't love of rule that had brought the man home again, but +broken health and the want of a bed to die upon! Thus they talked under +their breath, unconscious of the secret operation of their own hearts. +In a monastery, as elsewhere, failure is the worst disgrace. + +John Storm returned to the hall with a firm step and eyes full of +resolution. Hardly answering the brothers, who plied him with questions, +he pushed through them with long strides, and, taking the key of the +outer gate from the place in the alcove where he had left it, he turned +toward the Father's room. + +The day had dawned, and through the darkness which was lifting in the +little room he could see the Father rising from his knees. + +"Father!" he cried in an excited voice, and his words, like his breath, +came in gusts. + +"What is it, my son?" + +"Take this key back again. The world is calling me, and I can not trust +myself at the door any longer. Put me under the rule of silence and +solitude, and shut me up in a cell, or I shall break my obedience and +run away as sure as heaven is over us!" + + + + +XIV. + +Glory awoke on New Year's morning with a little hard lump at her heart, +and thought: "How foolish! Am I to give up all my cherished dreams +because one man is a scoundrel?" + +The struggle might be bitter, but she would not give in. London was the +mother of genius. If she destroyed she created also. It was only the +weak and the worthless she cast away. The strong she made stronger, the +great she made greater. "O God, give me the life I love!" she thought; +"give me a chance; only let me begin--no matter how, no matter where!" + +She remembered her impulse of the night before to follow Brother Paul, +and the little hard lump at her heart grew bitter. John Storm had gone +from her, forgotten her, left her to take care of herself. Very well, +so be it! What was the use of thinking? "I hate to be sentimental," she +thought. + +If Aggie called on Sunday night she would go with her, no matter if it +was beginning at the bottom. Others had begun there, and what right had +she to expect to begin anywhere else? For the future she would take the +world on its own terms and force it to give way. She would conquer this +great cruel London, and yet remain a good girl in spite of all. + +Such was the mood in which she came down to breakfast, and the first +thing that met her eyes was a letter from home. At that her face burned +for a moment and her breath came in gusts, but she put the letter into +her pocket unopened and tossed her head a little and laughed. "I hate to +be so sensitive," she thought, and then she began to tell Mrs. Jupe what +she intended to do. + +"The clubs!" cried Mrs. Jupe. "I thought you didn't tyke to the shop +because you fancied yerself above present company. But the foreign +clubs! My gracious!" + +The hissing of Mrs. Jupe's taunting voice followed her about all that +day, and late at night, when they were going to bed and the streets were +quiet, and there was only the jingle of a passing hansom or a drunken +shout or the screech of a concertina, she could hear it again from the +other side of the plaster partition, interrupted occasionally by the +sound of Mr. Jupe's attempts to excuse and apologize for her. No matter! +Anything to escape from the atmosphere of that woman's house, to be free +of her and quit of her forever! + +Toward eight o'clock on Sunday evening she went up to her bedroom to put +on her hat and ulster, and being alone there, and waiting for Aggie, she +could not help but open her letter from home. + +"Sunday next is your birthday, my dear one," wrote the parson, "so we +send you our love and greetings. This being the first of your twenty-one +that you have spent from home, I will be thinking of you all the day +through, and when night comes, and I smoke a pipe by the study fire, I +know I shall be leaving the blind up that I may see the evening star and +remember the happy birthdays long ago, when somebody, who was so petted +and spoiled, used to say she had just come down from it, having dressed +herself in some strange and grand disguises, and told us she was +Phonodoree the fairy. You will be better employed than that, Glory, and +as long as my dear one is well and happy and prosperous in the great +city where she so loves to be----" + +The candle was shaking in Glory's hands, and the little half-lit bedroom +seemed to be blinking in and out. + +Aunt Anna had added a postscript: "Glad to hear you are enjoying +yourself in London, but rather alarmed at your frequent mention of +theatres. Take care you don't go too often, child, and mind you send us +the name of the vicar of the parish you are living in, for I certainly +think grandfather ought to write to him." + +To this again there was a footnote by Aunt Rachel: "You say nothing of +Mr. Drake nowadays. Is he one of Mrs. Jupe's visitors? And is it he who +takes you to theatres?" + +Then there was a New Year's card enclosed, having a picture of an +Eastern shepherd at the head of his flock of sheep and bearing the +inscription, "Follow in his footsteps." + +But the hissing sound of Mrs. Jupe's voice came up from below, and +Glory's tears were dried in an instant. On going downstairs, she found +Aggie in her mock sealskin and big black feathers sitting in the parlour +at the back of the shop, and Mrs. Jupe talking to her in whispers, with +an appearance of knowledge and familiarity. She caught the confused look +of the one and the stealthy glances of the other, and the hard lump at +her heart grew harder. + +"Come on," said Glory, and a few minutes afterward the girls were +walking toward Soho. The little chapels in the quieter streets were +dropping out their driblets of people and the lights in the church +windows were being extinguished one by one. Aggie had recovered her +composure, and was talking of Charlie as she skipped along with a rapid +step, swinging her stage-box by her side. Charlie was certain to be at +one of the clubs, and he would be sure to see them home. He wasn't out +of his time yet, and that was why her father wouldn't allow him about. +But he was in an office at a foundry, and his people lived in a house, +and perhaps one of these days---- + +"Did you say that some of the people who are on the stage now began at +the clubs?" said Glory. + +"Plenty, my dear. There's Betty Bellman for one. She was at a club in +Old Compton Street when Mr. Sefton found her out." + +Aggie had to "work a turn" at each of three clubs that night, and the +girls were now at the door of the first of them. It stood at the corner +of a reputable square, and was like any ordinary house on the outside. +But people were coming and going constantly, and the doorkeeper was kept +opening and closing the door. In the middle of the hall a clerk stood +at a desk, having a great book in front of him, and making a show of +challenging everybody as he entered. He recognised Aggie as an artiste, +but passed Glory also on the payment of twopence and the signing of her +name in the book. + +The dining-room of the house had been converted into a bar, with counter +and stillage, and after the girls had crushed through the crowds that +stood there they came into a large and shabby chamber, which had the +appearance of having been built over the space which had once been the +backyard. This room had neither windows nor skylights; its walls were +decorated with portraits of Garibaldi and Victor Emanuel in faded +colours, and there was a stage and proscenium at its farther end. + +It was an Italian club that met there on Sunday nights, and some two or +three hundred hairdressers and restaurant-keepers of swarthy complexion +sat in groups at little round tables with their wives and sweethearts +(chiefly English women), smoking and drinking and laughing at the +performance on the stage. + +Aggie went down to her dressing-room under the floor, and Glory sat at a +table with a yellow-haired lady and a dark-eyed man. A negro without +the burnt cork was twanging a banjo and cracking the jokes of the +corner-man. + +"That's my style--a merry touch-and-go," said the lady. And then +glancing at Glory, "Singing to-night, my dear?" + +Glory shook her head. + +"Thort you might be a pro' p'rhaps. Use ter be myself when I was in the +bally at the Lane. Married now, my dear; but I likes to come of a Sunday +night when the kids is got to bed." + +Then Aggie danced a skirt dance, and there were shouts of applause for +her, and she came back and danced again. When she reappeared in jacket +and hat, and with her stage-box in her hand, the girls crushed their way +out. Going through the bar they were invited to drink by several of the +men who were standing there, but they got into the streets at last. + +"They're rather messy, those bars," said Aggie; "but managers like you +to come round and tyke something after you've done your turn--if it's +only a cup of cawfy." + +"Do you like this life?" said Glory, taking a long breath. + +"Yes, awfully!" said Aggie. + +Their next visit was to a Swiss club, which did not greatly differ from +the Italian one, except that the hall was more shabby, and that the +audience consisted of French and Swiss waiters and skittish young +English milliners. The girls had taken their hats and cloaks off and sat +dressed like dolls in white muslin with long streamers of bright ribbon. +A gentleman sang the "Postman's Knock," with the character accompaniment +of a pot hat and a black-edged envelope, a lady sang "Maud" in silk +tights and a cloak, Aggie danced her skirt dance, and then the floor was +cleared for a ball. + +"They're going to dance the Swiss dance," said Aggie, "and the M. C. +wants me to tyke a place; but I hate these fellows to be hugging me. +Will you be my partner, dear?" + +"Well--just for a minute or two," said Glory, with nervous gaiety. And +then the dance began. + +It proved to be a musical version of odd man out, and Glory soon found +herself being snapped up by other partners and addressed familiarly by +the waiters and their women. She could feel the moisture of their hands +and smell the oil of their hair, and a feeling like a spasm of physical +pain came over her. + +"Let us go," she whispered. + +"Yes, it's getting lyte," said Aggie, and they crushed through the +crowded bar and out into the street. + +The twanging of the fiddles, the thud of the dancing, and the peals of +coarse laughter followed them from the stifling atmosphere within, and +Glory felt sick and faint. + +"Do you say that managers of good places call at these clubs sometimes?" + +"Often," said Aggie, and she hummed a music-hall tune as she skipped and +tripped along. + +The streets, which had been dark and quiet when they arrived in Soho, +were now ablaze with lights in every window, and noisy with people on +every pavement. The last club they had to visit was a German one, and +as they came near it they saw that a man was standing at the door +bareheaded and looking out for somebody. + +"It's Charlie," said Aggie with a little jump of joy. But when they came +up to him a scowl darkened his dark face, and he said: + +"Lyte as usyal! Two of the bloomin' turns not come, and me looking up +and dahn the bloomin' street for you every minute and more!" + +The girl's eyes blinked as if he had struck her, but she only tossed her +head and stiffened her under lip, and said: "Jawing again, are ye? I'd +chuck it for once, Charlie, if it was only for sake of company." + +With that she disappeared to the dressing-room, and Charlie took charge +of Glory, crushed a way for her through the refreshment room, offered +her a "glaws of somethink," and with an obvious pride of possession +introduced her to admiring acquaintances as "a friend o' mine." "Like +yer style, Charlie," said one of them. "Oh, yus! Dare say!" said +Charlie. + +The proscenium was surmounted by the German and English flags +intertwined, the walls were adorned with oleograph portraits of the +Kaiser, his father and grandfather, Bismarck and Von Moltke, and the +audience consisted largely of lively young German Jews and Jewesses in +evening dress, some Polish Jews, and a sprinkling of other foreigners. + +During Aggie's turn Glory was conscious that two strangers out of +another world altogether had entered the club and were standing at the +back. + +"Toffs," said Charlie, looking at them over her shoulder, and then, +answering to himself the meaning of their looks, "No, my luds! 'Tain't +the first we've seen of sech!" + +Then Aggie came up with an oily person in a flowered waistcoat and said, +"This is my friend, guv'nor, and she wouldn't mind doing a turn if you +asked her." + +"If de miss vill oblige," began the oily one, and then the blood rushed +to Glory's face, and before she knew what else had happened, her hat +and ulster were in Aggie's hands and she was walking up the steps to the +stage. + +There was some applause when she went on, but she was in a dazed +condition and it all seemed to be taking place a hundred miles away. +She heard her own voice saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind +permission I will endeavour to give you an imitation----" and something +more. Down to that moment her breath had been coming and going in hot +gasps, and she had felt a dryness in her throat; but every symptom +of nervousness suddenly disappeared, and she threw up her head like a +charger in battle. + +Then she sang. It was only a common street song, and everybody had heard +it a thousand times. She sang "And her golden hair was hanging down her +back" after the manner of a line of factory girls going home from work +at night. Arm-in-arm, decked in their Vandyke hats, slashed with red +ribbons and crowned with ostrich feathers, with their free step, their +shrill voices--they were there before everybody's eyes, everybody could +see them, everybody could recognise them, and before the end of the +first verse there were shouts and squeals of laughter. + +Glory felt dizzy yet self-possessed; she gave a little audible laugh +while she stood bowing between the verses. In a few minutes the song was +finished and the people were stamping, whistling, uttering screeching +cat-calls, and shouting "Brayvo!" But Glory was sitting at the foot of +the stage by this time with a face contorted as in physical pain. After +the first thrill of success the shame of it all came over her and she +saw how low she had fallen, and felt horrified and afraid. The clamour, +the clapping of hands, the vulgar faces, the vulgar laughter, the vulgar +song, Sunday night, her own birthday! It all passed before her like +the incidents in some nightmare, and at the back of it came other +memories--Glenfaba, the sweet and simple household, the old parson +smoking by the study fire and looking up at the evening star, and then +John Storm and the church chimes at Bishopsgate! One moment she sat +there with her burning face, staring helplessly before her, while people +crowded round to shake hands with her and cried into her ears above the +deafening tumult, "You'll have to tyke another turn, dear"; and then she +burst into passionate weeping. + +"Stand avay! De lady's not fit to sing again," said some one, and she +opened her eyes. + +It was one of the two gentlemen who had been standing at the back. + +"Ach Gott! Is it you? Don't you know me, nurse?" + +It was Mr. Koenig, the organist. + +"My gracious! Vot are you doing here, my child? Two monts ago I haf ask +for you at de hospital, and haf write to de matron, but you vere gone. +Since den I haf look for you all over London. Vhere do you lif?" + +Glory told him, and he wrote down the address. + +"Ugh! A genius, and lif in a tobacco shop! My vife vill call on you and +fetch you avay. She is a goot woman, and vhatever she tell you to do +you must do it; but not musical and clever same like as you. Bless mine +soul! Singing in a Sunday club! Do you know, my child, you haf a voice, +and talents, great talents! Vants training--yes. But vhat vould you haf? +Here am I, Carl Koenig! I speak ver' bad de Englisch, but I know ver' +goot to teach music. I vill teach you same like I teach oder ladies who +pay me many dollare. Do you know vhat I am?" + +Yes, she knew what he was--he was the organist at All Saints', +Belgravia. + +"Pooh! I am a composer as veil. I write songs, and all your countrymen +and countryvomen sing dem. I haf a choral company, too, and it is +for dat I vant you. I go to de first houses in de land, de lords, +de ministers, de princes. You shall come vith me. Your voice is +soprano--no, mezzo-soprano--and it vill grow. I vill pitch it, and vhen +it is ready I vill bring you out. But now get away from dis place and +naivare come back, or I vill be more angry as before." + +Then Glory rose, and he led her to the door. Her heart felt big and her +eyes were glistening. Aggie was in the refreshment-room. Having finished +for the night, the girl had resumed her outdoor costume without removing +her make-up, and was laughing merrily among a group of men and playing +them off against Charlie, who was still in the sulks and drinking at +the bar. When Glory appeared, Aggie fidgeted with her glove and said, +"Aren't you going to see us home, Charlie?" + +"No," said Charlie. + +"Where are you going to?" + +"Nowhere as you can come." + +Aggie's eyes watered, and she wrenched a button off, but she only +laughed and answered, "Don't think as we're throwing ourselves at _your_ +head, my man! We only wanted to _know_. Ta-ta!" + +It was now midnight, and the streets were thin of people, but sounds of +music and dancing came from nearly every open window and door. + +Aggie was crying. "That's the worst of the clubs," she said, "they lead +'em to the gambling hells. And then a young man always knows when he can +tyke advantage." + +As they returned past the Swiss club somebody who was being thrown out +into the street was shouting in a gurgling voice, "Let go o' my throat +or I'll corpse ye!" And farther on two or three girls in their teens, +with their arms about the necks of twice as many men, were reeling along +the pavement and singing in a tuneless wail. + + + + +XV. + +Toward the middle of Lent the Society of the Holy Gethsemane was visited +by its ecclesiastical Visitor. This was the Bishop of the diocese, a +liberal-minded man and not a very rigid ecclesiastic, abrupt, brusque, +businesslike, and a good administrator. When the brothers had gathered +in the community room, he took from the Superior the leathern-bound +volume containing the rule of the Brotherhood and read aloud the text of +it. + +"And now, gentlemen," he said, "whether I approve of your rule or not +is a matter with which we have no concern at present. My sole duty is +to see that it is lawfully administered. Are you satisfied with the +administration of it and willing to remain under its control?" + +There was only one response from the brothers--they were entirely +satisfied. + +The Bishop rose with a smile and bowed to the brothers, and they began +to leave the room. + +"There are two of my people whom you have not yet seen," said the +Father. + +"Where are they?" + +"In their cells." + +"Why in their cells?" + +"One of them is ill; the other is under the rule of silence and +solitude." + +"Let us visit them," said the Bishop, and they began to ascend the +stairs. + +"I may not agree with your theory of the religious life, Father, but +when I see your people giving up the world and its comforts, its joys +and possessions, its ties of blood and affection----" + +They had reached the topmost story, and the Father had paused to recover +breath. "This cell to the right," said he, "is occupied by a lay brother +who was tempted by the Evil One to a grievous act of disobedience, and +the wrath of God has fallen on him. But Satan has overreached himself +for once, and by that very act grace has triumphed. Not a member of our +community rejoices more in the blessed sacrament, and when I place the +body of our Lord----" + +"May we go in to him?" + +"Certainly; he is dying of lung disease, but you shall see with what +patience he possesses his soul." + +Brother Paul was sitting before a small fire in an arm-chair padded +with pillows, holding in his dried-up hands a heavy crucifix which was +suspended from his heck. + +"How lightsome and cosy we are up here!" said the Bishop. "A long way +up, certainly, but no doubt you get everything you require." + +"Everything," said Paul. + +"I dare say the brothers are very good to you--they usually are so to +the weak and ailing in a monastery." + +"Too good, my lord." + +"Of course you see a doctor occasionally?" + +"Three times a week, and if he would only let me escape from an evil and +troublesome world----" + +"Hush! It's not right to talk like that, my son. Whatever happens, it is +our duty to live, you know." + +"I've lost all there was to live for, and besides----" + +"Then there is nothing you wish for?" said the Bishop. + +"Nothing but death," said Paul, and lifting the crucifix he carried it +to his lips. + +"Thank God we are born to die!" said the Bishop, and they stepped back +to the corridor and closed the door. + +"This next cell," said the Father, "is occupied by such a one as you +were thinking of--one who was born to possess the world and to achieve +its sounding triumphs, but----" + +"Has he given it up entirely?" + +"Entirely." + +"Is he young?" + +"Quite young, and he has left the world, not as Augustine did, after +learning by bitter experience the deceitfulness of sin----" + +"Then why is he here?" + +"He can not trust himself yet. He feels the inward strivings and +struggles of our rebellious nature and----" + +"Then his solitude and silence are voluntary?" + +"Now they are. See," said the Father, and stooping to the floor he +picked up a key that lay at his feet. + +"What does that mean?" + +"He locks himself in and pushes the key under the door." + +When they entered the cell John Storm was standing by the window in a +stream of morning sunlight, looking out on the world below with fixed +and yearning eyes. + +"This is our Visitor," said the Father. "The rule of silence is relaxed +in his case." + +"Have I not seen you before?" said the Bishop. + +"I think not, Father," said John. + +"What is your name, and where did you live before you came here?" + +John told him. + +"Then I have both seen and heard you. But I perceive that the world has +gone on a little since you left it--your canon is an archdeacon now, and +one of the chaplains to the Queen as well. How long have you been in the +Brotherhood?" + +"Since the 14th of August." + +"And how long have you kept your cell?" + +"Since the octave of Epiphany." + +"But this is Lent--rather a long penance, Father." + +"I have often urged our dear brother----" began the Father. + +"You carry your fastings and prayers too far, Mr. Storm," said the +Bishop. He was picking up one by one some black-letter books that were +lying on the table and on the bed. "I know that divines in all ages tell +us that the body is evil, and that its desires and appetites must be +eradicated. But they also teach us that the perfect Christian character +is the blending of the two lives, the life of Nature and the life of +grace. Don't despise your humanity, my son. Your Master did not despise +it. He came down from heaven that he might live and work among the +sinful brotherhood of man. And don't pray for death, or fast as if you +wished for it. You would have no right to do that even if you were +like your poor neighbour next door, whom Death smiles on and beckons to +repose. But you are young and you are strong. Who knows what good work +your heavenly Father keeps waiting for you yet?" + +John had returned to the window and was looking out with vacant eyes. + +"But all this is beside my present business," said the Bishop. "There is +nothing you wish to complain of?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"You are content to live in this house, under the laws and statutes of +this society and in voluntary obedience to its Superior?" + +"Yes." + +"That is enough." + +The Bishop was leaving the cell, when his eye was arrested by some +writing in pencil on the wall. It ran, "9th of November--Lord Mayor's +Day"; and under it were short lines such as a prisoner makes when he +keeps a reckoning. + +"What is the meaning of this date?" said the Bishop. + +John was silent, but the Father answered with a smile: "That is the date +of his vow, my lord. It is part of the discipline of his life of grace +to keep count of the days of his novitiate, so eager is he for the time +when he may dedicate his whole life to God." + +Back at the head of the stairs the Father paused again and said, +"Listen!" + +There was the sound as of a trembling hand turning the key in the lock +of the door they had shut behind them, and at the next moment the key +itself came out of the aperture under it. + +When the door closed on the Bishop and John Storm was alone in his cell, +one idea was left with him--the idea of work. He had tried everything +else, and everything had failed. + +He had tried solitude. On asking to be shut up in a cell, he had said +to himself: "The thought of Glory is a temptation of my unquickened and +unspiritual nature. It has already betrayed me into an act of cowardice +and inhumanity, and it will drive me out into the world and fling me +back again, as it drove out and flung back Brother Paul." But the result +of his solitude was specious and deceitful. As pictures seem to float +before the eyes after the eyelids are closed, so his past life, now +that it was over, seemed to rise up before him with awful distinctness. +Sitting alone in his cell, every event of his life with Glory passed +before him in review, and harassed him with pitiless condemnation. Why +had he failed to realize the essential difference of temperament between +himself and that joyous creature? Why had he hesitated to gratify her +natural and innocent love of mere life? Why had he done this? Why had he +not done that? If Glory were lost, if the wicked and merciless world had +betrayed her, the fault was his, and God would surely punish him. Thus +did solitude enervate his soul by frightening it, and the temptation he +had hoped to vanquish became the more strong and tyrannical. + +He had tried reading. The Fathers told him that God allowed ascetics to +keep the keys of their nature in their own hands; that they had only to +think of woman as more bitter than death, and of her beauty as a cause +of perdition, and that if any woman's face tormented them they were +to picture it to the eye of the mind as old and wrinkled, defaced by +disease, and even the prey of the worm. He tried to think of Glory as +the Fathers directed, but when darkness fell and he lay on his bed, with +the first dream of the night the strong powers of Nature that had no +mind to surrender swept down the pitiful bulwarks of religion, and +Glory was smiling upon him in her youth, her beauty, her sweetness, her +humour, and all the grace of her countless gifts. + +He had tried fasting. Three times a day Brother Andrew brought him his +food, and twice a day, when the lay brother had left him, he opened the +window and spread the food on the sill for the birds to take. But the +results of his fasting were the reverse of his expectations. At one +moment he was uplifted by strong emotions, at the next moment he was in +collapse. Visions began to pass before him. His father's face tormented +him constantly, and sometimes he was conscious of the face of his +mother, though he had never known her. But above all and through all +there came the face of Glory. Fasting had only extended his dreams about +her. He was dreaming both by day and by night now, and Glory was with +him always. + +He had tried prayer. Hitherto he had said his Offices regularly, but +now he would say special prayers as well. To get the victory over his +lawless and rebellious nature he would turn his eyes to the mother of +the Lord. But when he tried to fix his mind on Mary there was nothing +to answer to it. All was shadowy and impalpable. There was only a vague, +empty cloud before his eyes, until suddenly a luminous face glided into +the vacant place, and it was full of tenderness, of sweetness, of charm, +of pity and womanly love--but it was the face of Glory. + +Despair laid hold of him. His attempts to overcome Nature were clearly +rejected by the Almighty. Winter passed with its foggy days. The Father +wished him to return to the ordinary life of the community, yet he +begged to be allowed to remain. + +But the spring came and diffused its joy throughout all Nature. He +listened to the leaves, he watched the birds threading their way in the +clear air, he caught glimpses of the yellow flowers, and strained his +eyes for the green country beyond. The young birds began to take wing, +and one little sparrow came hopping into his room as often as he opened +his window in the morning and played about his feet like a mouse, and +then was gone to the mother bird that called to it from the tree. + +Little by little hope grew to impatience, and impatience rose to fever +heat; but he remembered his vow, and, to put himself out of temptation, +he locked the door of his cell and pushed the key through the aperture +under it. But he could not lock the door of his soul, and his old +trouble came up again with the throb of a stronger and fresher life. +Every morning when he awoke he thought of Glory. Where was she now? What +had become of her by this time? He wrote on the wall the date of +her disappearance from the hospital--"9th of November; Lord Mayor's +Day"--and tried to keep pace in his mind with the chances of her fate. +"I am guilty of a folly," he thought. The pride of his reason revolted +against what he was doing. Nevertheless, he knew full well it would be +the same to-morrow, and the next day, and the next year, for his human +passions would not yield, and his vow still clutched him as with fangs. + +He was standing one morning by the window looking through an opening +between high buildings to the river, with its hay barges gliding down +the glistening water-way, and its little steamers with their spirals of +smoke ascending, when everything in the world began in a moment to bear +another moral interpretation. The lesson of life was work. Man could not +exist without it. If he departed from that condition, no matter how much +he fasted and meditated and prayed, he was useless and miserable and +depraved. + +Then the lock turned in the door of his cell and the Father and the +Bishop entered. When they were gone he felt suffocated by their praises +of his piety, and asked himself, "What am I doing here?" He was a +hypocrite. Ten thousand other men whom the Church called saints had been +hypocrites before him, and as they paced their cloisters they had asked +themselves the same question. But the mighty hand of the Church was over +him still, and with trembling fingers he turned the key again and pushed +it under the door. Then he knew that he was a coward also, and that +religion had deprived him of his will, of his manhood, and enervated his +soul itself. + +Brother Paul was moving about in the adjoining cell. The lay brother had +become very weak; his step was slow, his feet dragged along the floor; +his breath was audible and sometimes his cough was long and raucous. +John had heard these sounds every day and had tried not to listen, but +now he strained his ears to hear. A new thought had come to him: he +would ask to be allowed to nurse Brother Paul; that should be his work, +for work alone could save him. + +Next morning he leaped up from sleep at the first syllable of +"Benedicamus Domino," and cried, "Father!" But when the door opened in +answer to his call it was the Father Minister who entered. The Superior +had gone to give a Retreat to a sisterhood in York, and would be absent +until the end of Lent. John looked at the hard face of the deputy, the +very mirror of its closed and frozen soul, and he could say nothing. + +"Is it anything that I can do for you?" said the Father Minister. + +"No--that is to say--no, no," said John. + +When he opened his window that day he could hear the Lenten services in +the church. The prayers, the responses, the psalms, and the hymns woke +to fresh life the memory of things long past, and for the first time +he became oppressed with a great loneliness. The near neighbourhood of +Brother Paul intensified that loneliness, and at length he asked for an +indulgence and spoke to the Father Minister again. + +"Brother Paul is ill; let me attend to him," he said. + +The Father Minister shook his head. "The brother gets all he wants. He +does not wish for constant attendance." + +"But he is a dying man, and somebody should be with him always." + +"The doctor says nothing can be done for him. He may live months. But if +he is dying, let us leave him to meditate on the happiness and glory of +another world." + +John made no further struggle. Another door had closed on him. But +it was not necessary to go to Brother Paul that he might be with him +always. The spiritual eye could see everything. Listening to the sounds +in the adjoining cell, it was the same at length as if the wall between +them had fallen down and the two rooms were one. Whatever Brother Paul +did John seemed to see, whatever he said in his hours of pain John +seemed to hear, and when he lifted his scuttle of coal from the place +at the door where the lay brother left it, John's hand seemed to bear up +the weight. + +It was a poor, pathetic folly, but it brought the comfort of company, +and John thought with a pang of the time when he had wished to be +separated from Paul, and had all but asked for a cell elsewhere. Paul +had a fire, and John could hear him build and light and stir it; and +sometimes when this was done he could sit down himself before his +own empty grate on his own side of the wall and fancy they were good +comrades sitting side by side. + +As the day passed he thought that Brother Paul on his part also was +touched by the same sense of company. His silence at certain moments, +his half-articulate salutations, his repetition of the sounds that John +himself made, seemed to be the dumb expression of a sense that, in spite +of the wall that divided them, and the rule of silence and solitude that +separated them on John's side, they were, nevertheless, together. + +Brother Paul's cough grew rapidly worse, and at last it burst into a fit +so long and violent as to seem as if it would never end. John held his +breath and listened. "He'll suffocate," he thought; "he'll never live +through it!" But the spasm passed, and there was a prolonged hush, a +dead stillness, that was not broken by so much as the sound of a breath. +Was he gone? By a sudden impulse, in the agony of his suspense, John +stretched out his hand and knocked three times on the wall. + +There was a short silence, and then faintly, slowly, and irregularly +three other knocks came back to him. + +Paul had understood, and John shouted in his joy. But even on top of his +relief came his religious fears. Had he broken the rule of silence? Were +they guilty of a sin? + +Nevertheless, for many days thereafter, though they knew it was a fault, +in this vague and dumb and feeble fashion they communicated constantly. +On going to bed they rapped "Good-night": on rising for the day they +rapped "Good-morning." They rapped when the bell rang for midday +service, and again when the singing came up through the courtyard. +And sometimes they rapped from sympathy and sometimes from pity, and +sometimes from mere human loneliness and the love of company. + +Thus did these exiles from life, struggling to live under the eye of +God in obedience to their earthly vow, try to cheer their crushed and +fettered souls, and to comfort each other like imprisoned children. + + + + +XVI. + +"The Priory, St. John's Wood, London. + +"Behold, all men and women at Glenfaba, I have made one further change +in my role of female Wandering Jew! You have to think of Glory now, +dear people, in a nice house in St. John's Wood, though there is no wood +anywhere visible except the park, where they keep all the wild beasts in +London--all that go on four legs, you know. The master of the mansion is +Mr. Carl Koenig, a dear old hippopotamus who is five-feet-nothing in his +boots, and has piercing black eyes and an electroplated mustache. He +is a sort of an English-German-Dutch-Polish musician. When he talks of +himself as an organist he is always a little John Bull, being F. R. C. +O. and lots of things besides; when he speaks of 'Vaterland' he is a +German; when he mentions the sea he is a Dutchman; and when he is in +good spirits (or they are in him) he sings 'Poland is not lost forever!' +all over the house until you sometimes wish it were. + +"His wife is an Englishwoman, about forty or more, with big, moist, +doggy eyes that give you an idea of slave-humility, and an unappreciated +and undeveloped soul. There never were two married folk less alike, she +being one of those silent creatures who come into a room and sit and +listen and never speak, except to give instructions to the maids, while +he is always cackling like an old hen who can never lay an egg without +letting the whole world know all about it. They have two female +servants--both beautiful Cockneys--besides a boy in the garden, and +a parrot that holds forth all over the place; and their house is the +rendezvous of all kinds and conditions of great people, for Mr. Koenig +himself is a sort of Gideon's lamp among 'pros' of nearly every order. + +"And now you want to know how I come to be here. You are to learn then +that Mr. Koenig happened to be one of my patients in the hospital, he +having gone there for a slight operation, and I having helped to nurse +him through what he calls his 'operatic cure.' In the course of that +ordeal he had music of a less excruciating kind sometimes, it seems, and +after his return home he searched for me all over London on account of +my voice, and finding me unexpectedly at last he sent his wife to Mrs. +Jupe's to fetch me, and--and here I am in a dainty little dimity +room, whose walls are covered with portraits of well-known singers, +violinists, pianists, and composers, with their affectionate +inscriptions underneath. + +"But you want to learn why I am here. Well, you must know that Mr. +Koenig (although a foreign musician) is organist of All Saints', +Belgravia, where they sing a solo anthem at nearly every Sunday morning +service; and having had various disappointments at the hands of vocal +soloists from the Opera, whose 'professional engagements suddenly +intervened,' he conceived the audacious idea of 'intervening' a woman to +do their duty permanently. So this is my position in the church at which +John Storm used to be curate, and once a week I pipe that his old enemy +the canon may play. But as that good man is of St. Paul's opinion about +women holding their tongues in the synagogue, and is blest with just +enough ear to know a contralto from a corn-crake, I have to be hidden +away behind a screen in order that his reverence may have all the fun to +himself of believing me to be a boy. + +"So you see, my dearies, you needn't be anxious about me, 'at all at +all', seeing that I am living in this atmosphere of art and the odour of +sanctity, and that I have kept only one tiny little thing back, and I am +going to tell you that now. You were afraid that I might go too often to +the theatre, Aunt Anna. Never mind, auntie, I shall not be going so +very often now, and in proof thereof permit me to introduce myself in +my future style and character--Miss Glory Quayle, the eminent social +entertainer! You don't know what that is, dear people? It is quite +simple and innocent, nevertheless. I am to go to the houses of smart +people when they give their grand parties and sing and recite, and so +forth. Nothing wrong, you see--only what I used to do at Glenfaba. + +"You must know that, just as in the country the men go to the smithy +when they have nothing more pressing on hand than to settle the affairs +of the universe, and the women to the mangle-house when they have to +mangle other things besides clothes, so in the towns the poor rich +people have their own particular diversion, which they call their 'At +Homes.' Mr. Drake used to tell me they were terrible Tower-of-Babel +concerns, at which everybody talked at once, and all the tongues in the +place went 'click-clack, world without end.' But they must be perfectly +charming for all that; and when I think of the dresses and the diamonds +and the titles as long as your breath--oh, dear! oh, dear! + +"I shall see it all soon, I suppose, for to supply the place of the +hammer and the anvil the smart folks always add musical accompaniment to +the confusion of tongues, and Mr. Koenig, who has a choral company, goes +to the cream of the cream of such gatherings, and sings and plays from +Grieg and Schumann, and Liszt and Wagner, and Chopin and Paderewski, and +the place intended for me in this grand organization would appear to be +that of jester to my lords and ladies. '_Ach Gott!_' says Mr. Koenig, +who 'speaks ver' bad de Englisch,' 'your great people vant de last new +ting. One lady she say to me, "Dear Mr. Koenig, I tink I shall not ask +you dis season. I hear you everyvheres I go to, and I get so tired of +peoples." But vhen I takes anoder wis me I am a new beesness. You shall +sing and recite your leetle funny tings. Your great people tink dey loof +music, but dey loof better to laugh. "For mercy's sake make dem laugh, +Mr. Koenig"--dat's vhat a great man say to me. But, my gootness, how can +I? I am a musician, I am a composer, I am an arteeste!' + +"For this high and noble office I have been going through a purgatory +of preparation in which I have sometimes hardly known whether I was a +hurdy-gurdy or an explosion of cats, and the future female jester has +even been known to lie down on the floor and cry in her dumps of despair +or some such devilry. However, Mr. Koenig begins to believe that I am +passable, and my first appearance is to be made immediately after Lent, +at the house of the Home Secretary, where it is not improbable, dear +Aunt Rachel, that I may meet Mr. Drake, although that is no part of my +programme. + +"Of course, I shall have to look charming in any case, and I am already +busy with my dress. It is a black silk gown with a tight-fitting bodice. +The bodice has windbag sleeves, formed of shawl pieces of guipure lace, +and some lilies of the valley on the breast, finished with a waistband +of heliotrope velvet, and I am going to wear long black gloves all the +way up my arms, which are growing round and plump, and lovely enough for +anything. The skirt is my old one, and I got the lace for three-and-six, +so I am not ruining myself, you see; and though my hair is getting +redder than ever, red is the fashionable colour in London now, therefore +I sha'n't waste much money on dyes. + +"But for all this brave exterior, when the time comes I know that down +in my heart I shall be terrified. It will be like the first dive of the +year. 'One plunge, Glory, my child,' and then over I'll go! I partly +realize already what it will be like by my experiences on Sunday +evenings when the celebrities come here after church, and Mr. Koenig +exhibits me to admiring friends and tells them how I brought him 'goot +look,' and I overhear them say, 'That girl will show them all something +yet.' Oh, this London is adorable, my dears, with its wit and fashion, +and gaiety and luxury! and I have concluded that to live in the world is +the best thing one can do, after all. Some people say hard things about +it, and want to reform it, or even to leave it altogether; but I love +it! I love it! and think it just charming! + +"And now spring is here, and the world is lovely in its yellow and +green. It must be _urromassy_ nice over yandher in the 'oilan' too, with +the primroses and the violets and the gorse in the glen. Oh, dear! oh, +dear! I can smell it all three hundred miles away! The lilacs will be +out at Glenfaba now, and Aunt Anna will be collecting her Easter eggs. +Well--wait a whilley, and I'll come to thee, my dears! + +"Not a word from John Storm, of course. No doubt he is fighting with +shadows while other people are struggling with realities. They tell me +these Brotherhoods are common in the Church now, though most of them are +secret societies; but the more I think of that kind of religion the more +it looks like setting tasks to try faith, as if God were a coquettish +woman. That reminds me that Mr. Worldly-Wealthy-Wiseman is no longer +a canon, having got himself made archdeacon, and as such he looks more +than ever like a black Spanish cock, being clad, of course, in those +funny clothes, like the bishops, which always make one think their +lordships must be in doubt on getting up in the morning whether they +ought to wear a schoolboy's knickerbockers or a ballet-girl's skirt, so +they settle the difficulty by putting on both. For this reason I try +to avoid him when on duty at the church, lest I should be suddenly +possessed of a devil and behave badly to his face. But this being +Lent, and there being special preachers every day, it chanced on Sunday +morning that I came upon three of him all in a row, and oh, my gracious, +Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these! + +"It is too bad, though, to think that men like John Storm can't find +room in the Church for the sole of their foot, while this archdemon +is flourishing in it like a green bay tree. Forgive me, grandfather; I +can't help it. But then the Church in the country doesn't seem the same +as in town. _There_ you are somehow made to feel that man does a little +and God does all the rest, while _here_ we reverse that order of things, +with the result that this seed of the Amalekite--but never mind! + +"I went to the Zoo this morning. There was a lion shut up in a cage all +by himself. Such a solemn, splendid, silent fellow; I could have cried. + +"But it is the witching hour of night, my daughter, and you must put +yourself to bed. 'Goot look!' + +"Glory." + + + + +XVII. + +In the middle of the night of Good Friday, John Storm was wakened by +noises in the adjoining cell. There seemed to be the voices of two men +in angry and violent altercation, the one threatening and denouncing, +the other protesting and supplicating. + +"The girl is dead--isn't that proof enough?" said one voice. "It's a +lie! It's a false accusation!" said the other voice. "Paul, what are you +going to do?" "Put this bullet in your brain." "But I'm innocent--I take +the Almighty to witness that I'm innocent. Put the pistol down. Help! +help!" "No use calling--there's nobody in the house." "Mercy! mercy! +I haven't much money about me, but you shall have it all. Take +everything--everything--and if there's anything I can do to start you in +life--I'm rich, Paul--I have influence--only spare me!" "Scoundrel, do +you think you can buy me as you bought my sister?" "And if I did I was +not the only one." "Liar! Tell that to herself when you meet her at the +judgment!" "As-sassin!" "Too late--you've met her!" + +John Storm listened and understood. The two voices were one voice, which +was the voice of Brother Paul. The lay brother was delirious. His poor +broken brain was rambling in the ways of the past. He was re-enacting +the scene of his crime. + +John hesitated. His impulse was to fly into Paul's room and lay hold +of him, that he might prevent him from doing himself any injury. But he +remembered the law of the community, that no member of it should go into +the cell of another under pain of grievous penance. And then there was +the rule of silence and solitude which had not yet been lifted away. + +But monks are great sophists, and at the next moment John Storm had told +himself that it was not Brother Paul who was in the adjoining room, but +only his poor perishing body, labouring through the last sloughs of +the twilight land of death. Paul himself, his soul, his spirit, was far +away. Hence it could be no sin to go into the cell of one whose senses +were not there. + +His own door was locked, but he scraped back the key and lit his candle, +and stepped into the passage. The voices were still loud in Paul's room, +but no one seemed to hear them. Not another sound broke the silence of +the sleeping house. The cell beyond Paul's was empty. It was Brother +Andrew's cell, and Andrew was at the door downstairs. + +When John Storm entered the dark room, candle in hand, Brother Paul was +standing in the middle of the floor with one hand outstretched and a +ghastly and appalling smile upon his face. He was pale as death, his +eyes were ablaze, his forehead was streaming with perspiration, and he +was breathing from the depths of his chest. He wiped the dews from his +brow and said in a choking voice, "He has died as he lived--a liar and a +scoundrel!" + +John took him by the hand and drew him to the bed, and, putting him to +sit there, he tried to soothe and comfort him. He was terrified at first +by the sound of his own voice, but the sophism that had served to bring +him, served to support him also, and he told himself it could be no +breach of the rule of silence to speak to one who was not there. The +delirium of the lay brother spent itself at length, and he fell into a +deep sleep. + +Next day, when Brother Andrew came to John's cell with the food, he +began to sing as if to himself while he bustled about the room. + +"Brother Paul is sinking--he is sinking rapidly--Father Jerrold has +confessed him--he has taken the sacrament--and is very patient." + +This, as if it had been a Gregorian chant, the great fellow had hit +upon as a means of communicating with John without breaking the rule and +committing sin. + +John did not lock his door on the following night. On going to bed he +listened for the noises he had heard before, half fearing and yet half +wishing that he might hear them again. But he heard nothing, and toward +midnight he fell asleep. Something made him shudder, and he awoke with +the sensation of moonlight on his face. The moon was indeed shining, and +its sepulchral light was on a figure that stood by the foot of the bed. +It was Paul, with a livid face, murmuring his name in a voice almost as +faint as a breath. + +John leaped up and put his arms about him. + +"You are ill, brother--very ill." + +"I am dying." + +"Help! help!" cried John, and he made for the door. + +"Hush, brother, hush!" + +"Oh, I don't care for rule. Rule is nothing in a case like this. And, +besides, it is an understood thing---- Help!" + +"I implore you, I conjure you!" said Paul in a voice strangled by +weakness. "Let them leave us together a little longer. It was by my own +wish that I was left alone. I have something to say to you--something to +confess. I have to ask your pardon." + +In two strides John had reached the door, but he came back without +opening it. + +"Why, my poor lad, what have you done to me?" + +"When you let me out of the house to go in search of my sister----" + +"That was long ago; we'll not talk of it now, brother." + +"But I can not die in peace without telling you. You remember that I had +something to say to her?" + +"Yes." + +"It was a threat. I was going to tell her that unless she gave up her +way of life I should find the man who had been the cause of it and +follow him up and kill him." + +"It was only a temptation of the devil, brother, and it is past; and +now----" + +"Don't you see what I was going to do? I was going to bring trouble and +disgrace upon you also as my comrade and accomplice. That's what a man +comes to when Satan----" + +"But God willed it otherwise, brother; let us say no more about it." + +"You forgive me, then?" + +"Forgive? It is I who ought to ask for your forgiveness, and perhaps if +I told you everything----" + +"There is something else. Listen! The Almighty is calling me; I have no +time to lose." + +"But you are so cold, brother! Lie on the bed, and I'll cover you with +the bedclothes. Oh, never fear; they sha'n't separate us again. If the +Father were at home--he is so good and tender-hearted--but no matter. +There, there!" + +"You will despise and hate me--you who are so holy and brave, and have +given up everything and conquered the world, and even triumphed over +love itself!" + +"Don't say that, brother." + +"It's true, isn't it? Everybody knows what a holy life you live." + +"Hush!" + +"But I have never lived the religious life at all, and I only came to it +as a refuge from the law and the gallows; and if the Father hadn't----" + +"Another time, brother." + +"Yes, the story I told the police was true, and I had really----" + +"Hush, brother, hush! I won't hear you. What you are saying is for +God's ear only, and, whatever you have done, God will judge your soul in +mercy. We have only to ask him----" + +"Quick, then; the last sands are running out!" and he strove to rise and +kneel. + +"Lie still, brother: God will accept the humiliation of your soul." + +"No, no, let me up; let me kneel beside you. The prayer for the +dying--say it with me, Brother Storm; let us say it together. 'O Lord, +save----'" + +_"'O Lord, save thy servant, + +"'Which putteth his trust in thee. + +"'Send him help from thy holy place. + +"'And ... evermore ... mightily defend him. + +"'Let the enemy have no advantage over him. + +"'Nor the ... wicked---- + +"'Be unto him, O Lord, a strong tower. + +"'From the---- + +"'O Lord, hear our prayers. + +"'And----'"_ + +"Paul! Paul! Speak to me! Speak! Don't leave me! We shall console and +support each other. You shall come to me, I will go to you. No matter +about the religious life. One word! My lad, my lad!" + +But Brother Paul had gone. The captured eagle with the broken wing had +slipped its chain at last. + +In the terrible peace which followed the air of the room seemed to +become empty. John Storm felt chill and dizzy, and a great awe fell +upon him. The courage which he had built up in sight of Brother Paul's +sufferings ebbed rapidly away, and his old fear of rule flowed back. +He must carry the lay brother to his cell; he must be ignorant of his +death; he must conceal and cover up everything. The moon had gone by +this time, for it was near to morning, and the shadows of night were +contending with the leaden hues of dawn. + +He opened the door and listened. The house was still quite silent. He +walked on tip-toe to the end of the corridor, pausing at every cell. +There was no sound anywhere, except the sonorous breathing of some heavy +sleeper and the ticking of the clock in the hall. + +Then he returned to the chamber of death, and, lifting the dead man in +his arms, he carried him back to the room which he had left as a living +man. The body was light, and he scarcely felt its weight, for the limbs +under the cassock had dried up like withered twigs. He stretched them +out on the bed that they might be fit for death's composing hand, and +then closed the eyes and laid the hands together on the breast, and took +the heavy cross that hung about the neck and put it as well as he could +into the nerveless fingers. By this time the daylight had overcome the +shadows of the fore-dawn, and the ruddy glow of morning was gliding into +the room. Traffic was beginning to stir in the sleeping city, and a cart +was rattling down the street. + +One glance more he gave at the dead brother's face, and going down on +his knees beside it he said a prayer and crossed himself. Then he rose +and stole back to his room and shut the door without a sound. + +There was a boundless relief when this was done, and partly from relief +and partly from exhaustion he fell asleep. He slept for a few +minutes only, but sleep knows no time, and a moment in its garden of +forgetfulness will wipe out the bitterness of a life. When he awoke he +stretched out his hand as he was accustomed to do and rapped three times +on the wall. But the tide of consciousness returned to him even as he +did so, and in the dead silence that followed his very heart grew cold. + +Then the Father Minister began to awaken the household. His deep call +and the muffled answer which followed it rose higher and higher and came +nearer and nearer, and every step as he approached seemed to beat upon +John Storm's brain. He had reached the topmost story--he was coming down +the corridor--he was standing before the door of the dead man's cell. + +"Benedicamus Domino!" he called, but no answer came back to him. He +called again, and there was a short and terrible silence. + +John Storm held his breath and listened. By the faint click of the lock +he knew that the door had been opened, and that the Father Minister +had entered the room. There was a muttered exclamation and then another +short silence, and after that there came the click of the lock again. +The door had been closed, and the Father Minister had resumed his +rounds. When he called at the door of John Storm's cell not a tone of +his voice would have told that anything unusual had taken place. + +The bell rang, and the brothers trooped down the stairs. Presently the +low, droning sound of their voices came up from the chapel where they +were saying Lauds. But the service had scarcely ended when the Father +Minister's step was on the stair again. This time another was with him. +It was the doctor. They entered the brother's room and closed the door +behind them. From the other side of the wall John Storm followed every +movement and every word. + +"So he has gone at last, poor soul!" + +"Is he long dead, doctor?" + +"Some hours, certainly. Was there nobody with him then?" + +"He didn't wish for anybody. And then you told us that nothing could he +done, and that he might live a month." + +"Still, a dying man, you know---- But how strangely composed he looks! +And then the cross on his breast as well!" + +"He was very devout and penitent. He made his last devotion yesterday +with an intensity of joy such as I have rarely witnessed." + +"His eyes closed, too! You are sure there was nobody with him?" + +"Nobody whatever." + +There was a moment's silence and then the doctor said, "Well, he has +slipped his anchor at last, poor soul!" + +"Yes, he has launched on the ocean of the love of God. May we all be as +ready when our call comes!" + +They came back to the corridor, and John heard their footsteps going +downstairs. Then for some minutes there were unusual noises below. Rapid +steps were coming and going, the hall bell was ringing, and the front +door was opening and shutting. + +An hour later Brother Andrew came with the breakfast. He was obviously +excited, and putting down the tray he began to busy himself in the room +and to sing, as before, in, his pretence of a Gregorian chant: + +"Brother Paul is dead--he died in the night--there was nobody with +him--we are sorry he has left us, but glad he is at peace-God rest the +soul of our poor Brother Paul!" + +It was Easter Day. At midday service in the church the brothers sang the +Easter hymn, and a mighty longing took hold of John Storm for his own +resurrection from his living grave. + +Next day there was much coming and going between the world outside and +the adjoining cell, and late at night there were heavy and shambling +footsteps, and even some coarse and ribald talk. + +"Bear a 'and, myte." + +"Well, they won't have their backs broke as carry this one downstairs. +He ain't a Danny Lambert, anyway." + +"No, they don't feed ye on Bovril in plyces syme as this. I'll lay ye +odds yer own looking-glass wouldn't know ye arter three months 'ard on +religion and dry tommy." + +"It pawses me 'ow people tyke to it. Gimme my pint of four-half, and my +own childring to follow me." + +Early on the following morning a stroke rang out on the bell, then +another stroke, and again another. + +"It is the knell," thought John. + +A group of the lay brothers came up and passed into the room. "Now!" +said one, as if giving a signal, and then they passed out again with the +measured steps of men who bear a burden. "They are taking him away," he +thought. + +He listened to their retreating footsteps. "He has gone," he murmured. + +The passing bell continued to ring out minute by minute, and presently +there was the sound of singing. "It is the service for the dead," he +told himself. + +After a while both the bell and the singing ceased, and then there was +no sound anywhere except the dull rumble of the traffic in the city +outside--the deep murmur of the mighty sea that flows on forever. + +"What am I doing?" he asked himself. "What bolts and bars are keeping +me? I am guilty of a folly. I am degrading myself." + +At midday Brother Andrew came with his food. "Brother Paul is buried," +he sang, "the coffin was beautiful--it was covered with flowers--we +buried him in his cassock, with his beads and psalter--we left the cross +on his breast--he loved it and died with it in his hands--the Father has +come home--he said mass this morning." + +John Storm could bear no more. He pushed the lay brother aside and made +straight for the Superior's room. + +The Father was sitting before the fire, looking sad and low and weary. +He rose to his feet with a painful smile, as John broke into his cell +with blazing eyes, and cried in a choking voice: + +"Father, I can not live the religious life any longer! I have tried +to--with all my soul and strength I've tried to, but I can not, I can +not! This life of prayer and penance and meditation is stifling me, and +corrupting me, and crushing the man out of me, and I can not bear it." + +"What are you saying, my son?" + +"I have been deceiving you and myself and everybody." + +"Deceiving me?" + +"It was for my own ends and not Brother Paul's that I helped him to +break obedience, and so injure his health and hasten his death." + +"Your own?" + +"I, too, had a sister in the world, and my heart was hungry for news of +her." + +"A sister?" + +"Some one nearer than a sister--and all my spiritual life has been a +sham." + +"My son, my son!" + +"Forgive me, Father. I shall love you and honour you and revere you +always; but I must break my obedience and leave you, or I shall be a +hypocrite and a liar and a cheat." + + + + +XVIII. + +The dinner party at the Home Secretary's took place on Wednesday, in the +week after Easter. It had rained during the day, but cleared up toward +night. Glory and Koenig had taken an omnibus to Waterloo Place, and then +walked up the wide street that ends with the wide steps going down to +the park. Two lines of lofty stone houses go off to right and left, and +the house they were going to was in one of them. + +A footman received them with sombre but easy familiarity. The artistes? +Yes. They were shown into the library, and light refreshments were +brought in to them on a tray. Three other members of the choral company +were there already. Glory was seeing it all for the first time, and +Koenig was describing and explaining everything in broken whispers. + +A band was playing in the well of the circular staircase, and a second +footman stood in an alcove behind an outwork of hats and overcoats. +The first footman reappeared. Were the artistes ready to go to the +drawing-room? + +They followed him upstairs. The band had stopped, and there was the +distant hum of voices and the crackle of plates. Waiters were coming +and going from the dining-room, and the butler stood at the door giving +instructions. At one moment there was a glimpse within of ladies +in gorgeous dresses, and a table laden with silver and bright with +fairy-lamps. When the door opened the voices grew louder, when it closed +the sounds were deadened. + +The upper landing opened on to a _salon_ which had three windows down +to the ground, and half of each stood open. Outside there was a wide +terrace lit up by Chinese and Moorish lanterns. Beyond was the dark +patch of the park, and farther still the towers of the Abbey and the +clock of Westminster, but the great light was not burning to-night. + +"De House naivare sits on Vednesday night," said Koenig. + +They passed into the drawing-room, which was empty. The standing lamps +were subdued by coverings of yellow-silk lace. There was a piano and an +organ. + +"Ve'll stay here," said Koenig, opening the organ, and Glory stood by +his side. + +Presently there were ripples of laughter, sounds of quick, +indistinguishable voices, waves of heliotrope, and the rustle of silk +dresses on the stairs. Then the ladies entered. Two or three of them who +were elderly leaned their right hands on the arms of younger women, and +walked with ebony sticks in their left. An old lady wearing black +satin and a large brooch came last. Koenig rose and bowed to her. Glory +prepared to bow also, but the lady gave her a side inclination of the +head as she sat in a well-cushioned chair under a lamp, and Glory's bow +was abridged. + +The ladies sat and talked, and Glory tried to listen. There were little +nothings, punctuated by trills of feminine laughter. She thought the +conversation rather silly. More than once the ladies lifted their +lorgnettes and looked at her. She set her lips hard and looked back +without flinching. + +A footman brought tea on a tray, and then there was the tinkle of cup +and saucer, and more laughter. The lady in satin looked round at Koenig, +and he began to play the organ. He played superbly, but nobody seemed +to listen. When he finished there was a pause, and everybody said: "Oh, +thank you; we're all--er----" and then the talk began again. The vocal +soloist sang some ballad of Schumann, and as long as it lasted an old +lady with an ear-trumpet sat at the foot of the piano, and a young girl +spoke into it. When it was over, everybody said, "Ah, that dear old +thing!" Then there was an outbreak of deeper voices from the stairs, +with lustier laughter and heavier steps. + +The gentlemen appeared, talking loudly as they entered. Koenig was back +at the organ and playing as if he wished it were the 'cello and the +drum and the whole brass band. Glory was watching everything; it was +beginning to be very funny. Suddenly it ceased to be so. One of the +gentlemen was saying, in a tired drawl: "Old Koenig again! How the old +boy lasts! Seem to have been hearing--him since the Flood, don't you +know." + +It was Lord Robert Ure. Glory caught one glimpse of him, then looked +down at her slipper and pawed at the carpet. He put his glass in his +eye, screwed up the left side of his face, and looked at her. + +An elderly man with a leonine head came up to the organ and said: "Got +anything comic, Mr. Koenig? All had the influenza last winter, you know, +and lost our taste for the classical." + +"With pleasure, sir," said Koenig, and then turning to Glory he touched +her wrist. "How's de pulse? Ach Gott! beating same like a child's! Now +is your turn." + +Glory made a step forward, and the talk grew louder as she was observed. +She heard fragments of it. "Who is she?" "Is she a professional?" +"Oh, no--a lady." "Sing, does she, or is it whistling?" "No, she's a +professional; we had her last year; she does conjuring." And then the +voice she had heard before said, "By Jove, old fellow, your young friend +looks like a red standard rose!" She did not flinch. There was a nervous +tremor of the lip, a scarcely perceptible curl of it, and then she +began. + +It was Mylecharaine, a Manx ballad in the Anglo-Manx, about a farmer who +was a miser. His daughter was ashamed of him because he dressed shabbily +and wore yellow stockings; but he answered that if he didn't the +stocking wouldn't be yellow that would be forthcoming for her dowry. + +She sang, recited, talked, acted, lived the old man, and there was not +a sound until she finished, except laughter and the clapping of hands. +Then there was a general taking of breath and a renewed outbreak +of gossip. "Really, really! How--er--natural!" "Natural--that's it, +natural. I never--er----" "Rather good, certainly; in fact, quite +amusing." "What dialect is it?" "Irish, of course." "Of course, of +course," with many nods and looks of knowledge, and a buzz and a +flutter of understanding. "Hope she'll do something else." "Hush! she's +beginning." + +It was Ny Kiree fo Niaghtey, a rugged old wail of how the sheep were +lost on the mountains in a great snowstorm; but it was full of ineffable +melancholy. The ladies dropped their lorgnettes, the men's glasses fell +from their eyes and their faces straightened, the noisy old soul with +the ear-trumpet sitting under Glory's arm was snuffling audibly, and at +the next moment there was a chorus of admiring remarks. "'Pon my word, +this is something new, don't you know!" "Fine girl too!" "Fine! Irish +girls often run to it." "That old miser--you could see him!" + +"What's her next piece?--something funny, I hope." + +Koenig's pride was measureless, and Glory did not get off lightly. He +cleared the floor for her, and announced that with the indulgence, etc., +the young artiste would give an imitation of common girls singing in the +street. + +The company laughed until they screamed, and when the song was finished +Glory was being overwhelmed with congratulations and inquiries, +"Charming! All your pieces are charming! But really, my dear young lady, +you must be more careful about our feelings. Those sheep now--it was +really quite too sad." The old lady with the ear-trumpet asked Glory +whether she could go on for the whole of an afternoon, and if she felt +much fatigued sometimes, and didn't often catch cold. + +But the lady in satin came to her relief at last. "You will need some +refreshment," she said. "Let me see now if I can not----" and she lifted +her glass and looked round the room. At the next moment a voice that +made a shudder pass over her said: + +"Perhaps _I_ may have the pleasure of taking Miss Quayle down." + +It was Drake. His eyes were as blue and boyish as before, but Glory +observed at once that he had grown a mustache, and that his face and +figure were firmer and more manlike. A few minutes afterward they had +passed through one of the windows on to the terrace and were walking to +and fro. + +It was cool and quiet out there after the heat and hubbub of the +drawing-room. The night was soft and still. Hardly a breath of wind +stirred the leaves of the trees in the park below. The rain had left a +dewy moistness in the air, and a fragrant mist was lying over the grass. +The stars were out, and the moon had just risen behind the towers of +Westminster. + +Glory was flushed with her success. Her eyes sparkled and her step was +light and free. Drake touched her hand as it lay on his arm and said: + +"And now that I've got you to myself I must begin by scolding you." + +They looked at one another and smiled. "Have I displeased you so much +to-night?" she said. + +"It's not that. Where have you been all this time?" + +"Ah, if you only knew!" She had stopped and was looking into the +darkness. + +"I _want_ to know. Why didn't you answer my letter?" + +"Your letter?" She was clutching at the lilies of the valley in her +bosom. + +He tapped her hand lightly and said, "Well, we'll not quarrel this time, +only don't do it again, you know, or else----" + +She recovered herself and laughed. Her voice had a silvery ring, and +he thought it was an enchanting smile that played upon her face. They +resumed their walk. + +"And now about to-night. You have had a success, of course." + +"Why of course?" + +"Because I always knew you must have." + +She was proud and happy. He began to be grave and severe. + +"But the drawing-room after dinner is no proper scene for your talents. +The audience is not in the right place or the right mood. Guests and +auditors--their duties clash. Besides, to tell you the truth, art is a +dark continent to people like these." + +"They were kind to me, at all events," said Glory. + +"To-night, yes. The last new man--the last new monkey----" + +She was laughing again and swinging along on his arm as if her feet +hardly touched the ground. + +"What is the matter with you?" + +"Nothing; I am only thinking how polite you are," and then they looked +at each other again and laughed together. + +The mild radiance of the stars was dying into the brighter light of +the moon. A bird somewhere in the dark trees below had mistaken the +moonlight for the dawn, and was making its early call. The clock at +Westminster was striking eleven, and there was the deep rumble of +traffic from the unseen streets round about. + +"How beautiful!" said Glory. "It's hard to believe that this can be the +same London that is so full of casinos and clubs and-monasteries." + +"Why, what does a girl like you know about such places?" + +She had dropped his arm and was looking over the balcony. The sound of +voices came from the red windows behind them. Then the soloist began to +sing again. His second ballad was the Erl King: + + Du liebes Kind, komm' geh' mit mir! + Gar schoene Spiele spiel' ich mit dir. + +"Any news of John Storm?" said Drake. + +"Not that I know of." + +"I wonder if you would like him to come out again--now?" + +"I wonder!" + +At that moment there was a step behind them, and a soft voice said, "I +want you to introduce me, Mr. Drake." + +It was a lady of eight or nine and twenty, wearing short hair brushed +upward and backward in the manner of a man. + +"Ah, Rosa--Miss Rosa Macquarrie," said Drake. "Rosa is a journalist, and +a great friend of mine, Glory. If you want fame, she keeps some of the +keys of it, and if you want friendship---- But I'll leave you together." + +"My dear," said the lady, "I want you to let me know you." + +"But I've seen you before--and spoken to you," said Glory. + +"Why, where?" + +Glory was laughing awkwardly. "Never mind now! Some other time perhaps." + +"The people inside are raving about your voice. 'Where does it come +from?' they are saying--'from a palace or Ratcliffe Highway?' But I +think _I_ know. It comes from your heart, my dear. You have lived and +and loved and suffered--and so have I. Here we are in our smart frocks, +dear, but we belong to another world altogether and are the only working +women in the company. Perhaps I can help you a little, and you have +helped me already. I may know you, may I not?" + +There was a deep light in Glory's eyes and a momentary quiver of her +eyelids. Then without a word she put her arms about Rosa's neck and +kissed her, + +"I was sure of you," said Rosa. Her voice was low and husky. "Your name +is Glory, isn't it? It wasn't for nothing you were given that name. God +gave it you!" + +The party was breaking up and Koenig came for "his star." "I vill give +you an engagement for one, two, tree year, upon my vord I vill," he said +as they went downstairs. While the butler took him back to the library +to sign his receipt and receive his cheque, Glory stood waiting by the +billiard table in the hall and Drake and Lord Robert stepped up to her. + +"Until when?" said Drake with a smile, but Glory pretended not to +understand him. "I dare say you thought me cynical to-night, Glory. I +only meant that if you are to follow this profession I want you to make +the best of it. Why not look for a wider scene? Why not go directly to +the public?" + +"But de lady is engaged to me for tree year," said Koenig, coming up. + +Drake looked at Glory, who shook her head, and then Koenig made an +effort at explanation. It was an understood thing. He had taught her, +taken her into his house, found her in a Sunday---- + +But Drake interrupted him. If they could help Miss Quayle to a better +market for her genius Mr. Koenig need be no loser by the change. Then +Koenig was pacified, and Drake handed Glory to a cab. + +"We're good friends again, aren't we?" he said, touching her hand +lightly. + +"Yes," she answered. + +There was a letter from Aunt Rachel waiting for her at the Priory. Aunt +Anna didn't like these frequent changes, and she had no faith in music +or musicians either, but the Parson thought Anna too censorious, and as +for Mr. Koenig's Sunday evening companies, he had no doubt they were of +Germans chiefly, and that they came to talk of Martin Luther and to sing +his hymn. Sorry to say his infirmities were increasing; the burden of +his years was upon him, and he was looking feeble and old. + +Glory slept little that night. On going to her room she threw up the +window and sat in front of it, that the soft night breeze might play on +her hot lips and cheeks. The moon was high and the garden was slumbering +under its gentle light. Everything around was hushed, and there was no +sound anywhere except the far-off rumble of the great city, as of the +wind in distant trees. She was thinking of a question which Drake had +put to her. + +"I wonder if I should?" she murmured. + +And through the silence there was the unheard melody of the German song: + + Du liebes Kind, komm' geh' mit mir! + Gar schoene Spiele spiel' ich mit dir. + + + + +XIX. + +"The Priory--May Day. + +"Dear Aunt Rachel: The great evening is over! Such dresses, such +diamonds--you never saw the like! The smart folks are just like other +human beings, and I was not the tiniest bit afraid of them. My own part +of the programme went off pretty well, I think. Mr. Koenig had arranged +the harmonies and accompaniments of some of our old Manx songs, so I +sang Mylecharaine, and they listened and clapped, and then Ny Kiree +fo Niaghtey, and they cried (and so did I), and then I imitated some +work-girls singing in the streets, and they laughed and laughed until +I laughed too, and then they laughed because I was laughing, and we all +laughed together. It was over and done before I knew where I was, and +everybody was covering me with--well, no, not kisses, as grandfather +used to do, but the society equivalent--ices and jellies--which the +gentlemen were rushing about wildly to get for me. + +"But all this is as nothing compared to what is to happen next. I +mustn't whisper a word about it yet, so false face must hide what the +false heart doth know. You'll _have_ to forgive me if I succeed, for +nothing is wicked in this world except failure, you know, and a little +sin must be a great virtue if it has grown to be big enough, you see. +There! How sagacious of me! You didn't know what a philosopher you had +in the family, did you, my dears? + +"It is to be on the 24th of May. That will be the Queen's birthday over +again; and when I think of all that has happened since the last one I +feel as romantic as a schoolgirl and as sentimental as a nursery maid. +Naturally I am in a fearful flurry over the whole affair, and, to tell +the truth, I have hied me to the weird sisters on the subject--that +is to say, I have been to a fortune-teller, and spent a 'goolden' +half-sovereign on the creature at one fell swoop. But she predicts +wonderful things for me, so I am satisfied. The newspapers are to blaze +with my name; I am to have a dazzling success and become the idol of the +hour--all of which is delightful and entrancing, and quite reasonable at +the money. Grandfather will reprove me for tempting Providence, and, of +course, John Storm, if he knew it, would say that I shouldn't do such +things under any circumstances; yet to tell me I oughtn't to do this and +I oughtn't to do that is like saying I oughtn't to have red hair and +I oughtn't to catch the measles. I can't help it! I can't help it! so +what's the good of breaking one's heart about it? + +"But I hadn't got to wait for _Hecate et cie_ for what related to the +newspapers. You must know, dear Aunt Rachel, that I _did_ meet Mr. Drake +at the house of the Home Secretary, and he introduced me to a Miss Rosa +Macquarrie, who is no longer very young or beautiful, but a dear for all +that! and she, being a journalist, has bruited my praises abroad, with +the result that all the world is ringing with my virtues. Listen, all +men and women, while I sound mine own glory out of a column as long as +the Duke of York's: + +"'She is young and tall, and has auburn hair' (always thought it was +red myself) 'and large gray eyes, one of which seems at a distance to be +brown' (it squints), 'giving an effect of humour and coquetry and power +rarely, if ever, seen in any other face.... Her voice has startling +varieties of tone, being at one moment soft, cooing, and liquid, and at +another wild, weird, and plaintive; and her face, which is not strictly +beautiful' (oh!), 'but striking and unforgetable, has an extraordinary +range of expression.... She sings, recites, speaks, laughs, and cries +(literally), and some of her selections are given in a sort of Irish +_patois_' (oh, my beloved Manx!) 'that comes from her girlish lips +with charming vivacity and drollness.' All of which, though it is quite +right, and no more than my due, _of course_, made me sob so long and +loud that my good little hippopotamus came upstairs to comfort me, but, +finding me lying on the floor, he threw up his hands and cried, '_Ach_ +Gott! I t'ought it vas a young lady, but vhatever is it?' + +"Yet wae's me! Sometimes I think how many poor girls there must be who +have never had a chance, while I have had so many and such glorious +ones; who can not get anybody to listen to them, while I am so pampered +and praised; who live in narrow alleys and serve in little dark shops, +where men and men-things talk to them as they can't talk to their +sisters and wives, while I am held aloft in an atmosphere of admiration +and respect: who earn their bread in clubs and casinos, where they +breathe the air of the hotbeds of hell, while I am surrounded by +everything that ennobles and refines! O God, forgive me if I am a +vain, presumptuous creature, laughing at everything and everybody, and +sometimes forgetting that many a poor girl who is being tossed about in +London is just as good as me, and as clever and as brave. + +"But hoot! 'I likes to be jolly and I allus is.' So Aunt Anna doesn't +like this Wandering Jew existence! Well, do you know I always thought +I should love a gipsy life. It has a sense of movement that must be +delightful, and then I love going fast. Do you remember the days when +'Caesar' used to take the bit in his teeth and bolt with me! Lo, there +was little me, cross-legged on his bare back, with nothing to trust to +but Providence and a pair of rope reins; but, oh my! I couldn't breathe +for excitement and delight! Dear old maddest of created 'Caesars,' I +feel as if I were whacking at him yet! What do you think of me? But we +'that be females are the same craythurs alwis', as old Chalse used to +say, and what a woman is in the cradle she continues to be to the end. +There again! I wonder who told you that, young lady! + +"But to tell you the truth at last, dear Aunt Rachel, there is something +I have kept back until now, because I couldn't bear the thought of any +of you being anxious on my account, especially grandfather, who thinks +of Glory so much too often as things are. Can't you guess what it is? +I couldn't help taking up my life of Wandering Jew, because I was +dismissed from the hospital! Didn't you understand that, my dears? I +thought I was telling you over and over again. Yes, dismissed as unfit +to be a nurse, and so I was, according to the order of the institution +first, and human love and pity last. But all's well that ends well, you +know, and now that my wanderings seem to be over and I am in my +right place at length, I feel like one who is coming out of a long +imprisonment, a great peril, a darkness deeper even than John Storm's +cell. And if I ever become a famous woman, and good men will listen to +me, I will tell them to be tender and merciful to poor girls who are +trying to live in London and be good and strong, and that the true +chivalry is to band themselves together against the other men who are +selfish and cruel and impure. Oh, this great, glorious, devilish, divine +London! It must stand to the human world as the seething, boiling, +bubbling waters of Niagara do to the world of Nature. Either a girl +floats over its rapids like a boat, and in that case she draws her +breath and thanks God, or she is tossed into its whirlpool like a +dead body and goes round and round until she finds the vortex and is +swallowed up! + +"There! I have blown off my steam, and now to business. Mr. Drake is to +give a luncheon party in his rooms on the twenty-fourth, in honour of +my experiment, but the great event itself will not come off until nearly +half-past nine that night. By that time the sun will have set over the +back of the sea at Peel, the blackbird will have given you his last +'guy-smook,' and all the world will be dropping asleep. Now, if you'll +only remember to say just then,'God bless Glory!' I'll feel strong and +big and brave. + +"Your poor, silly, sentimental girlie, Glory." + + + + +XX. + +Some weeks had passed, and it was the morning of the last day of John +Storm's residence at Bishopsgate Street. After calling the Brotherhood, +the Father had entered John's room and was resting on the end of the +bed. + +"You are quite determined to leave us?" + +"Quite determined, Father." + +The Father sighed deeply, and said in broken sentences: 'Our house is +passing through terrible trials, my son. Perhaps we did wrong to come +here. There is no cross in our foundations, and we have built on a +worldly footing. 'Unless the Lord build the house--' It was good of +you to delay the execution of your purpose, but now that the time +has come--I had set my heart on you, my son. I am an old man now, and +something of the affection of the natural father----" + +"Father, if you only knew----" + +"Yes, yes; I know, I know. You have suffered, and it is not for me to +reproach you. The novitiate has its great joys, but it has its great +trials also. Self has to be got rid of, faith has to be exerted, +obedience has to be learned, and, above all, the heart has to be +detached from its idols in the world--a devoted mother, it may be; a +dear sister; perhaps a dearer one still." + +There was silence for a moment. John's head was down; he could not +speak. + +"That you wish to return to the world only shows that you came before +you heard the call of God. Some other voice seemed to speak to you, and +you listened and thought it was God's voice. But God's voice will come +to you yet, and you will hear it and answer it and not another---- Have +you anywhere to go to when you leave this house?" + +"Yes, the home of a good woman. I have written to her--I think she will +receive me." + +"All that you brought with you will be returned, and if you want +money----" + +"No, I came to you as a beggar--let me leave you as a beggar too." + +"There is one thing more, my son." + +"What is it, Father?" + +The old man's voice was scarcely audible. "You are breaking obedience +by leaving us before the end of your novitiate, and the community must +separate itself from you, though you are only a novice, as from one who +has violated his vow and cast himself off from grace. This will have +to be done before you cross our threshold. It is our duty to the +Brotherhood--it is also our duty to God. You understand that?" + +"Yes." + +"It will be in the church, a few minutes before midday service." + +The Father rose to go. "Then that is all?" + +"That is all." + +The Father's voice was breaking. "Good-bye, my son." + +"Good-bye, Father, and God forgive me!" + +A leather trunk which John had brought with him on the day he came to +the Brotherhood was returned to his room, containing the clothes he +had worn in the outer world, as well as his purse and watch and other +belongings. He dressed himself in his habit as a clergyman, and put the +cassock of the society over it, for he knew that to remove that must be +part of the ordeal of his expulsion. Then the bell rang for breakfast, +and he went down to the refectory. + +The brothers received him in silence, hardly looking up as he entered, +though by their furtive glances he could plainly see that he was the +only subject that occupied their thoughts. When the meal was over he +tried to mingle among them, that he might say farewell to as many as +were willing that he should do so. Some gave him their hands with +prompt good will, some avoided him, some turned their backs upon him +altogether. + +But if his reception in the refectory was chilling, his welcome in the +courtyard was warm enough. At the first sound of his footsteps on the +paved way the dog came from his quarters under the sycamore. One moment +the creature stood and looked at him with its sad and bloodshot eyes; +then, with a bound, it threw its fore paws on his breast, and then +plunged around him and uttered deep bays that were like the roar of +thunder. + +He sat on the seat and caressed the dog, and his heart grew full and +happy. The morning was bright with sunshine, the air was fragrant with +the leafage of spring, and birds were singing and rejoicing in the tree. + +Presently Brother Andrew came and sat beside him. The lay brother, like +a human dog, had been following him about all the morning, and now in +his feeble way he began to talk of his mother, and to wonder if John +would ever see her. Her name was Pincher, and she was a good woman. She +lived in Crook Lane, Crown Street, Soho, and kept house for his brother, +who was a pawnbroker. But his brother, poor fellow! was much given to +drink, and perhaps that had been a reason why he himself had left home. +John promised to call on her, and then Brother Andrew began to cry. The +sprawling features of the great fellow were almost laughable to look +upon. + +The bell rang for Terce. While the brothers were at prayers, John took +his last look over the house. With the dog at his heels--the old thing +seemed determined to lose sight of him no more--he passed slowly through +the hall and into the community room and up the stairs and down the top +corridor. He looked again at every inscription on the walls, though he +knew them all by heart and had read them a hundred times. When he came +to his own cell he was touched by a strange tenderness. Place where he +had thought so much, prayed so much, suffered so much--it was dear to +him, after all! He went up on to the tower. How often he had been drawn +there as by a devilish fascination! The great city looked innocent +enough now under its mantle of sunlight, dotted over with green, but how +dense, how difficult! Then the bell rang for midday service, though it +was not yet noon, and he went down to the hall. The brothers were there +preparing to go into the church. The order of the procession was the +same as on the day of his dedication, except that Brother Paul was no +longer with them--Brother Andrew going first with the cross, then the +lay brothers, then the religious, then the Father, and John Storm last +of all. + +Though the courtyard was full of sunshine, the church looked dark and +gloomy. Curtains were drawn across the windows, and the altar was draped +as for a funeral. As soon as the brothers had taken their places in the +choir the Father stood on the altar steps and said: + +"If any member of this community has one unfaithful thought of going +back to the outer world, I charge him to come to this altar now. But woe +to him through whom the offence cometh! Woe to him who turns back after +taking up the golden plough!" + +John was kneeling in his place in the second row of the choir. The eyes +of the community were upon him. He hesitated a moment, then rose and +stepped up to the altar. + +"My son," said the Father, "it is not yet too late. I see your fate as +plainly as I see you now. Shall I tell you what it is? Can you bear to +hear it? I see you going out into a world which has nothing to satisfy +the cravings of your soul. I see you foredoomed to failure and suffering +and despair. I see you coming back to us within a year with a broken and +bleeding heart. I see you taking the vows of lifelong consecration. Can +you face that future?" + +"I must." + +The Father drew a long breath. "It is inevitable," he said; and, taking +a book from the altar, he read the awful service of the degradation: + +_"By the authority of God Almighty, Father [Symbol: Patee], Son, and +Holy Ghost, and by our own authority, we, the members of the Society of +the Holy Gethsemane, do take away from thee the habit of our Order, and +depose and degrade and deprive thee of all rights and privileges in the +spiritual goods and prayers which, by the grace of God, are done among +us."_ + +"Amen! Amen!" said the brothers. + +During the reading of the service John had been kneeling. The Father +motioned to him to rise, and proceeded to remove the cord with which he +had bound him at his consecration. When this was done, he signalled to +Brother Andrew to take off the cassock. + +The bell was tolled. The Father dropped on his knees. The brothers, +hoarse and husky, began to sing _In exitu Israel de Aegypto_. Their +heads were down, their voices seemed to come up out of the earth. + +It was all over now. John Storm turned about, hardly able to see his +way. Brother Andrew went before him to open the door of the sacristy. +The lay brother was crying audibly. + +The sun was still shining in the courtyard, and the birds were still +singing and rejoicing. The first thing of which John was conscious was +that the dog was licking his rigid fingers. + +A moment later he was in the little covered passage to the street, and +Brother Andrew was opening the iron gate. + +"Good-bye, my lad!" + +He stretched out his hand, then remembered that he was an excommunicated +man, and tried to draw it back; but the lay brother had snatched at it +and lifted it to his lips. + +The dog was following him into the street. + +"Go back, old friend." + +He patted the old creature on the head, and Brother Andrew laid hold of +it by the loose skin at its neck. A hansom was waiting for him with his +trunk on the top. + +"Victoria Square, Westminster," he called. The cab was moving off, when +there was a growl and a lurch--the dog had broken away and was running +after it. + +How crowded the streets were! How deafening was the traffic! The church +bell was ringing for midday service. What a thin tinkle it made out +there, yet how deep was its boom within! Stock Exchange men with their +leisurely activity were going in by their seven doorways to their great +market place in Capel Court. + +He began to feel a boundless relief. How his heart was beating! With +what a strange and deep emotion he found himself once more in the world! +Driving in the dense and devious thoroughfares was like sailing on a +cross sea outside a difficult headland. He could smell the brine and +feel the flick of the foam on his lips and cheeks. It was liberty, it +was life! + +Feeling anxious about the dog, he drew up the cab for a moment. The +faithful creature was running under the driver's seat. Before the cab +could start again a line of sandwich men had passed in front of it. +Their boards contained a single word. The word was "GLORIA." + +He saw it, yet it barely arrested his consciousness. Somehow it seemed +like an echo from the existence he had left behind. + +The noises of life were as wine in his veins now. He was burning with +impatience to overtake his arrears of knowledge, to see what the world +had gone through in his absence. Leaning over the door of the hansom, he +read the names of the streets and the signs over the shops, and tried to +identify the houses which had been rebuilt and the thoroughfares which +had been altered. But the past was the past, and the clock would turn +back for no man. These men and women in the streets knew all that had +happened. The poorest beggar on the pavement knew more than he did. +Nearly a year of his life was gone--in prayer, in penance, in fasting, +in visions, in dreams--dropped out, left behind, and lost forever. + +Going by the Bank, the cab drew up again to allow a line of omnibuses to +pass into Cheapside. Every omnibus had its board for advertisements, and +nearly every board contained the word he had seen before--"GLORIA." + +"Only the name of some music-hall singer," he told himself. But the name +had begun to trouble him. It had stirred the fibres of memory, and made +him think of the past--of his yacht, of Peel, of his father, and finally +of Glory--and again of Glory--and yet again of Glory. + +He saw that flags were flying on the Mansion House and on the Bank, +and, pushing up the trap of the hansom, he asked if anything unusual was +going on. + +"Lawd, down't ye know what day it is terday, sir? It's the dear ole +laidy's birthday. That's why all the wimming's going abart in their +penny carridges. Been through a hillness, sir?" + +"Yes, something of that sort." + +"Thort so, sir." + +When the cab started afresh he began to tell himself what he was +going to do in the future. He was going to work among the poor and the +outcast, the oppressed and the fallen. He was going to search for them +and find them in their haunts of sin and misery. Nothing was to be too +mean for him. Nothing was to be common or unclean. No matter about +his own good name! No matter if he was only one man in a million! The +kingdom of heaven was like a grain of mustard seed. + +When he came within sight of St. Paul's the golden cross on the dome was +flashing like a fiery finger in the blaze of the midday sun. That was +the true ensign! It was a monstrous and wicked fallacy, a gloomy and +narrow formula, that religion had to do with the affairs of the other +world only. Work was religion! Work was prayer! Work was praise! Work +was the love of man and the glory of God! + +Glorious gospel! Great and deathless symbol! + + + + +THIRD BOOK. + +_THE DEVIL'S ACRE_. + + + + +I. + +Behind Buckingham Palace there is a little square of modest houses +standing back from the tide of traffic and nearly always as quiet as a +cloister. At one angle of the square there is a house somewhat larger +than the rest but just as simple and unassuming. In the dining-room of +this house an elderly lady was sitting down to lunch alone, with the +covers laid for another at the opposite end of the table. + +"Hae ye the spare room ready, Emma?" + +"Yes, ma'am," said the maid. + +"And the sheets done airing? And baith the pillows? And the +pillow-slips--and everything finished?" + +The maid was answering "Yes" to each of these questions when a hansom +cab came rattling up to the front of the house, and the old lady leaped +out of her seat. + +"It's himself!" she cried, and she ran like a girl to the hall. + +The door had been opened before she got there, and a deep voice was +saying, "Is Mrs. Callender----" + +"It's John! My gracious! It's John Storm!" the old woman cried, and she +lifted both hands as if to fling herself into his arms. + +"My guidness, laddie, but you gave poor auld Jane sic a start! Expected +ye? To be sure we expected you, and terribly thrang we've been all +morning making ready. Only my daft auld brain must have been a wee ajee. +But," smiling through her tears, "has a body never a cheek, that you +must be kissing at her hand? And is this your dog?" looking down at the +bloodhound. "Welcome? Why, of course it's welcome. What was I saying the +day, Emma? 'I'd like fine to have a dog,' didn't I? and here it is to +our hand.--Away with ye, James, man, and show Mr. Storm to his room, +and then find a bed for the creature somewhere. Letters for ye, laddie? +Letters enough, and you'll find them on the table upstairs. Only, mind +ye, the lunch is ready, and your fish is getting cold." + +John Storm opened his letters in his room. One of them was from his +uncle, the Prime Minister: "I rejoice to hear of your most sensible +resolution. Come and dine with me at Downing Street this day week at +seven o'clock. I have much to say and much to ask, and I expect to be +quite alone." + +Another was from his father: "I am not surprised at your intelligence, +but if anything could exceed the folly of going into a monastery it is +the imbecility of coming out of it. The former appears to be a subject +of common talk in this island already, and no doubt the latter will soon +be so." + +John flinched as at a cut across the face and then smiled a smile of +relief. Apparently Glory was writing home wherever she was, and there +was good news in that, at all events. He went downstairs. + +"Come your way in, laddie, and let me look at ye again. Man, but your +face is pale and your bonnie eyes are that sunken. But sit ye down and +eat. They've been starving ye, I'm thinking, and miscalling it religion. +It's enough to drive a reasonable body to drink. Carnal I am, laddie, +and I just want to put some flesh on your bones. Monks indeed! And in +this age of the world too! Little Jack Horners sitting in corners and +saying, 'Oh, what a good boy am I!'" + +John defended his late brethren. They were holy men; they lived a holy +life; he had not been good enough for their company. "But I feel like a +sailor home from sea," he said; "tell me what has happened." + +"Births, marriages, and deaths? I suppose ye're like the lave of the +men, and think nothing else matters to a woman. But come now, more +chicken? No? A wee bitty? Aye, but ye're sair altered, laddie! Weel, +where can a body begin?" + +"The canon--how is he?" + +"Fine as fi'pence. Guid as ever in the pulpit? Aye, but it's a pity he +doesna' bide there, for he's naething to be windy of when he comes out +of it. Deacon now, bless ye, or archdeacon, and some sic botherment, and +his daughter is to be married to yon slip of a curate with the rabbit +mouth and the heather legs. Weel, she wasna for all markets, ye ken." + +"And Mrs. Macrae?" + +"Gone over to the angels. Dead? Nae, ye're too expecting altogether. +She's got religion though, and holds missionary meetings in her +drawing-room of a Monday, and gives lunches to actor folk of a Sunday, +and now a poor woman that's been working for charity and Christianity +all her days has no chance with her anyway." + +"And Miss Macrae?" + +"Poor young leddy, they're for marrying her at last! Aye, to that Ure +man, that lord thing with the eyeglass. I much misdoubt but her heart's +been somewhere else, and there's ane auld woman would a hantle rather +have heard tell of her getting the richt man than seeing the laddie bury +hisel' in a monastery. She's given in at last though, and it's to be a +grand wedding they're telling me. Your Americans are kittle +cattle--just the Jews of the West seemingly, and they must do everything +splendiferously. There are to be jewels as big as walnuts, and bouquets +five feet in diameter, and a rope of pearls for a necklace, and a +rehearsal of the hale thing in the church. Aye, indeed, a rehearsal, and +the 'deacon, honest man, in the middle of the magnificence." + +John Storm's pale face was twitching. "And the hospital," he said, "has +anything happened there--?" + +"Nothing." + +"No other case such as the one----" + +"Not since yon poor bit lassie." + +"Thank God!" + +"It was the first ill thing I had heard tell of her for years, and +the nurses are good women for all that. High-spirited? Aye; but dear, +bright, happy things, to think what they have to know and to be present +at! Lawyers, doctors, and nurses see the worst of human nature, and +she'd be a heartless woman who'd no make allowances for them, poor +creatures!" + +John Storm had risen from the table with a flushed face, making many +excuses. He would step round to the hospital; he had questions to ask +there, and it would be a walk after luncheon. + +"Do," said Mrs. Callender, "but remember dinner at six. And hark ye, +hinny, this house is to be your hame until you light on a better one, so +just sleep saft in it and wake merrily. And Jane Callender is to be your +auld auntie until some ither body tak's ye frae her, and then it'll no +be her hand ye'll be kissing for fear of her wrinkles, I'm thinking." + +The day was bright, the sun was shining, and the streets were full of +well-groomed horses in gorgeous carriages with coachmen in splendid +liveries going to the drawing-room in honour of the royal birthday. As +John went by the palace the approaches to it were thronged, the band +of the Household Cavalry was playing within the rails, and officers in +full-dress uniform, members of the diplomatic service with swords +and cocked hats, and ladies in gorgeous brocades carrying bouquets +of orchids and wearing tiaras of diamonds and large white plumes were +filing through the gate toward the throne-room. + +The hospital looked strangely unfamiliar after so short an absence, +and there were new faces among the nurses who passed to and fro in the +corridors. John asked for the matron, and was received with constrained +and distant courtesy. Was he well? Quite well. They had a resident +chaplain now, and being in priest's orders he had many opportunities +where death was so frequent. Was he sure he had not been ill? John +understood--it was almost as if he had come out of some supernatural +existence, and people looked at him as if they were afraid. + +"I came to ask if you could tell me anything of Nurse Quayle?" + +The matron could tell him nothing. The girl had gone; they had been +compelled to part with her. Nothing serious? No, but totally unfit to +be a nurse. She had some good qualities certainly--cheerfulness, +brightness, tenderness--and for the sake of these, and his own +interest in the girl, they had put up with inconceivable rudeness and +irregularities. What had become of her? She really could not say. Nurse +Allworthy might know--and the matron took up her pen. + +John found the ward Sister with the house doctor at the bed of a +patient. She was short, even curt, said over her shoulder she knew +nothing about the girl, and then turned back to her work. As John passed +out of the ward the doctor followed him and hinted that perhaps the +porter might be able to tell him something. + +The porter was difficult at first, but seeing his way clearer after a +while he admitted to receiving letters for the nurse and delivering them +to her when she called. That was long ago, and she had not been there +since New Year's Eve. Then she had given him a shilling and said she +would trouble him no more. + +John gave him five shillings and asked if anybody ever called for her. +Yes, once. Who was it? A gentleman. Had he left his name? No, but he had +said he would write. When was that? A day or two before she was there +the last time. + +Drake! There could not be a shadow of a doubt of it. John Storm looked +at the clock. It was 3:45. Then he buttoned his coat and crossed the +street to the park with his face in the direction of St. James's Street. + +Horatio Drake had given a luncheon in his rooms that day in honour of +Glory's first public appearance. The performance was to come off at +night, but in the course of the morning there had been a dress rehearsal +in the _salon_ of the music hall. Twenty men and women, chiefly +journalists and artists, had assembled there to get a first glimpse +of the _debutante_, and cameras had lurked behind _portieres_ and in +alcoves to catch her poses, her expressions, her fleeting smiles, and +humorous grimaces. Then the company had adjourned to Drake's chambers. +The luncheon was now over, the last guest had gone, and the host was in +his dining-room alone. + +Drake was standing by the chimney-piece holding at arm's length a +pencil sketch of a woman's beautiful face and lithe figure. "Like +herself--alive to the fingertips," he thought, and then he propped it +against the pier-glass. + +There was a sound of the opening and closing of the outer door +downstairs, and Lord Robert entered the room. He looked heated, +harassed, and exhausted. Shaking out his perfumed pocket handkerchief, +he mopped his forehead, drew a long breath, and dropped into a chair. + +"I've done it," he said; "it's all over." + +Polly Love had lunched with the company that day, and Lord Robert had +returned home with her in order to break the news of his approaching +marriage. While the girl had been removing her hat and jacket he had sat +at the piano and thumbed it, hardly knowing how to begin. All at once he +had said, "Do you know, my dear, I'm to be married on Saturday?" She had +said nothing at first, and he had played the piano furiously. Heavens, +what a frame of mind to be in! Why didn't the girl speak? At last he had +looked round at her, and there she stood grinning, gasping, and white as +a ghost. Suddenly she had begun to cry. Good God, such crying! Yes, it +was all over. Everything had been settled somehow. + +"But I'll be in harder condition before I tackle such a job again." + +There was silence for a moment. Drake was leaning on the mantelpiece, +his legs crossed, and one foot beating on the hearth-rug. The men were +ashamed, and they began to talk of indifferent things. Smoke? Didn't +mind. Those Indian cigars were good. Not bad, certainly. + +At length Drake said in a different voice, "Cruel but necessary, +Robert--necessary to the woman who is going to be your wife, cruel to +the poor girl who has been." + +Lord Robert rose to his feet impatiently, stretched his arm, and shot +out his striped cuff and walked to and fro across the room. + +"Pon my soul, I believe I should have stuck to the little thing but +for the old girl, don't you know. She's made such a good social running +lately--and then she's started this evangelical craze too. No, Polly +wouldn't have suited her book anyhow." + +Silence again, and then further talk on indifferent things. + +"Wish Benson wouldn't sweep the soda water off the table." "Ring for +it." "The little thing really cares for me, don't you know. And it isn't +my fault, is it? I had to hedge. Frank, dear boy, you're always taunting +me with the treadmill we have to turn for the sake of society, and so +forth, but with debts about a man's neck like a millstone, what could +one do----" + +"I don't mean that you're worse than others, old fellow, or that +sacrificing this one poor child is going to mend matters much----" + +"No, it isn't likely to improve my style of going, is it?" + +"But that man John Storm was not so far wrong, after all, and for +this polygamy of our 'lavender-glove tribe' the nation itself will be +overtaken by the judgment of God one of these days." + +Lord Robert broke into a peal of derisive laughter. "Go on," he cried. +"Go on, dear boy! It's funny to hear you, though--after to-day's +proceedings too"; and he glanced significantly around the table. + +Drake brought down his fist with a thump on to the mantelpiece. "Hold +your tongue, Robert! How often am I to tell you this is a different +thing entirely? Because I discover a creature of genius and try to help +her to the position she deserves----" + +"You hypocrite, if it had been a man instead of a charming little woman +with big eyes, don't you know----" + +But there had been a ring at the outer door, and Benson came in to say +that a clergyman was waiting downstairs. + +"Little Golightly again!" said Lord Robert wearily. "Are these +everlasting arrangements never----" + +The man stopped him. It was not Mr. Golightly; it was a stranger; would +not give his name; looked like a Catholic priest; had been there before, +he thought. + +"Can it be---Talk of the devil----" + +"Ask him up," said Drake. And while Drake bit his lip and clinched his +hands, and Lord Robert took up a scent bottle and sprayed himself with +eau de cologne, they saw a man clad in the long coat of a priest come +into the room--calm, grave, self-possessed, very pale, with hollow and +shaven cheeks and dark and sunken eyes, which burned with a sombre fire, +and head so closely cropped as to seem to be almost bald. + +John Storm's anger had cooled. As he crossed the park the heat of his +soul had turned to fear, and while he stood in the hall below, with an +atmosphere of perfume about him, and even a delicate sense of a feminine +presence, his fear had turned to terror. On that account he had refused +to send up his name, and on going up the staircase, lined with prints, +he had been tempted to turn about and fly lest he should come upon +Glory face to face. But finding only the two men in the room above, his +courage came back and he hated himself for his treacherous thought of +her. + +"You will forgive me for this unceremonious visit, sir," he said, +addressing himself to Drake. + +Drake motioned to him to be seated. He bowed, but continued to stand. + +"Your friend will remember that I have been here before." + +Lord Robert bent his head, and went on trifling with the spray. + +"It was a painful errand relating to a girl who had been nurse at the +hospital. The girl was nothing to me, but she had a companion who was +very much." + +Drake nodded and his lips stiffened, but he did not speak. + +"You are aware that since then I have been away from the hospital. I +wrote to you on the subject; you will remember that." + +"Well?" said Drake. + +"I have only just returned, and have come direct from the hospital now." + +"Well?" + +"I see you know what I mean, sir. My young friend has gone. Can you tell +me where to find her?" + +"Sorry I can not," said Drake coldly, and it stung him to see a look of +boundless relief cross the grave face in front of him. + +"Then you don't know----" + +"I didn't say that," said Drake, and then the lines of pain came back. + +"At the request of her people I brought her up to London. Naturally +they will look to me for news of her, and I feel responsible for her +welfare." + +"If that is so, you must pardon me for saying you've taken your duty +lightly," said Drake. + +John Storm gripped the rail of the chair in front of him, and there was +silence for a moment. + +"Whatever I may have to blame myself with in the past, it would relieve +me to find her well and happy and safe from all harm." + +"She _is_ well and happy, and safe too--I can tell you that much." + +There was another moment of silence, and then John Storm said in broken +sentences and in a voice that was struggling to control itself: "I have +known her since she was a child, sir---You can not think how many tender +memories---It is nearly a year since I saw her, and one likes to see old +friends after an absence." + +Drake did not speak, but he dropped his head, for John's eyes had begun +to fill. + +"We were good friends too. Boy and girl comrades almost. Brother and +sister, I should say, for that was how I liked to think of myself--her +elder brother bound to take care of her." + +There was a little trill of derisive laughter from the other side of +the room, where Lord Robert had put the spray down noisily and turned to +look out into the street. Then John Storm drew himself up and said in a +firm voice: + +"Gentlemen, why should I mince matters? I will not do so. The girl we +speak of is more to me than anybody else in the world besides. Perhaps +she was one of the reasons why I went into that monastery. Certainly she +is the reason I have come out of it. I have come to find her. I _shall_ +find her. If she is in difficulty or danger I intend to save her. Will +you tell me where she is?" + +"Mr. Storm," said Drake, "I am sorry, very sorry, but what you say +compels me to speak plainly. The lady is well and safe and happy. If her +friends are anxious about her she can reassure them for herself, and +no doubt she has already done so. But in the position she occupies at +present you are a dangerous man. It might not be her wish, and it would +not be to her advantage, to meet with you, and I can, not allow her to +run the risk." + +"Has it come to that? Have you a right to speak for her, sir?" + +"Perhaps I have----" Drake hesitated, and then said with a rush, "the +right to protect her against a fanatic." + +John Storm curbed himself; he had been through a long schooling. "Man, +be honest," he said. "Either your interest is good or bad, selfish or +unselfish. Which is it?" + +Drake made no answer. + +"But it would be useless to bandy words. I didn't come here to do that. +Will you tell me where she is?" + +"No." + +"Then it is to be a duel between us--is that so? You for the girl's body +and I for her soul? Very well, I take your challenge." + +There was silence once more, and John Storm's eyes wandered about the +room. They fixed themselves at length on the sketch by the pier-glass. + +"On my former visit I met with the same reception. The girl could take +care of herself. It was no business of mine. How that relation has ended +I do not ask. But this one----" + +"This one is an entirely different matter," said Drake, "and I will +thank you not to----" + +But John Storm was making the sign of the cross on his breast, and +saying, as one who was uttering a prayer, "God grant it is and always +may be!" + +At the next moment he was gone from the room. The two men stood where he +had left them until his footsteps had ceased on the stairs and the door +had closed behind him. Then Drake cried, "Benson--a telegraph form! I +must telegraph to Koenig at once." + +"Yes, he'll follow her up on the double quick," said Lord Robert. "But +what matter? His face will be enough to frighten the girl. Ugh! It was +the face of a death's head!" + +At dinner that night John Storm was more than usually silent. To break +in upon his gravity, Mrs. Callender asked him what he intended to do +next. + +"To take priest's orders without delay," he said. + +"And what then?" + +"Then," he said, lifting a twitching and suffering face "to make an +attack on the one mighty stronghold of the devil's kingdom whereof woman +is the direct and immediate victim; to tell Society over again it is an +organized hypocrisy for the pursuit and demoralization of woman, and the +Church that bachelorhood is not celibacy, and polygamy is against +the laws of God; to look and search for the beaten and broken who lie +scattered and astray in our bewildered cities, and to protect them and +shelter them whatever they are, however low they have fallen, because +they are my sisters and I love them." + +"God bless ye, laddie! That's spoken like a man," said the old woman, +rising from her seat. + +But John Storm's pale face had already flushed up to the eyes, and he +dropped his head as one who was ashamed. + + + + +II. + +At eight o'clock that night John Storm was walking through the streets +of Soho. The bell of a jam factory had just been rung, and a stream of +young girls in big hats with gorgeous flowers and sweeping feathers were +pouring out of an archway and going arm-in-arm down the pavement. Men +standing in groups at street ends shouted to them as they passed, and +they shouted back in shrill voices and laughed with wild joy. In an +alley round one corner an organ man was playing "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," +and some of the girls began to dance and sing around him. Coming to the +main artery of traffic, they were almost run down by a splendid equipage +which was cutting across two thoroughfares into a square, and they +screamed with mock terror as the fat coachman in tippet and cockade +bellowed to them to get out of the way. + +The square was a centre of gaiety. Theatres and music halls lined two of +its sides, and the gas on their facades and the beacons on their roofs +were beginning to burn brightly in the fading daylight. With skips and +leaps the girls passed over to the doors of these palaces, and peered +with greedy eyes through lines of policemen and doorkeepers in livery at +gentlemen, in shields of shirt-front and ladies in light cloaks and long +white gloves stepping out of gorgeous carriages into gorgeous halls. + +John Storm was looking on at this masquerade when suddenly he became +aware that the flare of coarse lights on the front of the building +before him formed the letters of a word. The word was "GLORIA." Seeing +it again as he had seen it in the morning, but now identified and +explained, he grew hot and cold by turns, and his brain, which refused +to think, felt like a sail that is flapping idly on the edge of the +wind. + +There was a garden in the middle of the square, and he walked round and +round it. He gazed vacantly at a statue in the middle of the garden, and +then walked round the rails again. The darkness was gathering fast, the +gas was beginning to blaze, and he was like a creature in the coil of a +horrible fascination. That word, that name over the music hall, fizzing +and crackling in its hundred lights, seemed to hold him as by an eye of +fire. And remembering what had happened since he left the monastery--the +sandwich men, the boards on the omnibuses, the hoardings on the +walls--it seemed like a fiery finger which had led him to that spot. +Only one thing was clear--that a supernatural power had brought him +there, and that it was intended he should come. Fearfully, shamefully, +miserably, rebuking himself for his doubts, yet conquered and compelled +by them, he crossed the street and entered the music hall. + +He was in the pit and it was crowded; not a seat vacant anywhere, and +many persons standing packed in the crush-room at the back. His first +sensation was of being stared at. First the man at the pay-box and then +the check-taker had looked at him, and now he was being looked at by +the people about him. They were both men and girls. Some of the men wore +light frock-coats and talked in the slang of the race-course, some of +the girls wore noticeable hats and showy flowers in their bosoms and +were laughing in loud voices. They made a way for him of themselves, and +he passed through to a wooden barrier that ran round the last of the pit +seats. + +The music hall was large, and to John Storm's eyes, straight from the +poverty of his cell, it seemed garish in the red and gold of its Eastern +decorations. Men in the pit seats were smoking pipes and cigarettes, and +waiters with trays were hurrying up and down the aisles serving ale and +porter, which they set down on ledges like the book-rests in church. In +the stalls in front, which were not so full, gentlemen in evening dress +were smoking cigars, and there was an arc of the tier above, in which +people in fashionable costumes were talking audibly. Higher yet, and +unseen from that position, there was a larger audience still, whose +voices rumbled like a distant sea. A cloud of smoke filled the +atmosphere, and from time to time there was the sound of popping corks +and breaking glasses and rolling bottles. + +The curtain was down, but the orchestra was beginning to play. Two men +in livery came from the sides of the curtain and fixed up large figures +in picture frames that were attached to the wings of the proscenium. +Then the curtain rose and the entertainment was resumed. It was in +sections, and after each performance the curtain was dropped and the +waiters went round with their trays again. + +John Storm had seen it all before in the days when, under his father's +guidance, he had seen everything--the juggler, the acrobat, the +step-dancer, the comic singer, the tableaus, and the living picture. He +felt tired and ashamed, yet, he could not bring himself to go away. As +the evening advanced he thought: "How foolish! What madness it was to +think of such a thing!" He was easier after that, and began to listen to +the talk of the people about him. It was free, but not offensive. In the +frequent intervals some of the men played with the girls, pushing and +nudging and joking with them, and the girls laughed and answered back. +Occasionally one of them would turn her head aside and look into John's +face with a saucy smile. "God forbid that I should grudge them their +pleasure!" he thought. "It's all they have, poor creatures!" + +But the audience grew noisier as the evening went on. They called to +the singers, made inarticulate squeals, and then laughed at their own +humour. A lady sang a comic song. It described her attempt to climb to +the top of an omnibus on a windy day. John turned to look at the faces +behind him, and every face was red and hot, and grinning and grimacing. +He was still half buried in the monastery he had left that morning, and +he thought: "Such are the nightly pleasures of our people. To-night, +to-morrow night, the night after! O my country, my country!" + +He was awakened from these thoughts by an outburst of applause. The +curtain was down and nothing was going on except the putting up of a +new figure in the frames. The figure was 8. Some one behind him said, +"That's her number!" "The new artiste?" said another voice. "Gloria," +said the first. + +John Storm's head began to swim. He looked back--he was in a solid +block of people. "After all, what reasons have I?" he thought, and he +determined to stand his ground. + +More applause. Another leader of the orchestra had appeared. _Baton_ in +hand, he was bowing from his place before the footlights. It was Koenig, +the organist, and John Storm shuddered in the darkest corner of his +soul. + +The stalls had filled up unawares to him, and a party was now coming +into a private box which had hitherto been empty. The late-comers were +Drake and Lord Robert Ure, and a lady with short hair brushed back from +her forehead. + +John Storm felt the place going round him, yet he steadied and braced +himself. "But this is the natural atmosphere of such people," he +thought. He tried to find satisfaction in the thought that Glory was not +with them. Perhaps they had exaggerated their intimacy with her. + +The band began to play. It was music for the entrance of a new +performer. The audience became quiet; there was a keen, eager, expectant +air; and then the curtain went up. John Storm felt dizzy. If he could +have escaped he would have turned and fled. He gripped with both hands +the rail in front of him. + +Then a woman came gliding on to the stage. She was a tall girl in a dark +dress and long black gloves, with red hair, and a head like a rose. It +was Glory! A cloud came over John Storm's eyes, and for a few moments he +saw no more. + +There was some applause from the pit and the regions overhead. The +people in the stalls were waving their handkerchiefs, and the lady in +the box was kissing her hand. Glory was smiling, quite at her ease, +apparently not at all nervous, only a little shy and with her hands +interlaced in front of her. Then there was silence again and she began +to sing. + +It is the moment when prayers go up from the heart not used to pray. +Strange contradiction! John Storm found himself praying that Glory +might do well, that she might succeed and eclipse everything! But he +had turned his eyes away, and the sound of her voice was even more +afflicting than the sight of her face. It was nearly a year since he had +heard it last, and now he was hearing it under these conditions, in +a place like this! He must have been making noises by his breathing. +"Hush! hush!" said the people about him, and somebody tapped him on the +shoulder. + +After a moment he regained control of himself, and he lifted his head +and listened. Glory's voice, which had been quavering at first, gathered +strength. She was singing Mylecharaine, and the wild, plaintive harmony +of the old Manx ballad was floating in the air like the sound of the +sea. After her first lines a murmur of approval went round, the people +sat up and leaned forward, and then there was silence again--dead +silence--and then loud applause. + +But it was only with the second verse that the humour of her song began, +and John Storm waited for it with a trembling heart. He had heard her +sing it a hundred times in the old days, and she was singing it now as +she had sung it before. There were the same tricks of voice, the same +tricks of gesture, the same expressions, the same grimaces. Everything +was the same, and yet everything was changed. He knew it. He was sure it +must be so. So artless and innocent then, now so subtle and significant! +Where was the difference? The difference was in the place, in the +people. John Storm could have found it in his heart to turn on the +audience and insult them. Foul-minded creatures, laughing, screaming, +squealing, punctuating their own base interpretations and making evil of +what was harmless! How he hated the grinning faces round about him! + +When the song was finished Glory swept a gay courtesy, lifted her +skirts, and tripped off the stage. Then there were shouting, whistling, +stamping, and deafening applause. The whole house was unanimous for +an encore, and she came back smiling and bowing with a certain look of +elation and pride. John Storm was becoming terrified by his own anger. +"Be quiet there!" said some one behind him. "Who's the josser?" said +somebody else, and then he heard Glory's voice again. + +It was another Manx ditty. A crew of young fishermen are going ashore on +Saturday night after their week on the sea after the herring. They go up +to the inn; their sweethearts meet them there; they drink and sing. At +length they are so overcome by liquor and love that they have to be put +to bed in their big sea boots. Then the girls kiss them and leave them. +The singer imitated the kissing, and the delighted audience repeated the +sound. Sounds of kissing came from all parts of the hall, mingled +with loud acclamations of laughter. The singer smiled and kissed back. +Somehow she conveyed the sense of a confidential feeling as if she were +doing it for each separate person in the audience, and each person had +an impulse to respond. It was irresistible, it was maddening, it swept +over the whole house. + +John Storm felt sick in his very soul. Glory knew well what she was +doing. She knew what these people wanted. His Glory! Glory of the old, +innocent happy days! O God! O God! If he could only get out! But that +was impossible. Behind him the dense mass was denser than ever, and he +was tightly wedged in by a wall of faces--hot, eager, with open mouths, +teeth showing, and glittering and dancing eyes. He tried not to listen +to what the people about were saying, yet he could not help but hear. + +"Tasty, ain't she?" "Cerulean, eh?" "Bit 'ot, certinly!" "Well, if I +was a Johnny, and had got the oof, she'd have a brougham and a sealskin +to-morrow." "To-night, you mean," and then there were significant +squeaks and trills of laughter. + +They called her back again, and yet again, and she returned with +unaffected cheerfulness and a certain look of triumph. At one moment she +was doing the gaiety of youth, and at the next the crabbedness of age; +now the undeveloped femininity of the young girl, then the volubility +of the old woman. But John Storm was trying to hear none of it. With his +head in his breast and his eyes down he was struggling to think of the +monastery, and to imagine that he was still buried in his cell. It was +only this morning that he left it, yet it seemed to be a hundred years +ago. Last night the Brotherhood, the singing of Evensong, Compline, the +pure air, silence, solitude, and the atmosphere of prayer; and to-night +the crowds, the clouds of smoke, the odour of drink, the meaning +laughter, and Glory as the centre of it all! + +For a moment everything was blotted out, and then there was loud +hand-clapping and cries of "Bravo!" He lifted his head. Glory had +finished and was bowing herself off. The lady in the private box flung +her a bouquet of damask roses. She picked it up and kissed it, and bowed +to the box, and then the acclamations of applause were renewed. + +The crush behind relaxed a little, and he began to elbow his way out. +People were rising or stirring everywhere, and the house was emptying +fast. As the audience surged down the corridors to the doors they talked +and laughed and made inarticulate sounds. "A tricky bit o' muslin, eh?" +"Yus, she's thick." "She's my dart, anyhow." Then the whistling of a +tune. It was the chorus of Mylecharaine. John Storm felt the cool air of +the street on his hot face at last. The policemen were keeping a way +for the people coming from the stalls, the doorkeepers were whistling +or shouting for cabs, and their cries were being caught up by the match +boys, who were running in and out like dogs among the carriage wheels +and the horses' feet. "En-sim!" "Four-wheel-er!" + +In a narrow court at the back, dimly lit and not much frequented, there +was a small open door under a lamp suspended from a high blank wall. +This was the stage-door of the music hall, and a group of young men, +looking like hairdressers' assistants, blocked the pavement at either +side of it. "Wonder what she's like off?" "Like a laidy, you bet." "Yus, +but none o' yer bloomin' hamatoors." "Gawd, here's the josser again!" + +John Storm pushed his way through to where a commissionaire sat behind a +glass partition in a little room walled with pigeon holes. + +"Can I see Miss Quayle?" he asked. + +The porter looked blank. + +"Gloria, then," said John Storm, with an effort. + +The porter looked at him suspiciously. Had he an appointment? No; but +could he send in his name? The porter looked doubtful. Would she come +out soon? The porter did not know. Would she come this way? The porter +could not tell. Could he have her address? + +"If ye want to write to the laidy, write here," said the porter, with a +motion of his hands to the pigeon-holes. + +John Storm felt humiliated and ashamed. The hairdressers' assistants +were grinning at him. He went out, feeling that Glory was farther than +ever from him now, and if he met her they might not speak. But he could +not drag himself away. In the darkness under a lamp at the other side of +the street he stood and waited. Shoddy broughams drove up, with drivers +in shabby livery, bringing "turns" in wonderful hats and overcoats, over +impossible wigs, whiskers, and noses--niggers, acrobats, clowns, and +comic singers, who stepped out, shook the straw of their carriage +carpets off their legs, and passed in at the stage entrance. + +At length the commissionaire appeared at the door and whistled, and a +hansom cab rattled up to the end of the court. Then a lady muffled in +a cape, with the hood drawn over her head, and carrying a bouquet of +roses, came out leaning on the arm of a gentleman. She stood a moment by +his side and spoke to him and laughed. John heard her laughter. At the +next moment she had stepped into the hansom, the door had fallen to, +the driver had turned, the gentleman had raised his hat, the light had +fallen on the lady's face, and she was leaning forward and smiling. John +saw her smiles. + +At the next moment the hansom had passed into the illuminated +thoroughfares and the group of people had dispersed. John Storm was +alone under the lamp in the little dark street, and somewhere in +the dark alleys behind him the organ man was still grinding out +"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay." + +"Weel, what luck on your first night out?" said Mrs. Callender at +breakfast in the morning. "Found any of the poor lost things yet?" + +"One," said John, with a rueful face. "Lost enough, though she doesn't +know it yet, God help her!" + +"They never do at first, laddie. Write to her friends, if she has any." + +"Her friends?" + +"Nothing like home influences, ye ken." + +"I will--I must! It's all I can do now." + + + + +III. + +"The Priory, Friday Morning. + +"Oh, my dear aunties, don't be terrified, but Glory has had a kind of +a wee big triumph! Nothing very awful, you know, but on Monday night, +before a rather larger company than usual, she sang and recited and +play-acted a little, and as a result all the earth--the London earth--is +talking about her, and nobody is taking any notice of the rest of +the world. Every post is bringing me flowers with ribbons and cards +attached, or illustrated weeklies with my picture and my life in little, +and I find it's wonderful what a lot of things you may learn about +yourself if you'll only read the papers. My room at this moment is +like a florist's window at nine o'clock on Saturday morning, and I have +reason to suspect that mine host and teacher, Carl Koenig, F. E. C. O., +exhibits them to admiring neighbours when I am out. The voice of that +dear old turtle has ever since Monday been heard in the land, and +besides telling me about Poland day and night from all the subterranean +passages of the house, he has taken to waiting on me like a nigger, +and ordering soups and jellies for me as if I had suddenly become an +invalid. Of course, I am an able-bodied woman just the same as ever, but +my nerves have been on the rack all the week, and I feel exactly as I +did long ago at Peel when I was a little naughty minx and got up into +the tower of the old church and began pulling at the bell rope, you +remember. Oh, dear! oh, dear! My frantic terror at the noise of the +big bells and the vibration of the shaky old walls! Once I had begun +I couldn't leave off for my life, but went on tugging and tugging and +quaking and quaking until--have you forgotten it?--all the people came +running helter-skelter under the impression that the town was afire. And +then, behold, it was only little me, trembling like a leaf and crying +like a ninny! I remember I was scolded and smacked and dismissed into +outer darkness (it was the chip vault, I think), for that first outbreak +of fame, and now, lest you should want to mete out the same punishment +to me again-- + +"Aunt Anna, I'm knitting the sweetest little shawl for you, dear--blue +and white, to suit your complexion--being engaged in the evening only, +and most of the day sole mistress of my own will and pleasure. How +charming of me, isn't it? But I'm afraid it isn't, because you'll see +through me like a colander, for I want to tell you something which I +have kept back too long, and when I think of it I grow old and wrinkled +like a Christmas apple. So you must be a pair of absolute old angels, +aunties, and break the news to grandfather. + +"You know I told you, Aunt Rachel, to say something for me at nine +o'clock on the Queen's birthday. And you remember that Mr. Drake used +to think pearls and diamonds of Glory, and predict wonderful things for +her. Then you don't forget that Mr. Drake had a friend named Lord Robert +Ure, commonly called Lord Bob. Well, you see, by Mr. Drake's advice, and +Lord Bobbie's influence and agency, and I don't know what, I have +made one more change--it's to be the last, dears, the very last--in my +Wandering-Jew existence, and now I am no longer a society entertainer, +because I am a music-hall art----" + +Glory had written so far when she dropped the pen and rose from the +table, wiping her eyes. + +"My poor child, you can't tell them, it's impossible; they would never +forgive you!" + +Then a carriage stopped before the house, the garden bell was rung, and +the maid came into the room with a lady's card. It was inscribed "Miss +Polly Love," with many splashes and flourishes. + +"Ask her up," said Glory. And then Polly came rustling up the stairs in +a silver-gray silk dress and a noticeable hat, and with a pug-dog tucked +under her arm. She looked older and less beautiful. The pink and ivory +of her cheeks was coated with powder, and her light gray eyes were +pencilled. There was the same blemished appearance as before, and the +crack in the vase was now plainly visible. + +Glory had met the girl only once since they parted after the hospital, +but Polly kissed her effusively. Then she sat down and began to cry. + +"Perhaps you wouldn't think it, my dear, but I'm the most miserable girl +in London. Haven't you heard about it? I thought everybody knew. Robert +is going to be married. Yes, indeed, to-morrow morning to that American +heiress, and I hadn't an idea of it until Monday afternoon. That was +the day of your luncheon, dear, and I felt sure something was going to +happen, because I broke my looking-glass dressing to go out. Robert took +me home, and he began to play the piano, and I could see he was going +to say something. 'Do you know, little woman, I'm to be married on +Saturday?' I wonder I didn't drop, but I didn't, and he went on playing. +But it was no use trying, and I burst out and ran into my room. After a +minute I heard him coming in, but he didn't lift me up as he used to do. +Only talked to me over my back, telling me to control myself, and what +he was going to do for me, and so on. He used to say a few tears made me +nicer looking, but it was no good crying--and then he went away." + +She began to cry again, and the dog in her lap began to howl. + +"O God! I don't know what I've done to be so unfortunate. I've not been +flash at all, and I never went to _cafes_ at night, or to Sally's or +Kate's, as so many girls do, and he can't say I ever took notice of +anybody else. When I love anybody I think of him last thing at night and +first thing in the morning, and now to be left alone--I'm sure I shall +never live through it!" + +Glory tried to comfort the poor broken creature. It was her duty to +live. There was her child--had she never even seen it since she parted +with it to Mrs. Jupe? It must be such a darling by this time, creeping +about and talking a little, wherever it was. She ought to have the child +to live with her, it would be such company. + +Polly kissed the pug to stop its whining, and said: "I don't want +company. Life isn't the same thing to me now. He thinks because he is +marrying that woman--What better is she than me, I would like to know? +She's only snapping at him for what he is, and he is only taking her +for what she's got, and I've a great mind to go to All Saints' and shame +them. You wouldn't? Well, it's hard to hide one's feelings, but it would +serve them right if--if I did it." + +Polly had risen with a wild look, and was pressing the pug so hard that +it was howling again. + +"Did what?" said Glory. + +"Nothing--that is to say----" + +"You mustn't dream of going to the church. The police----" + +"Oh, it isn't the police I'm afraid of," said Polly, tossing her head. + +"What then?" + +"Never mind, my dear," said Polly. + +On the way downstairs she reproached herself for not seeing what was +coming. "But girls like us never do, now do we?" + +Glory coloured up to her hair, but made no protest. At the gate Polly +wiped her eyes and drew down her veil, and said: "I'm sorry to say it +to your face, my dear, but it's all been that Mr. Drake's doings, and +a girl ought to know he'd do as much himself, and worse. But you're +a great woman now, and in everybody's mouth, so you needn't care. +Only----" + +Glory's face was scarlet and her under lip was bleeding. Yet she kissed +the poor shallow thing at parting, because she was down, and did not +understand, and lived in another world entirely. But going back to where +her letter lay unfinished she thought: "Impossible! If this girl, living +in an atmosphere so different, thinks that----" Then she sat at the +table and forced herself to tell all. + +She had got through the red riot of her confession and was writing: "I +don't know what he would think of it, but do you know I thought I saw +his face on Wednesday night. It was in the dark, and I was in a cab +driving away from the stage door. But so changed! oh, so changed! It +must have been a dream, and it was the same as if his ghost had passed +me." + +Then she became aware of voices in dispute downstairs. First a man's +voice, then the voices of two men--one of them Koenig's, the other with +a haunting ring in it. She got up from the table and went to the door of +her room, going on tip-toe, yet hardly knowing why. Koenig was saying: +"No, sair, de lady does not lif here." Then a deep, strong chest-voice +answered, "Mr. Koenig, surely you remember me?" and Glory's heart seemed +to beat like a watch. "No-o, sair. Are you--Oh, yes; what am I thinking +of?--But de lady----" + +"Mr. Koenig," Glory called, cried, gasped over the stair-rail, "ask the +gentleman to come up, please." + +She hardly knew what happened next, only that Koenig seemed to be +muttering confused explanations below, and that she was back in her +sitting-room giving a glance into the looking-glass and doing something +with her hair. Then there was a step on the stairs, on the landing, at +the threshold, and she fell back a few paces from the door, that she +might see him as he came in. He knocked. Her heart was beating so +violently that she had to keep her hand over it. "Who's there?" + +"It is I." + +"Who's I?" + +Then she saw him coming down on her, and the very sunlight seemed to +wave like the shadows on a ship. He was paler and thinner, his great +eyes looked weary though they smiled, his hand felt bony though firm, +and his head was closely cropped. + +She looked at him for a moment without speaking and with a sensation of +fulness at her heart that was almost choking her. + +"Is it you? I didn't know it was you--I was just thinking----" She was +talking at random, and was out of breath as if she had been running. + +"Glory, I have frightened you!" + +"Frightened? Oh, no! Why should you think so? Perhaps I am crying, but +then I'm always doing that nowadays. And, besides, you are so----" + +"Yes, I am altered," he said in the pause that followed. + +"And I?" + +"You are altered too." He was looking at her with an earnest and +passionate gaze. It was she--herself--Glory--not merely a vision or a +dream. Again he recognised the glorious eyes with their brilliant lashes +and the flashing spot in one of them that had so often set his heart +beating. She looked back at him and thought, "How ill he must have +been!" and then a lump came into her throat and she began to laugh that +she might not have to cry, and broke out into broad Manx lest he should +hear the tremor in her voice: + +"But you're coming too, aren't ye? And you've left that theer--Aw, it's +glad ter'ble I am, as our people say, and it's longin' mortal you'd be +for all, boy." + +Another trill of nervous laughter, and then a burst of earnest English: +"But tell me, you've come for good--you are not going back to----" + +"No, I am not going back to the Brotherhood, Glory." How friendly his +low voice sounded! + +"And you?" + +"Well, I've left the hospital, you see." + +"Yes, I see," he said. His weary eyes were wandering about the room, and +for the first time she felt ashamed of its luxuries and its flowers. + +"But how did you find me?" + +"I went to the hospital first----" + +"So you hadn't forgotten me? Do you know I thought you had quite--But +tell me at once, where did you go then?" + +He was silent for a moment, and she said, "Well?" + +"Then I went to Mr. Drake's chambers." + +"I don't know why everybody should think that Mr. Drake----" + +His great eyes were fixed on her face and his mouth was quivering, and, +to prevent him from speaking, she put on a look of forced gaiety and +said, "But how did you light on me at last?" + +"I meant to find you, Glory, if I tramped all London over and +everybody denied you to me"--the lump in her throat was hurting her +dreadfully--"but I chanced to see the name over the music hall." + +She saw it coming, and broke into laughter. "The music hall! Only think! +You looking at music halls!" + +"I was there on Monday night." + +"You? Monday? Then perhaps it was not my fancy that I saw you by the +stage do--." Her nerves were getting more and more excited, and to calm +them she crossed her arms above her head. "So they gave you my address +at the stage door, did they?" + +"No, I wrote for it to Peel." + +"Peel?" She caught her breath, and her arms came down. "Then perhaps +you told them where----" "I told them nothing, Glory." She looked at him +through her eyelashes, her head held down. + +"Not that it matters, you know." + +"I've just been writing to them, and they'll soon--But, oh, I've so much +to say, and I can't say it here. Couldn't we go somewhere? Into the park +or on to the heath, or farther--much farther--the room is so small, and +I feel as if I've been suffocating for want of air." + +"I've something to say too, and if----" + +"Then let it be to-morrow morning, and we'll start early, and you'll +bring me back in time for the theatre. Say Paddington Station, at +eleven--will that do?" + +"Yes." + +She saw him to the gate, and when he was going she wanted him to kiss +her hand, so she pretended to do the high handshake, but he only held it +for a moment and looked steadily into her eyes. The sunshine was pouring +into the garden, and she was bareheaded. Her hair was coiled up, and she +was wearing a light morning blouse. He thought she had never looked so +beautiful. On getting into the omnibus at the end of the street he took +a letter out of his vest pocket, and, being alone, he first carried it +to his lips, then reopened and read it: + +"See her at once, dear John, and keep in touch with her, and I shall be +happy and relieved. As for your father, that old Chaise is going crazy +and is sending Lord Storm crazy too. He has actually discovered that the +dust the witch walks on who has cast the evil eye on you lies in +front of Glenfaba gate, and he has been sweeping it up o' nights and +scattering it in front of Knockaloe! What simplicity! There are only two +women here. Does the silly old gawk mean Rachel? or is it, perhaps, Aunt +Anna?" + +And while the omnibus joggled down the street, and the pale young +clergyman with the great weary eyes was poring over his letter, Glory +was sitting at her table and writing with flying fingers and a look of +enthusiastic ecstasy: + +"I've had three bites at this cherry. But who do you think has just +been here? John!--John Storm! But then you know that he is back, and it +wasn't merely my fancy that I saw him by the stage door. It seems as if +people have been denying me to him, and he has been waiting for me and +watching over me." (Blot.) "His voice is so low, but I suppose that +comes to people who are much alone, and he is so thin and so pale, and +his eyes are so large, and they have that deep look that cuts into the +heart. He knew he was changed, and I think he was ashamed" (blot), "but +of course I didn't let whit that I was taking notice, and I'm so happy +for his sake, poor fellow! that he has escaped from his cage in that +Salvation zoo that I know I shall make them split their sides in the +theatre to-night." (Blot, blot.) "How tiresome! This ink must have +got water in it somehow, and then my handwriting is such a +hop-skip-and-a-jump anyway. But hoots! + + "Why shouldn't I love Johnny, + "And why shouldn't Johnny love me? + +"Glory." + + + + +IV. + +It was a beautiful May morning, and standing by the Paddington Station +with the dog at his feet, he felt her approach instinctively as she came +toward him with her free step in her white cambric dress under the light +parasol fringed with lace. Her face was glowing with the fresh air, and +she looked happy and bright. As they walked into the station she +poured out a stream of questions about the dog, took possession of him +straightway, and concluded to call him Don. + +They agreed to spend the day at Burnham Beeches, and while he went +for the tickets she stepped on to the platform. It was Saturday, the +bookstall was ablaze with the picture papers, and one of them was +prominently displayed at a page containing her own portrait. She wanted +John to see this, so she invented an excuse for bringing him face to +face with it, and then she laughed and he bought the paper. + +The clerk recognised her--they could see that by the smile he kept in +reserve--and a group of officers in the Guards, in flannels and straw +hats, going down to their club at Maidenhead, looked at her and nudged +each other as if they knew who she was. Her eyes danced, her lips +smiled, and she was proud that John should see the first fruits of her +fame. She was proud of him, too, with his bold walk and strong carriage, +as they passed the officers in their negligent dress, with their red and +blue neckties. But John's heart was aching, and he was wondering how he +was to begin on the duty he had to do. + +From the moment they started she gave herself up to the delights of +their holiday, and even the groaning and cranking and joggling of +the train amused her. When the Guards had got into their first-class +carriage they had glanced at the open window where her brilliant eyes +and rosy lips were gleaming behind a veil. John gazed at her with his +slow and tender looks, and felt guilty and ashamed. + +They left the train at Slough, and a wave of freshness, with an odour of +verdure and sap, blew into their faces. The dog leaped and barked, and +Glory skipped along with it, breaking every moment into enthusiastic +exclamations. There was hardly any wind, and the clouds, which were very +high overhead, were scarcely moving. It was a glorious day, and Glory's +face wore an expression of perfect happiness. + +They lunched at the old hotel in the town, with the window open, and +the swallows darting in the air outside, and Glory, who took milk "for +remembrance," rose and said, "I looks toward Mr. Storm," and then drank +his health and swept him the prettiest courtesy. All through lunch she +kept feeding the dog from her own fingers, and at the end rebuked him +for spreading his bones in a half circle across the carpet, a thing +which was never done, she said, in the best society, this side the +Cannibal Islands. + +"By-and-bye," he thought, "time enough by-and-bye," for the charm of her +joy was infectious. + +The sun was high when they started on their walk, and her face looked +flushed and warm. But through the park-like district to the wood she +raced with Don, and made him leap over her sunshade and roll over +and over on the bright green grass. The larks were trilling overhead, +everything was humming and singing. + +"Let her have one happy day," he thought, and they began to call and +shout to each other. + +Then they came to the beeches, and, being sheltered from the fiery rays +of the sun, she put down her sunshade and John took off his hat. The +silence and gloom, the great gnarled trees, with their thews and sinews, +their arms and thighs and loins, the gentle rustle of the breeze in the +branches overhead, the deep accumulation of dead leaves underfoot, the +fluttering of wings, the low cooing of pigeons, and all the mystery +and wonder of the wood, brought a sense of awe, as on entering a mighty +minster in the dusk. But this wore away presently, and Glory began to +sing. Her pure voice echoed in the fragrant air, and the happiness so +long pent up and starved seemed to bubble in every word and note. + +"Isn't this better than singing in music halls?" he thought, and then +he began to sing too, just like any happy boy, without thinking of +yesterday or to-morrow, of before or after. She smiled at him. He smiled +back. It was like a dream. After his long seclusion it was difficult to +believe it could be true. The open air, the perfume of the leaves they +were wading through, the silver bark of the birches and the blue peeps +of the sky between, and then Glory walking with her graceful motion, +and laughing and singing by his side! "I shall wake up in a minute," he +thought, "I'm sure I shall!" + +They sang one song together. It was Lasses and Lads, and to make +themselves think it was the old time back again they took each other's +hands and swung them to the tune. He felt her clasp like milk coursing +through his body, and a great wave of tenderness swept up his hard +resolve as sea-wrack is thrown up after a storm. "She is here; we are +together; why trouble about anything more?" and the time flew by. + +But their voices went wrong immediately, and they were soon in +difficulties. Then she laughed, and they began again; but they could +not keep together, and as often as they tried they failed. "Ah, it's not +like the old days!" he thought, and a mood of sadness came over him. +He had begun to observe in Glory the trace of the life she had passed +through--words, phrases, ideas, snatches of slang, touches of moods +which had the note of a slight vulgarity. When the dog took a bone +uninvited she cried: "It's a click; you've sneaked it"; when John broke +down in the singing she told him to "chuck it off the chest"; and when +he stopped altogether she called him glum, and said she would "do it on +her own." + +"Why does he look so sorrowful?" she thought, and telling herself that +this came to people who were much alone, she rattled on more recklessly +than before. + +She talked of the life of the music hall, the life at "the back," +glorifying it by a tone of apology. It was all hurry-scurry, slap, dash, +and drive; no time to consider effects; a succession of last acts and +first nights; so it was really harder to be a music-hall woman than +a regular actress. And the music-hall woman was no worse than other +women--considering. Had he seen their ballet? It was fetching. Such +pages! Simply darlings! _They_ were the proud young birds of paradise +whom toffs like those Guards came to see, and it was fun to see them +pluming and preening themselves at the back, each for the eyes of her +own particular lord in the stalls. Thus she flung out unfamiliar notes, +hardly knowing their purport, but to John they were as slimy creatures +out of the social mire she had struggled through. O London! London! Its +shadow was over them even there, and go where they would, they could +never escape from it. + +His former thought began to hang about him again, and he asked her to +tell him what had happened to her during his absence. + +"Shall I?" she said. "Well, I brought three golden sovereigns out of the +hospital to distribute among the people of London, but, bless you, they +went nowhere." + +"And what then?" + +"Then--then Hope was a good breakfast but a bad supper, you know. But +shall I tell you all? Yes, yes, I will." + +She told him of Mrs. Jupe, and of the deception she had practised upon +her people, and he turned his head that he might not see her tears. She +told him of the "Three Graces," and of the stage manager--she called him +the "stage damager"--and then _she_ turned her head that she might hide +her shame. She told him of Josephs, the bogus agent, and his face grew +hard and his brown eyes looked black. + +"And where did you say his place was?" he asked in a voice that vibrated +and broke. + +"I didn't say," she answered with a laugh and a tear. + +She told him of Aggie, and of the foreign clubs, and of Koenig, and of +the dinner party at the Home Secretary's, and then she skipped a step +and cried: + + "Ding, dong, dended, + My tale's ended." + +"And was it there you met Mr. Drake again?" + +She replied with a nod. + +"Never having seen him in the meantime?" + +She pursed her lips and shook her head. "That's all over now, and what +matter? I likes to be jolly and I allwis is!" + +"But is it all over?" he said, and he looked at her again with the deep +look that had cut into her heart. + +"He's going to say something," she thought, and she began to laugh, +but with a faint tremor, and giving the dog her parasol to carry in his +mouth, she took off her hat, swung it in her hand by the brim, and set +off to run. + +There was the light shimmer of a pool at a level below, where the water +had drained to a bottom and was inclosed by beeches. The trees seemed +to hang over it with outstretched wings, like birds about to alight, and +round its banks there were plots of violets which filled the air with +their fragrance. It was a God-blest bit of ground, and when he came up +with her she was standing at the edge of the marshy mere panting and on +the point of tears, and saying, in a whisper, "Oh, how beautiful!" + +"But however am I to get across?" she cried, looking with mock terror on +the two inches of water that barely covered the grass, and at the pretty +red shoes that peeped from under her dress. + +Then something extraordinary occurred. She hardly knew what was +happening until it was over. Without a word, without a smile, he lifted +her up in his arms and carried her to the other side. She felt helpless +like a child, as if suddenly she belonged to herself no longer. Her head +had fallen on his shoulder and her heart was beating against his breast. +Or was it _his_ heart that was beating? When he put her down she was +afraid she was going to cry, so she began to laugh and to say they +mustn't lose that 7.30 to London or the "rag" would be rolling up +without her and the "stage damager" would be using "cuss words." + +They had to pass the old church of Stoke Pogis on the way back to the +town, and after looking at its timber belfry and steeple John suggested +that they should see the inside. The sexton was found working in the +garden at the side of the house, and he went indoors for the keys. "Here +they be, sir, and you being a pa'son I'll bide in the orchet. You and +your young missus can look at the church without me. 'A b'lieve 'a hev +seed it afore," he said with a twinkle. + +The church was dark and cool. There was a window representing an +angel ascending to heaven against a deep blue sky, and a squire's pew +furnished like a box at the theatre, with a carpet and even a stove. The +chairs in the front bore family crests, and behind them were inferior +chairs, without crests, for the servants. John had opened the little +modern organ and begun to play. After a while he began to sing. He sang +Nazareth, and his voice filled the empty church and went up into the +gloom of the roof, and echoed and returned, and it was almost as if +another voice were singing there. + +Glory stood by his side and listened; a wonderful peace had come down +on her. Then the emotion that vibrated in his deep voice made something +surge up to her throat. "Life for evermore! Life for evermore!" All +at once she began to weep, to sob, and to laugh in a breath, and he +stopped. + +"How ridiculous I am to-day! You'll think me a maniac," she said. But +he only took her hand as if she had been a child and led her out of the +church. + +Insensibly the day had passed into evening, and the horizontal rays of +the sun were dazzling their eyes as they returned to the hotel for tea. +In giving orders for this meal they had left the illustrated weekly +behind, and it was now clear from the easy smiles that greeted them that +the paper had been looked at and Glory identified. The room was ready, +with the table laid, the window closed, and a fire of wood in the dog +grate, for the chill of the evening was beginning to be felt. And to +make him forget what had happened at the church she put on a look of +forced gaiety and talked rapidly, frivolously, and at random. The +fresh air had given her such a colour that they would 'fairly eat her +to-night.' How tired she was, though! But a cup of tea would exhilarate +her "like a Johnnie's first whisky and soda in bed." + +He looked at her with his grave face; every word was cutting him like a +knife. "So you didn't tell the old folks at Glenfaba about the hospital +until later?" + +"No. Have a cup of the 'girl'? They call champagne 'the boy' at 'the +back,' so I call tea 'the girl,' you know." + +"And when did you tell them about the music hall?" + +"Yesterday. 'Muffins?'" and as she held out the plate she waggled the +wrist of her other hand, and mimicked the cry of the muffin man. + +"Not until yesterday?" + +She began to excuse herself. What was the use of taking people by +surprise? And then good people were sometimes so easily shocked! +Education and upbringing, and prejudices and even blood---- + +"Glory," he said, "if you are ashamed of this life, believe me it is not +a right one." + +"Ashamed? Why should I be ashamed? Everybody is saying how proud I +should be." + +She spoke feverishly, and by a sudden impulse she plucked up the paper, +but as suddenly let it drop again, for, looking at his grave face, +her little fame seemed to shrivel up. "But give a dog a bad name +you know----You were there on Monday night. Did you see anything, +now--anything in the performance----" + +"I saw the audience, Glory; that was enough for me. It is impossible for +a girl to live long in an atmosphere like that and be a good woman. Yes, +my child, impossible' God forbid that I should sit in judgment on any +man, still less on any woman!--but the women of the music hall, do they +remain good women? Poor souls, they are placed in a position so false +that it would require extraordinary virtue not to become false along +with it! And the whiter the soul that is dragged through that--that +mire, the more the defilement. The audiences at such places don't want +the white soul, they don't want the good woman, they want the woman who +has tasted of the tree of good and evil. You can see it in their faces, +and hear it in their laughter, and measure it in their applause. Oh, I'm +only a priest, but I've seen these places all the world over, and I know +what I'm saying, and I know it's true and you know it's true, Glory----" + +Glory leaped up from the table and her eyes seemed to emit fire. "I know +it's hard and cruel and pitiless, and, since you were there on Monday +and saw how kind the audience was to _me_, it's personal and untrue as +well." + +But her voice broke and she sat down again and said in another tone: +"But, John, it's nearly a year, you know, since we saw each other last, +and isn't it a pity? Tell me, where are you living now? Have you made +your plans for the future? Oh, who do you think was with me just before +you called yesterday? Polly--Polly Love, you remember! She's grown stout +and plainer, poor thing, and I was so sorry----Her brother was in your +Brotherhood, wasn't he? Is he as strangely fond of her as ever? Is he? +Eh? Don't you understand? Polly's brother, I mean?" + +"He's dead, Glory. Yes, dead. He died a month ago. Poor boy, he died +broken-hearted! He had come to hear of his sister's trouble at the +hospital. I was to blame for that. He never looked up again." + +There was silence; both were gazing into the fire, and Glory's mouth +was quivering. All at once she said: "John--John Storm, why can't you +understand that it's not the same with me as with other women? There +seem to be two women in me always. After I left the hospital I went +through a good deal. Nobody will ever know how much I went through. But +even at the worst, somehow I seemed to enjoy and rejoice in everything. +Things happened that made me cry, but there was another me that was +laughing. And that's how it is with the life I am living now. It is not +I myself that go through this--this mire, as you call it, it's only my +other self, my lower self, if you like, but I am not touched by it at +all. Don't you see that? Don't you, now?" + +"There are professions which are a source of temptation, and talents +that are a snare, Glory----" + +"I see, I see what you mean. There are not many ways a woman can succeed +in--that's the cruelty of things. But there are a few, and I've chosen +the one I'm fit for. And now, now that I've escaped from all that +misery, that meanness, and have brought the eyes of London upon me, and +the world is full of smiles for me, and sunshine, and I am happy, you +come at last, you that I couldn't find when I wanted you so much--oh, +so much!--because you had forgotten me; you come to me out of a darkness +like the grave and tell me to give it all up. Yes, yes, yes, that's what +you mean--give it all up! Oh, it's cruel!" + +She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. He bent over her with a +sorrowful face and said, "My child, if I have come out of a darkness +as of the grave it is because I had _not_ forgotten you there, but was +thinking of you every day and hour." + +Her sobbing ceased, but the tears still flowed through her fingers. + +"Before that poor lad abandoned hope he came out into the world +too-stole out-thinking to find his lost one. I told him to look for you +first, and he went to the hospital." + +"I saw him." + +"You!" + +"It was on New Year's Eve. He passed me in the street." + +"Ah!--Well, he came back anyway, and said you were gone, and all trace +of you was lost. Did I forget you after that, Glory?" + +His husky voice broke off suddenly, and he rose with a look of +wretchedness. "You are right, there are two selves in you, and the +higher self is so pure, so strong, so unselfish, so noble--Oh, I am sure +of it, Glory! Only there's no one to speak to it, no one. I try, but I +can not." + +She was still crying behind her hands. + +"And meanwhile the lower self--there are only too many to speak to +_that_----" + +Her hands came down from her disordered face and she said, "I know whom +you mean." + +"I mean the world." + +"No, indeed, you mean Mr. Drake. But you are mistaken. Mr. Drake has +been a good friend to me, but he isn't anything else, and doesn't want +to be. Can't you see that when you think of me and talk of me as you +would of some other women you hurt me and degrade me, and I can not bear +it? You see I am crying again--goodness knows why. But I sha'n't give up +my profession. The idea of such a thing! It's ridiculous! Think of Glory +in a convent! One of the poor Clares perhaps!" + +"Hush!" + +"Or back in the island serving out sewing at a mothers' meeting! Give it +up! Indeed I won't!" + +"You shall and you must!" + +"Who'll make me?" + +"_I_ will!" + +Then she laughed out wildly, but stopped on the instant and looked up at +him with glistening eyes. An intense blush came over her face, and her +looks grew bright as his grew fierce. A moment afterward the waiting +maid, with an inquisitive expression, was clearing the table and keeping +a smile in reserve for "the lovers' quarrel!" + +Some of the Guardsmen were in the train going back, and at the next +station they changed to the carriage in which Glory and John were +sitting. Apparently they had dined before leaving their club at +Maidenhead, and they talked at Glory with covert smiles. "Going to the +Colosseum tonight?" said one. "If there's time," said another. "Oh, +time enough. The attraction doesn't begin till ten, don't you know, and +nobody goes before." "Tell me she's rippin'." "Good--deuced good." + +Glory was sitting with her back to the engine drumming lightly on the +window and looking out at the setting sun. At first she felt a certain +shame at the obvious references, but, piqued at John's silence, +she began to take pride in them, and shot glances at him from under +half-closed eyelids. John was sitting opposite with his arms folded. At +the talk of the men he felt his hands contract and his lips grow cold +with the feeling that Glory belonged to everybody now and was common +property. Once or twice he looked at them and became conscious of an +impression, which had floated about him since he left the Brotherhood, +that nearly every face he saw bore the hideous stamp of self-indulgence +and sensuality. + +But the noises of the train helped him not to hear, and he looked out +for London. It lay before them under a canopy of smoke, and now and then +a shaft from the setting sun lit up a glass roof and it glittered like a +sinister eye. Then there came from afar, over the creaking and groaning +of the wheels and the whistle of the engine, the deep, multitudinous +murmur of that distant sea. The mighty tide was rising and coming up +to meet them. Presently they were dashing into the midst of it, and +everything was drowned in the splash and roar. + +The Guardsmen, being on the platform side, alighted first, and on going +off they bowed to Glory with rather more than easy manners. A dash of +the devil prompted her to respond demonstratively, but John had +risen and was taking off his hat to the men, and they were going away +discomfited. Glory was proud of him--he was a man and a gentleman. + +He put her into a hansom under the lamps outside the station, and her +face was lit up, but she patted the dog and said: "You have vexed me and +you needn't come to see me again. I shall not sing properly this evening +or sleep tonight at all, if that is any satisfaction to you, so you +needn't trouble to inquire." + + * * * * * + +When he reached home Mrs. Callender told him of a shocking occurrence at +the fashionable wedding at All Saints' that morning. A young woman had +committed suicide during the ceremony, and it turned out to be the poor +girl who had been dismissed from the hospital. + +John Storm remembered Brother Paul. "I must bury her," he thought. + + + + +V. + +Glory sang that night with extraordinary vivacity and charm and was +called back again and again. Going home in the cab she tried to live +through the day afresh--every step, every act, every word, down to that +triumphant "_I_ will." Her thoughts swayed as with the swaying of the +hansom, but sometimes the thunderous applause of the audience broke in, +and then she had to remember where she had left off. She could feel that +beating against her breast still, and even smell the violets that grew +by the pool. He had told her to give up everything, and there was +an exquisite thrill in the thought that perhaps some day she would +annihilate herself and all her ambitions, and--who knows what then? + +This mood lasted until Monday morning, when she was sitting in her +room, dressing very slowly and smiling at herself in the glass, when the +Cockney maid came in with a newspaper which her master had sent up on +account of its long report of the wedding. + +"The Church of All Saints' was crowded by a fashionable congregation, +among whom were many notable persons in the world of politics and +society, including the father of the bridegroom, the Duke of ---- and +his brother, the Marquis of ----. An arch of palms crossed the nave at +the entrance to the chancel, and festoons of rare flowers were suspended +from the rails of the handsome screen. The altar and the table of the +commandments were almost obscured by the wreaths of exotics that hung +over them, and the columns of the colonnade, the font and offertory +boxes were similarly buried in rich and lovely blossom. + +"Thanks to an informal rehearsal some days before, the ceremony went off +without a hitch. The officiating clergy were the Venerable Archdeacon +Wealthy, D. D., assisted by the Rev. Josiah Golightly and other members +of the numerous staff of All Saints'. The service, which was fully +choral, was under the able direction of the well-known organist and +choirmaster, Mr. Carl Koenig, F. R. C. O., and the choir consisted +of twenty adult and forty boy voices. On the arrival of the bride a +procession was formed at the west entrance and proceeded up to the +chancel, singing 'The voice that breathed o'er Eden----" + +"Poor Polly!" thought Glory. + +"The bride wore a duchess satin gown trimmed with chiffon and Brussels +lace, and having a long train hung from the shoulders. Her tulle veil +was fastened with a ruby brooch and with sprays of orange blossom sent +specially from the Riviera, and her necklace consisted of a rope of +graduated pearls fully a yard long, and understood to have belonged to +the jewel case of Catharine of Russia. She carried a bouquet of flowers +(the gift of the bridegroom) brought from Florida, the American home +of her family. The bride's mother wore---- The bridesmaids were +dressed----Mr. Horatio Drake acted as best man----" + +Glory drew her breath as with a spasm and threw down the newspaper. How +blind she had been, how vain, how foolish! She had told John Storm that +Drake was only a good friend to her, meaning him to understand that thus +far she allowed him to go and no farther. But there was a whole realm of +his life into which he did not ask her to enter. The "notable persons in +politics and society," "the bridesmaids," these made up his real sphere, +his serious scene. Other women were his friends, companions, equals, +intimates, and when he stood in the eye of the world it was they who +stood beside him. And she? She was his hobby. He came to her in his off +hours. She filled up the under side of his life. + +With a crushing sense of humiliation she was folding up the newspaper +to send it downstairs when her eye was arrested by a paragraph in small +type in the corner. It was headed "Shocking occurrence at a fashionable +wedding." + +"Oh, good gracious!" she cried. A glance had shown her what it was. It +was a report of Polly's suicide. + +"At a fashionable wedding at a West-End church on Saturday" (no names) +"a young woman who had been sitting in the nave was seen to rise and +attempt to step into the aisle, as if with the intention of crushing +her way out, when she fell back in convulsions, and on being removed was +found to be dead. Happily, the attention of the congregation was at the +moment directed to the bride and bridegroom, who were returning from the +vestry with the bridal party behind them, and thus the painful incident +made no sensation among the crowded congregation. The body was removed +to the parish mortuary, and from subsequent inquiries it transpired that +death had been due to poison self-administered, and that the deceased +was Elizabeth Anne Love (twenty-four), of no occupation, but formerly a +nurse--a circumstance which had enabled her to procure half a grain of +liquor strychninae on her own signature at a chemist's where she had +been known." + +"O God! O God!" Glory understood everything now. "I've a great mind to +go to All Saints' and shame them--Oh, it isn't the police I'm afraid +of." Polly's purpose was clear. She had intended to fall dead at the +feet of the bride and bridegroom and make them walk over her body. +Poor, foolish, ineffectual Polly! Her very ghost must be ashamed of the +failure of her revenge. Not a ripple of sensation on Saturday, and this +morning only a few obscure lines in little letters! + +Oh, it was hideous! The poor thing's vengeance was theatrical and +paltry, but what of the man, wherever he was? What did he think of +himself now, with his millions and his murder? Yes, his murder, for what +else was it? + +An hour later Glory was ringing the bell of a little house in St. John's +Wood whereof the upper blinds were drawn. The grating of the garden door +slid back and an untidy head looked out. + +"Well, ma'am?" + +"Don't you remember me, Liza?" + +"Lawd, yus, miss!" and the door was opened immediately; "but I was +afeard you was one o' them reportin' people, and my orders is not to +answer no questions."' + +"Has _he_ been here, then?" + +"Blesh ye, no, miss! He's on 'is way to the Continents. But 'is friend +'as, and he's settled everything 'andsome--I will say that for the +gentleman." + +Glory felt her gall rising; there was something degrading, almost +disreputable, even in the loyalty of Drake's friendship. + +"Fancy Liza not knowing you, miss, and me at the moosic 'all a Tuesday +night! I 'ope you'll excuse the liberty, but I _did_ laugh, and I won't +say but I shed a few tears too. Arranged? Yes, the jury and the coroner +and every-think. It's to be at twelve o'clock, so you may think I've 'ad +my 'ands full. But you'll want to look at 'er, pore thing! Go up, miss, +and mind yer 'ead; there's nobody but 'er friends with 'er now." + +The friends proved to be Betty Belmont and her dressing-room companions. +When Glory entered they showed no surprise. "The pore child told us all +about you," said Betty; and the little one said: "It's your nyme that +caught on, dear. The minute I heard it I said what a top-line for a, +bill!" + +It was the same little bandbox of a bedroom, only now it was darkened +and Polly's troubles were over. There was a slightly convulsed look +about the mouth, but the features were otherwise calm and childlike, for +all the dead are innocent. + +The three women with demure faces were sipping Benedictine and talking +among themselves, and Polly's pug dog was coiled up on the bare bolster +and snoring audibly. + +"Pore thing! I don't know how she could 'a done it. But there, that's +the worst of this life! It's all in the present and leads to nothing +and ain't got no future." "What could the pore thing do? She wasn't so +wonderful pretty; and then men like----" "She was str'ight with him, say +what yer like. Only she ought to been more patienter, and she needn't 'a +been so hard on the lady, neither." "She had everything the heart could +wish. Look at her rooms! I wonder who'll----" + +Carriages were heard outside, and two or three men came in to do the +last offices. Glory had turned her face away, but behind her the women +were still talking. "Wait a minute, mister! ... What a lovely ring! ... +I wish I had a keepsake to remember her by." "Well, and why not? She +won't want----" + +Glory felt as if she was choking, but Polly's pug dog had been awakened +by the commotion and was beginning to howl, so she took up the little +mourner and carried it out. An organ-man somewhere near was playing +Sweet Marie. + +The funeral was at Kensal Green, and the four girls were the only +followers. The coroner's verdict being _felo-de-se_, the body was not +taken into the chapel, but a clergyman met it at the gate and led the +way to the grave. Walking with her head down and the dog under her arm, +Glory had not seen him at first, but when he began with the tremendous +words, "I am the resurrection and the life," she caught her breath and +looked up. It was John Storm. + +While they were in the carriage the clouds had been gathering, and now +some spots of rain were falling. When the bearers had laid down their +burden the spots were large and frequent, and all save one of the men +turned and went back to the shelter of the porch. The three women looked +at each other, and one of them muttered something about "the dead and +the living," and then the little lady stole away. After a moment the +tall one followed her, and from shame of being ashamed the third one +went off also. + +By this time the rain was falling in a sharp shower, and John Storm, who +was bareheaded, had opened his book and begun to read: "Forasmuch as it +hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the +soul of our dear sister here departed----" + +Then he saw that Glory was alone by the graveside, and his voice +faltered and almost failed him. It faltered again, and he halted when he +came to the "sure and certain hope," but after a moment it quivered and +filled out and seemed to say, "Which of us can sound the depths of God's +design?" After the "maimed rites" were over, John Storm went back to the +chapel to remove his surplice, and when he returned to the grave Glory +was gone. + +She sang as usual at the music hall that night, but with a heavy heart. +The difference communicated itself to the audience, and the unanimous +applause which had greeted her before frayed off at length into separate +hand-claps. Crossing the stage to her dressing-room she met Koenig, who +came to conduct for her, and he said: + +"Not quite yourself to-night, my dear, eh?" + +Going home in the hansom, Polly's dog coddled up with the old sympathy +to the new mistress, and seemed to be making the best of things. The +household was asleep, and Glory let herself in with a latch-key. Her +cold supper was laid ready, and a letter was lying under the turned-down +lamp. It was from her grandfather, and had been written after church on +Sunday night: + +"It is now so long--more than a year--since I saw my runaway and truant +that, notwithstanding the protests of Aunt Anna and the forebodings of +Aunt Rachel, I have determined to give my old legs a journey and my old +eyes a treat. Therefore take warning that I intend to come up to London +forthwith, that I may see the great city for the first time in my life, +and--which is better--my little granddaughter among all her new friends +and in the midst of her great prosperity." + +At the foot of this there was a postscript from Aunt Rachel, hastily +scrawled in pencil: + +"Take no notice of this. He is far too weak to travel, and indeed he +is really failing; but your letter, which reached us last night, has so +troubled him ever since that he can't take rest for thinking of it." + +It was the last straw. Before finishing the letter or taking off her +hat, Glory took up a telegraph form and wrote, "Postpone journey--am +returning home to-morrow." Then she heard Koenig letting himself into +the house, and going downstairs she said: + +"Will you take this message to the telegraph office for me, please?" + +"Vhy, of course I vill, and den ve'll have supper togeder--look!" and he +laughed and opened a paper and drew out a string of sausages. + +"Mr. Koenig," she said, "you were right. I was not myself to-night. I +want a rest, and I propose to take one." + +As Glory returned upstairs she heard stammerings, sputterings, and +swearings behind her about managers, engagements, announcements, +geniuses, children, and other matters. Back in her room she lay down on +the floor, with her face in her hands, and sobbed. Then Koenig appeared, +panting and saying: "Dere! I knew vhat vould happen! Here's a pretty +ting! And dat's vhy Mr. Drake told me to deny you to de man. De brute, +de beast, de dirty son of a monk!" + +But Glory had leaped up with eyes of fire, and was crying: "How dare +you, sir? Out of my room this instant!" + +"Mein Gott! It's a divil!" Koenig was muttering like a servant as he +went downstairs. He went out to the telegraph office and came back, and +then Glory heard him frying his sausages on the dining-room fire. + +The night was far gone when she pushed aside her untouched supper, +and, wiping her eyes, that she might see properly, sat down to write a +letter. + + +"Dear John Storm (monk, monster, or whatever it is!): I trust it will be +counted to me for righteousness that I am doing your bidding and giving +up my profession--for the present. + + "Between a woman's 'yes' and 'no' + There isn't room for a pin to go, + +which is very foolish of her in this instance, considering that she is +earning various pounds a night and has nothing but Providence to fall +back upon. I have told my jailer I must have my liberty, and, being a +man of like passions with yourself, he has been busy blaspheming in the +parlour downstairs. I trust virtue will be its own reward, for I dare +say it is all I shall ever get. If I were Narcissus I should fall in +love with myself to-day, having shown an obedience to tyranny which is +beautiful and worthy of the heroic age. But to-morrow morning I go back +to the 'oilan,' and it will be so nice up there without anybody and all +alone!" + +She was laughing softly to herself as she wrote, and catching her breath +with a little sob at intervals. + +"A letter now and then is profitable to the soul of man--and--woman; but +you must not expect to hear from _me_, and as for you, though you _have_ +resurrected yourself, I suppose a tyrant of your opinions will continue +the Benedictine rule which compels you to hold your peace--and other +things. I am engaged to breakfast with a nice girl named Glory Quayle +to-morrow morning--that is to say, _this_ morning--at Euston Station at +a quarter to seven, but happily this letter won't reach you until 7.30, +so I'll just escape interruption." + +The house was still and the streets were quiet, not even a cab going +along. + +"Good-bye! I've realized--a dog! It's a pug, and therefore, like +somebody else, it always looks black at me, though I suspect its father +married beneath him, for it talks a good deal, and evidently hasn't been +brought up in a Brotherhood. Therefore, being a 'female,' I intend to +call it Aunt Anna--except when the original is about. Aunt Anna has been +hopping up and down the room at my heels for the last hour, evidently +thinking that a rational woman would behave better if she went to bed. +Perhaps I shall take a leaf out of your book and 'comb her hair,' when +I get her all alone in the train to-morrow, that she may be prepared for +the new sphere to which it has pleased Providence to call her. + +"Good-bye again! I see the lamps of Euston running after each other, +only it's the _other_ way this time. I find there is something that +seizes you with a fiercer palpitation than coming _into_ a great and +wonderful city, and that is going out of one. Dear old London! After +all, it has been very good to me. No one, it seems to me, loves it as +much as I do. Only somebody thinks--well, never mind! Goodbye 'for all!' +Glory." + + +At seven next morning, on the platform at Euston, Glory was standing +with melancholy eyes at the door of a first-class compartment watching +the people sauntering up and down, talking in groups and hurrying to +and fro, when Drake stepped up to her. She did not ask what had brought +him--she knew. He looked fresh and handsome, and was faultlessly +dressed. + +"You are doing quite right, my dear," he said in a cheerful voice. +"Koenig telegraphed, and I came to see you off. Don't bother about +the theatre; leave everything to me. Take a rest after your great +excitement, and come back bright and well." + +The locomotive whistled and began to pant, the smoke rose to the roof, +the train started, and before Glory knew she was going she was gone. + +Then Drake walked to his club and wrote this postscript to a letter to +Lord Robert Ure, at the Grand Hotel, Paris: "The Parson has drawn first +blood, and Gloria has gone home!" + + + + +VI. + +On the Sunday evening after Glory's departure John Storm, with the +bloodhound running by his side, made his way to Soho in search of the +mother of Brother Andrew. He had come to a corner of a street where the +walls of an ugly brick church ran up a narrow court and turned into +a still narrower lane at the back. The church had been for some time +disused, and its facade was half covered with boardings and plastered +with placards: "Brighton and Back, 3_s_."; "_Lloyd's News_"; "Coals, +1_s_. a cwt."; and "Barclay's Sparkling Ales." + +There was a tumult in the court and lane. In the midst of a close-packed +ring of excited people, chiefly foreigners, shouting in half the +languages of Europe, a tall young Cockney, with bloated face and eyes +aflame with drink, was writhing and wrestling and cursing. Sometimes +he escaped from the grasp of the man who held him, and then he flung +himself against the closed door of a shop which stood opposite, with the +three balls of the pawnbroker suspended above it. Somebody within the +shop was howling for help. It was a woman's voice, and the louder she +screamed the more violent were the man's efforts to beat down the door +between them. + +As John Storm stood a moment looking on, some one on the street beside +him said, "It's a d---- shyme." It was a man with a feeble, ineffectual +face and the appearance of a waiter. Seeing he had been overheard, the +man stammered: "Beg parding, sir; but they may well say 'when the Devil +can't come hisself 'e sends 'is brother Drink.'" Having said this he +began to move along, but stopped suddenly on seeing what the clergyman +with the dog was doing. + +John Storm was pushing his way through the crowd, and his black +figure in that writhing ring of undersized foreigners looked big and +commanding. "What's this?" he was saying in a husky voice that rose +clear above the clamour. The shouting and swearing subsided, all save +the howling from the inside of the shop, and the tumult settled down in +a moment to mutterings and gnashings and a broken and irregular silence. + +Then somebody said, "It's nothink, sir." And somebody else said, "'Es +on'y drunk, and wantin' to pench 'is mother." Without listening to this +explanation John Storm had laid hold of the young man by the collar and +was dragging him, struggling and fuming, from the door. + +"What's going on?" he demanded. "Will nobody speak?" + +Then a poor swaggering imitation of a man came up out of the cellar of +a house that stood next to the disused church, and a comely young woman +carrying a baby followed close behind him. He had a gin bottle in his +hands, and with a wink he said: "A christenin'--that's what's going on. +'Ave a kepple o' pen'orth of 'ollands, old gel?" + +At this sally the crowd recovered its audacity and laughed, and the +drunken man began to say that he could "knock spots out of any bloomin' +parson, en' now bloomin' errer." + +But the young fellow with the gin bottle broke in again. "What's yer +gime, mister? Preach the gawspel? Give us trecks? This is my funeral, +down't ye know, and I'd jest like to hear." + +The little foreigners were enjoying the parson-baiting, and the drunken +man's courage was rising to fever heat. "I'll give 'im one-two between +the eyes if 'e touches me again." Then he flung himself on the pawnshop +like a battering ram, the howling inside, which had subsided, burst out +afresh, and finally the door was broken down. + +Half a minute afterward the crowd was making a wavering dance about +the two men. "Look out, ducky!" the young fellow shouted to John. The +warning came too late--John went reeling backward from a blow. + +"Now, my lads, who says next?" cried the drunken ruffian. But before the +words were out of his mouth there was a growl, a plunge, a snarl, and +he was full length on the street with the bloodhound's muzzle at his +throat. + +The crowd shrieked and began to fly. Only one person seemed to remain. +It was an elderly woman, with dry and straggling gray hair. She had come +out of the pawnshop and thrown herself on the dog in an effort to rescue +the man underneath, crying: "My son--oh, my son! It'll kill him! Tyke +the beast away!" + +John Storm called the dog off, and the man got up unhurt, and nearly +sober. But the woman continued to moan over the ruffian and to assail +John and his dog with bitter insults. "We want no truck with parsons +'ere," she shouted. + +"Stou thet, mother. It was my fault," said the sobered man, and then the +woman began to cry. At the next minute John Storm was going with mother +and son into the shut-up pawnshop, and the unhinged door was being +propped behind them. + +The crowd was trailing off when he came out again half an hour +afterward, and the only commotion remaining was caused by a belated +policeman asking, "Wot's bin the matter 'ere?" and by the young fellow +with the gin bottle performing a step-dance on the pavement before the +entrance to the cellar. The old woman stood at her door wiping her eyes +on her apron, and her son was behind with a face that was now red from +other causes than drink and rage. + +"Good-bye, Mrs. Pincher; I may see you again soon." + +Hearing this, the young swaggerer stopped his step-dancing and cried: +"What cheer, myte? Was it a blowter and a cup of cawfy?" + +"For shynie, Charlie!" cried the girl with a baby, and the young fellow +answered, "Shut yer 'ead, Aggie!" + +The waiter was still at the corner of the court, and when John came up +he spoke again. "There must be sem amoosement knockin' women abart, but +I can't see it myself." Then in a simple way he began to talk about +his "missis," and what a good creature she was, and finally announced +himself "gyme" to help a parson "as stood up to that there drunken +blowke for sake of a woman." + +"What's your name?" said John. + +"Jupe," said the man, and then something stirred in John's memory. + +On the following day John Storm dined with his uncle at Downing Street. +The Prime Minister was waiting in the library. In evening dress, with +his back to the fireplace and his hands enlaced behind him, he looked +even more thin and gaunt than before. He welcomed John with a few +familiar words and a smile. His smile was brief and difficult, like +that which drags across the face of an invalid. Dinner was announced +immediately, and the old man took the young one's arm and they passed +into the dining-room. + +The panelled chamber looked cold and cheerless. It was lighted by +a single lamp in the middle of the table. They took their seats at +opposite sides. The statesman's thin hair shone on his head like streaks +of silver. John exercised a strong physical influence upon him, and all +through the dinner his bleak face kept smiling. + +"I ought to apologize for having nobody to meet you, but I had something +to say--something to suggest--and I thought perhaps----" + +John interrupted with affectionate protestations, and a tremor passed +over the wrinkles about the old man's eyes. + +"It is a great happiness to me, my dear boy, that you have turned your +back on that Brotherhood, but I presume you intend to adhere to the +Church?" + +John intended to take priest's orders without delay, and then go on with +his work as a clergyman. + +"Just so, just so"--the long, tapering fingers drummed on the +table--"and I should like to do something to help you." + +Then sipping at his wine-glass of water, the Prime Minister, in his +slow, deep voice and official tone, began to detail his scheme. There +was a bishopric vacant. It was only a colonial one--the Bishopric of +Colombo. The income was small, no more than seventeen hundred pounds, +the work was not light, and there were fifty clergy. Then a colonial +bishopric was not usually a stepping-stone to preferment at home, yet +still---- + +John interrupted again. "You are most kind, uncle, but I am only looking +forward to living the life of a poor priest, out of sight of the world +and the Church." + +"Surely Colombo is sufficiently out of sight, my boy?" + +"But I see no necessity to leave London." + +The Prime Minister glanced at him steadily, with the concentrated +expression of a man who is accustomed to penetrate the thoughts and +feelings of another. + +"Why then--why did you----" + +"Why did I leave the monastery, uncle? Because I had come to see that +the monastic system was based on a faulty ideal of Christianity, which +had been tried for the greater part of nineteen hundred years and +failed. The theory of monasticism is that Christ died to redeem our +carnal nature, and all we have to do is to believe and pray. But it +is not enough that Christ died once. He must be dying always--every +day--and in every one of us. God is calling on us in this age to seek a +new social application of the Gospel, or, shall I say, to go back to the +old one?" + +"And that is----?" + +"To present Christ in practical life as the living Master and King and +example, and to apply Christianity to the life of our own time." + +The Prime Minister had not taken his eyes off him. "What does this +mean?" he had asked himself, but he only smiled his difficult smile +and began to talk lightly. If this creed applied to the individual it +applied also to the State; but think of a cabinet conducting the affairs +of a nation on the charming principle of "taking no thought for the +morrow," and "loving your enemies," and "turning the other cheek," and +"selling all and giving to the poor"! + +John stuck to his guns. If the Christian religion could not be the +ultimate authority to rule a Christian nation, it was only because we +lacked faith and trusted too much to mechanical laws made by statesmen +rather than to moral laws made by Christ. "Either the life of Christ, as +the highest standard and example, means something or it means nothing. +If something, let us try to follow it; but if nothing, then for God's +sake let us put it away as a cruel, delusive, and damnable mummery!" + +The Prime Minister continued to ask himself, "What is the key to this?" +and to look at John as he would have looked at a problem that had to be +solved, but he only went on smiling and talking lightly. It was true we +said a prayer and took an oath on the Bible in the Houses of Parliament, +but did anybody think for a moment that we intended to trust the nation +to the charming romanticism of the politics of Jesus? As for the Church, +it was founded on acts of Parliament, it was endowed and established by +the State, its head was the sovereign, its clergy were civil servants +who went to levees and hung on the edge of drawing-rooms and troubled +the knocker of No. 10 Downing-Street. And as for Christ's laws--in this +country they were interpreted by the Privy Council and were under +the direct control of a State department. Still, it was a harmless +superstition that we were a Christian nation. It helped to curb the +masses of the people, and if that was what John was thinking of---- + +The Prime Minister paused and stopped. + +"Tell me, my boy," touching John's arm, "do you intend yourself to +live--in short, the--well, after the example of the life of Christ?" + +"As far as my weak and vain and sinful nature will permit, uncle!" + +"And in what way would you propose to apply your new idea of +Christianity?" + +"My experiment would be made on a social basis, sir, and first of all in +relation to women." John was hot all over, and his face had flushed up +to the eyes. + +The Prime Minister glanced stealthily across the table, passed his thin +hand across his forehead, and thought, "So that's how it is!" But John +was deep in his theme and saw nothing. The present position of women was +intolerable. Upon the well-being of women, especially of working women, +the whole welfare of society rested. Yet what was their condition? Think +of it--their dependence on man, their temptations, their rewards, their +punishments! Three halfpence an hour was the average wage of a working +woman in England!--and that in the midst of riches, in the heart of +luxury, and with one easy and seductive means of escape from poverty +always open. Ruin lay in wait for them, and was beckoning them and +enticing them in the shape of dancing houses and music halls and rich +and selfish men. + +"Not one man in a million, sir, would come through such an ordeal +unharmed. And yet what do we do?--what does the Church do for these +brave creatures on whose virtue and heroism the welfare of the nation +depends? If they fall it cuts them off, and there is nothing before +them but the streets or crime or the Union or suicide. And meanwhile it +marries the men who have tempted them to the snug and sheltered darlings +for whose wealth or rank or beauty they have been pushed aside. Oh, +uncle, when I walk down Regent Street in the daytime I am angry, but +when I walk down Regent Street at night I am ashamed. And then to think +of the terrible solitude of London to working girls who want to live +pure lives--the terrible spiritual loneliness!" + +John's voice was breaking, but the Prime Minister had almost ceased to +hear. Thinking he had realized the truth at last, his own youth seemed +to be sitting before him and he felt a deep pity. + +"Coffee here or in the library, your lordship?" said the man at his +elbow. + +"The library," he answered, and taking John's arm again he returned to +the other room. There was a fire burning now, and a book lay under the +lamp on a little table, with a silver paper-cutter through the middle to +mark the page. + +"How you remind me of your mother sometimes, John! That was just like +her voice, do you know--just!" + +Two hours afterward he led John Storm down the long corridor to the +hall. His bleak face looked soft and his deep voice had a slight tremor. +"Good-night, my dear boy, and remember your money is always waiting for +you. Until your Christian social state is established you are only an +advocate of socialism, and may fairly use your own. If yours is the +Christianity of the first century it has to exist in the nineteenth, you +know. You can't live on air or fly without wings. I shall be curious to +see what approach, to the Christian ideal the condition of civilization +admits of. Yet I don't know what your religious friends and the humdrum +herd will think of you--mad probably, or at least weak and childish and +perhaps even a hunter after easy popularity. But good-night, and God +bless you in, your people's church and Devil's Acre!" + +John was flushed and excited. He had been talking of his plans, his +hopes, his expectations. God would provide for him in this as in +everything, and then God's priest ought to be God's poor. Meantime two +gentlemen in plush waited for him at the door. One handed him his hat, +the other his stick and gloves. + +Then with regular steps, and his hands behind him, the Prime Minister +paced back through the quiet corridors. Returning to the library, he +took up his book and tried to read. It was a novel, but he could not +attend to the incidents in other people's lives. From time to time he +said to himself: "Poor boy! Will he find her? Will he save her?" One +pathetic idea had fixed itself on his mind--John Storm's love of God was +love of a woman, and she was fallen and wrecked and lost. + +A fortnight later John wrote to Glory: + +"Fairly under weigh at last, dear Glory! Taken priest's orders, got the +Bishop's 'license to officiate,' and found myself a church. It is St. +Mary Magdalene's, Crown Street, Soho, a district that has borne for +three hundred years the name of the 'Devil's Acre,' bears it still, +and deserves it. The church is an old proprietary place, licensed, not +consecrated, formerly belonging to Greek, or Italian, or French, or some +other refugees, but long shut up and now much out of repair. Present +owners, a company of Greek merchants, removed from Soho to the City, and +being too poor (as trustees) to renovate the structure, they have forced +me to get money for that purpose from my uncle, the Prime Minister. But +the money is my own, apparently, my uncle having in my interest demanded +from my father ten thousand pounds out of my mother's dowry, and got it. +And now I am spending two thousand on the repair of my church buildings, +notwithstanding the protests of the Prime Minister, who calls me +'chaplain to the Greek-Turks,' and of Mrs. Callender, who has discovered +that I am a 'maudlin, sentimental, daft young spendthrift.' Dare say I +am all that and a good deal more, as the wise world counts wisdom--but +it matters little! + +"Have not waited for the workmen, though, to begin operations. Took +first services last Sunday. No organist, no choir, no clerk, and next to +no congregation. Just the church cleaner, a good, simple old soul +named Pincher, her son, a reformed drunkard and pawnbroker, and another +convert who is a club waiter. Nevertheless, I went through the whole +service, morning and evening, prayers, psalms, and sermon. God will be +the more glorified. + +"Have started my new crusade on behalf of women, too, and made various +processions of three persons through the streets of Soho. First, my +pawnbroker bearing the banner (a white cross, the object of various +missiles), next my waiter carrying a little harmonium, and familiarly +known as the 'organ man,' and finally myself in my cassock. Last +mentioned proves to be a highly popular performance, being generally +understood to be a man in a black petticoat. We have had a nightly +accompaniment of a much larger procession, though, calling themselves +'Skellingtons,' otherwise the 'Skeletons,' an army of low women and +roughs; who live vulture lives on this poor, soiled, grimy, forgotten +world. Thank God, the ground of evil-doers is in danger, and they know +it! + +"Behind my church, in a dark, unwholesome alley called. Crook Lane, we +have a clergy house, at present let out in tenements, the cellar being +occupied as a gin shop. As soon as these premises can be cleared of +their encumbrances I shall turn them into a club for working girls. Why +not? In the old days the Church came to the people: let it come to the +people now. Here we are in the midst of this mighty stronghold of +the devil's kingdom of sin and crime. Foreign clubs, casinos, dancing +academies, and gambling houses are round about us. What are we to +do? Put up a forest of props (as at the Abbey) and keep off touch and +contamination? God forbid! Let us go down into these dens of moral +disease and disinfect them. The poor working girls, of Soho want their +Sunday: give it them. They want music and singing: give it them. They +want dancing: give them that also, for God's sake, give it them in your +churches, or the devil will give it them in his hells! + +"Expect to be howled at of course. Some good people will think I am +either a fanatic or an artful schemer, while the clerical place-seekers, +who love the flesh-pots of Egypt and have their eyes on the thrones of +the Church and the world, will denounce my 'secularity' and tell me I +am feeding the 'miry troughs' of the publican and sinner. No matter, if +only God is pleased to vouchsafe 'signs following.' And one weary-faced +lonely girl, grown fresh of countenance and happy of mien, or one bright +little woman, snatched from the brink of perdition, will be a better +fruit, of religion than some of them have seen for many a year. + +"As soon as the workmen have cleared out I am going to establish a daily +service and keep the church open always. Still at Mrs. Callender's, you +see; but I am refusing all invitations, except as a priest, and already +I don't seem to, have time to draw my breath. No income connected with +St. Mary Magdalene's, or next to none, just enough to pay the caretaker; +but I must not complain of that, for it is the accident to which I owe +my church, nobody else wanting it under the circumstances. I had begun +to think my time in the monastery wasted, but God knew better. It will +help me to live the life of poverty, of purity, of freedom from the +world. + +"Love to the grandfather and the ladies. How I wish you were with me in +the thick of the fight! Sometimes I dream you are, too, and I fancy I +see you in the midst of these bright young things with their flowers and +feathers--they will make beautiful Christians yet! Oddly enough, on the +day you travelled to the island, every hour that took you farther away +seemed to bring you nearer. Greetings!" + + + + +VII. + +"Glenfaba,'the Oilan.' + +"Oh, gracious and grateful friend, at length you have remembered the +existence of the 'poor lone crittur' living in dead-alive land! Only +that I lack gall to make oppression bitter, I should of course return +your belated epistle by the Dead Letter Office, marked 'Unknown' across +your 'Dear Glory,' there being no longer anybody in these regions who +has a plausible claim to that dubious title. But, alas! I am not my own +woman now, and with tears of shame I acknowledge that _any_ letter from +London comes like an angel's whisper breathed to me through the air. + +"I dare say you have been unreasonable enough to think that I ought to +have written to tell you of my arrival; and knowing that man is born to +vanity as the sparks fly upward, I have more than once intended to take +pen in hand and write; but there is something so sleepy in this island +atmosphere that my good resolution has hitherto been a stillborn babe +that has breathed but never cried! + +"Know then that my journey hither was performed with due celerity and +no further disaster than befalls me when, as usual, I have _done_ those +things which I ought not to have done, and left _undone_ those things +which I ought to have done--the former in this instance having +reference to various bouts of crying--which drew forth the sympathy of +a compassionate female sharper in the train--and the latter to the +catch of my sachel, which enabled that obliging person to draw forth my +embroidered pocket-handkerchief in exchange. + +"I was in good time for the steamboat at Liverpool, and it was crowded, +according to its wont, with the Lancashire lads and lasses, in whom +affection is as contagious as the mumps. Being in the dumps myself on +sailing out of the river, and thinking of the wild excitement with which +I had sailed into it, I think I should have found that I had not _done_ +crying in both senses but for the interest of watching an amiable Bob +Brierley who, with his arm about the waist of the person sitting next to +him, kept looking round at the rest of the world from time to time with +the innocence of one whose left hand didn't know what his right hand was +doing. + +"But we had hardly crossed the bar when the prince of the powers of the +air began to envy the happiness of these dear young goodies, and if you +had seen the weather for the next four hours you would have agreed that +the devil must have had a hand in it! Up came a wave over the after +quarter and down went the passengers below decks, staggering and +screaming like brewery rats, and then on we came like the Israelites +out of Egypt on eagles' wings! Having lost my own sea legs a little I +thought it prudent to go down too, with my doggie tucked under my arm, +and finding a berth in the ladies' cabin, I fell asleep and didn't awake +until we were in the cross-current just off the island, when, amid +moans and groans and other noises, I heard the tearful voice of a sick +passenger asking, 'Is there any hope, stewardess?' + +"The train got to Peel as the sun was setting behind the grim old castle +walls, and when I saw the dear little town again I dropped half a tear, +and even felt an insane desire to run out to meet it. Grandfather was at +the station with old 'Caesar' and the pony carriage, and when I had done +kissing him and he had done panting and puffing and talking nonsense, as +if I had been Queen Victoria and the Empress of the French rolled into +one, I could have cried to see how small and feeble he had become since +I went away. We could not get off immediately, for in his simple joy at +my return he was hailing everybody and everybody was hailing him, +and the dear old Pharisee was sounding his trumpet so often in the +market-place, that he might have glory of men, that I thought we should +never get up to Glenfaba that night. When we did so at length the old +aunties were waiting at the gate, and then he broke into exclamations +again. 'Hasn't she grown tall? Look at her! Hasn't she, now?' Whereupon +the aunties took up their parable with, 'Well, well! Aw, well! Aw, well +now! Well, ye navar!' So that by the time I got through I had kissed +everybody a dozen times, and was as red over the eyes as a grouse. + +"Then we went into the house, and for the first five minutes I couldn't +tell what had come over the old place to make it look so small and +mean. It was just as if the walls of the rooms had been the bellows of +a concertina and somebody had suddenly shut them. But there was the long +clock clucking away on the landing, and there was Sir Thomas Traddles +purring on the hearth-rug, and there were the same plates on the +dresser, and the same map of Africa over the fireplace, with a spot of +red ink where my father died. + +"The moon was glistening on the sea when I went to bed that night, and +when I got up in the morning the sun was shining on it, and a crow cut +across my window cawing, and I heard grandfather humming to himself +on the path below. And after my long spell in London, and my railway +journey of the day before, it was the same as if I had fallen asleep in +a gale on the high seas and awakened in a quiet harbour somewhere. + +"So here I am, back at Glenfaba, in my old little room with my old +little bed, and everything exactly as it used to be; and I begin to +believe that when you went into that monastery you only just got the +start of me in being dead. There used to be a few people in this place, +but now there doesn't seem to be a dog left. All the youngsters have +'gone foreign,' and all the oldsters have gone to--'goodness knows +which.' Sometimes we hear the bleat of sheep on the mountains, and +sometimes the scream of seagulls overhead, and sometimes we hold a +convocation of all living rooks in the elms on the lawn. We take no +thought for the morrow, what we shall eat or what we shall put on, and +on Sundays when the church bell rings we go out, like the Israelites in +the wilderness, in clothes which wax not old after forty years. During +the rest of the week we watch the blue-bottles knocking their stupid +heads against the ceiling, and listen to the grasshoppers whispering +in the grass, and fall asleep to the hum of the bees, and awake to the +_hee-haw_ of old Neilus's 'canary.' [* Donkey] Such is the dead-alive +life we live at Glenfaba, and the days of our years are threescore years +and ten, and if.... Ohoy! (A yawn.) + +"I suppose it is basely ungrateful of me to talk like this, for the dear +place itself is lovely enough to disturb one's hope of paradise, and +this very morning is as fresh as the dew on the grass, with the larks +singing above, and the river singing below, and clouds like little curls +of foam hovering over the sea. And as for my three dear old dunces, +who love me so much more than I deserve, I am ashamed in my soul when I +overhear them planning good things for me to eat, and wild excitements +for me to revel in, that I may not be dull or miss the luxuries I am +accustomed to. 'Do you know I'm afraid Glory doesn't care so much for +pinjane after all,' I heard grandfather whispering to Aunt Anna one +morning, and half an hour afterward he was reproving Aunt Rachel for +pressing me too hard to serve at the soup kitchen. + +"They govern me like a child in pinafores, and of course like a child I +revenge myself by governing all the house. But, oh, dear! oh, dear! gone +are the days when I could live on water-gruel and be happy in a go-cart. +Yes, the change is in me, not in them or the old home, and what's the +good of putting back the clock when the sun is so stubbornly keeping +pace? I might be happy enough at Glenfaba still, if I could only bring +back the days when the garden trees were my gymnasium and I used to rock +myself and sing like a bird on a bough in the wind, or when I led a +band of boys to rob our own orchard--a bold deed, for which Bishop Anna +ofttimes launched at me and! all her suffragans her severest censure--it +was her slipper, I remember. But I can't run barefoot all day long on +the wet sand now, with the salt spray blowing in my face, and a young +lady of one-and-twenty seldom or never rushes out to play dumps and +baggy-mug in public with little girls of ten. + +"As a result, my former adventures are now limited to careering on +the back of little 'Caesar,' who has grown so ancient and fat that he +waddles like an old duck, and riding him is like working your passage. +So I confine myself to sitting on committees, and being sometimes sat +upon, and rubbing the runes for grandfather, and cleaning the milkpails +for Aunt Anna, and even such holy kill-times as going to church +regularly and watching Neilus when he is passing round the plate after +'Let your light so shine before men'--light to his practical intellect +being clearly a synonym for silver in the shape of threepenny bits! + +"But, oh my! oh my! I am a dark character in this place for all that +The dear old goodies have never yet said a syllable about my letter +announcing that I had gone over to the enemy (i. e., Satan and the music +hall), and there is a dead hush in the house as often as the wind of +conversation veers in that direction. This is nothing, though, to the +white awe in the air when visitors call and I am questioned how I +earn my living in London. I hardly know whether to laugh or cry at the +long-drawn breath of relief when I wriggle out of a tight place without +telling a lie. But you can't hide an eel in a sack, and I know the truth +will pop out one of these days. Only yesterday I went district-visiting +with Aunt Rachel, and one of the Balaams of life, who keeps a tavern +for fishermen, lured us into his bar parlour to look at a portrait of +'Gloria' which he had cut out of an illustrated paper and pinned up on +the wall 'because it resembled me so much!' Oh, dear! oh, dear! I could +have found it in my heart to brazen it out on the spot at this sight of +my evil fame; but when I saw poor little auntie watching me with fearful +eyes I talked away like a mill-wheel and went out thanking God that the +rest of the people of Peel were not as other men are, or even as this +publican. + +"I have been getting newspapers myself, though, sent by my friend Rosa; +and as long as the mis-reporters concerned themselves with my own +doings and failures to do, and lied as tenderly as an epitaph about my +disappearance from London, I cut them up and burned them. But when they +forgot me, and began to treat of other people's triumphs, I made Neilus +my waste-paper basket, on the understanding that the papers were to go +to the fishermen just home from Kinsale. Then from time to time he +told me they were 'goin' round, miss, goin' round,' and gave me other +assurances of 'the greatest circulation in the world,' which was true +enough certainly, though the old thief omitted to say it was at the +paper-mill, where they were being turned into pulp. + +"But, heigho! I don't need newspapers to remind me of London. Like St. +Paul, I have a devil that beats me with fists, and as often as a clear +day comes, and one can see things a long way off, he makes me climb to +the top of Slieu Whallin [* A mountain in Man.] that I may sit on the +beacon by the hour and strain my eyes for a glimpse of England, feeling +like Lot's wife when she looked back on her old home, and then coming +down with a heavy heart and a taste of tears in my mouth as if I had +been turned into a pillar of salt. Dear old London! But I suppose it is +going on its way just as it used to do, with its tides of traffic and +its crowds and carriages, and wandering merchants and hawkers crying +their wares, and everything the same as ever, just the same, although +Glory isn't there!" + + * * * * * + +"10.30 P. M.--I had to interrupt the writing of my letter this morning +owing to an alarm of illness seizing grandfather. He had been taken +with a sudden faintness. Of course we sent for the doctor, but before he +arrived the faintness had passed, so he looked wise at us, like a +prize riddle which had to be guessed before his next visit, left us +his autograph (a wonderful hieroglyphic), and went away. Since then +grandfather has been in the hands of a less taciturn practitioner, +whom he calls the 'flower of Glenfaba' (that's me), and after talking +nonsense to him all day and playing chess with him all the evening I +have to put him to bed laughing, and come back to my own room to finish +my letter with an easier mind. For the last half-hour the aurora has +been pulsing in the northern sky, and I have been thinking that the +glorious phantasmagoria must be the sign of a gale in heaven, just as +sleet and mist and black wind are the signs of a gale on earth. But +it has tripped off into nothingness and only the dark night is left, +through which the dogs at Knockaloe are keeping up their private +correspondence with the dogs at Ballamoar by the medium of their nightly +howls. + +"Oh, dear! Only 10.30! And to know that while we are going to bed by +country hours, with nearly everything still and dead around us, London +is just beginning to bestir itself! When I lie down and try to sleep I +shall see the wide squares, with their statues of somebody inside, and +the blaze of lights over the doors of the theatres, and all the tingling +life of the great and wonderful city. Ugh! It makes one feel like +one's own ghost wandering through the upper rooms and across the dark +landings, and hearing the strains of the music and the sounds of the +dancing from the ballroom below stairs! + +"But, my goodness! (I can still swear on that, you see, and not be +forsworn!) 'What's the odds if you're jolly?--and I allus is!' How's +your dog? Mine would write you a letter, only her heart is moribund, and +if things go on as they are going she must set about making her will. In +fact, she is now lying at the foot of my bed thinking matters out, and +bids me tell you that after various attempts to escape Home Rule, not +being (like her mistress) one of those natures made perfect through +suffering, she is only 'kept alive by the force of her own volition,' in +this house that is full of old maids and has nothing better in it than +one old cat, and he isn't worth hunting, being destitute of a tail. +Naturally she is doing her best (like somebody else) to keep herself +unspotted from that world which is a source of so much temptation, but +she's bound to confess that a little 'divilment' now and then would help +her to take a more holy and religious view of life. + +"I 'wish you happy' in your new enterprise; but if you are going in for +being the champion of woman in this world--of her wrongs--I warn you not +to be too pointed in your moral, for there is a story here of a handsome +young curate who was so particular in the pulpit with 'Lovest thou me' +that a lady followed him into the vestry and admitted that she did. +Soberly, it is a great and noble effort, and I've half a mind to love +you for it. If men want women to be good they _will_ be good, for women +dance to the tune that men like best, and always have done so since the +days of Adam--not forgetting that gentleman's temptation, nor yet his +excuse about 'the woman _Thou gavest_ me,' which shows he wasn't much of +a husband anyway, though certainly he hadn't much choice of a wife. + +"My love to dear old London! Sometimes I have half a mind to skip off +and do my wooing myself. Perhaps I should do so, only that Rosa writes +that she would like to come and spend her summer holiday in Peel. +Haven't I told you about Rosa? She's the lady journalist that Mr. Drake +introduced me to. + + "But let's to bed, + Said Sleepyhead. + +"Glory. + +"P.S.--IMPORTANT. Ever since I left London I have been tormented with +the recollection of poor Polly's baby. She put him out to nurse with the +Mrs. Jupe you heard of, and that person put him out to somebody else. +While the mother lived I had no business to interfere, but I can't help +thinking of the motherless mite now and wondering what has become of +him. I suppose that like Jeshurun he waxeth fat and kicketh by this +time, yet it would be the act of a man and a clergyman if anybody would +take up my neglected duty and make it his business to see that there is +somebody to love the poor child. Mrs. Jupe's address is 5a, The Little +Turnstile, going from Holborn into Lincoln's Inn Fields." + + + + +VIII. + +It was on a Saturday morning that John Storm received Glory's letter, +and on the evening of the same day he set out in search of Mrs. Jupe's. +The place was not easy to find, and when he discovered it at length he +felt a pang at the thought that Glory herself had lived in this dingy +burrowing. As he was going up to the door of the little tobacco shop a +raucous voice within was saying, "That's what's doo on the byeby, and +till you can py up you needn't be a-kemmin' 'ere no more." At the next +moment a young woman crossed him on the threshold. She was a little +slender thing, looking like a flower that has been broken by the wet. He +recognised her as the girl who had nursed the baby in Cook Lane on the +day of his first visit to Soho. She was crying, and to hide her swollen +eyes she dropped her head at passing, and he saw her faded ribbons and +soiled straw hat. + +A woman of middle age behind the counter was curtsying to his clerical +attire, and a little girl at the door of an inner room was looking at +him out of the corner of her eyes, with head aslant. + +"Father Storm, I think, sir. Come in and set you down, sir.--Mind the +shop, Booboo.--My 'usband 'as told me about ye, sir. 'You'll know 'im at +onct, Lidjer,' 'e sez, siz 'e.--No, 'e ain't 'ome from the club yet, but +'e might be a-kemmin' in any time now, sir." + +John Storm had seated himself in the little dark parlour, and was +looking round and thinking of Glory. "No matter; my business is with +you, Mrs. Jupe," he answered, and at that the twinkling eyes and fat +cheeks, which had been doing their best to smile, took on a look of +fear. + +"Wot's the metter?" she asked, and she closed the door to the shop. + +"Nothing, I trust, my good woman," and then he explained his errand. + +Mrs. Jupe listened attentively and seemed to be asking herself who had +sent him. + +"The poor young mother is dead now, as you may know, and----" + +"But the father ain't," said the woman sharply, "and, begging your +parding, sir, if 'e wants ter know where the byeby is 'e can come +'isself and not send sembody else!" + +"If the child is well, my good woman, and well cared for----" + +"It _is_ well keered for, and it's gorn to a pusson I can trust." + +"Then what have you got to conceal? Tell me where it is, and----" + +"Not me! If it's 'is child, and 'e wants it, let 'im py for it, and +interest ep ter dite. Them swells is too fond of gettin' parsons to pull +their chestnuts out o' the fire." + +"If you suppose I am here in the interests of the father, you are +mistaken, I do assure you." + +"Ow, you do, do yer?" + +Matters had reached this pass when the door opened and Mr. Jupe came in. +Off went his hat with a respectful salutation, but seeing the cloud on +his wife's face, he abridged his greeting. The woman's apron was at her +eyes in an instant. + +"Wot's gowin' on?" he asked. John Storm tried to explain, but the woman +contented herself with crying. + +"Well, it's like this, don'cher see, Father. My missis is that fond of +childring, and it brikes 'er 'eart----" + +Was the man a fool or a hypocrite? + +"Mr. Jupe," said John, rising, "I'm afraid your wife has been carrying +on an improper and illegal business." + +"Now stou thet, sir," said the man, wagging his head. "I respects the +Reverend Jawn Storm a good deal, but I respects Mrs. Lidjer Jupe a good +deal more, and when it comes to improper and illegal bizniss----" + +"Down't mind 'im, 'Enery," said the wife, now weeping audibly. + +"And down't you tyke on so, Lidjer," said the husband, and they looked +as if they were about to embrace. + +John Storm could stand no more. Going down the court he was thinking +with a pang of Glory--that she had lived months in the atmosphere of +that impostor--when somebody touched his arm in the darkness. It was the +girl. She was still crying. + +"I reckerlec' seeing you in Crook Lane, sir, the day we christened my +byeby, and I waited, thinking p'raps you could help me." + +"Come this way," said John, and walking by his side along the blank wall +of Lincoln's Inn Fields, the girl told her story. She lived in one +room of the clergy-house at the back of his church. Having to earn her +living, she had answered an advertisement in a Sunday paper, and Mrs. +Jupe had taken her baby to nurse. It was true she had given up all claim +to the child, but she could not help going to see it--the little one's +ways were so engaging. Then she found that Mrs. Jupe had let it out to +somebody else. Only for her "friend" she might never have heard of it +again. He had found it by accident at a house in Westminster. It was a +fearful place, where men went for gambling. The man who kept it had just +been released from eighteen months' imprisonment, and the wife had taken +to nursing while the husband was in prison. She was a frightful woman, +and he was a shocking man, and "they knocked the children about cruel." +The neighbours heard screams and slaps and moans, and they were always +crying "Shame!" She had wanted to take her own baby away, but the woman +would not give it up because there were three weeks' board owing, and +she could not pay. + +"Could you take me to this house, my child?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then come round to the church after service to-morrow night." + +The girl's tearful face glistened like April sunshine. + +"And will you help me to get my little girl? Oh, how good you are! +Everybody is saying what a Father it is that's come to----" She stopped, +then said quite soberly: "I'll get somebody to lend me a shawl to bring +'er 'ome in. People say they pawn everything, and perhaps the beautiful +white perlice I bought for 'er ... Oh, I'll never let 'er out of my +sight again, never!" + +"What is your name, my girl?" + +"Agatha Jones," the girl answered. + +It was nearly eleven o'clock on Sunday night before they were ready to +start on their errand. Meantime Aggie had done two turns at the foreign +clubs, and John Storm had led a procession through Crown Street and been +hit by a missile thrown by a "Skeleton," whom he declined to give in +charge. At the corner of the alley he stopped to ask Mrs. Pincher to +wait up for him, and the girl's large eyes caught sight of the patch of +plaster above his temple. + +"Are you sure you want to go, sir?" she said. + +"There's no time to lose," he answered. The bloodhound was with him; he +had sent home for it since the attempted riot. + +As they walked toward Westminster she told him where she had been, and +what money she had earned. It was ten shillings, and that would buy so +many things for baby. + +"To-morrow I'll get a cot for her--one of those wicker ones; iron is so +expensive. She'll want a pair o' socks too, and by-and-bye she'll 'ave +to be shortened." + +John Storm was thinking of Glory. He seemed to be retreading the steps +of her life in London. The dog kept close at his heels. + +"She'll 'a bin a month away now, a month to-morrow. I wonder if she's +grow'd much--I wonder! It's wrong of people letting their childring go +away from them. I'll never go out at nights again--not if I 'ave to tyke +in sewin' for the slop shops. See this?" laughing nervously and showing +a shawl that hung on her arm. "It's to bring 'er 'ome in--the nights is +so chill for a byeby." + +John's heart was heavy at sight of these little preparations, but the +young mother's face was radiant. + +As they went by the Abbey, under its forest of scaffolding, and, walking +toward Millbank, dipped into the slums, that lie in the shadow of the +dark prison, they passed soldiers from the neighbouring barracks going +arm-in-arm with girls, and this made Aggie talk of her "friend," and +cry a little, saying it was a week since she had seen him, and she was +afraid he must have 'listed. She knew he was rude to people sometimes, +and she asked pardon for him, but he wasn't such a bad boy, after all, +and he never knocked you about except when he was drinking. + +The house they were going to was in Angel Court, and having its door +only to the front, it was partly sheltered from observation. A group of +women with their aprons over their heads stood talking in whispers at +the corner. One of them recognised Aggie and asked if she had got her +child yet, whereupon John stopped and made some inquiries. The goings-on +at the house were scandalous. The men who went to it were the lowest of +the low, and there was scarcely one of them who hadn't "done time." The +man's name was Sharkey, and his wife was as bad as he was. She insured +the children at seven pounds apiece, and "Lawd love ye, sir, at that +price the poor things is worth more dead nor alive!" + +Aggie's face was becoming white, and she was touching John Storm's elbow +as if pleading with him to come away, but he asked further questions. +Yes, there were several children. A twelve-months' baby, a boy, was +fretful with his teething, and on Sunday nights, when the woman was +wanted downstairs, she just put the poor darling to bed and locked the +room. If you lived next door, you could hear his crying through the +wall. + +"Agatha," said John, as they stepped up to the door, "get us both into +this house as best you can, then leave the rest to me.--Don, lie close!" + +Aggie tapped at the door. A little slide in it was run back and a voice +said, "Who's there?" + +"Aggie," the girl answered. + +"Who's that with you?" + +"A friend of Charlie's," and then the door was opened. + +John crossed the threshold first, the dog followed him, the girl entered +last. When the door had closed behind them, the doorkeeper, a young man +holding a candle in his hand, was staring at John with his whole face +open. + +"Hush! Not a word!--Don, watch that man!" + +The young man looked at the dog and turned pale. + +"Where is Mrs. Sharkey?" + +"Downstairs, sir." + +There were sounds of men's voices from below, and from above there came +the convulsive sobs of a child, deadened as by a door between. + +"Give me your candle." + +The man gave it. + +"Don't speak or stir, or else----" + +John glanced at the dog, and the man trembled. + +"Come upstairs, child," and the girl followed him to the upper floor. + +On reaching the room in which the baby was crying they tried the door. +It was locked. John attempted to force it, but it would not yield. The +child's sobs were dying down to a sleepy moan. + +Another room stood open and they went in. It was the living-room. A +kettle on the fire was singing and puffing steam. There was no sign of +a key anywhere. Only a table, some chairs, a disordered sofa, certain +sporting newspapers lying about, and a few pictures on the walls. Some +of the pictures were of race-horses, but all the rest were memorial +cards, and one bore the text, "He shall gather them in his arms." Aggie +was shuddering as with cold, being chilled by some unknown fear. + +"We must go down to the cellar--there's no help for it," said John. + +The man in the hall had not spoken or stirred. He was still gazing in +terror on the bloodshot eyes looking out of the darkness. John gave the +candle to the girl and began to go noiselessly downstairs. There was +not a movement in the house now. Big Ben was striking. It was twelve +o'clock. + +At the next moment John Storm was midway down, and had full view of the +den. It was a washing cellar with a coal vault going out of it under the +street. Some fifteen or twenty men, chiefly foreigners, were gathered +about a large table covered with green baize, on which a small lamp was +burning. A few of the men were seated on chairs ranged about, the others +were standing at the back in rows two deep. They were gambling. The game +was faro. Rows of lucifer matches were laid on the table, half-crowns +were staked on them, and cards were cut and dealt. Except the banker, a +middle-aged man with the wild eye of the hard spirit-drinker, everybody +had his face turned away from the cellar stairs. + +They did not smoke or drink, and they only spoke to each other when the +stakes were being received or paid. Then they quarrelled and swore in +English. After that there was a chilling and hideous silence, as if +something awful were about to occur. The lamp cast a strong light on the +table, but the rest of the room was darkened by patches of shadow. + +The coal vault had been turned into a drinking-bar, and behind the +counter there was a well-stocked stillage. In the depths of its shade a +woman sat knitting. She had a gross red and white face, and in the arch +above her was the iron grid in the pavement. Somebody on the street +walked over it, causing a hollow sound as of soil falling on a coffin. + +John Storm was no coward, but a certain tremor passed over him on +finding himself in this subterranean lurking-place of men who were as +beasts. He stood a full minute unseen. Then he heard the woman say in +a low hiss, "Cat's mee-e-et!" and he knew he had been observed. The men +turned and looked at him, not suddenly, or all at once, but furtively, +cautiously, slowly. The banker crouched at the table with an astonished +face and tried to smuggle the cards out of sight. + +John stood calmly, his whole figure displaying courage and confidence. +The group of men broke up. "He's got the 'coppers,'" said one. Nobody +else spoke, and they began to melt away. They disappeared through a +door at the back which led into a yard, for, like rats, the human vermin +always have a second way out of their holes. + +In half a minute the cellar was nearly empty. Only the banker and the +woman and one young man remained. The young man was Charlie. + +"What cheer, myte?" he said with an air of unconcern. "Is it trecks ye +want, sir? Here ye are then," and he threw a pack of cards at John's +feet. + +"It's that gel o' yawn that's done this," said the woman. + +"So it's a got-up thing, is it?" said Charlie, and stepping to the +counter, he took up a drinking-glass, broke it at the rim; and holding +its jagged edges outward, turned to use it as a weapon. + +John Storm had not yet spoken, but a magnetic instinct warned him. He +whistled, and the dog bounded down. The young man threw his broken glass +on the floor and cried to the keeper of the house: "Don't stir, you! +First you know, the beast will be at yer throat!" + +Hearing Charlie's voice, Aggie was creeping down the stairs. "Charlie!" +she cried. Charlie threw open his coat, stuck his fingers in the +armholes of his waistcoat, said in a voice of hatred, passion, and rage, +"Go and pawn yourself!" and then swaggered out at the back door. The +keeper made show of following, but John Storm called on him to stop. The +man looked at the dog and obeyed. "Wot d'ye want o' me?" he said. + +"I want this girl's baby. That's the first thing I want. I'll tell you +the rest afterward." + +"Oh, that's it, is it?" The man's grimace was frightful. + +"It's gone, sir. We've lost it," said the woman, with a hideous +expression. + +"That story will not pass with me, my good woman. Go upstairs and unlock +the door! You too, my man, go on!" + +A minute later they were in a bedroom above. Three neglected children +lay asleep on bundles of rags. One of twelve months' old was in a wicker +cradle, one of three years was in a wooden cot, and a younger child was +in a bed. Aggie had come up behind, and stood by the door trembling and +weeping. + +"Now, my girl, find your baby," said John, and the young mother hurried +with eager eyes from the cradle to the cot and from the cot to the bed. + +"Yes, here it is," she cried. "No--oh no, no!" and she began to wring +her hands. + +"Told yer so," said the woman, and with a wicked grin she pointed to a +memorial card which hung on the wall. + +Aggie's child was dead and buried. Diarrhoea! The doctor at the +dispensary had given a certificate of death, and Charlie had shared the +insurance money. "Wish to Christ it was ended!" he had said. He had been +drunk ever since. + +The poor girl was stunned. She was no longer crying. "Oh, oh, oh! What +shall I do?" she said. + +"Who's child is this?" said John, standing over the wicker cradle. The +little sufferer from inflamed gums had sobbed itself to sleep. + +"A real laidy's," said the woman. "Mrs. Jupe told us to tyke great kear +of it. The father is Lord something." + +"My poor girl," said John, turning to Aggie, "could you carry this child +home for me?" + +"Oh, oh, oh!" said the girl, but she wrapped the shawl about the child +and lifted it up sleeping. + +"Now, you down't!" said the man, putting himself on guard before the +door. "That child is worth 'undrids of pounds to me, and----" + +"Stand back, you brute!" said John, and with the girl and her burden he +passed out of the house. + +The front door stood open and the neighbourhood had been raised. +Trollopy women in their under-petticoats and with their hair hanging +about their necks were gathered at the end of the court. Aggie was +crying again, and John pushed through the crowd without speaking. + +They went back by Broad Sanctuary, where a solitary policeman was pacing +to and fro on the echoing pavement. Big Ben was chiming the half-hour +after midnight. The child coughed like a sheep constantly, and Aggie +kept saying, "Oh, oh, oh!" + +Mrs. Pincher, in her widow's cap and white apron, was waiting up for +them, and John committed the child to her keeping. Then he said to +Aggie, who was turning away, "My poor child, you have suffered deeply, +but if you will leave this man I will help you to begin life again, and +if you want money I will find it." + +"Well, he _is_ a Father and no mistake!" said Mrs. Pincher; but the girl +only answered in a hopeless voice, "I don't want no money, and I don't +want to begin life again." + +As she crossed the court to her room in the tenement house they heard +her "Oh, oh, oh!" + + * * * * * + +Before going to bed that night John Storm wrote to Glory: + +"Hurrah! Have got poor Polly's baby, so you may set your heart at ease +about it. All the days of my life I have been thought to be a dreamer, +but it is surprising what a man can do when he sets to work for somebody +else! Your former landlady turns out to be the wife of my 'organ man,' +and it was pitiful to see the dear old simpleton's devotion to his bogus +little baggage. I have lost him, of course, but that was unavoidable. + +"It was by help of another victim that I traced the child at last. She +is a ballet girl of some sort, and it was as much as I could stand to +see the poor young thing carrying Polly's baby, her own being dead and +buried without a word said to her. Short of the grace of God she will +go to the bad now. Oh, when will the world see that in dealing with the +starved hearts of these poor fallen creatures God Almighty knows best +how to do his own business? Keep the child with the mother, foster the +maternal instinct, and you build up the best womanhood. Drag them apart, +and the child goes to the dogs and the mother to the devil. + +"But Polly's baby is safely lodged with Mrs. Pincher, a dear old +grandmotherly soul who will love it like her own, and all the way home I +have been making up my mind to start baby-farming myself on fresh lines. +He who wrongs the child commits a crime against the State. However low a +woman has fallen, she is a subject of the Crown, and if she is a +mother she is the Crown's creditor. These are my first principles, the +application will come anon. Meantime you have given me a new career, a +glorious mission! Thank God and Glory Quayle for it for ever and ever! +Then--who knows?--perhaps you will come back and take it up yourself +some day. When I think of the precious time I spent, in that monastery +... but no, only for that I should not be here. + +"Oh, life is wonderful! But I feel afraid that I shall wake up--perhaps +in the streets somewhere--and find I have been dreaming. Deeply grieved +to hear of the grandfather's attack. Trust it has passed. But if not, +certain I am that all is well with him and that he is staid only on God. + +"Hope you are well and plodding through this wilderness in comfort, +avoiding the thorns as well as you can. Glenfaba may be dull, but you do +well to keep out of the whirlpool of London for the present. Yours is a +snug spot, and when storms are blowing even the sea-gulls shelter about +your house, I remember ... But why Rosa? Is Peel the only place for a +summer holiday?" + + + + +IX. + +"Glenfaba. + +"Oh, my dear John Storm, is it coals of fire you are heaping on my head, +or fire of brimstone? Your last letter with its torrents of enthusiasm +came sweeping down on me like a flood. What work you are in the midst +of! What a life! What a purpose! While I--I am lying here like an old +slipper thrown up oil the sea-beach. Oh, the pity oft, the pity oft! +It must be glorious to be in the rush and swirl of all this splendid +effort, whatever comes of it! One's soul is thrilled, one's heart +expands! As for me, the garden of my mind is withering, and I am +consuming the seed I ought to sow. + +"Rosa has come. She has been here a month nearly, and is just charming, +say what you will. Her thoughts have the dash of the great world, and I +love to hear her talk. True, she troubles me sometimes, but that's +only my envy and malice and all uncharitableness. When she tells of +Betty-this and Ellen-that, and their wonderful successes and triumphs, +I'm the meanest sinner that crawls. + +"It's funny to see how the old folk bear themselves toward her. Aunt +Rachel regards her as a sort of an artist, and is clearly afraid +that she will break out into madness in spots somewhere. Aunt Anna +disapproves of her hair, which is brushed up like a man's, and of +her skirt, which 'would be no worse if it were less like a pair of +breeches,' for she has brought her 'bike.' She talks on dangerous +subjects also, and nobody did such things in auntie's young days. +Then she addresses the old girlies as I do, and calls grandfather +'G-rand-dad,' and like the witch of Endor generally, is possessed of a +familiar spirit. Of course I give her various warning looks from time to +time lest the fat should be in the fire, but she's a woman, bless her! +and it's as true as ever it was that a woman can keep the secret she +doesn't know. + +"Yes, the ideal of womanhood has changed since the old aunties were +young; but when I listen to Rosa and then look over at Rachel with her +black ringlets, and at Anna with her old-fashioned 'front,' I shudder +and ask myself, 'Why do I struggle?' What is the reward if one gives up +the fascination of life and the world? There is no reward. Nothing but +solitary old-maidism, unless two of you happen to be sisters, for who +else will join her shame to yours? Dreams, dreams, only dreams of the +dearest thing that ever comes into a woman's arms--and then you awake +and there is no one there. A dame's school, when the old father is +gone, but no children of your own to love you, nobody to think of you, +scraping a little here, pinching a little there, growing older and +smaller year by year, looking yellow and craned like an apple that has +been kept on the top shelf too long, and then--the end! + +"Oh, but I'm trying so hard, so very hard, to be 'true to the higher +self in me,' because somebody says I must. What do you think I did last +week? In my character of Lady Bountiful I gave an old folks' supper in +the soup kitchen, understood to be in honour of my return. Roast beef +and plum duff, not to speak of pipes and 'baccy, and forty old people of +both sexes sitting down to 'the do.' After supper there was a concert, +when Chaise (the fat old thief!) overflowed the 'elber' chair, and +alluded to me as 'our beautiful donor,' and lured me into singing +Mylecharaine, and leading the company, when we closed with the doxology. + +"But 'it was not myself at all, Molly dear, 'twas my shadow on the +wall,' and in any case man can't live by soup kitchens alone--nor woman +either. And knowing what a poor, weak, vain woman I am at the best, +I ask myself sometimes would it not be a thousand times better if I +yielded to my true nature instead of struggling to realize a bloodless +ideal that is not me in the least, but only my picture in the heart of +some one who thinks me so much better than I am? + +"Not that anybody ever sees what a hypocrite I can be, though I came +near to letting the cat out of the bag as lately as last night. You must +know that when I turned my back on London at the command of John Knox +the second, I brought all my beautiful dresses along with me, except +such of them as were left at the theatre. Yet I daren't lay them out in +the drawers, so I kept them under lock and key in my boxes. There +they lurked like evil spirits in ambush, and as often as their perfume +escaped into the room my eyes watered for another sight of them! But in +spite of all temptation I resisted, I conquered, I triumphed--until last +night when Rosa talked of Juliet, what a glorious creature she was, and +how there was nobody on the stage who could 'look' her and 'play' her +too! + +"What do you think I did? Shall I tell you? Yes, I will. I crept +upstairs to my quiet little room, tugged the box from its hiding-place +under the bed, drew out my dresses--my lovely, lovely brocades--and put +them on! Then I spoke the potion speech, beginning in a whisper, but +getting louder as I went on, and always looking at myself in the glass. +I had blown out the candle, and there was no light in the room but the +moon that was shining on my face, but I was glowing, my very soul was +afire, and when I came to the end I drew myself up with eyes closed +and head thrown back and heart that paused a beat or two, and said, +'_I_--_I_ am Juliet, for I am a great actress!' + +"Oh, oh, oh! I could scream with laughter to think of what happened +next! Suddenly I became aware of somebody knocking at my door (I +had locked it) and of a thin voice outside saying fretfully: 'Glory, +whatever is it? Aren't you well, Glory?' It was the little auntie; and +thinking what a shock she would have if I opened the door and she came +upon this grand Italian lady instead of poor little me, I had to laugh +and to make excuses while I smuggled off my gorgeous things and got back +into my plain ones! + +"It was a narrow squeak; but I had a narrower one some days before. Poor +grandfather! He regards Rosa as belonging to a superior race, and loves +to ask her what she thinks of Glory. He has grown quite simple lately, +and as soon as he thinks my back is turned he is always saying, 'And +what is your opinion of my granddaughter, Miss Macquarrie?' To which she +answers, 'Glory is going to make your name immortal, Mr. Quayle.' Then +his eyes sparkle and he says, 'Do you think so?--do you really think +so?' Whereupon she talks further balderdash, and the dear old darling +smiles a triumphant smile! + +"But I always notice that not long afterward his eyes look wet and his +head hangs low, and he is saying to the aunties, with a crack in his +voice: 'She'll go away again. You'll see she will. Her beauty and her +talents belong to the world.' And then I burst in on them and scold +them, and tell them not to talk nonsense. + +"Nevertheless he is beginning to regard Rosa with suspicion, as if she +were a witch luring me away, and one evening last week we had to steal +into the garden to talk that we might escape from his watchful eyes. The +sun had set--there was the red glow behind the castle across the sky +and the sea, and we were walking on the low path by the river under the +fuchsia hedge that hangs over from the lawn, you know. Rosa was talking +with her impetuous dash of the great career open to any one who could +win the world in London, how there were people enough to help her on, +rich men to find her opportunities, and even to take theatres for her if +need be. And I was hesitating and halting and stammering: 'Yes, yes, if +it were the _regular_ stage ... who knows? ... perhaps it might not +be opened to the same objections, ...' when suddenly the leaves of the +fuchsia rustled as with a gust of wind, and we heard footsteps on the +path above. + +"It was the grandfather, who had come out on Rachel's arm and overheard +what I had said! 'It's Glory!' he faltered, and then I heard him take +his snuff and blow his nose as if to cover his confusion, thinking I was +deceiving them and carrying on a secret intercourse. I hardly know what +happened next, except that for the five minutes following 'the great +actress' had to talk with the tongues of men and angels (Beelzebub's) in +order to throw dust in the dear old eyes and drive away their doubts. It +was a magnificent performance, 'you go bail.' I'll never do the like of +it again, though I had only one old man and one old maid and one +young woman for audience. The house 'rose' at me too, and the poor old +grandfather was appeased. But when we were back indoors I overheard +him saying: 'After all there's no help for it. She's dull with us--what +wonder! We can't cage our linnet, Rachel, and perhaps we shouldn't try. +A song-bird came to cheer us, but it will fly away. We are only old +folks, dear--it's no use crying.' And on going to his room that night he +closed his door and said his prayers in a whisper, that I might not hear +him when he sobbed. + +"He hasn't left his bed since. I fear he never will More than once I +have been on the point of telling him there is no reason to think the +deluge would come if I _did_, go back to London; but I will never leave +him now. Yet I wish Aunt Rachel wouldn't talk so much of the days when I +went away before. It seems that every night, on his way to his own room, +he used to step into my empty one and come out with his eyes dim and +his lips moving. I am not naturally hard-hearted, but I can't love +grandfather like that. Oh, the cruelty of life! ... I know it ought to +be the other way about; ... but I can't help it. + +"All the same I could cry to think how short life is, and how little +of it I can spare. 'Cling fast to me and hold me,' my heart is always +saying, but meantime London is calling to me, calling to me, like the +sea, and I feel as if I were a wandering mermaid and she were my ocean +home. + + * * * * * + +"Later.--Poor, poor grandfather! I was interrupted in the writing of my +letter this morning by another of those sudden alarms. He had fainted +again, and it is extraordinary how helpless the aunties are in a case of +illness. Grandfather knows it too; and after I had done all I could to +bring him round, he opened his eyes and whispered that he had something +to say to me alone. At that the poor old things left the room with tears +of woe and a look of understanding. Then fetching a difficult breath he +said, '_You_ are not afraid, Glory, are you?' and I answered him 'No,' +though my heart was trembling. And then a feeble smile struggled through +the wan features of his drawn face, and he told me his attack was only +another summons. 'I'll soon die for good,' he said, 'and you must be +strong and brave, my child, for death is the common lot, and then what +is there to fear?' I didn't try to contradict him--what was the good of +doing that? And after he had spoken of the coming time he talked quietly +of his past life, how he had weathered the storm for seventy odd years, +and his Almighty Father was bringing him into harbour at last. 'I can't +pray for life any longer, Glory. Many a time I did so in the old days +when I had to bring up my little granddaughter, but my task is over now, +and after the day is done where is the tired labourer who does not lie +down to his rest with a will?' + +"The doctor has been and gone. There is no ailment, and nothing to be +done or hoped. It is only a general failure and a sinking earthward of +the poor worn-out body as the soul rises to the heaven that is waiting +to receive it. What a pagan I feel beside him! And how glad I am that +I didn't talk of leaving him again when he was on the eve of his far +longer journey! I have sent the aunties to bed, but Rosa has made +me promise to awaken her at four, that she may take her turn at his +bedside. + + * * * * * + +"Next Morning.--Rosa relieved me during the night, and I came to my +room and lay down in the dullness of the dawn. But now I am sorry that +I allowed her to do so, for I did not sleep, and grandfather appears +to have been troubled with dreams. I fancied he shuddered a little as I +left them together, and more than once through the wall I heard him cry, +'Bring him back!' in the toneless voice of one who is labouring under +the terrors of a nightmare. But each time I heard Rosa comforting him, +so I lay down again without going in. + +"Being stronger this morning, he has been propped up in bed writing +a letter. When he called for the pens and paper I asked if I couldn't +write it for him, but the old darling made a great mystery of the +matter, and looked artful, and asked if it was usual to fight your enemy +with his own powder and shot. Of course I humoured him and pretended to +be mighty curious, though I think I know who the letter was written to, +all the same that he kept the address side of the envelope hidden even +when the front of it was being sealed. He sealed it with sealing-wax, +and I held the candle while he did so, with his poor trembling fingers +in danger from the light, and then I stamped it with my mother's pearl +ring, and he smuggled it under the pillow. + +"Since breakfast he has shown an increased inclination to doze, but +there have been visits from the wardens and from neighbouring parsons, +for a _locum tenens_ has had to be appointed. Of course, they have all +inquired where his pain is, and on being told that he has none, they +have gone downstairs cackling and clucking and crowing in various +versions of 'Praise God for that!' I hate people who are always singing +the doxology. + + * * * * * + +"Noon.--Condition unchanged, except that in the intervals of drowsiness +his mind has wandered a little. He appears to live in the past. Looking +at me with conscious eyes, he calls me 'Lancelot'--my father's name. +It has been so all the morning. One would think he was walking in a +twilight land where he mistakes people's faces and the dead are as much +alive as the living. + +"They all think I am brave, oh, so brave! because I do not cry now, as +everybody else does--even Aunt Anna behind her apron--although my tears +can flow so easily, and at other times I keep them constantly on +tap. But I am really afraid, and down at the bottom of my heart I am +terrified. It is just as if _something_ were coming into the house +slowly, irresistibly, awfully, and casting its shadow on the floor +already. + +"I have found out the cause of his outcries in the night. Aunt Rachel +says he was dreaming of my father's departure for Africa. That was +twenty-two years ago, but it seems that the memory of the last day has +troubled him a good deal lately. 'Don't you remember it?' he has been +saying. 'There were no railways in the island then, and we stood at the +gate to watch the coach that was taking him away. He sat on the top +and waved his red handkerchief. And when he had gone, and it was no use +watching, we turned back to the house--you and Anna and poor, pretty +young Elise. He never came back, and when Glory goes again she'll never +come back either.' + +"In the intervals of his semi-consciousness, when he mistakes me for +my father, my wonderful bravery often fails me, and I find excuses for +going out of the room. Then I creep noiselessly through the house and +listen at half-open doors. Just now I heard him talking quite rationally +to Rachel, but in a voice that seemed to speak inwardly, not outwardly, +as before. 'She can't help it, poor child!' he said. 'Some day she'll +know what it is, but not yet, not until she has a child of her own. The +race looks forward, not backward. God knew when he created us that the +world couldn't go on without that bit of cruelty, and who am I that I +should complain?' + +"I couldn't bear it any longer, and with a pain at my heart I ran in and +cried, 'I'll never leave you, grandfather.' But he only smiled and said, +'I'll not be keeping you long, Glory, I'll not be keeping you long,' and +then I could have died for shame. + + * * * * * + +"Evening.--All afternoon he has been like a child, and everything +present to his consciousness seems to have been reversed. The shadow of +eternity appears to have wiped out time. When I have raised him up in +bed he has delighted to think he was a little boy in his young mother's +arms. Oh, sweet dream! The old man with his furrowed forehead and +beautiful white head and all the heavy years rolled back! More than +once he has asked me if he may play till bedtime, and I have stroked his +wrinkled hands and told him 'Yes,' for I pretend to be his mother, who +died, when she was old. + +"But the 'part' is almost too much for me, and, lest I should break down +under the strain of it, I am going out of his room constantly. I have +just been into his study. It is as full as ever of his squeezes and +rubbings and plaster casts and dusty old runes. He has spent all his +life away back in the tenth century, and now he is going farther, +farther.... + +"Oh, I'm aweary, aweary! If anything happens to grandfather I shall soon +leave this place; there will be nothing to hold me here any longer, +and besides I could not bear the sight of these evidences of his gentle +presence, so simple, so touching. But what a vain thing London is with +all its vast ado--how little, how pitiful! + + * * * * * + +"Later.--It is all over! The curtain has fallen, and I am not crying. +If I did cry it would not be from grief, but because the end was so +beautiful, so glorious! It was at sunset, and the streamers of the sun +were coming horizontally into the room. He awoke from a long drowsiness, +and a serenity almost angelic overspread his face. I could see that he +was himself once again. Death had led him back through the long years +since he was a child, and he knew he was an old man and I a young woman. +'Have the boats gone yet?' he asked, meaning the herring boats that go +at sunset. I looked out and told him they were at the point of going. +'Let me see them sail,' he said, so I slipped my arms about him and +raised him until he was sitting up and could see down the length of the +harbour and past the castle to the sea. The reflection of the sunlight +was about his silvery old head, and over the damps and chills of death +it made a radiance on his face like a light from heaven. There was +hardly a breeze, and the boats were dropping down from their berths with +their brown sails half set. 'Ah,' he said, 'it's the other way with me, +Glory. I'm coming in, not going out. I've been beating to windward all +my life, but I see the harbour on my lee-bow at last as plainly as I +ever saw Peel, and now I'm only waiting for the top of the tide and the +master of the port to run up the flag!' + +"Then his head fell gently back on my arm and his lips changed colour, +but his eyes did not close, and over his saintly face there passed a +fleeting smile. Thus died a Christian gentleman--a simple, sunny, merry, +happy, childlike creature, and of such are the kingdom of heaven. + +"Glory." + + * * * * * + +_Parson Quayle's Letter._ + +"Dear John: Before this letter reaches you, or perhaps along with it, +you will receive the news that tells you what it is. I am 'in,' John; I +can say no more than that. The doctor tells me it may be now or then or +at any time. But I am looking for my enlargement soon, and whether it +comes to-morrow sunset or with to-day's next tide I leave myself in His +hands in whose hands we all are. Well has the wise man said, 'The day +of our death is better than the day of our birth, so with all good will, +and what legacy of strength old age has left to me, I send you my last +word and message. + +"My poor old daughters are sorely stricken, but Glory is still brave and +true, being, as she always was, a quivering bow of steel. People tell +me that the poor mother is strong in the girl, and the spirit of the +mother's race; but well I know the father's stalwart soul supports her; +and I pray God that when my dark hour comes her loving and courageous +arms may be around me. + +"That brings me to the object of my letter. This living will soon be +vacant, and I am wondering who will follow in my feeble steps. It is +a sweet spot, John! The old church does not look so ill when the sun +shines on it, and in the summer-time this old garden is full of fruit +and flowers. Did I ever tell you that Glory was born here? I never had +another grandchild, and we were great comrades from the first. She was a +wise and winsome little thing, and I was only an old child myself, so we +had many a run and romp in these grounds together. When I try to think +of the place without her it is a vain effort and a painful one; and even +while she was away in your great and wicked Babylon, with its dangers +and temptations, her little ghost seemed to lurk at the back of every +bush and tree, and sometimes it would leap out on me and laugh. + +"It is months since I saw your father, but they tell me he has lately +burned his bureau, making one vast bonfire of the gatherings of twenty +years. That is not such ill news either; and maybe, now the great ado +that worked such woe is put by and gone, he would rejoice to see you +back at home, and open his hungering arms to you. + +"But my eyes ache and my pen is shaking. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell! +An old man leaves you his blessing, John. God grant that in his own good +time we may meet in a blessed paradise, rejoicing in his gracious mercy, +and all our sins forgiven! + +"Adam Quayle." + + + + +X. + +Glory's letter and its inclosure fell on John Storm like rain in the +face of a man on horseback--he only whipped up and went faster. + +"How can I find words," he wrote, "to express what I feel at your +mournful news? Yet why mournful? His life's mission was fulfilled, his +death was a peaceful victory, and we ought to rejoice that he was so +easily released. I trust you will not mourn too heavily for him, or +allow his death to stop your life. It would not be right. No trouble +came near his stainless heart, no shadow of sin; his old age was a +peaceful day which lasted until sunset. He was a creature that had no +falsetto in a single fibre of his being, no shadow of affectation. He +kept like this through all our complicated existence in this artificial +world, absolutely unconscious of the hollowness and pretension and sham +that surrounded him--tolerant, too, and kind to all. Then why mourn for +him? He is gathered in--he is safe. + +"His letter was touching in its artful simplicity. It was intended to +ask me to apply for his living. But my duty is here, and London must +make the best of me. Yet more than ever now I feel my responsibility +with regard to yourself. The time is not ripe to advise you. I am on +the eve of a great effort. Many things have to be tried, many things +attempted. It is a gathering of manna--a little every day. To God's +keeping and protection meantime I commit you. Comfort your aunts, and +let me know if there is anything that can be done for them." + +The ink of this letter was hardly dry when John Storm was in the middle +of something else. He was in a continual fever now. Above all, his great +scheme for the rescue and redemption of women and children possessed +him. He called it Glory's scheme when he talked of it to himself. It +might be in the teeth of nineteenth-century morality, but what matter +about that? It was on the lines of Christ's teaching when he forgave the +woman and shamed the hypocrites. He would borrow for it, beg for it, and +there might be conditions under which he would steal for it too. + +Mrs. Callender shook her head. + +"I much misdoubt there'll be scandal, laddie. It's a woman's work, I'm +thinking." + +"'Be thou as chaste as ice,' auntie, 'as pure as snow' ... but no +matter! I intend to call out the full power of a united Church into the +warfare against this high wickedness. Talk of the union of Christendom! +If we are in earnest about it we'll unite to protect and liberate our +women." + +"But where's the siller to come frae, laddie?" + +"Anywhere--everywhere! Besides, I have a bank I can always draw on, +auntie." + +"You're no meaning the Prime Minister again, surely?" + +"I mean the King of Kings. God will provide for me, in this, as in +everything." + +Thus his reckless enthusiasm bore down everything, and at the back of +all his thoughts was the thought of Glory. He was preparing a way for +her; she was coming back to a great career, a glorious mission; her +bright soul would shine like a star; she would see that he had been +right, and faithful, and then--then----But it was like wine coursing +through his veins--he could not think of it. + +Three thousand pounds had to be found to buy or build homes with, and he +set out to beg for the money. His first call was at Mrs. Macrae's. Going +up to the house, he met the lady's poodle in a fawn-coloured wrap coming +out in charge of a footman for its daily walk round the square. + +He gave the name of "Father Storm," and after some minutes of waiting he +was told that the lady had a headache and was not receiving that day. + +"Say the nephew of the Prime Minister wishes to see her," said John. + +Before the footman had returned again there was the gentle rustle of a +dress on the stairs, and the lady herself was saying: "Dear Mr. Storm, +come up. My servants are real tiresome, they are always confusing +names." + +Time had told on her; she was looking elderly, and the wrinkles about +her eyes could no longer be smoothed out. But her "front" was curled, +and she was still saturated in perfume. + +"I heard of your return, dear Mr. Storm," she said, in the languid voice +of the great lady, but the accent of St. Louis, as she led the way +to the drawing-room. "My daughter told me about it. She was always +interested in your work, you know.... Oh, yes, quite well, and having +a real good time in Paris. Of course, you know she has been married. A +great loss to me naturally, but being God's will I felt it was my +duty as a mother----" and then a pathetic description of her maternal +sentiments, consoled by the circumstance that her son-in-law belonged +to "one of the best families," and that she was constantly getting +newspapers from "the other side" containing full accounts of the wedding +and of the dresses that were worn at it. + +John twirled his hat in his hand and listened. + +"And what are your dear devoted people doing down there in Soho?" + +Then John told of his work for working girls, and the great lady +pretended to be deeply interested. "Why, they'll soon be better than the +upper classes," she said. + +John thought it was not improbable, but he went on to tell of his +scheme, and how small was the sum required for its execution. + +"Only three thousand! That ought to be easily fixed up. Why, certainly!" + +"Charity is the salt of riches, madam, and if rich people would remember +that their wealth is a trust----" + +"I do--I always do. 'Lay not up for yourselves treasure on earth'--what +a beautiful text _that_ is!" + +"I'm glad to hear you say so, madam. So many Christian people allow that +God is the God of the widow and fatherless, while the gods they really +worship are the gods of silver and gold." + +"But I love the dear children, and I like to go to the institution to +see them in their nice white pinafores making their curtsies. But what +you say is real true, Mr. Storm; and since I came from Sent Louis I've +seen considerable people who are that silly about cats----" and then a +long story of the folly of a lady friend who once had a pet Persian, but +it died, and she wore crape for it, and you could never mention a cat in +her hearing afterward. + +At that moment the poodle came back from its walk, and the lady called +it to her, fondled it affectionately, said it was a present from +her poor dear husband, and launched into an account of her anxieties +respecting it, being delicate and liable to colds, notwithstanding the +trousseau (it was a lady poodle) which the fashionable dog tailor in +Regent Street had provided for it. + +John got up to take his leave. "May I then count on your kind support on +behalf of our poor women and children of Soho?" + +"Ah, of course, that matter--well, you see the Archdeacon kindly comes +to talk 'City' with me--in fact, I'm expecting him to-day--and I never +do anything without asking his advice, never, in my present state of +health--I have a weak heart, you know," with her head aside and her +saturated pocket-handkerchief at her nose. "But has the Prime Minister +done anything?" + +"He has advanced me two thousand pounds." + +"Really?" rising and kicking back her train. "Well, as I say, we ought +to fix it right away. Why not hold a meeting in my drawing-room? All +denominations, you say? I don't mind--not in a cause like that," and +she glanced round her room as if thinking it was always possible to +disinfect it afterward. + +Somebody was coughing loudly in the hall as John stepped downstairs. It +was the Archdeacon coming in. "Ah," he exclaimed, with a flourish of the +hand, greeting John as if they had parted yesterday and on the best of +terms. Yes, there _had_ been changes, and he was promoted to a sphere of +higher usefulness. True, his good friends had looked for something still +higher, but it was the premier archdeaconry at all events, and in the +Church, as in life generally, the spirit of compromise ruled everything. +He asked what John was doing, and on being told he said, with a somewhat +more worldly air, "Be careful, my dear Storm, don't encourage vice. For +my part, I am tired of the 'fallen sister.' To tell you the truth, I +deny the name. The painted Jezebel of the Piccadilly pavement is no +sister of mine." + +"We don't choose our relations, Archdeacon," said John. "If God is our +Father, then all men are our brothers, and all women are our sisters +whether we like it or not." + +"Ah! The same man still, I see. But we will not quarrel about words. +Seen the dear Prime Minister lately? Not _very_ lately? Ah, well"--with +a superior smile--"the air of Downing Street--it's so bad for the +memory, they say," and coughing loudly again, he stepped upstairs. + +John Storm went home that day light-handed but with a heavy heart. + +"Begging is an ill trade on a fast day, laddie," said Mrs. Callender. +"Sit you down and tak' some dinner." + +"How dare these people pray, 'Our Father which art in heaven?' It's +blasphemy! It's deceit!" + +"Aye, and they would deceive God about their dividends if he couldn't +see into their safes." + +"Their money is the meanest thing Heaven gives them. If I asked them for +their health or their happiness, Lord God, what would they say?" + +On the Sunday night following John Storm preached to an overflowing +congregation from the text, "This people draweth nigh unto me with their +mouth and honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me." + +But a few weeks afterward his face was bright and his voice was cheery, +and he was writing another letter to Glory: + + +"In full swing at last, Glory. To carry out my new idea I had to get +three thousand pounds more of my mother's money from my uncle. He gave +it up cheerfully, only saying he was curious to see what approach to +the Christian ideal the situation of civilization permitted. But Mrs. +Callender is _dour_, and every time I spend sixpence of my own money on +the Church she utters withering sarcasms about being only a 'daft auld +woman hersel',' and then I have to caress and coax her. + +"The newspapers were facetious about my 'Baby Houses' until they scented +the Prime Minister at the back of them, and now they call them the +'Storm Shelters,' and christen my nightly processions 'The White-cross +Army.' Even the Archdeacon has begun to tell the world how he 'took an +interest' in me from the first and gave me my title. I met him again the +other day at a rich woman's house, where we had only one little spar, +and yesterday he wrote urging me to 'organize my great effort,' and have +a public dinner in honour of its inauguration. I did not think God's +work could be well done by people dining in herds and drinking bottles +of champagne, but I showed no malice. In fact, I agreed to hold a +meeting in the lady's drawing-room, to which clergymen, laymen, and +members of all denominations are being invited, for this is a cause that +rises above all differences of dogma, and I intend to try what can be +done toward a union of Christendom on a social basis. Mrs. Callender is +dour on that subject too, reminding me that where the carcass is there +will the eagles be gathered together. The Archdeacon thinks we must have +the meeting before the twelfth of August, or not until after the middle +of September, and Mrs. Callender understands this to mean that 'the Holy +Ghost always goes to sleep in the grouse season.' + +"Meantime my Girls' Club goes like a forest fire. We are in our +renovated clergy-house at last, and have everything comfortable. Two +hundred members already, chiefly dressmakers and tailors, and girls +out of the jam and match factories. The bright, merry young things, +rejoicing in their brief blossoming time between girlhood and womanhood. +I love to be among them and to look at their glistening eyes! Mrs. +Callender blows withering blasts on this head also, saying it is +no place for a 'laddie,' whereupon I lie low and think much but say +nothing. + +"Our great night is Sunday night after service. Yes, indeed, Sunday! +That's just when the devil's houses are all open round about us, and why +should God's house be shut up? It is all very well for the people who +have only one Sabbath in the week to keep it wholly holy--I have seven, +being a follower of Jesus, not of Moses. But the rector of the parish +has begun to complain of my 'intrusion,' and to tell the Bishop I ought +to be 'mended or ended.' It seems that my 'doings' are 'indecent and +unnecessary,' and my sermons are 'a violation of all the sanctities, +all the modesties of existence.' Poor dumb dog, teaching the Gospel of +Don't! The world has never been reformed by 'resignation' to the evils +of life, or converted by 'silence' either. + +"How I wish you were here, in the midst of it all! And--who +knows?--perhaps you will be some day yet. Do not trouble to answer +this--I will write again soon, and may then have something practical to +say to you. _Au revoir!_" + + + + +XI. + +On the day of the drawing-room meeting a large company gathered in +the hall at Belgrave Square. Lady Robert Ure, back from the honeymoon, +received the guests for her mother, whose weak heart and a headache kept +her upstairs. Her husband stood aside, chewing the end of his mustache +and looking through his eyeglass with a gleam of amused interest in his +glittering eye. There were many ladies, all fashionably dressed, and +one of them wore a seagull's wing in her hat, with part of the root left +visible and painted red to show that it had been torn out of the living +bird. The men were nearly all clergymen, and the cut of their cloth and +the fashions of their ties indicated the various complexions of their +creeds. They glanced at each other with looks of embarrassment, and Mrs. +Callender, who came in like a breeze off a Scottish moor, said audibly +that she had never seen "sae many craws on one tree before." The +Archdeacon was there with his head up, talking loudly to Lady Robert. +She stood motionless in her place, never turning her head toward John +Storm, though it was plain that she was looking at him constantly. More +than once he caught an expression of pain in her face, and felt pity for +her as one of the brides who had acted the lie of marrying without love. +But his spirits were high. He welcomed everybody, and even bantered Mrs. +Callender when she told him she "objected to the hale thing," and said, +"Weel, weel, wait a wee." + +The Archdeacon gave the signal and led the way with Lady Robert to the +drawing-room, where Mrs. Macrae, redolent of perfume, was reclining on +a sofa with the "lady poodle" by her side. As soon as the company were +seated the Archdeacon rose and coughed loudly. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we have no assurance of a blessing +except 'Ask and ye shall receive.' Therefore, before we go further, +it is our duty, as brethren of a common family in Christ, to ask the +blessing of Almighty God on this enterprise." + +There was a subdued rustle of drooping hats and bonnets, when suddenly a +thin voice was heard to say, "Mr. Archdeacon, may I inquire first who is +to ask the blessing?" + +"I thought of doing so myself," said the Archdeacon with a meek smile. + +"In that case, as a Unitarian, I must object to an invocation in which I +do not believe." + +There was a half-suppressed titter from the wall at the back, where Lord +Robert Ure was standing with his face screwed up to his eyeglass. + +"Well, if the name of our Lord is a stumbling block to our Unitarian, +brother, no doubt the prayer in this instance would be acceptable +without the customary Christian benediction." + +"That's just like you," said a large man near the door, with whiskers +all round his face. "You've been trimming all your life, and now you are +going to trim away the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." + +"If our Low-Church brother thinks he can do better----" + +But John Storm intervened. He had looked icy cold, though the twitching +of his lower lip showed that he was red hot within. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a quavering voice, "I apologize for +bringing you together. I thought if we were in earnest about the union +of Christendom we might at least unite in the real contest with evil. +But I find it is a dream; we have only been trifling with ourselves, and +there is not one of us who wants the union of Christendom, except on the +condition that his rod shall be like Aaron's rod which swallowed up all +the rest. It was a mistake, and I beg your pardon." + +"Yes, sir," said the Archdeacon, "it _was_ a mistake; and if you had +taken my advice from the first, and asked the blessing of God through +good High Churchmen alone----" + +"God doesn't wait for any asking," said John, now flushing up to +the eyes. "He gives freely to High Churchmen, Low Churchmen, and No +Churchmen alike." + +"If that is your opinion, sir, you are no better than some of your +friends, and for my part I will never darken your door again!" + +"_Darken_ is a good word for it, Archdeacon," said John, and with that +the company broke up. + +Mrs. Macrae looked like a thunder-cloud as John bowed to her on passing +out, but Mrs. Callender cried out in a jubilant voice, "Be skipper +of your ain ship, laddie!" and added (being two yards behind the +Archdeacon's broad back going down the stairs), "If some folks are to +be inheritors of the kingdom of heaven there'll be a michty crush at the +pearly gates, I'm thinking!" + +John Storm went back to Soho with a heavy heart. Going up Victoria +Street he passed a crowd of ragged people who were ploughing their way +through the carriages. Two constables were taking a man and woman to the +police court in Rochester Row. The prisoners were Sharkey, the keeper of +the gambling house, and his wife the baby-farmer. + +But within a week John Storm, in greater spirits than ever, was writing +to Glory again: + +"The Archdeacon has deserted me, but no matter! My uncle has advanced +me another thousand of my mother's money, so the crusade is +_self_-supporting in one sense at all events. What a fool I am! Ask Aunt +Anna her opinion of me, or say old Chalse or the village natural--but +never mind! Folly and wisdom are relative terms, and I don't envy the +world its narrow ideas of either. You would be amused to see how the +women of the West End are taking up the movement--Lady Robert Ure among +the rest! They have banded themselves into a Sisterhood, and christened +our clergy-house a 'Settlement.' One of my Greek owners came in the +other evening to see the alterations. His eyes glistened at the change, +and he asked leave to bring a friend. I trust you are well and settling +things comfortably, and that Miss Macquarrie has gone. It is raining +through a colander here, but I have no time to think of depressing +weather. Sometimes when I cross our great squares, where the birds sing +among the yellowing leaves, my mind goes off to your sweet home in the +sunshine; and when I drop into the dark alleys and lanes, where the +pale-faced children play in their poverty and rags, I think of a day +that is coming, and, God willing, is now so near, when a ministering +angel of tenderness and strength will be passing through them like a +gleam. But I am more than ever sure that you do well to avoid for the +present the pompous joys of life in London, where for one happy being +there are a thousand pretenders to happiness." + +On the Sunday night following, Crook Lane, outside the clergy-house, was +almost blocked with noisy people of both sexes. They were a detachment +of the "Skeletons," and the talk among them was of the trial of the +Sharkeys, which had taken place the day before. "They've 'ed six +menths," said one. "And it's all along o' minjee parsons," said another; +and Charlie Wilkes, who had a certain reputation for humour, did a +step-dance and sang some doggerel beginning-- + + Father Storm is a werry good man, + 'E does you all the 'arm 'e can. + +Through this crowd two gentlemen pushed their way to the clergy-house, +which was brilliantly lit up. One of them was the Greek owner, the other +was Lord Robert Ure. Entering a large room on the ground floor, they +first came upon John Storm, in cassock and biretta, standing at the door +and shaking hands with everybody who came in and went out. He betrayed +no surprise, but greeted them respectfully and then passed them on. +Every moment of his time was occupied. The room was full of the young +girls of the district, with here and there a Sister out of another +world entirely. Some were reading, some conversing, some laughing, some +playing a piano, and some singing. Their voices filled the air like the +chirping of birds, and their faces were bright and happy. "Good-evening, +Father," they said on entering, and "Good-night, Father," as they went +away. + +The two men stood some minutes and looked round the room. It was +observed that Lord Robert did not remove his hat. He kept chewing the +end of a broken cigarette, whereof the other end hung down his chin. One +of the Sisters heard him say, "It will do with a little alteration, I +think." Then he went off alone, and the Greek owner stepped up to John +Storm. + +It was not at first that John could attend to him, and when he was able +to do so he began to rattle on about his own affairs. "See," he said +with a delighted smile and a wave of the arm, "see how crowded we are! +We'll have to think of taking in the next door soon." + +"Father Storm," said the Greek, "I have something serious to say, though +the official notification will of course reach you by another channel." + +John's face darkened as a ripe cornfield does when the sun dies away +from it. + +"I am sorry to tell you that the trustees, having had a favourable offer +for this property----" + +"Well?" His great staring eyes had stopped the man. + +"----have decided to sell." + +"_Sell_? Did you say se----? To whom? What?" + +"To tell you the truth, to the syndicate of a music hall." + +John staggered back, breathing audibly. "Now if a man had to believe +that--Do you know if I thought such a thing _could_ happen----" + +"I'm sorry you take the matter so seriously, Father Storm. It's true +you've spent money on the property, but, believe me, the trustees will +derive no profit----" + +"Profit? Money? Do you suppose I'm thinking of that, and not of +the desecration, the outrage, the horror? But who are they? Is that +man--Lord----" + +The Greek had nodded his head, and John flung open the door. "Out of +this! Out of it, you Judas!" And almost before the Greek had crossed the +threshold the door was banged at his back. + +The incident had been observed, and there was dead silence in the +club-room, but John only cried, "Let's sing something, girls," and when +a Sister struck up his favourite Nazareth there was no voice so loud as +his. + +But he had realized everything. "Gloria" was coming back, and the work +of months was overthrown! + +When he was going home groups of the girls were talking in whispers in +the hall, and Mrs. Pincher, who was wiping her eyes at the door, said, +"I wonder you don't drown yourself--I do!" + +At the corner of the lane Mr. Jupe was waiting for him to beg his pardon +and to ask his advice. What he had said of Mrs. Jupe had turned out to +be true. The Sharkeys had "split" on her and she had been arrested. "It +was all in the evenin' pipers last night," the weak creature whimpered, +"and to-day my manager told me I 'ad best look out for another place. +Oh, my poor Lidjer! What am I to do?" + +"Do? Cut her off like a rotten bough!" said John scornfully, and with +that he strode down the street. The human sea roared around him, and +he felt as if he wanted to fling himself into the midst of it and be +swallowed up. + +On reaching Victoria Square he told Mrs. Callender the news--flung it +out at her with a sort of triumphant shout. His church had been sold +over his head, and being only "Chaplain to the Greek-Turks," he was to +be turned into the streets. Then he laughed wildly, and by some devilish +impulse began to abuse Glory. "The next chaplain is to be a girl," he +cried, "one of those creatures who throw kisses at gaping crowds and +sweep curtsies for their dirty crusts." + +But all at once he turned white as a ghost and sat down trembling. Mrs. +Callender's face was twitching, and to prevent herself from crying +she burst into scorching satire. "There!" she said, sitting in her +rocking-chair and rocking herself furiously, "I ken'd weel what it would +come til! Adversity mak's a man wise, they say, if it doesna mak' him +rich. But it's the Prime Minister I blame for this. The auld dolt! he +must be fallen to his dotage. It's enough to mak' a reasonable body go +out of her mind to think of sic wise asses. I told you what to expect, +but you were always miscalling me for a suspicious auld woman. Oh, it's +a thing ye'd no suspect; but Jane Callender is only a daft auld fool, ye +see, and doesna ken what she's saying!" + +But at the next moment she had jumped up and flung her arms about John's +neck, and was crying over him like a girl. "Oh, my son! my ain son! +And is it for me to fling out at ye? Aye, aye, it's a heartless world, +laddie!" + +He kissed the old woman, and then she tried to coax him to eat. "Come, +come, a wee bittie, just a wee bittie. We must eat our supper anyway." + +"God seems dead and heaven a long way off!" he murmured. + +"And a drap o' whisky will do no harm--a wee drappie." + +"There's only one thing clear--God sees I'm unfit for the work, so he +has taken it away from me." + +She turned aside from the table, and the supper was left untouched. + + * * * * * + +The first post next morning brought a letter from Glory. + + +"The Garden House, + +"Clement's Inn, W. C. + +"Forgive me! I have returned to town! I couldn't help it, I couldn't, I +couldn't! London dragged me back. What was I to do after everything was +settled and the aunties provided for?--assist in a dame's school and +wage war with pothooks and hangers? Oh! I was dying of weariness--dying, +dying, dying! + +"And then they made me such tempting offers. Not the music hall--don't +think that. I dare say you were quite right there. No, but the theatre, +the regular theatre! Mr. Drake has bought some broken-down old place, +and is to turn it into a beautiful theatre expressly for me. I am to +play Juliet. Only think--Juliet!--and in my own theatre! Already I feel +like a liberated slave who has crossed her Red Sea. + +"And don't think a woman's mourning is like the silly old laws which +lasted but three days. _He_ is buried in my heart, not in the earth, +and I shall love him and revere him always! And then didn't you tell me +yourself it would not be right to allow his death to stop my life? + +"Write and say you forgive me, John. Reply by return, and make yourself +your own postman--registered. You'll find me here at Rosa's. Come, come, +come! I'll never forgive you if you don't come soon--never, never! + +"Glory." + + + + +XII. + +A fortnight had passed, and John Storm had not yet visited Glory. +Nevertheless, he had heard of her from day to day through the medium of +the newspapers. Every morning he had glanced down the black columns for +the name that stood out from them as if its letters had been printed in +blood. The reports had been many and mysterious. First, the brilliant +young artiste, who had made such an extraordinary impression some months +before, had returned to London and would shortly resume the promising +career which had been interrupted by illness and family bereavement. +Next, the forthcoming appearance would be on the regular stage, and in +a Shakespearian character, which was always understood to be a crucial +test of histrionic genius. Then, the revival of Romeo and Juliet, which +had formerly been in contemplation, would probably give way to the still +more ambitious project of an entirely new production by a well-known +Scandinavian author, with a part peculiarly fitted to the personality +and talents of the _debutante_. Finally, a syndicate was about to +be formed for the purchase of some old property, with a view to its +reconstruction as a theatre, in the interests of the new play and the +new player. + +John Storm laughed bitterly. He told himself that Glory was unworthy of +the least of his thoughts. It was his duty to go on with his work and +think of her no more. + +He had received his official notice to quit. The church was to be given +up in a month, the clergy-house in two months, and he believed himself +to be immersed in preparations for the rehousing of the club and home. +Twenty young mothers and their children now lived in the upper rooms, +under obedience to the Sisterhood, but Polly's boy had remained with +Mrs. Pincher. From time to time he had seen the little one tethered to a +chair by a scarf about its waist, creeping by the wall to the door, and +there gazing out on the world with looks of intelligence, and babbling +to it in various inarticulate noises. "Boo-loo! Lal-la! Mum-um!" The +little dark face had the eyes of its mother, but it represented Glory +for all that. John Storm loved to see it. He felt that he could never +part with it, and that if Lord Robert Ure himself came and asked for it +he would bundle him out of doors. + +But a carriage drew up at Mrs. Callender's one morning, and Lady Robert +Ure stepped out. Her pale and patient face had the feeble and nervous +smile of the humiliated and unloved. + +"Mr. Storm," she said in her gentle voice, "I have come on a delicate +errand. I can not delay any longer a duty I ought to have discharged +before." + +It was about Polly's baby. She had heard of what had happened at the +hospital; and the newspapers which had followed her to Paris, with +reports of her wedding, had contained reports of the girl's death also. +Since her return she had inquired about the child, and discovered that +it had been rescued by him and was now in careful keeping. + +"But it is for me to look after it, Mr. Storm, and I beg of you to give +it up to me. Something tells me that God will never give me children +of my own, so I shall be doing no harm to any one, and my husband need +never know whose child it is I adopt. I promise you to be good to it. +It shall never leave me. And if it should live to be a man, and grow to +love me, that will help me to forget the past and to forgive myself for +my own share in it. Oh, it is little I can do for the poor girl who is +gone--for, after all, she loved him and I took him from her. But this +is my duty, Mr. Storm, and I can not sleep at night or rest in the day +until it is begun." + +"I don't know if it is your duty, dear lady, but if you wish for the +child it is your right," said John Storm, and they got into the carriage +and drove to Soho. + +"Boo-loo! Lal-la! Mum-um!" The child was tethered to the chair as usual +and talking to the world according to its wont. When it was gone and +the women on the doorsteps could see no more of the fine carriage of the +great lady who had brought the odour of perfume and the rustle of silk +into the dingy court, and Mrs. Pincher had turned back to the house +with red eyes and her widow's cap awry, John Storm told himself that +everything was for the best. The last link with Glory was broken! Thank +God for that! He might go on with his work now and need think of her no +more! + +That day he called at Clement's Inn. + +The Garden House was a pleasant dwelling, fronting on two of its sides +to the garden of the ancient Inn of Chancery, and cosily furnished +with many curtains and rugs. The Cockney maid who answered the door was +familiar in a moment, and during the short passage from the hall to the +floor above she communicated many things. Her name was Liza; she had +heard him preach; he had made her cry; "Miss Gloria" had known her +former mistress, and Mr. Drake had got her the present place. + +There was a sound of laughter from the drawing-room. It was Glory's +voice. When the door opened she was standing in the middle of the floor +in a black dress and with a pale face, but her eyes were bright and she +was laughing merrily. She stopped when John Storm entered and looked +confused and ashamed. Drake, who was lounging on the couch, rose and +bowed to him, and Miss Macquarrie, who was correcting long slips of +printer's proofs at a desk by the window, came forward and welcomed him. +Glory held his hand with her long hand-clasp and looked steadfastly into +his eyes. His face twitched and her own blushed deeply, and then she +talked in a nervous and jerky way, reproaching him for his neglect of +her. + +"I have been busy," he began, and then stopped with a sense of +hypocrisy. "I mean worried and tormented," and then stopped again, for +Drake had dropped his head. + +She laughed, though there was nothing to laugh at, and proposed tea, +rattling along in broken sentences that were spoken with a tremulous +trill, which had a suggestion of tears behind it. "Shall I ring for tea, +Rosa? Oh, you _have_ rung for tea! Ah, here it comes!--Thank you, Liza. +Set it here," seating herself. "Now who says the 'girl'? Remember?" and +then more laughter. + +At that moment there was another arrival. It was Lord Robert Ure. He +kissed Rosa's hand, smiled on Glory, saluted Drake familiarly, and then +settled himself on a low stool by the tea-table, pulled up the knees of +his trousers, relaxed the congested muscles of one half of his face, and +let fall his eyeglass. + +Drake was handing out the cups as Glory filled them. He was looking +at her attentively, vexed at the change in her manner since John Storm +entered. When he returned to his seat on the sofa he began to twitch +the ear of her pug, which lay coiled up asleep beside him, calling it an +ugly little pestilence, and wondering why she carried it about with her. +Glory protested that it was an angel of a dog, whereupon he supposed +it was now dreaming of paradise--listen!--and then there were audible +snores in the silence, and everybody laughed, and Glory screamed. + +"I declare, on my honour, my dear," said Drake with a mischievous look +at John, "the creature is uglier than the beast that did the business on +the day we eloped." + +"Eloped!" cried Rosa and Lord Robert together. + +"Why, did you never hear that Glory eloped with me?" + +Glory was trying to drown his voice with hollow laughter. + +"She was seven and I was six and a half, and she had proposed to me in +the orchard the day before!" + +"Anybody have more tea? No? Some sally-lunn, perhaps?" and then more +laughter. + +"Hold your tongue, Glory! Nobody wants your tea! Let us hear the story," +said Rosa. + +"Why, yes, certainly," said Lord Robert, and everybody laughed again. + +"She was all for travel and triumphal processions in those days----" + +Glory stopped her ears and began to sing: + + Willy, Willy Wilkin, + Kissed the maid a-milkin'! + Fa, la la! + +"There were so many things people could do if they wouldn't waste so +much time working----" + + Willy, Willy Wilkin + Kissed the maid---- + +"Glory, if you don't be quiet we'll turn you out!" and Rosa got up and +nourished her proofs. + +"I had brought my dog, and when I called her a----" + +But Glory had leaped to her feet and fled from the room. Drake had +leaped up also, and now, putting his back against the door, he raised +his voice and went on with his story. + +"Somebody saved us, though, and she lay in his arms and kissed him all +the way home again." + +Glory was strumming on the door and singing to drown his voice. When +the story was ended and she was allowed to come back she was panting and +gasping with laughter, but there were tears in her eyes for all that, +and Lord Robert was saying, with a sidelong look toward John Storm, +"Really, this ought to be a scene in the new Sigurdsen, don't you know!" + +John had retired within himself during this nonsense. He had been +feeling an intense hatred of the two men, and was looking as gloomy as +deep water. "All acting, sheer acting," he thought, and then he told +himself that Glory was only worthy of his contempt. What could attract +her in the society of such men? Only their wealth, and their social +station. Their intellectual and moral atmosphere must weary and revolt +her. + +Rosa had to go to her newspaper office, and Drake saw her to the door. +John rose at the same time, and Glory said, "Going already?" but she did +not try to detain him. She would see him again; she had much to say +to him. "I suppose you were surprised to hear that I had returned to +London?" she said, looking up at his knitted brows. + +He did not answer immediately, and Lord Robert, who was leaning against +the chimney-piece, said in his cold drawl, "Your friend ought to be +happy that you have returned to London, seems to me, my dear, instead of +wasting your life in that wilderness." + +John drew himself up. "It's not London I object to," he said; "that was +inevitable, I dare say." + +"What then?" + +"The profession she has come back to follow." + +"Why, what's amiss with the profession?" said Lord Robert, and Drake, +who returned to the room at the moment, said: "Yes, what's amiss with +it? Some of the best men in the world have belonged to it, I think." + +"Tell me the name of one of them, since the world began, who ever lived +an active Christian life." + +Lord Robert made a kink of laughter, and, turning to the window, began +to play a tune with his finger tips on the glass of a pane. Drake +struggled to keep a straight face, and answered, "It is not their role, +sir." + +"Very well, if that's too much to ask, tell me how many of them +have done anything in real life, anything for the world, for +humanity--anything whatever, I don't care what it is." + +"You are unreasonable, sir," said Drake, "and such objections could as +properly apply to the professions of the painter and the musician. These +are the children of joy. Their first function is to amuse. And surely +amusement has its place in real life, as you say." + +"On the contrary," said John, following his own thought, for he had not +listened, "how many of them have lived lives of reckless abandonment, +self-indulgence, and even scandalous license!" + +"Those are abuses that apply equally to other professions, sir. Even the +Church is not free from them. But in the view of reasonable beings one +clergyman of evil life--nay, one hundred--would not make the profession +of the clergy bad." + +"A profession," said John, "which appeals above all to the senses, and +lives on the emotions, and fosters jealousy and vanity and backbiting, +and develops duplicity, and exists on lies, and does nothing to +encourage self-sacrifice or to help suffering humanity, is a bad +profession and a sinful one!" + +"If a profession is sinful," said Drake, "in proportion as it appeals to +the senses, and lives on the emotions, and develops duplicity, then the +profession of the Church is the most sinful in the world, for it offers +the greatest temptations to lying, and produces the worst hypocrites and +impostors!" + +"That," said John, with eyes flashing and passion vibrating in his +voice--"that, sir, is the great Liar's everlasting lie--and you know +it!" + +Glory was between them with uplifted hands. "Peace, peace! Blessed is +the peacemaker! But tea! Will nobody take more tea? Oh, dear! oh, dear! +Why can't we have tea over again?" + +"I know what you mean, sir," said Drake. "You mean that I have brought +Glory back to a life of danger and vanity, and sloth and sensuality. +Very well. I deny your definition. But call it what you will, I have +brought her back to the only life her talents are fit for, and if that's +all----" + +"Would you have done the same for your own sister?" + +"How dare you introduce my sister's name in this connection?" + +"And how dare you resent it? What's good for one woman is good for +another." + +Glory was turning aside, and Drake was looking ashamed. "Of +course--naturally--all I meant," he faltered--"if a girl has to earn +her living, whatever her talents, her genius--that is one thing. But the +upper classes, I mean the leisured classes----" + +"Damn the leisured classes, sir!" said John, and in the silence that +followed the men looked round, but Glory was gone from the room. + +Lord Robert, who had been whistling at the window, said to Drake in +a cynical undertone: "The man is hipped and sore. He has lost his +challenge, and we ought to make allowances for him, don't you know." + +Drake tried to laugh. "I'm willing to make allowances," he said lightly; +"but when a man talks to me as if--as if I meant to----" but the +light tone broke down, and he faced round upon John and burst out +passionately: "What right have you to talk to me like this? What is +there in my character, in my life, that justifies it? What woman's +honour have I betrayed? What have I done that is unworthy of the +character of an English gentleman?" + +John took a stride forward and came face to face and eye to eye with +him. "What have you done?" he said. "You have used a woman as your decoy +to win your challenge, as you say, and you have struck me in the face +with the hand of the woman I love! That's what you've done, sir, and +if it's worthy of the character of an English gentleman, then God help +England!" + +Drake put his hand to his head and his flushed face turned pale. But +Lord Robert Ure stepped forward and said with a smile: "Well, and if +you've lost your church so much the better. You are only an outsider in +the ecclesiastical stud anyway. Who wants you? Your rector doesn't want +you; your Bishop doesn't want you. Nobody wants you, if you ask me." + +"I don't ask you, Lord Robert," said John. "But there's somebody who +does want me for all that. Shall I tell you who it is? It's the poor +and helpless girl who has been deceived by the base and selfish man, and +then left to fight the battle of life alone, or to die by suicide and go +shuddering down to hell! That's who wants me, and, God willing, I mean +to stand by her." + +"Damme, sir, if you mean _me_, let me tell you what _you_ are," said +Lord Robert, screwing up his eyeglass. "You"--shaking his head right +and left--"you are a man who takes delicately nurtured ladies out +of sheltered homes and sends them into holes and hovels in search +of abandoned women and their misbegotten children! Why"--turning to +Drake-"what do you think has happened? My wife has fallen under this +gentleman's influence--the poor simpleton!--and not one hour before I +left my house she brought home a child which he had given her to adopt. +Think of it!--out of the shambles of Soho, and God knows whose brat and +bastard!" + +The words were hardly out of the man's mouth when John Storm had taken +him by both shoulders. "God _does_ know," he said, "and so do I! Shall +I tell you whose child that is? Shall I? It's yours!" The man saw it +coming and turned white as a ghost. "Yours! and your wife has taken up +the burden of your sin and shame, for she's a good woman, and you are +not fit to live on the earth she walks upon!" + +He left the two men speechless and went heavily down the stairs. Glory +was waiting for him at the door. Her eyes were glistening after recent +tears. + +"You will come no more?" she said. She could read him like a book. "I +can see that you intend to come no more." + +He did not deny it, and after a moment she opened the door and he passed +out with a look of utter weariness. Then she went back to her room and +flung herself on the bed, face downward. + +The men in the drawing-room were beginning to recover themselves. Lord +Robert was humming a tune, Drake pacing to and fro. + +"Buying up his church to make a theatre for Glory was the very +refinement of cruelty!" said Drake. "Good heavens! what possessed me?" + +"Original sin, dear boy!" said Lord Robert, with a curl of the lip. + +"Original? A bad plagiarism, you mean!" + +"Very well. If _I_ helped you to do it, shall I help you to give it +up? Withdraw the prospectus and return the deposits on shares--the dear +Archdeacon's among the rest." + +Drake took up his hat and left the house. Lord Robert followed him +presently. Then the drawing-room was empty, and the hollow sound of +sobbing came down to it from the bedroom above. + + * * * * * + +Father Storm read prayers in church that night with a hard and absent +heart. A terrible impulse of hate had taken hold of him. He hated Drake, +he hated Glory, he hated himself most of all, and felt as if seven +devils had taken possession of him, and he was a hypocrite, and might +fall dead at the altar. + +"But what a fate the Almighty has saved me from!" he thought. Glory +would have been a drag on his work for life. He must forget her. She +was only worthy of his contempt. Yet he could not help but remember how +beautiful she had looked in her mourning dress, with that pure pale face +and its signs of suffering! Or how charming she had seemed to him even +in the midst of all that deception! Or how she had held him as by a +spell! + +Going home he came upon a group of men in the Court. One of them planted +himself full in front and said with an insolent swagger: "Me and my +mytes thinks there's too many parsons abart 'ere. What do you think, +sir?" + +"I think there are more gamblers and thieves, my lad," he answered, and +at the next instant the man had struck him in the face. He closed with +the ruffian, grappled him by the throat, and flung him on his back. One +moment he held him there, writhing and gasping, then he said, "Get up, +and get off, and let me see no more of you!" + +"No, sir, not this time," said a voice above his back. The crowd had +melted away and a policeman stood beside them. "I've been waiting for +this one for weeks, Father," he said, and he marched the man to jail. + +It was Charlie Wilkes. At the trial of Mrs. Jupe that morning, Aggie, +being a witness, had been required to mention his name. It was all in +the evening papers, and he had been dismissed from his time-keeping at +the foundry. + + + + +XIII. + +A week passed. Breakfast was over at Victoria Square, and John Storm was +glancing at the pages of a weekly paper. "Listen!" he cried, and then +read aloud in a light tone of mock bravery which broke down at length +into a husky gurgle: + +"'The sympathy which has lately been evoked by the announcement that a +proprietary church in Soho has been sold for secular uses, is creditable +to public sentiment----'" + +"Think of that, now!" interrupted Mrs. Callender. + +"'----and no doubt the whole community will agree to hope that Father +Storm will recover from the irritation natural to his eviction----'" + +"Aye, we can all get over another body's disappointment, laddie." + +"'But there is a danger that in this instance the altruism of the time +may develop a sentimentality not entirely good for public morals----'" + +"When the ox is down there are lots of butchers, ye ken!" + +"'With the uses to which the fabric is to be converted, it is no part of +our purpose to deal, further than to warn the public not to lend an ear +to the all too prurient purity of the amateur moralist; but considering +the character of the work now carried on in Soho, no doubt with the best +intentions----'" + +"Aye, aye, it's easy to steal the goose and give the giblets in alms." + +"'----it behooves us to consider if the community is not to be +congratulated on its speedy and effectual ending. Father Storm is a +young man of some talents and social position, but without any special +experience or knowledge of the world--in fact a weak, oversanguine, and +rather foolish fanatic----'" + +"Oh, aye, he's down; down with him!" + +"'----and therefore it is monstrous that he should be allowed to subvert +the order of social life or disturb the broad grounds of the reasonable +and the practical----'" + +"Never mind. High winds only blaw on high hills, laddie!" + +"'----As for the "fallen sister" whom he has taken under his special +care, we confess to a feeling that too much sympathy has been wasted +on her already. Her feet take hold of hell, her house is the way of the +grave, going down to the chamber of death----'" + +Mrs. Callender leaped to her feet. "That's the 'deacon-man; I ken the +cloven hoof!" + +John Storm had flung the paper away. "What a cowardly world it is!" he +said. "But God wins in the end, and by God he shall!" + +"Tut, man! don't tak' on like that. You can't climb the Alps on +roller-skates, you see! But as for the Archdeacon, pooh! I'm no windy +aboot your 'Sisters' and 'Settlements' and sic like, but if there had +been society papers in the Lord's time, Simon the Pharisee would have +been a namby-pamby critic compared to some of them." + +A moment afterward she was looking out of the window and holding up both +hands. "My gracious! It's himsel'! It's the Prime Minister!" + +A gaunt old gentleman with a meagre mustache, wearing a broad-brimmed +hat and unfashionable black clothes, was stepping up to the door. + +"Yes, it's my uncle!" said John, and the old lady fled out of the room +to change her cap. + +"I have heard what has happened, John, so I have come to see you," said +the Prime Minister. + +Was he thinking of the money? John felt uneasy and ashamed. + +"I'm sorry, my boy, very sorry!" + +"Thank you, uncle." + +"But it all comes, you see, of the ridiculous idea that we are a +Christian nation! Such a thing couldn't have occurred at the shrine of a +pagan god!" + +"It was only a proprietary church, uncle. I was much to blame." + +"I do not deny that you have acted unwisely, but what difference +does that make, my boy? To sell a church seems like the climax of +irreverence; but they are doing as bad every day. If you want to see +what times the Church has fallen on, look at the advertisements in your +religious papers--your Benefice and Church Patronage Gazette, and so +forth. A traffic, John, a slave traffic, worse than anything in Africa, +where they sell bodies, not souls!" + +"It is a crime which cries to the avenging anger of Heaven," said John; +"but it is the Establishment that is to blame, not the Church, uncle." + +"We are a nation of money-lenders, my boy, and the Church is the worst +usurer of them all, with its learned divines in scarlet hoods, who hold +shares in music halls, and its Fathers in God living at ease and leasing +out public-houses. _You_ have been lending money on usury too, and on a +bad security. What are you going to do now?" + +"Go on with my work, uncle, and do two hours where I did one before." + +"And get yourself kicked where you got yourself kicked before!" + +"Why not? If God puts ten pounds on a man, he gives him strength to bear +twenty." + +"John, John, I am feeling rather sore, and I can't bear much more of it. +I'm growing old, and my life is rather lonely too. Except your father, +you are my only kinsman now, and it seems as if our old family must die +with you. But come, my boy, come, throw up all this sorry masquerade. +Isn't there a woman in the world who can help me to persuade you? I +don't care who she is, or what, or where she comes from." + +John had coloured to the eyes, and was stammering something about the +true priest cut off from earthly marriage, therefore free to commit +himself completely to his work, when Mrs. Callender came back, spruce +and smart, with many smiles and curtsies. The Prime Minister greeted her +with the same old-fashioned courtesy, and they cooed away like two old +doves, until a splendid equipage drove up to the door, and the plain old +gentleman drove away in it. + +"Wasn't he nice with me? wasn't he, now?" the old lady kept saying, and +John being silent--"Tut! you young men are just puir loblollyboys with a +leddy when the auld ones come." + +Going to Soho that day John Storm felt a sudden thrill at seeing on the +street in front of him, walking in the same direction, an elderly figure +in cassock and cord. It was the Father Superior of the Brotherhood. John +overtook him and greeted him. + +"Ah, I was on my way to see you, my son." + +"Then you have heard what has happened?" + +"Yes, Satan's shafts fly fast." Then taking John's arm as they walked, +"Earthly blows are but reminders of Him, my son, like the hair shirt +of the monk, and this trouble of yours is God's reminder of your broken +obedience. What did I tell you when you left us--that you would come +back within a year? And you will! Leave the world, my son. It treats +you badly. The human spirit reigns over it, and even the Church is a +Christian society out of the sphere and guidance of the Divine Spirit. +Leave it and return to your unfinished vows." + +John shook his head and took the Father into the clergy-house, where +the girls were gathering for the evening. "How can I leave the world, +Father, when there's work like this to do? Society presents to a large +proportion of these bright creatures the alternative, 'Sell yourself +or starve.' But God says, 'Live, work, and love.' Therefore society is +doomed, and that dead man's sepulchre, the Establishment, is doomed, but +the Church will live, and become the corner-stone of the new order, and +stand between woman and the world, as it stood of old between the poor +and the rich." + +The Father preached for John that night, taking for his text "The flesh +lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh." And on +parting from him at the door of the sacristy he said: "Religious work +can only be good, my son, if it concerns itself first of all with the +salvation of souls. Now what if it pleased God to remove you from all +this--to call you to a work of intercession--say, to the mission field?" + +John's face turned pale. "There can be no need to fly," he said, with a +frightened look. "Surely London is a mission field wide enough for any +man." + +"Yet who knows? Perhaps for your own soul's sake, lest vanity should +take hold of you, or the love of fame, or--or any of the snares of +Satan! But good-bye, and God be with you!" + +When John Storm reached home he found a letter awaiting him. It was from +Glory: + +"Are you dead and buried? If so, send me word, that I may compose your +epitaph. 'Here lies--_Lies_ is good, for though you didn't promise to +come back you ought to have done so; therefore it comes to the same +thing in the end. You must not think too ill of Mr. Drake. I call +him the milk of human kindness, and his friend Lord Robert the oil +thereof--I mean the oil of vitriol. But his temper is like the Caspian +Sea, having neither ebb nor flow, while yours is like the Bay of +Biscay--oh, so I can't expect you to agree. As for poor me, I may be +guilty of all the seven deadly sins, but I can't see why I should be +boycotted on that account. There is something I didn't know when you +were here, and I want to explain about it. Therefore come 'right away' +(Lord Bob, Americanized). Being slow to anger and plenteous in mercy, +I will forgive you if you come soon. If you don't, I'll--I'll go on the +bike--feminine equivalent to the drink. To tell you the truth, I've done +so already, having been careering round the gardens of the Inn during +the early hours of morning, clad in Rosa's 'bloomers,' in which I make a +picture and a sensation at the same time, she being several sizes larger +round the hips, and fearfully and wonderfully made. If that doesn't +fetch you I'll go in for boxing next, and in a pair of four-ounce gloves +I'll cut a _striking_ figure, I can tell you. + +"But, John Storm, have you cast me off entirely? Do you intend to +abandon me? Do you think there is no salvation left for me? And are you +going to let me sink in all this mire without stretching out a hand to +help me? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I don't know what has come over the silly +old world since I came back to London. Think it must be teething, +judging by the sharpness of its bite, and feel as if I should like to +give it a dose of syrup of squills." + +As John read the letter his eyelids quivered and his mouth relaxed. Then +he glanced at it again, and his face clouded. + +"I can not leave her entirely to the mercy of men like these," he +thought. + +This innocent daring, this babelike ripping up of serviceable +conventions--God knows what advantage such men might take of it. He must +see her once again, to warn, to counsel her. It was his duty--he must +not shrink from it. + + * * * * * + +It had been a day of painful impressions to Glory. Early in the morning +Lord Robert had called to take her to the "reading" of the new play. It +took place in the saloon of an unoccupied Strand theatre, of which the +stage also had been engaged for rehearsal. The company were gathered +there, and, being more or less experienced actors and actresses, they +received her with looks of courteous indulgence, as one whose leading +place must be due to other things than talent. This stung her; she felt +her position to be a false one, and was vexed that she had permitted +Lord Robert to call for her. But her humiliation had yet hardly begun. + +While they stood waiting for the manager, who was late, a gorgeous +person with a waxed mustache and in a fur-lined coat, redolent of the +mixed odour of perfume and stale tobacco, forced his way up to her and +offered his card. She knew the man in a moment. + +"I'm Josephs," he said in a confidential undertone, "and if there's +anything I can do for you--acting management--anything--it vill give me +pleesure." + +Glory flushed up and said, "But you don't seem to remember, sir, that we +have met before." + +The man smiled blandly. "Oh, yes. I've kept track of you ever since and +know all about you. You hadn't made your appearance then, and naturally +I couldn't do much. But now--_now_ if you vill give me de pleesure----" + +"Then an agent is one who can do nothing for you when you want help, but +when you don't want it----" + +The man laughed to carry off his audacity. "Veil, you know vhat they say +of us--agent from _agere_,'to do,' and we're always 'doing.' Ha, ha! But +if you are villing to let bygones be bygones, I am, and velcome." + +Glory's face was crimson. "Will somebody go for the stage doorkeeper?" +she said, and one of the company went out on that errand. Then, raising +her voice so that everybody listened, she said: "Mr. Josephs, when I was +quite unknown, and trying to get on, and finding it very hard, as we all +do, you played me the cruellest trick a man ever played on a woman. I +don't owe you any grudge, but, for the sake of every poor girl who is +struggling to live in London, I am going to turn you out of the house." + +"Eh? Vhat?" + +The stage doorkeeper had entered. "Porter, do you see this gentleman? He +is never to come into this theatre again as long as we are here, and if +he tries to force his way in you are to call a policeman and have him +bundled back into the street!" + +"Daddle doo," and the waxed mustache over the grinning mouth seemed to +cut the face across. + +When Josephs had gone Glory could see that the looks of indulgence on +the faces of the company had gone also. "She'll do!" said one. "She's +got the stuff in her!" said another, but Glory herself was now quaking +with fear, and her troubles were not yet ended. + +A little stout gentleman entered hurriedly with a roll of papers in +his hand. He stepped up to Lord Robert, apologized for being late, and +mopped his bald crown and red face. It was Sefton. + +"This is to be our manager," said Lord Robert, and Mr. Sefton bobbed his +head, winked with both eyes, and said, "Charmed, I'm sure--charmed!" + +Glory could have sunk into the earth for shame, but in a moment she had +realized the crushing truth that when a woman has been insulted in the +deepest place--in her honour--the best she can do is to say nothing +about it. + +The company seated themselves around the saloon, and the reading began. +First came the list of characters, with the names of the cast. Glory's +name and character came last, and her nerves throbbed with sudden pain +when the manager read, "and _Gloria_--Miss Glory Quayle." + +There was a confused murmur, and then the company composed themselves to +listen. It was Gloria's play. She was rather scandalous. After the first +act Glory thought it was going to be the story of Nell Gwynne in modern +life; after the second, of Lady Hamilton; and after the third, in which +the woman wrecks and ruins the first man in the country, she knew it was +only another version of the Harlot's Progress, and must end as that had +ended. + +The actors were watching their own parts, and pointing and punctuating +with significant looks the places where the chances came, but Glory was +overwhelmed with confusion. How was she to play this evil woman? The +poison went to the bone, and to get into the skin of such a creature +a good woman would have to dispossess herself of her very soul. The +reading ended, every member of the company congratulated some other +member on the other's opportunities, and Sefton came up to Glory to ask +if she did not find the play strong and the part magnificent. + +"Yes," she said; "but only a bad woman could play that part properly." + +"_You'll_ do it, my dear, you'll do it on your own!" he answered gaily, +and she went home perplexed, depressed, beaten down, and ashamed. + +A newspaper had been left at the door. It was a second-rate theatrical +journal, still damp from the press. The handwriting on the wrapper was +that of Josephs, and there was a paragraph marked in blue pencil. It +pretended to be a record of her short career, and everything was in +it--the programme selling, the dressing, the foreign clubs--all the +refuse of her former existence, set in a sinister light and leaving the +impression of an abject up-bringing, as of one who had been _in_ the +streets if not on them. + +Well, she had chosen her life and must take it at its own price. But, +oh, the cruelty of the world to a woman, when her very success could be +her shame! She felt that the past had gripped her again--the pitiless +past--she could never drag herself out of the mire. + +That night she wrote to John Storm, and next morning before Rosa had +risen--her duties kept her up late--she heard a voice downstairs. Her +dog also heard it and began to bark. At the next moment John was in the +room and she was laughing up into his splendid black eyes, for he had +caught her down at the sofa holding the pug's nose and trying to listen. + +"Is it you? It's so good of you to come early! But this, dog"--breaking +into the Manx dialect--"she's ter'ble, just ter'ble!" Then rising and +looking serious: "I wished to tell you that I knew nothing about the +church, nothing whatever. If I'd had the least idea... but they told me +nothing--it was very wrong--nothing. And the first thing I knew was when +I saw it in all the newspapers." + +He was leaning on the end of the mantelpiece. "If they deceived you like +that, how can you go on with them?" + +"You mean" (she was leaning on the other end, and speaking falteringly), +"you mean that I ought to give it all up. But it's too late for that +now. It was too late when I came to know. Besides, it would do no good; +you would be in the same position still, and as for me--well, somebody +else would have the theatre, so where's the use?" + +"I was thinking of the future, Glory, not the past. People who deceive +us once are capable of doing so again." + +"True--that's true--only--only----" + +She was breaking down, and he turned his eyes away from her, saying, +"Well, it's all over now, and there's no help for it." + +"No, there's no help for it." + +He tried to think what he had come to say, but do what he would he could +not remember. The moment he looked at her the thread of his thoughts was +lost, and the fragrance of her presence, so sweet, so close, made him +feel as if he wanted to touch her. There was an awkward silence, and +then he fidgeted with his hat and moved. + +"Are you going so soon?" + +"I'm busy, and----" + +"Yes, you must be busy now." + +"And then why--why should we prolong a painful interview, Glory?" + +She shot up a look under her eyebrows. His eyes had a harassed +expression, but there was a gleam in them that set her heart beating. + +"Is it so painful? Is it?" + +"Glory, I meant to tell you I could not come again." + +"No! You're not so busy as all that, are you? Surely" (the Manx again, +only she seemed to be breathless now)--"surely you're not so ter'ble +busy but you can just put a sight on a girl now and again for all?" + +He made a gesture with his hand. "It disturbs, it distracts----" + +"Oh, is that all? Then," with a forced laugh, "I'll come to see you +instead. Yes, I will, though." + +"No, you mustn't do that, Glory. It would only torment----" + +"Torment! Gough bless me! Why torment?" and a fugitive flame shot up at +him. + +"Because"--he stammered, and she could see that his lips quivered; then +calmly, very calmly, pronouncing the words slowly, and in a voice as +cold as ice--"because I love you!" + +"You!" + +"Didn't you know that?" His voice was guttural. "Haven't you known it +all along? What's the use of pretending? You've dragged it out of me. +Was that only to show your power over me?" + +"Oh!" + +She had heard what her heart wanted to hear, and not for worlds would +she have missed hearing it, yet she was afraid, and trembling all over. + +"We two are of different natures, Glory, that's the trouble between +us--now, and always has been. We have nothing in common, absolutely +nothing. You have chosen your path in life, and it is not my path. I +have chosen mine, and it is not yours. Your friends are not my friends. +We are two different beings altogether, and yet--and yet I love you! And +that's why I can not come again." + +It was sweet, but it was terrible. So different from what she had +dreamed of: "I love you!--you are my soul!--I can not live without you!" +Yet he was right. She had slain his love before it was born to her--it +was born dead. In an unsteady voice, which had suddenly become husky, +she said: + +"No doubt you are right. I must leave you to judge. Perhaps you have +thought it all out." + +"Don't suppose it will be easy for me, Glory. I've suffered a good deal, +and I dare say I shall suffer more yet. If so, I'll bear it. But for the +sake of my work----" + +"Ah!--But of course I can't expect--Naturally you love your work +also----" + +"I _do_ love my work also, and therefore it's no use trifling. 'If thine +eye offend--'" + +She was stung. "Well, since there's no help for it, I suppose we must +shake hands and part." + +Not until then--not until he had pronounced his doom and she had +accepted it did he realize how beautiful she seemed to him. He felt as +if something in his throat wanted to cry out. + +"It isn't what I expected, Glory--what I dreamed of for years." + +"But it's best--it seems best." + +"I tried to make a place for you, too, but you wouldn't have it--you let +it go; you preferred this other lot in life." + +She remembered Josephs, and Sefton, and the newspaper, and the part, and +she covered her face with her hands. + +"How can I go on, Glory, to the peril of my--It's dangerous, even +dangerous." + +"Yes, you are a clergyman and I am an actress. You must think of that. +People are so ignorant, so cruel, and I dare say they are talking +already." + +"Do you think I should care for that, Glory?" Her hands came down from +her face. "Do you think I should care one jot if all the miserable +scandal-mongering world thought----" + +"You'll think the best of me, then?" + +"I'll think of both of us as we used to be, my child, before the world +came between us, before you----" + +She was fighting against an impulse to fling herself into his arms, but +she only said in a soft voice: "You are quite right, quite justified. I +have chosen my lot in life, and must make the best of it." + +"Well----" He was holding out his hand. + +But nevertheless she put her hand behind her, thinking: "No; if I shake +hands with him it will be the end of everything." + +"Good-bye!" and with an expression of utter despair he left her. + +She did not cry, and when Rosa came down immediately afterward she was +smiling and her eyes were very bright. + +"Was that your friend Mr. Storm? Yes? You must beware of him, my dear. +He would stop your career and think he was doing God's service." + +"There's no danger of that, Rosa. He only came to say he would come no +more," and then something flashed in her eyes and died away, and then +flashed again. + +"Yes," thought Rosa, "there's an extraordinary attraction about her +that makes all other women seem tame." And then Rosa remembered somebody +else, and sighed. + + * * * * * + +John Storm went back to Soho by way of Clare Market, and when people +saluted him in the streets with "Good-morning, Father," he did not +answer because he did not see them. On going to church that night he +came upon a group of Charlie's cronies betting six to one against his +getting off, and a girl in gay clothes was waiting to speak to him. It +was Aggie. She had come to plead for Charlie. + +"It's the drink, sir. 'E's a good boy when 'e's not drinking. But I ask +pardon for 'im; and if you would only not prosecute----" + +John was ashamed of himself at sight of the girl's fidelity to her +unworthy lover. + +"And you, my child--what about you?" + +"Oh, I'm all right. What's broken can't be mended." + +And meanwhile the church bells were ringing and the cabs were running to +the theatres. + + + + +XIV. + +The rehearsals began early in the morning and usually lasted until late +in the afternoon. Glory found them wearisome, depressing, and often +humiliating. The body of the theatre was below the level of the street, +and in the daytime was little better than a vast vault. If she entered +by the front she stumbled against seats and saw the figures of men +and women silhouetted in the distance, and heard the echo of cavernous +voices. If by the back, she came upon the prompter's table set midway +across the stage, with a twin gas-bracket shooting up behind it like a +geyser, and an open space of some twenty feet by twenty in front whereon +the imaginary passions were to disport themselves at play. + +Glory found real ones among them, and they were sometimes in hideous +earnest. Jealousy, envy, uncharitableness, and all the rancour of life +where the struggle for it is bitterest, attempts to take advantage of +her inexperience, to rob her of the best positions on the stage, to +cut out her lines which "scored"--these, with the weary waits, the half +darkness, the chill atmosphere, the void in front, with its seats in +linen covers, suggesting an audience of silent ghosts, and then the +sense of the bright, busy, bustling, rattling, real world above, sent +her home day after day with a headache, a heartache, and tears bubbling +out of her eyes. + +And when she had conquered these conditions, or settled down to them, +and had made such progress with her part as to throw away her scrip, the +old horror of the woman she was to make herself into, came back as a new +terror. The visionary Gloria was very proud and vain and selfish, and +trampled everything under foot that she might possess the world and the +things of the world. + +Meantime the real Gloria had a far different part to play. Every +morning, with a terrible reality at her heart, she glanced over the +newspapers for news of John Storm. She had not far to look. A sort of +grotesque romance had gathered about him, as of a modern Don Quixote +tilting at windmills. His name was the point of a pun; there were +cartoons, caricatures, and all other forms of the joke that is not a +joke because it is an insult. + +Sometimes she took stolen glances at his work. On Sunday morning she +walked through Soho, past the people sitting on their doorsteps reading +the sporting intelligence in the Sunday papers, with their larks in +cages hung on nails, overhead, until she came to the church, and heard +the singing inside, and saw chalked up on the walls the legend, "God +bless the Farver!" + +"Strange charge against a clergyman!" It was a low-class paper, and the +charge was a badge of honour. A young ruffian (it was Charles Wilkes) +had been brought up on remand on a charge of assaulting Father Storm, +and being sentenced to a week's imprisonment, notwithstanding the +Father's appeal and offer of bail, he had accused the clergyman of +relations with his sweetheart (it was Agatha Jones). + +Glory's anger at the world's treatment of John Storm deepened to a great +love of the misunderstood and downtrodden man. She saw an announcement +of his last service, and determined to go to it. The church was crowded, +chiefly by the poor, and the air was heavy with the smell of oranges and +beer. It was a week-day evening, and when the choir came in, followed +by John Storm in his black cassock, Glory could not help a thrill of +physical joy at being near him. + +The text was, "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye +are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outside, +but are within full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness!" The first +half of the, sermon was a denunciation of the morality of men. We made +clean the outside of the platter, but the so-called purity of England +was a smug sham built upon rottenness and sin! There were men among +us, damned sensualists, left untouched by the idleness of the public +conscience, who did not even know where their children were to be found. +Let them go down into the gutters of life and look for their own faces, +and--God forgive them!--their mothers' faces, among the outcast and the +criminal. The second half was a defence of woman. The sins of the world +against women were the most crying wrongs of the time. Had they ever +reflected on the heroism of women, on their self-denying, unrewarded +labour? Oh, why was woman held so cheap as in this immoral London of +to-day? There had been scarcely a breach of the law of Nature by women, +and not one that men were not chiefly to blame for. Men tempted them by +love of dress, of ease, of money, and of fame, to forget their proper +vocation; but every true woman came right in the end, and preferred to +the false and fictitious labour for worldly glory, a mother's silent +and unseen devotion, counting it no virtue at all. "Yes, women, mothers, +girls, in your hands lies the salvation of England. May you live in this +prospect, and may God and his ever-blessed Mother be your reward all +through this weary life and in glory everlasting!" + +There was a procession with banners, cross, stars, green and blue +fleur-de-lis, but Glory saw none of it. She was kneeling with her head +down and heart choked with emotion. The next she knew the service was +over, the congregation was gone; only one old woman in widow's weeds was +left, jingling a bunch of keys. + +"Has the Father gone?" + +"No, ma'am; he is still in the sacristy." + +"Show me to it." + +At the next moment, with fluttering throat and a look of mingled love +and awe, she was standing eye to eye with John Storm in the little bare +chamber off the church. + +"Glory, why do you come here?" + +"I can't help it." + +"But we said good-bye and parted." + +"You did. I didn't. It was not so easy----" + +"Easy? I told you it wouldn't be easy, my child, and it hasn't been. I +said I should suffer, and I have suffered. But I've borne it--you see +I've borne it. Don't ask me at what cost." + +"Oh, oh, oh!" and she covered her face. + +"Yes, the devil tortured me with love first. I was seeing you and +hearing you everywhere and in everything, Glory. But I got over that, +and then he tortured me with remorse. I had left you to the mercy of the +world. It was my duty to watch over you. I did it, too." + +She glanced up quickly. + +"Ah, you never knew that, but no matter! It's all over now, and I'm a +different man entirely. But why do you come and torment me again? It's +nothing to you, nothing at all. You can shake it off in a moment. That's +your nature, Glory; you can't help it. But have you no pity? You find me +here, trying to help the helpless--the brave girls who have the +virtue to be poor, and the strength to be weak, and the courage to be +friendless. Why can't you leave me alone? What am I to you? Nothing at +all! You care nothing for me--nothing whatever." + +She glanced up again, and the look of love in her eyes was stronger now +than the look of awe. He saw it and could not help knowing how strongly +it worked upon his feelings. + +"Go back to your own world, unhappy girl! You love it--you must; you +have sacrificed the best impulses of your heart to it!" + +She was smiling now. It was the old radiant smile, but with a gleam of +triumph in it that he had never seen before. It worked like madness upon +him, and he tried to insult her again. + +"Go back to your own company, to the people who _play_ at real life, +and build toy houses, and give themselves away body and soul for the +clapping of hands in a theatre! Go back to the lies and hypocrisies of +society, and the brainless, mashers who adorn it! They dance superbly, +and are at home in drawing-rooms, and know all about sporting matters +and theatrical affairs! I know none of these things, and I am kicked and +cuffed and ridiculed and hounded down as an indecent man or shunned as a +moral leper I Why do you come to me?" he cried, hoarse and husky. + +But she only stretched out her hands to him and said, "Because I love +you!" + +"What are you saying?" He was quivering with pain. + +"I love you, and have always loved you, and you love me--you know you +do--you love me still!" + +"Glory!" + +"John!" + +"For God's sake! Glory!" + +With a wild shout of joy he rushed upon her, flung his arms about her, +and covered her face and hands with kisses. After a moment he whispered, +"Not here, not here!" and she felt too that the room was suffocating +them, and they must go out into the open air, the fields, the park. + +Somebody was knocking at the door. It was Mrs. Pincher. A man was +waiting to speak to the Father. They found him in the lane. It was Jupe, +the waiter. His simple face wore a strange expression of joy and fear, +as if he wished to smile and dare not. + +"My pore missis 'as got off and wants to come 'ome, sir, and I thought +as you'd tell me what I oughter do." + +"Take her back and forgive her, my man, that's the Christian course." + +His love was now boundless; his large charity embraced everything, +and going off he saluted everybody. "Good-evening, Mrs. +Pincher.--Good-night, Lydia." + +"Well, 'e _is_ a Father, too, and no mistake!" somebody was saying +behind him as he went away with Glory. + +The moon was at the full, and while they were passing through the +streets it struggled with the gas from the shop windows as the flame of +a fire struggles with the sunshine, but when they passed under the trees +it shone out in its white splendour like a bride. The immeasurable vault +above was silvered with stars, too, through depth on depth of space, and +all the glorious earth and heaven seemed to smile the smile of love. A +strong south breeze was blowing, and as it shook the trees of the park, +that blessed patch of Nature in the midst-of the toiling city seemed to +sing the song of love! + +Their hands found each other and they walked along almost in silence, +afraid to break the spell of their dream lest they should awake and +find it gone. It seemed wonderful to him that they were together, and he +could hardly believe it was reality, though the touch of her hand filled +him with a strange physical exultation which he had never felt before. +He seemed to be walking on the clouds, and she too was swaying by his +side as if her blood was dancing. Sometimes she dried her glistening +eyes, and once she stopped and swung in front of him and looked long at +him and then raised her face to his and kissed him. + +"Whether you like it or not your life is bound up with mine for ever and +ever!" she whispered. + +"It had to be," he answered. "I know it now. I can no longer deceive +myself." + +"And we shall be happy? In spite of all you said we shall be very happy, +eh?" + +"Yes, that will be quite forgotten, Glory." + +"And forgiven," she said, and then between a sigh and a blush she asked +him to kiss her again. + +"My love!" + +"My soul!" + +The wind swept the hood of her cape about her head and he could smell +the fragrance of her hair. + +He tried to think what he had done to deserve such happiness, but all +the suffering he had gone through seemed as nothing compared to a joy +like this. The great clock of Westminster swung its hollow sounds into +the air, which went riding by on the wind like the notes of an organ, +now full and now as soft as a baby's whisper. They could hear the +far-off rumble of the vast city which fringed their blessed island like +a mighty sea, and through the pulse of their clasped hands it seemed as +if they felt the pulse of the world. An angel had come down and breathed +on the face of the waters, and it was God's world, after all. + +He took her home, and they parted at the door. "Don't come in to-night," +she whispered. She wished to be alone, that she might think it all out +and go over it again, every word, every look. There was a lingering +hand-clasp and then she was gone. + +He returned through the park and tried to step over the very places +where her feet had trod. On reaching Buckingham Gate he turned back +and walked round the park, and again round it, and yet again. The bells +tolled out the hours, the cabs went westward with ladies in evening +wraps going home from theatres, the tide of traffic ebbed farther and +farther and died down, but still he walked and the wind sang to him. + +"God can not blame us," he thought. "We were made to love each other." +He uncovered his head to let the wind comb through his hair, and he was +happy, happy, happy! Sometimes he shut his eyes, and then it was hard to +believe that she was not walking by his side, a fragrant presence in the +moonlight, going step by step with him. + +When the day was near the wind had gone, the little world of wood was +silent, and his footsteps crunched on the gravel. Then a yellow gleam +came in the sky to the east, and a chill gust swept up as a scout before +the dawn, the trees began to shiver, the surface of the lake to creep, +the birds to call, and the world to stretch itself and yawn. + + Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er + It be--a holy place. + +As he went home by Birdcage Walk the park was still heavy with sleep, +and its homeless wanderers had not yet risen from their couches on the +seats. A pale mist was lying over London, but the towers of the Abbey +stood clear above it, and pigeons were wheeling around them like +sea-fowl about rocks in the sea. What a night it had been! A night of +dreams, of love, of rapture! + +The streets were empty and very quiet--only the slow rattle of the +dust-cart and the measured step of policemen changing beats. Long blue +vistas and a cemetery silence as of a world under the great hand of the +gentle brother of Death, and then the clang of Big Ben striking six. + +A letter was waiting for John in the breathless hall. It was from the +Bishop of London: "Come and see me at St. James's Square." + + + + +XV. + +Suddenly there sprang out to Glory the charm and fascination of the life +she was putting away. Trying to be true to her altered relations with +John Storm, she did not go to rehearsal the next morning--, but not yet +having the courage of her new position, she did not tell Rosa her true +reason for staying away. The part was exhausting--it tried her very +much; a little break would do no harm. Rosa wrote to apologize for her +on the score of health, and thus the first cloud of dissimulation rose +up between them. + +Two days passed, and then a letter came from the manager: "Trust you +are rested and will soon be back. The prompter read your lines, but +everything has gone to pieces. Slack, slovenly, spiritless, stupid, +nobody acting, and nobody awake, it seems to me. 'All right at night, +governor,' and the usual nonsense. Shows how much we want you. But +envious people are whispering that you are afraid of the part. The +blockheads! If you succeed this time you'll be made for life, my dear. +And you _will_ succeed! Yours merrily," etc. + +With this were three letters addressed to the theatre. One of them was +from a press-cutting agency asking to be allowed to supply all newspaper +articles relating to herself, and inclosing a paragraph as a specimen: +"A little bird whispers that 'Gloria,' as 'Gloria,' is to be a startling +surprise. Those who have seen her rehearse----But mum's the word--an' we +could an' we would," etc. Another of the letters was from the art editor +of an illustrated weekly asking for a sitting to their photographer for +a full-page picture; and the third inclosed the card of an interviewer +on an evening paper. Only three days ago Glory would have counted all +this as nothing, yet now she could not help but feel a thrilling, joyous +excitement. + +Drake called after the absence of a fortnight. He had come to speak of +his last visit. His face was pale and serious, not fresh and radiant +as usual, his voice was shaking and his manner nervous. Glory had +never seen him exhibit so much emotion, and Rosa looked on in dumb +astonishment. + +"I was to blame," he said, "and I have come to say so. It was a cowardly +thing to turn the man out of his church, and it was worse than cowardly +to use you in doing it. Everything is fair, they say, in----" But he +flushed up like a girl and stopped, and then faltered: "Anyhow, I'm +sorry--very sorry; and if there is anything I can do----" + +Glory tried to answer him, but her heart was beating violently, and she +could not speak. + +"In fact, I've tried to make amends already. Lord Robert has a living +vacant in Westminster, and I've asked him to hand it over to the Bishop, +with the request that Father Storm----" + +"But will he?" + +"I've told him he must. It's the least we can do if we are to have any +respect for ourselves. And anyhow, I'm about tired of this anti-Storm +uproar. It may be all very well far men like me to object to the +man--I deny his authorities, and think him a man out of his century and +country--but for these people with initials, who write in the religious +papers, to rail at him, these shepherds who live on five thousand a year +and pretend to follow One who hadn't a home or a second coat, and whose +friends were harlots and sinners, though he was no sinner himself--it's +infamous, it's atrocious, it raises my gorge against their dead creeds +and paralytic churches. Whatever his faults, he is built on a large +plan, he has the Christ idea, and he is a man and a gentleman, and I'm +ashamed that I took advantage of him. That's all over now, and +there's no help for it; but if I might hope that you will forgive--and +forget----" + +"Yes," said Glory in a low voice, and then there was silence, and when +she lifted her head Drake was gone and Rosa was wiping her eyes. + +"It was all for love of you, Glory. A woman can't hate a man when he +does wrong for love of herself." + +John Storm came in later the same day, when Rosa had gone out and Glory +was alone. He was a different man entirely. His face looked round and +his dark eyes sparkled. The clouds of his soul seemed to have drifted +away, and he was boiling over with enthusiasm. He laughed constantly, +and there was something almost depressing in the lumbering attempts at +humour of the serious man. + +"What do you think has happened? The Bishop sent for me and offered me +a living in Westminster. It turns out to being the gift of Lord Robert +Ure; but no thanks to him for it. Lady Robert was at the bottom of +everything. She had called on the Bishop. He remembered me at the +Brotherhood, and told me all about it. St. Jude's, Brown's Square, on +the edge of the worst quarter in Christendom! It seems the Archdeacon +expected it for Golightly, his son-in-law. The Reverend Joshua called +on me this morning and tried to bully me, but I soon bundled him off to +Botany Bay. Said the living had been promised to him--a lie, of course. +I soon found that out. A lie is well named, you know--it hasn't a +leg--to stand upon. Ha, ha, ha!" + +Nothing would serve but that they should go to look at the scene of +their future life, and with Don--he had brought his dog; it had to be +held back from the pug under the table--they set off immediately. It was +Saturday night, and as they dipped down into the slums that lie under +the shadow of the Abbey, Old Pye Street, Peter's Street, and Duck Lane +were aflare with the coarse lights of open naphtha lamps, and all but +impassable with costers' barrows. There were the husky voices of the +street hawkers, the hoarse laughter, the quarrelling, the oaths, the +rasping shouts of the butcher selling chunks of dark joints by auction, +the screeches of the roast-potato man, and the smell of stale vegetables +and fried fish. "Jow, 'ow much a pound for yer turmaters?" "Three pence; +I gave mor'n that for 'em myself." "Garn!" "S'elp me, Gawd, I did, mum!" + +"Isn't it a glorious scene?" said John; and Glory, who felt chilled +and sickened, recalled herself from some dream of different things +altogether and said, "Isn't it?" + +"Sanctuary, too! What human cats we are! The poor sinners cling to the +place still!" + +He took her into the alleys and courts that score and wrinkle the map +of Westminster like an old man's face, and showed her the "model" +lodging-houses and the gaudily decorated hells where young girls and +soldiers danced and drank. + +"What's the use of saying to these people, 'Don't drink; don't steal'? +They'll answer, 'If you lived in these slums you would drink too.' But +we'll show them that we can live here and do neither--that will be the +true preaching." + +And then he pictured a life of absolute self-sacrifice, which she was to +share with him. "You'll manage all money matters, Glory. You can't +think how I'm swindled. And then I'm such a donkey as far as money +goes--that's not far with me, you know. Ha, ha, ha! Who's to find it? +Ah, God pays his own debts. He'll see to that." + +They were to live under the church itself; to give bread to the hungry +and clothes to the naked; to set up their Settlement in the gaming-house +of the Sharkeys, now deserted and shut up; to take in the _un_deserving +poor-the people who had nothing to say for themselves, precisely those; +and thus they were to show that they belonged neither to the publicans +and sinners nor to the Scribes and Pharisees. + +"Only let us get rid of self. Only let us show that self-interest never +enters our head in one single thing we do----" and meantime Glory, who +had turned her head aside with a lump in her throat, heard some one +behind them saying: + +"Lawd, Jow, that's the curick and his dorg--'im as got pore Sharkey +took! See--'im with the laidy?" + +"S'elp me, so it is! Another good man gorn to 'is gruel, and all 'long +of a bloomin' dorg." + +They walked round by the church. John was talking--rapturously at every +step, and Glory was dragging after him like a criminal going to the +pillory. At last they came out by Great Smith Street, and he cried: +"See, there's the house of God under its spider's web of scaffolding, +and here's the Broad Sanctuary--broad enough in all conscience! Look!" + +A crowd of girls and men were trooping out of a place of entertainment +opposite, and there were screams and curses. "Look at 'im!" cried a +woman's voice. "There 'e is, the swine! And 'e was the ruin of me; and +now 'e's 'listed for a soldier and going off with another woman!" + +"You're bleedin' drunk, that's what you are!" said a man's voice, "and +if you down't take kear I'll send ye 'ome on a dawer!" + +"Strike me, will ye, ye dog? Do it! I dare you!" + +"She ain't worth it, soldier--come along," said another female voice, +whereupon the first broke into a hurricane of oaths; and a little +clergyman going by at the moment--it was the Rev. J. Golightly--said: +"Dear, dear! Are there no policemen about?" and so passed on, with his +tall wife tucked under his arm. + +John Storm pressed through the crowd and came between the two who were +quarrelling. By the light of the lamp he could see them. The man was +Charlie Wilkes, in the uniform of a soldier; the woman, with the paint +running on her face, her fringe disordered, and her back hair torn down, +was Aggie Jones. + +"We down't want no religion 'ere," said Charlie, sneering. + +"You'll get some, though, if you're not off quick!" said John. The man +looked round for the dog and a moment afterward he had disappeared. + +Glory came up behind. "O Aggie, woman, is it you?" she said, and then +the girl began to cry in a drunken sob. + +"Girls is cruel put upon, mum," said one of the women; and another +cried, "Nix, the slops!" and a policeman came pushing his way and +saying: "Now, then, move on! We ain't going to stand 'ere all night." + +"Call a cab, officer," said John. + +"Yes sir--certainly, Father. Four-wheel-er!" + +"Where do you live, Aggie?" said Glory; but the girl, now sobbing drunk, +was too far gone to follow her. + +"She lives in Brown's Square, sir," said the woman who had spoken +before, and when the cab came up she was asked to get in with the other +three. + +It was a tenement house, fronting to one facade of St. Jude's, and +Aggie's room was on the second story. She was helpless, and John carried +her up the stairs. The place was in hideous disorder, with clothing +lying about on chairs, underclothing scattered on the floor, the fire +out, many cigarette ends in the fender, a candle stuck in a beer bottle, +and a bunch of withered roses on the table. + +As John laid the girl on the bed she muttered, "Lemme alone!" and when +he asked what was to happen to her when she grew old if she behaved like +this when young, she mumbled: "Don't want to be old. Who's goin' to like +me then, d'ye think?" + +Half an hour afterward Glory and John were passing through the gates +into Clement's Inn, with its moonlight and silence, its odour of +moistened grass, its glimpse of the stars, and the red and white blinds +of its windows lit up round about. John was still talking rapturously. +He was now picturing the part which Glory was to play in the life +they were to live together. She was to help and protect their younger +sisters, the child-women, the girls in peril, to enlist their loyalty +and filial tenderness for the hour of temptation. + +"Won't it be glorious? To live the life, the real life of warfare with +the world's wickedness and woe! Won't it be magnificent? You'll do it +too! You'll go down into those slums and sloughs which I've shown you +to-night--they are the cradle of shame and sin, Glory, and this wicked +London rocks it!--you'll go down into them like a ministering angel to +raise the fallen and heal the wounded! You'll live in them, revel in +them, rejoice in them, they'll be your battlefield. Isn't that better, +far better, a thousand times better, than _playing_ at life, and all its +fashions and follies and frivolities?" + +Glory struggled to acquiesce, and from time to time in a trembling +voice she said "Yes," and "Oh, yes," until they came to the door of the +Garden House, and then a strange thing happened. Somebody was singing in +the drawing-room to the music of the piano. It was Drake. The window was +open and his voice floated over the moonlit gardens; + + Du liebes Kind, komm' geh mit mir! + Gar schoene Spiele spiel' ich mit dir. + +Suddenly it seemed to Glory that two women sprang into life in her--one +who loved John Storm and wished to live and work beside him, the other +who loved the world and felt that she could never give it up. And these +two women were fighting for her heart, which should have it and hold it +and possess it forever. + +She looked up at John, and he was smiling triumphantly, "Are you happy?" +she asked. + +"Happy! I know a hundred men who are a hundred times as rich as I, but +not one who is a hundredth part as happy!" + +"Darling!" she whispered, holding back her tears. Then looking away from +him she said, "And do you really think I'm good enough for a life of +such devotion and self-sacrifice?" + +"Good enough!" he cried, and for a moment his merry laughter drowned the +singing overhead. + +"But will the world think so?" + +"Assuredly. But who cares what the world thinks?" + +"We do, dear--we must!" + +And then, while the song went on, she began to depreciate herself in a +low voice and with a creeping sense of hypocrisy--to talk of her former +life in London as a danger, of the tobacco-shop, the foreign clubs, +the music hall, and all the mire and slime with which she had been +besmirched. "Everything is known now, dear. Have you never thought of +this? It is your duty to think of it." + +But he only laughed again with a joyous voice. "What's the odds?" he +said. "The world is made up for the most part of low, selfish, sensual +beings, incapable of belief in noble aims. Every innovator in such a +world exposes himself to the risk of being slandered or ridiculed, or +even shut up in a lunatic asylum. But who wouldn't rather be St. Theresa +in her cell than Catharine of Russia on her throne? And in your case, +what does it come to anyway? Only that you've gone through the fiery +furnace and come out unscathed. All the better--you'll be a living +witness, a proof that it is possible to pass through this wicked Babylon +unharmed and untouched." + +"Yes, if I were a man--but with a woman it is so different! It is an +honour to a man to have conquered the world, but a disgrace to a woman +to have fought with it. Yes, believe me, I know what I'm saying. That's +the cruel tragedy in a woman's life, do what you will to hide it. And +then you are so much in the eye of the world; and besides your own +position there is your family's, your uncle's. Think what it would be if +the world pointed the finger of scorn at your--at your mission--at your +high and noble aims--and all on account of me! You would cease to love +me-and I--I----" + +"Listen!" He had been shuffling restlessly on the pavement before +her. "Here I stand! Here are you! Let the waves of public opinion dash +themselves against us--we stand or fall together!" "Oh, oh, oh!" + +She was crying on his breast, but with what mixed and conflicting +feelings! Joy, pain, delight, dread, hope, disappointment. She had tried +to dishonour herself in his eyes, and it would have broken her heart if +she had succeeded. But she had failed and he had triumphed, and that was +harder still to bear. + +From overhead they heard the last lines of the song: + + Erreicht den Hof mit Mueh und Noth + In seinen Armen das Kind war todt. + +"Good-night," she whispered, and fled into the house. The lights in the +dining-room were lowered, but she found a telegram that was waiting on +the mantelpiece. It was from Sefton, the manager: "Author arrived in +London today. Hopes to be at rehearsal Monday. Please be there certain." + +The world was seizing her again, the imaginary Gloria was dragging her +back with visions of splendour and success. But she crept upstairs and +went by the drawing-room on tip-toe. "Not to-night," she thought. "My +face is not fit to be seen to-night." + +There was a dying fire in her bedroom, and her evening gown had been +laid out on a chair in front of it. She put the gown away in a drawer, +and out of a box which she drew from beneath the bed she took a far +different costume. It was the nurse's outdoor cloak, which she had +bought for use at the hospital. She held it a moment by the tips of her +fingers and looked at it, and then put it back with a sigh. + +"Gloria! is that you?" Rosa called up the stairs; and Drake's cheery +voice cried, "Won't our nightingale come down and give us a stave before +I go?" + +"Too late! Just going to bed. Good-night," she answered. Then she lit a +candle and sat down to write a letter. + +"It's no use, dear John, I can not! It would be like putting bad money +into the offertory to put me into that holy work. Not that I don't +admire it, and love it, and worship it. It is the greatest work in the +world, and last week I thought I could count everything else as dross, +only remembering that I loved you and that nothing else mattered. But +now I know that this was a vain and fleeting sentiment, and that the +sights and scenes of your work repel me on a nearer view, just as the +hospital repelled me in the early mornings when the wards were being +cleaned and the wounds dressed, and before the flowers were laid about. + +"Oh, forgive me, forgive me! But if I am fit to join your life at all +it can not be in London. That 'old serpent called the devil and Satan' +would be certain to torment me here. I could not live within sight and +sound of London and go on with the life you live. London would drag me +back. I feel as if it were an earlier lover, and I must fly away from +it. Is that possible? Can we go elsewhere? It is a monstrous demand, +I know. Say you can not agree to it. Say so at once--it will serve me +right." + +The stout watchman of the New Inn was calling midnight when Glory stole +out to post her letter. It fell into the letter-box with a thud, and she +crept back like a guilty thing. + + + + +XVI. + +Next morning Mrs. Callender heard John Storm singing to himself before +he left his bedroom, and she was standing at the bottom of the stairs +when he came down three steps at a time. + +"Bless me, laddie," she said, "to see your face shining a body would say +that somebody had left ye a legacy or bought ye a benefice instead of +taking your church frae ye!" + +"Why, yes, and better than both, and that's just what I was going to +tell you." + +"You must be in a hurry to do it, too, coming downstairs like a +cataract." + +"You came down like a cataract yourself once on a time, auntie; I'll lay +my life on that." + +"Aye, did I, and not sae lang since neither. And fools and prudes cried +'Oh!' and called me a tomboy. But, hoots; I was nought but a body born +a wee before her time. All the lasses are tomboys now, bless them, the +bright heart-some things!" + +"Auntie," said John softly, seating himself at the breakfast table, +"what d'ye think?" + +She eyed him knowingly. "Nay, I'm ower thrang working to be bothered +thinking. Out with it, laddie." + +He looked wise. "Don't you remember saying--that work like mine wanted a +woman's hand in it?" + +Her old eyes blinked. "Maybe I did, but what of it?" + +"Well, I've taken your advice, and now a woman's hand is coming into it +to guide it and direct it." + +"It must be the right hand, though, mind that." + +"It _will_ be the right hand, auntie." + +"Weel, that's grand," with another twinkle. "I thought it might be the +_left_, ye see, and ye might be putting a wedding-ring on it!" And then +she burst into a peal of laughter. + +"However did you find it out?" he said, with looks of astonishment. + +"Tut, laddie, love and a cough can not be hidden. And to think a woman +couldna see through you, too! But come," tapping the table with both +hands, "who is she?" + +"Guess." + +"Not one of your Sisters--no?" with hesitation. + +"No," with emphasis. + +"Some other simpering thing, na doot-they're all alike these days." + +"But didn't you say the girls were all tomboys now?" + +"And if I did, d'ye want a body to be singing the same song always? But +come, what like is she? When I hear of a lassie I like fine to know her +colour first. What's her complexion?" + +"Guess again." + +"Is she fair? But what a daft auld dunce I am!--to be sure she's fair." + +"Why, how did you know that, now?" + +"Pooh! They say a dark man is a jewel in a fair woman's eye, and I'll +warrant it's as true the other way about. But what's her name?" + +John's face suddenly straightened and he pretended not to hear. + +"What's her name?" stamping with both feet. + +"Dear me, auntie, what an ugly old cap you're wearing!" + +"Ugly?" reaching up to the glass. "Who says it's ugly?" + +"I do." + +"Tut! you're only a bit boy, born yesterday. But, man, what's all this +botherment about telling a lassie's name?" + +"I'll bring her to see you, auntie." + +"I should think you will, indeed! and michty quick, too!" + +This was on Sunday, and by the first post on Monday John Storm received +Glory's letter. It fell on him like a blast out of a cloud in the black +northeast, and cut him to the heart's core. He read it again, and being +alone he burst into laughter. He took it up a third time, and when he +had finished there was something at his throat that seemed to choke him. +His first impulse was fury. He wanted to rush off to Glory and insult +her, to ask her if she was mad or believed him to be so. Because she was +a coward herself, being slave-bound to the world and afraid to fight +it face to face, did she wish to make a coward of him also--to see him +sneak away from the London that had kicked him, like a cur with its tail +between its legs? + +After this there came an icy chill and an awful consciousness that +mightier forces were at work than any mere human weakness. It was the +world itself, the great pitiless world, that was dividing them again as +it had divided them before, but irrevocably now-not as a playful nurse +that puts petted children apart, but as a torrent that tears the cliffs +asunder. "Leave the world, my son, and return to your unfinished vows." +Could it be true that this was only another reminder of his broken +obedience? + +Then came pity. If Glory was slave-bound to the world, which of us was +not in chains to something? And the worst slavery of all was slavery +to self. But that was an abyss he dared not look into; and he began to +think tenderly of Glory, to tell himself how much she had to sacrifice, +to remember his anger and to be ashamed. + +A week passed, and he went about his work in a helpless way, like a +derelict without rudder or sail and with the sea roaring about it. Every +afternoon when he came home from Soho Mrs. Callender would trip into the +hall wearing a new cap with a smart bow, and finding that he was alone +she would say, "Not to-day, then?" + +"Not to-day," he would answer, and they would try to smile. But seeing +the stamp of suffering on his face, she said at last, "Tut, laddie! they +love too much who die for love." + +On the Sunday afternoon following he turned again toward Clement's Inn. +He had come to a decision at last, and was calm and even content, yet +his happiness was like a gourd which had grown up in a day, and the +morrow's sun had withered it. + +Glory had been to rehearsal every day that week. Going to the theatre +on Monday night she had said to herself, "There can be no harm in +rehearsing--I'm not compelled to play." Notwithstanding her nervousness, +the author had complimented her on her passion and self-abandonment, +and going home she had thought: "I might even go through the first +performance and then give it all up. If I had a success, that would be +beautiful, splendid, almost heroic--it would be thrilling to abandon +everything." Not hearing from John, she told herself he must be angry, +and she felt sorry for him. "He doesn't know yet how much I am going to +do." Thus the other woman in her tempted and overcame her, and drew her +on from day to day. + +Mrs. Macrae sent Lord Robert to invite her to luncheon on Sunday. "There +can be no harm in going there," she thought. She went with Rosa, and +was charmed with the lively, gay, and brilliant company. Clever and +beautiful women, clever and handsome men, and nearly all of them of her +own profession. The mistress of the mansion kept open house after church +parade on Sunday, and she sat at the bottom of her table, dressed in +black velvet, with the Archdeacon on her right and a famous actor on +her left. Lord Robert sat at the head and talked to a lady whose remarks +were heard all over the room; but Lady Robert was nowhere to be seen; +there was a hush when her name was mentioned, and then a whispered +rumour that she had differences with her husband, and had scandalized +her mother by some act of indiscretion. + +Glory's face beamed, and for the first half-hour she seemed to be on the +point of breaking into a rapturous "Well!" Nearly opposite to her at the +table sat a lady whose sleepy look and drowsy voice and airs of languor +showed that she was admired, and that she knew it. Glory found her +very amusing, and broke into little trills of laughter at her weary, +withering comments. This drew the attention of some of the men; they +found the contrast interesting. The conversation consisted first of +hints, half signs, brilliant bits of by-play, and Glory rose to it like +a fish to the May-fly. Then it fell upon bicycling and the costumes +ladies wore for it. The languid one commented upon the female fetich, +the skirt, and condemned "bloomers," whereupon Glory declared that +they were just charming, and being challenged (by a gentleman) for her +reasons she said, "Because when a girl's got them on she feels as if +she's an understudy for a man, and may even have a chance of playing the +part itself in another and a better world." + +Then there was general laughter, and the gentleman said, "You're in the +profession yourself now, aren't you?" + +"Just a stranger within your gates," she answered; and when the +talk turned on a recent lawsuit, and the languid one said it was +inconceivable that the woman concerned could have been such a coward in +relation to the man, Glory protested that it was just as natural for +a woman to be in fear of a man (if she loved him) as to be afraid of a +mouse or to look under the bed. + +"_Ma chere_," said a dainty little lady sitting next but one (she had +come to London to perform in a silent play), "they tells me you's half +my countrywoman. All right. Will you not speak de French to poor me?" +And when Glory did so the little one clapped her hands and declared she +had never heard the English speak French before. + +"Say French-cum-Irish," said Glory, "or, rather, French which begat +Irish, which begat Manx!" + +"Original, isn't she?" said somebody who was laughing. + +"Like a sea-gull among so many pigeons!" said somebody else, and the +hothouse airs of the languid lady were lost as in a fresh gust from the +salt sea. + +But her spirits subsided the moment she had recrossed the threshold. As +they were going home in the cab, past the hospital and down Piccadilly. +Rosa, who was proud and happy, said: "There! All society isn't stupid +and insipid, you see; and there are members of your own profession who +try to live up to the ideal of moral character attainable by a gentleman +in England even yet." + +"Yes, no doubt... But, Rosa, there's another kind of man altogether, +whose love has the reverence of a religion, and if I ever meet a man +like that--one who is ready to trample all the world under his feet for +me--I think--yes, I really think I shall leave everything behind and +follow him." + +"Leave everything behind, indeed! That _would_ be pretty! When +everything yields before you, too, and all the world and his wife are +waiting to shout your praises!" + +Rosa had gone to her office, and Glory was turning over some designs for +stage costumes, when Liza came in to say that the "Farver" was coming +upstairs. + +"He has come to scold me," thought Glory, so she began to hum, to push +things about, and fill the room with noise. But when she saw his drawn +face and wide-open eyes she wanted to fall on his neck and cry. + +"You have come to tell me you can't do what I suggested?" she said. "Of +course you can't." + +"No," he said slowly, very slowly. "I have thought it all over, and +concluded that I can--that I must. Yes, I am willing to go away, Glory, +and when you are ready I shall be ready too." + +"But where--where--?" + +"I don't know yet; but I am willing to wait for the unrolling of the +scroll. I am willing to follow step by step, not knowing whither. I am +willing to go where God wills, for life or death." + +"But your work in London--your great, great work----" + +"God will see to that, Glory. He can do without any of us. None of us +can do without him. The sun will set without any assistance, you know," +and the pale face made an effort to smile. + +"But, John, my dear, dear John, this is not what you expected, what you +have been thinking of and dreaming of, and building your hopes upon." + +"No," he said; "and for your sake I am sorry, very sorry. I thought of a +great career for you, Glory. Not rescue work merely--others can do that. +There are many good women in the world--nearly all women are good, but +Jew are great--and for the salvation of England, what England wants now +is a great woman.... As for me--God knows best! He has his own way of +weaning us from vanity and the snares of the devil. You were only an +instrument in his hands, my child, hardly knowing what you were doing. +Perhaps he has a work of intercession for us somewhere--far away from +here--in some foreign mission field--who can say?" + +A feeling akin to terror caught her breath, and she looked up at him +with tearful eyes. + +"After all, I am glad that this has happened," he said. "It will help me +to conquer self, to put self behind my back forever, to show the world, +by leaving London, that self has not entered into my count at all, and +that I am thinking of nothing but my work." + +A warm flush rose to her cheeks as he spoke, and again she wanted to +fling herself on his neck and cry. But he was too calm for that, too sad +and too spiritual. When he rose to go she held out her hands to him, but +he only took them and carried them to his lips, and kissed them. + +As soon as she was alone she flung herself down and cried, "Oh, give me +strength to follow this man, who mistakes his love of me for the love of +God!" But even while she sat with bent head and her hands over her face +the creeping sense came back as of another woman within her who was +fighting for her heart. She had conquered again, but at what a cost! +The foreign mission field--what associations had she with that? Only the +memory of her father's lonely life and friendless death. + +She was feeling cold and had begun to shiver, when the door opened and +Rosa entered. + +"So he _did_ come again?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought he would," and Rosa laughed coldly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"That when religious feelings take possession of a man he will stop at +nothing to gain the end he has in view." + +"Rosa," said Glory, flushing crimson, "if you imply that my friend is +capable of one unworthy act or thought I must ask you to withdraw your +words absolutely and at once!" + +"Very well, dear. I was only thinking for your own good. We working +women must not ruin our lives or let anybody else ruin them. 'Duty,' +'self-sacrifice'--I know the old formulas, but I don't believe in them. +Obey your own heart, my dear, that is your first duty. A man like Storm +would take you out of your real self, and stop your career, and----" + +"Oh, my career, my career! I'm tired to death of hearing of it!" + +"Glory!" + +"And who knows? I may not go on with it, after all." + +"If you have lost your sense of duty to yourself, have you forgotten +your duty to Mr. Drake? Think what Mr. Drake has done for you!" + +"Mr. Drake! Mr. Drake! I'm sick of that too." + +"How strange you are to-night, Glory!" + +"Am I? So are you. It is Mr. Drake here and Mr. Drake there! Are you +trying to force me into his arms?" + +"Is it you that says that, Glory--you? and to me, too? Don't you see +that this is a different case altogether? And if I thought of my own +feelings only--consulted my own heart----" + +"Rosa!" + +"Ah! Is it so very foolish? Yes, he is young and handsome, and rich and +brilliant, while I--I am ridiculous." + +"No, no, Rosa; I don't mean that." + +"I do, though; and when you came in between us--young and beautiful and +clever--everything that I was not, and could never hope to be--and he +was so drawn to you--what was I to do? Nurse my hopeless and ridiculous +love--or think of him--his happiness?" + +"Rosa, my poor dear Rosa, forgive me! forgive me!" + +An hour later, dinner being over, they had returned to the drawing-room. +Rosa was writing at the table, and there was no sound in the room except +the scratching of her pen, the falling of the slips of "copy," and the +dull reverberation of the bell of St. Clement's Danes, which was ringing +for evening service. Glory was sitting at the desk by the window, with +her head on her hands, looking down into the garden. Out of the dead +load at her heart she kept saying to herself: "Could I do that? Could +I give up the one I loved for his own good, putting myself back, and +thinking of him only?" And then a subtle hypocrisy stole over her +and she thought, "Yes I could, I could!" and in a fever of nervous +excitement she began to write a letter: + +"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and so with a woman's will. I can +not go abroad with you, dear, because I can not allow myself to break +up your life, for it _would_ be that--it would, it would, you know it +would! There are ten thousand men good enough for the foreign mission +field, but there is only one man in the world for your work in London. +This is one of the things hidden from the wise, and revealed to children +and fools. It would be wrong of me to take you away from your great +scene. I daren't do it. It would be too great a responsibility. My +conscience must have been dead and buried when I suggested such a +possibility! Thank God, it has had a resurrection, and it is not yet too +late." + +But when the letter was sealed and stamped, and sent out to the post, +she thought: "I must be mad, and there is no method in my madness +either. What do I want--to join his life in London?" And then +remembering what she had written, it seemed as if the other woman must +have written it--the visionary woman, the woman she was making herself +into day by day. + + + + +XVII. + +John Storm had left home early on Monday morning. It was the last day +of his tenancy of the clergy-house, and there was much to do at Soho. +Toward noon he made his way to the church in Bishopsgate Street for the +first time since he had left the Brotherhood. It was midday service, +and the little place was full of business men with their quick, eyes and +eager faces. The Superior preached, and the sermon was on the religious +life. We were each composed of two beings, one temporal, the other +eternal, one carnal, the other spiritual. Life was a constant warfare +between these two nearly matched forces, and often the victory seemed +to sway from this side to that. Our enemy with the chariots of iron was +ourselves. There was a Judas in each one of us ready to betray us with +a kiss if allowed. The lusts of the flesh were the most deadly sins, +absolute chastity the most pleasing to God of all virtues. Did we desire +to realize what the religious life could be? Then let us reflect upon +the news which had come from the South Seas. What was the word that had +fallen that morning on all Christendom like a thunderclap, say, rather, +like the blast of a celestial trumpet? Father Damien was dead! Think of +his lonely life in that distant island where doomed men lived out their +days. Cut off from earthly marriage, with no one claiming his affection +in the same way as Christ, he was free to commit himself entirely to God +and to God's afflicted children. He was truly married to Christ. Christ +occupied his soul as Lord and spouse. Glorious life! Glorious death! +Eternal crown of glory waiting for him in the glory everlasting! + +When the service ended John Storm stepped up to speak to the Father. His +wide-open eyes were flaming; he was visibly excited. "I came to ask a +question," he said, "but it is answered already. I will follow Father +Damien and take up his work. I was thinking of the mission field, but +my doubt was whether God had called me, and I had great fear of going +uncalled. God brought me here this morning, not knowing what I was to +do, but now I know, and my mind is made up at last." + +The Father was not less moved. They went out into the courtyard together +and walked to and fro, planning, scheming, contriving, deciding. + +"You'll take the vows first, my son?" + +"The vows?" + +"The life vows." + +"But--but will that be necessary?" + +"It will be best. Think what a peculiar appeal it have for those +poor doomed creatures! They are cut off from the world by a terrible +affliction, but you will be cut off by the graciousness of a Christ-fed +purity. They are lepers made of disease; you will be as a leper for the +kingdom of heaven's sake." + +"But, Father--if that be so--how much greater the appeal will be if--if +a woman goes out also! Say she is young and beautiful and of great +gifts?" + +"Brother Andrew may go with you, my son." + +"Yes, Brother Andrew as well. But holy men in all ages have been bound +by ties of intimacy and affection to good women who have lived and +worked beside them." + +"Sisters, my son, elder sisters always." + +"And why not? Sister, indeed, and united to me by a great and spiritual +love." + +"We are none of us invincible, my son; let us not despise danger." + +"Danger, Father! What is the worth of my religion if it does not enable +me to defy that?" + +"Well, well--do not decide too soon. I'll come to you at Soho this +evening." + +"Do. It's our last night there. I must tell my poor people what my plans +are to be. Good-bye for the present, Father, good-bye." + +"Good-bye, my son," and as John Storm went off with a light heart and +bounding step the Father passed indoors with downcast face, saying to +himself with a sigh, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest +he fall." + +It was Lord Mayor's Day again, the streets were thronged, and John Storm +was long in forging his way home. Glory's letter was waiting for him, +and he tore it open with nervous fingers, but when he had read it he +laughed aloud. "God bless her! But she doesn't know everything yet." +Mrs. Callender was out in the carriage; she would be back for lunch, and +the maid was laying the cloth; but he would not wait. After scribbling +a few lines in pencil to tell of his great resolve, he set off to +Clement's Inn. The Strand was less crowded when he returned to it, and +the newsboys were calling the evening papers with "Full Memoir of Father +Damien." + + * * * * * + +On coming home from rehearsal Glory had found the costume for her third +act, her great act, awaiting her. All day long she had been thinking +of her letter to John, half ashamed of it, half regretting it, almost +wishing it could be withdrawn. But the dress made a great tug at her +heart, and she could not resist the impulse to try it on. The moment +she had done so the visionary woman whose part she was to play seemed to +take possession of her, and shame and regret were gone. + +It was a magnificent stage costume, green as the grass in spring +with the morning sun on it. The gown was a splendid brocade with +gold-embroidered lace around the square-cut neck and about the shoulders +of the tight-made sleeves. Round her hips was a sash of golden tissue, +and its hanging ends were fringed with emeralds. A band of azure stones +encircled her head, and her fingers were covered with turquoise rings. + +She went to the drawing-room, shut the door, and began to rehearse +the scene. It was where the imaginary Gloria, being vain and selfish, +trampled everything under her feet that she might possess the world and +the things of the world. Glory spoke the words aloud, forgetting they +were not her own, until she heard another voice saying, "May I come in, +dear?" + +It was John at the door. She was ashamed of her costume then, but there +was no running away. "Yes, of course, come in," she cried, trembling all +over, half afraid to be seen, and yet proud too of her beauty and her +splendour. When he entered she was laughing nervously and was about to +say, "See, this has happened before----" + +But he saw nothing unusual, and she was disappointed and annoyed. Coming +in breathless, as if he had been running, he flung himself down on one +end of the couch, threw his hat on the other end, and said: "What did I +tell you, Glory? That a way would open itself, and it has!" + +"Really?" + +"Didn't you think of it when you saw the news in the papers this +morning?" + +"What news?" + +"That Father Damien is dead." + +"But can you--do you really mean that--do you intend----" + +"I do, Glory--I do." + +"Then you didn't get my letter this morning?" + +"Oh, yes, dear, yes; but you were only thinking for me--God bless +you!--that I was giving up a great scene for a little one. But +this--this is the greatest scene in the world, Glory. Life is a small +sacrifice; the true sacrifice is a living death, a living crucifixion." + +She felt as if he had taken her by the throat and was choking her. He +had got up and was walking to and fro, talking impetuously. + +"Yes, it is a great sacrifice I am asking you to make now, dear. That +far-off island, the poor lepers, and then lifelong banishment. But God +will reward you, and with interest too. Only think, Glory! Think of +the effect of your mere presence out there among those poor doomed +creatures! A young and beautiful woman! Not a melancholy old dolt like +me, preaching and prating to them, but a bright and brilliant girl, +laughing with them, playing games with them, making mimicry for them, +and singing to them in the voice of an angel. Oh, they'll love you, +Glory, they'll worship you--you'll be next to God and his blessed mother +with them. And already I hear them saying among themselves: 'Heaven +bless her! She might have had the world at her feet and made a great +name and a great fortune, but she gave it all up--all, all, all--for +pity and love of us!' Won't it be glorious, my child? Won't it be the +noblest thing in all the world?" + +And she struggled to answer, "Yes, no doubt--the noblest thing in all +the world!" + +"Then you agree? Ah, I knew your heart spoke in your first letter, and +you wanted to leave London. You shall, too, for God has willed it." + +Then she recovered a little and made a nervous attempt to withdraw. "But +the church at Westminster?" + +He laughed like a boy. "Oh, Golightly may have that now, and welcome." + +"But the work in London?" + +"Ah, that's all right, Glory. Ever since I heard from you I have been +dealing with the bonds which bound me to London one by one, unravelling +some and breaking others. They are all discharged now, every one of +them, and I need think of them no more. Self is put behind forever, and +I can stand before God and say: 'Do with me as you will; I am ready for +anything--anything!'" + +"Oh!" + +"Crying, Glory? My poor, dear child! But why are you crying?" + +"It's nothing!" + +"Are you sure--quite sure? Am I asking too much of you? Don't let us +deceive ourselves--think----" + +"Let us talk of something else now." She began to laugh. "Look at me, +John--don't I look well to-day?" + +"You always look well, Glory." + +"But isn't there any difference--this dress, for instance?" + +Then his sight came back and his big eyes sparkled. "How beautiful you +are, dear!" + +"Really? Do I look nice then--really?" + +"My beautiful, beautiful girl!" + +Her head was thrown back, and she glowed with joy. + +"Don't come too near me, you know--don't crush me." + +"Nay, no fear of that--I should be afraid." + +"Not that I mustn't be touched exactly." + +"What will they think, I wonder, those poor, lost creatures, so ugly, so +disfigured?" + +"And my red hair. This colour suits it, doesn't it?" + +"Some Madonna, they'll say; the very picture of the mother of God +herself!" + +"Are you--are you afraid of me in this frock, dear? Shall I run and take +it off?" + +"No--no; let me look at you again." + +"But you don't like me to-day, for all that." + +"I?" + +"Do you know you've never once kissed me since you came into the room?" + +"Glory!" + +"My love! my love!" + +"And you," he said, close to her lips, "are you ready for anything?" + +"Anything," she whispered. + +At the next moment she was holding herself off with her arms stiff about +his neck, that she might look at him and at her lace sleeves at the same +time. Suddenly a furrow crossed his brow. He had remembered the Father's +warning, and was summoning all his strength. + +"But out there I'll love you as a sister, Glory." + +"Ah!" + +"For the sake of those poor doomed beings cut off from earthly love +we'll love each other as the angels love." + +"Yes, that is the highest, purest, truest love, no doubt. Still----" + +"What does the old Talmud say?--'He who divorces himself from the joys +of earth weds himself to the glories of Paradise.'" + +Her lashes were still wet; she was gazing deep into his eyes. + +"And to think of being united in the next world, Glory--what happiness, +what ecstasy!" + +"Love me in this world, dearest," she whispered. + +"You'll be their youth, Glory, their strength, their loveliness!" + +"Be mine, darling, be mine!" + +But the furrow crossed his brow a second time, and he disengaged himself +before their lips had met again. Then he walked about the room as +before, talking in broken sentences. They would have to leave soon--very +soon--almost at once. And now he must go back to Soho. There was so much +to do, to arrange. On reaching the door he hesitated, quivering with +love, hardly knowing how to part from her. She was standing with head +down, half angry and half ashamed. + +"Well, _au revoir_," he cried in a strained voice, and then fled down +the stairs. "The Father was right," he thought. "No man is invincible. +But, thank God, it is over! It can never occur again!" + +Her glow had left her, and she felt chilled and lost There was no help +for it now, and escape was impossible. She must renounce everything for +the man who had renounced everything for her. Sitting on the couch, she +dropped her head on the cushion and cried like a child. In the lowest +depths of her soul she knew full well that she could never go away, but +she began to bid good-bye in her heart to the life she had been living. +The charm and fascination of London began to pass before her like a +panorama, with all the scenes of misery and squalor left out. What a +beautiful world she was leaving behind her! She would remember it all +her life long with useless and unending regret. Her tears were flowing +through the fingers which were clasped beneath her face. + +A postman's knock came to the door downstairs. The letter was from the +manager, written in the swirl and rush of theatrical life, and reading +like a telegram: "Theatre going on rapidly, men working day and night, +rehearsals advanced and scenery progressing; might we not fix this day +fortnight for the first performance?" + +Inclosed with this was a letter from the author: "You are on the eve +of an extraordinary success, dear Gloria, and I write to reassure and +congratulate you. Some signs of inexperience I may perhaps observe, some +lack of ease and simplicity, but already it is a performance of so much +passion and power that I predict for it a triumphant success. A great +future awaits you. Don't shrink from it, don't be afraid of it; it is as +certain as that the sun will rise to-morrow." + +She carried the letter to her lips, then rose from the couch, and threw +up her head, closed her eyes, and smiled. The visionary woman was taking +hold of her again with the slow grip and embrace of the glacier. + +Rosa came home to dine, and at sight of the new costume she cried, +"Shade of Titian, what a picture!" During dinner she mentioned that she +had met Mr. Drake, who had said that the Prince was likely to be present +at the production, having asked for the date and other particulars. + +"But haven't you heard the _great_ news, dear? It's in all the late +editions of the evening papers." + +"What is it?" said Glory; but she saw what was coming. + +"Father Storm is to follow Father Damien. That's the report, at all +events; but he is expected to make a statement at his club to-night, and +I have to be there for the paper." + +As soon as dinner was over Rosa went off to Soho, and then Glory was +brought back with a shock to the agony of her inward struggle. She +knew that her hour had arrived, and that on her action now everything +depended. She knew that she could never break the chains by which the +world and her profession held her. She knew that the other woman had +come, that she must go with her, and go for good. But the renunciation +of love was terrible. The day had been soft and beautiful. It was +falling asleep and yawning now, with a drowsy breeze that shook the +yellow leaves as they hung withered and closed on the thinning boughs +like the fingers of an old maid's hand. She was sitting at the desk by +the window, trying to write a letter. More than once she tore up the +sheet, dried her eyes, and began again. What she wrote last was this: + +"It is impossible, dear John. I can not go with you to the South Seas. +I have struggled, but I can not, I can not! It is the greatest, noblest, +sublimest mission in the world, but I am not the woman for these high +tasks. I should be only a fruitless fig tree, a sham, a hypocrite. It +would be like taking a dead body with you to take me, for my heart would +not be there. You would find that out, dear, and I should be ashamed. + +"And then I can not leave this life--I can not give up London. I am like +a child--I like the bustling streets, the brilliant thoroughfares, the +crowds, the bands of music, the lights at night, and the sense of +life. I like to succeed, too, and to be admired, and--yes, to hear the +clapping of hands in a theatre. You are above all this, and can look +down at it as dross, and I like you for that also. But give it all up +I can't; I haven't the strength; it is in my blood, dear, and if I part +from it I must die. + +"And then I like to be fondled and coaxed and kissed, and I want so +much--oh, so much to be loved! I want somebody to tell me every day +and always how much he loves me, and to praise me and pet me and forget +everything else for me, everything, everything, even his own soul and +salvation! You can not do that; it would be sinful, and besides it +wouldn't be love as you understand it, and as it ought to be, if you are +to go out to that solemn and awful task. + +"When I said I loved you I spoke the truth, dear, and yet I didn't know +what the word meant really, I didn't realize everything. I love you +still--with all my heart and soul I love you; but now I know that there +is a difference between us, that we can never come together. No, I can +not reach up to your austere heights. I am so weak; you are so strong. +Your 'strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure,' +while I---- + +"I am unworthy of your thoughts, John. Leave me to the life I have +chosen. It may be poor and vain and worthless, but it is the only life +I'm fit for. And yet I love you--and you loved me. I suppose God makes +men and women like that sometimes, and it is no use struggling. + +"One kiss, dear--it is the last." + + + + +XVIII. + +John Storm went back to Victoria Square with a bright and joyful face +and found Mrs. Callender waiting for him, grim as a judge. He could +see that her eyes were large and red with weeping, but she fell on him +instantly with withering scorn. + +"So you're here at last, are ye? A pretty senseless thing this is, to +be sure! What are you dreaming about? Are you bewitched or what? Do you +suppose things can be broken off in this way? You to go to the leper +islands indeed!" + +"I'm called, auntie, and when God calls a man, what can he do but answer +with Samuel----" + +"Tut! Don't talk sic nonsense. Besides, Samuel had some sense. He waited +to be called three times, and I havena heard this is your third time of +calling." + +John Storm laughed, and that provoked her to towering indignation. "Good +God, what are you thinking of, man? There's that puir lassie--you're +running away from her, too, aren't you? It's shameful, it's disgraceful, +it's unprincipled, and _you_ to do it too!" + +"You needn't trouble about that, auntie," said John; "she is going with +me." + +"What?" cried Mrs. Callender, and her face expressed boundless +astonishment. + +"Yes," said John, "you women are brimful of courage, God bless you! and +she's the bravest of you all." + +"But you'll no have the assurance to tak' that puir bit lassie to yonder +God-forsaken spot?" + +"She wants to go--at least she wants to leave London." + +"What does she? Weel, weel! But didn't I say she was nought but one of +your Sisters or sic-like?--And you're going to let a slip of a girl tak' +you away frae your ain work and your ain duty--and you call yourself a +man!" + +He began to coax and appease her, and before long the grim old face was +struggling between smiles and tears. + +"Tut! get along wi' ye! I've a great mind, though--I'd be liking fine to +see her anyway. Now, where does she bide in London?" + +"Why do you want to know that, auntie?" + +"What's it to you, laddie? Can't a body call to say 'Good-bye' to a +lassie, and tak' her a wee present before going away, without asking a +man's permission?" + +"I shouldn't do it, though, if I were you." + +"And why not, pray?" + +"Because she's as bright as a star and as quick as a diamond, and she'd +see through you in a twinkling. Besides, I shouldn't advise----" + +"Keep your advice like your salt till you're asked for it, my man--and +to think of any reasonable body giving up his work in London for +that--that----" + +"Good men have gone out to the mission field, auntie." + +"Mission fiddlesticks! Just a barber's chair, fit for every comer." + +"And then this isn't the mission field exactly either." + +"Mair's the pity, and then you wouldna be running bull-neck on your +death before your time." + +"None of us can do that, auntie, for heaven is over all." + +"High words off an empty stomach, my man, so you can just keep them to +cool your parridge. But oh, dear--oh, dear! You'll forget your puir auld +Jane Callender, anyway." + + +"Never, auntie!" + +"Tut! don't tell me!" + +"Never!" + +"It's the last I'm to see of you, laddie. I'm knowing that fine--and me +that fond of you too, and looking on you as my ain son." + +"Come, auntie, come; you mustn't take it so seriously." + +"And to think a bit thing like that can make all this botherment!" + +"Nay, it's my own doing--absolutely mine." + +"Aye, aye, man's the head, but woman turns it." + +They dined together and then got into the carriage for Soho. John talked +continually, with an impetuous rush of enthusiasm; but the old lady +sat in gloomy silence, broken only by a sigh. At the corner of Downing +Street he got out to call on the Prime Minister, and sent the carriage +on to the clergy-house. + +A newsboy going down Whitehall was calling an evening paper. John bought +a copy, and the first thing his eye fell upon was the mention of his +own name: "The announcement in another column that Father Storm of Soho +intends to take up the work which the heroic Father Damien has just laid +down will be received by the public with mingled joy and regret--joy +at the splendid heroism which prompts so noble a resolve, regret at +the loss which the Church in London will sustain by the removal of +a clergyman of so much courage, devotion, independence, and +self-sacrifice.... That the son of a peer and heir to an earldom should +voluntarily take up a life of poverty in Soho, one of the most crowded, +criminal, and neglected corners of Christendom, was a fact of so much +significance----" + +John Storm crushed the paper in his hand and threw it into the street; +but a few minutes afterward he saw another copy of it in the hands of +the Prime Minister as he came to the door of the Cabinet room to greet +him. The old man's face looked soft, and his voice had a faint tremor. + +"I'm afraid you are bringing me bad news, John." + +John laughed noisily. "Do I look like it, uncle? Bad news, indeed! No, +but the best news in the world." + +"What is it, my boy?" + +"I am about to be married. You've often told me I ought to be, and now +I'm going to act on your advice." + +The bleak old face was smiling. "Then the rumour I see in the papers +isn't true, after all?" + +"Oh, yes, it's true enough, and my wife is to go with me." + +"But have you considered that carefully? Isn't it a terrible demand to +make of any woman? Women are more religious than men, but they are more +material also. Under the heat of religious impulse a woman is capable of +sacrifices--great sacrifices--but when it has cooled----" + +"No fear of that, uncle," said John; and then he told the Prime Minister +what he had told Mrs. Callender--that it was Glory's proposal that they +should leave London, and that without this suggestion he might not have +thought of his present enterprise. The bleak face kept smiling, but the +Prime Minister was asking himself: "What does this mean? Has she _her +own_ reasons for wishing to go away?" + +"Do you know, my boy, that with all this talk you've not yet told me who +she is?" + +John told him, and then a faint and far-off rumour out of another world +seemed to flit across his memory. + +"An actress at present, you say?" + +"So to speak, but ready to give up everything for this glorious +mission." + +"Very brave, no doubt, very beautiful; but what of your present +responsibilities--your responsibilities in London?" + +"That's just what I came to speak about," said John; and then his +rapturous face straightened, and he made some effort to plunge into the +practical aspect of his affairs at Soho. There was his club for +girls and his home for children. They were to be turned out of the +clergy-house tomorrow, and he had taken a shelter at Westminster. +But the means to support them were still deficient, and if there was +anything coming to him that would suffice for that purpose--if there was +enough left--if his mother's money was not all gone---- + +The Prime Minister was looking into John's face, watching the play of +his features, but hardly listening to what he said. "What does this +mean?" he was asking himself, in the old habitual way of the man whose +business it is to read the motives that are not revealed. + +"So you are willing to leave London, after all, John?" + +"Why not, uncle? London is nothing to me in itself, less than nothing; +and if that brave girl to whom it is everything----" + +"And yet six months ago I gave you the opportunity of doing so, and +then----" + +"Then my head was full of dreams, sir. Thank God, they are gone now, and +I am awake at last!" + +"But the Church--I thought your duty and devotion to the Church----" + +"The Church is a chaos, uncle, a wreck of fragments without unity, +principle, or life. No man can find foothold in it now without +accommodating his duty and his loyalty to his chances of a livelihood. +It is a career, not a crusade. Once I imagined that a man might live as +a protest against all this, but it was a dream, a vain and presumptuous +dream." + +"And then your woman movement----" + +"Another dream, uncle! A whole standing army marshalled and equipped +to do battle against the world's sins toward woman could never hope for +victory. Why? Because the enemy is ourselves, and only God can contend +against a foe like that. He will, too! For the wrongs inflicted on woman +by this wicked and immoral London God will visit it with his vengeance +yet. I see it coming, it is not far off, and God help those----" + +"But surely, my boy, surely it is not necessary to fly away from the +world in order to escape from your dreams? Just when it is going to be +good to you, too. It was kicking and cuffing and laughing at you only +yesterday----" + +"And to-morrow it would kick and cuff and laugh at me again. Oh, it is +a cowardly and contemptible world, uncle, and happy is the man who wants +nothing of it! He is its master, its absolute master, and everybody else +is its wretched slave. Think of the people who are scrambling for fame +and titles and decorations and invitations to court! They'll all be in +their six feet by two feet some-day. And then think of the rich men who +hire detectives to watch over their children lest they should be stolen +for sake of a ransom, while they themselves, like human mill-horses, go +tramping round and round the safes which contain their securities! +Oh, miserable delusion, to think that because a nation is rich it is +therefore great! Once I thought the Church was a refuge from this worst +of the spiritual dangers of the age, and so it would have been if it +had been built on the Gospel. But it isn't; it loves the thrones of the +world and bows down to the golden calf. Poverty! Give me poverty and let +me renounce everything. Jesus, our blessed Jesus, he knew well what he +was doing in choosing to be poor, and even as a man he was the greatest +being that ever trod upon the earth." + +"But this leper island mission is not poverty merely, my dear John--it +is death, certain death, sooner or later, and God knows what news the +next mail may bring us!" + +"As to that I feel I am in God's hands, sir, and he knows best what is +good for us. People talk about dying before their time, but no man ever +did or ever will or ever can do so, and it is blasphemy to think of it. +Then which of us can prolong our lives by one day or hour or minute? But +God can do everything. And what a grand inspiration to trust yourself +absolutely to him, to raise the arms heavenward which the world would +pinion to your side and cry, 'Do with me as thou wilt, I am ready for +anything--anything.'" + +A tremor passed over the wrinkles about the old man's eyes, and he +thought: "All this is self-deception. He doesn't believe a word of it. +Poor boy! his heart alone is leading him, and he is the worst slave of +us all." + +Then he said aloud: "Things haven't fallen out as I expected, John, +and I am sorry, very sorry. The laws of life and the laws of love don't +always run together--I know that quite well." + +John flinched, but made no protest. + +"I shall feel as if I were losing your mother a second time when you +leave me, my boy. To tell you the truth, I've been watching you +and thinking of you, though you haven't known it. And you've rather +neglected the old man. I thought you might bring your wife to me some +day, and that I might live to see your children. But that's all over +now, and there seems to be no help for it. They say the most noble and +beautiful things in the world are done in a state of fever, and perhaps +this fever of yours---H'm. As for the money, it is ready for you at any +time." + +"There can't be much left, uncle. I have gone through most of it." + +"No, John, no; the money you spent was my money--your own is still +untouched." + +"You are too good, uncle, and if I had once thought you wished to see +more of me----" + +"Ah, I know, I know. It was a wise man who said it was hard to love a +woman and do anything else, even to love God himself." + +John dropped his head and turned to go. + +"But come again before you leave London--if you do leave it--and now +good-bye, and God bless you!" + +The news of John Storm's intention to follow Father Damien had touched +and thrilled the heart of London, and the streets and courts about St. +Mary Magdalene's were thronged with people. In their eyes he was about +to fulfil a glorious mission, and ought to be encouraged and sustained. +"Good-bye, Father!" cried one. "God bless you!" cried another. A young +woman with timid eyes stretched out her hand to him, and then everybody +attempted to do the same. He tried to answer cheerfully, but was +conscious that his throat was thick and his voice was husky. Mrs. +Pincher was at the door of the clergy-house, crying openly and wiping +her eyes. "Ain't there lepers enough in London, sir, without goin' to +the ends of the earth for 'em?" He laughed and made an effort to answer +her humorously, but for some reason both words and ideas failed him. + +The club-room was crowded, and among the girls and the Sisters there +were several strange faces. Mrs. Callender sat at one end of the little +platform, and she was glowering across at the other end, where the +Father Superior stood in his black cassock, quiet and watchful, and with +the sprawling, smiling face of Brother Andrew by his side. The girls +were singing when John entered, and their voices swelled out as they saw +him pushing his way through. When the hymn ended there was silence for +a moment as if it was expected that he would speak, but he did not rise, +and the lady at the harmonium began again. Some of the young mothers +from the shelter above had brought down their little ones, and the thin, +tuneless voices could be heard among the rest: + + There's a Friend for little children + Above the bright blue sky. + +John had made a brave fight for it, but he was beginning to break down. +Everybody else had risen, he could not rise. An expression of fear +and at the same time of shame had come into his face. Vaguely, +half-consciously, half-reproachfully, he began to review the situation. +After all, he was deserting his post, he was running away. This was his +true scene, his true work, and if he turned his back upon it he would +be pursued by eternal regrets. And yet he must go, he must leave +everything--that alone he understood and felt. + +All at once, God knows why, he began to think of something which had +happened when he was a boy. With his father he was crossing the Duddon +Sands. The tide was out, far out, but it had turned, it was galloping +toward them, and they could hear the champing waves on the beach behind. +"Run, boy, run! Give me your hand and run!" + +Then he resumed the current of his former thoughts. "What was I thinking +about?" he asked himself; and when he remembered, he thought, "I will +give my hand to the heavenly Father and go on without fear." At the +second verse he rallied, rose to his feet, and joined in the singing. +It was said afterward that his deep voice rang out above all the other +voices, and that he sang in rapid and irregular time, going faster and +faster at every line. + +They had reached the last verse but one, when he saw a young girl +crushing her way toward him with a letter. She was smiling, and seemed +proud to render him this service. He was about to lay the letter aside +when he glanced at it, and then he could not put it down. It was marked +"Urgent," and the address was in Glory's handwriting. The champing waves +were in his ears again. They were coming on and on. + +A presentiment of evil crept over him and he opened the letter and +read it. Then his life fell to wreck in a moment. Its nullity, its +hopelessness, its futility, its folly, the world with its elusive joys, +love with its deceptions so cruel and so sweet-all, all came sweeping +up on him like the sea-wrack out of a storm. In an instant the truth +appeared to him, and he understood himself at last. For Glory's sake he +had sacrificed everything and deceived himself before God and man. And +yet she had failed him and forsaken him, and slipped out of his hands +in the end. The tide had overtaken and surrounded him, and the voices of +the girls and the children were like the roar of the waters in his ears. + +But what was this? Why had they stopped singing? All at once he became +aware that everybody else was seated, and that he was standing alone on +the edge of the platform with Glory's letter in his hand. + +"Hush! hush!" There was a strained silence, and he tried to recollect +what it was that he was expected to do. Every eye was on his face. Some +of the strangers opened note-books and sat ready to write. Then, coming +to himself, he understood what was before him, and tried to control his +voice and begin. + +"Girls," he said, but he was hardly able to speak or breathe. "Girls," +he said again, but his strong voice shook, and he tried in vain to go +on. + +One of the girls began to sob. Then another and another. It was said +afterward that nobody could look on his drawn face, so hopeless, so full +of the traces of suffering and bitter sadness, without wanting to cry +aloud. But he controlled himself at length. + +"My good friends all, you came to-night to bid me Godspeed on a long +journey and I came to bid you farewell. But there is a higher power that +rules our actions, and it is little we know of our own future, or our +fate or ourselves. God bids me tell you that my leper island is to be +London, and that my work among you is not done yet." + +After saying this he stood a moment as if intending to say more, but he +said nothing. The letter crinkled in his fingers, he looked at it, an +expression of helplessness came into his face, and he sat down. And +then the Father came up to him and sat beside him, and took his hand and +comforted it as if he had been a little child. + +There was another attempt to sing, but the hymn made no headway this +time, for some of the girls were crying, they hardly knew why, and +others were whispering, and the strangers were leaving the room. Two +ladies were going down the stairs. + +"I felt sure he wouldn't go," said one. + +"Why so?" said the other. + +"I can't tell you. I had my private reasons." + +It was Rosa Macquarrie. Going down the dark lane she came upon a woman +who had haunted the outside of the building during the past half hour, +apparently thinking at one moment of entering and at the next of going +away. The woman hurriedly lowered her veil as Rosa approached her, but +she was too late to avoid recognition. + +"Glory! Is it you?" + +Glory covered her face with her hands and sobbed. + +"Whatever are you doing here?" + +"Don't ask me, Rosa. Oh, I'm a lost woman! Lord forgive me, what have I +done?" + +"My poor child!" + +"Take me home, Rosa. And don't leave me to-night, dear--not to-night, +Rosa." + +And Rosa took her by the arm and led her back to Clement's Inn. + +Next morning before daybreak the brothers of the Society of the Holy +Gethsemane had gathered in their church in Bishopsgate Street for Lauds +and Prime. Only the chancel was lighted up, the rest of the church was +dark, but the first gleams of dawn, were now struggling through the +eastern window against the candlelight on the altar and the gaslight on +the choir. + +John Storm was standing on the altar steps and the Father was by his +side. He was wearing the cassock of the Brotherhood, and the cord with +the three knots was bound about his waist. All was silent round about, +the city was still asleep, the current of life had not yet awakened for +the day. Lauds and Prime were over, the brothers were on their knees, +and the Father was reading the last words of the dedication service. + +"Amen! Amen!" + +There was a stroke of the bell overhead, a door somewhere was loudly +slammed, and then the organ began to play: + + Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty. + +The brothers rose and sang, their voices filled the dark place, and the +quivering sounds of the organ swelled up to the unseen roof. + + Holy, Holy, Holy! Merciful and Mighty, + God in Three Persons, Blessed Trinity! + +The Father's cheeks were moist, but his eyes were shining and his face +was full of a great joy. John Storm was standing with bowed head. He had +made the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and surrendered his +life to God. + + + + +FOURTH BOOK. + +_SANCTUARY_. + + + + +I. + +Six months passed, and a panic terror had seized London. It was one of +those epidemic frenzies which have fallen upon great cities in former +ages of the world. The public mind was filled with the idea that London +was threatened with a serious danger; that it was verging on an awful +crisis; that it was about to be destroyed. + +The signs were such as have usually been considered preparatory to the +second coming of the Messiah--a shock of earthquake which threw down a +tottering chimney (somewhere in Soho), and the expected appearance of a +comet. But this was not to be the second Advent; it was to be a disaster +confined to London. + +God was about to punish London for its sins. The dishonour lay at its +door of being the wickedest city in the world. Side by side with the +development of mechanical science lifting men to the power and position +of angels, there was a moral degeneration degrading them to the level +of beasts. With an apparent aspiration after social and humanitarian +reform, there was a corruption of the public conscience and a hardening +of the public heart. London was the living picture of this startling +contrast. Impiety, iniquity, impurity, and injustice were at their +height here, and either England must forfeit her position among the +nations, or the Almighty would interpose. The Almighty was about to +interpose, and the consummation of London's wickedness was near. + +By what means the destruction of London would come to pass was a matter +on which there were many theories, and the fear and consternation of the +people took various shapes. One of them was that of a mighty earthquake, +in which the dome of St. Paul's was to totter and the towers of +Westminster Abbey to rock and fall amid clouds of dust. Another was that +of an avenging fire, in which the great city was to light up the whole +face of Europe and burn to ashes as a witness of God's wrath at the sins +of men. A third was that of a flood, in which the Thames was to rise +and submerge the city, and tens of thousands of houses and hundreds of +thousands of persons were to be washed away and destroyed. + +Concerning the time of the event, the popular imagination had attained +to a more definite idea. It was to occur on the great day of the Epsom +races. Derby Day was the national day. More than any day associated with +political independence, or with victory in battle, or yet with religious +sanctity, the day devoted to sport and gambling and intemperance and +immorality was England's day. Therefore the Almighty had selected that +day for the awful revelation by which he would make his power known to +man. + +Thus the heart of London was once more stormed, and shame and panic ran +through it like an epidemic. The consequences were the usual ones. In +vain the newspapers published articles in derision of the madness, with +accounts of similar frenzies which had laid hold of London before. +There was a run on the banks, men sold their businesses, dissolved their +partnerships, transferred their stocks, and removed to houses outside +the suburbs. Great losses were sustained in all ranks of society, and +the only class known to escape were the Jews on the Exchange, who held +their peace and profited by their infidelity. + +When people asked themselves who the author and origin of the panic was +they thought instantly and with one accord of a dark-eyed, lonely man, +who walked the streets of London in the black cassock of a monk, with +the cord and three knots which were the witness of life vows. No dress +could have shown to better advantage his dark-brown face and tall +figure. Something majestic seemed to hang about the man. His big +lustrous eyes, his faint smile with its sad expression always behind it, +his silence, his reserve, his burning eloquence when he preached--seemed +to lay siege to the imagination of the populace, and especially to take +hold as with a fiery grip of the impassioned souls of women. + +A certain mystery about his life did much to help this extraordinary +fascination. When London as a whole became conscious of him it was +understood that he was in some sort a nobleman as well as a priest, and +had renounced the pleasures and possessions of the world and given up +all for God. His life was devoted to the poor and outcast, especially +to the Magdalenes and their unhappy children. Although a detached +monk still and living in obedience to the rule of one of the monastic +brotherhoods of the Anglican Church, he was also vicar of a parish in +Westminster. His church was a centre of religious life in that abandoned +district, having no fewer than thirty parochial organizations connected +with it, including guilds, clubs, temperance societies, savings banks, +and, above all, shelters and orphanages for the girls and their little +ones, who were the vicar's especial care. + +His chief helpers were a company of devoted women, drawn mainly from +the fashionable fringe which skirted his squalid district and banded +together as a Sisterhood. For clerical help he depended entirely on the +brothers of his society, and the money saved by these voluntary agencies +he distributed among the poor, the sick, and the unfortunate. Money of +his own he had none, and his purse was always empty by reason of his +free-handedness. Rumour spoke of a fortune of many thousands which had +been spent wholly on others in the building or maintenance of school +and hospital, shelter and refuge. He lived a life of more than Christian +simplicity, and was seen to treat himself with constant disregard of +comfort and convenience. His only home was two rooms (formerly +assigned to the choir) on the ground floor under his church, and it was +understood that he slept on a hospital bed, wrapped in the cloak which +in winter he wore over his cassock. His personal servant in these +cell-like quarters was a lay brother from his society--a big ungainly +boy with sprawling features who served him and loved him and looked up +to him with the devotion of a dog. A dog of other kind he had also--a +bloodhound, whose affection for him was a terror to all who awakened +its jealousy or provoked its master's wrath. People said he had learned +renunciation and was the most Christlike man they had ever known. He was +called "The Father." + +Such was the man with whom the popular imagination associated the idea +of the panic, but what specific ground there was for laying upon him +the responsibility of the precise predictions which led to it none could +rightly say. It was remembered afterward that every new folly had been +ascribed to him. "The Father says so and so," or "The Father says such +and such will come to pass," and then came prophecies which were the +remotest from his thoughts. No matter how wild or extravagant the +assertion, if it was laid upon him there were people ready to believe +it, so deep was the impression made on the public mind by this priest +in the black cassock with the bloodhound at his heels, so strong was the +assurance that he was a man with the breath of God in him. + +What was known with certainty was that the Father preached against +the impurities and injustices of the age with a vehemence never heard +before, and that when he spoke of the wickedness of the world toward +woman, of the temptations that were laid before her--temptations of +dress, of luxury, of false work and false fame--and then of the cruel +neglect and abandonment of woman when her summer had gone and her winter +had come, his lips seemed to be touched as by a live coal from the altar +and his eyes to blaze as with Pentecostal fire. Cities and nations which +countenanced and upheld such corruptions of a false civilization would +be overtaken by the judgment of God. That judgment was near, it was +imminent; and but for the many instances in which the life of the rich, +the great, and the powerful was redeemed by the highest virtue, this +pitiful farce of a national existence would have been played out +already; but for the good men still found in Sodom, the city of +abominations must long since have been destroyed. People there were to +laugh at these predictions, but they were only throwing cold water on +lime; the more they did so the more it smoked. + +Little by little a supernatural atmosphere gathered about the Father as +a man sent from God. One day he visited a child who was sick with a bad +mouth, and touching the child's mouth he said, "It will be well soon." +The child recovered immediately, and the idea started that he was a +healer. People waited for him that they might touch his hand. Sometimes +after service he had to stand half an hour while the congregation filed +past him. Hard-headed persons, sane and acute in other relations of +life, were heard to protest that on shaking hands with him an electric +current passed through them. Sick people declared themselves cured by +the sight of him, and charlatans sold handkerchiefs on pretence that he +had blessed them. He repeatedly protested that it was not necessary to +touch or even to see him. "Your faith alone can make you whole." But +the frenzy increased, the people crowded upon him and he was followed +through the streets for his blessing. + +Somebody discovered that he was born on the 25th of December, and was +just thirty-three years of age. Then the madness reached its height. A +certain resemblance was observed in his face and head to the traditional +head and face of Christ, and it was the humour of the populace to +discover some mystical relations between him and the divine figure. +Hysterical women kissed his hand and even hailed him as their Saviour. +He protested and remonstrated, but all to no purpose. The delusion grew, +and his protestations helped it. + +As the day approached that was to be big with the fate of London, +his church, which had been crowded before, was now besieged. He was +understood to preach the hope that in the calamity to befall the city a +remnant would be saved, as Israel was saved from the plagues of Egypt. +Thousands who were too poor to leave London had determined to spend the +night of the fateful day in the open air, and already they were +going out into the fields and the parks, to Hampstead, Highgate, and +Blackheath. The panic was becoming terrible and the newspapers were +calling upon the authorities to intervene. A danger to the public peace +was threatened, and the man who was chiefly to blame for it should be +dealt with at once. No matter that he was innocent of active +sedition, no matter that he was living a life devoted to religious and +humanitarian reforms, no matter that his vivid faith, his trust in God, +and his obedience to the divine will were like a light shining in a dark +place, no matter that he was not guilty of the wild extravagance of +the predictions of his followers--"the Father" was a peril, he was a +panic-maker, and he should be arrested and restrained. + +The morning of Derby Day broke gray and dull and close. It was one of +those mornings in summer which portend a thunderstorm and great heat. +In that atmosphere London awoke to two great fevers--the fever of +superstitious fear and the fever of gambling and sport. + + + + +II. + +But London is a monster with many hearts; it is capable of various +emotions, and even at that feverish time it was at the full tide of a +sensation of a different kind entirely. This was a new play and a new +player. The play was "risky"; it was understood to present the fallen +woman in her naked reality, and not as a soiled dove or sentimental +plaything. The player was the actress who performed this part. She was +new to the stage, and little was known of her, but it was whispered +that she had something in common with the character she personated. Her +success had been instantaneous: her photograph was in the shop windows, +it had been reproduced in the illustrated papers, she had sat to famous +artists, and her portrait in oils was on the line at Burlington House. + +The play was the latest work of the Scandinavian dramatist, the actress +was Glory Quayle. + +At nine o'clock on the morning of Derby Day Glory was waiting in the +drawing-room of the Garden House, dressed in a magnificent outdoor +costume of pale gray which seemed to wave like a ripe hayfield. She +looked paler and more nervous than before, and sometimes she glanced at +the clock on the mantelpiece and sometimes looked away in the distance +before her while she drew on her long white gloves and buttoned them. +Rosa Macquarrie came upstairs hurriedly. She was smartly dressed in +black with red roses and looked bright and brisk and happy. + +"He has sent Benson with the carriage to ask us to drive down," said +Rosa. "Must have some engagement surely. Let us be off, dear. No time to +lose." + +"Shall I go, I wonder?" said Glory, with a strange gravity. + +"Indeed yes, dear. Why not? You've not been in good spirits lately, and +it will do you good. Besides, you deserve a holiday after a six months' +season. And then it's such a great day for _him_, too----" + +"Very well, I'll go," said Glory, and at that moment a twitch of her +nervous fingers broke a button off one of the gloves. She drew it off, +threw both gloves on to a side table, took up another pair that lay +there, and followed Rosa downstairs. An open carriage was waiting for +them in the outer court of the inn, and ten minutes afterward they drew +up in a narrow street off Whitehall under a wide archway which opened +into the large and silent quadrangle leading to the principal public +offices. It was the Home Office; the carriage had come for Drake. + +Drake had seen changes in his life too. His father was dead and he had +succeeded to the baronetcy. He had also inherited a racing establishment +which the family had long upheld, and a colt which had been entered for +the Derby nearly three years ago was to run in the race that day. Its +name was Ellan Vannin, and it was not a favourite. Notwithstanding +the change in his fortunes, Drake still held his position of private +secretary to the Secretary of State, but it was understood that he was +shortly to enter public life under the wing of the Government, and to +stand for the first constituency that became vacant. Ministers predicted +a career for him; there was nothing he might not aspire to, and hardly +anything he might not do. + +Parliament had adjourned in honour of the day on which the "Isthmian +games" were celebrated, and the Home Secretary, as leader of the Lower +House, had said that horse-racing was "a noble and distinguished +sport deserving of a national holiday." But the Minister himself, and +consequently his secretary, had been compelled to put in an appearance +at their office for all that. There was urgent business demanding prompt +attention. + +In the large green room of the Home Office overlooking the empty +quadrangle, the Minister, dressed in a paddock coat, received a +deputation of six clergymen. It included Archdeacon Wealthy, who served +as its spokesman. In a rotund voice, strutting a step and swinging +his glasses, the Archdeacon stated their case. They had come, most +reluctantly and with a sense of pain and grief and humiliation, to make +representations about a brother clergyman. It was the notorious Mr. +Storm--"Father" Storm, for he was drawing the people into the Roman +obedience. The man was bringing religion into ridicule and contempt, and +it was the duty of all who loved their mother Church---- + +"Pardon me, Mr. Archdeacon, we have nothing to do with that," said +the Minister. "You should go to your Bishop. Surely he is the proper +person----" + +"We've been, sir," said the Archdeacon, and then followed an explanation +of the Bishop's powerlessness. The Church provided no funds to protect +a Bishop from legal proceedings in inhibiting a vicar guilty of this +ridiculous kind of conduct. "But the man comes within the power of the +secular authorities, sir. He is constantly inciting people to assemble +unlawfully to the danger of the public peace." + +"How? How?" + +"Well, he is a fanatic, a lunatic, and has put out monstrous and +ridiculous predictions about the destruction of London, causing +disorderly crowds to assemble about his church. The thoroughfares are +blocked, and people are pushed about and assaulted. Indeed, things have +come to such a pass that now--to-day----" + +"Pardon me again, Mr. Archdeacon, but this seems to be a simple matter +for the police. Why didn't you go to the Commissioner at Scotland Yard?" + +"We did, sir, but he said--you will hardly believe it, but he +actually affirmed--that as the man had been guilty of no overt act of +sedition----" + +"Precisely--that would be my view too." + +"And are we, sir, to wait for a riot, for death, for murder, before the +law can be put in motion? Is there no precedent for proceeding before +anything serious--I may say alarming----" + +"Well, gentlemen," said the Minister, glancing impatiently at his watch, +"I can only promise you that the matter shall have proper attention. The +Commissioner shall be seen, and if a summons----" + +"It is too late for that now, sir. The man is a dangerous madman and +should be arrested and put under restraint." + +"I confess I don't quite see what he has done; but if----" + +The Archdeacon drew himself up. "Because a clergyman is well +connected--has high official connections indeed----But surely it is +better that one man should be put under control, whoever he is, than +that the whole Church and nation should be endangered and disgraced." + +"Ah----H'm!----H'm! I think I've heard that sentiment before +somewhere, Mr. Archdeacon. But I'll not detain you now. If a warrant +is necessary----" and with vague promises and plausible speeches +the Minister bowed the deputation out of the room. Then he pisht and +pshawed, swung a field glass across his shoulder, and prepared to leave +for the day. + +"Confound them! How these Christians love each other! I leave it with +you, Drake. When the matter was mentioned at Downing Street the Prime +Minister told us to act without regard to his interest in the young +priest. If there's likely to be a riot let the Commissioner get his +warrant--Heigho! Ten-thirty! I'm off! Good-day!" + +Some minutes afterward Drake himself, having written to Scotland Yard, +followed his chief down the private staircase to the quadrangle, where +Glory and Rosa were waiting in the carriage under the arch. + +In honour of the event in which his horse was to play a part, Drake had +engaged a coach to take a party of friends to the Downs. They assembled +at a hotel in the Buckingham Palace Road. Lord Robert was there, dressed +in the latest fashion, with boots of approved Parisian shape and a +necktie of crying colours. Betty Bellman was with him, in a red and +white dress and a large red hat. There was a lady in pale green with a +light bonnet, another in gray and white, and another in brightest blue. +They were a large, smart, and even gorgeous company, chiefly theatrical. +Before eleven o'clock they were spinning along the Kennington Road on +their way to Epsom. + +Drake himself drove and Glory occupied the seat of honour by his side. +She was looking brighter now, and was smiling and laughing and making +little sallies in response to her companion's talk. He was telling her +all about the carnival. The Derby was the greatest race the world over. +It was run for about six thousand sovereigns, but the total turnover of +the meeting was probably a million of money. Thus on its business side +alone it was a great national enterprise, and the puritans who would +abolish it ought to think of that. A race-horse cost about three hundred +a year to keep, but of course nobody maintained his racing establishment +on his winnings. Nearly everybody had to bet, and gambling was not so +great an offence as some people supposed. The whole trade of the +world was of the nature of a gamble, life itself was a gamble, and the +race-course was the only market in the world where no man could afford +to go bankrupt, or be a defaulter and refuse to pay. + +They were now going by Clapham Common with an unbroken stream of +vehicles of every sort--coaches with outriders, landaus, hansom cabs, +omnibuses, costers' spring carts and barrows. Every coach carried its +horn, and every horn was blown at the approach to every village. The +sun was hot, and the roads were rising to the horses' fetlocks in dust. +Drake was pointing out some of their travelling companions. That large +coach going by at a furious gallop was the coach of the Army and Navy +Club; that barouche with its pair of grays and its postilion belonged +to a well-known wine merchant; that carriage with its couple of leaders +worth hundreds apiece was the property of a prosperous publican; that +was the coach which usually ran between Northumberland Avenue and +Virginia Water, and its seats were let out at so much apiece, usually +to clerks who practised innocent frauds to escape from the city; those +soldiers on the omnibus were from Wellington Barracks on "Derby leave"; +and those jolly tars with their sweethearts, packed like herrings in a +car, were the only true sportsmen on the road and probably hadn't the +price of a glass of rum on any race of the day. Going by road to the +Derby was almost a thing of the past; smart people didn't often do it, +but it was the best fun anyway, and many an old sport tooled his team on +the road still. + +Glory grew brighter at every mile they covered. Everything pleased or +amused or astonished her. With the charm born of a vivid interest in +life she radiated happiness over all the company. Some glimpses of the +country girl came back, her soul thrilled to the beauty of the world +around, and she cried out like a child at sight of the chestnut and red +hawthorn, and at the scent of spring with which the air was laden. From +time to time she was recognised on the road, people raised their hats to +her, and Drake made no disguise of his beaming pride. He leaned back to +Rosa, who was sitting on the seat behind, and whispered, "Like herself +to-day, isn't she?" + +"Why shouldn't she be? With all the world at her feet and her future on +the knees of the gods!" said Rosa. + +But a shade of sadness came over Glory's face, as if the gay world and +its amusements had not altogether filled a void that was left somewhere +in her heart. They were drawing up to water the horses at the old +"Cock" at Sutton, and a brown-faced woman with big silver earrings and a +monster hat and feather came up to the coach to tell the "quality" their +fortunes. + +"Oh, let us, Glo," cried Betty. "I'd love it of all things, doncher +know." + +The gipsy had held out her hand to Glory. "Let me look at your palm, +pretty lady." + +"Am I to cross it with silver first?" + +"Thank you kindly! But must I tell you the truth, lady?" + +"Why yes, mother. Why not?" + +"Then you're going to lose money to-day, lady; but never mind, you shall +be fortunate in the end, and the one you love shall be yours." + +"That's all right," cried the gentlemen in chorus. The ladies tittered, +and Glory turned to Drake and said, "A pair of gloves against Ellan +Vannin." + +"Done," said Drake, and there was general laughter. + +The gipsy still held Glory's hand, and looking up at Drake out of the +corner of her eyes, she said: "I won't tell you what colour he is, +pretty lady, but he is young and tall, and, though he is a gorgio, he is +the kind a Romany girl would die for. Much trouble you'll have with him, +and because of his foolishness and your own unkindness you'll put seven +score miles between you. You like to live your life, lady, and as men +drown their sorrows in drink, so do you drown yours in pleasure. But it +will all come right at last, lady, and those who envy and hate you now +will kiss the ground you walk on." + +"Glo," said Betty, "I'm surprised at ye, dearest, listenin' to such +clipperty clapper." + +Glory did not recover her composure after this incident until they +came near the Downs. Meantime the grooms had blown their horns at many +villages hidden in the verdure of charming hollows, and the coaches had +overtaken the people who had left London earlier in the day to make +the journey afoot. Boy tramps, looking tired already--"Wish ye luck, +gentlemen"; fat sailors and mutilated colliers playing organs--'Twas in +Trafalgar Bay, and Come Whoam to thee Childer and Me; tatterdemalions +selling the C'rect Card-"on'y fourpence, and I've slep' out on the Downs +last night, s'elp me"--and all the ragged army of the maimed and the +miserable who hang on the edge of a carnival. + +Among this wreckage, as they skimmed over it on the coach, there was one +figure more grotesque than the rest, a Polish Jew in his long kaftan +and his worn Sabbath hat, going along alone, triddle-traddle, in his +slippers without heels. Lord Robert was at the moment teasing Betty into +a pet by christening her "The Elephant," in allusion to her stoutness. +But somebody called his attention to the Jew, and he screwed his glass +to his eye and cried, "Father Storm, by Jove!" + +The nickname was taken up by other people on the coach, and also by +people on other coaches, and "Father Storm!" was thrown at the poor +scarecrow as a missile from twenty quarters at once. Glory's colour was +rising to her ears, and Drake was humming a tune to cover her confusion. +But Betty was asking, "Who was Father Storm, if you please?" and Lord +Robert was saying, "Bless my stars, this is something new, don't you +know! Here's somebody who doesn't know Father Storm! Father Storm, +my dear Elephant, is the prophet, the modern Jonah, who predicts that +Nineveh--that is to say, London--is to be destroyed this very day!" + +"He must be balmy!" said Betty, and the lady in blue went into fits of +laughter. + +"Yes," said Lord Robert, "and all because wicked men like ourselves +insist on enjoying ourselves on a day like this with pretty people like +you." + +"Well, he _is_ a cough-drop!" said Betty. The lady in blue asked what +was "balmy" and a "cough-drop," and Lord Robert said: + +"Betty means that the good Father is crazy--silly--stupid--cracked in +the head in short----" + +But Glory could bear no more. It was an insult to John Storm to be sat +upon in judgment by such a woman. With a fiery jet of temper she turned +about and said, "Pity there are not more heads cracked, then, if it +would only let a little of the light of heaven into them." + +"Oh, if it's like that----" began Betty, looking round significantly, +and Lord Robert said, "It _is_ like that, dear Elephant, and if our +charming hurricane will pardon me, I'm not surprised that the man has +broken out as a Messiah, and if the authorities don't intervene----" + +"Hold your tongue, Robert!" cried Drake. "Listen, everybody!" + +They were climbing on to the Downs and could hear the deep hum of the +people on the course. "My!" said Betty. "Well!" said the lady in blue. +"It's like a beehive with the lid off," said Glory. + +As they passed the railway station the people who had come by train +poured into the road and the coach had to slow down. "They must have +come from the four winds of heaven," said Glory. + +"Wait, only wait!" said Drake. + +Some minutes afterward everybody drew breath. They were on the top of +the common and had a full view of the course. It was a vast sea of human +beings stretched as far as the eye could reach--a black moving ocean +without a glimpse of soil or grass. The race track itself was a river of +people: the Grand Stand, tier on tier, was black from its lawns at the +bottom to its sloping gallery on top; and the "Hill" opposite was a +rocky coast of carriages, booths, carts, and clustering crowds. Glory's +eyes seemed to leap out of her head. "It's a nation!" she said with +panting breath. "An empire!" + +They were diving into these breaking, plashing, plunging waters of human +life with their multitudinous voices of laughter and speech, and Glory +was looking at a dark figure in the hollow below which seemed to stand +up above the rest, when Drake cried: + +"Sit hard, everybody! We'll take the hill at a gallop." + +Then to the crack of the whip, the whoop of the driver, and the blast +of the horn, the horses flew down like the wind. Betty screamed, Rosa +groaned, and Glory laughed and looked up at Drake in her delight. When +the coach drew up on the other side of the hollow, the bell was ringing +at the Grand Stand as signal for another race, and the dark figure had +disappeared. + + + + +III. + +That morning, when John Storm went to take seven-o'clock celebration, +the knocker-up with his long stick had not yet finished his rounds +in the courts and alleys about the church, but the costers with their +barrows and donkeys, their wives and their children, were making an +early start for Epsom. There were many communicants, and it was eight +o'clock before he returned to his rooms. By that time the postman had +made his first delivery and there was a letter from the Prime Minister. +"Come to Downing Street as soon as this reaches you. I must see you +immediately." + +He ate his breakfast of milk and brown bread, said "Good-bye, Brother +Andrew, I shall be back for evening service," whistled to the dog, and +set out into the streets. But a sort of superstitious fear had taken +hold of him, as if an event of supreme importance in his life was +impending, and before answering his uncle's summons he made a round +of the buildings in the vicinity which were devoted to the work of his +mission. His first visit was to the school. The children had assembled, +and they were being marshalled in order by the Sisters and prepared for +their hymn and prayer. + +"Good-morning, Father." + +"Good-morning, children." + +Many of them had presents for him--one a flower, another a biscuit, +another a marble, and yet another an old Christmas card. "God bless +them, and protect them!" he thought, and he left the school with a full +heart. + +His last visit was to the men's shelter which he had established under +the management of his former "organ man," Mr. Jupe. It was a bare place, +a shed which had been a stable and was now floored and ceiled. Beds +resembling the bunks in the foc's'le of a ship lined the walls. When +these were full the lodgers lay on the ground. A blanket only was +provided. The men slept in their clothes, but rolled up their coats for +pillows. There was a stove where they might cook their food if they had +money to buy any. A ha'p'orth of tea and sugar mixed, a ha'p'orth of +bread, and a ha'p'orth of butter made a royal feast. + +Going through the square in which his church stood he passed a smart gig +at the door of a public-house that occupied the corner of a street. The +publican in holiday clothes was stepping up to the driver's seat, and +a young soldier, smoking a cigarette, was taking the place by his side. +"Morning, Father, can you tip us the winner?" said the publican with a +grin, while the soldier, with an impudent smile, cried "Ta-ta" over his +shoulder to the second story of a tenement house, where a young woman +with a bloated and serious face and a head mopped up in curl-papers was +looking down from an open window. + +It was nine o'clock when John Storm reached the Prime Minister's house. +A small crowd of people had followed him to the door. "His lordship +is waiting for you in the garden, sir," said the footman, and John was +conducted to the back. + +In a shady little inclosure between Downing Street and the Horse Guards +Parade the Prime Minister was pacing to and fro. His head was bent, his +step was heavy, he looked harassed and depressed. At sight of John's +monkish habit he started with surprise and faltered uneasily. But +presently, sitting by John's side on a seat under a tree, and keeping +his eyes away from him, he resumed their old relations and said: + +"I sent for you, my boy, to warn you and counsel you. You must give up +this crusade. It is a public danger, and God knows what harm may come +of it! Don't suppose I do not sympathize with you. I do--to a certain +extent. And don't think I charge you with all the follies of this +ridiculous distemper. I have followed you and watched you, and I know +that ninety-nine hundredths of this madness is not yours. But in the eye +of the public you are responsible for the whole of it, and that is the +way of the world always. Enthusiasm is a good thing, my boy; it is the +rainbow in the heaven of youth, but it may go too far. It may be hurtful +to the man who nourishes it and dangerous to society. The world classes +it with lunacy and love and so forth among the nervous accidents of +life; and the humdrum healthy-minded herd always call that man a fool +and a weakling or else a fanatic and a madman, in whom the grand errors +of human nature are due to an effort--may I not say, a vain effort?--to +live up to a great ideal." There were nervous twitchings over the +muscles of John's face. "Come, now, come, for the sake of peace and +tranquillity, lest there should be disorder and even death, let this +matter rest. Think, my boy, think, we are as much concerned for the +world's welfare as you can be, and we have higher claims and heavier +responsibilities. I can not raise a hand to help you, John. In the +nature of things I can not defend you. I sent for you because--because +you are your mother's son. Don't cast on me a heavier burden than I can +bear. Save yourself and spare me." + +"What do you wish me to do, uncle?" + +"Leave London immediately and stay away until this tumult has settled +down." + +"Ah, that is impossible, sir." + +"Impossible?" + +"Quite impossible, and though I did not make these predictions about +the destruction of London, yet I believe we are on the eve of a great +change." + +"You do?" + +"Yes, and if you had not sent for me I should have called on you, to ask +you to set aside a day for public prayer that God may in his mercy +avert the calamity that is coming or direct it to the salvation of his +servants. The morality of the nation is on the decline, uncle, and +when morality is lacking the end is not far off. England is given up +to idleness, pomp, dissolute practices, and pleasure--pleasure, always +pleasure. The vice of intemperance, the mania for gambling, these are +the vultures that are consuming the vitals of our people. Look at the +luxury of the country--a ludicrous travesty of national greatness! +Look at the tastes and habits of our age--the deadliest enemies of true +religion! And then look at the price we are paying in what the devil +calls 'the priestesses of society' for the tranquillity of the demon of +lust!" + +"But my boy, my dear boy----" + +"Oh, yes, uncle, yes, I know, I know, many humanitarian schemes are +afloat and we think we are not indifferent to the condition of the poor. +But contrast the toiling women of East London with the idlers of Hyde +Park in a London season. Other nations have professed well with their +lips while their hearts have been set on wealth and pleasure. And they +have fallen! Yes, sir, in ancient Asia as well as in modern Europe they +have always fallen. And unless we unglue ourselves from the vanities +which imperil our existence we shall fall too. The lust of pleasure and +the lust of wealth bring their own revenges. In the nation as well as +the individual the Almighty destroys them as of old." + +"True--true!" + +"Then how can I hold my peace or run away while it is the duty of +Christians, of patriots, to cry out against this danger? On the soul of +every one of us the duty rests, and who am I that I should escape from +it? Oh, if the Church only realized her responsibility, if she only kept +her eyes open----" + +"She has powerful reasons for keeping them closed, my son," said the +Minister, "and always will have until the Establishment is done away +with. It is coming to that some day, but meantime have a care. The +clergy are not your friends, John. Statesmen know too well the clerical +cruelty which shelters itself behind the secular arm. It is an old +story, I think, and you may find instances of that also in your ancient +Palestine. But beware, my boy, beware----" + +"'Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. Ye know that it hated +me before it hated you.'" + +The exaltation of John's manner was increasing, and again the Prime +Minister became uneasy, as if fearing that the young monk by his side +would ask him next to kneel and pray. + +"Ah, well," he said, rising, "I suppose there is no help for it, and +matters must take their own course." Then he broke into other subjects, +talked of his brother, John's father, whom he had lately heard from. His +health was failing, he could not last very long; a letter from his son +now might make all things well. + +John was silent, his head was down, but the Prime Minister could see +that his words took no effect. Then his bleak old face smiled a wintry +smile as he said: + +"But you are not mending much in one way, my boy. Do you know you've +never once been here since the day you came to tell me you were to be +married, and intended to follow in the footsteps of Father Damien?" + +John flinched, and the muscles of his face twitched nervously again. + +"That was an impossible enterprise, John. No wonder the lady couldn't +suffer you to follow it. But she might have allowed you to see a lonely +old kinsman for all that." John's pale face was breaking, and his breath +was coming fast. "Well, well," taking his arm, "I'm not reproaching you, +John. There are passions of the soul which eat up all the rest, I know +that quite well, and when a man is under the sway of them he has neither +father nor uncle, neither kith nor kin. Good-bye! ... Ah, this way +out--this way." + +The footman had stepped up to the Minister and whispered something about +a crowd in front of the house, and John was passed out of the garden by +the back door into the park. + +Three hours afterward the frequenters of Epsom racecourse saw a man in +a black cassock get up into an unoccupied wagonette and make ready to +speak. He was on the breast of "The Hill," directly facing the Grand +Stand, in a close pack of carriages, four-in-hands, landaus, and +hansoms, filled with gaily dressed women in pink and yellow costumes, +drinking champagne and eating sandwiches, and being waited upon by +footmen in livery. It was the interval between two events of the race +meeting, and beyond the labyrinth of vehicles there was a line of +betting men in outer garments of blue silk and green alpaca, standing +on stools under huge umbrellas and calling the odds to motley crowds of +sweltering people on foot. + +"Men and women," he began, and five thousand faces seemed to rise at the +sound of his voice. The bookmakers kept up their nasal cries of "I lay +on the field!" "Five to-one bar one!" But the crowd turned and deserted +them. "It's the Father," "Father Storm," the people said, with laughter +and chuckling, loose jests and some swearing, but they came up to him +with one accord until the space about, him, as far as to the roadway by +which carriages climbed the hill, was an unbroken pavement of rippling +faces. + +"Good old Father!" and then laughter. "What abart the end of the world, +old gel?" and then references to "the petticoats" and more laughter. +"'Ere, I'll 'ave five bob each way, Resurrection," and shrieks of wilder +laughter still. + +The preacher stood for some moments silent and unshaken. Then the quiet +dignity of the man and the love of fair play in the crowd secured him a +hearing. He began amid general silence: + +"I don't know if it is contrary to regulations to stand here to speak, +but I am risking that for the urgency of the hour and message. Men and +women, you are here under false pretences. You pretend to yourselves and +to each other that you have come out of a love of sport, but you have +not done so, and you know it. Sport is a plausible pleasure; to love +horses and take delight in their fleetness is a pardonable vanity, but +you are here to practise an unpardonable vice. You have come to +gamble, and your gambling is attended by every form of intemperance and +immorality. I am not afraid to tell you so, for God has laid upon me a +plain message, and I intend to do my duty. These race-courses are not +for horse-racing, but for reservoirs of avarice and drunkenness and +prostitution. Don't think"--he was looking straight into the painted +faces of the women in pink and yellow, who were trying to smile and +look amused--"don't think I am going to abuse the unhappy girls who are +forced by a corrupt civilization to live by their looks. They are my +friends, and half my own life is spent among them. I have known some +of them in whose hearts dwelt heavenly purity, and when I think of what +they have suffered from men I feel ashamed that I am a man. But, my +sisters, for you, too, I have an urgent message. It is full summer with +you now, as you sit here in your gay clothes on this bright day; but +the winter is coming for every one of you, when there will be no more +sunshine, no more luxury and pleasure and flattery, and when the miry +wallowers in troughs and stys, who are now taking the best years of your +lives from you----" + +"Helloa there! Whoop! Tarara-ra-ra-rara!" + +A four-in-hand coach was dashing headlong up the hill amid clouds of +dust, the rattling of wheels, the shouts of the driver and the blasts of +the horn, and the people who covered the roadway were surging forward to +make room for it. + +"It's Gloria!" said everybody, looking up at the occupants of the coach +and recognising one of them. + +The spell of the preacher was broken. He paused and turned his head and +saw Glory. She was sitting tall and bright and gay on the box-seat by +the side of Drake; the rays of the sun were on her and she was smiling +up into his face. + +The preacher began again, then faltered, and then stopped. A bell at the +Grand Stand was ringing. "Numbers goin' up," said everybody, and before +any one could be conscious of what was happening, John Storm was only a +cipher in the throng, and the crowd was melting away. + + + + +IV. + +The great carnival completely restored Glory's spirits. She laughed +and cried out constantly and lived from minute to minute like a child. +Everybody recognised her and nearly everybody saluted her. Drake beamed +with pride and delight. He took her about the course, answered her +questions, punctuated her jests, and explained everything, leaving Lord +Robert to entertain his guests. Who were "those dwellers in tents"? They +were the Guards' Club, and the service was also represented by artillery +men, king's hussars, and a line regiment from Aldershot. This was called +"The Hill," where jovial rascaldom, usually swarmed, looking out for +stray overcoats and the lids of luncheon dishes left unprotected on +carriages. Yes, the pickpocket, the card-sharper, the "lumberer," +the confidence man, the blarneying beggar, and the fakir of every +description laid his snares on this holy spot. In fact, this is his +Sanctuary and he peddles under the eye of the police. "Holy Land?" +Ha, ha! "All the patriarchs out of the Bible here?" Oh, the vociferous +gentlemen with patriarchal names in velveteen coats under the banners +and canvas sign-boards--Moses, Aaron, and so forth? They were the +"bookies," otherwise bookmakers, generally Jews and sometimes Welshers. + +"Here, come along, some of you sportsmen! I ain't made the price of my +railway fare, s'elp me!" "It's a dead cert, gents." "Can't afford to buy +thick 'uns at four quid apiece!" "Five to one on the field!" "I lay on +the field!" + +A "thick un?" Oh, that was a sovereign, half a thick un half a +sovereign, twenty-five pounds a "pony," five hundred a "monkey," flash +notes were "stumers," and a bookmaker who couldn't pay was "a Welsher." +That? That was "the great Brockton," gentleman and tipster. "Amusement +enough!" Yes, niggers, harpists, Christy Minstrels, strong men, +acrobats, agile clowns and girls on stilts, and all the ragamuffins from +"the Burrer," bent on "making a bit." African Jungle? A shooting gallery +with model lions and bears. Fine Art Exhibition? A picture of the +hanging of recent murderers. Boxing Ring? Yes, for women--they strip +to the waist and fight like fiends. Then look at the lady auctioneer +selling brass sovereigns a penny apiece. + +"Buy one, gentlemen, and see what they're like, so as the 'bookies' +can't pawse 'em on ye unawares!" + +"Food enough!" Yes, at Margett's, Patton's, Hatton's, and "The Three +Brooms," as well as the barrows for stewed eels, hard-boiled eggs, +trotters, coker-nuts, winkles, oysters, cockles, and all the luxuries of +the New Cut. Why were they calling that dog "Cookshop"? Because he was +pretty sure to go there in the end. + +By this time they had ploughed over some quarter of a mile of the +hillside, fighting their way among the carriages that stood six deep +along the rails and through a seething mass of ruffianism, in a stifling +atmosphere polluted by the smell of ale and the reeking breath of tipsy +people. + +"Whoo! I feel like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego rolled into one," +said Glory. + +"Let us go into the Paddock," said Drake, and they began to cross the +race track. + +"But wasn't that somebody preaching as we galloped down the hill?" + +"Was it? I didn't notice," and they struggled through. + +It was fresh and cool under the trees, and Glory thought it cheap even +at ten shillings a head to walk for ten minutes on green grass. Horses +waiting for their race were being walked about in clothes with their +names worked on the quarter sheets, and breeders, trainers, jockeys, and +clerks of the course mingled with gentlemen in silk hats and ladies in +smart costumes. + +Drake's horse was a big bay colt, very thin, almost gaunt, and with +long, high-stepping legs. The trainer was waiting for a last word with +his owner. He was cool and confident. "Never better or fitter, Sir +Francis, and one of the grandest three-year-olds that ever looked +through a bridle. Improved wonderful since he got over his dental +troubles, and does justice to the contents of his manger. Capital field, +sir, but it's got to run up against summat smart to-day. Favourite, sir? +Pooh! A coach horse! Not stripping well--light in the flank and tucked +up. But this colt fills the eye as a first-class one should. Whatever +beats him will win, sir, take my word for that." + +And the jockey, standing by in his black-and-white-jacket, wagged +his head and said in a cheery whisper: "Have what ye like on 'im, Sir +Francis. Great horse, sir! Got a Derby in 'im or I'm a Slowcome." + +Drake laughed at their predictions, and Glory patted the creature while +it beat its white feet on the ground and the leather of its saddle +squeaked. The club stand from there? looked like a sea of foaming laces, +feathers, flowers, and sunshades. They turned to go to it, passing first +by the judge's box, whereof Drake explained the use, then through the +Jockey Club inclosure, which was full of peers, peeresses, judges, +members of Parliament, and other turfites, and finally through the +betting ring where some hundreds of betting men of the superior class +proclaimed their calling in loud voices and loud clothes and the gold +letters on their betting books. To one of these pencillers Drake said: + +"What's the figure for Ellan Vannin?" + +"Ten to one, market price, sir." + +"I'll take you in hundreds," said Drake, and they struggled through the +throng. + +Going up the stairs Glory said: "But wasn't the Archdeacon at your +office this morning? We saw him coming out of the square with Mr. +Golightly." + +"Oh, did you? How hot it is to-day!" + +"Isn't it? I feel as if I should like to play Ariel in gossamer--But +wasn't it?" + +"You needn't trouble about that, Glory. It's an old, story that +religious intolerance likes to throw the responsibility of its acts on +the civil government." + +"Then John Storm----" + +"He is in no danger yet--none whatever." + +"Oh, how glorious!" They had reached the balcony, and Glory was +pretending that the change in her voice and manner came of delight at +the sudden view. She stood for a moment spellbound, and then leaned over +the rail and looked through the dazzling haze that was rising from the +vast crowd below. Not a foot of turf was to be seen for a mile around, +save where at the jockeys' gate a space was kept clear by the police. It +was a moving mass of humanity, and a low, indistinguishable murmur was +coming up from it such as the sea makes on the headlands above. + +The cloud had died off Glory's face and her eyes were sparkling. "What a +wonderfully happy world it must be, after all!" she said. + +Just then the standard was hoisted over the royal stand to indicate +that the Prince had arrived. Immediately afterward there was a silent +movement of hats on the lawns below the boxes, and then somebody down +there began to sing God save the Queen. The people on the Grand Stand +took up the chorus, then the people on the course joined in, then +the people on "The Hill," until finally the whole multitude sang the +national hymn in a voice that was like the voice of an ocean. + +Glory's eyes were now full of tears, she was struggling with a desire to +cry aloud, and Drake, who was watching her smallest action, stood before +her to screen her from the glances of gorgeously attired ladies who +were giggling and looking through lorgnettes. The fine flower of the +aristocracy was present in force, and the club stand was full of the +great ladies who took an interest in sport and even kept studs of their +own. Oriental potentates were among them in suits of blue and gold, and +the French language was being spoken on all sides. + +Glory attracted attention and Drake's face beamed with delight. An +illustrious personage asked to be introduced to her, and said he had +seen her first performance and predicted her extraordinary success. +She did not flinch. There was a slight tremor, a scarcely perceptible +twitching of the lip, and then she bore her honours as if she had been +born to them. The Prince entertained a party to luncheon, and Drake and +Glory were invited to join it. All the smart people were there, and they +looked like a horticultural exhibition of cream colour and rose pink +and gray. Glory kept watching the great ones of the earth, and she found +them very amusing. + +"Well, what do you think?" said Drake. + +"I think most people at the Derby must have the wrong make-up on. That +gentleman, now--he ought to be done up as a stable-boy. And that lady in +mauve--she's a ballet girl really, only----" + +"Hush, for Heaven's sake!" But Glory whispered, "Let's go round the +corner and laugh." + +She sat between Drake and a ponderous gentleman with a great beard like +a waterfall. + +"What are the odds against the colt, Drake?" + +Drake answered, and Glory recalled herself from her studies and said, +"Oh, yes, what did you say it was?" + +"A prohibitive price--for you." said Drake. + +"Nonsense! I'm going to do a flutter on my own, you know, and plunge +against you." + +It was explained to her that only bookmakers bet against horses, but +the gentleman with the beard volunteered to reverse positions, and take +Glory's ten to one against Ellan Vannin. + +"In what?" + +"Oh--h'm--in thick 'uns, of course." + +"But what is the meaning of this running after strange gods?" said +Drake. + +"Never mind, sir! Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, you +know----" and then the bell rang for the race of the day, and they +scurried back to the Stand. The numbers were going up and a line of +fifty policemen abreast were clearing the course. Some of the party had +come over from the coach, and Lord Robert was jotting down in a notebook +the particulars of betting commissions for his fair companions. + +"And am I to be honoured with a commission from the Hurricane?" he +asked. + +"Yes; what's the price for Ellan Vannin?" + +"Come down to five to one, pretty lady." + +"Get me one to five that he's going to lose." + +"But what in the world are you doing, Glory?" said Drake. His eyes were +dancing with delight. + +"Running a race with that old man in the box which can find a loser +first." + +At that moment the horses were sent out for the preliminary canter and +parade before the royal stand, and a tingling electrical atmosphere +seemed to come from somewhere and set every tongue wagging. It seemed as +if something unexpected was about to occur, and countless eyes went up +to the place where Drake stood with Glory by his side. He was outwardly +calm, but with a proud flush under his pallor; she was visibly excited, +and could not stand on the same spot for many seconds together. By this +time the noise made by the bookmakers in the inclosure below was like +that of ten thousand sea fowl on a reef of rock, and Glory was trying to +speak above the deafening clangour. + +"Silver and gold have I none, but if I had--what's that?" + +A white flag had fallen as signal for the start, there was a hollow roar +from the starting post, and people were shouting, "They're off!" +Then there was a sudden silence, a dead hush--below, above, around, +everywhere, and all eyes, all glasses, all lorgnettes were turned in the +direction of the runners. + +The horses got well away and raced up the hill like cavalry charging +in line; then at the mile post the favourite drew to the front, and +the others went after him in an indistinguishable mass. But the descent +seemed not to his liking; he twisted a good deal, and the jockey was +seen sawing the reins and almost hanging over the horse's head. When +the racers swung round Tattenham Corner and came up like mice in the +distance, it was seen that another horse had taken advantage of an +opening and was overhauling the favourite with a tremendous rush. His +colours were white and black. It was Ellan Vannin. From that moment +Drake's horse never relinquished his advantage, but came down the +straight like a great bird with his wings ceasing to flap, passed the +Stand amid great excitement, and won handsomely by a length. + +Then in the roar of delight that went up from the crowd Glory, with her +hand on Drake's shoulder, was seen to be crying, laughing, and cheering +at the same moment. + +"But _you've_ lost," said Drake. + +"Oh, bother that!" she said, and when the jockey had slipped from his +saddle, and Drake had taken his horse into the weighing-room and the +"All right!" was shouted, she started the cheering again and said she +meant to make a dead heat of it with Tennyson's brook. + +"But why did you bet against me?" said Drake. + +"You silly boy," she answered with a crow of happiness and gaiety, +"didn't the gipsy tell me I should lose money to-day? And how could I +bet on your horse unless you lost the race?" + +Drake laughed merrily at her delicious duplicity and could hardly resist +an impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her. Meantime his friends +were slapping him on the back and people were crushing up to offer him +congratulations. He turned to take his horse into the Paddock, and Lord +Robert took Glory down after him. The trainer and jockey were there, +looking proud and happy, and Drake, with a pale and triumphant face, was +walking the great creature about as if reluctant to part with it. It +was breathing heavily, and sweat stood in drops on its throat, head, and +ears. + +"Oh, you beauty! How I should love to ride you!" said Glory. + +"But dare you?" said Drake. + +"Dare I! Only give me the chance." + +"I will, by----I will, or it won't be my fault." + +Somebody brought champagne and Glory had to drink a bumper to "the best +horse of the century, bar none." Then her glass was filled afresh and +she had to drink to the owner, "the best fellow on earth, bar none," and +again she was compelled to drink "to the best bit of history ever made +at Epsom, bar none." With that she was excused while the men drank at +Drake's proposal "to the loveliest, liveliest, leeriest little woman in +the world, God bless her!" and she hid her face in her hands and said +with a merry laugh: + +"Tell me when it's over, boys, and I'll come again." + +After Drake had despatched telegrams and been bombarded by interviewers, +he led the way back to the coach on the Hill, and the company prepared +for their return. The sun had now gone, a thick veil of stagnant clouds +had gathered over it, the sky looked sulky, and Glory's head tad begun +to ache between the eyes. Rosa was to go home by train in order to +reach her office early, and Glory half wished to accompany her. But an +understudy was to play her part that night and she had no excuse. The +coach wormed its way through the close pack of vehicles at the top of +the Hill and began to follow the ebbing tide of humanity back to London. + +"But what about my pair of gloves?" + +"Oh, you're a hard man, reaping where you have not sowed and +gathering----" + +"There, then, we're quits," said Drake, leaning over from the box seat +and snatching a kiss of her. It was now clear that he had been drinking +a good deal. + + + + +V. + +Before the race had been run, a solitary man with a dog at his heels had +crossed the Downs on his way back to the railway station. Jealousy and +rage possessed his heart between them, but he would not recognise these +passions; he believed his emotions to be horror and pity and shame. +John Storm had seen Glory on the race-course, in Drake's company, under +Drake's protection: he proud and triumphant, she bright and gay and +happy. + +"O Lord, help me! Help me, O Lord!" + +"And now, dragging along the road, in his mind's eye he saw her again +as the victim of this man, his plaything, his pastime to takeup or +leave--no better than any of the women about her, and where they were +going she would go also. Some day he would find her where he had found +others--outcast, deserted, forlorn, lost; down in the trough of life, a +thing of loathing and contempt! + +"O Lord, help her! Help her, O Lord!" + +There were few passengers by the train going back to London, nearly all +traffic at this hour being the other way, and there was no one else in +the compartment he occupied. He threw himself down in a corner, consumed +with indignation and a strange sense of dishonour. Again he saw her +bright eyes, her red lips--the glow of her whole radiant face and a +paroxysm of jealousy tore his heart to pieces. Glory was his. Though a +bottomless abyss was yawning between them, her soul belonged to him, and +a great upheaval of hatred for the man who possessed her body surged +up to his throat. Against all this his pride as well as his religion +rebelled. He crushed it down, and tried to turn his mind to another +current of ideas. How could he save her? If she should go down to +perdition, his remorse would be worse to bear than flames of fire and +brimstone. The more unworthy she was, the more reason he should strive +to rescue her soul from the pangs of eternal torment. + +The rattling of the carriage broke in upon these visions, and he got up +and paced to and fro like a bear in a cage. And, like a bear with its +slow, strong grip, he seemed to be holding her in his wrath and saying: +"You shall not destroy yourself; you shall not, you shall not, for I, I, +I forbid it!" Then he sank back in his seat, exhausted by the conflict +which made his soul a battlefield of spiritual and sensual passions. +Every limb shook and quivered. He began to be afraid of himself, and he +felt an impulse to fly away somewhere. When he alighted at Victoria his +teeth were chattering, although the atmosphere was stifling and the sky +was now heavy with black and lowering clouds. + +To avoid the eyes of the people who usually followed him in the streets, +he cut through a narrow thoroughfare and went back to Brown's Square by +way of the park. But the park was like a vast camp. Thousands of people +seemed to cover the grass as far as the eye could reach, and droves of +workmen, followed by their wives and children, were trudging to other +open spaces farther out. It was the panic terror. Afterward it was +calculated that fifty thousand persons from all parts of London had +quitted the doomed city that day to await the expected catastrophe under +the open sky. + +The look of fierce passion had faded from his face by the time he +reached his church, but there another ordeal awaited him. Though it +still wanted an hour of the time of evening service a great crowd had +gathered in the square. He tried to escape observation, but the people +pressed upon him, some to shake his hand, others to touch his cassock, +and many to kneel at his feet and even to cover them with kisses. With a +sense of shame and hypocrisy he disengaged himself at length, and joined +Brother Andrew in the sacristy. The simple fellow was full of marvellous +stories. There had been wondrous manifestations of the workings of the +Holy Spirit during the day. The knocker-up, who was a lame man, had +shaken hands with the Father on his way home that morning, and now he +had thrown away his stick and was walking firmly and praising God. + +The church was large and rectangular and plain, and looked a well-used +edifice, open every day and all day. The congregation was visibly +excited, but the service appeared to calm them. The ritual was full, +with procession and incense, but without vestments, and otherwise +monastic in its severity. John Storm preached. The epistle for the day +had been from First Corinthians, and he took his text from that source +also: "Deliver him up to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that +the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord." + +People said afterward that they had never heard anything like that +sermon. It was delivered in a voice that was low and tremulous with +emotion. The subject was love. Love was the first inheritance that God +had given to his creatures--the purest and highest, the sweetest and +best. But man had degraded and debased it, at the temptation of Satan +and the lust of the world. The expulsion of our first parents from Eden +was only the poetic figure of what had happened through all the ages. It +was happening now--and London, the modern Sodom, would as surely pay its +penalty as did the cities of the ancient East. No need to think of flood +or fire or tempest--of any given day or hour. The judgment that would +fall on England, like the plagues that fell on Egypt, would be of a kind +with the offence. She had wronged the spirit of love, and who knows but +God would punish her by taking out of the family of man the passion by +which she fell, lifting it away with all that pertained to it--good and +bad, spiritual and sensual, holy and corrupt? + +The burning heat clouds of the day seemed to have descended into the +church, and in the gathering darkness the preacher, his face just +visible, with its eyes full of smouldering fire, drew an awful picture +of the world under the effects of such a curse. A place without +unselfishness, without self-sacrifice, without heroism, without +chivalry, without loyalty, without laughter, and without children! +Every man standing alone, isolated, self-centred, self-cursed, outlawed, +loveless, marriageless, going headlong to degeneracy and death! Such +might be God's punishment on this cruel and wicked city for its sensual +sins. + +Then the preacher lost control of his imagination and swept his hearers +along with him as he fabricated horrible fancies. The people were +terror-stricken, and not until the last hymn was given out did they +recover the colour of their blanched faces. Then they sang as with +one voice, and after the benediction had been pronounced and they were +surging down the aisles in close packs, they started the hymn again. + +Even when they had left the church they could not disperse. Out in the +square were the thousands who had not been able to get inside the doors, +and every moment the vast proportions of the crowd were swelled. The +ground was covered, the windows round about were thrown up and full of +faces, and people had clambered on to the railings of the church, and +even on to the roofs of the houses. + +Somebody went to the sacristy and told the Father what was happening +outside. He was now like a man beside himself, and going out on to the +steps of the church where he could be seen by all, he lifted his hands +and pronounced a prayer in a sonorous and fervent voice: + +"How long, O Lord, how long? From the bosom of God, where thou reposest, +look down on the world where thou didst walk as a man. Didst thou not +teach us to pray 'Thy kingdom come'? Didst thou not say thy kingdom was +near; that some who stood with thee should not taste of death till +they had seen it come with power; that when it came the poor should be +blessed, the hungry should be fed, the blind should see, the heavy-laden +should find rest, and the will of thy Father should be done on earth +even as it is done in heaven? But nigh upon two thousand years lave +gone, O Lord, and thy kingdom hath not come. In thy name now doth the +Pharisee give alms in the streets to the sound of a trumpet going before +him. In thy name now doth the Levite pass by on the other side when a +man has fallen among thieves. In thy name now doth the priest buy and +sell the glad tidings of the kingdom, giving for the gospel of God the +commandments of men, living in rich men's houses, faring sumptuously +every day, praying with his lips, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' +but saying to his; soul: 'Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many +years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.' How long, O Lord, how +long?" + +Hardly had John Storm stepped back when the heavy clouds broke into +mutterings of thunder. So low were the sounds at first that in the +general tumult they were scarcely noticed; but they came again and +again, louder and louder with every fresh reverberation, and then the +excitement of the people became intense and terrible. It was as if the +heavens themselves had spoken to give sign and assurance of the calamity +that had been foretold. + +First a woman began to scream as if in the pains of labour. Then a young +girl cried out for mercy, and accused herself of countless and nameless +offences. Then the entire crowd seemed to burst into sobs and moans and +agonizing expressions of despair, mingled with shouts of wild laughter +and mad thanksgiving. "Pardon, pardon!" "O Jesus, save me!" "O Saviour +of sinners!" "O God, have mercy upon me!" "O my heart, my heart!" Some +threw themselves on the ground, stiff and motionless and insensible as +dead men. Others stood over the stricken people and prayed for their +relief from the power of Satan. Others fell into convulsions, and yet +others, with wild and staring eyes, rejoiced in their own salvation. + +It was now almost dark and some of the people who had been out to the +Derby were returning home in their gigs and coster's carts, laughing, +singing, and nearly all of them drunk. There were wild encounters. A +young soldier (it was Charlie Wilkes) came upon Pincher the pawnbroker. +"Wot tcher, myte? Wot's yer amoosemint now?" + +"Silence, you evil liver, you gambler, you son of Belial!" + +"Stou thet now--d'ye want a kepple er black eyes or a pench on the +nowze?" + +At nine o'clock the police of Westminster, being unable to disperse the +crowd, seat to Scotland Yard for the mounted constabulary. + + + + +VI. + +Meantime the man who was the first cause of the tumult sat alone in his +cell-like chamber under the church, a bare room without carpet or rug, +and having no furniture except a block bed, a small washstand, two +chairs, a table, a prayer stool and crucifix, and a print of the Virgin +and Child. He heard the singing of the people outside, but it brought +him neither inspiration nor comfort. Nature could no longer withstand +the strain he had put upon it, and he was in deep dejection. It was one +of those moments of revulsion which comes to the strongest soul when at +the crown or near the crown of his expectations he asks himself, "What +is the good?" A flood of tender recollections was coming over him. He +was thinking of the past, the happy past, the past of love and innocence +which he had spent with Glory, of the little green isle in the Irish +Sea, and of all the sweetness of the days they had passed together +before she had fallen to the temptations of the world and he had become +the victim of his hard if lofty fate. Oh, why had he denied himself the +joys that came to all others? To what end had he given up the rewards of +life which the poorest and the weakest and the meanest of men may share? +Love, woman's love, why had he turned his back upon it? Why had he +sacrificed himself? O God, if, indeed, it were all in vain! + +Brother Andrew put his head in at the half-open door. His brother, the +pawnbroker, was there and had something to say to the Father. Pincher's +face looked over Andrew's shoulder. The muscles of the man's eyes were +convulsed by religious mania. + +"I've just sold my biziness, sir, and we 'aven't a roof to cover us +now!" he cried, in the tone of one who had done something heroic. + +John asked him what was to become of his mother. + +"Lor', sir, ain't it the beginning of the end? That's the gawspel, ain't +it? 'The foxes hev 'oles and the birds of the air hev nests----'" + +And then close behind the man, interrupting him and pushing him aside, +there came another with fixed and staring eyes, crying: "Look 'ere, +Father! Look! Twenty years I 'obbled on a stick, and look at me now! +Praise the Lawd, I'm cured, en' no bloomin' errer! I'm a brand as was +plucked from the burnin' when my werry ends 'ad caught the flames! +Praise the Lawd, amen!" + +John rebuked them and turned them out of the room, but he was almost +in as great a frenzy. When he had shut the door his mind went back to +thoughts of Glory. She, too, was hurrying to the doom that was coming +on all this wicked city. He had tried to save her from it, but he +had failed. What could he do now? He felt a desire to do something, +something else, something extraordinary. + +Sitting on the end of the bed he began again to recall Glory's face as +he had seen it at the race-course. And now it came to him as a shock +after his visions of her early girlhood. He thought there was a certain +vulgarity in it which, he had not observed before--a slight coarsening +of its expression, an indescribable degeneracy even under the glow of +its developed beauty. With her full red lips and curving throat and +dancing eyes, she was smiling into the face of the man who was sitting +by her side. Her smile was a significant smile, and the bright and eager +look with which the man answered it was as full of meaning. He could +read their thoughts. What had happened? Were all barriers broken down? +Was everything understood between them? + +This was the final madness, and he leaped to his feet in an outburst +of uncontrollable rage. All at once he shuddered with a feeling that +something terrible was brewing within him. He felt cold, a shiver was +running over his whole body. But the thought he had been in search of +had come to him of itself. It came first as a shock, and with a sense of +indescribable dread, but it had taken hold of him and hurried him away. +He had remembered his text: "Deliver him up to Satan for the destruction +of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord." + +"Why not?" he thought; "it is in the Holy Book itself. There is the +authority of St. Paul for it. Clearly the early Christians countenanced +and practised such things." But then came a spasm of physical pain. +That beautiful life, so full of love and loveliness, radiating joy and +sweetness and charm! The thing was impossible! It was monstrous! "Am I +going mad?" he asked himself. + +And then he began to be sorry for himself as well as for Glory. How +could he live in the world without her? Although he had lost her, +although an impassable gulf divided them, although he had not seen her +for six months until today, yet it was something to know she was alive +and that he could go at night to the place where she was and look up and +think, "She is there." "It is true, I am going mad," he thought, and he +trembled again. + +His mind oscillated among these conflicting ideas, until the more +hideous thought returned to him of Drake and the smile exchanged with +Glory. Then the blood rushed to his head, and strong emotions paralyzed +his reason. When he asked himself if it was right in England and in the +nineteenth century to contemplate a course which might have been proper +to Palestine and the first century, the answer came instantaneously that +it _was_ right. Glory was in peril. She was tottering on the verge +of hell. It would not be wrong, but a noble duty, to prevent the +possibility of such a hideous catastrophe. Better a life ended than a +life degraded and a soul destroyed. + +On this the sophism worked. It was true that he would lose her; she +would be gone from him, she who was all his joy, his vision by day, his +dream by night. But could he be so selfish as to keep her in the flesh, +and thus expose her soul to eternal torment? And after all she would be +his in the other world, his forever, his alone. Nay, in this world also, +for being dead he would love her still. "But, O God, must _I_ do it?" he +asked himself at one moment, and at the next came his answer: "Yes, yes, +for I am God's minister." + +That sent him back to his text again. "Deliver him up to _Satan_----" +But there was a marginal reference to Timothy, and he turned it up +with a trembling hand. _Satan_ again, but the Revised Version gave "the +Lord's servant," and thus the text should read, "Deliver him up to the +Lord's servant for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may +be saved in the day of the Lord." This made him cry out. He drank it +in with inebriate delight. The thing was irrevocably decided. He was +justified, he was authorized, he was the instrument of a fixed purpose. +No other consideration could move him now. + +By this time his heart and temples were beating violently, and he felt +as if he were being carried up into a burning cloud. Before his eyes +rose the vision of Isaiah, the meek lamb converted into an inexorable +avenger descending from the summit of Edom. It was right to shed blood +at the divine command--nay, it was necessary, it was inevitable. And as +God had commanded Abraham to take the life of Isaac, whom he loved, so +did God call on him, John Storm, to take the life of Glory that he might +save her from the risk of everlasting damnation! + +There may have been intervals in which his sense of hearing left him, +for it was only now that he became conscious that somebody was calling +to him from the other side of the door. + +"Is anybody there?" he asked, and a voice replied: + +"Dear heart, yes, this five minutes and better, but I didna dare come +in, thinking surely there was somebody talking with you. Is there no +somebody here then? No?" + +It was Mrs. Callender, who was carrying a small glad-stone bag. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" + +"Aye, it's myself, and sorry I am to be bringing bad news to you." + +"What is it?" he asked, but his tone betrayed complete indifference. + +She closed the door and answered in a whisper: "A warrant! I much +misdoubt but there's one made out for you." + +"Is that all?" + +"Bless me, what does the man want? But come, laddie, come; you must tak' +yoursel' off to some spot till the storm blows over." + +"I have work to do, auntie." + +"Work! You've worked too much already--that's half the botherment." + +"God's work, auntie, and it must be done." + +"Then God will do it himself, without asking the life of a good man, or +he's no just what I've been takin' him for. But see," opening the bag +and whispering again, "your auld coat and hat! I found them in your puir +auld room that you'll no come back to. You've been looking like another +body so long that naebody will ken you when you're like yoursel' again. +Come, now, off with these lang, ugly things----" + +"I can not go, auntie." + +"Can not?" + +"I will not. While God commands me I will do my duty." + +"Eh, but men are kittle cattle! I've often called you my ain son, but +if I were your ain mother I ken fine what I'd do with you--I'd just +slap you and mak' you. I'll leave the clothes, anyway. Maybe you'll be +thinking better of it when I'm gone. Good-night to you. Your puir head's +that hot and moidered---But what's wrang with you, John, man? What's +come over ye anyway?" + +He seemed to be hardly conscious of her presence, and after standing a +moment at the door, looking back at him with eyes of love and pity, she +left the room. + +He had been asking himself for the first time how he was to carry out +his design. Sitting on the end of the bed with his head propped on his +hand he felt as if he were in the hold of a great ship, listening to the +plash and roar of the stormy sea outside. The excitement of the populace +was now ungovernable and the air was filled with groans and cries. He +would have to pass through the people, and they would see him and detain +him, or perhaps follow him. His impatience was now feverish. The thing +he had to do must be done to-night, it must be done immediately. But it +was necessary in the first place to creep out unseen. How was he to do +it? + +When he came to himself he had a vague sense of some one wishing him +good-night. "Oh, good-night, good-night!" he cried with an apologetic +gesture. But he was alone in the room, and on turning about he saw +the bag on the floor, and remembered everything. Then a strange thing +happened. Two conflicting emotions took hold of him at once--the first +an enthusiastic, religious ecstasy, the other a low, criminal cunning. + +Everything was intended. He was only the instrument of a fixed purpose. +These clothes were proof of it. They came to his hand at the very moment +when they were wanted, when nothing else would have helped him. And Mrs. +Callender had been the blind agent in a higher hand to carry out the +divine commands. Fly away and hide himself? God did not intend it. A +warrant? No matter if it sent him like Cranmer to the stake. But +this was a different thing entirely, this was God's will and purpose, +this---- + +Yet even while thinking so he laughed an evil laugh, tore the clothes +out of the bag with trembling hands, and made ready to put them on. He +had removed his cassock when some one opened the door. + +"Who's there?" he cried in a husky growl. + +"Only me," said a timid voice, and Brother Andrew entered, looking pale +and frightened. + +"Oh, you! Come in; close the door; I've something to say to you. Listen! +I'm going out, and I don't know when I shall be back. Where's the dog?" + +"In the passage, brother." + +"Chain him up at the back, lest he should get out and follow me. Put +this cassock away, and if anybody asks for me say you don't know where +I've gone--you understand?" + +"Yes; but are you well, Brother Storm? You look as if you had just been +running." + +There was a hand-glass on the washstand, and John snatched it up and +glanced into it and put it down again instantly. His nostrils were +quivering, his eyes were ablaze, and the expression of his face was +shocking. + +"What are they doing outside? See if I can get away without being +recognised," and Brother Andrew went out to look. + +The passage from the chambers under the church was into a dark and +narrow street at the back, but even there a group of people had +gathered, attracted by the lights in the windows. Their voices could +be heard through the door which Brother Andrew had left ajar, and John +stood behind it and listened. They were talking of himself--praising +him, blessing him, telling stories of his holy life and gentleness. + +Brother Andrew reported that most of the people were at the front, and +they were frantic with religious excitement. Women were crushing up to +the rail which the Father had leaned his head upon for a moment after +he had finished his prayer, in order to press their handkerchiefs and +shawls on it. + +"But nobody would know you now, Brother Storm--even your face is +different." + +John laughed again, but he turned off the lights, thinking to drive away +the few who were still lingering in the back street. The ruse succeeded. +Then the man of God went out on his high errand, crept out, stole out, +sneaked out, precisely as if he had been a criminal on his way to commit +a crime. + +He followed the lanes and narrow streets and alleys behind the Abbey, +past the "Bell," the "Boar's Head," and the "Queen's Arms"--taverns that +have borne the same names since the days when Westminster was Sanctuary. +People home from the races were going into them with their red ties +awry, with sprigs of lilac in their buttonholes; and oak leaves in +their hats. The air was full of drunken singing, sounds of quarrelling, +shameful words and curses. There were some mutterings of thunder and +occasional flashes of lightning, and over all there was the deep hum of +the crowd in the church square. + +Crossing the bottom of Parliament Street he was almost run down by a +squadron of mounted police who were trotting into Broad Sanctuary. To +escape observation he turned on to the Embankment and walked under +the walls of the gardens of Whitehall, past the back of Charing Cross +station to the street going up from the Temple. + +The gate of Clement's Inn was closed, and the porter had to come out of +his lodge to open it. + +"The Garden House!" + +"Garden House, sir? Inner court left-hand corner." + +John passed through. "That will be remembered afterward," he thought. +"But no matter--it will all be over then." + +And coming out of the close streets, with their clatter of traffic, into +the cool gardens, with their odour of moistened grass, the dull glow in +the sky, and the glimpse of the stars through the tree-tops, his mind +went back by a sudden bound to another night, when he had walked over +the same spot with Glory. At that there came a spasm of tenderness, and +his throat thickened. He could almost see her, and feel her by his side, +with her fragrant freshness and buoyant step. "O God! must I do it, must +I, must I?" he thought again. + +But another memory of that night came back to him; he heard Drake's +voice as it floated over the quiet place. Then the same upheaval of +hatred which he had felt before he felt again. The man was the girl's +ruin; he had tempted her by love of dress, of fame, of the world's +vanities and follies of every sort. This made him think for the first +time of how he might find her. He might find her with _him_. They would +come back from the Derby together. He would bring her home, and they +would sup in company. The house would be lit up; the windows thrown +open; they would be playing and singing and laughing, and the sounds of +their merriment would come down to him into the darkness below. + +All the better, all the better! He would do it before the man's face. +And when it was done, when all was over, when she lay there--lay +there--there--he would turn on the man and say: "Look at her, the +sweetest girl that ever breathed the breath of life, the dearest, truest +woman in all the world! You have done that--you--you--you--and God damn +you!" + +His tortured heart was afire, and his brain was reeling. Before he knew +where he was he had passed from the outer court into the inner one. +"Here it is--this is the house," he thought. But it was all dark. Just a +few lights burning, but they had been carefully turned down. The windows +were closed, the blinds were drawn, and there was not a sound anywhere! +He stood some minutes trying to think, and during that time the mood of +frenzy left him and the low cunning came back. Then he rang the bell. + +There was no answer, so he rang again. After a while he heard a footstep +that seemed to come up from below. Still the door was not opened, and he +rang a third time. + +"Who's there?" said a voice within. + +"It is I--open the door," he answered. + +"Who are you?" said the voice, and he replied impatiently: + +"Come, come, Liza, open, and see." + +Then the catch lock was shot back. At the next moment he was in the +hall, shutting the door behind him, and Liza was looking up into his +face with eyes of mingled fear and relief. + +"Lor', sir, whyever didn't you say it was you?" + +"Where's your mistress?" + +"Gone to the office, and won't be back till morning. And Miss Gloria +isn't home from the races yet." + +"I must see her to-night--I'll wait upstairs." + +"You must excuse me, sir--Farver, I mean--but I wouldn't a-known your +voice, it seemed so different. And me that sleepy too, being on the go +since six in the mornin'----" + +"Go to bed, Liza. You sleep in the kitchen, don't you?" + +"Yes, sir, thank you, I think I will, too. Miss Gloria can let herself +in, anyway, same as comin' from the theatre. But can I git ye anythink? +No? Well, you know your wye up, sir, down't ye?" + +"Yes, yes; good-night, Liza!" + +"Good-night, Farver!" + +He had set his foot on the stair to go up to the drawing-room when it +suddenly occurred to him that though he was the minister of God he +was using the weapons of the devil. No matter! If he had been about to +commit a crime it would have been different. But this was no crime, and +he was no criminal. He was the instrument of God's mercy to the woman he +loved. _He was going to slay her body that he might save her soul!_ + + + + +VII. + +The journey home from the Derby had been a long one, but Glory had +enjoyed it. When she had settled down to the physical discomfort of the +blinding and choking dust, the humours of the road became amusing. This +endless procession of good-humoured ruffianism sweeping through the most +sacred retreats of Nature, this inroad of every order of the Stygian +_demi-monde_ on to the slopes of Olympus, was intensely interesting. Men +and women merry with drink, all laughing, shouting, and singing; some +in fine clothes and lounging in carriages, others in striped jerseys +and yellow cotton dresses, huddled up on donkey barrows; some smoking +cigarettes and cigars and drinking champagne, others smoking clay pipes +with the bowls downward, and flourishing bottles of ale; some holding +rhubarb leaves over their heads for umbrellas, and pelting the police +with _confetti_; others wearing executioners' masks, false mustaches, +and red-tipped noses, and blowing bleating notes out of penny +trumpets--but all one family, one company, one class. + +There were ghastly scenes as well as humorous ones--an old horse, killed +by the day's work and thrown into the ditch by the roadside, axletrees +broken by the heavy loads and people thrown out of their carts and cut, +boy tramps dragging along like worn-out old men, and a Welsher with his +clothes torn to ribbons, stealing across the fields to escape a yelping +and infuriated crowd. + +But the atmosphere was full of gaiety, and Glory laughed at nearly +everything. Lord Robert, with his arm about Betty's waist, was chaffing +a coster who had a drunken woman on his back seat. "Got a passenger, +driver?" "Yuss, sir, and I'm agoin' 'ome to my wife to-night, and thet's +more nor you dare do." A young fellow in pearl buttons was tramping +along with a young girl in a tremendous hat. He snatched her hat off, +she snatched off his; he kissed her, she smacked his face; he put her +hat on his own head, she put on his hat; and then they linked arms and +sang a verse of the Old Dutch. + +Glory reproduced a part of this love-passage in pantomime, and Drake +screamed with laughter. + +It was seven o'clock before they reached the outskirts of London. By +that time a hamper on the coach had been emptied and the bottles thrown +out; the procession had drawn up at a dozen villages on the way; the +perspiring tipsters, with whom "things hadn't panned out well," had +forgotten their disappointments and "didn't care a tinker's! cuss"; +every woman in a barrow had her head-gear in confusion, and she was +singing in a drunken wail. Nevertheless Drake, who was laughing and +talking constantly, said it was the quietest Derby night he had ever +seen, and he couldn't tell what things were coming to. + +"Must be this religious mania, don't you know," said lord Robert, +pointing to a new and very different scene which they had just then come +upon. + +It was an open space covered with people, who had lit fires as if +intending to camp out all night, and were now gathered in many groups, +singing hymns and praying. The drunken wails from the procession stopped +for a moment, and there was nothing heard but the whirring wheels and +the mournful notes of the singers. Then "Father Storm!" rose like the +cry of a cormorant from a thousand throats at once. When the laughter +that greeted the name had subsided, Betty said: + +"'Pon my honour, though, that man must be off his dot," and the lady in +blue went into convulsions of hysterical giggling. Drake looked uneasy, +and Lord Robert said, "Who cares what an Elephant says?" But Glory took +no notice now, save that for a moment the smile died off her face. + +It had been agreed, when they cracked the head off the last bottle, that +the company should dine together at the Cafe Royal or Romano's, so they +drove first to Drake's chambers to brush the dust off and to wash and +rest. Glory was the first to be ready, and while waiting for the others +she sat at the organ in the sitting-room and played something. It was +the hymn they had heard in the suburbs. At this there was laughter from +the other side of the wall, and Drake, who seemed unable, to lose sight +of her, came to the door of his room in his shirt sleeves. To cover up +her confusion she sang a "coon" song. The company cheered her, and +she sang another, and yet another. Finally she began My Mammie, but +floundered, broke down, and cried. + +"Rehearsal, ten in the morning," said Betty. + +Then everybody laughed, and while Drake busied himself putting Glory's +cloak on her shoulders, he whispered: "What's to do, dear? A bit off +colour to-night, eh?" + +"Be a good boy and leave me alone," she answered, and then she laughed +also. + +They were on the point of setting out when somebody said, "But it's +late for dinner now--why not supper at the Corinthian Club?" At that the +other ladies cried "Yes" with one voice. There was a dash of daring and +doubtful propriety in the proposal. + +"But are you game for it?" said Drake, looking at Glory. + +"Why not?" she replied, with a merry smile, whereupon he cried "All +right," and a look came into his eyes which she had never seen there +before. + +The Corinthian Club was in St. James's Square, a few doors from the +residence of the Bishop of London. It was now dark, and as they passed +through Jermyn Street a line of poor children stood by the poulterer's +shop at the corner waiting for the scraps that are thrown away at +closing time. York Street was choked with hansoms, but they reached +the door at last. There were the sounds of music and dancing within. +Officials in uniform stood in a hall examining the tickets of membership +and taking the names of guests. The ladies removed their cloaks, the +men hung up their coats and hats, a large door was thrown open, and they +looked into the ballroom. The room was full of people as faultlessly +dressed as at a house in Grosvenor Square. But the women were all young +and pretty, and the men had no surnames. A long line of gilded youths in +dress clothes occupied the middle of the floor. Each held by the waist +the young man before him as if he were going to play leap-frog. "Hello +there!" shouted one of them, and the band struck up. Then the whole body +kicked out right and left, while all sang a chorus, consisting chiefly +of "Tra-la-la-la-la-la!" One of them was a lord, another a young man +who had lately come into a fortune, another a light comedian, another +belonged to a big firm on the Stock Exchange, another was a mystery, and +another was one of "the boys" and lived by fleecing all the rest. They +were executing a dance from the latest burlesque. "Hello, there!" the +conductor shouted again, and the band stopped. + +Lord Robert led the way upstairs. Pretty women in light pinks and blues +sat in every corner of the staircase. There was a balcony from which you +could look down on the dancers as from the gallery of a playhouse. Also +there was an American bar where women smoked cigarettes. Lord Robert +ordered supper, and when the meal was announced they went into the +supper-room. + +"Hello there!" greeted them as they entered. At little tables lit up by +pink candles sat small groups of shirt fronts and butterfly ties +with fair heads and pretty frocks. Waiters were coming and going with +champagne and silver dishes; there was a clatter of knives and forks, +and a jabber of voices and laughter. And all the time there came the +sounds of the band, with the "Tra-la-la" from the ballroom below. + +Glory sat by Drake. She realized that she had lowered herself in his +eyes by coming there. He was drinking a good deal and paying her endless +compliments. From time to time the tables about them were vacated +and filled again by similar shirt fronts and fair heads. People were +arriving from the Derby, and the talk was of the day's racing. Some of +the new arrivals saluted Drake, and many of them looked at Glory. "A +rippin' good race, old chappie. Didn't suit my book exactly, but the +bookies will have smiling faces at Tattersall's on Monday." + +A man with a big beard at the next table pulled down his white +waistcoat, lifted his glass, and said, "To Gloria!" It was her +acquaintance of the race-course. + +"Who is Blue Beard?" she asked in a whisper. + +"They call him the Faro King," said Drake. "Made all his money by +gambling in Paris, and now he is a squire with a living in his gift." + +Then over the laughter and voices, the band and the singing, with an +awful suddenness there came a crash of thunder. The band and the comic +song stopped, and there was a hush for a moment. Then Lord Robert said: + +"Wonder if this is the dreadful storm that is to overwhelm the nation, +don't you know!" + +That fell on the house of frivolity like a second thunderbolt, and +people began to look up with blanched faces. + +"Well, it isn't the first time the _storm_ has howled; it's been howling +all along," said Lord Robert, but nobody laughed. + +Presently the company recovered itself, the bands and the singing were +heard again, louder and wilder than before, the men shouted for more +champagne, and nicknamed every waiter "Father Storm." + +Glory was ashamed. With her head on her hand she was looking at the +people around when the "Faro King," who had been making eyes at her, +leaned over her shoulder and said in a confidential whisper, "And what +is Gloria looking for?" + +"I am looking for _a man_," she answered. And as the big beard turned +away with "Oh, confound it!" she became aware that Drake and Lord Robert +were at high words from opposite sides of the table. + +"No, I tell you no, no, _no_!" said Drake. "Call him a weakling and a +fool and an ass, if you will, but does that explain everything? This is +one of the men with the breath of God in him, and you can't judge of him +by ordinary standards." + +"Should think not, indeed, dear chap," said Lord Robert, "Common sense +laughs at the creature." + +"So much the worse for common sense. When it judges of these isolated +beings by the standards of the common herd then common sense is always +the greatest nonsense." + +"Oho! oho!" came in several voices, but Drake paid no attention. + +"Jesus Christ himself was mocked at and ridiculed by the common sense of +his time, by his own people, and even his own family, and his family and +people and time have been gibbeted by all the centuries that have come +after them. And so it has been with every ardent soul since who has +taken up his parable and introduced into the world a new spirit. The +world has laughed at him and spat upon him, and, only for its fear +of the sublime banner he has borne, it would have shut him up in a +mad-house." + +They were strange words in a strange place. Everybody listened. + +"But these sombre giants are the leaders of the world for all that, and +one hour of their Divine madness is worth more to humanity than a cycle +of our sanity. And yet we deny them friendship and love, and do our best +to put them out of the pale of the human family! We have invented a new +name for them too--degenerates--pygmies and pigs as we are, who ought +to go down on our knees to them with our faces buried in the dirt! +Gentlemen," he cried, filling his glass and rising to his feet, "I give +you a toast--the health of Father Storm!" + +Glory had sat trembling all over, breathing hard, blushing, and +wide-eyed until he had done. Then she leaped up to where he stood beside +her, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him. + +"And now you ring down quick, my dear," said Betty, and everybody +laughed a little. + +Drake was laughing with the rest, and Glory, who had dropped back to her +seat in confused embarrassment, was trying to laugh too. + +"Another bottle of fizz anyway," cried Drake. He had mistaken the +meaning of Glory's kiss, and was utterly intoxicated by it. She could +have cried with shame and rage, seeing he thought such conduct came +naturally to her and perhaps imagined it wasn't the first time she had +done as much. But to carry off the situation she laughed a good deal +with him, and when the wine came they jingled glasses. + +"I'm going to see you home to-night," he whispered, smiling slyly and +looking her full in the eyes. She shook her head, but that only provoked +him to fresh effort. + +"I must, I will--you _shall_ allow me," and he began to play with her +hand and ruffle up the lace that covered her round arm. + +Just then his man Benson, looking hot and excited, came up to him with a +message. Glory overheard something about "the office," "the Secretary," +and "Scotland Yard." Then Drake turned to her with a smile, over a look +of vexation, and said: "I'm sorry, dear--very--I must go away for a +while. Will you stay here until I return, or----" + +"Take me out and put me in a cab," said Glory. Their getting up +attracted attention, and Lord Robert said: + +"Is it, perhaps, something about that----" + +"It's nothing," said Drake, and they left the room. + +The band in the ballroom was still playing the dance out of the +burlesque, and half a hundred voices were shouting "Tra-la-la-la" as +Glory stepped into a hansom. + +"I'll follow on, though," whispered Drake with a merry smile. + +"We shall all be in bed, and the house locked up---- How magnificent you +were to-night!" + +"I couldn't see the man trodden on when he was down---- But how lovely +you've looked to-day, Glory! I'll get in to-night if I have to ring up +Liza or break down the door for it!" + +As the cab crossed Trafalgar Square it had to draw up for a procession +of people coming up Parliament Street singing hymns. Another and more +disorderly procession of people, decorated with oak leaves and hawthorns +and singing a music-hall song, came up and collided with it. A line of +police broke up both processions; and the hansom passed through. + + + + +VIII. + +On entering the drawing-room John Storm was seized with a weird feeling +of dread. The soft air seemed to be filled with Glory's presence and her +very breath to live in it. On the side-table a lamp was burning under a +warm red shade. A heap of petty vanities lay about--articles of silver, +little trinkets, fans, feathers, and flowers. His footsteps on the soft +carpet made no noise. It was all so unlike the place he had come from, +his own bare chamber under the church! + +He could have fancied that Glory had that moment left the room. The door +of a little ebony cabinet stood half open and he could see inside. Its +lower shelves were full of shoes and little dainty slippers, some of +them of leather, some of satin, some black, some red, some white. They +touched him with an indescribable tenderness and he turned his eyes +away. Under the lamp lay a pair of white gloves. One of them was flat +and had not been worn, but the other was filled out with the impression +of a little hand. He took it up and laid it across his own big palm, and +another wave of tenderness broke over him. + +On the mantelpiece there were many photographs. Most of them were of +Glory and some were very beautiful, with their gleaming and glistening +eyes and their curling and waving hair. One looked even voluptuous with +its parted lips and smiling mouth; but another was different--it was +so sweet, so gay, so artless. He thought it must belong to an earlier +period, for the dress was such as she used to wear in the days when he +knew her first, a simple jersey and a sailor's stocking cap. Ah, those +days that were gone, with their innocence and joy! Glory! His bright, +his beautiful Glory! + +His emotion was depriving him of the free use of his faculties, and he +began to ask himself why he was waiting there. At the next instant came +the thought of the awful thing he had come to do and it seemed monstrous +and impossible. "I'll go away," he told himself, and he turned his face +toward the door. + +On a what-not at the door side of the room another photograph stood in +a glass stand. His back had been to it, and the soft light of the lamp +left a great part of the room in obscurity, but he saw it now, and +something bitter that lay hidden at the bottom of his heart rose to his +throat. It was a portrait of Drake, and at the sight of it he laughed +savagely and sat down. + +How long he sat he never knew. To the soul in torment there is no such +thing as time; an hour is as much as, eternity and eternity is no more +than an hour. His head was buried in his arms on the table and he was a +prey to anguish and doubt. At one time he told himself that God did +not send men to commit murder; at the next that this was not murder +but sacrifice. Then a mocking voice in his ears seemed to say, "But +the world will call it murder and the law will punish you." To that he +answered in his heart: "When I leave this house I will deliver myself +up. I will go to the nearest police court and say 'Take me, I have +done my duty in the eye of God, but committed a crime in the eye of my +country.'" And when the voice replied, "That will only lead to your own +death also," he thought, "Death is a gain to those who die for their +cause, and my death will be a protest against the degradation of women, +a witness against the men who make them the creatures of their pleasure, +their playthings, their victims, and their slaves." Thinking so, he +found a strange thrill in the idea that all the world would hear of what +he had done. "But I will say a mass for her soul in the morning," he +told himself, and a chill came over him and his heart grew cold as a +stone. + +Then he lifted his head and listened. The room was quiet, there was +not a sound in the gardens of the Inn, and, through a window which was +partly open, he could hear the monotonous murmur of the streets outside. +A great silence seemed to have fallen on London--a silence more awful +than all the noise and confused clamour of the evening. "It must be +late," he thought; "it must be the middle of the night." Then the +thought came to him that perhaps, Glory would not come home that night +at all, and in a sudden outburst of pent-up feeling his heart cried, +"Thank God! Thank God!" + +He had said it aloud and the sound of his voice in the silent +room--awakened all his faculties. Suddenly he was aware of other sounds +outside. There was a rumble of wheels and the rattle of a hansom. The +hansom came nearer and nearer. It stopped in the outside courtyard. +There was the noise of a curb-chain as if the horse were shaking its +head. The doors of the hansom opened with a creak and banged back on +their spring. A voice, a woman's voice, said "Good-night!" and another +voice, a man's voice, answered, "Good-night and thank you, miss!" Then +the cab wheels turned and went off. All his senses seemed to have +gone into his ears, and in the silence of that quiet place he heard +everything. He rose to his feet and stood waiting. + +After a moment there was the sound of a key in the lock of the door +below; the rustle of a woman's dress coming up the stairs, an odour of +perfume in the air, an atmosphere of freshness and health, and then the +door of the room which had been ajar was swung open and there on the +threshold with her languid and tired but graceful movements was she +herself, Glory. Then his head turned giddy and he could neither hear nor +see. + +When Glory saw him standing by the lamp, with his deadly pale face, she +stood a moment in speechless astonishment, and passed her hand across +her eyes as if to wipe out a vision. After that she clutched at a chair +and made a faint cry. + +"Oh, is it you?" she said in a voice which she strove to control. "How +you frightened me! Whoever would have thought of seeing you here!" + +He was trying to answer, but his tongue would not obey him, and his +silence alarmed her. + +"I suppose Liza let you in--where _is_ Liza?" + +"Gone to bed," he said in a thick voice. + +"And Rosa--have you seen Rosa?" + +"No." + +"Of course not! How could you? She must be at the office, and won't be +back for hours. So you see we are quite alone!" + +She did not know why she said that, and, in spite of the voice which +she tried to render cheerful, her lip trembled. Then she laughed, though +there was nothing to laugh at, and down at the bottom of her heart she +was afraid. But she began moving about, trying to make herself easy and +pretending not to be alarmed. + +"Well, won't you help me off with my cloak? No? Then I must do it for +myself I suppose." + +Throwing off her outer things, she walked across the room and sat down +on the sofa near to where he stood. + +"How tired I am! It's been such a day! Once is enough for that sort of +thing, though! Now where do you think I've been?" + +"I know where you've been, Glory--I saw you there." + +"You? Really? Then perhaps it _was_ you who----Was it you in the +hollow?" + +"Yes." + +He had moved to avoid contact with her, but now, standing by the +mantelpiece looking into her face, he could not help recognising in the +fashionable woman at his feet the features of the girl once so dear to +him, the brilliant eyes, the long lashes, the twitching of the eyelids, +and the restless movement of the mouth. Then the wave of tenderness +came sweeping over him again and he felt as if the ground were slipping +beneath his feet. + +"Will you say your prayers to-night. Glory?" he said, + +"Why not?" she answered, trying to laugh. + +"Then why not say them now, my child?" + +"But why?" + +He had made her tremble all over, but she got up, walked straight across +to him, looked intently into his face for a moment, and then said: "What +is the matter? Why are you so pale? You are not well, John!" + +"No, I'm not well either." he answered. + +"John, John, what does it all mean? What are you thinking of? Why have +you come here to-night?" + +"To save your soul, my child. It is in great, great peril." + +At first she took this for the common, everyday language of the devotee, +but another look into his face banished that interpretation, and her +fear rose to terror. Nevertheless she talked lightly, hardly knowing +what she said. "Am I, then, so very wicked? Surely Heaven doesn't want +me yet, John. Some day I trust--I hope----" + +"To-night, to-night--_now!_" + +Then her cheeks turned pale and her lips became white and bloodless. +She had returned to the sofa, and half rose from it, then sat back, +stretching out one hand as if to ward off a blow, but still keeping her +eyes riveted on his face. Once she looked round to the door and tried to +cry out, but her voice would not answer her. + +This speechless fright lasted only a moment. Then she was herself again, +and looked fearlessly up at him. She had the full use of her intellect, +and her quick instinct went to the root of things. "This is the madness +of jealousy," she thought. "There is only one way to deal with it. If I +cry out--if I show that I am afraid--if I irritate him, it will soon, +be over." She told herself in a moment that she must try gentleness, +tenderness, reason, affection, love. + +Trembling from head to foot, she stepped up to him again, and began +softly and sweetly trying to explain herself. "John, dear John, if you +see me with certain people and in certain places you must not think from +that----" + +But he broke in upon her with a torrent of words. "I can't think of it +at all, Glory. When I look ahead I see nothing but shame and misery and +degradation for you in the future. That man is destroying you body and +soul. He is leading you on to the devil and hell and damnation, and I +can not stand by and see it done!" + +"Believe me, John, you are mistaken, quite mistaken." But, with a look +of sombre fury, he cried, "Can you deny it?" + +"I can protect and care for myself, John." + +"With that man's words in your ears, still can you deny it?" + +Suddenly she remembered Drake's last whisper as she got into the hansom, +and she covered her face with her hands. + +"You can't! It is the truth! The man is following you to ruin you, and +you know it. You've known it from the first, therefore you deserve all +that can ever come to you. Do you know what you are guilty of? You are +guilty of soul-suicide. What is the suicide of the body to the suicide +of the soul? What is the crime of the poor broken creature who only +chooses death and the grave before starvation or shame, compared to the +sin of the wretched woman who murders her soul for sake of the lusts +and vanities of the world? The law of man may punish, the one, but the +vengeance of God is waiting for the other." + +She was crying behind her hands, and, in spite of the fury into which +he had lashed himself, a great pity took hold of him. He felt as if +everything were slipping away from him, and he was trying to stand on +an avalanche. But he told himself that he would not waver, that he would +hold to his purpose, that he would stand firm as a rock. Heaving a deep +sigh, he walked to and fro across the room. + +"O Glory, Glory! Can't you understand what it is to me to be the +messenger of God's judgment?" + +She gasped for breath, and what had been a vague surmise became a +certainty--thinking he was God's avenger, yet with nothing but a poor +spasm of jealousy in his heart, he had come with a fearful purpose to +perform. + +"I did what I could in other ways and it was all in vain. Time after +time I tried to save you from these dangers, but you would not listen. I +was ready for any change, any sacrifice. Once I would have given up all +the world for you, Glory--you know that quite well--friends, kinsmen, +country, everything, even my work and my duty, and, but for the grace of +God, God himself!" + +But his tenderness broke again into a headlong torrent of reproach. +"You failed me, didn't you? At the last moment, too--the very last! Not +content with the suicide of your own soul, you must attempt to murder +the soul of another. Do you know what that is? That is the unpardonable +sin! You are crying, aren't you? Why are you crying?" But even while he +said this something told him that all he was waiting for was that her +beautiful eyes should be raised and their splendid light flash upon him +again. + +"But that is all over now. It was a blunder, and the breach between us +is irreparable. I am better as I am--far, far better. Without friends or +kin or country, consecrated for life, cut off from the world, separate, +alone!" + +She knew that her moment had come, and that she must vanquish this man +and turn him from his purpose, whatever it was, by the only weapon a +woman could use--his love of her. "I do not deny that you have a right +to be angry with me," she said, "but don't think that I have not given +up something too. At the time you speak of, when I chose this life and +refused to go with you to the South Seas, I sacrificed a good deal--I +sacrificed love. Do you think I didn't realize what that meant? That +whatever the pleasure and delight my art might bring me, and the +flattery, and the fame, and the applause, there were joys I was never +to know--the happiness that every poor woman may feel, though she isn't +clever at all, and the world knows nothing about her--the happiness of +being a wife and a mother, and of holding her place in life, however +humble she is and simple and unknown, and of linking the generations +each to each. And, though the world has been so good to me, do you think +I have ever ceased to regret that? Do you think I don't remember it +sometimes when the house rises at me, or when I am coming home, or +perhaps when I awake in the middle of the night? And notwithstanding all +this success with which the world has crowned me, do you think I don't +hunger sometimes for what success can never buy--the love of a good man +who would love me with all his soul and his strength and everything that +is his?" + +Out of a dry and husky throat John Storm answered: "I would rather die a +thousand, thousand deaths than touch a hair of your head, Glory.... +But God's will is his will!" he added, quivering and trembling. The +compulsion of a great passion was drawing him, but he struggled hard +against it. "And then this success--you cling to it nevertheless!" he +cried, with a forced laugh. + +"Yes, I cling to it," she said, wiping away the tears that had begun to +fall. "I can not give it up, I can not, I can not!" + +"Then what is the worth of your repentance?" + +"It is not repentance--it is what you said it was--in this room--long +ago.... We are of different natures, John--that is the real trouble +between us, now and always has been. But whether we like it or not, our +lives are wrapped up together for all that. We can't do without each +other. God makes men and women like that sometimes." + +There was a piteous smile on his face. "I never doubted your feeling for +me, Glory. No, not even when you hurt me most." + +"And if God made us so----" + +"I shall never forgive myself, Glory, though Heaven itself forgives me!" + +"If God makes us love each other in spite of every barrier that divides +us----" + +"I shall never know another happy hour in this life. Glory--never!" + +"Then why should we struggle? It is our fate and we can not conquer it. +You can't give up your life, John, and I can't give up mine; but our +hearts are one." + +Her voice sang like music in his ears, and something in his aching heart +was saying: "What are the laws we make for ourselves compared to the +laws God makes for us?" Suddenly he felt something warm. It was Glory's +breath on his hand. A fragrance like incense seemed to envelop him. He +gasped as if suffocating, and sat down on the sofa. + +"You are wrong, dear, if you think I care for the man you speak of. He +has been very good to me and helped me in my career, but he is nothing +to me--nothing whatever--But we are such old friends, John? It seems +impossible to remember a time when we were not old chums, you and I! +Sometimes I dream of those dear old days in the 'lil oilan'! Aw, they +were ter'ble--just ter'ble! Do you remember the boat--the _Gloria_--do +you remember her?" (He clinched his hands as though to hold on to his +purpose, but it was slipping through his fingers like sand.) "What times +they were! Coming round the castle of a summer evening when the bay and +the sky were like two sheets of silvered glass looking into each other, +and you and I singing 'John Peel'" (in a quavering voice she sang a +bar or two): "'D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay? D'ye ken John +Peel'---Do you remember it, John?" + +She was sobbing and laughing by turns. It was her old self, and the +cruel years seemed to roll back. But still he struggled. "What is the +love of the body to the love of the soul?" he told himself. + +"You wore flannels then, and I was in a white jersey--like this, see," +and she snatched up from the mantelpiece the photograph he had been +looking at. "I got up my first act in imitation of it, and sometimes +in the middle of a scene--such a jolly scene, too--my mind goes back to +that sweet old time and I burst out crying." + +He pushed the photograph away. "Why do you remind me of those days?" +he said. "Is it only to make me realize the change in you?" But even at +that moment the wonderful eyes pierced him through and through. + +"Am I so much changed, John? Am I? No, no, dear! It is only my hair done +differently. See, see!" and with trembling fingers she tore her hair +from its knot. It fell in clusters over her shoulders and about her +face. He wanted to lay his hand on it, and he turned to her and then +turned away, fighting with himself as with an enemy. + +"Or is it this old rag of lace that is so unlike my jersey? +There--there!" she cried, tearing the lace from her neck, and throwing +it on the floor and trampling upon it. "Look at me now, John--look at +me? Am I not the same as ever? Why don't you look?" + +She was fighting for her life. He started to his feet and came to +her with his teeth set and his pupils fixed. "This is only the devil +tempting me. Say your prayers, child!" + +He grasped her left hand with his right. His grip almost overtaxed +her strength and she felt faint. In an explosion of emotion the insane +frenzy for destroying had come upon him again. He longed to give his +feelings physical expression. + +"Say them, say them!" he cried, "God sent me to kill you, Glory!" + +A sensation of terror and of triumph came over her at once. She half +closed her eyes and threw her other arm around his neck. "No, but to +love me!--Kiss me, John!" + +Then a cry came from him like that of a man flinging himself over a +precipice. He threw his arms about her, and her disordered hair fell +over his face. + + + + +IX. + +"I thought it was God's voice--it was the devil's!" + +John Storm was creeping like a thief through the streets of London +in the dark hours before the dawn. It was a peaceful night after the +thunderstorm of the evening before. A few large stars had come out, +a clear moon, was shining, and the air was quiet after the cries, the +crackling tumult, and all the fury of human throats. There was only the +swift rattling of mail cars running to the Post Office, the heavy +clank of country carts crawling to Covent Garden, the measured tread +of policemen, and the muddled laughter of drunken men and women by the +coffee stands at the street corners. "'Ow's the deluge, myte? Not come +off yet? Well, give us a cup of cawfee on the strength of it." + +It seemed as if eyes looked down on him from the dark sky and pierced +him through and through. His whole life had been an imposture from the +first--his quarrel with his father, his taking Orders, his entering +the monastery and his leaving it, his crusade in Soho, his intention of +following Father Damien, his predictions at Westminster--all, all had +been false, and the expression of a lie! He was a sham, a mockery, a +whited sepulchre, and had grossly sinned against the light and against +God. + +But the spiritual disillusion had come at last, and it had revealed him +to himself at an awful depth of self-deception. Thinking in his pride +and arrogance he was the divine messenger, the avenger, the man of God, +he had set out to shed blood like any wretched criminal, any jealous +murderer who was driven along by devilish passion. How the devil had +played with him too!--with him, who was dedicated by the most solemn and +sacred vows! And he had been as stubble before the wind--as chaff that +the storm carrieth away! + +With such feelings of poignant anguish he plodded through the echoing +streets. Mechanically he made his way back to Westminster. By the time +he got there the moon and stars had gone and the chill of daybreak was +in the air. He saw and heard nothing, but as he crossed Broad Sanctuary +a line of mounted police trotted past him with their swords clanking. + +It was not yet daylight when he knocked at the door of his chambers +under the church. + +"Who's there?" came in a fierce whisper. + +"Open the door," he said in a spiritless voice. + +The door was opened, and Brother Andrew, with the affectionate whine of +a dog who has been snarling at his master in the dark, said: "Oh, is it +you, Father? I thought you were gone. Did you meet them? They've been +searching for you everywhere all night long." + +He still spoke in whispers, as if some one had been ill. "I can't light +up. They'd be sure to see and perhaps come back. They'll come in the +morning in any case. Oh, it's terrible! Worse than ever now! Haven't you +heard what has happened? Somebody has been killed!" + +John was struggling to listen, but everything seemed to be happening a +long way off. + +"Well, not killed exactly, but badly hurt, and taken to the hospital." + +It was Charlie Wilkes. He had insulted the name of the Father, and +Pincher, the pawnbroker, had knocked him down. His head had struck +against the curb, and he had been picked up insensible. Then the police +had come and Pincher had been taken off to the police station. + +"But it's my mother I'm thinking of," said Brother Andrew, and he +brushed his sleeve across his eyes. "You must get away at once, Father. +They'll lay everything on you. What's to be done? Let me think! Let me +think! How my head is going round and round! There's a train from Euston +to the north at five in the morning, isn't there? You must catch that. +Don't speak, Father! Don't say you won't." + +"I will go," said John with a look of utter dejection. + +The change that had come over him since the night before startled the +lay brother. "But I suppose you've been out all night. How tired you +look! Can I get you anything?" + +John did not answer, and the lay brother brought some brown bread and +coaxed him to eat a little of it. The day was beginning to dawn. + +"Now you must go, Father." + +"And you, my lad?" + +"Oh, I can take care of myself." + +"Go back to the Brotherhood; take the dog with you----" + +"The dog!" Brother Andrew seemed to be about to say something; but he +checked himself, and with a wild look he muttered: "Oh, I know what +_I'll_ do. Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye!" said John, and then the broken man was back in the streets. + +His nervous system had been exhausted by the events of the night, and +when he entered the railway station he could scarcely put one foot +before another. "Looks as if _he'd_ had enough," said somebody behind +him. He found an empty carriage and took his seat in the corner. A kind +of stupor had come over his faculties and he could neither think nor +feel. + +Three or four young men and boys were sorting and folding newspapers +at a counter that stood on trestles before the closed-up bookstall. +A placard slipped from the fingers of one of them and fell on to the +floor. John saw his own name in monster letters, and he began to ask +himself what he was doing. Was he running away? It was cowardly, it was +contemptible! And then it was so useless! He might go to the ends of the +earth, yet he could not escape the only enemy it was worth while to fly +from. That enemy was himself. + +Suddenly he remembered that he had not taken his ticket, and he got out +of the train. But instead of going to the ticket office he stood aside +and tried to think what he ought to do. Then there was confusion and +noise, people were hurrying past him, somebody was calling to him, and +finally the engine whistled and the smoke rose to the roof. When he came +to himself the train was gone and he was standing on the platform alone. + +"But what am I to do?" he asked himself. + +It was a lovely summer morning and the streets were empty and quiet. +Little by little they became populous and noisy, and at length he was +walking in a crowd. It was nine o'clock by this time, and he was in the +Whitechapel road, going along with a motley troop of Jews, Polish Jews, +Germans, German Jews, and all the many tribes of Cockneydom. Two costers +behind him were talking and laughing. + +"Lor' blesh you, it's jest abart enneff to myke a corpse laugh." + +"Ain't it? An acquyntince uv mine--d'ye know Jow 'Awkins? Him as kep' +the frahd fish shop off of Flower and Dean. Yus? Well, he sold his bit +uv biziness lahst week for a song, thinkin' the world was acomin' to a +end, and this mornin' I meets 'im on the 'Owben Viadeck lookin' as if +'e'd 'ad the smallpox or semthink!" + +John Storm had scarcely heard them. He had a strange feeling that +everything was happening hundreds of miles away. + +"What am I to do?" he asked himself again. Between twelve and one +o'clock he was back in the city, walking aimlessly on and on. He did not +choose the unfrequented thoroughfares, and when people looked into his +face he thought, "If anybody asks me who I am I'll tell him." It was +eight hours since he had eaten anything, and he felt weak and faint. +Coming upon a coffee-house, he went in and ordered food. The place was +full of young clerks at their midday meal. Most of them were reading +newspapers which they had folded and propped up on the tables before +them, but two who sat near were talking. + +"These predictions of the end of the world are a mania, a monomania, +which recurs at regular intervals of the world's history," said one. He +was a little man with a turned-up nose. + +"But the strange thing is that people go on believing them," said his +companion. + +"That's not strange at all. This big, idiotic, amphorous London has no +sense of humour. See how industriously it has been engaged for the last +month in the noble art of making a fool of itself!" And then he looked +around at John Storm, as if proud of his tall language. + +John did not listen. He knew that everybody was talking about him, yet +the matter did not seem to concern him now, but to belong to some other +existence which his soul had had. + +At length an idea came to him and he thought he knew what he ought to +do. He ought to go to the Brotherhood and ask to be taken back. But not +as a son this time, only as a servant, to scour and scrub to the end of +his life. There used to be a man to sweep out the church and ring the +church bell--he might be allowed to do menial work like that. He had +proved false to his ideal, he had not been able to resist the lures of +earthly love, but God was merciful. He would not utterly reject him. + +His self-abasement was abject, yet several hours had passed before he +attempted to carry out this design. It was the time of Evensong when he +reached the church, and the brothers were singing their last hymn: + + Jesus, lover of my soul, + Let me to thy bosom fly. + +He stood by the porch and listened. The street was very quiet; hardly +anybody was passing. + + Hide me, O my Saviour hide, + Till the storms of life be past. + +His heart surged up to his throat, and he could scarcely bear the pain +of it. Yes, yes, yes! Other refuge had he none! + +Suddenly a new thought smote him, and he felt like a man roused from +a deep sleep. Glory! He had been thinking only of his own soul and his +soul's salvation, and had forgotten his duty to others. He had his duty +to Glory above all others and lie could not and must not escape from it. +He must take his place by her side, and if that included the abandonment +of his ideals, so be it! He had been proved unworthy of a life of +holiness; he must lower his flag, he must be content to live the life of +a man. + +But he could not think what he ought to do next, and when night fell +he was still wandering aimlessly through the streets. He had turned +eastward again, and even in the tumultuous thoroughfares of the Mile End +he could not help seeing that something unusual was going on. People in +drink were rolling about the streets, and shouting and singing as if it +had been a public holiday. "Glad you ain't in kingdom-come to-night, old +gal!" "Well, what do _you_ think?" + +At twelve o'clock he went into a lodging-house and asked if he could +have a bed. The keeper was in the kitchen talking with two men who were +cooking a herring for their supper, and he looked up at his visitor in +astonishment. + +"Can I sleep you, sir? We ain't got no accommodation for gentlemen----" +and then he stopped, looked more attentively, and said: + +"Are you from the Settlement, sir?" + +John Storm made some inarticulate reply. + +"Thort ye might be, sir. We often 'as 'em 'ere sempling the cawfee, +but blessed if they ever wanted to semple a bed afore. Still, if _you_ +down't mind----" + +"It will be better than I deserve, my man. Can you give me a cup of +coffee before I turn in?" + +"With pleasure, sir! Set down, sir! Myke yourself at 'ome. Me and my +friends were just talkin' of a gentleman of your cloth, sir--the pore +feller as 'as got into trouble acrost Westminster way." + +"Oh, you were talking of him, were you?" + +"Sem 'ere says the biziness pize." + +"It _must_ py, or people wouldn't do it," said the man leaning over the +fire. + +"Down't you believe it. That little gime down't py. Cause why? Look at +the bloomin' stoo the feller's in now. If they ketch 'im 'e'll get six +months 'ard." + +"Then what's 'e been doin' it for? I down't see nothink in it if it +down't py.". + +"Cause he believes in it, thet's why!--What do you think, sir?" + +"I think the man has come by a just fall," said John. "God will never +use him again, having brought him to shame." + +"Must hev been a wrong un certingly," said the man over the fire. + +When John Storm awoke in his cubicle next morning he saw his way +clearer. He would deliver himself up to the warrant that was issued for +his arrest, and go through with it to the end. Then he would return to +Glory a free man, and God would find work for him even yet, after this +awful lesson to his presumption and pride. + +"That feller as was took ter the awspital is dead," said somebody in the +kitchen, and then there was the crinkling of a newspaper. + +"Is 'e?" said another. "The best thing the Father can do is to 'ook it +then. Cause why? Whether 'e done it or not they'll fix it on ter 'im, +doncher know!" + +John's head spun round and round. He remembered what Brother Andrew +had said of Charlie Wilkes, and his heart, so warm a moment ago, +felt benumbed as by frost. Nevertheless, at nine o'clock he was going +westward in the Underground. People looked at him when he stepped into +the carriage. He thought everybody knew him, and that the world was only +playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. The compartment was full +of young clerks smoking pipes and reading newspapers. + +"Most extraordinary!" said one of them. "The fellow has disappeared as +absolutely as if he had been carried up into a cloud." + +"Why extraordinary?" said another in a thin voice. This one was not +smoking, and he had the startled eyes of the enthusiast. "Elijah was +taken up to heaven in the body, wasn't he? And why not Father Storm?" + +"What?" cried the first, taking his pipe out of his mouth. + +"Some people believe that," said the thin voice timidly. + +"Oh, you want a dose of medicine, you do," said the first speaker, +shaking out his ash and looking round with a knowing air. The young men +got out in the City; John went on to Westminster Bridge. + +It was terrible. Why could he not take advantage of the popular +superstition and disappear indeed, taking Glory with him! But no, no, +no! + +Through all the torment of his soul his religion had remained the same, +and now it rose up before him like a pillar of cloud and fire. He would +do as he had intended, whatever the consequences, and if he was charged +with crimes he had not committed, if he was accused of the offences +of his followers, he would make no defence; if need be he would allow +himself to be convicted, and being innocent in this instance God would +accept his punishment as an atonement for his other sins! Glorious +sacrifice! He would make it! He would make it! And Glory herself would +be proud of it some day. + +With the glow of this resolution upon him he turned into Scotland Yard +and stepped boldly up to the office. The officer in charge received +him with a deferential bow, but went on talking in a low voice to +an inspector of police who was also standing at the other side of a +counter. + +"Strange?" he was saying. "I thought he was seen getting into the train +at Euston." + +"Don't know that he wasn't either, in spite of all he says." + +"Thinking of the dog." + +"Well, the dog, too," said the inspector, and then seeing John, "Hello! +Who's here?" + +The officer stepped up to the counter. "What can I do for you, sir?" he +asked. + +John knew that the supreme moment had come, and he felt proud of himself +that his resolution did not waver. Lifting his head, he said in a low +and rapid voice, "I understand that you have a warrant for the arrest of +Father Storm." + +"We _had_, sir," the officer answered. + +John looked embarrassed. "What do you mean by that?" + +"I mean that Father Storm is now in custody." + +John stared at the man with a feeling of stupefaction. "In custody! Did +you say in custody?" + +"Precisely! He has just given himself up." + +John answered impetuously, "But that is impossible." + +"Why impossible, sir? Are you interested in this case?" + +A certain quivering moved John's mouth. "I am Father Storm himself." + +The officer was silent for a moment. Then he turned to the inspector +with a pitying smile. "Another of them," he said significantly. The +psychology of criminals had been an interesting study to this official. + +"Wait a minute," said the inspector, and he went hurriedly through an +inner doorway. The officer asked John some questions about his movements +since yesterday. John answered vaguely in broken and rather bewildering +sentences. Then the inspector returned. + +"You are Father Storm?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know of anybody who might wish to personate you?" + +"God forbid that any one should do that!" + +"Still, there is some one here who says----" + +"Let me see him." + +"Come this way quietly," said the inspector, and John followed him to +the inner room. His pride was all gone, his head was hanging low, and he +was a prey to extraordinary agitation. + +A man in a black cassock was sitting at a table making a statement to +another officer with an open book before him. His back was to the door, +but John knew him in a moment. It was Brother Andrew. + +"Then why have you given yourself up?" the officer asked, and Brother +Andrew began a rambling and foolish explanation. He had seen it stated +in an evening paper that the Father had been traced to the train at +Euston, and he thought it a pity--a pity that the police--that the +police should waste their time---- + +"Take care!" said the officer. "You are in a position that should make +you careful of what you say." + +And then the inspector stepped forward, leaving John by the door. + +"You still say you are Father Storm?" + +"Of course I do," said Brother Andrew indignantly. "If I was anybody +else, do you think I should come here and give myself up----" + +"Then who is this standing behind you?" + +Brother Andrew turned and saw John with a start of surprise and a cry +of terror. He seemed hardly able to believe in the reality of what was +before him, and his restless eyeballs rolled fearfully. John tried to +speak, but he could only utter a few inarticulate sounds. + +"Well?" said the inspector. And while John stood with head down and +heaving breast, Brother Andrew began to laugh hysterically and to say: + +"Don't you know who this is? This is my lay brother! I brought him out +of the Brotherhood six months ago, and he has been with me ever since." + +The officers looked at each other. "Good heavens!" cried Brother Andrew +in an imperious voice, "don't you believe me? You mustn't touch this +man. He has done nothing--nothing at all. He is as tender as a woman and +wouldn't hurt a fly. What's he doing here?" + +The officers also were dropping their heads, and the heartrending +voice went on: "Have you arrested him? You'll do very wrong if you +arrest----But perhaps he has given himself up! That would be just like +him. He is devoted to me and would tell you any falsehood if he thought +it would----But you must send him away. Tell him to go back to his old +mother--that's the proper place for him. Good God! do you think I'm +telling you lies?" + +There was silence for a moment. "My poor lad, hush, hush!" said John in +a tone full of tenderness and authority. Then he turned to the inspector +with a pitiful smile of triumph. "Are you satisfied?" he asked. + +"Quite satisfied, Father," the officer answered in a broken voice, and +then Brother Andrew began to cry. + + + + +X. + +When Glory awoke on the morning after the Derby and thought of John she +felt no remorse. A sea of bewildering difficulty lay somewhere ahead, +but she would not look at it. He loved her, she loved him, and nothing +else mattered. If rules and vows stood between them, so much the worse +for such enemies of love. + +She was conscious that a subtle change had come over her. She was not +herself any longer, but somebody else as well; not a woman merely, but +in some sort a man; not Glory only, but also John Storm. Oh, delicious +mystery! Oh, joy of joys! His arms seemed to be about her waist still, +and his breath to linger about her neck. With a certain tremor, a +certain thrill, she reached for a hand-glass and looked at herself to +learn if there was any difference in her face that the rest of the world +would see. Yes, her eyes had another lustre, a deeper light, but she +lay back in the cool bed with a smile and a long-drawn sigh. What matter +whatever happened! Gone were the six cruel months in which she had +awakened every morning with a pain at her breast. She was happy, happy, +happy! + +The morning sun was streaming across the room when Liza came in with the +tea. + +"Did ye see the Farver last night, Miss Gloria?" + +"Oh, yes; that was all right, Liza." + +The day's newspaper was lying folded on the tray. She took it up and +opened it, remembering the Derby, and thinking for the first time of +Drake's triumph. But what caught her eye in glaring head-lines was a +different matter: "The Panic Terror--Collapse of the Farce." + +It was a shriek of triumphant derision. The fateful day had come and +gone, yet London stood where it did before. Last night's tide had flowed +and ebbed, and the dwellings of men were not submerged. No earthquake +had swallowed up St. Paul's; no mighty bonfire of the greatest city of +the world had lit up the sky of Europe, and even the thunderstorm which +had broken over London had only laid the dust and left the air more +clear. + +"London is to be congratulated on the collapse of this panic, which, so +far as we can hear, has been attended by only one casualty--an assault +in Brown's Square, Westminster, on a young soldier, Charles Wilkes, +of the Wellington Barracks, by two of the frantic army of the +terror-stricken. The injured man was removed to St. Thomas's Hospital, +while his assailants were taken to Rochester Row police station, and we +have only to regret that the clerical panic-maker himself has not yet +shared the fate of his followers. Late last night the authorities, +recovering from their extraordinary supineness, issued a warrant for +his arrest, but up to the time of going to press he had escaped the +vigilance of the police." + +Glory was breathing audibly as she read, and Liza, who was drawing up +the blind, looked back at her with surprise. + +"Liza, have you mentioned to anybody that Father Storm was here last +night?" + +"Why, no, miss, there ain't nobody stirring yet, and besides----" + +"Then don't mention it to a soul. Will you do me that great, great +kindness?" + +"Down't ye know I will, mum?" said Liza, with a twinkle of the eye and a +wag of the head. + +Glory dressed hurriedly, went down to the drawing-room, and wrote +a letter. It was to Sefton, the manager. "Do not expect me to play +to-night. I don't feel up to it. Sorry to be so troublesome." + +Then Rosa came in with another newspaper in her hand, and, without +saying anything, Glory showed her the letter. Rosa read it and returned +it in silence. They understood each other. + +During the next few hours Glory's impatience became feverish, and as +soon as the first of the evening papers appeared she sent out for it. +The panic was subsiding, and the people who had gone to the outskirts +were returning to the city in troops, looking downcast and ashamed. No +news of Father Storm. Inquiry that morning at Scotland Yard elicited the +fact that nothing had yet been heard of him. There was much perplexity +as to where he had spent the previous night. + +Glory's face tingled and burned. From hour to hour she sent out for +new editions. The panic itself was now eclipsed by the interest of John +Storm's disappearance. His followers scouted the idea that he had fled +from London. Nevertheless, he had fallen. As a pretender to the gift +of prophecy his career was at an end, and his crazy system of mystical +divinity was the laughing-stock of London. + +"It does not surprise us that this second Moses, this mock Messiah, has +broken down. Such men always do, and must collapse, but that the public +should ever have taken seriously a movement which----" and then a +grotesque list of John's followers--one pawnbroker, one waiter, one +"knocker-up," two or three apprentices, etc. + +As she read all this, Glory was at the same time glowing with shame, +trembling with fear, and burning with indignation. She dined with Rosa +alone, and they tried to talk of other matters. The effort was useless. +At last Rosa said: + +"I have to follow this thing up for the paper, dear, and I'm going +to-night to see if they hold the usual service in his church." + +"May I go with you?" + +"If you wish to, but it will be useless--he won't be there." + +"Why not?" + +"The Prime Minister left London last night--I can't help thinking there +is something in that." + +"He will be there, Rosa. He's not the man to run away. I know him," said +Glory proudly. + +The church was crowded, and it was with difficulty they found seats. +John's enemies were present in force--all the owners of vested interests +who had seen their livelihood threatened by the man who declared war +on vice and its upholders. There was a dangerous atmosphere before the +service began, and, notwithstanding her brave faith in him, Glory found +herself praying that John Storm might not come. As the organ played and +the choir and clergy entered the excitement was intense, and some of +the congregation got on to their seats in their eagerness to see if the +Father was there. He was not there. The black cassock and biretta in +which he had lately preached were nowhere to be seen, and a murmur of +disappointment passed over friends and enemies alike. + +Then came a disgraceful spectacle. A man with a bloated face and a +bandage about his forehead rose in his place and cried, "No popery, +boys!" Straightaway the service, which was being conducted by two of +the clerical brothers from the Brotherhood, was interrupted by hissing, +whistling, shouting, yelling, and whooping indescribable. Songs were +roared out during the lessons, and cushions, cassocks, and prayer-books +were flung at the altar and its furniture. The terrified choir boys fled +downstairs to their own quarters, and the clergy were driven out of the +church. + +John's own people stole away in terror and shame, but Glory leaped to +her feet as if to fling herself on the cowardly rabble. Her voice was +lost in the tumult, and Rosa drew her out into the street. + +"Is there no law in the land to prevent brawling like this?" she cried, +but the police paid no heed to her. + +Then the congregation, which had broken up, came rushing out of the +church and round to the door leading to the chambers beneath it. + +"They've found him," thought Glory, pressing her hand over her heart. +But no, it was another matter. Immediately afterward there rose over the +babel of human voices the deep music of the bloodhound in full cry. The +crowd shrieked with fear and delight, then surged and parted, and the +dog came running through with its stern up, its head down, its forehead +wrinkled, and the long drapery of its ears and flews hanging in folds +about its face. In a moment it was gone, its mellow note was dying away +in the neighbouring streets, and a gang of ruffians were racing after +it. "That'll find the feller if he's in London!" somebody shouted; it +was the man with the bandaged forehead--and there were yells of fiendish +laughter. + +Glory's head was going round, and she was holding on to Rosa's arm with +a convulsive grasp. + +"The cowards!" she cried. "To use that poor creature's devotion to +its master for their own inhuman ends--it's cowardly, it's brutal, +it's----Oh, oh, oh!" + +"Come, dear," said Rosa, and she dragged Glory away. + +They went back through Broad Sanctuary. Neither spoke, but both were +thinking: "He has gone to the monastery. He intends to stay there until +the storm is over." At Westminster Bridge they parted. "I have somewhere +to go," said Rosa, turning down to the Underground. "She is going to +Bishopsgate Street," thought Glory, and they separated with constraint. + +Returning to Clement's Inn, Glory found a letter from Drake: + + +"Dear Glory: How can I apologize to you for nay detestable behaviour of +last night? The memory of what passed has taken all the joy out of +the success upon which everybody is congratulating me. I have tried +to persuade myself that you would make allowances for the day and the +circumstances and my natural excitement. But your life has been so +blameless that it fills me with anguish and horror to think how I +exposed you to misrepresentation by allowing you to go to that place, +and by behaving to you as I did when you were there. Thank God, things +went no farther, and some blessed power prevented me from carrying out +my threat to follow you. Believe me, you shall see no more of men like +Lord Robert Ure and women like his associates. I despise them from my +heart, and wonder how I can have tolerated them so long. Do let me +beg the favour of a line consenting to allow me to call and ask your +forgiveness. Yours most humbly, + +"F. H. N. Drake." + + +Glory slept badly that night, and as soon as Liza was stirring she rang +for the newspaper. + +"Didn't ye 'ear the dorg, mum?" said Liza. + +"What dog?" + +"The Farver's dorg. It was scratching at the front dawer afore I was up +this morning. 'It's the milk,' sez I. But the minute I opened the dawer +up it came ter the drawerin' room and went snuffling rahnd everywhere." + +"Where is it now?" + +"Gorn, mum." + +"Did anybody else see it? No? You say no? You're sure? Then say nothing +about it, Liza--nothing whatever--that's a good girl." + +The newspaper was full of the mysterious disappearance. Not a trace of +the Father had yet been found. The idea had been started that he +had gone into seclusion at the Anglican monastery with which he was +associated, but on inquiry at Bishopsgate Street it was found that +nothing had been seen of him there. Since yesterday the whole of London +had been scoured by the police, but not one fact had been brought to +light to make clearer the mystery of his going away. With the most +noticeable face and habit in London he had evaded scrutiny and gone into +a retirement which baffled discovery. No master of the stage art could +have devised a more sensational disappearance. He had vanished as though +whirled to heaven in a cloud, and that was literally what the more +fanatical of his followers believed to have been his fate. Among these +persons there were wild-eyed hangers-on telling of a flight upward on +a fiery chariot, as well as a predicted disappearance and reappearance +after three days. Such were the stories being gulped down by the +thousands who still clung with an indefinable fascination to the memory +of the charlatan. Meantime the soldier Wilkes had died of his injuries, +and the coroner's inquiry was to be opened that day. + +"Unfeeling brutes! The bloodhound is an angel of mercy compared to +them," thought Glory, but the worst sting was in the thought that John +had fled out of fear and was now in hiding somewhere. + +Toward noon the newsboys were rushing through the Inn, crying their +papers against all regulations, and at the same moment Rosa came in to +say that John Storm had surrendered. + +"I knew it!" cried Glory; "I knew he would!" + +Then Rosa told her of Brother Andrew's attempt to personate his master, +and with what pitiful circumstances it had ended. + +"Only a lay brother, you say, Rosa?" + +"Yes, a poor half-witted soul apparently--must have been, to imagine +that a subterfuge like that would succeed in London." + +Glory's eyes were gleaming. "Rosa," she said, "I would rather have done +what he did than play the greatest part in the world." + +She wished to be present at the trial, and proposed to Rosa that she +should go with her. + +"But dare you, my child? Considering your old friendship, dare you see +him----" + +"Dare I?" said Glory. "Dare I stand in the dock by his side!" + +But when she got to Bow Street and saw the crowds in the court, the line +of distinguished persons of both sexes allowed to sit on the bench, the +army of reporters and newspaper artists, and all the mass of smiling and +eager faces, without ruth or pity, gathered together as for a show, her +heart sickened and she crept out of the place before the prisoner was +brought into the dock. + +Walking to and fro in the corridor, she waited the result of the trial. +It was not a long one. The charge was that of causing people unlawfully +to assemble to the danger of the public peace. There was no defence. A +man with a bandaged forehead was the first of the witnesses. He was +a publican, who lived in Brown's Square and had been a friend of the +soldier Wilkes. The injury to his forehead was the result of a blow from +a stick given by the prisoner's lay brother on the night of the Derby, +when, with the help of the deceased, he had attempted to liberate the +bloodhound. He had much to say of the Father's sermons, his speeches, +his predictions, his slanders, and his disloyalty. Other witnesses were +Pincher and Hawkins. They were in a state of abject fear at the fate +hanging over their own heads, and tried to save their own skins by +laying the blame of their own conduct upon the Father. The last witness +was Brother Andrew, and he broke down utterly. Within an hour Rosa came +out to say that John Storm had been committed for trial. Bail was not +asked for, and the prisoner, who had not uttered a word from first to +last, had been taken back to the cells. + +Glory hurried home and shut herself in her room. The newsboys in the +street were shouting, "Father Storm in the dock!" and filling the air +with their cries. She covered her ears with her hands, and made noises +in her throat that she might not hear. + +John Storm's career was at an end. It was all her fault. If she had +yielded to his desire to leave London, or if she had joined him there, +how different everything must have been! But she had broken in upon +his life and wrecked it. She had sinned against him who had given her +everything that one human soul can give another. + +Liza came up with, red eyes, bringing the evening papers and a letter. +The papers contained long reports of the trial and short editorials +reproving the public for its interest in such a poor impostor. Some of +them contained sketches of the prisoner and of the distinguished persons +recognised in court. "The stage was represented by----," and then a +caricature of herself. + +The letter was from Aunt Rachel: + + +"My Dear, My Best-Beloved Glory: I know how much your kind _heart_ will +be lowered by the painful tidings I have to write to you. Lord Storm +died on Monday and was buried to-day. To the last he declared he would +never consent to make peace with John, and he has left nothing to him +but his title, so that our dear friend is now a nobleman without an +estate. Everybody about the old lord at the end was unanimous in favour +of his son, but he would not listen to them, and the scene at the +deathbed was shocking. It seems that with his dying breath and many +bursts of laughter he read aloud his will, which ordered that his +effects should be sold and the proceeds given to some society for the +protection of the Established Church. And then he told old Chaise that +as soon as he was gone a coffin was to be got and he was to be screwed +down at once, 'for,' said he, 'my son would not come to see me _living_, +and he sha'n't stand grinning at me _dead_.' The funeral was at +Kirkpatrick this morning, and _few_ came to see the last of one who had +left none to mourn him; but just as the remains were being deposited in +the dark vault a carriage drove up and an elderly gentleman got out. No +one knew him, and he stood and looked down with his impassive face while +the service was being read, and then, without speaking to any one, he +got back into the carriage and drove away. The _minute_ he was gone I +told Anna he was somebody of consequence; and then everybody said +it must be Lord Storm's brother and no less a person than the Prime +Minister of England. It seems that the sale is to come off immediately, +so that Knockaloe will be a waste, as if sown with salt; and, so far as +this island is concerned, all trace of the Storms, father and son, +will be gone for good. I ever knew it must end thus! But I will more +particularly tell you everything when we meet again, which I hope may be +_soon_. Meantime I need not say how much I am, my dear child, your ever +fond--nay, more than fond--_devoted_ auntie. + +"Rachel." + + + + +XI. + +"Yes," said Rosa, across the dinner table, "the sudden fall of a man who +has filled a large space in the public eye is always pitiful. It is like +the fall of a great tree in the forest. One never realized how big it +was until it was down." + +"It's awful! awful!" said Glory. + +"Whether one liked the man or not, such a downfall seems hard to +reconcile with the idea of a beneficent Providence." + +"Hard? Impossible, you mean!" + +"Glory!" + +"Oh, I'm only a pagan, and always have been; but I can't believe in a +God that does nothing--I won't, I won't!" + +"Still, we can't see the end yet. After the cross the resurrection, as +the Church folks say; and who knows but out of all this----" + +"What's to become of his church?" + +"Oh, there'll be people enough to see to that, and if the dear +Archdeacon--but he's busy with Mrs. Macrae, bless him! She has gone to +wreck at last, and is living hidden away in a farmhouse somewhere, that +she may drink herself to death without detection and interruption. But +the Archdeacon and Lord Robert have found her out, and there they are +hovering round like two vultures, waiting for the end." + +"And his orphanage?" + +"Ah, that's another pair of shoes altogether, dear. Being an institution +that asks for an income instead of giving one, there'll be nobody too +keen to take it over." + +"O God! O God! What a world it is!" cried Glory. + +After dinner she went off to Westminster in search of the orphanage. +It stood on a corner of the church square. The door was closed, and the +windows of the ground floor were shuttered. With difficulty she obtained +admission and access to the person in charge. This was an elderly lady +in a black silk dress and with snow-white hair. + +"I'm no the matron, miss," she said. "The matron's gone--fled awa' like +a' the lave o' the grand Sisters, thinking sure the mob would mak' this +house their next point of attack." + +"Then I know whom _you_ are--you're Mrs. Callender," said Glory. + +"Jane Callender I am, young leddy. And who may ye be yersel'?" + +"I'm a friend of John's, and I want to know if there's anything----" + +"You're no the lassie hersel', are ye? You are, though; I see fine you +are! Come, kiss me--again, lassie! Oh, dear! oh, dear! And to think we +must be meeting same as this! For a' the world it's like clasping hands +ower the puir laddie's grave!" + +They cried in each other's arms, and then both felt better. + +"And the children," said Glory, "who's looking after them if the matron +and Sisters are gone?" + +"Just me and the puir bairns theirsel's, and the wee maid of all wark +that opened the door til ye. But come your ways and look at them." + +The dormitory was in an upper story. Mrs. Gallender had opened the door +softly, and Glory stepped into a large dark room in which fifty children +lay asleep. Their breathing was all that could be heard, and it seemed +to fill the air as with the rustle of a gentle breeze. But it was hard +to look upon them and to think of their only earthly father in his cell. +With full hearts and dry throats the two women returned to a room below. + +By this time the square, which before had only shown people standing +in doorways and lounging at street corners, was crowded with a noisy +rabble. They were shouting out indecent jokes about "monks," "his +reverend lordship," and "doctors of diwinity"; and a small gang of them +had got a rope which they were trying to throw as a lasso round a figure +of the Virgin in a niche over the porch. The figure came down at length +amid shrieks of delight, and when the police charged the mob they flung +stones which broke the church windows. + +Again Glory felt an impulse to throw herself on the cowardly rabble, +but she only crouched at the window by the side of Mrs. Callender, and +looked down at the sea of faces below with their evil eyes and cruel +mouths. + +"Oh, what a thing it is to be a woman!" she moaned. + +"Aye, lassie, aye, there's mair than one of us has felt that," said Mrs. +Callender. + +Glory did not speak again as long as they knelt by the window, holding +each other's hands, but the tears that had sprung to her eyes at the +thought of her helplessness dried up of themselves, and in their place +came the light of a great resolution. She knew that her hour had struck +at last--that this was the beginning of the end. + +The theatres were emptying and carriages were rolling away from them as +she drove home by way of the Strand. She saw her name on omnibuses and +her picture on boardings, and felt a sharp pang. But she was in a state +of feverish excitement and the pain was gone in a moment. + +Another letter from Drake was waiting for her at the Inn: + + +"I feel, my dear Glory, that you are entirely justified in your silence, +but to show you how deep is my regret, I am about to put it in my power +to atone, as far as I can, for the conduct which has quite properly +troubled and hurt you. You will put me under an eternal obligation to +you if you will consent to become my wife. We should be friends as +well as lovers, Glory, and in an age distinguished for brilliant and +beautiful women, it would be the crown of my honour that my wife was +above all a woman of genius. Nothing should disturb the development of +your gifts, and if any social claims conflicted with them, they, and +not you, would suffer. For the rest I can bring you nothing, dear, +but--thanks to the good father who was born before me--such advantages +as belong to wealth. But so far as these go there is no pleasure you +need deny yourself, and if your sympathies are set on any good work for +humanity there is no opportunity you may not command. With this I can +only offer you the love and devotion of my whole heart and soul, which +now wait in fear and pain for your reply." + + +Glory read this letter with a certain quivering of the eyelids, but she +put it away without a qualm. Nevertheless, the letter was hard to reply +to, and she made many attempts without satisfying herself in the end. +There was a note of falsehood in all of them, and she felt troubled and +ashamed: + + +"When I remember how good you have been to me from the first, I could +cry to think of the answer I must give you. But I can't help it--oh, I +can't, I can't! Don't think me ungrateful, and don't suppose I am +angry or in any way hurt or offended, but to do what you desire is +impossible--quite, quite impossible. Oh, if you only knew what it is +to deny myself the future you offer me, to turn my back on the gladness +with which life has come to me, to strip all these roses from my hair, +you would believe it must be a far, far higher call than to worldly rank +and greatness that I am listening to at last. And it is. A woman may +trifle with her heart, while the one she loves is well and happy +or great and prosperous, but when he is down and the cruel world is +trampling on him, there can be no paltering with it any longer---Yes, I +must go to _him_ if I go to anybody. Besides, you can do without me and +he can not. You have all the world, and he has nothing but me. If you +were a woman you would understand all this, but you are loyal and brave +and true, and when I look at your letter and remember how often you have +spoken up for a fallen man my heart quivers and my eyes grow dim, and I +know what it means to be an English gentleman." + + +After writing this letter she went up to her bedroom and busied herself +about for an hour, making up parcels of her clothing and jewellery, and +labelling them with envelopes bearing names. The plainer costumes she +addressed to Aunt Anna, a fur-lined coat to Aunt Rachel, an opera cloak +to Rosa, and a quantity of underclothing to Liza. All her jewels, and +nearly all the silver trinkets from the dressing-table, were made up +in a parcel by themselves and addressed back to the giver--Sir Francis +Drake. + +The clock of St. Clement's Danes was chiming midnight when this was +done, and she stood a moment and asked herself, "Is there anything +else?" Then there was a slippered foot on the stair, and somebody +knocked. + +"It's only me, miss, and can I do anythink for ye?" + +Glory opened the door and found Liza there, half dressed and looking as +if she had been crying. + +"Nothing, Liza, nothing, thank you! But why aren't you in bed?" + +"I can't sleep a blessed wink to-night somehow, miss," said Liza. And +then, looking into the room, "But are ye goin' away somewhere. Miss +Gloria?" + +"Yes, perhaps." + +"Thort ye was--I could hear ye downstairs." + +"Not far, though--just a little journey--go back to bed now. +Good-night." + +"Good-night, miss," and Liza went down with lingering footsteps. + +Half an hour or so afterward Glory heard Rosa come in from the office +and pass up to her bedroom on the floor above. "Dear, unselfish soul!" +she thought, and then she sat down to write another letter: + + +"Darling Rosa: I am going to leave you, but there is no help for it--I +must. Don't you remember I used to say if I should ever find a man who +was willing to sacrifice all the world for me I would leave everything +and follow him? I have found him, dear, and he has not only sacrificed +all the world for my sake, but trampled on Heaven itself. I can't go to +him now--would to Heaven I could!--but neither can I go on living this +present life any longer. So I am turning my back on it all, exactly as I +said I would--the world, so sweet and so cruel; art, so beautiful and so +difficult, and even 'the clapping of hands in a theatre.' You will say +I am a donkey, and so I may be, but it must be a descendant of Balaam's +old friend, who knew the way she ought to go. + +"Forgive me that I am going without saying good-bye. It is enough to +have to resist the battering of one's own doubts without encountering +your dear solicitations. And forgive me that I am not telling you where +I am going and what is to become of me. You will be questioned and +examined, and I feel as much frightened of being overtaken by my old +existence as the poor simpleton who took it into his head that he was a +grain of barley, and as often as he saw a cock or a hen he ran for his +life. Thank you, dearest, for allowing me to share your sweet rooms +with you, for the bright hours we have spent in them, and all the merry +jaunts we have had together. There will be fewer creature comforts where +I am going to, and my feet will not be so quick to do evil, which will +at least be a saving of shoe-leather. + +"Good-bye, old girl--loyal, unselfish, devoted friend! God will reward +you yet, and a good man who has been chasing a Will-o'-the-wisp will +open his eyes to see that all the time the star of the morning has been +by his side. Tomorrow, when I leave the house, I know I shall want to +run up and kiss you as you lie asleep, but I mustn't do that--the little +druggeted stairs to your room would be like the road to another but +not a better place, which is also paved with good intentions. What a +scatter-brain I am! My heart is breaking, too, with all this severing of +my poor little riven cords. Your foolish old chummie (the last of her), + +"Glory." + + +Next morning, almost as soon as it was light, she rose and drew a little +tin box from under the bed. It was the box that had brought all her +belongings to London when she first came from her island home. Out of +this box she took a simple gray costume--the costume she had bought for +outdoor wear when a nurse at the hospital. Putting it on, she looked at +herself in the glass. The plain gray figure, so unlike what she had been +the night before, sent a little stab to her heart, and she sighed. + +"But this is Glory, after all," she thought. "This is the granddaughter +of my grandfather, the daughter of my father, and not the visionary +woman who has been masquerading in London so long." But the conceit did +not comfort her very much, and scalding tear-drops began to fall. + +Tying up some other clothing into a little bundle, she opened the door +and listened. There was no noise in the house, and she crept downstairs +with a light tread. At the drawing-room she paused and took one last +look round at the place where she had spent so many exciting hours, +and lived through such various phases of life. While she stood on the +threshold there was a sound of heavy breathing. It came from the pug, +which lay coiled up on the sofa, asleep. Reproaching herself with having +forgotten the little thing, she took it up in her arms and hushed it +when it awoke and began to whine. Then she crept down to the front door, +opened it softly, passed out, and closed it after her. There was a click +of the lock in the silent gardens, and then no sound anywhere but the +chirrup of the sparrows in the eaves. + +The sun was beginning to climb over the cool and quiet streets as she +went along, and some cabmen at the stand looked over at the woman in +nurse's dress, with a little bundle in one hand and the dog under the +other arm. "Been to a death, p'r'aps. Some uv these nurses, they've +tender 'earts, bless 'em, and when I was in the 'awspital----" But she +turned her head and hurried on, and the voice was lost in the empty air. + +As she dipped into the slums of Westminster the sun gleamed on her wet +face, and a group of noisy, happy girls, going to their work in the jam +factories of Soho, came toward her laughing. + +The girls looked at the Sister as she passed; their tongues stopped, and +there was a hush. + + + + +XII. + +John Storm's enemies had succeeded. He was committed for sedition, and +there was the probability that when brought up again he would be charged +with complicity in manslaughter. Throughout the proceedings at the +police court he maintained a calm and dignified silence. Supported by an +exalted faith, he regarded even death with composure. When the trial was +over and the policeman who stood at the back of the dock tapped him on +the arm, he started like a man whose mind had been occupied by other +issues. + +"Eh?" + +"Come," said the policeman, and he was taken back to the cells. + +Next day he was removed to Holloway, and there he observed the same calm +and silent attitude. His bearing touched and impressed the authorities, +and they tried by various small kindnesses to make his imprisonment +easy. He encouraged them but little. + +On the second morning an officer came to his cell and said, "Perhaps you +would care to look at the newspaper, Father?" + +"Thank you, no," he answered. "The newspapers were never much to me even +when I was living in the world--they can not be necessary now that I am +going out of it." + +"Oh, come, you exaggerate your danger. Besides, now that the papers +contain so much about yourself----" + +"That is a reason why I should not see them." + +"Well, to tell you the truth, Father, this morning's paper has something +about somebody else, and that was why I brought it." + +"Eh?" + +"Somebody near to you--very near and---- But I'll leave it with +you----Nothing to complain of this morning--no?" + +But John Storm was already deep in the columns of the newspaper. He +found the news intended for him. It was the death of his father. The +paragraph was cruel and merciless. "Thus the unhappy man who was brought +up at Bow Street two days ago is now a peer in his own right and the +immediate heir to an earldom." + +The moment was a bitter and terrible one. Memories of past years swept +over him--half-forgotten incidents of his boyhood when his father was +his only friend and he walked with his hand in his--memories of his +father's love for him, his hopes, his aims, his ambitions, and all the +vast ado of his poor delusive dreams. And then came thoughts of the +broken old man dying alone, and of himself in his prison cell. It had +been a strangely familiar thought to him of late that if he left London +at seven in the morning he could speak to his father at seven the same +night. And now his father was gone, the last opportunity was lost, and +he could speak to him no more. + +But he tried to conquer the call of blood which he had put aside so +long, and to set over against it the claims of his exalted mission and +the spirit of the teaching of Christ. What had Christ said? "Call no man +your father upon the earth; for one is your Father which is in heaven!" + +"Yes," he thought, "that's it--'for one is your Father which is in +heaven.'" + +Then he took up the newspaper again, thinking to read with a calmer +mind the report of his father's death and burial, but his eye fell on a +different matter. + +"ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.--Hardly has the public mind recovered +from the perplexity attending the disappearance of a well-known +clergyman from Westminster, when the news comes of a no less mysterious +disappearance of a popular actress from a West-End theatre." + +It was Glory! + +"Although a recent acquisition to the stage and the latest English +actress to come into her heritage of fame, she was already a universal +favourite, and her sudden and unaccountable disappearance is a shock +as well as a surprise. To the disappointment of the public she had not +played her part for nearly a week, having excused herself on the ground +of indisposition, but there was apparently nothing in the state of her +health to give cause for anxiety or to prepare her friends for the step +she has taken. What has become of her appears to be entirely beyond +conjecture, but her colleagues and associates are still hoping for the +hest, though the tone of a letter left behind gives only too much reason +to fear a sad and perhaps fatal sequel." + +When the officer entered the cell again an hour after his first visit, +John Storm was pallid and thin and gray. The sublime faith he had built +up for himself had fallen to ruins, a cloud had hidden the face of the +Father which was in heaven, and the death he had waited for as the crown +of his life seemed to be no better than an abject end to a career that +had failed. + +"Cheer up," said the officer; "I've some good news for you, at all +events." + +The prisoner smiled sadly and shook his head. + +"Bail was offered and accepted at Bow Street this morning, and you will +be at liberty to leave us to-day." + +"When?" said John, and his manner changed immediately. + +"Well, not just yet, you know." + +"For the love of God, sir, let me go at once! I have something to +do-somebody to look for and find." + +"Still, for your own security, Father----" + +"But why?" + +"Then you don't know that the mob sent a dog out in search of you 2" + +"No, I didn't know that; but if all the dogs of Christendom----" + +"There are worse dogs waiting for you than any that go on four legs, you +know." + +"That's nothing, sir, nothing at all; and if bail has been accepted, +surely it is your duty to liberate me at once. I claim--I demand that +you should do so!" + +The officer raised his eyes in astonishment. "You surprise me, Father. +After your calmness and patience and submission to authority too!" + +John Storm remained silent for a moment, and then he said, with +a touching solemnity: "You must forgive me, sir. You are very +good--everybody is good to me here. Still, I am not afraid, and if you +can let me go----" + +The officer left him. It was several hours before he returned. By this +time the long summer day had closed in, and it was quite dark. + +"They think you've gone. You can leave now. Come this way." + +At the door of the office some minutes afterward John Storm paused with +the officer's hand in his, and said: + +"Perhaps it is needless to ask who is my bail" (he was thinking of Mrs. +Callender), "but if you can tell me----" + +"Certainly. It was Sir Francis Drake." + +John Storm bowed gravely and turned away. As he passed out of the yard +his eyes were bent on the ground and his step was slow and feeble. + + * * * * * + +At that moment Drake was on his way to the Corinthian Club. Early in the +afternoon he had seen this letter in the columns of an evening paper: + +"The Mysterious Disappearances.--Is it not extraordinary that in +discussing 'the epidemic of mystery' which now fills the air of London +it has apparently never occurred to any one that the two mysterious +disappearances which are the text of so many sermons may be really one +disappearance only, that the 'man of God' and the 'woman of the theatre' +may have acted in collusion, from the same impulse and with the same +expectation, and that the rich and beneficent person who (according to +the latest report) has come to the rescue of the one, and is an active +agent in looking for the other, is in reality the foolish though +well-meaning victim of both?--R. U." + +For three hours Drake had searched for Lord Robert with flame in his +eyes and fury in his looks. Going first to Belgrave Square, he had found +the blinds down and the house shut up. Mrs. Macrae was dead. She had +died at a lodging in the country, alone and unattended. Her wealth had +not been able to buy the devotion of one faithful servant at the end. +She had left nothing to her daughter except a remonstrance against +her behaviour, but she had made Lord Robert her chief heir and sole +executor. + +That amiable mourner had returned to London with all possible +despatch as soon as the breath was out of his mother-in-law's body and +arrangements were made for its transit. He was now engaged in relieving +the tension of so much unusual emotion by a round of his nightly +pleasures. Drake had come up with him at last. + +The Corinthian Club was unusually gay that night, "Hello there!" came +from every side. The music in the ballroom was louder than ever, and, +judging by the numbers of the dancers, the attraction of "Tra-la-la" +was even greater than before. There was the note of yet more reckless +license everywhere, as if that little world whose life was pleasure had +been under the cloud of a temporary terror and was determined to make +up for it by the wildest folly. The men chaffed and laughed and shouted +comic songs and kicked their legs about; the women drank and giggled. + +Lord Robert was in the supper-room with three guests--the "three +graces." The women were in full evening dress. Betty was wearing the +ring she had taken from Polly "just to remember her by, pore thing," and +the others were blazing in similar brilliants. The wretched man himself +was half drunk. He had been talking of Father Storm and of his own wife +in a jaunty tone, behind which there was an intensity of hatred. + +"But this panic of his, don't you know, was the funniest thing ever +heard of. Going home that night I counted seventeen people on their +knees in the streets--'pon my soul I did! Eleven old women of eighty, +two or three of seventy, and one or two that might be as young as +sixty-nine. Then the epidemic of piety in high life too! Several of our +millionaires gave sixpence apiece to beggars--were seen to do it, +don't you know. One old girl gave up playing baccarat and subscribed to +'Darkest England.' No end of sweet little women confessed their pretty +weaknesses to their husbands, and now that the world is wagging along as +merrily as before, they don't know what the devil they are to do---- But +look here!" + +Out of his trousers pockets at either side he tugged a torn and crumpled +assortment of letters and proceeded to tumble them on to the table. + +"These are a few of the applications I had from curates-in-charge and +such beauties for the care of the living in Westminster while the other +gentleman lay in jail. It's the Bishop's right to appoint the creature, +don't you know, but they think a patron's recommendation---- Oh, they're +a sweet team! Listen to this: 'May it please your lordship----'" + +And then in mock tones, flourishing one hand, the man read aloud amid +the various noises of the place--the pop of champagne bottles and the +rumble of the dancing in the room below--the fulsome letters he had +received from clergymen. The wretched women in their paint and patches +shrieked with laughter. + +It was at that moment Drake came up, looking pale and fierce. + +"Hello there! Is it you? Sit down and take a glass of fizz." + +"Not at this table," said Drake. "I prefer to drink with friends." + +Lord Robert's eyes glistened, and he tried to smile. + +"Really? Thought I was counted in that distinguished company, don't you +know." + +"So you were, but I've come to see that a friend who is not a friend is +always the worst enemy." + +"What do you mean?" + +"What does that mean?" said Drake, throwing the paper on to the table. + +"Well, what of it?" + +"The initials to that letter are yours, and all the men I meet tell me +that you have written it." + +"They do, do they? Well?" + +"I won't ask you if you did or if you didn't." + +"Don't, dear boy." + +"But I'll require you to disown it, publicly and at once." + +"And if I won't--what then?" + +"Then I'll tell the public for myself that it's a lie, a cowardly and +contemptible lie, and that the man who wrote it is a cur!" + +"Oho! So it's like that, is it?" said Lord Robert, rising to his feet as +if putting himself on guard. + +"Yes, it _is_ like that, Lord Robert Ure, because the woman who is +slandered in that letter is as innocent as your own wife, and ten +thousand times as pure as those who are your constant company." + +Lord Robert's angular and ugly face glistened with a hateful smile. +"Innocent!" he cried hoarsely, and then he laughed out aloud. "Go on! +It's rippin' to hear you, dear boy! Innocent, by God! Just as innocent +as any other ballet girl who is dragged through the stews of London, and +then picked up at last by the born fool who keeps her for another man." + +"You liar!" cried Drake, and like a flash of light he had shot his fist +across the table and struck the man full in the face. Then laying hold +of the table itself, he swept it away with all that was on it, and +sprang at Lord Robert and took him by the throat. + +"Take that back, will you? Take it back!" + +"I won't!" cried Lord Robert, writhing and struggling in his grip. + +"Then take that--and that--and that--damn you!" cried Drake, showering +blow after blow, and finally flinging the man into the _debris_ of what +had fallen from the table with a crash. + +The women were screaming by this time and all the house was in alarm. +But Drake went out with long strides and a ferocious face, and no one +attempted to stop him. + + + + +XIII. + +Returning to St. James's Street, Drake found John Storm waiting in his +rooms. The men had changed a good deal since they last met, and the +faces of both showed suffering. + +"Forgive me for this visit," said Storm. "It was my first duty to call +and thank you for what you've done." + +"That's nothing--nothing at all," said Drake. + +"I had also another object. You'll know what that is." + +Drake bowed his head. + +"She is gone, it seems, and there is no trace left of her." + +"None?" + +"Then _you_ know nothing?" + +"Nothing! And you?" + +"Nothing whatever!" + +Drake bowed his head again. "I knew it was a lie--that she had gone +after you--I never believed that story." + +"Would to God she had!" said Storm fervently, and Drake flinched, but +bore himself bravely. "When did she go?" + +"Two days ago, apparently." + +"Has anybody looked for her?" + +"_I_ have--everywhere--everywhere I can think of. But this London----" + +"Yes, yes; I know--I know!" + +"For two days I have never rested, and all last night." + +Storm's eyes were watching the twitchings of Drake's face. He had been +sitting uneasily on his chair, and now he rose from it. + +"Are you going already?" said Drake. + +"Yes," said Storm. Then in a husky voice he added: "I don't know if we +shall ever meet again, you and I. When death breaks the link that binds +people----" + +"For God's sake don't say that!" + +"But it _is_ so, isn't it?" + +"Heaven knows! Certainly the letter she left behind--the letter to +Rosa---- Poor child, she was such a creature of joy--so bright, so +brilliant! And then to think of her---- I was much to blame--I came +between you. But if I had once realized----" + +Drake stopped, and the men fixed their eyes on each other for a moment, +and then turned their heads away. + +"I'm afraid I've done you a great injustice, sir," said Storm. + +"Me?" + +"I thought she was only your toy, your plaything. But perhaps" (his +voice was breaking)--"perhaps you loved her too." + +Drake answered, almost inaudibly, "With all my heart and soul!" + +"Then--then we have _both_ lost her!" + +"Both!" + +There was silence for a moment. The hands of the two men met and clasped +and parted. + +"I must go," said Storm, and he moved across the room with a look of +utter weariness. + +"But where are you going to?" + +"I don't know--anywhere--nowhere--it doesn't matter now." + +"Well----" + +"Good-night!" + +"Good-night!" + +Drake stood at the door below until the slow, uncertain footsteps had +turned the corner of the street and died away. + +John Storm was sure now. Overwhelmed by his own disgrace, ashamed of +his downfall, and perhaps with a sense of her own share in it, Glory had +destroyed herself. + +Strange contradiction! Much as he had hated Glory's way of life, there +came to him at the moment a deep remorse at the thought that he had been +the means of putting an end to it. And then her gay and happy spirit +clouded by his own disasters! Her good name stained by association with +his evil one! Her pure soul imperilled by his sin and fall! + +But it was now very late and he began to ask himself where he was to +sleep. At first he thought of his old quarters under the church, and +then he told himself that Brother Andrew would be gone by this time, and +that everything connected with the parish must be transferred to other +keeping. Going by a hotel in Trafalgar Square he stepped in and asked +for a bed. + +"Certainly, sir," said the clerk, who was polite and deferential. + +"Can I have something to eat, too?" + +"Coffee-room to the left, sir. Luggage coming, sir?" + +"I have no luggage to-night," he answered, and then he saw that the +clerk looked at him doubtfully. + +The coffee-room was empty and only half lit up, for dinner was long +over and the business of the day was done. John was sitting at his meal, +eating his food with his eyes down and hardly conscious of what was +going on around, when he became aware that from time to time people +opened the room door and looked across at him, then whispered together +and passed out. At length the clerk came up to him with awkward manners +and a look of constraint. + +"I beg your pardon, sir, but--are you Father Storm?" + +John bent his head. + +"Then I'm sorry to say we can not accommodate you--we dare not--we must +request you to leave." + +John rose without a word, paid his bill, and left the place. + +But where was he to go to? What house would receive him? If one hotel +refused him, all other hotels in London would do the same. Then +he remembered the shelter which he had himself established for the +undeserving poor. The humiliation of that moment was terrible. But no +matter! He would drink the cup of God's anger to the dregs. + +The lamp was burning in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament, +and as John passed by the corner of Palace Yard two Bishops came out in +earnest conversation, and walked on in front of him. + +"The State and the Church are as the body and soul," said one, "and to +separate them would be death to both." + +"Just that," said the other, "and therefore we must fight for the +Church's temporal possessions as we should contend for her spiritual +rights; and so these Benefice Bills----" + +The shelter was at the point of closing, and Jupe was putting out the +lamp over the door as John stepped up to him. + +"Who is it?" said Jupe in the dark. + +"Don't you know me, Jupe?" said John. + +"Father Jawn Storm!" cried the man in a whisper of fear. + +"I want shelter for the night, Jupe. Can you put me up anywhere?" + +"You, sir?" + +The man was staggered and the long rod in his hand shook like a reed. +Then he began to stammer something about the Bishop and the Archdeacon +and his new orders and instructions--how the shelter had been taken over +by other authorities, and he was now---- + +"But d--- it all!" he said, stopping suddenly, putting his foot down +firmly, and wagging his head to right and left like a man making a brave +resolution, "I'll tyke ye in, sir, and heng it!" + +It was the bitterest pill of all, but John swallowed it, and stepped +into the house. As he did so he was partly aware of some tumult in a +neighbouring street, with the screaming of men and women and the barking +of dogs. + +The blankets had been served out for the night and the men in the +shelter were clambering up to their bunks. In addition to the main +apartment there was a little room with a glass front which hung like a +cage near to the ceiling at one end and was entered by a circular iron +stair. This was the keeper's own sleeping place, and Jupe was making +it ready for John, while John himself sat waiting with the look of a +crushed and humiliated man, when the tumult in the street came nearer +and at last drew up in front of the house. + +"Wot's thet?" the men asked each other, lifting their heads, and Jupe +came down and went to the door. When he returned his face was white, the +sweat hung on his forehead, and a trembling shook his whole body. + +"For Gawd's sake, Father, leave the house at onct!" he whispered in +great agitation. "There's a gang outside as'll pull the place dahn if I +keep you." + +There was silence for a moment, save for the shouting outside, and then +John said, with a sigh and a look of resignation, "Very well, let me +out, then," and he turned to the door. + +"Not that wy, sir--this wy," said Jupe, and at the next moment they were +stepping into a dark and narrow lane at the back. "Turn to the left when +ye get ter the bottom, Father--mind ye turn ter the left." + +But John Storm had scarcely heard him. His heart had failed him at last. +He saw the baseness and ingratitude of the people whom he had spent +himself to relieve and uplift and succour and comfort, and he repented +himself of the hopes and aims and efforts which had come to this +bankruptcy in the end. + +"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" + +Yes, yes, that was it! It was not this poor vile race merely, this +stupid and ungrateful humanity--it was God! God used one man's +ignorance, and another man's anger, and another man's hatred, and +another man's spite, and worked out his own ends through it all. And God +had rejected him, refused him, turned a deaf ear to his prayer and his +repentance, robbed him of friends, of affection, of love, and cast him +out of the family of man! + +Very well! So be it! What should he do? He would go back to prison and +say: "Take me in again--there is no room left for me in the world. I am +alone, and my heart is dead within me!" + +He was at the end of the dark lane by this time, and forgetting Jupe's +warning, and seeing a brightly lighted street running off to his right, +he swung round to it and walked boldly along. This was Old Pye Street, +and he had come to the corner at which it opens into Brown's Square when +his absent mind became conscious of the loud baying of a dog. At the +next moment the dog was at his feet, bounding about him with frantic +delight, leaping up to him as if trying to kiss him, and uttering +meanwhile the most tender, the most true, the most pitiful cries of +love. + +It was his own dog, the bloodhound Don! + +His unworthy thoughts were, chased away at the sight of this one +faithful friend remaining, and he was stooping to fondle the great +creature, to pull at the long drapery of its ears and the pendulous +folds of its glorious forehead, when a short, sharp cry caused him to +lift his head. + +"Thet's 'im!" said somebody, and then he was aware that a group of +men with evil faces had gathered round. He knew them in a moment: the +publican with his bandaged head, Sharkey, who had served his time and +been released from prison, and Pincher and Hawkins, who were out on +bail. They had all been drinking. The publican, who carried a stick, was +drunk, and the "knocker-up" was staggering on a crutch. + +Then came a hideous scene. The four men began to taunt John Storm, to +take off their hats and bow to him in mock honour. "His Lordship, +I believe '" said one. "His Reverend Lordship, if you please!" said +another. + +"Leave me; for God's sake, leave me!" said John. + +But their taunts became more and more menacing. "Wot abart the end uv +the world, Father?" "Didn't ye tell me to sell my bit uv biziness?" "And +didn't ye say you'd cured me? and look at me now!" + +"Don't, I tell you, don't!" cried John, and he moved away. + +They followed and began to push him. Then he stopped and cried in a loud +voice of struggle and agony: "Do you want to raise the devil in me? Go +home! Go home!" + +But they only laughed and renewed their torment. His hat fell off and +he snatched at it to recover it. In doing so his hand struck somebody in +the face. "Strike a cripple, will ye?" said the publican, and he raised +his stick and struck a heavy blow on John's shoulder. At the next moment +the dog had leaped upon the man, and he was shrieking on the ground. The +"knocker-up" lifted his crutch and with the upper end of it he battered +at the dog's brains. + +"Stop, man! stop, stop!--Don! Don!" + +But the dog held on, and the man with the crutch continued to strike +at it, until Pincher, who had run to the other side of the street, came +back with a clasp knife and plunged it into the dog's neck. Then with +a growl and a whine and a pitiful cry the creature let go its hold and +rolled over, and the publican got on to his feet. + +It was the beginning of the end. John Storm looked down at the dog in +its death-throes, and all the devil in his heart came up and mastered +him. There was a shop at the corner of the square, and some heavy chairs +were standing on the pavement. He took up one of these and swung it +round him like a toy, and the men fell on every side. + +By this time the street was in commotion, and people were coming from +every court and yard and alley crying: + +"A madman!" "Police!" "Lay hold of him!" "He'll kill somebody!" "Down +with him!" + +John Storm was also shouting at the top of his voice, when suddenly he +felt a dull, stunning pain, without exactly knowing where. Then he +felt himself moving up, up, up--he was in a train, the train was going +through a tunnel, and the guards were screaming; then it was hot and at +the next moment it was cold, and still he was floating, floating; and +then he saw Glory--he heard her say something--and then he opened his +eyes, and lo! the dark sky was above him, and some women were speaking +in agitated voices over his face. + +"Who is it?" + +"It's Father Storm. The brutes! The beasts! And the pore dog, too!" + +"Oh, dear! Where's the p'lice? What are we goin' to do with 'im, Aggie?" + +"Tyke 'im to my room, thet's what." + +Then he heard Big Ben strike twelve, and then---- It was a long, long +journey, and the tunnel seemed to go on and on. + + + + +XIV. + +Half an hour afterward there came to the door of the Orphanage the +single loud thud that is the knock of the poor. An upper window was +opened, and a tremulous voice from the street below cried, "Glory! Miss +Gloria!" + +It was Agatha Jones. Glory hastened downstairs and found the girl in +great agitation. One glance at her face in the candlelight seemed to +tell all. + +"You've found him?" + +"Yes; he's hurt. He's----" + +"Be calm, child; tell me everything," said Glory, and Aggie delivered +her message. + +Since leaving Holloway, Father Storm had been followed and found by +means of the dog. The crowd had set on him and knocked him down and +injured him. He was now lying in Aggie's room. There had been nowhere +else to take him to, for the men had disappeared the moment he was down, +and the women were afraid to take him in. The police had come at last +and they were now gone for the parish doctor. Mrs. Pincher was with the +Father, and the poor dog was dead. + +Glory held her hand over her heart while Aggie told her story. "I follow +you," she said. "Did you tell him I was here? Did he send you to fetch +me?" + +"He didn't speak," said Aggie. + +"Is he unconscious?" + +"Yes." + +"I'll go with you at once." + +Hurrying across the streets by Glory's side, Aggie apologized for her +room again. "I down't live thet wy now, you know," she said. "It may +seem strange to you, but while my little boy was alive I couldn't go +into the streets to save my life--I couldn't do it. And when 'is pore +father died lahst week----" + +The stone stairs to the tenement house were thronged with women. They +stood huddled together in groups like sheep in a storm. There was not a +man anywhere visible, except a drunken sailor, who was coming down from +an upper story whistling and singing. The women silenced him. Had he no +feelings? + +"The doctor's came, Sister," said a woman standing by Aggie's door. Then +Glory entered the room. + +The poor disordered place was lit by a cheap lamp, which threw splashes +of light and left tracts of shadow. John lay on the bed, muttering words +that were inaudible. His coat and waistcoat had been removed, and his +shirt was open at the neck. The high wall of his forehead was marble +white, but his cheeks were red and feverish. One of his arms lay over +the side of the bed and Glory took it up and held it. Her great eyes +were moist, but she did not cry, neither did she speak or move. The +doctor was bathing a wound at the back of the head, and he looked up and +nodded as Glory entered. At the other side of the bed an elderly woman +in a widow's cap was wiping her eyes with her apron. + +When the doctor was going away, Glory followed him to the door. + +"Is he seriously injured, doctor?" + +"Very." The doctor was a young man--quick, brusque, and emphatic. + +"Not dange----" + +"Yes. The brutes have done for him, nurse, though you needn't tell his +friends so." + +"Then--there is--no chance--whatever?" + +"Not a ghost of a chance. By the way, you might try to find out where +his friends are, and send a line to them. I'll be here in the morning. +Good-night!" + +Glory staggered back to the room, with her hand pressed hard over her +heart, and the young doctor, going downstairs two steps at a stride, met +a police sergeant and a reporter coming up. "Cruel business, sir!" +"Yes, but just one of those things that can't easily be brought home to +anybody." "Sad, though!" "Very sad!" + +The short night seemed as if it would never end. When daylight came +the cheerless place was cleared of its refuse--its withered roses, its +cigarette ends and its heaps of left-off clothing. Toward eight o'clock +Glory hurried back to the Orphanage, leaving Aggie and Mrs. Pincher in +charge. John had been muttering the whole night, through, but he had +never once moved and he was still unconscious. + +"Good-morning, Sister!" + +"Good-morning, children!" + +The little faces, fresh and bright from sleep, were waiting for their +breakfast. When the meal was over Glory wrote by express to Mrs. +Callender and to the Father Superior of the Brotherhood, then put on her +bonnet and cloak and turned toward Downing Street. + + * * * * * + +The Prime Minister had held an early Cabinet Council that morning. It +was observed by his colleagues that he looked depressed and preoccupied. +When the business of the day was done he rose to his feet rather feebly +and said: + +"My lords and gentlemen, I have long had it in mind to say +something--something of importance--and I feel the impulse to say it +now. We have been doing our best with legislation affecting the Church, +to give due reality and true life to its relation with the State. But +the longer I live the more I feel that that relation is in itself a +false one, injurious and even dangerous to both alike. Never in history, +so far as I know, and certainly never within my own experience, has it +been possible to maintain the union of Church and State without frequent +adultery and corruption. The effort to do so has resulted in +manifest impostures in sacred things, in ceremonies without spiritual +significance, and in gross travesties of the solemn, worship of God. +Speaking of our own Church, I will not disguise my belief that, but for +the good and true men who are always to be found within its pale, it +could not survive the frequent disregard of principles which lie deep +in the theory of Christianity. Its epicureanism, its regard for the +interests of the purse, its tendency to rank the administrator above the +apostle, are weeds that spring up out of the soil of its marriage with +the State. And when I think of the anomalies and inequalities of its +internal government, of its countless poor clergy, and of its lords and +princes, above all when I remember its apostolic pretensions and the +certainty that he who attempts to live within the Church the real life +of the apostles will incur the risk of that martyrdom which it has +always pronounced against innovators, I can not but believe that the +consciences of many Churchmen would be glad to be relieved of a burden +of State temptation which they feel to be hurtful and intolerable--to +render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things +that are God's. Be that as it may, I have now to tell you that feeling +this question to be paramount, yet despairing of dealing with it in the +few years that old age has left to me, I have concluded to resign my +office. It is for some younger statesman to fight this battle of the +separation between the spiritual and the temporal in the interests of +true religion and true civilization. God grant he may be a Christian +man, and God speed and bless him!" + +The cabinet broke up with many unwonted expressions of affection for the +old leader, and many requests that he should "think again" over the +step he contemplated. But every one knew that he had set his heart on an +impossible enterprise, and every one felt that behind it lay the +painful impulse of an incident reported at length in the newspapers that +morning. + +Left alone in the cabinet room, the Prime Minister drew up his chair +before the empty grate and gave way to tender memories. He thought of +John Storm and the wreck his life had fallen to; of John's mother and +her brave renunciation of love; and finally of himself and his near +retirement. A spasm of the old lust of power came over him, and he saw +himself--to-morrow, next day, next week--delivering up his seals of +office to the Queen, and then--the next day after that--getting up from +this chair for the last time and going out of this room to return to it +no more--his work done, his life ended. + +It was at that moment the footman came to say that a young lady in the +dress of a nurse was waiting in the hall. "A messenger from John," he +thought. And, as he rose to receive her, heavily, wearily, and with +the burden of his years upon him, Glory came into the room with her +quivering face and two great tear-drops standing in her eyes, but +glowing with youth and health and courage. + +"Sit down, sit down. But----" looking at her again, "have you been here +before?" + +"Never, my lord." + +"I have seen you somewhere." + +"I was an actress once. And I am a friend of John's." + +"Of John's? Then you are----" + +"I am Glory." + +"Glory! And so we meet at last, dear lady! But I _have_ seen you before. +When he spoke of you, but did not bring you to see me, I took a stolen +glance at the theatre myself----" + +"I have left it, my lord." + +"Left it?" + +And then she told him what she had done. His old eyes glistened and his +head sank into his breast. + +"It wasn't that I came to talk about, my lord, but another and more +painful matter." + +"Can I relieve you of the burden of your message, my child? It has +reached me already. It is in all the morning newspapers." + +"I didn't think of that. Still the doctor told me to----" + +"What does the doctor say about him?" + +"He says----" + +"Yes?" + +"He says we are going to lose him." + +"I have sent for a great surgeon--But no doubt it is past help. Poor +boy! It seems only yesterday he came up to London so full of hope and +expectation. I can see him now with his great eyes, sitting in that +chair you occupy, talking of his plans and purposes. Poor John! To think +he should come to this! But these tumultuous souls whose hearts are +battlefields, when the battle is over what can be left but a waste?" + +Glory's eyes had dried of themselves and she was looking at the old man +with an expression of pain, but he went on without observing her: + +"It is one of the dark riddles of the inscrutable Power which rules over +life that the good man can go under like that, while the evil one lives +and prospers." + +He rose and walked to and fro before the fireplace. "Ah, well! The years +bring me an ever-deepening sadness, an ever-increasing sense of our +impotence to diminish, the infinite sorrow of the world." + +Then he looked down at Glory and said: "But I can hardly forgive him +that he has thrown away so much for so little. And when I think of you, +my child, and of all that might have been, and then of the bad end he +has come to----" + +"But I don't call it coming to a bad end, sir," said Glory in a +quivering voice. + +"No? To be torn and buffeted and trampled down in the streets?" + +"What of it? He might have died of old age in his bed and yet come to a +worse end than that." + +"True, but still----" + +"If that is coming to a bad end I shall have to believe that my father, +who was a missionary, came to a bad end too when he was killed by the +fevers of Africa. Every martyr comes to a bad end if that is a bad +ending. And so does everybody who is brave and true and does good to +humanity and is willing to die for it. But it isn't bad. It's glorious! +I would rather be the daughter of a man who died like that than be the +daughter of an earl, and if I could have been the wife of one who was +torn and trampled down, in the streets by the very people----" + +But her face, which had been aflame, broke into tears again and her +voice failed her. The old man could not speak, and there was silence for +a moment. Then she recovered herself and said quietly: + +"I came to ask you if you could do something for me." + +"What is it?" + +"You may have heard that John wished me to marry him?" + +"Would to God you had done so!" + +"That was when everybody was praising him." + +"Well?" + +"Everybody is abusing him now, and railing at him and insulting him." + +"Well?" + +"I want to marry him at last if there is a way--if you think it is +possible and can be managed." + +"But you say he is a dying man!" + +"That's why! When he comes to himself he will be thinking as you think, +that his life has been a failure, and I want somebody to be there and +say: 'It isn't, it is only beginning, it is the grain of mustard seed +that _must_ die, but it will live in the heart of humanity for ages and +ages to come; and I would rather take up your name, injured and insulted +as it is, than win all the glory the world has in it.'" + +The tears were coursing down the old man's face, and for some minutes he +did not attempt to speak. Then he said: + +"What you propose is quite possible. It will be a canonical marriage, +but it will take some little time to arrange. I must send across to +Lambeth Palace. Toward evening I can go down to where he lies and take +the license with me. Meantime speak to a clergyman and have everything +in readiness." + +He walked with Glory down the long corridor to the door, and there he +kissed her on the forehead and said: + +"I've long known that a woman can be brave, but meeting you this morning +has taught me something else, my child. Time and again I thought John's +love of you was near to madness. He was ready to give up everything +for it--everything! And he was right! Love like yours is the pearl of +pearls, and he who wins it is a prince of princes!" + + * * * * * + +Later the same day, when the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his +room, a member of his cabinet brought him an evening paper containing an +article which was making a deep impression in London. It was understood +to be written by a journalist of Jewish extraction: + +"'HIS BLOOD BE ON US AND ON OUR CHILDREN.' + +"This prediction has been for eighteen hundred years the expression of +an historical truth. That the whole Jewish nation, and not Pilate or +the rabble of Jerusalem, killed Jesus is a fact which every Jew has been +made to feel down to the present day. But let the Christian nation that +is without sin toward the Founder of Christianity first cast a stone at +the Jews. If it is true, as Jesus himself said, that he who offers a cup +of cold water to the least of his little ones offers it to him, then +it is also true that he who inflicts torture and death on his followers +crucifies him afresh. The unhappy man who has been miserably murdered +in the slums of Westminster was a follower of Jesus if ever there lived +one, and whosoever the actual persons may be who are guilty of his +death, the true culprit is the Christian nation which has inflicted +mockeries and insults on everybody who has dared to stand alone under +the ensign of Christ. + +"Let us not be led away by sneers. This man, whatever his errors, his +weaknesses, his self-delusions, and his many human failings, was a +Christian. He was the prophet of woman in relation to humanity as hardly +any one since Jesus has ever been. And he is hounded out of life. Thus, +after nineteen centuries, Christianity presents the same characteristics +of frightful tyranny which disfigured the old Jewish law. 'We have +a law, and by our law he ought to die.' Such is the sentence still +pronounced on reformers in a country where civil and religious laws +are confounded. God grant the other half of that doom may not also come +true--'His blood be on us and on our children!'" + + + + +XV. + +There was a crowd of people of all sorts outside the tenement house when +Glory returned to Brown's Square, and even the stairs were thronged with +them. "The nurse!" they whispered as Glory appeared, and they made a +way for her. Aggie was on the landing, wiping her eyes and answering the +questions of strangers, being half afraid of the notoriety her poor room +was achieving and half proud of it. + +"The laidy 'as came, Miss Gloria, and she sent me to tell you to wyte +'ere for 'er a minute." + +Then putting her head in at the open doer she beckoned and Mrs. +Callender came out. + +"Hush! He's coming to. The poor laddie! He's been calling for ye, and +calling and calling. But he thinks ye're in heaven together, seemingly, +so ye must no say anything to shock him. Come your ways in now, and tak' +care, lassie." + +John was still wandering, and the light of another world was in his +eyes, but he was smiling, and he appeared to see. + +"Where is she?" he said in the toneless voice of one who talks in his +sleep. + +"She's here now. Look! She's close beside ye." + +Glory advanced a step and stood beside the bed, struggling with herself +not to fall upon his breast. He looked at her with a smile, but without +any surprise, and said: + +"I knew that you would come to meet me, Glory! How happy you look! We +shall both be happy now." + +Then his eyes wandered about the poor, ill-furnished apartment, and he +said: + +"How beautiful it is here! And how lightsome the air is! Look! The +golden gates! And the seven golden candlesticks! And the sea of glass +like unto crystal! And all the innumerable company of the angels!" + +Aggie, who had returned to the room, was crying audibly. + +"Are you crying. Glory? Foolish child to cry! But I know--I understand! +Put your dear hand in mine, my child, and we will go together to God's +throne and say: 'Father, you must forgive us two. We were but man and +woman, and we could not help but love each other, though it was a fault, +and for one of us it was a sin.' And God will forgive us, because he +made us so, and because God is the God of love." + +Glory could bear no more. "John!" she whispered. + +He raised himself on his elbow and held his head aslant, like one who +listens to a sound that comes from a distance. + +"John!" + +"That's Glory's voice." + +"It _is_ Glory, dearest."' + +The serenity in his face gave way to a look of bewilderment. + +"But Glory is dead." + +"No, dear, she is alive, and she will never leave you again." + +"What place is this?" + +"This is Aggie's room." + +"Aggie?" + +"Don't you remember Aggie? One of the poor girls you fought and worked +for." + +"Is it your spirit, Glory?" + +"It is myself, dearest, my very, very self." + +Then a great joy came into his eyes, his breast heaved, his breath came +quick, and without a word more he stretched out his arms. + + * * * * * + +"It is Glory! She is alive! My God! O my God!" + + * * * * * + +"Do you forgive me, Glory?" + +"Forgive? There is nothing to forgive you for--except loving me too +well." + +"My darling! My darling!" + + * * * * * + +"I thought I was in heaven, Glory, but I am like poor Buckingham--only +half way to it yet. Have I been unconscious?" + +Glory nodded her head. + +"Long?" + +"Since last night." + +"Ah, I remember everything now. I was knocked down in the streets, +wasn't I? The men did it--Pincher, Hawking, and the rest." + +"They shall be punished, John," said Glory in a quivering voice. "As +sure as heaven's above us and there's law in the land----" + +"Aye, aye, laddie" (from somewhere by the door), "mak' yersel' sure o' +that. There'll be never a man o' them but he'll hang for it same as a +polecat on a barn gate." + +But John shook his head. "Poor fellows! They didn't understand. When +they come to see what they've done---- 'Lord, Lord! lay not this sin to +their charge.'" + + * * * * * + +She had wiped away the tears that sprung to her eyes and was sitting by +his side and smiling. Her white teeth were showing, her red lips were +twitching, and her face was full of sunshine. He was holding her hand +and gazing at her constantly as if he could not allow himself to lose +sight of her for a moment. + +"But I'm half sorry, for all that, Glory," he said. + +"Sorry?" + +"That we are not both in the other world, for there you were my bride, I +remember, and all our pains were over." + +Then her sweet face coloured up to the forehead, and she leaned over the +bed and whispered, "Ask me to be your bride in this one, dearest." + +"I can't! I daren't!" + +"Are you thinking of the vows?" + +"No!" emphatically. "But--I am a dying man--I know that quite well. And +what right have I----" + +She gave a little gay toss of her golden head. "Pooh! Nobody was ever +married because he had a _right_ to be exactly." + +"But there is your own profession--your great career." + +She shook her head gravely. "That's all over now." + +"Eh?" reaching up on his elbow. + +"When you had gone and nearly everybody was deserting your work, I +thought I should like to take up a part of it." + +"And did you?" + +She nodded. + +"Blessed be God! Oh, God is very good!" and he lay back and panted. + +She laughed nervously. "Well, are you determined to make me ashamed? Am +I to throw myself at your head, sir? Or perhaps you are going to refuse +me, after all." + +"But why should I burden all the years of your life with the name of a +fallen man? I am dying in disgrace, Glory." + +"No, but in honour--great, great honour! These few bad days will be +forgotten soon, dearest--quite, quite forgotten. And in the future time +people will come to me and say--girls, dearest, brave, brave girls, who +are fighting the battle of life like men--they will come and say: 'And +did you know him? Did you really, really know him?' And I will smile +triumphantly and answer them 'Yes, for he loved me, and he is mine and I +am his forever and forever!'" + +"It would be beautiful! We could not come together in this world; but to +be united for all eternity on the threshold of the next----" + +"There! Say no more about it, for it's all arranged anyhow. The Father +has been persuaded to read the service, and the Prime Minister is +to bring the Archbishop's license, and it's to be to-day--this +evening--and--and I'm not the first woman who has settled everything +herself!" + +Then she began to laugh, and he laughed with her, and they laughed +together in spite of his weakness and pain. At the next moment she was +gone like a gleam of sunshine before a cloud, and Mrs. Callender had +come back to the bedside, tying up the strings of her old-fashioned +bonnet. + +"She's gold, laddie, that's what yon Glory is--just gold!" + +"Aye, tried in the fire and tested," he replied, and then the back of +his head began to throb fiercely. + +Glory had fled out of the room to cry, and Mrs. Callender joined her on +the landing. "I maun awa', lassie. I'd like fine to stop wi' ye, but I +can't. It minds me of the time my Alec left me, and that's forty lang +years the day, but he seems to have been with me ever syne." + + * * * * * + +"Where's Glory?" + +"She's coming, Father," said Aggie, and at the sound of her name Glory +wiped her eyes and returned. + +"And was it by my being lost that you came here to Westminster and found +me?" + +"Yes, and myself as well." + +"And I thought my life had been wasted! When one thinks of God's designs +one feels humble--humble as the grass at one's feet----But are you sure +you will never regret?" + +"Never!" + +"Nor look back?" + +She tossed her head again. "Call me Mrs. Lot at once, and have done with +it." + +"It's wonderful! What a glorious work is before you, Glory! You'll take +it up where I have left it, and carry it on and on. You are nobler than +I am, and stronger, far stronger, and purer and braver. And haven't I +said all along that what the world wants now is a great woman? I had the +pith of it all, though I saw the true light--but I was not worthy. I +had sinned and fallen, and didn't know my own heart, and was not fit to +enter into the promised land. It is something, nevertheless, that I see +it a long way off. And if I have been taken up to Sinai and heard the +thunders of the everlasting law----" + +"Hush, dear! Somebody is coming." + +It was the great surgeon whom the Prime Minister had sent for. He +examined the injuries carefully and gave certain instructions. "Mind you +do this, Sister," and that, and the other. But Glory could see that he +had no hope. To relieve the pain in the head he wanted to administer +morphia, but John refused to have it. + +"I am going into the presence of the King," he said. "Let me have all my +wits about me." + +While the doctor was there the police sergeant returned with a +magistrate and the reporter. "Sorry to intrude, but hearing your patient +was now conscious----" and then he prepared to take John's deposition. + +The reporter opened his notebook, the police magistrate stood at the +foot of the bed, the doctor at one side of it and Glory at the other +side, holding John's hand and quivering. + +"Do you know who struck you, sir?" + +There was silence for a moment, and then came "Yes." + +"Who was it?" + +There was another pause, and then, "Don't ask me." + +"But your own evidence will be most valuable; and, indeed, down to the +present we have no other. Who is it, sir?" + +"I can't tell you." + +"But why?" + +There was no answer. + +"Why not give me the name of the scoundrel who took---- I mean attempted +to take your life?" + +Then in a voice that was hardly audible, with his head thrown back and +his eyes on the ceiling, John said, "Father, forgive them, for they know +not what they do!" + +It was useless to go further. Glory saw the four men to the door. + +"You must keep him quiet," said the doctor. "Not that anything can save +him, but he is a man of stubborn will." + +And the police magistrate said, "It may be all very fine to forgive your +enemies, but everybody has his duty to society, as well as to himself." + +"Yes, yes," said Glory, "the world has no room for greater hearts than +its own." + +The police magistrate looked at her in bewilderment. "Just so," he said, +and disappeared. + + * * * * * + +"Where is she now, my girl?" + +"She's 'ere, Father." + +"Hush!" said Glory, coming back to the room. "The doctor says you are +not to talk so much." + +"Then let me look at you, Glory. Sit here--here--and if I should seem to +be suffering you must not mind that, because I am really very happy." + +Just then an organ-man in the street began to play. Glory thought the +music might disturb John, and she was going to send Aggie to stop it. +But his face brightened and he said: "Sing for me, Glory. Let me hear +your voice." + +The organ was playing a "coon song," and she sang the words of it. +They were simple words, childish words, almost babyish, but full of +tenderness and love. The little black boy could think of nothing but his +Loo-loo. In the night when he was sleeping he awoke and he was weeping, +for he was always, always dreaming of his Loo-loo, his Loo-loo! + +When the song was finished they took hands and talked in whispers, +though they were alone in the room now, and nobody could hear them. His +white face was very bright, and her moist eyes were full of merriment. +They grew foolish in their tenderness and played with each other like +little children. There were recollections of their early life in +the little island home, memories of years concentrated into an +hour--humorous stories and touches of mimicry. "'O Lord, open thou our +lips----Where are you, Neilus?' 'Aw, here I am, your riverence, and my +tongue shall shew forth thy praise.'" + +All at once John's face saddened and he said, "It's a pity, though!" + +"A pity!" + +"I suppose the man who carries the flag always gets 'potted,'as they +say. But somebody must carry it." + +Glory felt her tears gathering. + +"It's a pity that I have to go before you, Glory." + +She shook her head to keep the tears from flowing, and then answered +gaily: "Oh, that's only as it should be. I want a little while to think +it all out, you know, and then--then I'll pass over to you, just as we +fall asleep at night and pass from day to day." + + * * * * * + +And then he lay back with a sigh and said, "Well, I have had a happy +end, at all events." + + + + +XVI. + +The day had been fine, with a rather fierce sun shining until late in +the afternoon, and long white clouds lying motionless in a deep blue +sky, like celestial sand-banks in a celestial sea. But the tender and +tempered splendour of the evening had come at length, with the sun gone +over the housetops to the northwest, and its solemn afterglow spreading +round, like the wings of angels sweeping down. London was unusually +quiet after the roar and turmoil of the day. The great city lay like a +tired ocean. And like an ocean it seemed to sleep, full of its living as +well as its dead. + +In a little square which stands on the fringe of the slums of +Westminster, and has a well-worn church in the middle, and tenement +houses, institutions, and workshops around its sides, a strange crowd +had gathered. It consisted for the greater part of persons who are +generally thought to be beyond the sympathies of life--the "priestesses +of society," who are the lowest among women. But they stood there for +hours in silence, or walked about with dazed looks, glancing up at the +window of a room on the second story which glittered with the rays of +the dying day. Their friend and champion was near to his death in that +room, and they were waiting for the last news of him. + +The Prime Minister had kept his promise. Walking across from Downing +Street his face had been clouded, as if he was thinking out the riddles +of the inscrutable Power which stood to him for God. But when he came to +the square, and looked round at the people, his eyes brightened and he +went on with resignation and even content. The women made way for him +with whispered explanations of who he was, and he walked through them to +the room upstairs. + +The room was nearly full already, for the Father Superior had come, +bringing lay brother Andrew along with him, and Aggie was sitting in a +corner, and Mrs. Pincher was moving about, and there was also a stranger +present. And though the little place was so mean and poor, it was full +of soft radiance from the sky, and people walked about in it with a glow +upon their faces. + +Glory was by the bedside, standing erect and saying nothing. Her +eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and sometimes her mouth was +twitching. John Storm was conscious and very quiet. Holding Glory's +hand as if he could not part with it, he was looking around with the +expression of the soldier who has done the fearful, perhaps the foolish +and foolhardy thing and scaled the walls of the enemy. He is lying with +the enemy's shot in his breast now, and with death in his eyes, but +he is smiling proudly for all that, because he knows that the army is +coming on. The Superior had brought from the Brotherhood the picture of +the head of Christ in its crown of thorns to hang on the wall at the end +of the bed, and the light from the window made flickering gleams on the +glass, and they were reflected on to his face. + +Hardly anybody spoke. As soon as the Prime Minister arrived he took a +paper from his pocket and gave it to the stranger, who glanced at it and +bowed. Then they all gathered about the bed, and the Superior opened a +book which he had carried in his hands, and in solemn accents began to +read: + +"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God----" + +Brother Andrew, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed, whined like +a dog, and some women on the landing, who were peering in at the open +door, whispered among themselves: "It's the Holy Communion! Hush!" + +John's power did not fail him. He made his responses in a clear voice, +although his last strength was thrilling along the thread of life. And +Glory, when her turn came, was brave, too. There was just a touch of the +old hoarseness in her glorious voice, a slight quivering of the lids of +her glistening eyes, and then she went on to the end without faltering. + +"_I, GLORY_-- + +"I, GLORY-- + +"--_take thee, JOHN_-- + +"--take thee, JOHN-- + +"--_to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward_-- + +"....to have and to hold from this day forward-- + +"--_for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in +health_-- + +"....in sickness and in health-- + +"--_to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part_-- + +"....till death us do part---- + +"....AMEN!" + + * * * * * + +_AUTHOR'S NOTE_. + +_It will be seen that in writing this book I have sometimes used +the diaries, letters, memoirs, sermons, and speeches of recognisable +persons, living and dead. Also, it will be seen that I have frequently +employed fact for the purposes of fiction. In doing so, I think I am +true to the principles of art, and I know I am following the precedent +of great writers. But being conscious of the grievous: danger of giving +personal offence, I would wish to say that I have not intended to paint +anybody's portrait, or to describe the life of any known Society or +to indicate the management of any particular Institution. To do any of +these things would be to wrong the theory of fiction as I understand +it, which is not to offer mock history or a substitute for fact, but to +present a thought in the form of a story, with as much realism as the +requirements of idealism will permit. In presenting the thought which +is the motive of "The Christian" my desire has been to depict, however +imperfectly, the types of mind and character, of creed and culture, of +social effort and religious purpose which I think I see in the life of +England and America at the close of the nineteenth century. For such a +task my own observation and reflection could not be enough, and so I am +conscious that in many passages of this book I have often been merely as +the mould through which the metal has passed from the fires kept burning +round about._ + +_HALL CAINE_. + +_Greeba Castle, Isle of Man, 1897_. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Christian, by Hall Caine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN *** + +***** This file should be named 8407.txt or 8407.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/0/8407/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Thomas +Berger, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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