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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8522-8.txt b/8522-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..651529d --- /dev/null +++ b/8522-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13959 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +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 Puritans + +Author: Arlo Bates + +Posting Date: October 20, 2012 [EBook #8522] +Release Date: July, 2005 +First Posted: July 19, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + + + + The Puritans + + + By + + + Arlo Bates + + + The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. + _All's Well That Ends Well_, iv. 3. + + + + + +"Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her till I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me." + _Persian Religious Hymn. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + II. THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + III. AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + IV. SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + V. VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + VI. HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + VII. THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + VIII. LIKE COVERED FIRE + IX. HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + X. A SYMPATHY OF WOE + XI. IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + XII. THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE + XIII. A NECESSARY EVIL + XIV. HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + XV. HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + XVI. THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + XVII. A BOND OF AIR + XVIII. CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + XIX. 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + XX. IN WAY OF TASTE + XXI. THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + XXII. THE BITTER PAST + XXIII. THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + XXIV. FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + XXV. WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + XXVI. O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + XXVII. UPON A CHURCH BENCH + XXVIII. BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + XXIX. WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + XXX. PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + XXXI. HOW CHANCES MOCK + XXXII. NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + XXXIII. A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + XXXIV. WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + XXXV. THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + XXXVI. THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + XXXVII. THIS IS NOT A BOON + + + + + THE PURITANS + + + + + I + + + AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + Henry VIII., i. 3. + + +"We are all the children of the Puritans," Mrs. Herman said smiling. +"Of course there is an ethical strain in all of us." + +Her cousin, Philip Ashe, who wore the dress of a novice from the Clergy +House of St. Mark, regarded her with a serious and doubtful glance. + +"But there is so much difference between you and me," he began. Then he +hesitated as if not knowing exactly how to finish his sentence. + +"The difference," she responded, "is chiefly a matter of the difference +between action and reaction. You and I come of much the same stock +ethically. My childhood was oppressed by the weight of the Puritan +creed, and the reaction from it has made me what you feel obliged to +call heretic; while you, with a saint for a mother, found even +Puritanism hardly strict enough for you, and have taken to +semi-monasticism. We are both pushed on by the same original impulse: +the stress of Puritanism." + +She had been putting on her gloves as she spoke, and now rose and stood +ready to go out. Philip looked at her with a troubled glance, rising +also. + +"I hardly know," said he slowly, "if it's right for me to go with you. +It would have been more in keeping if I adhered to the rules of the +Clergy House while I am away from it." + +Mrs. Herman smiled with what seemed to him something of the tolerance +one has for the whim of a child. + +"And what would you be doing at the Clergy House at this time of day?" +she asked. "Wouldn't it be recreation hour or something of the sort?" + +He looked down. He never found himself able to be entirely at ease in +answering her questions about the routine of the Clergy House. + +"No," he answered. "The half hour of recreation which follows Nones +would just be ended." + +His cousin laughed confusingly. + +"Well, then," she rejoined, "begin it over again. Tell your confessor +that the woman tempted you, and you did sin. You are not in the Clergy +House just now; and as I have taken the trouble to ask leave to carry +you to Mrs. Gore's this afternoon, more because you wanted to see this +Persian than because I cared about it, it is rather late for +objections." + +Philip raised his eyes to her face only to meet a glance so quizzical +that he hastened to avoid it by going to the hall to don his cloak; and +a few moments later they were walking up Beacon Hill. + +It was one of those gloriously brilliant winter days by which Boston +weather atones in an hour for a week of sullenness. Snow lay in a thin +sheet over the Common, and here and there a bit of ice among the +tree-branches caught the light like a glittering jewel. The streets +were dotted with briskly gliding sleighs, the jingle of whose bells +rang out joyously. The air was full of a vigor which made the blood +stir briskly in the veins. + +Philip had not for years found himself in the street with a woman. +Seldom, indeed, was he abroad with a companion, except as he took the +walk prescribed in the monastic regime with his friend, Maurice Wynne. +For the most part he went his way alone, occupied in pious +contemplation, shutting himself stubbornly in from outward sights and +sounds. Now he was confused and unsettled. Since a fire had a week +earlier scattered the dwellers in the Clergy House, and sent him to the +home of his cousin, he had gone about like one bewildered. The world +into which he was now cast was as unknown to him as if he had passed +the two years spent at St. Mark's in some far island of the sea. To be +in the street with a lady; to be on his way to hear he knew not what +from the lips of a Persian mystic; to have in his mind memory of light +talk and pleasant story; all these things made him feel as if he were +drifting into a strange unknown sea of worldliness. + +Yet his feeling was not entirely one of fear or of reluctance. +Sensitive to the tips of his fingers, he felt the influences of the +day, the sweetness of his cousin's laughter, the beauty of her face. He +was exhilarated by a strange intoxication. He was conscious that more +than one passer looked curiously at them as, he in his cassock and she +in her furs, they walked up Beacon Street. He felt as in boyhood he had +felt when about to embark in some adventure to childhood strange and +daring. + +"It is a beautiful day," he said involuntarily. + +"Yes," Mrs. Herman answered. "It is almost a pity to spend it indoors. +But here we are." + +They had come into Mt. Vernon Street, and now turned in at a fine old +house of gray stone. + +"Is there any discussion at these meetings?" he asked, as they waited +for the door to be opened. + +"Oh, yes; often there is a good deal. You'll have ample opportunity to +protest against the heresies of the heathen." + +"I do not come here to speak," he replied, rather stiffly. "I only come +to get some idea of how the oriental mind works." + +He felt her smile to be that of one amused at him, but he could not see +why she should be. + +"I must give you one caution," she went on, as they entered the house. +"It's the same that the magicians give to those who are present at +their incantations. Be careful not to pronounce sacred words." + +"But don't they use them?" + +"Oh, abundantly; but they know how to use them in a fashion understood +only by the initiated, so that they are harmless." + +They passed up the wide staircase of Mrs. Gore's handsome, if +over-furnished house. They were shown into the drawing-room, where they +were met by the hostess, a tall, superb woman of commanding presence, +her head crowned with masses of snow-white hair. Coming in from the +brilliant winter sunlight, Philip could not at first distinguish +anything clearly. He went mechanically through his presentation to the +hostess and to the Persian who was to address the meeting, and then +sank into a seat. He looked curiously at the Persian, struck by the +picturesque appearance of the long snow-white beard, fine as silk, +which flowed down over the rich robe of the seer. The face was to +Philip an enigma. To understand a foreign face it is necessary to have +learned the physiognomy of the people to which it belongs, as to +comprehend their speech it is necessary to have mastered their +language. As he knew not whether the countenance of the old man +attracted or repelled him more, and could only decide that at least it +had a strange fascination. + +Suddenly Ashe felt his glance called up by a familiar presence, and to +his surprise saw his friend, Maurice Wynne, come into the room, +accompanied by a stately, bright-eyed woman who was warmly greeted by +Mrs. Gore. He wondered at the chance which had brought Maurice here as +well as himself; but the calling of the meeting to order attracted his +thoughts back to the business of the moment. + +The Persian was the latest ethical caprice of Boston. He had come by +the invitation of Mrs. Gore to bring across the ocean the knowledge of +the mystic truths contained in the sacred writings of his country; and +his ministrations were being received with that beautiful seriousness +which is so characteristic of the town. In Boston there are many +persons whose chief object in life seems to be the discovery of novel +forms of spiritual dissipation. The cycle of mystic hymns which the +Persian was expounding to the select circle of devotees assembled at +Mrs. Gore's was full of the most sensual images, under which the +inspired Persian psalmists had concealed the highest truth. Indeed, +Ashe had been told that on one occasion the hostess had been obliged to +stop the reading on the ground that an occidental audience not +accustomed to anything more outspoken than the Song of Solomon, and +unused to the amazing grossness of oriental symbolism, could not listen +to the hymn which he was pouring forth. Fortunately Philip had chanced +upon a day when the text was harmless, and he could hear without +blushing, whether he were spiritually edified or not. + +The Persian had a voice of exquisite softness and flexibility. His +every word was like a caress. There are voices which so move and stir +the hearer that they arouse an emotion which for the moment may +override reason; voices which appeal to the senses like beguiling +music, and which conquer by a persuasive sweetness as irresistible as +it is intangible. The tones of the Persian swayed Ashe so deeply that +the young man felt as if swimming on a billow of melody. Philip +regarded as if fascinated the slender, dusky fingers of the reader as +they handled the splendidly illuminated parchment on which glowed +strange characters of gold, marvelously intertwined with leaf and +flower, and cunning devices in gleaming hues. He looked into the deep, +liquid eyes of the old man, and saw the light in them kindle as the +reading proceeded. He felt the dignity of the presence of the seer, and +the richness of his flowing garment; but all these things were only the +fitting accompaniments to that beautiful voice, flowing on like a topaz +brook in a meadow of daffodils. + +The Persian spoke admirable English, only now and then by a slight +accent betraying his nationality. He made a short address upon the +antiquity of the hymn which he was that day to expound, its authorship, +and its evident inspiration. Then in his wonderful voice he read:-- + + + + THE HYMN OF ISMAT. + + +Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarters where the vintners +dwell, to seek the daughter of an infidel who sells wine. + +At the end of the street, there advanced before me a damsel, with a +fairy's cheeks, who in the manner of a pagan wore her tresses +dishevelled over her shoulders like a sacerdotal thread. I said: "O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave, what +quarter is this, and where is thy mansion?" + +She answered: "Cast thy rosary to the ground; bind on thy shoulder the +thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from +a full goblet." + +"After that come before me that I may whisper a word in thine +ear;--thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my discourse." + +Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her until I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me. + +At a distance I beheld a company all insane and inebriated, who came +boiling and roaring with ardor from the wine of love. + +Without cymbals or lutes or viols, yet all filled with mirth and +melody; without wine or goblet or flagon, yet all incessantly drinking. + +When the cord of restraint slipped from my hand, I desired to ask her +one question, but she said: "Silence!" + +"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive +precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult, +but without knowledge. This is the banquet-house of infidels, and +within it all are intoxicated; all from the dawn of eternity to the day +of resurrection lost in astonishment." + +"Depart thou from the cloister and take thy way to the tavern; cast off +the cloak of a dervish, and wear the robe of a libertine." + +I obeyed; and if thou desirest the same strain and color as Ismat, +imitate him, and sell this world and the next for one drop of pure wine! + +The company sat in absorbed silence while the reading went on. Nothing +could be more perfect than the listening of a well-bred Boston +audience, whether it is interested or not. The exquisitely modulated +voice of the Persian flowed on like the tones of a magic flute, and the +women sat as if fascinated by its spell. + +When the reading was finished, and the Persian began to comment upon +the spiritual doctrine embodied in it, Ashe sat so completely absorbed +in reverie that he gave no heed to what was being said. In his ascetic +life at the Clergy House he had been so far removed from the sensuous, +save for that to which the services of the church appealed, that this +enervating and luxurious atmosphere, this gathering to which its +quasi-religious character seemed to lend an excuse, bred in him a +species of intoxication. He sat like a lotus-eater, hearing not so much +the words of the speaker as his musical voice, and half-drowned in the +pleasure of the perfumed air, the rich colors of the room, the +Persian's dress, the illuminated scroll, in the subtile delight of the +presence of women, and all those seductive charms of the sense from +which the church defended him. + +The Persian, Mirza Gholân Rezâh, repeated in his flute-like voice: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave;'" and, +hearing the words as in a dream, Philip Ashe looked across the little +circle to see a woman whose beauty smote him so strongly that he drew a +quick breath. To his excited mood it seemed as if the phrase were +intended to describe that beautifully curved brow, brown against the +fair skin, and in his heart he said over the words with a thrill: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!'" Half +unconsciously, and as if he were taken possession of by a will stronger +than his own, he found himself noting the soft curve and flush of a +woman's cheek, the shell-texture of her ear, and the snowy whiteness of +her throat. She sat in the full light of the window behind him, leaning +as she listened against a pedestal of ebony which upheld the bronze +bust of a satyr peering down at her with wrinkled eyes; her throat was +displayed by the backward bend of her head, and showed the whiter by +contrast with the black gown she wore. Philip's breath came more +quickly, and his head seemed to swim. Sensitive to beauty, and starved +by asceticism, he was in a moment completely overcome. + +Suddenly he felt the regard of his friend Maurice resting upon him with +a questioning glance, and it was as if the thought of his heart were +laid bare. Philip made a strong effort, and fixed his look and his +attention upon the speaker, who was deep in oriental mysticism. + +"It is written in the Desâtir," Mirza Gholân Rezâh was saying, "that +purity is of two kinds, the real and the formal. 'The real consists in +not binding the heart to evil: the formal in cleansing away what +appears evil to the view.' The ultimate spirit, that inner flame from +the treasure-house of flames, is not affected by the outward, by the +apparent. What though the outer man fall into sin? What though he throw +stones at the glass of piety and quaff the wine of sensuality from a +full goblet? The flame within the tabernacle is still pure and +undefined because it is undefilable." + +Ashe looked around the circle in astonishment, wondering if it were +possible that in a Christian civilization these doctrines could be +proclaimed without rebuke. His neighbors sat in attitudes of close +attention; they were evidently listening, but their faces showed no +indignation. On the lips of Wynne Philip fancied he detected a faint +curl of derisive amusement, but nowhere else could he perceive any +display of emotion, unless--He had avoided looking at the lady in +black, feeling that to do so were to play with temptation; but the +attraction was too strong for him, and he glanced at her with a look of +which the swiftness showed how strongly she affected him. It seemed to +him that there was a faint flush of indignation upon her face; and he +cast down his eyes, smitten by the conviction that there was an +intimate sympathy between his feeling and hers. + +"This is the word of enlightenment which the damsel, the +personification of wisdom, whispered into the ear of the seeker," +continued the persuasive voice of the Persian. "It is the heart-truth +of all religion. It is the word which initiates man into the divine +mysteries. 'Thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my +discourse.' Life is affected by many accidents; but none of them +reaches the godhead within. The divine inebriation of spiritual truth +comes with the realization of this fact. The flame within man, which is +above his consciousness, is not to be touched by the acts of the body. +These things which men call sin are not of the slightest feather-weight +to the soul in the innermost tabernacle. It is of no real consequence," +the speaker went on, warming with his theme until his velvety eyes +shone, "what the outer man may do. We waste our efforts in this +childish care about apparent righteousness. The real purity is above +our acts. Let the man do what he pleases; the soul is not thereby +touched or altered." + +Ashe sat upright in his chair, hardly conscious where he was. It seemed +to him monstrous to remain acquiescent and to hear without protest this +juggling with the souls of men. The instinct to save his fellows which +underlies all genuine impulse toward the priesthood was too strong in +him not to respond to the challenge which every word of the Persian +offered. Almost without knowing it, he found himself interrupting the +speaker. + +"If that is the teaching of the Persian scriptures," he said, "it is +impious and wicked. Even were it true that there were a flame from the +Supreme dwelling within us, unmanifested and undeniable, it is +evidently not with this that we have to do in our earthly life. It is +with the soul of which we are conscious, the being which we do know. +This may be lost by defilement. To this the sin of the body is death. +I, I myself, I, the being that is aware of itself, am no less the one +that is morally responsible for what is done in the world by me." + +Led away by his strong feeling, Philip began vehemently; but the +consciousness of the attention of all the company, and of the searching +look of Mirza, made the ardent young man falter. He was a stranger, +unaccustomed to the ways of these folk who had come together to play +with the highest truths as they might play with tennis-balls. He felt a +sudden chill, as if upon his hot enthusiasm had blown an icy blast. + +Yet when he cast a glance around as if in appeal, he saw nothing of +disapproval or of scorn. He had evidently offended nobody by his +outburst. He ventured to look at the unknown in black, and she rewarded +him with a glance so full of sympathy that for an instant he lost the +thread of what the Persian, in tones as soft and unruffled as ever, was +saying in reply to his words. He gathered himself up to hear and to +answer, and there followed a discussion in which a number of those +present joined; a discussion full of cleverness and the adroit handling +of words, yet which left Philip in the confusion of being made to +realize that what to him were vital truths were to those about him +merely so many hypotheses upon which to found argument. There were more +women than men present, and Ashe was amazed at their cleverness and +their shallow reasoning; at the ease and naturalness with which they +played this game of intellectual gymnastics, and at the apparent +failure to pierce to anything like depth. It was evident that while +everything was uttered with an air of the most profound seriousness, it +would not do to be really in earnest. He began to understand what Helen +had meant when she warned him not to pronounce sacred words in this +strange assembly. + +When the meeting broke up, the ladies rose to exchange greetings, to +chat together of engagements in society and such trifles of life. Ashe, +still full of the excitement of what he had done, followed his cousin +out of the drawing-room in silence. As they were descending the wide +staircase, some one behind said:-- + +"Are you going away without speaking to me, Helen?" + +Ashe and Mrs. Herman both turned, and found themselves face to face +with the lady in black, who stood on the broad landing. + +"My dear Edith," Mrs. Herman answered, "I am so little used to this +sort of thing that I didn't know whether it was proper to stop to speak +with one's friends. I thought that we might be expected to go out as if +we'd been in church. I came only to bring my cousin. May I present Mr. +Ashe; Mrs. Fenton." + +"I was so glad that you said what you did this afternoon, Mr. Ashe," +Mrs. Fenton said, extending her hand. "I felt just as you did, and I +was rejoiced that somebody had the courage to protest against that +dreadful paganism." + +Philip was too shy and too enraptured to be able to reply intelligibly, +but as they were borne forward by the tide of departing guests he was +spared the need of answer. At the foot of the stairway he was stopped +again by Maurice Wynne, and presented to Mrs. Staggchase, his friend's +cousin and hostess for the time being; but his whole mind was taken up +by the image of Mrs. Fenton, and in his ears like a refrain rang the +words of the Persian hymn: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the +new moon is a slave!" + + + + II + + + THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + Henry VI., iv. 1. + + +That afternoon at Mrs. Gore's had been no less significant to Maurice +Wynne than to Philip Ashe. His was a less spiritual, less highly +wrought nature, but in the effect which the change from the atmosphere +of the Clergy House to the Persian's lecture had upon him, the +experience of Maurice was much the same. He too was attracted by a +woman. He gave his thoughts up to the woman much more frankly than +would have been possible for his friend. She was young, perhaps twenty, +and exquisite with clear skin and soft, warm coloring. Her wide-open +eyes were as dark and velvety as the broad petals of a pansy with the +dew still on them; her cheeks were tinged with a hue like that which +spreads in a glass of pure water into which has fallen a drop of red +wine; her forehead was low and white, and from it her hair sprang up in +two little arches before it fell waving away over her temples; her lips +were pouting and provokingly suggestive of kisses. The whole face was +of the type which comes so near to the ideal that the least +sentimentality of expression would have spoiled it. Happily the big +eyes and the ripe, red mouth were both suggestive of demure humor. +There was a mirthful air about the dimple which came and went in the +left cheek like Cupid peeping mischievously from the folds of his +mother's robe. A boa of long-haired black fur lay carelessly about her +neck, pushed back so that a touch of red and gold brocade showed where +she had loosened her coat. Maurice noted that she seemed to care as +little for the lecture as he did, and he gave himself up to the delight +of watching her. + +When the company broke up Mrs. Staggchase spoke almost immediately to +the beautiful creature who so charmed him. + +"How do you do, Miss Morison," Mrs. Staggchase said; "I must say that I +am surprised that cousin Anna brought you to a place where the doctrine +is so far removed from mind-cure. My dear Anna," she continued, turning +to a lady whom Wynne knew by name as Mrs. Frostwinch and as an +attendant at the Church of the Nativity, "you are a living miracle. You +know you are dead, and you have no business consorting with the living +in this way." + +"It is those whom you call dead that are really living," Mrs. +Frostwinch retorted smiling. "I brought Berenice so that she might see +the vanity of it all." + +Mrs. Staggchase presented Maurice to the ladies, and after they had +spoken on the stairs with one and another acquaintance, and Maurice had +exchanged a word with his friend Ashe, it chanced that the four left +the house together. Wynne found himself behind with Miss Morison, while +his cousin and Mrs. Frostwinch walked on in advance. He was seized with +a delightful sense of elation at his position, yet so little was he +accustomed to society that he knew not what to say to her. He was +keenly aware that she was glancing askance at his garb, and after a +moment of silence he broke out abruptly in the most naively unconscious +fashion:-- + +"I am a novice at the Clergy House of St. Mark." + +A beautiful color flushed up in Miss Morison's dark cheek; and Wynne +realized how unconventional he had been in replying to a question which +had not been spoken. + +"Is it a Catholic order?" she asked, with an evident effort not to look +confused. + +"It is not Roman," he responded. "We believe that it is catholic." + +"Oh," said she vaguely; and the conversation lapsed. + +They walked a moment in silence, and then Maurice made another effort. + +"Has Mrs. Frostwinch been ill?" he asked. "Mrs. Staggchase spoke of her +as a miracle." + +"Ill!" echoed Miss Morison; "she has been wholly given up by the +physicians. She has some horrible internal trouble; and a consultation +of the best doctors in town decided that she could not live a week. +That was two months ago." + +"But I don't understand," he said in surprise. "What happened?" + +"A miracle," the other replied smiling. "You believe in miracles, of +course." + +"But what sort of a miracle?" + +"Faith-cure." + +"Faith-cure!" repeated he in astonishment. "Do you mean that Mrs. +Frostwinch has been raised from a death-bed by that sort of jugglery?" + +His companion shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't think it would raise you in her estimation if she heard you. +The facts are as I tell you. She dismissed her doctors when they said +they could do nothing for her, and took into her house a mind-cure +woman, a Mrs. Crapps. Some power has put her on her feet. Wouldn't you +do the same thing in her place?" + +Wynne looked bewildered at Mrs. Frostwinch walking before him in a +shimmer of Boston respectability. He had an uneasy feeling that he was +passing from one pitfall to another. He was keenly conscious of the +richness of the voice of the girl by his side, so that he felt that it +was not easy for him to disagree with anything which she said. He let +her remark pass without reply. + +"For my part," she went on frankly, "I don't in the least believe in +the thing as a matter of theory; but practically I have a superstition +about it, because I've seen Cousin Anna. She was helpless, in agony, +dying; and now she is as well as I am. If I were ill"-- + +She broke off with a pretty little gesture as they came within hearing +of the others, who had halted at Mrs. Frostwinch's gate. Wynne said +good-by absently, and went on his way down the hill like a man in a +dream. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, "you have seen one of Boston's ethical +debauches; what do you think of it?" + +"It was confusing," he returned. "I couldn't make out what it was for." + +"For? To amuse us. We are the children of the Puritans, you know, and +have inherited a twist toward the ethical and the supernatural so +strong that we have to have these things served up even in our +amusements." + +"Then I think that it is wicked," Maurice said. + +"Oh, no; we must not be narrow. It isn't wrong to amuse one's self; and +if we play with the religion of the Persians, why is it worse than to +play with the mythologies of the Greeks or Romans? You wouldn't think +it any harm to jest about classical theology." + +Wynne turned toward her with a smile on his strong, handsome face. + +"Why do you try to tangle me up in words?" he asked. + +Mrs. Staggchase did not turn toward him, but looked before with face +entirely unchanged as she replied:-- + +"I am not trying to entangle you in words, but if I were it would be +all part of the play. You are undergoing your period of temptation. I +am the tempter in default of a better. In the old fashion of +temptations it wouldn't do to have the tempter old and plain. Then you +were expected to fall in love; now we deal in snares more subtle." + +Maurice laughed, but somewhat unmirthfully. There was to him something +bewildering and worldly about his cousin; and he had come to feel that +he could never be at all sure where in the end the most harmless +beginning of talk might lead him. + +"What then is the modern way of temptation?" he inquired. + +"It shows how much faith we have in its power," she replied, as they +waited on the corner of Charles Street for a carriage to pass, "that I +don't in the least mind giving you full warning. Did you know the lady +in that carriage, by the way?" + +"It was Mrs. Wilson, wasn't it?" + +"Yes; Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. You have seen her at the Church of the +Nativity, I suppose. She is one phase of the temptation." + +"I don't in the least understand." + +"I didn't in the least suppose that you would. You will in time. My +part of the temptation is to show you all sorts of ethical jugglery, +the spiritual and intellectual gymnastics such as the Bostonians love; +to persuade you that all religion is only a sort of pastime, and that +the particular high-church sort which you especially affect is but one +of a great many entertaining ways of killing time." + +"Cousin Diana!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. + +"I hope that you understand," she continued unmoved. "I shall exhibit a +very pretty collection of fads to you if we see them all." + +"But suppose," he said slowly, "that I refused to go with you?" + +"But you won't," returned she, with that curious smile which always +teased him with its suggestion of irony. "In the first place you +couldn't be so impolite as to refuse me. A woman may always lead a man +into questionable paths if she puts it to his sense of chivalry not to +desert her. In the second, the spirit of the age is a good deal +stronger in you than you realize, and the truth is that you wouldn't be +left behind for anything. In the third, you could hardly be so cowardly +as to run away from the temptation that is to prove whether you were +really born to be a priest." + +"That was decided when I entered the Clergy House." + +"Nonsense; nothing of the sort, my dear boy. The only thing that was +decided then was that you thought you were. Wait and see our ethical +and religious raree-shows. We had the Persian to-day; to-morrow I'm to +take you to a spiritualist sitting at Mrs. Rangely's. She hates to have +me come, so I mustn't miss that. Then there are the mind-cure, +Theosophy, and a dozen other things; not to mention the +semi-irreligions, like Nationalism. You will be as the gods, knowing +good and evil, by the time we are half way round the circle,--though it +is perhaps somewhat doubtful if you know them apart." + +She spoke in her light, railing way, as if the matter were one of the +smallest possible consequence, and yet Wynne grew every moment more and +more uncomfortable. He had never seen his cousin in just this mood, and +could not tell whether she were mocking him or warning him. He seized +upon the first pretext which presented itself to his mind, and +endeavored to change the subject. + +"Who is Mrs. Rangely?" he asked. "A medium?" + +"Oh, bless you, no. She is not so bad as a medium; she is only a New +Yorker. Do you think we'd go to real mediums? Although," she added, +"there are plenty who do go. I think that it is shocking bad form." + +"But you speak as if"-- + +"As if spiritualism were one of the recognized ethical games, that's +all. It is played pretty well at Mrs. Rangely's, I'm told. They say +that the little Mrs. Singleton she's got hold of is very clever." + +"Mrs. Singleton," Maurice repeated, "why, it can't be Alice, brother +John's widow, can it? She married a Singleton for a second husband, and +she claimed to be a medium." + +"Did she really? It will be amusing if you find your relatives in the +business." + +"She wasn't a very close relative. John was only my half-brother, you +know, and he lived but six months after he married her. She is clever +enough and tricky enough to be capable of anything." + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, as they turned in at her door, "if it is +she it will give you an excellent chance to do missionary work." + +They entered the wide, handsome hall, and with an abrupt movement the +hostess turned toward her cousin. + +"I assure you," she said, "that I am in earnest about your temptation. +I want to see what sort of stuff you are made of, and I give you fair +warning. Now go and read your breviary, or whatever it is that you sham +monks read, while I have tea and then rest before I dress." + +Maurice had no reply to offer. He watched in silence as she passed up +the broad stairway, smiling to herself as she went. He followed slowly +a moment later, and seeking his room remained plunged in a reverie at +which the severe walls of the Clergy House might have been startled; a +reverie disquieted, changing, half-fearful; and yet through which with +strange fascination came a longing to see more of the surprising world +into which chance had introduced him, and above all to meet again the +dark, glowing girl with whom he had that afternoon walked. + + + + III + + + AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + Merchant of Venice, v. 2. + + +It was cold and gray next morning when Maurice took his way toward a +Catholic church in the North End. He had been there before for +confession, and had been not a little elated in his secret heart that +he had been able to go through the act of confession and to receive +absolution without betraying the fact that he was not a Romanist. He +had studied the forms of confession, the acts of contrition, and +whatever was necessary to the part, and for some months had gone on in +this singular course. To his Superior at the Clergy House he confessed +the same sins, but Maurice had a feeling that the absolution of the +Roman priest was more effective than that of his own church. He was not +conscious of any intention of becoming a Catholic, but there was a +fascination in playing at being one; and Wynne, who could not +understand how the folk of Boston could play with ethical truths, was +yet able thus to juggle with religion with no misgiving. + +This morning he enjoyed the spiritual intoxication of the confessional +as never before. He half consciously allowed himself to dwell upon the +image of the beautiful Miss Morison to the end that he might the more +effectively pour out his contrition for that sin. He was so eloquent in +the confessional that he admired himself both for his penitence and for +the words in which he set it forth. He floated as it were in a sea of +mingled sensuousness and repentance, and he hoped that the penance +imposed would be heavy enough to show that the priest had been +impressed with the magnitude of the sin of which he had been guilty in +allowing his thoughts, consecrated to the holy life of the priesthood, +to dwell upon a woman. + +It was one of those absurd anomalies of which life is full that while +Maurice sometimes slighted a little the penances imposed by his own +Superior, he had never in the least abated the rigor of any laid upon +him by the Catholic priest. It was perhaps that he felt his honor +concerned in the latter case. This morning the penance was +satisfactorily heavy, and he came out of the church with a buoyant +step, full of a certain boyish elation. He had a fresh and delightful +sense of the reality of religion now that he had actually sinned and +been forgiven. + +Next to being forgiven for a sin there is perhaps nothing more +satisfactory than to repeat the transgression, and if Maurice had not +formulated this fact in theory he was to be acquainted with it in +practice. As he walked along in the now bright forenoon, filled with +the enjoyment of moral cleanness, he suddenly started with the thrill +of delicious temptation. Just before him a lady had come around a +corner, and was walking quietly along, in whom at a glance he +recognized Miss Morison. There came into his cheek, which even his +double penances had not made thin, a flush of pleasure. He quickened +his steps, and in a moment had overtaken her. + +"Good morning," he said, raising his ecclesiastical hat with an air +which savored somewhat of worldliness. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" + +She started at his salutation, but instantly recognized him. + +"Good morning," she responded. "I didn't expect to find anybody I knew +in this part of the town." + +"It isn't one where young ladies as a rule walk for pleasure, I +suppose," Maurice said, falling into step, and walking beside her. + +"I am very sure that I don't," Miss Morison replied with a toss of her +head. "I do it because I was bullied into being a visitor for the +Associated Charities, and I go once a week to tell some poor folk down +here that I am no better than they are. They know that I don't believe +it, and I have my doubts if they even believe it themselves, only they +wouldn't be foolish enough to prevaricate about it. Oh, it's a great +and noble work that I'm engaged in!" + +There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty +head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she +intoxicated him with delight. + +"You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm," said he. + +"Enthusiasm!" she retorted. "Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it, +the people I visit hate it, and there's nobody pleased but the +managers, who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, +and make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am +tired of the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to +try the unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting." + +She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious +that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth. +There was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, +and Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone +amiss. + +"But philanthropy," he began, "is surely"-- + +"Your cousin," she interrupted, "declares that only the eye of +Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what passes for +philanthropy and what is sheer egotism." + +He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked. + +"But what," he asked, "has impressed this view of things upon you this +morning in particular?" + +His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands. + +"Of course I show it," she said; "though you needn't have reminded me +that I have lost my temper." + +"I beg your pardon," began Maurice in confusion, "I"-- + +"Oh, you haven't done anything wrong," she interrupted, "the trouble is +entirely with me. I've been making a fool of myself at the instigation +of the powers that rule over my charitable career, and I don't like the +feeling." + +They walked on a moment without further speech. Maurice said to himself +with a thrill of contrition that he would double the penance laid upon +him, and he endeavored not to be conscious of the thought which +followed that the delight of this companionship was worth the price +which he should thus pay for it. + +"This is what happened," Miss Morison said at length. "I don't quite +know whether to laugh or to cry with vexation. There's a poor widow who +has had all sorts of trials and tribulations. Indeed, she's been a +miracle of ill luck ever since I began to have the honor to assure her +weekly that I'm no better than she is. It may be that the fib isn't +lucky." + +She turned to flash a bright glance into the face of her companion as +she spoke, and he tried to clear away the look of gravity so quickly +that she might not perceive it. + +"Oh," she cried; "now I have shocked you! I'm sorry, but I couldn't +help it." + +"No," he replied, "you didn't really shock me. It only seemed to me a +pity that you should be working with so little heart and under +direction that doesn't seem entirely wise." + +"Wise!" she echoed scornfully. "There's a benevolent gentleman who +insisted upon giving this old woman five dollars. It was all against +the rules of the Associated Charities, for which he said he didn't care +a fig. That's the advantage of being a man! And what do you think the +old thing did? She took the whole of it to buy a bonnet with a red +feather in it! The committee heard of it, though I can't for my life +see how. There are a lot of them that seem to think that benevolence +consists chiefly in prying into the affairs of the poor wretches they +help! And they posted me off to scold her." + +"But why did you go?" + +"They said they would send Miss Spare if I didn't, and in common +humanity I couldn't leave that old creature to the tender mercies of +Miss Spare." + +"What did you say?" + +The face of Miss Morison lighted with mocking amusement. + +"That's the beauty of it," she cried, bursting into a low laugh which +was full of the keenest fun. "I began with the things I'd been told to +say; but the old woman said that all her life long she had wanted a +bonnet with red feathers, but that she had never expected to have one. +When she got this money, she went out to buy clothing, and in a window +she saw this bonnet marked five dollars. She piously remarked that it +seemed providential. She's like the rest of the world in finding what +she likes to be providential." + +"Yes," murmured Maurice, half under his breath; "like my meeting you." + +Miss Morison looked surprised, but she ignored the words, and went on +with her story. + +"She said she concluded she'd rather go without the clothes, and have +the bonnet; and by the time we were through I had weakly gone back on +all the instructions I'd received, and told her she was right. She knew +what she wanted, and I don't blame her for getting it when she could. +I'm sick of seeing the poor treated as if they were semi-idiots that +couldn't think without leave from the Associated Charities." + +The whole tone of the conversation was so much more frank than anything +to which Wynne was accustomed that he felt bewildered. This freedom of +criticism of the powers, this want of reverence for conventionalities, +gave him a strange feeling of lawlessness. He felt as if he had himself +been wonderfully and almost culpably daring in listening. He wondered +that he was not more shocked, being sure that it was his duty to be. +There was about the young man's mental condition a sort of infantile +unsophistication. The New England mind often seems to inherit from +bygone Puritanism a certain repellent quality through which it takes +long for anything savoring of worldliness or worldly wisdom to +penetrate. When once this covering is broken, it may be added, the +result is much the same as in the case of the cracking of other glazes. + +After he had parted from Miss Morison, Maurice walked on in a blissful +state of conscious sinfulness. He understood himself well enough to +know that before him lay repentance, but this did not dampen his +present enjoyment. He had not so far outgrown his New England +conscience as to escape remorse for sin, but he had become so +accustomed to the belief that absolution removed guilt that there was +in his cup of self-reproach little abiding bitterness. + +That afternoon he accompanied Mrs. Staggchase to the house of Mrs. +Rangely with a confused feeling as if he were some one else. His cousin +wore the same delicately satirical air which marked all her intercourse +with him. She carried her head with her accustomed good-humored +haughtiness, and her straight lips were curled into the ghost of a +smile. + +"This is the most stupid humbug of them all," she remarked, as they +neared Mrs. Rangely's house on Marlborough Street. "You'll think the +deception too transparent to be even amusing,--if you don't become a +convert, that is." + +"A convert to spiritualism?" Wynne returned with youthful indignation. +"I'm not likely to fall so low as that. That is one of the things which +are too ridiculous." + +She laughed, with that air of superiority which always nettled him a +little. + +"Don't allow yourself to be one of those narrow persons to whom a thing +is always ridiculous if they don't happen to believe it. You believe in +so many impossible things yourself that you can't afford to take on +airs." + +The tantalizing good nature with which she spoke humiliated Wynne. She +seemed to be playing with him, and he resented her reflection upon his +creed. He was, however, too much under the spell of his cousin to be +really angry, and he was silenced rather than offended. They entered +the house to find several of the persons whom he had seen at Mrs. +Gore's on the day previous; and Wynne was at once charmed and +disquieted by the entrance a moment later of Miss Morison, who came in +looking more beautiful than ever. It gave him a feeling of exultation +to be sharing her life, even in this chance way. + +The preliminaries of the sitting were not elaborate. Mrs. Rangely, the +hostess, impressed it upon her guests that Mrs. Singleton, the medium, +was not a professional, but that she was with them only in the capacity +of one who wished to use her peculiar gifts in the search for truth. + +"She does not understand her powers herself," Mrs. Rangely said; "but +she feels that it is not right to conceal her light." + +Maurice was too unsophisticated to understand why Mrs. Rangely's talk +struck him as not entirely genuine, but he was to some extent +enlightened when his cousin said to him afterward: "Frances Rangely has +the imitation Boston patter at her tongue's end now, but she is too +thoroughly a New Yorker ever to get the spirit of it. She rattles off +the words in a way that is intensely amusing." + +The shutters of the small parlor in which the company was assembled had +been closed and the gas lighted. There were about a dozen guests, and +all had the air of being of some position. While the hostess went to +summon the medium, Maurice asked in a whisper if the master of the +house was present, and was answered that Fred Rangely was too clever to +be mixed up in this sort of thing. Wynne caught a satirical glance +between his cousin and Miss Morison, and more than ever he felt that +the meeting was a farce in which he, vowed to a nobler life, should +have had no part. + +His musings were cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Rangely with the +medium. He recognized Mrs. Singleton at a glance, and was struck as he +had been before by the appealing look of innocence. She was a slender, +almost beautiful woman, with exquisite shell-like complexion, and +delicate features. An entire lack of moral sense frequently gives to a +woman an air of complete candor and purity, and Alice Singleton stood +before the company as the incarnation of sincerity and truth. Her face +was of the rounded, full-lipped, wistful type; the sensuous, selfish +face moulded into the likeness of childlike guilelessness which of all +the multitudinous varieties of the "ever womanly" is the one most +likely to be destructive. + +Had it not been that Maurice was acquainted with her history, he could +hardly have resisted the fascination of this creature, as tender and as +innocent in appearance as a dewy rose; but he was thoroughly aware of +her moral worthlessness. Yet as she stood shrinking on the threshold as +if she were too timid to advance, he could not but feel her +attractiveness and the sweetness of her presence. He watched curiously +as in response to a word from Mrs. Rangely she came hesitatingly +forward, bowed in acknowledgment to a general introduction, and sank +into the chair placed for her in the centre of the circle. She was clad +in black, but a little of her creamy neck was visible between the folds +of lace which set off its fairness. Her arms were bare half way to the +elbows, and her hands were ungloved. Maurice wondered if she would +recognize him; then he reflected that he sat in the shadow, out of the +direct line of her vision, and that it was years since she had seen him. + +"We will have the gas turned down," Mrs. Rangely said; and at once +turned it, not down, but completely out, leaving the room in absolute +darkness. + +There followed an interval of silence, and Maurice, whose wits were +sharpened by his knowledge of the medium, and who was on the lookout +for trickery, reflected how inevitable it was that this breathless +silence, coupled with the darkness and the expectation of something +mysterious, should bring about the frame of mind which the medium would +desire. The silence lasted so long that he, not wrapt in expectation, +began to grow impatient. He put out his hand timidly in the darkness +and touched the chair in which Miss Morison was sitting, getting +foolish comfort from even such remote communion. He fell into a reverie +in which he felt dimly what life might have been with her always at his +side, had he not been vowed to the stern refusal of all earthly +companionship. + +His reflections were broken by a loud, quivering sigh seeming to come +from the medium, and echoed in different parts of the room. There was +another brief interval of silence, and then the medium began to speak. +Her tone was strained and unnatural, and at first she murmured to +herself. Then her words came more clearly and distinctly. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" she whispered. Then in a voice growing clearer she +went on: "Bright forms! There are three,--no, there are five; oh, the +room is full of them. Oh, how bright they are growing! They shine so +that they almost blind me. Don't you see them?" + +The room rustled like a field of wheat under a breeze. + +"There is one that is clearer than the others," went on the voice of +the medium in the electrical darkness. "She is all shining, but I can +see that her hair is white as snow. She must have been old before she +went into the spirit world. She smiles and leans over the lady in the +armchair. Oh, she is touching you! Don't you feel her dear hands on +your head?" + +Maurice felt the chair against which his fingers rested shaken by a +movement of awe or of impatience. He flushed with indignation. It was +Miss Morison to whom the medium was directing this childish +impertinence. He longed to interfere, and even made so brusque a +movement that Mrs. Staggchase leaned over and whispered to him to +remain quiet. + +"There are many spirits here," the medium went on with increasing +fervor, "but none of them are so clear. She is speaking to you, but you +cannot hear her. She is grieved that you do not understand her. Oh, try +to listen so that you may hear her message with the spiritual ear. She +is so anxious." + +The audience seemed to quiver with excitement. Simply because a woman +whom Maurice knew to be capable of any falsehood sat here in the +darkness and pretended to see visions, these men and women were +apparently carried out of themselves. It seemed to him at once +monstrous and pitifully ridiculous. + +"It must be your grandmother," spoke again the voice of Mrs. Singleton, +now thick with emotion. "Yes, she nods her head. She is so anxious to +reach through your unconsciousness. Wait! she is going to do something. +I think she is going to give you some token. Let me rest a moment, so +that I can help her. She wants to materialize something." + +Heavy silence, but a silence which seemed alive with excitement, once +more prevailed. Maurice began himself to feel something of the +influence pervading the gathering, and was angry with himself for it. +Suddenly a cry from the medium, earnest and full of feeling, broke out +shrilly. + +"Oh, she has something in her hand. Try to assist her. She will succeed +in materializing it fully if we can help her with our wills. I can see +it becoming clearer--clearer--clearer! Now she is smiling. She is +happy. She knows she will succeed. Yes; it is--Oh, what beautiful +roses! They are changing from white to red in her hands. She holds them +up for me to see; she is lifting them up over your head. Now, now she +is going to drop them! Quick! The light!" + +The voice of Mrs. Singleton had risen almost to a scream, and bit the +nerves of the hearers. As she ended Maurice heard the soft sound of +something falling, and felt Miss Morison start violently. The gas was +at once lighted, and there in the lap and at the feet of Berenice, who +regarded them with an expression of mingled disgust and annoyance, lay +scattered a handful of crimson roses. + +The company broke into expressions of admiration, of belief, of awe. +Mrs. Singleton had played to her audience with evident success. Miss +Morison gathered up the flowers without a word, and held them out to +the medium, who lay back wearied in her chair. + +"Don't give them to me," Mrs. Singleton said in a faint voice. "They +were brought for you." + +"How can you bear to give them up?" a woman said. "It must be your +grandmother that brought them." + +"My grandmother was in very good health in Brookfield yesterday," +Berenice responded. "I hardly think that they come from her." + +The tone was so cold that Mrs. Singleton was visibly disconcerted. + +"Of course I don't know the spirit," she said. "But are both your +grandmothers living?" + +"She nodded her head, you know," put in another. + +To this Miss Morison did not even reply; but the awkwardness of the +situation was relieved by Mrs. Rangely, who broke into conventional +phrases of admiration and wonder. + +"Yes, Frances," Mrs. Staggchase observed dryly, "as you say, it +couldn't be believed if one hadn't seen it." + +Her manner was unheeded in the flood of praise and congratulation with +which Mrs. Singleton was being overwhelmed. + +"It is what I've longed for all my life," one lady declared, wiping her +eyes. "I never could have confidence in professional mediums, but this +is so perfectly satisfactory. Oh, I _do_ feel that I owe you so much, +Mrs. Singleton!" + +"Yes, this we have seen with our own eyes," another added. "It is +impossible for the most skeptical to doubt this." + +To this and more Maurice listened in amazement, until he rather thought +aloud than consciously spoke:-- + +"But it all depends upon the unsupported testimony of the medium." + +Mrs. Rangely drew herself up with much dignity. + +"That," she said, "I will be responsible for." + +"It isn't unsupported," chimed in one of the ladies. "Here are the +roses." + +At the sound of Maurice's voice Mrs. Singleton had turned toward him, +and he saw that she recognized him. She looked around with a glance +half terrified, half appealing. + +"It is so kind in you to believe in me," she murmured pathetically. "I +don't ask you to. I only tell you what I see, and"-- + +Maurice rose abruptly and strode forward. + +"Alice," he exclaimed, "what do you mean by this humbug? Don't you see +that they take it seriously? Tell them it's a joke." + +Again Mrs. Singleton looked around as if to see whether she had support. + +"It is manly of you to attack me," she answered, evidently satisfied +with the result of her survey. "I cannot defend myself." + +"Do you mean to insist?" he demanded, with growing anger. + +"If the roses do not justify what I said," responded she, sinking back +as if exhausted, "it may be that I saw only imaginary shapes." + +A sharp murmur ran around the room. The believers were evidently +rallying indignantly to the support of their sibyl, and cast upon Wynne +glances of bitter reproach. He looked at Mrs. Staggchase, but it was +impossible to judge from her expression whether she approved or +disapproved of what he had done. He was suddenly abashed, and stood +speechless before the rising tide of outraged remonstrance. Then +unexpectedly came from behind him the clear voice of Miss Morison. + +"It is unfortunate that the roses should have been given to me," she +said, "for by an odd chance I saw them bought a couple of hours ago on +Tremont Street." + +There was an instant of hushed amazement, and then the medium fled from +the parlor in hysterics. + + + + IV + + + SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + Measure for Measure, v. 1. + + +"O thou to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + +Philip Ashe colored with self-consciousness as the words came into his +mind. He felt that he had no right to think them, and yet as he looked +across the table at his hostess it seemed almost as if the phrase had +been spoken in his ear by the seductive voice of Mirza Gholân Rezâh. He +sighed with contrition, and looked resolutely away, letting his glance +wander about the room in which he was sitting at dinner. He noted the +panels of antique stamped leather, and although he had had little +artistic training, he was pleased by the exquisite combination of rich +colors and dull gold. Some Spanish palace had once known the glories +which now adorned the walls of Mrs. Fenton's dining-room, and even his +uneducated eye could see that care and taste had gone to the decoration +of the apartment. Jars of Moorish pottery, few but choice, and pieces +of fine Algerian armor inlaid with gold were placed skillfully, each +displayed in its full worth and yet all harmonizing and combining in +the general effect. Ashe knew that the husband of Mrs. Fenton had been +an artist of some note, and so strongly was the skill of a master-hand +visible here that suddenly the painter seemed to the sensitive young +deacon alive and real. It was as if for the first time he realized that +the beautiful woman before him might belong to another. By a quick, +unreasonable jealousy of the dead he became conscious of how keenly +dear to him had become the living. + +Ashe had met Mrs. Fenton a number of times during the week which had +intervened since the Persian's lecture at Mrs. Gore's. He had seen her +once or twice at the house of his cousin, with whom Mrs. Fenton was +intimate, and chance had brought about one or two encounters elsewhere. +He had until this moment tried to persuade himself that his admiration +for her was that which he might have for any beautiful woman; but +looking about this room and realizing so completely the husband dead +half a dozen years, he felt his self-deception shrivel and fall to +ashes. With a desperate effort he put the thought from him, and gave +his whole attention to the talk of his companions. + +"Yes, Mr. Herman is in New York," Mrs. Herman was saying. "He has gone +on to see about a commission. They want him to go there to execute it, +but I don't think he will." + +"Doesn't he like New York?" asked Mr. Candish, the rector of the Church +of the Nativity, who was the fourth member of the little company. + +Mrs. Herman and Mrs. Fenton both laughed. + +"You know how Grant feels about New York, Edith," the former said. "If +anything could spoil his temper, it is a day in what he calls the +metropolis of Philistinism." + +"I never heard Mr. Herman say anything so harsh as that about +anything," Candish responded. "Do you feel in that way about it?" + +"The thing which I dislike about the place is its provincialism," she +answered. "It is the most provincial city in America, in the sense that +nothing really exists for it outside of itself. If I think of New York +for ten minutes I have no longer any faith in America." + +"Then I shouldn't think of it, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton. + +"Then you wouldn't go with your husband if he went there to do this +work, I suppose," Mr. Candish observed. + +"I should go with him anywhere that, he thought it best to go. I fear +that you haven't an exalted idea of the devotion of the modern wife, +Mr. Candish." + +Ashe watched with interest the rector, who flushed a little. He knew of +him well, having more than once heard the awkwardness and social +inadaptability of the man urged as reasons of his unfitness to be +placed at the head of the most fashionable church in the city. Philip +saw him glance at the hostess and then cast down his eyes; and wondered +if this were simple diffidence. + +"That is hardly fair," Mr. Candish said, somewhat awkwardly. "The +clergy, not having wives, are poor judges in such a matter." + +"That might be taken as an argument for the marriage of the clergy," +she responded with a smile. + +"How so?" + +"If they had wives they would be better able to sympathize with the +trials and joys of their parishioners." + +"I never thought of that," murmured Mrs. Fenton. + +Mr. Candish flushed all over his homely, freckled face. + +"By the same reasoning you might hold that a clergyman should have +committed all the sins in the decalogue, so that he should have ready +sympathy with all sorts of sinners." + +"I'm not sure that he wouldn't be more useful if he had," Mrs. Herman +answered with a smile; "at least a man who hasn't wanted to commit a +sin must find it hard to sympathize with the wretch that hasn't been +strong enough to resist temptation. Still, I hope that sin and marriage +are not put into the same category." + +"Oh, of course not," Mrs. Fenton interpolated. "Marriage is a +sacrament." + +"It has always seemed to me inconsistent," Mrs. Herman went on, "that +the church should exclude her priests from one of the sacraments." + +Ashe saw a faint cloud pass over the face of the hostess. He was +himself a little shocked; and Candish frowned slightly. + +"The church admits her priests to this sacrament in a higher sense," he +said with some stiffness. + +Helen smiled. + +"Now I have shocked you," was her comment. "I beg your pardon." + +"I can never accustom myself to a familiar way of handling sacred +things," he returned. "It is to me too vital a matter." + +"I am afraid that that is because you are still so young," she +retorted. "It is, if you'll pardon me, the prerogative of youth to find +all views but its own intolerable." + +The manner in which this was said deprived the words of their sting, +but Mrs. Fenton evidently felt that they were getting upon dangerous +ground, and she interposed. + +"We shall ask you to define youth next, Helen," she threw in. + +"Oh, that is easy. Young people are always those of our own age." + +In the laugh that followed this the question of the marriage of the +clergy was allowed to drop; but to all that had been said Philip had +listened with a beating heart. He felt the air about him to be charged +with meanings which he could not divine. He had somehow a suspicion +that the hostess was more interested in this talk than she was willing +to show; and with what in a moment he recognized as consummate and +fatuous egotism, he felt in his heart the shadow of a hope that there +might be some connection between this and her interest in him. Then a +fear followed lest there might be things here hidden which would make +him miserable did he understand. + +"Mrs. Herman insists that she is a Puritan," Mrs. Fenton said a moment +later. "You see how she proves it by the position she takes on all +these questions." + +"Of course I am a Puritan," was the answer. "I was born so. There is +nothing which I believe that wouldn't have seemed to my forefathers +good ground for having me whipped at the cart's tail, but I am Puritan +to the bone." + +"I don't see what you mean," Candish said. + +"I mean that I inherit, like all of us children of the Puritans, the +way of looking at things without regard to consequences, of feeling +devoutly about whatever seems to us true, and of realizing that +individual preferences do not alter the laws of the universe; isn't +that the essence of Puritanism?" + +"Perhaps," he answered; "but are the unbelievers of to-day devout?" + +Ashe looked at his cousin as she paused before answering. He felt that +the question must baffle her. He did not comprehend what was behind her +faint smile. + +"Certainly not all of them," was her reply. "The age isn't greatly +given to reverence. I am a Puritan, however, and I must say what I +think. I believe that there is a hundredfold more devoutness in the +infidelity of New England to-day than in its belief." + +Ashe leaned forward in amazement, half overturning his glass in his +eagerness. + +"Why, that is a contradiction of terms," he exclaimed. + +Mrs. Herman's smile deepened. + +"Not necessarily, Cousin Philip," returned she. + +"It is possible for belief to degenerate into mere conventionality, +while sincere doubters at least must have a realization of the mystery +and the awe which overshadow life." + +Mrs. Fenton put up her hand in a pretty gesture of deprecation. + +"Come," she said, "I don't wish to be despotic, but I can't let Mrs. +Herman lead you into a discussion of that sort. We'll talk of something +else." + +"Am I to bear the blame of it all?" demanded Helen. "That I call +genuinely theological." + +"Worse and worse," the hostess responded. "Now you attack the cloth." + +"It seems to me," observed Mr. Candish, coming out of a brief study in +which he had apparently not heard Mrs. Fenton's last words, "that you +leave out of account the matter of desire. The believer at least longs +to believe, and surely deserves well for that." + +"I don't see why. Certainly he hasn't learned the first word of the +philosophy of life who still confounds what he desires and what he +deserves." + +"Come, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton; "I wouldn't have suspected you of +trying to pose as a belated remnant of the Concord School." + +Ashe easily perceived that the hostess was becoming more and more +uneasy at the course of the discussion. He could see too that Mr. +Candish was growing graver, and his sallow face beginning to flush +through its thin skin. It was evident that Mrs. Fenton saw and +appreciated these signs, and wished to change the subject of +conversation. Philip wondered that she took the matter so gravely, but +cast about in his own mind for the means of helping her. Before he +could think of anything to say his cousin had started a fresh topic. + +"By the way," she asked, "who is to be bishop?" + +Candish shook his head with a grave smile. + +"We should be relieved if we knew," was his answer. + +"There's a great deal being done to defeat Father Frontford," Ashe +added; "but the lay delegates haven't been chosen." + +"The friends of Mr. Strathmore are working very hard," observed Mrs. +Fenton. "It would be a great misfortune if they were to succeed." + +"But I suppose the friends of Father Frontford are at work too?" +returned Helen. + +Ashe thought that he detected a faint trace of satire in her voice, and +he turned toward her with earnest gravity. + +"It is not to be supposed," he answered, "that the friends of the +church are idle at a time of so much importance. Mr. Strathmore is +really little better than a Unitarian; or at least he is so lax that he +gives the world that opinion." + +He felt that this was a reply which must end all inclination to +raillery on her part. He began to feel fresh sympathy with the +disturbance of Mr. Candish earlier in the dinner. The matter now was to +him so vital that he could not talk of it except with the greatest +gravity. He watched Helen closely to discover if she were disposed to +smile at his reply. He could detect no ridicule in her expression, +although she did not seem much impressed with the weight of the charge +he had brought against Mr. Strathmore, the popular candidate for the +bishopric of the diocese, then vacant. + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson is doing a good deal," Mrs. Fenton remarked, +glancing smilingly at Helen. + +"Oh, yes," responded the other. "I remember now that she declined to be +on a committee for the picture-show because, as she said, she had to +run the campaign for the bishop." + +"The expression," Candish began, rather stiffly, "is somewhat"-- + +"It is hers, not mine," Helen replied. "I should not have chosen the +phrase myself." + +"It is singular," Mrs. Fenton said thoughtfully, "how little general +interest there is in this matter of the choice of a bishop." + +"And what there is," Mrs. Herman put in with a faint suspicion of +raillery in her tone, "comes from the fact that Mr. Strathmore is +popular as a radical." + +"It is natural enough that the general public should look at it in that +way," Mr. Candish commented. "Mr. Strathmore has all the elements of +popularity. He is emotional and sympathetic; and religious laxity +presented by such a man is always attractive." + +"The infidelity of the age finds such a man a living excuse," Ashe +said, feeling to the full all that the words implied. + +Mrs. Fenton smiled upon him, but shook her head. + +"That is a somewhat extreme view to take of it, Mr. Ashe. I think it is +rather the personal attraction of the man than anything else." + +The talk drifted away into more secular channels, and Ashe in time +forgot for the moment that he was already almost a priest. Youth was +strong in his blood, and even when a man has vowed to serve heaven by +celibacy the must of desire may ferment still in his veins. A youthful +ascetic has in him equally the making of a saint and a monster; and +until it is decided which he is to be there will be turmoil in his +soul. His newly realized love for Mrs. Fenton threw Ashe into a tumult +of mingled bliss and anguish. The heart of the most simple mortal soars +and exults in the sense that it loves. It may be timid, sad, +despairing, but even the smart of love's denial cannot destroy the joy +of love's existence. Philip felt the sting of his conscience; he looked +upon his passion as no less hopeless than it was opposed to his vows; +he was overshadowed by a half-conscious foresight of the pain which +must arise from it; yet he swam on waves of delight such as even in his +moments of religious ecstasy he had never before known. He felt his +cheeks flush, and when his cousin glanced at him he dropped his eyes in +the fear that they would betray his secret. He dared not look openly at +Mrs. Fenton, yet from time to time he stole glances so slyly that he +seemed almost to deceive himself and to conceal from his conscience the +transgression. + +Yet, too, he struggled. He realized at moments what he was doing, and +his cheek grew pale at the idea that he was juggling with his +conscience and his soul. He tried to attend to the talk, and could only +succeed in listening for the sound of her voice. He kept no more hold +on the conversation than was sufficient to allow him to put in a word +now and then to cover his preoccupation. The instinct of simulation +asserted itself as it springs in a bird which flies away to decoy the +hunter from its nest. He feigned to be interested, to be as usual, but +all his blood was trembling and tumbling with this new delirium; and +all struggles to forget his passion only increased its intensity. + +At moments he was astonished at himself. He could not understand what +had taken possession of him. He even whispered a desperate question to +himself whether it might not be that he had been singled out for a +special temptation of the devil,--a distinction too flattering to be +wholly disagreeable. Then he glanced again at his hostess, fair, sweet, +and to his mind sacred before him, and felt that he had wronged her by +supposing that the arch fiend could make of her a temptation. He had +for a moment a humiliating fear that he might have eaten something that +after the spare diet of the Clergy House had exhilarated him unduly. He +felt that at best he was a poor thing; and he seemed to stand outside +of his bare, empty life, pitying and scorning the futility of an +existence unblessed by the love of this peerless woman. + +The evening went on, and Ashe struggled to conceal the wild commotion +of his mind, feeling it almost a relief to get away, so fearful had he +been of losing control of his tumultuous emotions. It would be bliss to +be alone with his dream. + +As he and Mrs. Herman were going home, Helen said:-- + +"I do wonder"-- + +"What do you wonder?" he asked. + +"Did I say that out loud?" she responded. "I didn't mean to. I was +thinking that I couldn't help wondering whether Edith Fenton will ever +marry Mr. Candish." + +The first thought of Ashe was terror lest his secret had been +discovered; his second was a memory of the way in which he had seen +Mrs. Fenton look at the rector at dinner. He was overwhelmed by a rush +of hot anger against his rival. + +"Mr. Candish!" he echoed. "Why, he is an ordained priest!" + +His own words cut him like a sword. He had himself pronounced the death +sentence of his own hope. It was with difficulty that he suppressed a +groan, and what reply or comment Mrs. Herman made was lost in the +tumult of an inner voice crying in his heart: "O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + + + + V + + + VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + Comedy of Errors, ii. 1. + + +On the morning after the dinner at Mrs. Fenton's, Philip Ashe and +Maurice Wynne met on the steps of Mrs. Chauncy Wilson's. The house was +on the proper side of the Avenue, with a regal front of marble and with +balconies of wrought iron before the wide windows above, one of +especially elaborate workmanship, having once adorned the front of the +palace of the Tuileries. Pillars of verd antique stood on either side +of the doorway, as if it were the portal of a temple. + +"Good morning, Phil," Maurice called out as they met. "Are you bound +for Mrs. Wilson's too?" + +"Yes," was the answer. "I had a note last night." + +"Well," Wynne said gayly, as they mounted the steps, "if the inside of +the house is as splendid as the outside, we two poor duffers will be +out of place enough in it." + +Ashe smiled. + +"You may be a duffer if you like," he retorted, "but I'm not." + +"Here comes somebody," was the reply. "For my part I'm half afraid of +Mrs. Wilson. They say"-- + +But the door began to move on its hinges, and cut short his words. + +Wynne might have concluded his remark in almost any fashion, for there +were few things which had not been said about Mrs. Wilson. Although she +had been born and bred in Boston, one of the most common comments upon +her was that she was "so un-Bostonian." Exactly what the epithet +"Bostonian" might mean would probably have been hard to explain, but it +is seldom difficult to defend a negation; it was at least easy to show +that the lady did not regard the traditions in which she had been +nourished, and that she had a boldness which was as far as possible +from the decorous conventionality to be expected of one in whose veins +ran the blood of the most correctly exclusive old Puritan families. + +There was a general feeling that Mrs. Wilson's marriage was to be held +accountable for many of her eccentricities; although, as Mrs. +Staggchase remarked, if Elsie Dimmont had not been what she was she +would not have chosen Chauncy Wilson. Well-born, wealthy, pretty, and +not without a certain cleverness, Miss Dimmont had had choice of +suitors enough who were all that the most exacting of her relatives +could desire; yet she had disregarded the conviction of the family that +it was her duty to marry to please them, and had chosen to please +herself by selecting a handsome young doctor whom she met at the house +of a cousin in the country. He was of some local eminence in his +profession, it is true, although as time went on he gave less attention +to it; he was handsome, and astute, and amusing; but he was a man +without ancestors or traditions. He seemed born to justify the saying +that nothing subdues the feminine imagination like force; and although +the stormy times which were liberally predicted at the marriage of two +creatures so strong-willed had undoubtedly marked their marital career, +it was in the end impossible not to see that Dr. Wilson had secured and +held command of his household. + +It is impossible for two to live together, however, without mutual +reaction, and Elsie had unquestionably lost something of the fineness +of the breeding which was hers by right of birth. For a time after her +marriage she had been excessively given up to gayety. She had figured +as a leader in the fastest of the "smart set," as society journals +called it. She rode well, owned a stud which could not be matched in +town, and raced for stakes which startled the conservative old city. It +was even affirmed by the more credulous or more scandalous of the +gossips that it was only the stand taken by the managers of the County +Club which prevented her on one occasion from riding as her own jockey; +and short of this there was little she did not do. + +All this, however, was in the early days of the marriage, before Dr. +Wilson had become accustomed to his position as husband of the richest +woman in town and a member of what was to him the sacred aristocracy. +When the time came that he had found his place and entered his veto +upon these wild doings, there was an instant and determined revolt on +the part of his wife. Elsie fought desperately to maintain her position +as head of the family. By way of humiliating her husband she flirted +with an openness which won for her a reputation by no means to be +envied, and she wantonly trampled on his wishes. Given a husband, +however, with an iron will and a fibre not too fine, with a good temper +and yet with a certain ruthlessness in asserting his sway, and there is +little doubt that in the end he will triumph. If a clever, handsome, +good-humored man does not subdue a wild, headstrong wife, it is almost +surely owing to over-delicacy; and Chauncy Wilson was never hampered by +this. Elsie plunged and reared when she felt the curb,--to use a figure +which in those days might have been her own,--but she was by a +judicious application of whip and spur taught that she had found her +master. The result was that she became not only manageable, but +devotedly fond of her husband. No woman was ever mastered and treated +with kindness who did not thereupon love. Dr. Wilson was too +good-natured to be unkind, and for the most part he allowed his wife to +have her way, fully aware that he had but to speak to restrain her; and +thus it came about that the household was on a most peaceful and +satisfactory basis. + +Mrs. Wilson, however, craved excitement, and ethical amusements she +laughed to scorn. She did, it is true, take up high-church piety, which +she treated, as Mrs. Staggchase did not hesitate to say, as a +plaything; but her interest in church matters was chiefly in the line +of politics. She took charge of the affairs of the Church of the +Nativity with a high hand which abashed and disquieted the devout +rector. She liked Mr. Candish, although she did not hesitate to jest at +his unpolished manners and rather unprepossessing person, and it was +inevitable that she should be unable to appreciate his self-denying +devotion. On one or two occasions she had found him to have a will not +inferior to her own; and although she resented whatever balked her +pleasure, she was yet a woman and respected power in a man. + +Mr. Candish was of all men the one least resembling the traditional +pastor of a fashionable church, and had nothing of the caressing manner +dear to the souls of self-pampered penitents. Fashionable women found +little to admire in this man with the air of a bourgeois and the +simplicity of a babe. He had, however, a strong will, and a sure faith +which was not without its effect upon his parishioners. Ladies whose +religion was largely an affair of nerves found comfort in relying upon +his simple and untroubled devotion. They were piqued by being treated +as souls rather than bodies, but this was perhaps one of the secrets of +his influence. Every woman of his flock had unconsciously some secret +conviction that to her was reserved the triumph of subduing this +intractable nature, hitherto unconquered by the fascinations of the +sex. An ugly man may generally be successful with women if he remains +sufficiently indifferent to them. His unattractiveness, suggesting, as +it must, the idea of his having cause to be especially solicitous and +humble, imparts to his attitude in such a case an all-subduing flavor +of mystery. The instinctive belief of the other sex is that he is but +protecting his sensitiveness, and each longs to tear aside the veil of +dissimulation. The rector, it may be added, was an eloquent preacher, +and he intoned the service wonderfully. His voice in speaking was +somewhat harsh, but when he intoned, it melted into a beautiful +baritone, rich, full, and sweet, which, informed by his deep and +earnest feeling, thrilled his hearers with profound emotion. Mrs. +Wilson was proud of the effect which the service at the Nativity always +had, and she took in it the double pleasure of one who claimed a share +in religious enthusiasms and who had something of the glory of a +manager whose tenor succeeds in opera. + +Into the contest over the election of a bishop to fill the place +recently left vacant Mrs. Wilson had thrown herself with characteristic +vigor. There were but two candidates now seriously considered, the Rev. +Rutherford Strathmore and Father Frontford. The former, a popular +preacher of liberal views, was regarded as the more likely to receive +the appointment, but the High Church party contested the point warmly, +supporting the claims of the Father Superior of the Clergy House which +was the home of Maurice Wynne and Philip Ashe. The political side of +the matter was exactly to Mrs. Wilson's taste. A woman has but to be +rich enough and determined enough to be allowed to amuse herself with +the highest concerns of both church and state; and Mrs. Wilson lacked +neither money nor determination. Her vigor at first disconcerted and in +the end outwardly subdued the clergy. If she actually had less +influence than she supposed, she was at least thoroughly entertained, +and that after all was her object. She interviewed influential persons, +she wrote letters, some of them sufficiently ill-judged, she sought +information in regard to the character and circumstances of the clergy +in the diocese, and did everything with the zeal and dash which +characterized whatever she undertook. + +"Have you any idea what Mrs. Wilson wants of us?" Wynne asked of +Philip, as they waited in the luxurious reception-room. + +"I only know that Father Frontford said that we were to put ourselves +under her orders," was the reply. "Of course it is something about the +election." + +Maurice looked at him keenly. + +"Old fellow," he said, "you look pale. What's the matter with you?" + +"I didn't sleep well," Ashe answered with a flush. "I went to Mrs. +Fenton's to dine, and the indulgence wasn't good for me. It's really +nothing." + +Maurice did not reply, but sank into an easy-chair and looked about +him. The room was a charming fancy of the decorator, who claimed to +have taken his inspiration from the American mullein. The ceiling was +of a pale, almost transparent blue, a tint just strong enough to +suggest a sky and yet leave it half doubtful if such a meaning were +intended; the walls were hung with a rough paper matching in hue the +velvety leaves of the plant, here and there touched with +conventionalized figures of the yellow blossoms. This contrast of green +and yellow was softened and united by a clever use of the clear red of +the mullein stamens sparingly used in the figures on the walls, in the +cords of the draperies, and in the trimmings of the velvet furniture. +The decorator had used the same simple tone for walls, furniture, and +curtains; and the effect was delightfully soothing and distinguished. + +Wynne felt somehow out of place in this room which bore the stamp of +wealth and taste so markedly. He smiled to himself a little bitterly, +recalling how alien he was to these things. Descended from a family for +generations established in a New England town, he had in his veins too +good blood to feel abashed at the sight of splendors; but he had in his +life seen little of the world outside of lecture-rooms or the Clergy +House. Born with the appreciation of sensuous delight, with the +instinctive desire for the beautiful and refined, he felt awake within +him at contact with the richness and luxury of the life which he was +now leading tastes which he had before hardly been aware of possessing. +He was being influenced by the joy of worldly life, so subtly presented +that he did not even appreciate the need of guarding against the danger. + +His reflections were cut short by the entrance of a servant who +conducted the young men to a private sitting-room up-stairs. The halls +through which they passed were hung with superb old tapestry, +interspersed with magnificent pictures. On the broad landing it was +almost as if the visitors came into the presence of a beautiful woman, +lying naked amid bright cushions in an oriental interior. As he dropped +his eyes from the alluring vision, Maurice saw in the corner the name +of the artist. + +"Fenton," he said aloud. "Did he paint that?" + +His companion started, regarding the picture with widening eyes. The +English footman, whom Wynne addressed, turned back to say over his +shoulder:-- + +"Yes, sir; they say it's his best picture, and some says he painted his +best friend's wife that way, with nothing on, sir." + +"It is a wicked picture!" Ashe said with what seemed to Maurice +unnecessary emphasis. + +The footman regarded the speaker over his shoulder with a smile. + +"Oh, that's owin' to your bein' of the cloth, sir," was his comment. +"They don't generally feel to own to likin' it; but they mostly notices +it." + +A superb screen of carved and gilded wood stood before an open door +above. When this was reached, the footman slipped noiselessly behind +it, and they heard their names announced. + +"Show them in," Mrs. Wilson's voice said. + +The lady met them in a wonderful morning gown which seemed to be +chiefly cascades of lace, with bows of carmine ribbon here and there +which brought out the color of the dark eyes and hair of the wearer. +Maurice could hardly have told why he flushed, yet he was conscious of +the feeling that there was something intimate in the costume. To be met +by this beautiful woman, her hand outstretched in greeting, her eyes +shining, her white neck rising out of the foam of laces; to breathe the +air, soft and perfumed, of this room; to be surrounded by this luxury, +these tokens of a life which stinted nothing in the pursuit of +enjoyment; more than all to appreciate by some subtle inner sense the +appealing charm of femininity, the suggestions of domestic intimacies; +all this was to the young deacon to be exposed to influences far more +formidable to the ascetic life than those grosser temptations with +which a stupid fiend assailed St. Anthony. Wynne drew a deep breath, +wondering why he felt so strangely moved and confused; yet +unconsciously steeling himself against owning to his conscience what +was the truth. + +"It is so good of you to come early," Mrs. Wilson said brightly. "I +hope you don't mind coming upstairs. I wanted to talk to you +confidentially, and we might be interrupted. Besides, you see, I am not +dressed to go down." + +The young men murmured something to the effect that they did not in the +least mind coming up. + +"Didn't mind coming up!" she echoed. "Is that the way you answer a lady +who gives you the privilege of her private sitting-room? Come, you must +do better than that. If you can't compliment me on my frock, you might +at least say that you are proud to be here." + +The two deacons stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, abashed at +her raillery. Maurice saw the lips of Ashe harden, and he hastened to +speak lest his companion should say something stern. + +"You should remember, Mrs. Wilson," he said a little timidly, yet not +without a gleam of humor, "that our curriculum at the Clergy House does +not include a course in compliment." + +"It should then," she responded gayly. "How in the world is a clergyman +to get on with the women of his congregation if he can't compliment? +Why, the salvation or the damnation of most women is determined by +compliments." + +The visitors stood speechless. Mrs. Wilson broke into a gleeful laugh. + +"Come," cried she; "now I have shocked you! Pardon me; I should have +remembered--_virginibus puerisque!_ Sit down, and we will come to +business." + +Both the young men flushed at her half-contemptuous, half-jesting +phrase, but they sat down as directed. Mrs. Wilson took her seat +directly in front of them, and proceeded to inspect them with cool +deliberation. + +"I am looking you over," she observed calmly. "I must decide what work +you are fitted for before I can assign anything to you." + +Two young men do not live together so intimately, and care for each +other so tenderly as did the two deacons without coming to know each +other well; and Maurice was so fully aware of the extreme sensitiveness +of Ashe that he involuntarily glanced at his friend to see how he bore +this inspection. He resented the impertinence of the scrutiny far more +on Philip's account than his own. Ashe's pale face had on it the +faintest possible flush, and his always grave manner had become really +solemn; but otherwise he made no sign. Wynne had a certain sense of +humor which helped him through the ordeal, and there was a faint gleam +of a smile in his eye as he confronted the brilliant woman before him; +but he was ill-pleased that his friend should be made uncomfortable. + +"Do you judge by outward appearances," he asked, "or have you power to +read the heart?" + +"Men so seldom have hearts," she retorted, "that it is not worth while +to bother with that branch." Then she added, as if thinking aloud, and +looking Ashe in the face: "You are an enthusiast, and take things with +frightful seriousness. You must see Mrs. Frostwinch. You'll just suit +her." + +Maurice could see his companion shrink under this cool directness, and +he hastened to interpose. + +"But Mrs. Frostwinch," he said, "is absorbed in Christian Science or +something, isn't she?" + +"Oh, dear, yes," Mrs. Wilson answered, toying with the broad crimson +ribbon which served her as a girdle. "There is a horrid woman named +Trapps, or Grapps, or Crapps, or something, that has fastened herself +upon cousin Anna, and is mind-curing her, or Christian-sciencing her, +or fooling her in some way; but Mrs. Frostwinch is too well-bred really +to have any sympathy with anything so vulgar. She takes to it in +desperation; but she really detests the whole thing." + +"But," Ashe began hesitatingly, "does her conscience"-- + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, making a gesture as if sweeping all that sort of +thing aside. + +"I dare say her conscience pricks her, if that's what you mean; but +it's so much easier to endure the sting of conscience than of cancer +that I'm not surprised at her choice." + +"Besides," Maurice put in, "this is all done nowadays under the name of +religion. It isn't as if it were called by the old names of mesmerism +or Indian doctoring." + +"That's true enough," assented she. "At any rate Anna is mixed up with +this woman, who gets a lot of money out of her, and earns it by making +her think that she's better. However, Cousin Anna must be made to see +that it's her duty in this case to use her influence to prevent the +election of a man who would subvert the church if he could." + +"But if you are her cousin," Ashe began, "would it not"-- + +"Be better if I went to see her myself? Not in the least. She entirely +disapproves of my having anything to do with the election. Besides, +nobody can successfully talk religion to a woman but a man." + +Maurice smiled in spite of himself at the air with which this was said, +but he none the less felt that Mrs. Wilson was flippant. + +"What influence has Mrs. Frostwinch?" he asked. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson answered, leaning back to consider, "I don't know +whether to say that she controls three votes in the upper house of the +Convention, or four." + +The two young men regarded her in puzzled silence. + +"There are at least three clergymen in the diocese that are dependent +upon her," Mrs. Wilson explained. "There is Mr. Bobbins: he married her +cousin,--not a near cousin, but near enough so that Anna has half +supported the family, and the family is always increasing. I tell Anna +that they have babies just to work on her compassion. I think it's +wrong to encourage it, myself. Then there is Mr. Maloon; he depends on +Mrs. Frostwinch to support his mission. Then there's Brother +Pewtap,--did you ever know such a lovely name for a country parson?--he +just lives on her with a family bigger than Mr. Robbins's. He's really +a Strathmore man, but he wouldn't dare to vote against her wishes. She +might manage all those votes. Besides, there's a Mr. Jewett somewhere +near Lenox that she's helped a good deal; but I haven't found out about +him yet." + +She rose as she spoke, and went to a writing-table fitted out with all +the inventions known to man for the decoration of the desk and the +encumbrance of the writer. + +"I have here a list of all the clergy of the diocese," she said, taking +up a book bound in red morocco and silver. "I've marked them down as +far as I've found out about them. It's necessary to be systematic. I've +done just as they do in canvassing a city ward." + +Maurice regarded Mrs. Wilson with ever-increasing amazement, but, too, +not without increasing amusement. He was somewhat shocked by the +business way in which she treated the subject, but his heart was set on +the election of Father Frontford; he was honest in feeling that the +church would be injured by the election of Mr. Strathmore, and he was +too completely a man not to be half-unconsciously willing that for the +accomplishment of an end he desired a woman should do many things which +he would not do himself. The three went over the list together, the +young men giving such information as they possessed, Maurice all the +time strangely divided in his mind between disapprobation of Mrs. +Wilson and admiration. Her breath was on his cheek as she bent over the +book, the perfume of her laces filled faintly the air, now and then her +hand touched his. He was not conscious of the potency of this feminine +atmosphere which enveloped him; he did not so much think personally of +Mrs. Wilson, beautiful and near though she was, as he felt her presence +as a sort of impersonation of woman. He thought of Miss Morison, and +warmed with a nameless thrill, of longing. Then he recalled the remark +of Mrs. Staggchase that he was undergoing his temptation, and his heart +sank. + +"You see," Mrs. Wilson was saying, when he forced his wandering +attention to heed her words, "men are really elected before the +convention. The work must be done now. You two can, of course, do a lot +of things that it wouldn't be good form for a regular clergyman to do. +Of course you wouldn't be able to manage the directing, but there is a +good deal of work that is in your line." + +"Of course we are glad to do what we can," Maurice responded, smiling. + +He glanced at Ashe and saw that his friend's face was stern. + +"I knew you would be," the lady went on. "Mr. Ashe is to see Mrs. +Frostwinch. You can't be too eloquent in telling her the consequences +of Mr. Strathmore's election. If you can get her to write to the men +I've named, she can secure them. It won't be amiss to flatter her a +little; and above all don't abuse the faith-cure business." + +"But if she speaks of it," Ashe returned hesitatingly, "what am I to +do?" + +"Oh, she'll be sure to speak of it; but you must manage to evade. Let +her say, and don't you contradict. She'll say enough, I've no doubt. +Very likely she'll abuse it herself; but don't for goodness' sake make +the mistake of falling in with her. If you do, it'll be fatal." + +"But I know Mrs. Frostwinch so slightly," Philip objected, "that I do +not see"-- + +"Come!" she interrupted; "there is to be none of this. You are under my +orders. I'll give you a letter to Cousin Anna now." + +"But"-- + +"But! But what?" she cried, laughing. "Do you mean that you distrust +your leader so soon? Do I look like a woman to fail?" + +She spread out her arms in a gesture half imploring, half jocose, her +laces fluttering, her ribbons waving, the ringlets about her face +dancing. Her eyes were brimming with mocking light, and however poorly +she might seem to represent ideas theological she certainly did not +personify failure. + +Maurice laughed lightly and glanced at his friend. Ashe did not smile, +but he bowed as if in resignation to the command of a leader. + +"You are to go to Mrs. Frostwinch's this very afternoon," Mrs. Wilson +declared. "It won't do to lose any time. If once her votes get pledged +to the other party, there's an end to that. That's your work. Now you," +she continued, turning to Wynne, "are to go to Springfield and the +western part of the State." + +"The western part of the State?" Maurice ejaculated in astonishment. +"Do you work there too?" + +"Of course we have to cover the whole diocese," she returned +vivaciously. "Did you suppose we left everything but Boston to the +enemy?" + +He could only reply by a stare. He had never in his life encountered +anything like this woman, and he was bewildered by her audacity, her +alertness, her beauty, and the dash with which she carried everything +off. + +"You will go to-morrow," she went on, "and I will send you the list of +the men you have to see. I'm sorry not to go over it with you, but I +have an engagement this morning, and I shall be late now. You are +staying with Mrs. Staggchase, aren't you?" + +"Yes; she is my cousin." + +"So much the better for you. It's a liberal education to have a cousin +as clever as that. Good-by. Thank you both for coming." + +She rang as she spoke, and handed the young men over to the maid who +appeared; the maid in turn handed them over to the footman, and by him +they were seen safely out of the house. As they turned away from the +door, Ashe sighed deeply, while Wynne was smiling to himself. + +"What a--a--what a woman!" Philip said fervently. "She's amazing!" + +"Oh, yes," his friend laughed; "but what do you or I know about women +anyway?" + + + + VI + + + HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + Love's Labour's Lost, i. 1. + + +As Philip Ashe, his eyes cast down in earnest thought, approached Mrs. +Frostwinch's gate that afternoon, he looked up suddenly to find himself +face to face with Mrs. Fenton. She was dressed in dark, heavy cloth, +set down the waist with small antique buckles of dark silver; and +seemed to him the perfection of elegance and beauty. + +"Good morning, Mr. Ashe," she greeted him, smiling. "I did not expect +to find you coming to hear Mrs. Crapps." + +"To hear Mrs. Crapps?" he echoed. "Who is Mrs. Crapps?" + +Mrs. Fenton turned back as she was entering the iron gate which between +stately stone posts shut off the domain of the Frostwinches from the +world, and marked with dignity the line between the dwellers on Mt. +Vernon Street and the rest of the world. + +"Do you mean," asked she, "that you didn't know that Mrs. Crapps, the +mind-cure woman, is to lecture here this afternoon?" + +Ashe drew back. + +"I certainly did not know it," he answered. "I was coming to speak to +Mrs. Frostwinch about the election." + +"It's the last of three lectures," Mrs. Fenton explained. "Mrs. Crapps, +you know, is the woman that has been curing Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Ashe stood hesitatingly silent in the gateway a moment. + +"I should like to see her," he said thoughtfully. "Not from mere +curiosity, but because I cannot understand what gives these persons a +hold over intelligent men and women." + +"The thing that gives her a hold over Mrs. Frostwinch is that she has +raised her up from a bed of sickness. Come in with me, and see her. I +should like to see how she strikes you. You can speak to Mrs. +Frostwinch after the lecture." + +He hesitated a moment, and then followed her, saying to himself with +suspicious emphasis that the fact that the invitation came from her had +nothing to do with his acceptance. He soon found himself seated in the +great dusky drawing-room of the Frostwinch house, an apartment whose +very walls were incrusted with conservative traditions. It was +furnished with richness, but both with much greater simplicity and +greater stiffness than he had seen in any of the houses he had thus far +been in. The chief decoration, one felt, was the air of the place's +having been inhabited by generations of socially immaculate Boston +ancestors. There was a savor of lineage amounting almost to godliness +in the dark, self-contained parlors; and if pedigree were not in this +dwelling imputed for righteousness, it was evidently held in becoming +reverence as the first of virtues. There are certain houses where the +atmosphere is so completely impregnated with the idea of the departed +as to give a certain effect as a spiritual morgue; and in the +drawing-room of Mrs. Frostwinch there was a good deal of this flavor of +defunct, but by no means departed, merit. Grim portraits stared coldly +from the walls, Copleys that would have looked upon a Stuart as +parvenu; the Frostwinch and Canton arms hung over the ends of the +mantel; while the very furniture seemed to condescend to visitors. Ashe +could not have told why the place affected him as overpowering, but he +none the less was conscious of the feeling. The company was apparently +nearly all assembled when he came in, and he sank down into a chair in +a corner, glad to escape observation. + +The speaker of the afternoon was already in her place when he entered, +and he examined her with curiosity. She was a woman who might have been +forty years of age, with a hard, eager, alert face; her forehead was +narrow, her lips thin and straight, her nostrils cut too high. Her eyes +were bold and sharp, dominating her face, and fixing upon the hearers +the look of a bird of prey. Mrs. Crapps's hair was tinged with gray, +and in her whole appearance there was a sharpness which seemed to speak +of one who had battled with the world. Ashe was struck by the +personality of the woman, yet strongly repelled. She was evidently a +creature of abundant vitality, and exultantly dominant of will. The +bold, black eyes sparkled with determination, and he could at once +understand that Mrs. Crapps was one to establish easily an influence +over any nature naturally weak or debilitated by disease. + +Ashe listened with curiosity to the opening of the address. The voice +of the speaker had much of the vivacity of her glance. She spoke with +an air of candor and frankness, and yet Philip found himself +distrusting her from the outset. He said to himself that it was because +he was prejudiced, that he doubted; but he yet felt that her manner +would in any case have begotten repulsion. She had that air of +insistence, of determination to be believed, which belongs to the +speaker who is absorbed rather in the desire to prevail than in the +wish to be true. He felt that her air of conviction was no proof of her +conception of the truth of what she was saying; she protested too much. +He was at first so absorbed in watching the woman that he paid little +heed to her theories; but he soon began to flush with indignation. This +woman, with her bold air and masculine dominance, sat there talking of +herself as a present incarnation of Christ; of Christ as the +incarnation of the human will; of disease as a sin; and of death as a +mere figment of the imagination. The paganism of the Persian as he had +heard it at Mrs. Gore's seemed to him less offensive than this. He +moved uneasily in his seat, his cheeks flushing, and his lips pressed +together. Presently he felt the glance of Mrs. Fenton, who sat near +him, and looking up he encountered her eyes. She seemed to him to show +sympathy with his feeling, but to remind him that this was not the time +or place for protest. He regained instantly his self-control, and +perhaps from that time on thought less of Mrs. Crapps than of his +neighbor. + +The talk of Mrs. Crapps was commonplace enough, and hackneyed enough, +could Ashe but have known it. There was the usual patter about +spiritual and physical freedom, about faith and perfection, "the Deific +principle as a rule of health," a jumble of things medical and things +physical, things profane and things holy mingled in a strange and +unintelligible jargon. By the time that the eager-eyed speaker had +talked for an hour Ashe felt his mind to be in confusion, and he could +not but feel that not a few of the hearers must be in a state of utter +mental bewilderment if the address had impressed at all. + +"The end of the whole matter is," Mrs. Crapps said in closing, "that +mankind has for ages submitted to this cruel superstition of death. We +have bowed ourselves beneath the wheels of this Juggernaut; we have +sent to the dark tomb our best loved friends; we crouch and cower in +awful fear of the time when we shall follow. We hear ever thrilling in +our ears the quivering minor chord of human woe, voice of the burning +heart-pain of the race, launched rudderless upon a troubled sea of woe, +and undrowned even by the throbbing march-beats of the progression of +man down the vista of the ages. And yet there is no death. This fear is +only the terror of children frightened by ghosts of their own +invention. What we dread has no existence save in the fevered and +fancy-fed fear of blinded men. O my hearers, why can we not seize upon +the hem of this truth which the Messiah came to teach! Death is but +sin; and sin has been removed by atonement; the holiness of the soul is +immortal. There is, there can be no death! Receive the glad tidings, +and cry it aloud! There is no death! Let all the earth hear, until +there is none so base, so low, so poor, so ignorant, so sinful that he +shall not be immortal. It is his birthright, for we are all born to +eternal life." + +The voice of Mrs. Crapps took on a more persuasive inflection as she +delivered this peroration; and it was easy to see that she had affected +the nerves if not the minds of her audience. There was a deep hush as +she concluded. She lifted for a moment her sharp black eyes toward +heaven, and then dropped her glance to earth, as if overcome by +feeling, or as if with awe she had caught sight of sacred mysteries +which it was not lawful to look upon. In a moment more she raised her +eyes, and invited any of her hearers to question her about anything +connected with the subject which troubled them. For a breathing time +there was silence, and then a lady asked with a puzzled air:-- + +"But do you Christian Scientists deny"-- + +"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Crapps interrupted, leaning forward with a +deprecatory smile, "but I am not a Christian Scientist." + +"I mean do you Faith Healers"-- + +"That is not our title," Mrs. Crapps said with gentle insistence. + +"Are you called Mind Curers, then?" + +"No," the priestess responded, with an air lofty yet condescending; +"with those forms of error we have no dealing or sympathy. It is true +that those who teach faith-healing, mind-cure, or any sort of religious +rejuvenance, have in part taken our high tenets; but they have in each +case obscured them by errors and follies of their own. We are the +Christian Faith Healed,--not healers, you will observe, because we +believe that all mankind are really healed, and that all that is needed +is that they recognize and acknowledge this precious truth." + +The ladies present looked at one another in some confusion, and Ashe +caught in the eyes of Mrs. Staggchase, who sat half facing him, a gleam +of amusement. This emboldened him to repeat the question which had been +abandoned by its first asker, who had evidently been overwhelmed by the +delicacy of the distinction of sects made by Mrs. Crapps. + +"Do you then," he asked, "deny the existence of death?" + +"Utterly," the seeress returned, bending upon him a bold look as if to +challenge him to differ from what she asserted. "It is as amazing as it +is melancholy that mankind should have submitted to the indignity of +death so long." + +"How can they submit to that which does not exist?" + +"It exists in seeming, but not in reality." + +A murmur ran through the company, and Philip met the eyes of Mrs. +Fenton, who shook her head slightly, as who would say that discussion +was futile. + +"But--but how"--one hearer began falteringly, and then stopped, +evidently too overwhelmed by the astounding nature of the proposition +laid down to be able even to frame a question. + +"Indeed," Mrs. Crapps said, taking up the word, "we may well ask how. +It transcends the incredible that the monstrous delusion of death +should ever have been entertained for an instant. The explanation lies +in sin. Death is but the projection of a sin-burdened conscience upon +the mists of the unknown. Thank God that it has been given to our +generation to tear away the veil from this falsehood, and to recognize +the absolute unreality of the phantom which the ignorance and +superstition of guilty humanity have conjured up." The smooth, +deliberate voice of Mrs. Staggchase broke the silence which this +declaration produced. + +"It is then your idea that death comes entirely from the belief of +mankind?" + +"What we call death undoubtedly has that origin," Mrs. Crapps answered. + +"How then could so extraordinary a delusion have had a beginning?" + +A faint shade crossed the face of the seeress, but it merged instantly +into a smile of patient superiority. + +"That is the question unbelief always asks," she said. "It seems so +difficult to answer, and yet it is really so simple. The idea of death +of course arose from a distorted projection of the condition of sleep +upon the diseased imagination. With sin came the bewilderment of human +reason, and the delusion followed as an inevitable morbid growth." + +"Then the earlier generations of mankind were immortal?" + +"Undoubtedly. We have traces of the fact in all the old mythologies." + +"But what became of them?" + +"Once the idea of death had entered the world," Mrs. Crapps said +impressively, "it spread like the plague until it had infected all +mankind. Even those who had lived for ages to prove it false were not +able to resist the prevalence of the thing they knew to be untrue,--any +more," she added, dropping her eyes, and speaking in a tone sad and +patient, "than we who to-day understand that there is no such thing as +death can resist the overwhelming power of the belief of the masses of +the race. The might of the will of the majority, directed by an +appalling delusion, compels us to submit to that which we yet know to +be an unreality." + +Again there was a hush. The woman was appealing to the most fundamental +facts of human experience and the most poignant emotions of human life, +and boldly denying or confounding both. It seemed to Ashe that the only +possible answer to such talk was an accusation either of madness or +blasphemy. The silence was once more broken by Mrs. Staggchase. + +"But if there is no such thing as death," she observed, with the +faintest touch of irony perceptible in her well-bred voice, "of course +you do not really die; and since you do not share the general delusion +in thinking yourselves to be dead, it would seem to follow that +although you may be dead for the world in general, you are still +immortal for yourselves and each other." + +The black eyes of Mrs. Crapps sparkled, but she controlled herself, and +shook her head with an air of gentle remonstrance. + +"It proves how strong is the hold upon mankind of this delusion," she +said, "that what I tell you appears incredible. The truth is always +incredible, because the blind eyes of humanity can see only half-truths +except by great effort. I have tried to enlighten you, and I can do no +more. It is for you and not for myself that I speak." + +She rose from her chair, which seemed to be the signal for the breaking +up of the assembly, and that her cleverness in securing the last word +was not without its effect was apparent by the murmurs of the company. +In another moment, however, Ashe heard as at Mrs. Gore's the exchange +of greetings and bits of news, the making of appointments for shopping +or theatre-going, and all the trivial chat of daily life. He stood +aside until the crowd should thin, and in the mean time had the +felicity of being near Mrs. Fenton. He began to feel himself almost +overcome by the delight of being so near her, of meeting her clear +glance, frank and sympathetic, of hearing her voice, of noting the +ripples of her hair, the curve of nostril and neck. He was like a boy +in the first budding of passion before reason has softened the +extravagance of his feeling. The talk of the afternoon, his indignation +at the words of Mrs. Crapps, his feeling that he had been assisting at +a sacrament of impiety, were all forgotten as he stood talking to his +neighbor. + +"Come," she said at length, "I must speak to Mrs. Frostwinch before I +go." + +He bent forward to remove a chair which was in her way, and her gloved +hand brushed against his. He covered the spot with his other hand as if +he would preserve the precious touch. + +"I found Mr. Ashe at the door," Mrs. Fenton said to the hostess, "and I +would not let him turn back. I was too much interested in his errand." + +"I am sorry if he needed urging to come in," Mrs. Frostwinch responded +with graceful courtesy; "but what was the errand?" + +"Mrs. Wilson asked me to see you in relation to the election," Ashe +answered. + +"Elsie is having a beautiful time managing this election," commented +Mrs. Frostwinch. "She hasn't been so amused for a long time. She thinks +Father Frontford is a puppet in her hands, while he knows that she is +one in his." + +"I hope," Mrs. Fenton put in, "that you may be able to help Mr. Ashe. I +can answer for it that he is not making the matter one of amusement." + +Ashe could not help flushing. He thanked her with a glance, and turned +again to Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"I do not know or like the electioneering of such affairs," he said +gravely; "but since there is a strong effort being made on the other +side it certainly seems necessary to do whatever can be done fairly." + +A few last visitors who had been chatting among themselves now came +forward to say good-by. Mrs. Fenton also took leave, and Ashe found +himself alone with his hostess and Mrs. Crapps. + +"Mrs. Crapps, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch said. + +It seemed to him that there was in the manner of Mrs. Frostwinch +something of condescension, as if the Faith Healed was a sort of upper +servant. He had himself not outlived the ingenuous period wherein a +youth feels that the preservation of truth in the world depends upon +his not covering his impressions, and he was accordingly extremely cold +in his manner. + +"Ah, a new disciple to our faith, I trust," Mrs. Crapps said, fixing +upon him her keen, bold eyes. + +"I have never even heard of your doctrine until to-day," he answered. + +"But surely it must strike you at once," she responded, with a manner +evidently meant to be insinuating. + +He hesitated. He remembered that he had been expressly warned not to +say anything against the vagaries with which Mrs. Frostwinch was +concerned; but his conscience would not allow him to evade this direct +challenge. + +"It struck me as being blasphemous," he responded with unnecessary +fervor. + +Mrs. Crapps raised her eyes to the ceiling, and uttered a theatrical +sigh. + +"Oh, sacred truth!" she exclaimed. + +"Come, Mrs. Crapps," Mrs. Frostwinch interposed almost sharply, "you +know that Mr. Ashe is right. It is blasphemous, and I feel as if I'd +allowed my house to be used for a sacrifice to false gods. If you will +excuse us, I wish to speak with Mr. Ashe on business. Will you kindly +come to the library, Mr. Ashe." + +As he followed, Philip caught sight in a mirror of the face of Mrs. +Crapps. It wore a singular smile, but whether of anger or contempt he +could not tell. + +"I dare say, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch remarked, as soon as they were +seated in the library, "that it seems strange to you that I have that +woman speak in my parlors. Of course I don't mean to apologize, but I +am sorry that you should hear things that shocked you." + +"Dear madam," he answered, leaning forward in his eagerness, "what I +heard does not matter; but it does seem to me a pity that such things +should be said, and said under your protection." + +He was too much in earnest to be self-conscious, even when she regarded +him in silence a moment before replying. + +"You are perhaps right," she said at length, "although you exaggerate +the influence of such things." + +"I do not pretend to know whether they are influential or not," he +returned simply. "It is only that they do not seem to me to be right. +If they are wrong, they are wrong." + +She smiled and sighed. + +"Life is not so simple as that," was her reply. "The woman has saved my +life. I should have been in my grave months ago but for her. My +physician insists now that I haven't any real right to be out of it. I +cannot refuse to allow her to say the thing that she believes, since +that thing has a certain proof in my very life." + +Philip shook his head. + +"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts +of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston +seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names +and aid"-- + +He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the +fact that he was condemning her. + +"There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented. "I suppose +that the difficulty is that we have ceased to recognize any authority +in matters of belief." + +"But the church!" + +"Yes, there is the church," she said doubtfully, "but to many it has +ceased to be an authority, and modern thought allows so much individual +freedom. Our church has never claimed to be infallible like the +Catholic; and individual freedom of conscience has come pretty +generally to mean freedom from conscience." + +"Then it is a pity that the authority which is exercised in the Roman +church is not exercised in ours." + +"Ah, Mr. Ashe, you reckon without the spirit of the age in which we +live. But tell me what I can do for you in the matter of the election." + +Mrs. Frostwinch was a devout churchwoman in her way, although she was +now in appearance following after strange gods. She readily promised +her aid in favor of Father Frontford. + +"I agree with you, Mr. Ashe," she said, "that everything possible +should be done to stem the tide of laxness which seems advancing +everywhere. The mental reservations of Mr. Strathmore are certainly so +broad that they may cover anything. I know women who go to his church +and simply say the beginning of the creed: 'I believe in God;' and who +do not hesitate in private to explain that by the name God they mean +whatever force it is that moves the universe, whether it is intelligent +or not." + +"How dreadful!" Philip exclaimed. "How can the church endure if this +goes on?" + +They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that +she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her +pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he +had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions. Yet +perhaps more potent still in warming his heart was the remembrance of +the pleasant words which Mrs. Fenton had spoken in his behalf. The +memory colored all his thoughts of elections, of bishops, and of +creeds, as a gleam of rosy light tinges all upon which it falls. + + + + VII + + + THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + Othello, iv. 1. + + +"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing +with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should +she send parlor-car checks too?" + +"It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, +smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it +is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church +now"-- + +"If I don't go as a representative of the church," he responded, as she +paused with a significant smile, "I go as nothing." + +"Oh, I thought that it was Elsie that was sending you. However, it's no +matter. The point is that you are becoming acquainted with the luxuries +of life. You are being tried by the insidious softness of the world." + +He regarded her with some inward irritation. He had a half-defined +conviction that she was mocking him, and that her words were more than +mere badinage. He was not without a suspicion that his cousin was +sometimes histrionic, and that many things which she said were to be +regarded as stage talk. He did not know how far to take her seriously, +and this gave him a feeling at once confused and uncomfortable. To be +played with as if he were not of discernment ripe enough to perceive +her raillery or as if he were not of consequence sufficient to be taken +seriously, offended his vanity; and the man whom the devil cannot +conquer through his vanity is invulnerable. Wynne had no answer now for +the words of Mrs. Staggchase. He contented himself with a glance not +entirely free from resentment, at which she laughed. + +"I wonder, Cousin Maurice," she said, "if you realize how completely +you have changed in the ten days you have been here. It is like +bringing into light a plant that has been sprouting in the dark." + +He did not answer for a moment, trying to find it possible to deny the +charge. + +"The fact that you know me better makes me seem different," he answered +evasively. + +"How much has the fact that you don't know yourself so well to do with +it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, anything you like. I merely suspect that you are not so sure of +your vocation as you were in the Clergy House. Even a deacon is human, +I suppose; and if life is alluring, he can't help feeling it. Are you +still sure that the clergy should be celibate, for instance?" + +He felt her eyes piercing him as if his secret thoughts were open to +her, and he knew that he was flushing to his very hair. He hastened to +answer, not only that he might not think, but that she might not +perceive that he had admitted any doubt to his heart. + +"More than ever," he responded. "It is impossible not to see that a +clergyman who is married must have his thoughts distracted from his +sacred calling." + +Mrs. Staggchase leaned back in her chair and regarded him with the +smile which he found always so puzzling and so disconcerting. + +"You did that very well," she said, "only you shouldn't have put in the +word 'sacred.' That made it all sound conventional. However, you +probably meant it. She is distracting." + +The hot blood leaped into his face so that he knew that it was utterly +impossible to conceal his confusion. + +"I don't know what you mean," he stammered. + +Instantly his conscience reproached him with not speaking the truth. He +responded to his conscience that it was impossible in circumstances +like these to say the whole, and that what he had said was not untrue. +He could not know what his cousin meant by her pronoun, and if the +thought of Miss Morison had come instantly into his mind, it by no +means followed that it was she of whom Mrs. Staggchase was thinking. +Life seemed suddenly more complex than he had ever dreamed it possible; +and before this remark the unsophisticated deacon became so completely +confused that for the instant it was his instinctive wish to be once +more safely within the sheltering walls of the Clergy House, protected +from the temptations and vexations of the world. He was after all of a +nature which did not yield readily, however, and the next thought was +one of defiance. He would not yield up his secret, and he defied the +world to drag it from him. His companion smiled upon him with the +baffling look which her husband called her Mona Lisa expression, and +then she laughed outright. + +"My dear boy," she said, "you are no more a priest than I am; and you +are as transparent as a piece of crystal. Well, I am fond of you, and +I'm glad to have a hand in proving to you that you are not meant for +the priesthood before it's too late." + +"But it hasn't been proved to me," he cried, not without some sternness. + +"Oh, bless you, it's in train, and that's the same thing. 'Not poppy, +nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the east' could put you to +sleep again in the dream you had in the Clergy House. It will take you +a little longer to find yourself out, but the thing is done +nevertheless." + +As she spoke, a servant came to the door to announce the carriage. Mrs. +Staggchase held out her hand. + +"Good-by," she said, as Maurice rose, and came forward to take it. "I +hope that we shall see you again in a couple of days. I have still a +good deal to show you." + +He had recovered his self-possession a little, and answered her with a +smile:-- + +"You make it so delightful for me here that I am not sure you are not +right in saying that you are my temptation." + +"Oh, I've already given up the office of tempter," she responded +quickly. "I found a rival, and that I never could endure. You'll have +your temptation with you." + +It seemed to Maurice when he came to take his seat in the parlor car +that his cousin was little short of a witch. In the chair next to his +own sat Berenice Morison. She greeted him with a friendly nod and smile. + +"Mrs. Wilson told me that you were going on this train," she said, "and +she got a chair for you next to mine so that you should take care of +me." + +He bowed rather confusedly, but with his heart full of delight. + +"I shall be glad to do anything I can for you," he answered, vexed that +he had not a better reply at command. + +He saw the dapper young man across the aisle regard him curiously, and +a feeling of dissatisfaction came over him as he reflected upon the +singularity of his garb, and the incongruity between the clerical dress +and the squiring of dames. Religious fervor is nourished by martyrdom, +but it is seldom proof against ridicule. It is not impossible that the +faint shade of amusement which Maurice fancied he detected in the eyes +of the stranger opposite was a more effective cause for discontent with +his calling than any of the influences to which he had been exposed +under the auspices of Mrs. Staggchase. + +He could not help feeling, moreover, that there was a gleam of fun in +the clear dark eyes of Miss Morison. She was so completely at ease, so +entirely mistress of the situation, that Wynne, little accustomed to +the society of women, and secretly a little disconcerted by the +surprise, felt himself at a disadvantage. It touched his vanity that he +should be smiled at by the trimly appointed dandy opposite, and that he +should be in experience and self-possession inferior to the girl beside +him. He began vaguely to wonder what he had been doing all his life; he +reflected that he had not in his old college days been so ill at ease, +and it annoyed him to think that two years in the Clergy House should +have put him so out of touch with the simplest matters of life. He said +to himself scornfully that he was a monk already; and the thought, +which would once have given him satisfaction, was now fraught with +nothing but vexation and self-contempt. He had a subtile inclination to +give himself up to the impulse of the moment. He felt the intoxication +of the presence of Miss Morison, and he yielded to it with frank +unscrupulousness. He resolved that he would repent afterward; yet +instantly demanded of himself if this were really a sin. He was after +all a man, if he had chosen the ecclesiastic calling. If indeed he were +transgressing he told himself half contemptuously that as he did +penance doubly, once that imposed by his own spiritual director and +again that set by the Catholic at the North End, he might be held to +expiate amply the pleasure of this hour. He at least was determined to +forget for the once that he was a priest, and to remember only that he +was a man, and that he loved this beautiful creature beside him. He +noted the curve of her clear cheek and shell-like ear; the sweep of her +eyelashes and the liquid deeps of her dark eyes. He let his glance +follow the line of her neck below the rounded chin, and became suddenly +conscious that he was fascinated by the soft swell of her bosom. The +blood came into his cheeks, and he looked hastily out of the window. + +The train was already clear of the city, and was speeding through the +suburbs, rattling gayly and noisily past the ostentatious stations and +the scattered houses. Maurice felt that his companion was secretly +observing him, although she was apparently looking at the landscape +which slid precipitately past. He wished to say something, and desired +that it should not be clerical in tone. He would fain have spoken, not +as a deacon, but as a man of the world. + +"Are you going to New York?" he asked. + +"I shall not have the pleasure of your company so far," she returned +with a smile. + +"No," he responded naively. "I am going only to Springfield." + +"Ah," she said, smiling again; and too late he realized that she had +meant that she was not going through. + +He was the more vexed with himself because he was sure that his +confusion was so plain that she could not but see it, and that it was +with a kind intention of relieving his embarrassment that she spoke +again. + +"I am going to visit my grandmother in Brookfield." + +He replied by some sort of an unintelligible murmur, and was doubly +angry with himself for being so shy and awkward. He glanced furtively +at the trim young man opposite, and was relieved to find that that +individual was reading and giving no heed. He wondered why he should be +so completely thrown out of his usual self-possession by this girl, so +that when he talked to her, and was most anxious to appear at his best, +he was most surely at his worst. There came whimsically into his head a +thought of the wisdom of training the clergy to the social gifts and +graces, and he remembered the flippant speech of Mrs. Wilson about the +need of their being able to pay compliments. + +"I seem to be specially stupid when I try to talk to you," he said with +boyish frankness. + +Miss Morison looked at him curiously. + +"Am I to take that as a compliment or the reverse?" she asked. + +"It must be a compliment, I suppose, for it shows how much power you +have over me." + +He was reassured by her smile, and felt that this was not so badly said. + +"The power to make you stupid, I think you intimated." + +"Oh, no," he responded, with more eagerness than the occasion called +for; "I didn't mean that." + +She smiled again, a smile which seemed to him nothing less than +adorable, and yet which teased him a little, although he could not tell +why. She took up the novel which lay in her lap. + +"Have you read this?" she inquired. + +He shook his head. + +"You forget," he answered, "that I am a deacon. At the Clergy House we +do not read novels." + +"How little you must know of life," returned she. + +There was a silence of some moments. The train rushed on, past fields +desolate under patches of snow, and stark, leafless trees; over rivers +dotted with cakes of grimy ice; between banks of frost-gnawed rock. The +landscape in the dim January afternoon was gray and gloomy; and as day +declined everything became more lorn and forbidding. Maurice turned +away from the window, and sighed. + +"How disconsolate the country looks!" said he. "I am country bred, and +I don't know that I ever thought of the sadness of it; but now if I see +the country in winter it makes me sigh for the people who have to live +there all the year round." + +"But they don't notice it any more than you did when you lived in it." + +"Perhaps not; but it seems to me as if they must. At any rate they must +feel the effects of it, whether they are conscious of it or not." + +Miss Morison looked out at the dull, sodden fields and stark trees. + +"I am afraid that you were never a true lover of the country," said she +thoughtfully. "You should know my grandmother. She is almost ninety, +but she is as young as a girl in her teens. She has lived in the finest +cities in the world,--London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and of course our +American cities. Now she is happiest in the country, and can hardly be +persuaded to stay in town. She says that she loves the sound of the +wind and the rain better than the noise of the street-cars." + +"That I can understand," he answered; "but I am interested in men. I +don't like to be away from them. There is something intoxicating in the +presence of masses of human beings, in the mere sense that so many +people are alive about you." + +She looked at him with more interest than he had ever seen in her eyes. + +"But I don't understand," she began hesitatingly, "why"-- + +"Why what?" he asked as she paused. + +"I don't know that I ought to say it, but having begun I may as well +finish. I was going to say that I could not understand how one so +interested in men and so sensitive to humanity could be content to +choose a profession which cuts him off from so much of active life." + +"It was from interest in men, I suppose, that I chose it. I wanted to +reach them, to do something for them. Although," Maurice concluded, +flushing, "I don't think that I realized at that time the feeling of +being carried away by the mere presence of crowds of living beings." + +There was another interval of silence, during which they both looked +out at the cold landscape, blotted and marred by patches of snow tawny +from a recent thaw. + +"I doubt if you have got the whole of it," Miss Morison said +thoughtfully, turning toward him. "Dear old grandmother is as deeply +interested in the human as anybody can be. She always makes me feel +that my life in the midst of folk is very thin and poor as compared to +hers. She has known almost everybody worth knowing. Grandfather was +minister to England and Russia, and she of course was with him. Yet +she's content and happy off here in Brookfield." + +"Perhaps," Wynne returned hesitatingly, "there's something the matter +with the age. I don't suppose that at her time of life she has anything +of this generation's restless"-- + +He broke off abruptly. + +"Well?" his companion said curiously. + +He smiled and sighed. + +"I don't know why I am talking to you so frankly," replied he. "As a +matter of fact I find that I'm more frank with you than I am with +myself. I've always refused to own to myself that there was anything +restless in my feeling toward life; yet here I am saying it to you." + +"One often thinks things out in that way. Hasn't that been your +experience?" + +"Yes," he responded thoughtfully; "although I don't know that I ever +realized it before. I see now that I've often reasoned out things that +bothered me simply by trying to tell them to my friend, Mr. Ashe." + +"Is he your bosom friend and confidant? It is usually supposed to be a +woman in such a case." + +"Oh, no," was his somewhat too eager rejoinder; "I never talked like +this to a woman. I never wanted to before." + +A look which passed over her face seemed to tell him that the talk was +taking a tone more confidential than she liked. He was keyed up to a +pitch of excitement and of sensitiveness; and a thrill of +disappointment pierced him. He became at once silent; and then he +fancied that she glanced at him as if in question why his mood had +changed so suddenly. The train rolled into the station at Worcester, +and he went out to walk a moment on the platform, and to try to collect +his thoughts. He had forgotten now to question his right to be enjoying +the companionship of Miss Morison; he gloated over her friendly looks +and words, thinking of how he might have said this and that, and thus +have appeared to better advantage, and resolving to be more +self-controlled for the remainder of the ride. The open air was +refreshing; and a great sense of joyousness filled him to overflowing. +When again he took his seat in the car he could have laughed from +simple pleasure. + +The chat of the latter part of the journey was more easy and +unconstrained than at the beginning. It was not clear to Wynne what the +change was, but he was aware that he was somehow talking less +self-consciously than before. They spoke of one thing and another, and +it teased the young man somewhat that when now and then his companion +mentioned a book he had seldom seen it. The things which he had read of +late years he knew without asking that she would not have seen. Even +the names of current writers of fiction were hardly known to him, and +an allusion to what they had written was beyond him. In spite of a word +which now and again brought out the difference between his world and +hers, however, Maurice thoroughly enjoyed the talk. Now and then he +would reflect in a sort of sub-consciousness that the delight of this +hour was to be dearly paid for with penance and repentance, but this +provoked in him rather the determination at least to enjoy it to the +full while it lasted, than any inclination to deny himself the present +gratification. + +It has been remarked that the ecclesiastical temper is histrionic; and +Wynne was not without a share of this spirit. He would have gone to the +stake for a conviction, and made a beautifully effective death-scene +for the edification of men and angels, not for a moment aware that +there was anything artificial in what he was doing. Now he was not +without a consciousness that he was playing the role of a lover and a +prodigal, sincere in his love and devotion; yet none the less subtly +aware how much more interesting is repentance when there is genuine +human passion to repent, is renunciation when there is real love to +sacrifice; of how much more effective is saintliness set off against a +background of transgression. It was a real if somewhat childish joy to +be able to sin actually yet without going beyond hope; of being +dramatically false to his vows without crossing the line of possible +pardon. + +"We shall be in Brookfield in ten minutes," Miss Morison said, +beginning to look about for her belongings. "We pass the New York +express just here." + +Hardly had she spoken when suddenly and without warning there was an +outburst of shrieks from the whistle of the engine, answered and +blended with that of another. Before Maurice could realize what the +outburst meant, there followed a horrible shock which seemed to +dislocate every joint in his body. Berenice was thrown violently into +his arms, flung as a dead weight, and shrieking as she fell against his +breast. Instinctively he clasped her, and in the terror of the moment +it was for a brief instant no more to him that his embrace enfolded her +than if she had been the veriest stranger. A hideous din of yells, of +crashing wood and rending iron, of shivering glass, of escaping steam, +of indescribable sounds which had no resemblance to anything which he +had ever heard or dreamed of, and which seemed to beat upon his ears +and his brain like blows of bludgeons wielded by the hands of infuriate +giants. The end of the car before him was beaten in; splinters of wood +and fragments of glass flew about him like hail; it was like being +without warning exposed to the fiercest fire of batteries of an +implacable enemy. A woman was dashed at his very feet torn and +bleeding, her face mangled so that he grew sick and faint at the sight; +pinned against the seat opposite, transfixed by a long splinter as with +a javelin, was the dapper young man, horribly writhing and mowing, and +then stark dead in an instant, staring with wide open eyes and +distorted face like a ghastly mask. Moans and shrieks, grindings and +roarings, howlings and babbling cries that were human yet were +piercingly inarticulate filled the air with an inhuman din which drove +him to a frenzy. It seemed as if the world had been torn into fragments. + +Yet all this was within the space of a second. Indeed, although all +these things happened and he saw and heard them clearly, there was no +pause between the first alarming whistle and the overturning of the car +which now came. He was lifted up; he saw the whole car sway with a +dizzying, sickening motion, and then plunge violently over. Fortunately +it so turned that he and Miss Morison were on the upper side. He fell +across the aisle, striking the chair opposite, but somehow +instinctively managing to protect Berenice from the force of the +concussion. She no longer cried out, but she clung convulsively about +his neck, and as they swayed for the fall he saw in her eyes a look of +wild and desperate appeal. He forgot then everything but her. The +desire to protect and save her, the feeling that he belonged absolutely +to her and that even to the death he would serve her, swallowed up +every other feeling. As they went over a vise-like grip caught his arm, +and amid all the infernal confusion he somehow connected that +despairing clutch with a succession of shrill and piercing shrieks +which rang in his ear, seeming to be close to him. He remembered that +in the chair behind his had been a young girl, and he felt a pity for +her that choked him like a hand at his throat. Then as they went down +he instinctively but vainly tried to shake off the hold, which was as +that of a trap. It was like being in the actual grip of death. + +All sorts of loose articles fell with them from the upturned side of +the car to the other; they were part of a cataract of falling bodies, +involved as in a crushing avalanche. Wynne found himself in this +falling shower crumpled up between two chairs, one of his feet +evidently thrust through a broken window and the other still held by +that convulsive clasp. Miss Morison was half above him, partly +supported by a chair which still held by its fastenings to the floor. +He could not see her face, and his body was so twisted that he could +not move his head with freedom. Berenice was evidently insensible, but +whether stunned from the shock or more seriously hurt he could not +tell. He struggled fiercely to free himself, straining her to his +breast. There were still movements in the car after it had overturned. +It rocked and settled; for some time small articles continued to fall. +He drew the face of the unconscious girl more closely into his bosom to +protect it. As he did so he was aware that his arm was hurt. A burning, +biting pain singled itself out from all the aches of blows and +contusions. He seemed to remember that a long time ago, some hours +nearer the beginning of this catastrophe which had lasted but a moment, +he had felt something rip and tear the flesh; but he had been so +absorbed in the attempt to shield Berenice that he had not heeded. Now +the anguish was so great that it seemed impossible to endure it. He set +his teeth together, determined not to cry out lest she should hear him +and think that he lacked courage. Then it seemed to him that he was +swooning. He struggled against the feeling; and for what seemed to him +an interminable time he wavered between consciousness and +insensibility. It was either growing darker or he was losing the power +to see. He could not distinguish clearly any longer that human hand, +smeared with blood, sticking ludicrously in the air from amid a pile of +bags, coats, and all sorts of things thrown together just where the +position of his head constrained him to look. He had been seeing that +hand for a long time, it seemed to him, and only now that the darkness +had so increased as to cut it off from his sight did he realize what it +was and what it must mean. + +He still retained a consciousness of the face of Berenice, warm against +his bosom, and with each wave of faintness he struggled to keep his +senses that he might protect her. The din of noises seemed far away, +the cries somewhere at a distance ever increasing. The moans that had +seemed to him those of the girl who clutched his arm grew fainter, +until they were lost in the buzz and whirr of a hundred other sounds. +Then the clasp which held him relaxed as suddenly as if a rope had been +cut away. It came into his mind with a wave of horror that the girl who +had held him was dead. The thought that Berenice might be dead also +followed like a flash, and aroused his benumbed senses. He spoke to +her; he tried to move; to release her from her position. He seemed +buried under a mound of debris, and she gave no sign of life. He +exhausted himself in frantic attempts to escape; to get his arms free; +to turn his head far enough to see her face; to thrust back the rubbish +which had fallen against them. The anguish to his arm was so great that +he could not continue; he could do nothing but suffer whatever fate had +in store for him. He tried to pray; but his prayers were broken and +confused ejaculations. + +All at once he distinguished amid the chaos of noises roaring and +singing in his ears something which made his heart stand still; which +pierced to his dulled consciousness like a stab. It was the cry of +"Fire!" He had once seen a servant with her hair in flames, and +instantly arose before him the picture of her shriveling locks and the +terror of her face. He seemed to see the dear head on his bosom--The +thought was more than he could bear, and for the first time he cried +out, shouting for help in a transport of frenzied fear. He was so +absorbed in his thought of Berenice that he had forgotten himself; but +the realization of his own peril revived as a waft of smoke came over +him, choking and bewildering. He was then to die here, stifled or +wrapped in the torture of flame. Then the wild and desperate thought +sprang up that at least if he must die he should die with her on his +bosom, clasped in his arms. He might give himself up to the delirium of +that joy, since there was no more of earth to contaminate it. But the +horror of it! The anguish for her as well as for him! Not by fire! His +thoughts whirled in his brain like sparks caught in a hurricane. He +scarcely knew where he was or what had happened to him. Only he was +acutely aware of the acrid smoke, of how it increased, constantly more +dense and stifling. + +However the mind may for a moment be turned aside from its usual way by +circumstances, habit is quick to reassert itself. The habitual +constrains men even in the midst of events the most startling. The mind +of Wynne had been too long bred in priestly forms not to turn to the +religious view here in the face of death. His conscience cried out that +he might be responsible for the peril and disaster which had come upon +them. With the unconscious egotism of the devotee, he felt that heaven +had been avenging the impiousness of his sin. He had dared to trifle +with his sacred calling, to look back to the loves of the world and of +the flesh, and swift destruction had overtaken him. And Berenice had +been crushed by the divine vengeance which had so deservedly fallen on +him. He groaned in anguish, seeming to see how she had perished through +the blight of his passion. Not by fire, O God! Not by fire! How long +would it be possible to breathe in this stifling reek, heavy with +unspeakable odors? It was his crime that had brought her to this death. +He, a man set apart and consecrated to the work of God, had turned from +heaven to earth, and heaven had smitten with one blow him and the woman +who had been unwittingly his temptation. And she so innocent, so pure, +so sacred! Through his distraught mind rushed a pang of hatred against +the power that could do this. He was willing to suffer for his sin, but +where was the justice of involving her in his ruin? It was because this +was what would hurt him most! It was the work of a devil! Then this +thought seemed to him a new transgression which might lessen the +chances of his being able to save her, and he tried to forget it in +prayer, to atone by penitence. He offered his own life amid whatever +tortures would propitiate the offended deity, but he prayed that she +might be spared. + +All this time--and whether the time were long or short he could not +tell--he had heard continued cries and groans. He had now and then been +dully aware of a change in the noises. Now it would seem as if all else +was swallowed up in the sound of tremendous blows, as if the car were +being struck again and again by a mighty battering-ram. Then a chorus +of shouting went roaring up, as if an army cried. Noise and physical +sensation were too intimately blended to be separated; his brain +struggled in confusion, emerging now and then for a moment of +consecutive thought and sinking back into semi-unconsciousness as a +spent swimmer goes down, fighting wildly for life. He knew that a light +had come into the car. He saw it amid the smoke, and his first thought +was that it was flame. Dulled and half asphyxiated, he said to himself +now almost with indifference that the end had come. Then with a thrill +which for a moment aroused all his energies he recognized that it was +the glow of a lantern. He was aware that rescuers were close above him, +climbing down through the windows over his very head. He cried to them +in a paroxysm of appeal:-- + +"Save her! Save her!" + +Whether he was heeded amid the babble of cries and all the noises which +seemed to swell to drown his voice, he could not tell, but in another +instant he felt that friendly hands had seized Miss Morison, and were +endeavoring to lift her insensible form. He strove to loosen his hold, +but the effort gave him agony so intolerable that he could do nothing. +A thousand points seemed to rend and tear him as he tried to move, and +when a voice somewhere above him shouted: "We'll have to try to lift +them together!" he experienced a strange sort of double consciousness +as if he stood outside of himself and heard others talking of him. He +felt himself grasped under the arms, and the pain of being moved was +too horrible to be endured. He shrieked in mortal agony, and then in a +whirl of dizzying circles seemed to go down in a tide of blackness +sparkling with millions of sharp scintillations. + + + + VIII + + + LIKE COVERED FIRE + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 1. + + +Philip Ashe found himself less and less able either to understand or to +sympathize with the politics of Mrs. Wilson. He believed in the +righteousness of her cause, and was keenly alive to the peril of the +appointment of Mr. Strathmore to the vacant bishopric. It is an +inevitable and necessary condition of enthusiasm that it shall be +narrow; and religious fervor would be impossible to a mind open to +conviction. To accept the possibility of any opposed truth is to be +secretly doubtful of the creed which one holds; and tolerance is of +necessity the child of indifference. Had Ashe been able to perceive +that the church would go on much the same no matter which of the rival +candidates was chosen, it would have been impossible for him to be so +deeply concerned for the success of Father Frontford. As it was he was +as much in earnest as Mrs. Wilson, and thus he felt forced to acquiesce +in the strangeness of her methods of work. He said to himself that he +supposed this electioneering to be a necessity, no matter how +unpleasant; and he added the reflection that in any case it was not in +his power to prevent it. + +Other feelings were, moreover, completely absorbing his mind. Although +he was not yet conscious that anything had come between him and the +church, priesthood in which had been his highest earthly ideal, the +truth was that his passion for Mrs. Fenton waxed steadily. Chance threw +them together. Mrs. Fenton had been appointed to a committee on +charities, and it happened that Ashe was a visitor in the North End in +a region which the committee were making an especial field of labor. He +was called into consultation with her, and sometimes they even went +together to visit some of the poverty-stricken families which evidently +existed chiefly to be subjects for philanthropic manipulation. Day by +day Ashe felt her speak to him more easily and familiarly; and although +their talk was strictly impersonal and unemotional, none the less did +it feed his growing love. + +The nature which does not sometimes try to deceive itself is an +abnormal one; and Ashe was not behind his fellows in devising excuses +for the joy which he found in Mrs. Fenton's presence. He dwelt in his +musings upon her devotion to the church, her good works, her visitings +of the poor and sick. He assured himself with a vehemence too feverish +not to be fallacious that he was instigated only by entirely +disinterested feelings; by the desire to assist in deeds of Christian +helpfulness, and by pleasure in the society of one whose devotion to +godliness was so marked. He argued with himself as eagerly as if he +were struggling to convince another, protesting to his own secret heart +as earnestly as he would have protested to a friend. + +A man seldom really deceives himself, however, save in thinking that he +can deceive himself. There were moments in which his inner self rose up +and laughed him to scorn; moments in which his sin glowed before him in +colors blood-red. He saw himself apostate, false to his vows, drawn +away by his earthly lusts and beguiled. There were nights when he cast +himself upon the ground in an agony of self-abasement, beating his +breast and praying in a passion of remorse; times when by the cruelty +of his self-accusings he involuntarily sought to do penance for the +sweet sin which festered in his bosom. + +Worse than all was the color which was imparted to his passion by the +self-imposed prohibitions which he was violating. The insistence upon +the earthly side of love which is an inevitable accompaniment to the +idea that woman is a temptation, cannot but degrade the relation of the +sexes in the mind of the professed celibate. To keep before the +thoughts the theory that passion is a snare and a pollution is to +render it impossible to love with purity and self-abandonment. Poor +Philip, endowed at birth with a nature of instinctive delicacy, could +not free himself from the taint of his training; yet he shrank as from +hot iron from the blasphemy of connecting any shadow of earthliness +with the woman who had become his ideal. His only resource was to take +refuge in repeating to himself that he did not love Mrs. Fenton; but +even in denying it he felt that he was defending himself from a charge +which was a degradation to her as well as to himself. He fell into that +morbid state of mind where whatever he tried as a remedy made his +disease but the worse; where the idea of love was the more horrible to +him the more it possessed and pervaded his whole being. + +Mrs. Herman was not unobservant of his condition, although she was far +from understanding his state of mind. She felt that there was little +use in forcing his confidence, but she gave him now and then an +opportunity to confide in her, feeling sure that he would be the better +for freeing his heart in speech. + +She was sitting one afternoon alone in the library when Ashe came home +from a missionary expedition. The day was gray and gloomy, and the +early twilight was shutting down already, so that the fire began to +shine with a redder hue. Mrs. Herman was taking her tea alone, and as +it chanced, she was thinking of her cousin. + +"You are just in time for tea," she greeted him. "It is hot still." + +"But I seldom take tea," he answered, seating himself by the fire with +an air of weariness which did not escape her. + +"That is so much more reason that you should take it now. It will have +more effect. I can see that you are tired out. One lump or two?" + +He yielded with a wan smile, and, resuming his seat, sat sipping his +tea in silence for some moments. At length he sighed so heavily that +she asked with a smile:-- + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Is what so bad?" he returned, looking at her in surprise. + +"You sighed as if all life had fallen in ruins about your feet, and I +couldn't help wondering if there were really no joy left to you." + +He smiled rather soberly, and did not at once reply. The fire burned +cheerily on the hearth, noiseless for the most part, but now and then +purring like a cat full of happy content; the shadows showed themselves +more and more boldly in the corners, daring the firelight to chase them +to discover their secrets. The colors of the room were softened into a +dull richness; the dim gilding on the old books which had belonged to +Helen's father, dead since her infancy, caught now and then a gleam +from a tongue of flame which sprang up to peer into the gathering dusk; +the copper tea equipage reflected a red glow, and gave to the picture a +certain suggestion of comfort and cheer. + +"I was thinking how comfortable it is here," Philip said at length. + +"And that made you sigh?" + +"Yes; I'm ashamed to say that it came over me how far away from me all +this is." + +"If it is," she returned slowly, "it is simply because you choose that +it shall be." + +He turned his face toward her as if about to protest; then looked again +into the fire. The conversation seemed ended, until Mrs. Herman spoke +again as if nothing had been said. + +"You have been slumming this afternoon?" + +"I do not like the name, but I suppose I have." + +"It isn't a cheerful day to go poking about alone among the tenement +houses." + +"I was not alone," Ashe answered with a hesitation which she could not +help noting and with a significant softening of voice. "Mrs. Fenton was +with me." + +"Ah!" + +The exclamation was involuntary. In an instant there had flashed upon +Helen's mind a suspicion of the true state of things. The despondency +of her cousin, the reflection upon the comfort of domesticity, +connected themselves in her thought with trifling incidents which had +before come under her observation; and his manner of speaking brought +instantly to her mind the conviction that Ashe was thinking of Mrs. +Fenton with more than the friendliness of acquaintanceship. When Philip +looked up with a question in his eyes, however, she was already on her +guard. + +"The weather is so doleful," she hastened to add, "that I should think +that even philanthropy might lose its power of amusing." + +"Cousin Helen," returned he, with some hesitation, "I do not like to +hear you speak in that way of what is part of my life work." + +She smiled; then sighed and shook her head. + +"My dear Philip," replied she, "I had certainly no intention of +wounding you; and if you'll let me say so, I think you are going out of +your way to find cause of offense. Philanthropy isn't a thing so sacred +that it is not to be spoken of with a smile." + +"No; but"-- + +"But what?" + +He did not answer at once. He put down his empty cup absently, and then +sat staring into the fire as if he were trying there to read the +solution of the riddle of existence. + +"Come," Helen observed, after waiting for a little, "you have something +on your mind. What is it? It will do you good to tell it, even if I'm +not clever enough to help you." + +"I am sure that you could help me," he began eagerly; and then in a +changed voice he added, "if anybody could." + +She left her place behind the tea-table and came nearer to him, sitting +directly before the fire. The light fell on her convincing face and on +her wavy hair. She folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him. + +"Well?" she said. + +"I do not know how to say it," Philip responded slowly. "I am afraid +that you have not much sympathy with my views of life." + +"I probably have more than you realize. It's true that I do not believe +as you do, but we are both Puritans at heart, so that in the end our +theories come to much the same thing." + +He looked up with evident inability to follow her meaning. + +"I don't understand," he said. + +"Very likely I couldn't make myself clear if I tried to explain. +Suppose we give up abstractions and come to the concrete. What is the +especial thing in which you think that my theories are different from +yours?" + +"I do not think," he answered, hesitating more than ever, "that you +have much sympathy with asceticism." + +"None whatever," she declared uncompromisingly. "Nobody could have more +honor for a sacrifice to principle than I have; but I believe that a +sacrifice to an idea is apt to be the outcome of nothing but vanity or +policy." + +"But what is the difference?" + +"Why, an idea is a thing that we believe with the head; don't you know +the way in which we think things out while we secretly feel altogether +different?" + +"I do not think I follow you; but surely self-denial is a sacrifice to +principle." + +"Not necessarily. I'm afraid I may seem to you profane, Philip, but I +must say that it seems to me that asceticism is one of the worst +plague-spots which ever afflicted humanity. The root of it is the pagan +idea of propitiating a cruel deity by self-torture." + +"How can you say so!" he cried. "It is the pure devotion of a man to +the good of his higher nature and to the good of the race." + +"As far as the race goes, vicarious suffering can't be anything, so far +as I see, except an effort to placate an unforgiving deity. As for the +devotion of a man to his higher nature, you will never convince me that +to go against nature and to indulge in morbidness is improving to +anything. But here we are, swamped in a bog of great moral propositions +again. We can't agree about these things, and the thing which we really +want to say will be lost sight of entirely." + +He turned his face away from her again, either troubled by what she had +been saying or unable to find words and confidence to go on with the +confession of his trouble. + +"Is it," Helen inquired, "that you have found that you have yourself a +doubt of the value of asceticism?" + +"No, not that," he answered, dropping his voice; "but--but I begin to +doubt myself." + +She leaned forward in her chair. Some power outside of her own will +seemed to constrain her. + +"Philip," she said, bending over and touching his hand, "has love made +you doubt?" + +The question evidently took him entirely by surprise. She wondered what +impulse had made her speak and how her question would affect him. He +flushed to his forehead, and cast at her a look so full of pathetic +appeal that she felt the tears come into her eyes. It was the look of a +hunted creature which sees no way of escape, yet which has not the fury +of resistance, which pleads its own weakness. She knew that Philip +could not equivocate and that the secret of his heart lay bare before +her. She shrank from what she had done, and a flood of pity and +sympathy filled her mind. + +He gave her no more than a single look, and then buried his face in his +hands. + +"I have betrayed my high calling," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter +suffering. "I have put my hand to the plough and looked back. I am too +weak to be worthy to"-- + +"Stop," she interposed brusquely, although she was deeply touched. "I +can't listen to that sort of talk. It isn't wholesome and it isn't +manly. If you have fallen short of your ideal, your experience is that +of the rest of the race. I suppose the secret of our making any +progress is the power of conceiving things higher than we can reach. It +keeps us trying." + +"But I devoted myself to"-- + +"My dear boy," she interrupted him again, "you are like the rest of us. +You told yourself that you would be above all the passions and emotions +of common humanity, and you are discouraged to find that you're human +after all. That's really the whole of it." + +"But to allow yourself to love"-- + +It was not necessary for her to interrupt him now. He stopped of his +own will, casting down his eyes and blushing like a school-boy. It +seemed to her that it might be better to try raillery. + +"To allow yourself, O wise cousin!" she cried. "Men do not allow or +disallow themselves to love. It's deeper business than that." + +"But I should have had strength not to yield." + +"Is there anything discreditable in loving?" she demanded. + +"There is for a priest." + +"If there were, you are not a priest." + +"In intention I am; and that is the same in the sight of Heaven." + +She could not repress a gesture of impatience. She felt at once an +inward annoyance and a secret admiration. The temper of his mind was +exasperatingly like her own in its tenacity of conviction. He would not +excuse himself by any shifts, no matter how convincing they might seem +to others. The matter must be met fairly and frankly, and she must +reach his deepest feelings if she would move him. She reflected how +best to deal with him, and with her thoughts mingled the question +whether Edith Fenton could return Philip's love. The young man was well +made and sufficiently good-looking, although paled by study and +austerities. He was of good birth and property, and from a worldly +point of view not entirely an unsuitable match for the widow, should +she think of a second husband. He was somewhat younger than Mrs. +Fenton; and Helen was not without the thought that this passion might +be on his part no more than the inevitable result of his coming in +contact with a beautiful woman after having been immured in the +monastic seclusion of the Clergy House; a passion which would pass with +a wider acquaintance with the world. The whole matter perplexed and +troubled her, and yet she earnestly longed to help her cousin. + +"Dear Philip," she said, "I can't tell you how I enter into your +feeling. I don't agree with you, but we are not so far apart in +temperament, if we are in doctrine. I'm afraid that you'll think that +I'm merely tempting you when I say that it seems to me that your +conscientiousness is entirely right, and that your conviction is all +wrong." + +"Of course I know that you do not hold the same faith that I do." + +"But one of your own faith might remind you that your own church +upholds the marriage of the clergy." + +"Yes," he assented with apparent unwillingness, "but my conscience does +not." + +"Do you mean that you find your conscience a better guide than the +church? That seems to put you on my ground, after all." + +"Oh, no, no! Certainly I do not put myself above the authority of the +church." + +"The eagerness with which you disclaim any common ground with me isn't +polite," she retorted, glad of a chance to speak more lightly and +smilingly; "but it's sincere, and that is better." + +"I wasn't trying to disclaim thinking as you do; but to insist that I +do not set myself above the church." + +"Then I repeat that the church sanctions the marriage of the clergy. If +you don't agree, I don't see why you do not really belong in the Roman +Catholic Church." + +There was a long pause, during which she watched her cousin narrowly. +He seemed to be thinking deeply, with eyes intent on the fire. She was +so little prepared for the direction which his thought took that she +was startled when he said at last with a sigh:-- + +"I do sometimes find myself envying the absolute authority with which +the Roman Catholic Church speaks." + +"Authority!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you mean that you wish to +give up your individuality?" + +"No; not that; but it must be of unspeakable comfort in times of mental +doubt to repose on unquestioned and unquestionable authority." + +Helen rose from her place by the fire and walked to the window. She +felt that she was on very delicate ground, and she would gladly have +escaped from the discussion could she have done so without the feeling +of having evaded. She stood a moment looking out into the darkening +street, dusky in the growing January twilight, bleak and dreary. Then +with a sudden movement she went to her husband's desk and took up a +picture of her boy, a beautiful, manly little fellow of three years, of +whom Philip was especially fond. Crossing to her cousin, she put the +picture in his hand, at the same time turning up the electric light +behind him. + +"See," she said, with feminine adroitness. "I don't think I've shown +you this picture of Greyson." + +He looked at it earnestly, and sighed. + +"It is beautiful," said he. "Greyson is a son to be proud of and to +love." + +"Well?" she asked significantly. + +"What do you mean?" returned he. "What has Greyson's picture to do with +what we were talking about?" + +She took the photograph from his hand, extinguished the light, and +walked back toward the desk. The room seemed darker than before now +that the firelight only was left. Suddenly she turned, with an outburst +almost passionate:-- + +"O Philip!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see? My son! Surely if there is +anything in this world that is holy, that is entirely pure and noble, +it is parentage. Do you suppose that all the churches in the world, +with authority or without it, could make Grant and me feel that there +is anything higher for us than to take our little son in our arms and +thank God for him!" + +He did not answer, and she controlled her emotion, smiling at her own +extravagance, while she wiped away a tear. She kissed the picture, and +put it in its place; then she returned to her chair by the fire. + +"I don't expect you to understand my feeling," she said. "You never can +until you have a son of your own. If a little cherub like Grey puts his +baby hands into your eyes and pulls your hair, you'll suddenly discover +that a good many of your old theories have evaporated." + +"But, Cousin Helen," he began hesitatingly, "certainly there is often +sin"-- + +She interrupted him indignantly. + +"There is no sin in faithful, loving, self-respecting marriage," she +insisted. "That is what I am talking about. It is the holiest thing on +earth. Anything may be degraded. I've even heard of a burlesque of the +sacrament. I don't see why I shouldn't speak frankly, Philip. You are +in a state of mind that is morbid and self-tormenting. If you love a +woman, tell her so honestly and clearly; and if she is a good woman and +can love you, go down on your knees, and thank God." + +He leaned his forehead on his hands, as if he were struggling with +himself. The firelight shone on his rich hair, auburn like her own. +Helen watched him anxiously, wondering if she had said too much, and +whether she were taking too great a responsibility in the advice she +gave. Certainly anything must be good that took him out of his +unhealthy mood. + +"Come," she said, rising, and turning on the electric light again. "It +is time for Grant to be at home, and for me to be dressing. We are to +dine at the Bodewin Rangers to-night." + +He put up his hand to arrest her, and said in a tone that wrung her +heart:-- + +"But, Cousin Helen, I cannot speak of love to a woman until I am ready +to give up for her my priestly calling." + +"Until you are willing to give up your unwholesome idea of celibacy and +asceticism, you mean." + +"It would be sacrificing a principle to a passion." + +Helen sighed. + +"I could reason with you," she returned, half-humorously, "but how +shall I get on with all the Puritan ancestors who prevail in you and +me! The thing that I say isn't that you are to give up your notions +about the celibacy of the priesthood in order to marry, but because +they are unwholesome and abnormal. The thing that most closely links +you to humanity is the thing that best fits you to be of use in the +world." + +He regarded her with a glance of painful intensity. + +"But suppose," he suggested, "that the woman I loved could not love me? +Then I should come back to the church, and lay on the altar only a +discarded and worthless sacrifice." + +"Come back to the church!" she echoed. "You don't leave it. If marriage +takes you out of the church, then the sooner such a church is left the +better! Do you realize what you are doing, Philip? Do you remember that +you insult the good name of your mother by the view you take of +marriage? I am sick of all this infamous condemnation of what to me is +holy! If the church cannot rise to a noble and pure conception of it, +the sooner the church is done away with, the better for mankind!" + +"But you wrong the church," he interrupted eagerly. "The church makes +marriage a sacrament; it recognizes its purity; it"-- + +"Then what are you doing," she burst in, "with your exceptions to the +theory of the church? It is you who degrade it--Pardon me, cousin," she +added in a calmer voice, coming to him and laying her fingers lightly +on his shoulder. "I am speaking out of my heart. I have the shame of +knowing that I once failed to realize how high and how noble a thing +marriage is. I am older than you, and I have suffered as I hope you may +never have to suffer; the end of it all is that I have learned that +there is nothing else on earth so blessed as the real love of husband +and wife. Of course," she concluded, as he would have interrupted, "I +talk as a woman, and I cannot decide what you are to do. Only I would +like you to believe that I would help you if I could, and that what I +say of marriage is the thing which seems to me the truest thing on +earth." + +Then without waiting for reply, she went away and left him to his +thoughts. + + + + IX + + + HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + Two Gentlemen of Verona, iv. 2. + + +"Who is Mr. Rangely?" Ashe inquired one morning at breakfast. + +Mrs. Herman looked at her husband as if she expected him to reply, +although the question had been addressed to her. + +"Fred Rangely," Grant Herman answered, "is a writer. He writes for the +magazines and is a newspaper man. He's written one or two novels, and +the first one was pretty successful. He's written plays too." + +Helen smiled. + +"Grant is too good-natured to tell you what you really want to know," +she commented. "Mr. Rangely was once in some sort a friend of his, in +the old days when there was still something like an artistic +brotherhood in Boston, and he can't bear to say things that are not to +his credit. Now I should have answered your question by saying that +Fred Rangely is a warning." + +"A what?" Ashe asked, while Herman sighed. + +"A warning. A dozen years ago he was one of the most promising men +about. He had made a good beginning, he was clever and popular, and +both as a novelist and as a playwright we hoped for great things from +him." + +"And now?" + +"Now he is a failure." + +Herman looked up almost reprovingly. + +"I don't think he would recognize that," he observed. + +"No, he wouldn't; and that's the worst of it. Ten years ago if anybody +had said of Fred Rangely: 'Here's a fellow that has started out to do +good work, but has found that there's more money in sensationalism; who +despises the popular taste and caters to it; who writes things he +doesn't believe for the newspapers and spends the money in running +after society,' he would have pronounced such a fellow a cad. Now he +would say: 'Well, a man must live, you know; and the public will only +pay for what it wants.' It's lamentable." + +"You put it rather worse than it is," her husband responded. "We are +all in the habit of judging men as if their degradation was deliberate, +which as a matter of fact I suppose it never is. Rangely hasn't coolly +accepted the choice between honesty and Philistinism. It's all come +gradually." + +"Like learning to pick pockets," she interpolated. + +"Besides," Herman continued, "we over-estimated in the beginning both +his character and his talent. He found he couldn't do what was expected +of him, and he was weak enough to do then what was most comfortable +instead of what seemed to him highest. It is what nine men out of ten +do." + +"Of course," Helen assented, "but after all it has come about by his +giving in on one thing after another. There was always a good deal that +is attractive about him, but he never showed much moral stamina. He +could never have married as he did if he had possessed fine instincts." + +"And his wife?" Ashe inquired. + +"Oh, he married a New York girl, who"-- + +"There, there," broke in Herman good-naturedly. "It is just as well not +to go into a characterization of Mrs. Rangely. I own that there isn't +much good to be said of her; so it is as well to let her pass." + +"Well, so be it," his wife assented, smiling. "I have only to say," she +added, turning to her cousin, "that when Grant declines to have a woman +discussed it is equivalent to a condemnation more severe"-- + +"Nonsense," protested Herman. "Don't believe her, Ashe. As for Mrs. +Rangely, it's enough to say that she is merely an imitation in most +things, and that she has called out the worst of her husband's nature +instead of the best. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid it's true." + +Mrs. Herman looked at him with a smile which seemed to tease him for +having been betrayed into saying a thing so much more severe than were +his usual judgments. Then with true feminine instinct she brought the +talk back to its most significant point. + +"Why did you ask about his wife?" she inquired of Philip. + +"I--I did not know," he returned, so evidently disconcerted that she +did not press the matter. + +Had Helen been a gossip she might have added that Rangely had acquired +the reputation of being always philandering with some woman or other. +Before his marriage he had been the slave of Mrs. Staggchase, and now, +after devotion to all sorts of society women, he had come to be counted +as one of the train of admirers who offered their devotion at the +shrine of Mrs. Wilson. Where a Frenchwoman prides herself on the +intensity of the devotion of some man not her husband, an American of +the same type glories in the number of slaves that her charms ensnare. +In either case the root of the matter is vanity rather than passion. +The American fashion is at once the more demoralizing and the less +dangerous. Mrs. Wilson in the early days of her married life had tried +to make her husband jealous by allowing the desperate attentions of a +single lover. She never repeated the experiment. The lover went abroad +to recover from the sting of having been made hopelessly ridiculous, +and Mrs. Wilson learned that in marrying she had found a master. +Fortunately she had married for love, and no woman loves a man less for +finding him able to control her. In these days Mrs. Wilson amused +himself by having a troop of admirers, and perhaps prided herself upon +being able to outdo the wiles of the other women of her set in securing +and holding her captives; but she discussed them with her husband with +the utmost frankness, mocking them to their faces if they made a step +across the line which she drew for them. They were kept in a state of +marked but respectful admiration. It was expected of them that they +should pretend to be consumed by a passion as violent as they might +please, but always a passion which was hopeless, which asked for no +reward but to be allowed to continue; which found in mere admission to +her presence joy enough at least to keep it alive. + +It may be that Rangely had more vanity than the rest of Mrs. Wilson's +followers, or it may be that he was more resolute. Certain it is that +he was more presuming than the rest, and that his devotion had not +failed to produce a good deal of talk. Little as Mrs. Herman was +accustomed to pay attention to social gossip, she had not failed to +hear tattle about Elsie Wilson; and while she probably did not much +heed it, she was at heart too conscientious not to feel shame and +irritation. That a woman in the position of Mrs. Wilson should allow +herself to give rise to vulgar gossip moved her to deep disapproval; +while she could not but feel contempt for the man who neglected his own +wife to wait upon the caprices of one whom Helen looked upon as a +heartless and vain creature. + +Behind the question which Ashe had asked about Rangely lay an incident +which had occurred the day previous. He was now called upon to see Mrs. +Wilson frequently in relation to matters connected with the election, +and with that instinct which was inborn she had carelessly exercised +upon him her arts of fascination. There is a certain sort of woman in +whom the mere presence of anything masculine awakens the rage for +conquest. It is as impossible for such women not to exert their +fascinations as it is for a magnet to cease to attract. It is the +destiny of woman to love, and dangerous is she who is inspired only +with the desire to be loved, the woman who instead of loving man loves +love. Elsie was saved from being such a monster by the fact that she +had a husband strong enough to subdue and control her nature; but +nothing could prevent her from trying her wiles on every man she met. + +Philip was too completely unsophisticated to understand, and too much +absorbed by his passion for another woman to respond to the cunning +attractions of Mrs. Wilson; yet it is not impossible that she so far +influenced him as to render him unconsciously jealous of another man. +He had surprised Rangely kissing the hand of that lady with an air of +devotion so warm that the blood of the young deacon rose in resentment +which he supposed to be entirely disapproval. He was in a state of mind +which made him especially sensitive to any suggestion of love; and the +sight of any man caressing the hand of a beautiful woman could not but +set his heart throbbing with disconcerting rapidity. In his world even +the touch of a woman's fingers was almost a forbidden thing, and to +kiss them an act not to be so much as imagined. Philip dared not think, +or to define to himself what significance he attached to this incident. +An unsophisticated man is often suspicious from the simple fact that he +is forced to distrust his judgment. He is unable to estimate the value +of appearances, and in the end often falls the victim of errors which +might seem to arise from malevolence or low-mindedness, when in reality +they are the inevitable fruit of ignorance. + +As Philip stood confronted with Mrs. Wilson after Rangely had left the +room it seemed to him that he read unspeakable things in her glance. +His clerical bias with its unholy blight of asceticism, his ignorance +of the world, made him a victim of a misapprehension which brought the +blood to his cheeks. His hostess looked at him curiously, and then +burst into a laugh. + +"Upon my word," she cried, "I believe you are shocked! You are really +too delicious!" + +He flushed hotter yet, and there came over him a helpless sense of +being alike unable to understand this brilliant creature or to cope +with her. + +"But--but," he stammered, "I--I"-- + +"Well?" she demanded, her eyes dancing. "You what? You saw Mr. Rangely +kiss my hand. You may kiss it too, if you like; though I doubt if you +can do it half so devotedly. He's had a lot of practice with a lot of +hands." + +Ashe stared at her with wide open eyes. + +"But has he a wife?" he asked gravely. + +"Meaning to remind me that I have a husband?" she gayly returned. "Yes; +we are both of us married. To think," she continued, spreading out her +hands and appealing to the universe at large, "that such simplicity +exists! Where have you been all your life? Did you never kiss a lady's +hand--or a lady's lips, for that matter?" + +"I think you forget, Mrs. Wilson," Ashe said with real dignity, "that I +am a priest." + +She regarded him with lifted brows for a moment. Then she moved to a +seat. + +"Come," said she; "sit down and talk to me. Where have you passed your +life? You cannot have been brought up in a monastery, for we don't have +them in our church." + +"It is a great pity," responded Philip, obeying her command, and +seating himself in a large arm-chair near her. + +"Do you really mean it?" was her reply. "Yes, I believe you do! You +were evidently born to be a monk. Oh, how _triste_ it must be to be +made without an appreciation of us!" + +He remained silent, his face more grave than ever. + +"Well," she went on, settling herself comfortably in the corner of her +sofa amid a pile of sumptuous cushions, "tell me something about your +life. It may be that you were designed by fate to introduce a new order +of monks." + +"There is not much to tell," he responded stiffly and almost +mechanically. "I was brought up in the country by a widowed mother. I +went through Harvard and the Divinity School, and since then I have +lived at the Clergy House." + +She regarded him closely. Her glance seemed half mocking, and yet to +search into the very secrets of his heart, as if she were asking him +questions which he would not have dared to ask himself. Her eyes +suggested impossible things; they demanded if he had not known of +forbidden cups which held wine deliriously enticing. He cast down his +glance, no longer able to endure hers, yet not knowing why he was thus +abashed. + +"But don't you know anything of life?" she questioned. "How could you +go through Harvard without seeing something of it? What were your +amusements?" + +"I rowed some, and I walked. The only thing that was a real pleasure +outside of my work was to be with Maurice Wynne. I do not remember that +I ever thought about needing to be amused. Of course I knew a few +fellows. I never knew a great many of the men." + +"And no women?" + +"None except the boarding-house keeper." + +She looked at him rather incredulously. Then she once more threw out +her hands in a gesture of amusement and amazement. + +"Good heavens!" declared she; "there are just two things which might be +done with you. You should be put in a glass case as a unique specimen +of otherwise extinct virtue; or you should be sent to Paris to learn to +be a real man. However, it's not my place to take charge of you, so +that may pass." + +There burned in the cheek of Ashe a spot of crimson which was perhaps +too deep not to betoken something of the nature of earthly indignation. + +"Mrs. Wilson," he said, "I came here to discuss church interests, and +not to be myself the subject of remarks which you certainly would not +think of making to other gentlemen who call on you." + +She clapped her hands. + +"Bravo!" she cried. "There's the making of a man in him. It's a +thousand pities you can't go to Paris and learn the fun of life." + +He rose indignantly. + +"If you wish only to talk lightly of evil things," said he, "I do not +see that it is necessary for me to take up more of your time." + +"Well," she responded, smilingly unmoved, "I'll confess that if there +is one thing for which I am especially grateful to Providence it is for +its having spared me the ennui of having to live in a virtuous world! +But sit down, and I'll talk as if that blessing had not been granted to +us. As for the salutation of Mr. Rangely which so shocked your +reverence, that was part of the campaign. He had just promised to write +an article for the 'Churchman' advocating Father Frontford from the +point of view of a layman; and of course until that is in print it is +necessary to be gracious to him. The trouble with you is that you've +seen so little of life that you exaggerate the most innocent things. +You really are rather insulting to me, if you think of it; but I pardon +it because you don't know what you were doing. I suppose you never +wanted to kiss a woman's hand or to write a sonnet to her eyebrow?" + +Ashe felt the blood rush into his face in so hot a tide that he +involuntarily turned away from his tormentor and walked toward the +door. The question would in any case have been disconcerting, but it +was made doubly so by the word which recalled the phrase from the +Persian hymn which was in his mind so closely associated with Mrs. +Fenton: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" +He had taken but a step, however, before Mrs. Wilson sprang from her +seat, clapping her hands again. She interposed between him and the +door, her face radiant with fun and mischief. + +"Oh, what a blush!" she cried. "Upon my word, there's a woman; there is +a woman even in that icebox you keep for a heart!" + +She burst into a peal of laughter, while he stood confounded and +speechless, trying to look unconscious, and vexatiously aware of how +completely he failed. Mrs. Wilson laid the tips of her slender fingers +on his arm, and peered up into his eyes. + +"I wouldn't have believed it, St. Anthony! Come, make me your mother +confessor, and I'll give you good advice. It's part of my mission to +take charge of the love affairs of the clergy. Only yesterday I spent +half the afternoon trying to find out how deeply Mr. Candish is smitten +with a pretty widow." + +Ashe started in amazement and alarm. The words of Mrs. Herman +connecting the name of Mrs. Fenton with that of Candish flashed into +his mind, and seemed to supply what Mrs. Wilson left unspoken. The +jealous pang which he felt at this confirmation of the interest of +Candish in the woman he loved was doubled by the resentment he felt +that this mocking torment before him should dare even to think of +Edith. Almost without knowing it he broke out excitedly into protest. + +"How dare you meddle with her affairs?" he cried. + +Mrs. Wilson stared at him an instant in amazement, evidently taken +completely aback. Then a light of cunning comprehension flashed into +her sparkling eyes. + +"Ah!" exclaimed she. "You too! Is Mrs. Fenton so irresistible to the +ecclesiastical heart?" + +He confronted her in silence. A wave of misery, of helplessness, of +weakness, swept over him. He had no right even to be Mrs. Fenton's +defender. He was, as Mrs. Wilson intimated, not a real man, but a +priest. The very tone of the whole conversation this morning showed how +far she was from regarding him as one having any part in her world. He +had only injured Mrs. Fenton by his ill-judged outburst, and given this +creature who so delighted in baiting him one more opportunity. Worse +than all else was the fact that he had given her a chance to jest about +the woman whom he loved. The tears rushed to his eyes in the intensity +of his feelings, and the beautiful face before him, with its teasing +brightness and dancing fun, swam in his vision. He hated its laughter, +and he expected fresh mockery for the emotion which he could not help +betraying. To his surprise, however, Mrs. Wilson again laid her hand on +his arm, and her face lost its gayety. + +"You poor boy," she said, with genuine feeling in her tone, "is it so +real as that? I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, if I had known. +What business had you to be meddling with vows and renunciation until +you knew what they meant?" + +She moved back to her seat as she spoke, motioning Ashe to resume his +place. He was too deeply moved to obey her. + +"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will see you to-morrow in regard +to those delegates. I--I am not quite myself." + +"But you shall not go without saying that you forgive me for my +teasing. Really, I am sorry and ashamed. I never intend to hurt you, +but I see that my teasing may be taken more seriously than it is meant." + +There was real gentleness and pity in her smile, and as she rose to +stand looking into his face with a winning smile of apology he forgot +all his bitterness. + +"The trouble is with me," he said. "I do not understand the world, and +I should keep out of it." + +"Oh, not at all," she retorted briskly. "You should learn how to live +in it." + +A spark of mischief kindled in her glance as she spoke, and she +extended to him the back of her hand. Her smile challenged him, and he +had been won and moved by the sympathy of her voice. The hand, too, was +so beautiful, so slender, so feminine; he had so keen a longing to be +comforted, to be soothed by womanly softness, and to assuage his +loneliness by woman's sympathy, that it seemed impossible to resist the +invitation of those delicate fingers. He took her hand, and raised it +half way to his lips. Then he dropped it abruptly, letting his own arm +swing lifelessly to his side. + +"No," he said bitterly. "I am a priest!" + + + + X + + + A SYMPATHY OF WOE + Titus Andronicus, iii. 1. + + +The first sensation which returning consciousness brought to Berenice +Morison, after the shock of the collision and the feeling that the +whole train had been hurled confusedly into space, was that of coming +into fresher air as if she were emerging from the depths of the sea. +Opening her eyes without comprehending where she was or what had +happened, she found herself on the side of an overturned car. Around +her were dreadful noises, yells, groans, cries, shouts; her nostrils +were filled with the reek of burning stuffs; the light of lanterns and +of torches blinded her eyes; a sense of horror oppressed her; appalling +calamity which she could not understand seemed to have overtaken her; +and she shuddered with terror unspeakable. Her first impulse was to +shriek and to attempt to flee from the fearful things which surrounded +her; but instantly the self-control of returning reason made itself +felt. + +Berenice found herself supported by a couple of men, and it became +clear to her in an instant that she had just been lifted from that pit +below where she could see the glint of flame and the blinding smother +of smoke, and from which came such heartrending cries that she +instinctively tried to cover her ears. In the movement she realized +that beside the hold which her rescuers had of her, she was grasped by +other arms; that she was in the embrace of a man apparently dead. In +the dim light her dazed sense did not recognize him, and she struggled +to release herself from the hold of this corpse. + +"Take him away from me!" she shrieked hysterically in mingled terror +and repulsion. + +"Gently, gently," said one of the men who held her. "He's got killed +tryin' to save yer." + +"If this cut in his arm was in your back," remarked the other, who was +unlocking the hands so strongly clasped behind her, "it'd 'a' been a +finisher." + +Her head reeled, and she nearly swooned again; but somehow she found +herself released, and passed down from the car into the arms of more +men. + +"For God's sake, hurry," one of them said. "It's getting too hot to +stand here." + +A blistering puff of smoke enwrapped her as she went down. She saw a +face blackened and ghastly advance in the flaring light of a lantern. +Hands that seemed to come out of a cloud and a great darkness helped +and sustained her, until she was out of the instant press beside the +burning car. When once she was free and stood upon her feet, she +regained something like self-possession. Her head swam, but she +realized the situation and felt that she was able to help herself. + +"I am not hurt," she said to those who would have assisted her. "Don't +mind me." + +As she spoke, the body of a man was passed out of the smoke close to +her, and she saw that it was Wynne. Instantly she remembered being +flung into his arms, although what followed she could not recall. She +looked at him now with a piercing conviction that he was dead. His +cassock hung about him in rags, his face was smeared with blood and +grime, his arm hung limp and bleeding. The words of the rescuer on the +car-roof came to her, and she saw in the disfigured form of the young +deacon the body of the man who had given his life for hers. Instantly +all her powers rallied to help and if possible to save him. + +"Bring him this way," she said, stepping forward eagerly, her weakness +forgotten. "I'll take care of him." + +She moved out of the smoke without any clear idea where she was going +or what she could do. The hurt man was brought after her, one of the +many that were being carried as dead weights among the confused and +agonized crowd. At a short distance from the track there were hastily +arranged car-cushions, coats, and loose coverings thrown down on a bank +half covered with snow. Here the bearers laid Wynne, hurrying back to +their work with a precipitancy which seemed to Berenice heartless. + +The scene which Berenice took in at a glance was so wild and terrible +that it stamped itself on her brain in a flash. Lanterns were burning +all about, dancing and flitting to and fro like fireflies in a mist. +The eye caught everywhere glimpses by their light of disordered groups, +dim and dreadful as a nightmare. Close about her were the victims +heaped as if from a battlefield, the wounded moaning in pain, the women +wailing over the dying or the dead, each with cruel egotism intent upon +her own, and seizing upon any helper with terrible eagerness of +despair. A hundred feet away, lighted by the flames which were +beginning to thrust quick tongues through the smoke and the darkness, +was a long heap of shapeless wreck, about which dark figures were +swarming like midges about a bonfire. She could distinguish in the +middle of the line the two locomotives silhouetted against the +darkness, standing half on end like two grotesque monsters rearing in +deadly conflict. Every moment the flames became fiercer, and the +hurrying lanterns moved more wildly. + +It was Wynne, however, that claimed her attention. One swift glance +took in the awful picture, and then she sank down on her knees beside +him as he lay, bleeding and insensible, perhaps dead. For a moment she +was ready to cast herself down on the snow in helplessness and in +terror at the horrors of the situation; but the grit of stout Puritan +ancestors was in her fibres, the moral endurance which finds in the +sense of a duty to be done an inspiration that lifts above all +difficulties. Her work was before her; to abandon it impossible. + +The flames of the burning car brightened with appalling rapidity. +Shrieks arose so piercing that they wrung her heart as if with a +physical agony. It was the car from which she and Wynne had been taken +which was now that hell of fire. Its glare lit up the pale and bleeding +face beside her, and she realized that at that minute they might have +been in that awful agony. She began to sob wildly, but she began, too, +to try to bring Wynne back to consciousness. She took snow in her hands +and put it to his forehead; she twisted her handkerchief about his arm +to stop its bleeding. She tried to recall what she had heard at +Emergency Lectures, with a strong determination forcing herself to +remember. Kneeling in the snow, in the light of the burning car, her +heart torn by the cries of the suffering, trembling with excitement, +fear, and the shock she had undergone, sobbing almost hysterically, she +yet constrained herself to do her best, binding up his arm with strips +of her clothing, and trying to bring back his senses. + +A physician came to her without her knowing until he was at her side. +He bent to examine Wynne, and Berenice tried to repress her sobs that +she might talk to him, and take his directions. The life of Wynne might +depend upon her calmness. She caught up more snow, and pressed it to +her own temples. + +"Is he much hurt?" she asked feverishly. + +"It is not dangerous as far as I can judge," the doctor answered +hurriedly. "Get him away from here as soon as you can." + +She looked after him as he hurried on to other patients, and her first +feeling was one of indignation. Then it occurred to her that his going +so soon must mean that her patient was less hurt than she had feared. +But why was Wynne so long insensible? She knelt beside him again, and +as she did so he opened his eyes. + +"Where am I?" he cried feebly. + +He tried to start up, but fell back with a groan. + +"There has been an accident," she said hurriedly. "It's all right now. +You are safe. Are you in much pain?" + +"Are you hurt?" he demanded almost fiercely. + +"No, no; never mind me." + +He struggled again to rise, but fell back with a groan. She put her +hand on his shoulder. + +"Lie still," she commanded authoritatively. "I'll see what can be done. +Lie still while I look about." + +A second car was burning, and the whole place was aglare with yellow +light. The wild groups stood out black against the trodden and dingy +snow, while overhead rolled clouds of sooty smoke. It occurred to +Berenice that the accident had taken place so near Brookfield that many +persons must have come from the town. She seized a respectable-looking +man by the arm, and asked him if he knew of any way in which she could +get an injured friend to Brookfield. He stared at her a moment as if it +was impossible at such a time to receive words in their ordinary +meaning, but when the question had been repeated he answered that there +were some hackmen from town in the crowd. He helped her to find one, +and as Mrs. Morison was well known, Berenice had little further +difficulty. Wynne submitted to being half led, half carried through the +crowd, and when at last with the assistance of the hackman Berenice got +him into the carriage he fainted again. + +Singular and frightful to Berenice was that ride. The terrors through +which she had passed, the shock, mental and physical, which she had +undergone, had almost prostrated her. As soon as she was in the +carriage she broke out into hysterical tears. The fainting of her +companion, however, called her attention from herself, forcing her to +think of him. She supported his head on her shoulder, lifting his +wounded arm on to her lap; and into her heart came that thrill of +interest and compassion which is the instinctive response of a woman to +the appeal of masculine helplessness. A woman's love is apt to be half +maternal, and she who nurses a man is for the time being in place of +his mother. Berenice's thoughts were in a whirl, but pity for the hurt +man at her side was her most conscious feeling. She remembered the +words of her rescuer, and endowed Wynne with the nobility which belongs +to him who risks his life for another. What had happened she could not +tell. She remembered the awful terror of the collision, and mistily of +being hurled into his arms; but after that came a blank until the +moment of her rescue. It was evident that Wynne had in some way been +hurt in protecting her, and the very vagueness of the service he had +rendered made the deed loom larger in her imagination. She felt his +breath warm on her cheek, and suddenly into her dispassionate musings +there came a fresh sense, which made her face grow hot. She was angry +at the absurdity of flushing there in the dark, and asked herself why +the mere breath on her cheek of an insensible and wounded man should +set her to blushing like a self-conscious fool! Then she remembered how +he had held her in his arms, and she grew more self-conscious still. A +jolt made her companion moan, and in a twinkling all else was forgotten +in the anxiety of getting to shelter and aid. + +When the carriage stopped before the house of Mrs. Morison, the old +lady and a servant appeared instantly, rushing out to see what the +arrival meant. Almost before the carriage had come to a stand-still, +Berenice put her head out of the window and called as cheerily as she +could:-- + +"All right, grandmamma." + +She could not keep her voice steady, and she could only try to carry +off her emotion by a laugh which was rather shaky and hysterical. She +could not rise, for Wynne's head was on her shoulder. The carriage door +was torn open, and she felt her grandmother's arms about her in the +darkness. + +"My darling! My darling!" she heard murmured in a sobbing voice. + +"Look out, grandmother," she said, embracing Mrs. Morison with her one +free arm; "I've brought a man with me, and he's hurt. I think he's +fainted." + +There is nothing so efficacious in restraining the outpouring of +emotion as the necessity of attending to practical details. The need of +getting Wynne out of the hack and into the house as speedily and as +safely as possible restored Mrs. Morison to calmness, and although for +the rest of the evening and for many days after she and her +granddaughter had a fashion of rushing into each other's arms in the +most unexpected manner, they now devoted themselves to the unconscious +young deacon. + +Wynne revived again when he was lifted out of the carriage, and when he +had been, with the friendly aid of the driver, got into the house and +given a little brandy, he came once more to his complete if somewhat +shaken senses. He was too weak from the shock and the loss of blood to +resist anything that his friends chose to do to him, and although he +feebly protested against being quartered upon Mrs. Morison, his protest +was not in the least heeded. + +"Say no more about it," Mrs. Morison said, with a quiet smile. "You are +here, and you are to stay here. There is nowhere else for you to go, +even if you don't like our hospitality." + +"That isn't it," he began feebly; "only I've no claim"-- + +"There, that will do," Berenice interposed with decision. "Do you +suppose, grandmother, that it's possible to get anybody to come and see +his arm?" + +"I'm afraid not, dear," was the answer. "Everybody's at the wreck. I've +been cowering down in the corner of the fire for what seemed to me +years since Mehitabel came rushing in with the news; and all the time +I've heard people driving past the house on their way out of town." + +"There ain't a man left," put in Mehitabel, a severe elderly servant, +who had the air of being personally responsible for her mistress, and +of being bound to fulfill her duties faithfully, even if the effort +killed her. "I see Dr. Strong go gallopin' past first, and the other +doctors was all after him; even to that little squinchy electrical +image that's round the corner on Front Street." + +"Electrical image?" repeated Berenice. + +"She means the eclectic physician," explained Mrs. Morison. "I'm sure +that there's no use in sending for the doctors now. Later we will see. +We must manage the best we can. If I hurt you, Mr. Wynne, you must tell +me." + +Berenice looked on, sick with the sight of the blood, while her +grandmother examined the wounded arm. Wynne shrank a little, but +Berenice noted that he bore the pain pluckily. The sleeve was cut to +the shoulder, and his arm laid bare. A jagged cut was revealed reaching +from the wrist to the elbow; a cut so ugly in appearance that the girl +went faint again. + +"There, there, Miss Bee," old Mehitabel said, taking her by the +shoulder. "You've had enough of this sort of thing for one night. +You'll dream gray hairs all over your head if you don't get out." + +But Berenice refused to give up her place. She stood beside Wynne while +her grandmother examined the arm, handing the things that were wanted; +fighting with the faintness that came over her in waves. + +"No, Mehitabel," said she. "I'm made of better stuff than you think." + +In her heart she had a half unconscious feeling that she had been +inclined to hold this man in contempt because of his priestly garb; and +that she owed him this reparation. She did not know what had occurred +in that overturned car; but she looked back to it as to a horror of +great darkness in which Wynne had risked his life for hers. She felt +that she could not do less than to stand by while the wound he had +received in her service was being attended to. It was Wynne himself who +put her away. + +"You are too kind, Miss Morison," he said; "but you are not fit to do +this. I beg that you'll not stay. Your face shows how hard it is for +you." + +The first thought that shot through her mind was one of relief that she +now might properly leave her self-inflicted task; the second was a pang +of self-reproach that she should wish to leave it; the third and +lasting was a sense of pleasure that even in his pain he had not failed +to note her face and divine her feelings. + +"Mr. Wynne is right," Mrs. Morison added decisively. "Mehitabel can +help me, my dear. Go into the other room and let Rosa get you a cup of +tea." + +"It won't be much of a cup of tea," Mehitabel commented grimly. "That +fool of a girl's got it into her head that it's a good time to cry for +her doxy, because he's a brakeman on some other train." + +Berenice smiled at the characteristic crispness and the absurd speech +of the old servant. She remembered Mehitabel from the days when in +pinafores she used to visit here, and when she looked upon the tall, +gaunt woman with an awe which was saved from being terror only by the +fact that she had learned to associate with that abrupt speech an after +gift of crisp cakes. Mehitabel was to her as much a part of the +establishment as were the tall chairs, the lion-headed fire-dogs, or +the silver which had belonged to her grandmother's grandmother. + +Passing into the dining-room Berenice summoned the afflicted Rosa, who +came with face all be-blubbered with tears, and who sniffed audibly as +soon as she caught sight of the visitor. + +"How do you do, Rosa? I wouldn't cry, if I were you," Berenice said. +"Mehitabel says that this wasn't his train." + +"Oh, I know it, Miss," responded Rosa, with more tears; "but I can't +help thinking how dreadful it would be if it was; and me not to know +whether he was dead or alive. It don't seem to me I could ever marry +him, not to be able to tell whether he'd come home any day dead or +alive. I'll have to give him up, Miss; and he's real kind and +free-handed." + +Her tears flowed so freely at the thought of giving up her lover that +they splashed on Berenice's hand as Rosa leaned over to reach for +something on the table. + +"Well, Rosa," Miss Morison remarked, smiling at the absurdity of the +maid, and wiping her hand, "I'm sorry that you feel so bad; but I don't +like to be deluged with tears." + +"Indeed, Miss," Rosa returned penitently, "I didn't mean to cry on you; +but tears come so easy in this world. We're all born crying." + +Berenice laughed in spite of herself. + +"If we are born crying," she said, "that's reason enough for our +smiling when we've outgrown being babies." + +"That's all well enough for you," Rosa retorted with fresh tears. +"You've got your man here all safe if he is hurt a little; and I don't +know"-- + +Berenice broke in with indignant amazement, feeling her face burn. + +"My man!" she exclaimed. "How dare you speak to me like that! Mr. Wynne +is nothing to me. He's only a clergyman that was hurt saving my life." + +She broke off with a laugh somewhat hysterical. Her nerves were not +under control yet. + +"I'm sure I didn't mean," wailed the girl, "to say anything wrong." + +"There, there, Rosa," the other interrupted. "We are both upset. You +shouldn't take so much for granted, or talk to me about 'men.'" + +But in her mind the phrase repeated itself vexatiously: "your man." + + + + XI + + + IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + 1 Henry IV., v. 1. + + +The power of self-torture which the human heart possesses is well-nigh +infinite. When one considers how futile are self-reproaches, +self-examinations, remorses for faults and weaknesses; how vanity puts +itself upon the rack and conscience inflicts envenomed wounds; how self +tortures self until the whole man writhes in anguish, and in the end +nothing is altered by all this pain, one might almost thank the gods +for moral insensibility. Yet New England was founded upon the principle +that this temper of mind develops manlihood; that inward struggles are +the only discipline which can fit a human being for the outward +conquest of life. The Puritans had power to subdue the wilderness, to +overcome whatever obstacles interposed to the founding of a state and +the establishing of the truth as they conceived it, because all these +difficulties were accidents, outward and of comparative insignificance +when set against the real life, which was within. If a heritage of +self-consciousness has come down with the noble gifts which the +forefathers have left to their children, it is at least part of the +price paid for great things. + +To Maurice that night only the pain and misery of his Puritan +inheritance made themselves felt. Through the long hours he lacerated +his heart and soul with repentance, with remorseful self-reproaches, +enduring agony intense enough to be the reward meet for a crime. +Fevered with the loss of blood, racked with the smart of bodily wounds, +bruised and sore from the injuries of the accident, unable to move +without torture in every joint, he yet forgot physical in mental +suffering. + +The weakness and disorder of his body confused and distorted his +thoughts, but it was in any case inevitable that with his training he +should be wrung with bitter self-condemnation. He flushed and thrilled +at the remembrance of the pressure of Berenice against his breast; the +warmth of her breath, the odor of her hair, seemed to come back to him +even out of the tumult and reek of the burning car. He remembered how +it had seemed to him--to him, a priest--sweet to die if he might die +clasping unrebuked this woman in his arms. The blood throbbed in his +temples as he recalled the wild thoughts that had swirled in a mad +throng through his brain in those moments which had seemed like hours; +the blood throbbed, too, in his wounded arm, so that a groan forced +itself through his parched lips. He was constantly throwing himself to +and fro as if to escape from some teasing thought, always to be by the +sharp pang in his wound brought to a sense of his condition. The whole +night passed in an agony of mind and body. + +There were moments, too, when he seemed to stand outside of himself and +judge dispassionately this human creature, wounded, broken, rent in +body and in soul; moments in which he sometimes seemed to smile in +supreme contempt of the wretch so weak, so wavering, so utterly to be +despised; sometimes to protest in angry pity against the unmerited +anguish which had been heaped upon the sufferer. He had instants of +delirious clearness and exaltation in which he felt himself lifted +above the ordinary weaknesses of humanity; to see more clearly, and to +take a view broader than any to which he had ever before attained. It +shocked and startled him to realize that in these intervals which +seemed like inspiration,--intervals in which he felt himself +illuminated with inner light,--he cast from him the ideals which he had +hitherto cherished. As if for the first time seeing clearly, he felt +that men should not be hampered by dogmas which cramp and restrain. A +line he had seen somewhere, and which he had put aside as irreverent +and irreligious, kept repeating itself over and over in his head-- + + "He had crippled his youth with a creed." + + +Life stretched out before him futile and meaningless unless love should +light it, unless he could win Berenice; and he protested feverishly +against any vow that would thwart or restrain him. He had crippled his +youth with a creed unnatural and deforming; it was time for the manhood +within him to shake off its fetters and assert its strength. He told +himself wildly that now for the first time he saw life as it was; that +now first he understood the meaning of existence, and that life meant +nothing without freedom and love. + +The beliefs of years, however, or even those habits which so often pass +for beliefs, are not to be done away with in a night. Even love cannot +completely alter the course of life in a moment. At the last, worn out +with the conflict, but with a supreme effort to regain spiritual calm, +Maurice flung his whole soul into an agony of supplication, as he might +have flung his body at the foot of a cross, and prayed to be delivered +from this too great temptation. He would renounce; he would pluck up by +the roots this passion which had sprung and grown in his heart; at +whatever cost he would tear it up, and be faithful to his high calling. +As a child casts itself upon the bosom of its mother, he cast himself +upon the Divine, and with an ecstatic sense of pardon, of peace, of +perfect joy, he fell asleep at last. + +Maurice awoke in broad daylight, with a confused sense that the world +was falling in fragments about his ears, and that his name was being +shouted by the angel of the last trump. He found that the physician who +could not be had on the previous night had now been brought to his +chamber by Mehitabel. + +"Here's the saw-bones at last," was the characteristically +uncompromising introduction of the woman. + +"Dr. Murray's come to tell you that all Mis' Morison did last night was +wrong, and that probably you'll have to have your arm cut off 'cause of +it." + +Wynne sat up in bed dazed and uncomprehending, but the smile of the +doctor brought him to a sense of where he was. The latter was not in +the least surprised by Mehitabel's manner of speech. + +"If you'd had anything to do with it, Mehitabel," was Dr. Murray's +comment, "I've no doubt the arm would have had to go; but when Mrs. +Morison does a thing, it's another story." + +"Humph!" sniffed she. "You've got some small amount of sense, if it +ain't much. Now, young man, set your teeth together and put out your +tongue--your arm, I mean." + +Maurice smiled, not so much at the humor of the error as at the fact +that it was so evidently intentional on the part of the elderly virgin, +who cunningly glanced at him and at the doctor to discover if the rare +stroke of wit were properly appreciated. + +"Jocose as ever, Mehitabel," observed the doctor, going to work at once +with swift and delicate precision. "You've a nasty cut here, Mr. Wynne; +but you're lucky to get off with nothing worse. It's a good deal to +come through such an accident without a permanent injury." + +"That's true," Maurice responded cheerfully. "I dreamed in the night +that I was all in bits." + +"Plenty of poor fellows were. It was the most terrible smash-up for +years." + +"How is Miss Morison?" Wynne asked, wondering if his voice betrayed the +inward agitation without which he could not pronounce her name. + +"Oh, she's all right. Nervous and shaky, of course; but she's a sound, +wholesome creature, and it won't take her long to recover her tone." + +"Yes; I brought her up," interposed Mehitabel, with grim +self-complacency. "Don't pull that bandage so tight, doctor. You want +to have me running over after you in an hour to come and loosen it." + +"That's it, Mehitabel; teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I come +here, Mr. Wynne, chiefly to learn my profession from her." + +"She seems willing to teach you," Wynne replied, and then, with a +boyish doubt if she might not take offense, he added, "which of course +is very kind of her." + +Mehitabel chuckled in high good-humor. + +"Kind it is and unappreciated it is; and little is the credit he does +to his training. Men are all alike; if they owned half they owe to +women they'd be too ashamed to show their heads in daylight." + +The droll airs of the old woman entertained Wynne so greatly that he +bore with exemplary fortitude the painful attentions of the physician, +the harder to bear because the wound had had time to inflame. The arm +was dressed at last, and the doctor took himself away with a parting +passage of arms with Mehitabel. + +"The thing for you to do, young man," she said, when Dr. Murray had +departed, "is to stay in bed where you are, and that's reason enough +for a man to want to get up." + +"I'm not fond of staying in bed," Maurice responded with a smile; "and +besides that I must get back to Boston." + +She regarded him with an expression of marked disfavor. + +"Humph," said she. "Quarters ain't good enough for you, I suppose." + +"On the contrary, it is I who am not good enough for the quarters." + +Mehitabel went on with her work of arranging the curtains and putting +the room to rights as she answered:-- + +"Well, I dare say you ain't; but what special thing've you done?" + +"Special thing?" Maurice repeated, somewhat confused. "Oh, I see. The +fact is, I don't think I've any right to impose on the hospitality of +Mrs. Morison." + +"Well," assented she again, "I dare say you ain't; but if she's +willing, you ain't no occasion to grumble, 's I see. She ain't a-going +to hear of your starting out hot-foot, 's if she wouldn't keep you. +It'd look bad for the reputation of the family." + +"But," began he, "I"-- + +"Besides," the old woman continued, ignoring his attempt to speak, "you +ain't got much to wear. Them petticoats you come in, which ain't +suitable for any man to wear, without it's the bearded lady in the +circus if she's a man, which I never rightly knew, is so torn to pieces +by the grace of heaven that you can't go in them, and all the rest of +your clothes are all holes and blood." + +"I suppose my clothes were pretty well used up," he replied, divided +between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he should resent the +affront to his clerical garb; "and of course my baggage is nowhere. Can +I get clothing here, or shall I have to send to Boston?" + +"You can't get men's petticoats," Mehitabel retorted uncompromisingly, +"nor none of them Popish things. If it's good, plain God-fearing pants +and such, there ain't no trouble, and the price is reasonable." + +"Plain God-fearing trousers and coat will do," Maurice answered, +bursting into a laugh. "Do you think that you could send for some if I +give you the size?" + +She was evidently pleased at the success of her attempts to be funny, +for her face relaxed, but she set her mouth primly. + +"I'd go myself," was her reply. "I'd trust myself to pick out things, +and it might give the girls ideas to go traipsing round buying pants +and men's fixings." + +When she was gone Maurice lay in a pleasant half-doze, smiling at the +absurd old servant with her labored determination to be thought witty, +and wondering at the caprices of existence. He was interrupted by the +arrival of his breakfast, and after that had been disposed of he +received a visit from Mrs. Morison. She was a fine old lady with snowy +hair, her sweet face wrinkled into a relief-map of the journey of life, +her eyes as bright and sparkling as those of her granddaughter. Wynne +could see the family likeness at a glance, and said to himself that +some day when time had wrinkled her smooth cheeks and whitened her hair +Berenice would be such another beautiful dame. Mrs. Morison brought +with her an air of brisk yet serene individuality, as of the fire which +on a winter evening burns cheerily on the hearth, warming, +invigorating, suggesting wholesome and happy thoughts. She was so +kindly and yet so thoroughly alive to the very tips of her fingers that +her age almost seemed rather a merry disguise like the powdered hair of +a young girl. + +"Good-morning," she greeted him cheerily. "The doctor says that you are +doing well. I hope that you feel so." + +"Thank you," he answered. "I don't seem to have as many joints as I +used to have, but I'm doing famously, thanks to the skillful treatment +I had last night." + +"It was not too skillful, I'm afraid; but Dr. Murray says I did no +harm, and that's really a good deal of a compliment from him." + +"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Maurice said. "It is so +strange to be taken care of"-- + +He broke off suddenly, awkward from shyness and genuine feeling. He +looked up, however, to meet a glance so reassuring that he felt at once +at ease. + +"It is time that it ceased to be strange," she returned. "We must try +before you go to make you more accustomed to being looked after a +little." + +He returned her kind look with a grateful smile. + +"You are too generous," he said. "I must not trespass on your +good-nature. I think that I could manage to get back to Boston to-day +if the trains are running." + +"The trains are running, but that is no reason why you should think of +running too. We mean to mend you before we let you go." + +"But"-- + +"There is no 'but' about it," Mrs. Morison declared, speaking more +seriously. "Berenice and I have settled it, and we are accustomed to +having our own way. You are selfish to wish that we should be left with +all the obligation on our shoulders." + +"Obligation?" repeated he. "How on earth is there any obligation but +mine?" + +"Do you think that there is no obligation in owing to you Bee's life?" + +He stared at her in complete confusion. He made a vain effort to recall +clearly what had happened in the car. He remembered the crash, the din, +the pain, the horrible clutch on his arm, the choking reek of the +smoke, his frantic fear for Berenice, but all these things seemed +blurred in his mind like a landscape obscured by a night-fog. Only one +memory stood out clear and sharp; that was the joy of holding Berenice +clasped in his arms, and of thinking that they would die together. He +felt the blood mount in his cheek at the thought, and he hastened to +speak, lest his hostess should divine what was in his mind. + +"Why do you say that?" he asked. "It was not I that saved her. I was +not even conscious when she was taken out." + +Mrs. Morison smiled, and touched lightly with the tip of her finger the +bandaged arm which lay on the outside of the coverlid. + +"We won't dispute about it," said she. "The proof is here. Let it go, +if you like; but we shall remember." + +"But," protested Maurice, "it wouldn't be honest for me to let you +think that I did anything for Miss Morison. I should have been only too +glad to help her, but I couldn't. I wish what you think could have been +true; but since it isn't, I can't let you think it is." + +Mrs. Morison let the matter drop, but her kind old eyes were brighter +than ever. She contented herself with saying that at least he was to +remain with them, and need not try to escape; then she led the talk to +more indifferent matters. Her hand, worn and thin, the blue veins +relieved under the delicate skin, lay on the white coverlid like a +beautiful carving of ivory. As Maurice looked at it, it brought into +his mind the hand of his mother, as in her last days, when he sat by +her bedside, it had rested in the same fashion. The tears sprang in his +eyes at the memory, half-blinding him. As he tried to brush them away +unseen he caught the sympathetic look of his hostess, and its sweetness +overpowered him still more. Meeting his glance, she leaned forward +tenderly, taking his fingers in her own. + +"What is it?" asked she softly. + +"Your hand," he answered simply. "It looked so like my mother's." + +"Poor boy," she murmured. + +He returned the pressure of her clasp, and then the masculine dislike +for effusiveness asserted itself. + +"I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," he said shamefacedly. "I'm +almost hysterical." + +She glanced at him shrewdly, and smiling, rose. + +"For all that," she returned, "you are to get up. Dr. Murray says that +it will be better, and you would get hopelessly tired of bed before +to-morrow morning. I'll send you something in the way of clothing, and +we'll let you play invalid in a dressing-gown to-day. If Mehitabel can +help you, you've only to ring. I dare say that you can do something +with one hand." + +"One never knows until he tries," Wynne answered. + +Maurice wished to ask for a barber, but could not pluck up courage. +When he was alone he gazed ruefully into the mirror at his stoutly +sprouting black beard, which so little understood the exigencies of the +situation that it persisted in growing as vigorously as ever. + +"If I stay here a couple of days without shaving," he mused, "I shall +simply be hideous. Well, my vanity very likely needs a lesson. What did +Mrs. Morison mean by my saving Miss Morison's life? I certainly could +not have said so when I was unconscious. It must be from something she +herself has said. If I could only remember what did happen after the +car went over!" + +His bath and toilet were difficult and unsatisfactory enough. The linen +with which he was provided, however, smelled sweetly of lavender, and +the odor seemed to bear him away into a pleasant reverie, in which he +was chiefly conscious of the pleasure of being near--of being near, he +assured himself, so delightful and sympathetic an old lady as Mrs. +Morison. A feeling of well-being, of content, saturated him. Behind his +thought of his hostess and his denial to himself that the presence +under the same roof of Berenice was the true source of his happiness, +lay the consciousness that the latter regarded him as her preserver. He +resolutely thrust the thought down deep into his heart, but he could +not forget it. + +Before he was ready to leave his chamber Mehitabel brought him a +telegram from Mrs. Staggchase, to whom he had sent a line announcing +his safety. It was merely a friendly word with an offer to come to him +if he needed her; but it changed the whole current of his thoughts. He +seemed to see the mocking smile of his cousin as she read that he was +staying with the Morisons, and to hear again her words about his period +of temptation. He resolved, however, to put the whole question of the +future out of his mind. Somehow there must be a way to steer safely +between his duty and his inclination. He failed to reflect that he who +decides to compromise between duty and desire has already sacrificed +the former. + +Berenice greeted him on his appearance in the library, whither he +descended rather shakily. She held in her hand a telegram when he +entered under the escort of Mehitabel, and her cheeks were flushed. +Instantly into his mind came the feeling that her color was connected +with the message which the yellow paper brought, and he became jealous +in a flash. There was no possible reason why he should scent a rival in +the mere presence in his lady's hand of a telegram, unless there were +an intangible shade of self-consciousness in her manner. He had come +downstairs eager to see her and to assure himself that she was really +no worse for the accident, but the sight of the paper instantly changed +his mood. In crossing the half-dozen steps from the door to the fire +Maurice shifted from frank eagerness to aggrieved distrust. He said +good-morning as he entered in the tone of a lover; he spoke as he +reached the hearth with the formality of an acquaintance. + +He was too keenly alive to the change in his feelings not to know that +he showed it. He endeavored to hide his perturbation under an +appearance of simple politeness, but he was sure that she watched him +and that she was puzzled. + +"Well," she said, as she arranged a cushion in the big easy-chair +beside the crackling wood fire, "you have the genuine scarred veteran +air." + +"Please don't bother to wait on me, Miss Morison," he answered, trying +to speak naturally, and painfully aware that he did not succeed. "I'm +all right, except for the scratch on my arm." + +"Scratch, indeed," she returned with a smile which almost disarmed him. +"How many stitches did the doctor have to put in?" + +"'Bout enough for a week's mending," interpolated Mehitabel, putting +him into the chair with an air of authority, and preparing to retire. +"There, now stay there till you want to go upstairs again, and then +send for me." + +"Indeed," he protested, laughing, "I am not helpless. You can't make a +baby of me just for a disabled arm." + +"I suppose," Berenice said, "that I ought to be willing to say that I +had rather the wound were in my back, where it would have been but for +you; only as a matter of fact I shouldn't be telling the truth. I am +sorry for you, Mr. Wynne; but I can't help being glad for myself." + +She seemed to be setting herself to win him from his ill-humor, and he +had to look into the fire away from her lips and eyes to prevent +himself from yielding. He fortified his resistance, which he felt to be +weakening, by the reflection that it was his duty not to be carried +away by her charm. He called upon his religious scruples to aid him in +holding to his passion-born jealousy. + +"There," Miss Morison said, when he had been properly ensconced and +Mehitabel had departed, "now it is my duty to entertain you. What shall +I do? My accomplishments are at your service. I can read, without +stopping to spell out any except the very longest words. I can play two +tunes on the mandolin, only that I've forgotten the middle of one and +the other has a run in it that I always have to skip. The piano is too +far off across the hall to be available; so that the little I can do in +that way doesn't count. I can--let me see, I can teach you three +solitaires, or play cribbage, or--I beg your pardon, I forgot." + +"You forgot what?" he asked, so intent upon watching the sunlight +filtering through her hair that he had hardly noticed what she said. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"You don't play cards, perhaps?" she said tentatively. + +"No," he answered. "In the country in my boyhood they weren't held in +high repute, to say the least; and naturally we don't play at the +Clergy House." + +There was a brief interval of silence, during which he watched her, +while she in her turn looked into the fire. When she spoke again it was +in a different tone. + +"I know," said she, "that you must think me frivolous, and that I can't +be anything else; but"-- + +"Oh, no," he interrupted, "I never thought you frivolous." + +She made an impulsive little gesture with one of her hands. + +"Oh, you wouldn't put it in that way, I dare say. You'd call it being +worldly, I suppose; but it comes to much the same thing." + +Wynne could not understand what was the direction of her thoughts, and +he was taken entirely by surprise when she leaned forward impulsively +and took in hers his free hand. + +"At least," she said, quickly and eagerly, "I can't forget that you +saved my life, and I thank you from my heart if I don't know just how +to do it in words." + +He returned the pressure of her fingers, longing to cover them with +kisses. + +"I'm afraid," responded he, "that I've very little claim to glory on +account of anything I did for you. I certainly don't deserve the credit +of having saved you. I only wish I did." + +She laughed gayly, springing up from her seat, and he realized that his +voice had lost all trace of unfriendliness. He told himself recklessly +that he did not care; that if he were a thousand times a priest he +could not but be kindly to Berenice. + +"Come," she laughed, "we have been through a real adventure; and that's +more than happens to most people if they live to be a hundred." +Suddenly she became grave. "I can't bear to think of it, though," she +added. Then she turned toward him, and spoke with seriousness. "At +least, Mr. Wynne, I am not so flighty that I do not thank God for my +escape yesterday." + +"Amen," he responded. + +She walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sunny day. +The fire burned cheerfully on the wide, red hearth, and Maurice looked +into its glowing heart thinking gratefully of his preservation and of +the friendly refuge into which he had been brought. No reverent man can +come face to face with death and escape without some feeling of awe and +of gratitude to the power which has preserved him; and Maurice was +filled with a sense of how great had been the hand which could bring +him through such peril, how kind the protection which had preserved +Berenice unscathed. Humility and tenderness overflowed his heart, and +the inward thanksgiving which his spirit breathed was as sweet and as +unselfish as if a personal passion had never invaded his breast. + +"It seems to me," Berenice remarked from her place by the window, "that +the woods on the hills over there are already beginning to show signs +of spring. There is a sort of delicate change of color in them that +means buds beginning to grow." + +Before he could reply, the door opened, and Mehitabel presented herself +with a card. + +"Oh," said Berenice, as she received it, "already!" + +There seemed to Maurice something of impatience or dismay in her tone. +She excused herself and went out, leaving the old servant with Wynne. +As soon as the door closed, Mehitabel turned upon him at once. + +"Do you know him?" she demanded. + +"Know whom?" + +"This sprig that's come from Boston to see Miss Bee?" + +Maurice looked at her with a sharp sense that he ought not to allow her +to go on, yet with a desire to know more so burning that he could not +refrain. + +"I didn't even know that anybody had come from Boston to see Miss +Morison," he replied; "so that it isn't easy to say whether I know him +or not." + +"His name is Parker Stanford, and he's all the signs of being better'n +his grandfathers and knowing it through and through. He's too fond of +his looks to suit me." + +"I don't know him," Maurice answered, "except that I've heard my +cousin, Mrs. Staggchase, mention his name. He's very rich, I believe, +and a good deal of a leader in society." + +"Humph," sniffed Mehitabel. "He may be a leader in society, but he's as +selfish as a sucking calf!" + +"You seem to know him pretty well," commented Maurice. "I suppose +you've seen him often." + +"Never saw him in my life till this minute. Young man, I'll tell you +this, though. Every woman with any brains knows what a man is the +minute she claps eyes on him; only if he's good-looking, or awful +wicked, or makes love to her, or forty thousand other things, she'll +deny to herself that she knows any bad about him." + +"Then it seems to be much the same thing as if your sex weren't gifted +with such extraordinary insight," Maurice responded, laughing. + +"If women didn't cheat themselves there wouldn't be no marriages," +Mehitabel retorted, grinning, and retired in evident delight over her +success in repartee. + +As for Maurice, he became wonderfully grave the moment he was left +alone. + + + + XII + + + THE ONLY TOUCH OF LOVE + Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii. 7. + + +_To be_ is an irregular verb in all languages, but always regular is +the verb _to love_. There are many sides to the existence of mortals; +but to love is the same for high and low. Any mortal knows little +enough about himself; but a mortal in love knows nothing. Love is a +bewildering and a bedazzling fire, wherewith the eyes of youth are so +blinded that they are able to see clearly neither within nor without. +Often it happens, indeed, that the first intimation the heart has of +the presence of the divine flame is the bewilderment which fills the +mind. + +Berenice had long been contentedly and unenthusiastically convinced +that, she was to marry Parker Stanford. She approved of him; he was +wealthy, well-born, agreeable enough, and apparently very fond of her. +She had not, it is true, become formally engaged to him. When he had +asked her to become his wife she had teasingly asked for time for +deliberation; but this was not because she felt any especial doubt +about ultimately accepting him. She was pleased, maiden-like, to dally, +and shrank from being formally bound. Her pulses had not yet stirred +with the unrest which love awakens. Her vanity had been pleasantly +aroused, and for the rest she was in all the ignorance of those whom +passion has not yet made wise. She regarded marriage rather as an +abstract thing; she was familiar with the idea that it was a matter of +social arrangement and necessity, to be looked upon as a part of life. +She had, it is true, some vaguely sentimental notion that love was a +necessity, and being persuaded that the match before her was a +desirable one, was persuaded also that she was in love with Stanford. +At least she was sure that he was in love with her, and as she liked +him, that answered. To find a man amusing, agreeable, handsome, and +fulfilling the social requirements of a desirable husband seemed to her +unsophisticated mind to love him. She was pleased with her lover; she +was not insensible of the triumph of having won the attentions of one +of the most sought-after men in her set; to pass her life in the +well-ordered establishment which he would provide seemed to her a +decorous and desirable method of fulfilling the destiny of a woman. She +was willing that the event should be postponed indefinitely, it is +true; and the man himself in her considerations of the future was +something of a shadow; a shadow pleasant enough, yet so remote as to +count for nothing intimately important. She was somewhat less +sophisticated than most modern girls, inheriting that New England +nature which is slow to understand emotion and endowed with the power +rather of tenacity than of spontaneity of passion. + +When on the day previous Stanford had come to the train to see Berenice +off, she had been especially gracious. She had been in particularly +good spirits, full of amusement that Mr. Wynne was to be her neighbor +on the train, and that he did not know it. She had chanced to send for +tickets with Mrs. Wilson, the pair had laughingly planned the +arrangement, and Berenice had promised herself some entertainment in +teasing the young cleric on the journey. It pleased her, too, that +Stanford should take the trouble to come to the station, especially as +Kate West, who had tried so hard to secure him despite the fact that +she was ten years his senior, chanced to be meeting a friend and to be +there to see. She allowed herself to smile on her lover with more +warmth than usual, and was a little vexed as well as a little amused by +it afterward. On the train she reflected that if she were to be so +gracious Stanford would press his suit more warmly than she wished; yet +on the other hand it occurred to her that if she were to be engaged to +him, she might as well get it over. Why not marry in the spring and go +abroad? She wished much to go to Bayreuth for the Wagner operas in the +summer, and the aunt with whom she had hoped to travel was not willing +to go. Besides, she really could not afford the trip, and at least +Stanford had plenty of money. The idea of marrying with a thought to +his wealth was distasteful, and she at once said to herself that she +could not do that; but if she were to marry him--As the train rolled on +she had filled in the talk with Wynne with speculations whether it +might not be as well to let Stanford propose once more, and have +matters settled. + +These cogitations, however, she interspersed with reflections that her +traveling companion had a beautiful eye and a finely cut nostril; that +he was on the whole a fine-looking man, handsome and well made, if he +were not disguised in that detestable clerical garb; and that his hands +were distinctly those of a gentleman. She liked the tones of his voice +and the carriage of his head, smiling to herself at the thought that in +the latter there was hardly so much meekness as was to be expected in +one of his profession. She laughed at him almost openly, for to the +young woman of to-day there is apt to be something bordering on the +ludicrous and unmanly in a youth who is preparing to take orders, no +matter how great her respect for the completed clergyman. Berenice felt +something not entirely free from a trace of good-natured contempt for +deacons in the abstract, not dreaming that she might be led to make an +exception in favor of this especial deacon in the concrete. She became +more and more alive to the attractions of Wynne, although up to the +time of the accident she hardly realized the fact. + +From the moment, however, that the rescuer said to her that Maurice had +saved her life, her feeling was changed. She felt that she had failed +to do Wynne justice; that she had allowed his cassock to be the sign of +a lack of manhood; she accused herself of having wronged him. She began +now to exalt him in her thoughts, and to regard him as a hero. She had +long been aware of the effect that she had on him. From the morning +when she had encountered him at the North End, and had met the quick, +troubled glance of his eye, full of doubt and of fire, she had been +conscious that he was not indifferent to her presence. She had not +reasoned about it; but it gave her pleasure. It was a passing breath of +homage, pleasing like a breath from some rose-bed passed in a walk. Up +to the moment, however, when she said to herself that he had risked his +life for her, Berenice had never consciously thought of Maurice as a +lover. When she saw him lying insensible, depending upon her, a new +feeling kindled in her breast. She would not think of it; she shrank +from it, and refused to acknowledge it to herself. Yet for her the +world was altered, and however she might try to hide the fact from her +heart, secretly she felt it fluttering and throbbing deep within her +breast. + +When the telegram came in the morning announcing the visit of Stanford, +her first thought was one of gratification. The act was friendly, and +it gave her a pleasant sense of importance. The reaction came +instantly. The purport of the visit flashed upon her. She remembered +how she had smiled on Stanford yesterday,--Yesterday that now seemed so +far away that she looked back to it over distances of emotion which +made it strangely remote. She felt that she must receive him; but she +found herself seeking for the means of making him understand that what +he hoped was forever impossible. She certainly could never marry him. +She was sure that the thought could never have been seriously in her +mind. The idea of belonging to him, of having no right to think of +another man with tenderness, became all at once too repugnant to be +endured. She would not consider why her attitude was so different from +that of yesterday; she only insisted vehemently in her thought that now +first she really knew her own mind. Her cheek burned at the reflection +that Stanford was probably sure of her consent to be his. It seemed to +give him a claim upon her; to shut the door upon all other +possibilities; to smutch the whiteness of her soul and render her +unworthy of any man whom she might some day come to love. To remember +that in her secret thought she had actually contemplated being +Stanford's wife made her cringe. + +She stood by the window with the telegram in her hands, twisting it to +and fro, wondering what it was possible for her to do. She thought of +excusing herself from her visitor when he should come, but the evasion +seemed to her unworthy, and she was eager to free herself from even the +suspicion of belonging to him. She felt that she could not breathe +freely until she were clear of the faintest shadow of any claim, even +in Stanford's secret thought. She must belong once more to herself. + +It was at this point in her musings that Wynne came into the library. +He was pale and sunken-eyed, and the tinge of his sprouting beard gave +to his face a certain virility which startled her. It imparted a trace +of something perhaps remotely animal and brutal, subtly altering his +whole expression. He became in appearance at once more vigorous and +more human. For the first time Berenice saw a suggestion of the +possibility that this man might be a master; and the strength in man +that makes a woman tremble also makes her thrill. Some inward voice +cried in her ear: "Here is the reason why Parker Stanford is +repugnant!" But she denied the accusation indignantly in her mind, +putting the thought by, and refusing to see in Wynne anything more than +the man to whom she had cause to be grateful. Yet in that part of her +mind where a woman keeps so many things which she declines to confess +to herself that she knows, Berenice from that moment kept the fact that +this man before her had touched her heart. + +She made a strong effort to greet Wynne frankly, and to conceal from +him the feeling which his coming excited. She would have died rather +than show him how glad she was that he had come. She saw the eagerness +of his glance when he entered, and she felt the warmth of his greeting. +She noted the change in his manner, and fancied it arose from his fear +lest he betray himself. She set herself to overcome his reserve; and +when she had succeeded she sprang up with a gay laugh, light-hearted +and full of a delicious, incomprehensible pleasure. She wanted to break +out into singing, so sweet is the delight of new love unrecognized save +as simple joy in living. + +The entrance of Mehitabel with the card of Mr. Stanford brought her +back to earth. + +"Already?" she said, feeling as if she were defrauded that thus her +moment of enjoyment was cut short. + +She could not trust herself for more than a word of excuse to Wynne, +but hurried to her chamber to collect her thoughts and to examine her +toilet before she descended to her visitor. Some inward personality +seemed to be trying properly to frame the speech by which she should +make Stanford understand that it was idle for him to hope longer; while +all the time she was thinking of the man whom she had just left. + +Stanford was holding out his hands to the blaze in the fireplace when +she entered the parlor, for the morning was a sharp one. Berenice saw +with appreciation how satisfactory he was in all his appointments and +in his bearing; how well kept and how well bred. She felt, however, for +the first time that he was perhaps a little too faultlessly attired for +a man, and she glanced at his cleanly shaven cheek with an acute memory +of the stout black stubble on the face she had left behind her, yet +carried still in the eye of her mind. + +"Good-morning," she said, giving the visitor her hand, and making her +manner at once as cordial and as unemotional as possible. "It was too +good of you to come all the way up here in this cold weather, just to +see me." + +He pressed her hand with eagerness, and so meaningly that the color +flushed into her cheeks. His air seemed to her to have in it a +suggestion of intimacy which was irritating beyond endurance. + +"There was nothing good about it," he answered. "I had to assure myself +by actual sight that you were safe; and, besides, it gave me an excuse +for coming, and I was only too glad of that." + +"Sit down," Berenice said, ignoring the compliment. "It really was +frightful; but I came through safe. Grandmother wouldn't let me see the +paper this morning; but I know the details must have been horrible." + +She grew grave as she spoke. She seemed again to see the whole terrible +sight. The wreck, thrusting out tongues of fire, the dead and the dying +strewn about on the snow; Wynne, at her feet, insensible and ghastly in +the uncertain light. She shuddered and drew in her breath. + +"Oh, don't let's talk about it!" she exclaimed. "I can't bear to think +of it, and I feel as if I should never get it out of my head!" + +Stanford was silent a moment, pulling his mustache as if trying to find +the right word. + +"It must have been awful," he said hesitatingly; "and I'll never speak +of it again if you don't wish. Only I must say that it was dreadful to +me too. The thought of how near I came to losing you is more than I can +stand." + +She leaned back in her chair, suddenly chilled, yet moved by the +feeling in his voice. Her conscience reproached her that she had +allowed a false hope to grow up in his mind. She felt as if he were +establishing a claim upon her, and that at any cost she must make him +see things as they were. + +"You are very kind," she responded, trying to keep her tones from being +too cold; "but of course we always feel a shock when any friend has +been through a great danger." + +Her eyes were cast down, but she could divine his regard of disquiet +and surprise. + +"And especially those we love," he added, leaning forward, and +endeavoring to take her hand. + +"Oh, of course, Mr. Stanford," she said hastily. "That is of course +true. Were people in Boston much excited about the accident?" + +She felt herself a hypocrite, yet she could not help this one more +effort to avoid the explanation she dreaded. + +"I suppose so. I don't know. I was so taken up with thinking about you, +that I paid very little attention to anything else." + +"I'm afraid I didn't deserve it. I wasn't thinking of anybody but +myself. It was very good of you." + +"Of course you weren't thinking of anybody," Stanford responded, +pulling his mustache more furiously than ever; "but I was at the club +instead of being in a burning car. I was half crazy at the thought that +my future wife"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice broke in. "You mustn't say such things. I'm not your +future wife!" + +"Forgive me. I know I haven't any right to say that when you haven't +promised; but I can't help thinking of you so, and"-- + +"Oh, please don't!" she cried. + +A wave of humiliation, of repulsion, of terror, swept over her. That +this man had thought of her as his wife seemed almost like an +inexorable bond. She shrank away from him with an impulse too strong to +be controlled. + +"But, Berenice, I"-- + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"I have never promised you!" she declared with hurried vehemence. "I +never will promise you! I can't marry you. If I've made you think so, I +didn't mean to. I didn't know my own mind. I thought--O Mr. Stanford, +if I have deceived you, I beg your pardon. I"-- + +The tears choked and blinded her. She broke off, and put her +handkerchief to her eyes; but when she heard him rise and hurry toward +her, she went on hastily. + +"I've let you go on thinking I'd marry you; I know I have. I thought so +myself; but I've found out that it's all a mistake. I didn't realize +what I was doing. I'm so sorry. I do hope you'll forgive me." + +He regarded her in amazement not unmingled with indignation. + +"You have let me think so," he said. "Now I suppose there's somebody +else." + +"Oh, I shall never marry anybody," she answered quickly. + +"When a girl tells one man she never'll marry," retorted he bitterly, +"there's sure to be another man in her mind." + +She felt herself burn with blushes to her brow; and then in very shame +and anger to grow pale again. Her first impulse was to leave him; but +she controlled herself. He was her guest, he had come all the way from +Boston to assure himself that she was safe, and more than all she was +sorely aware that she had not treated him well. To have injured a man +is to a woman apt to be an excuse for continuing to treat him ill; but +when the opposite occurs she can be very forbearing. + +"There is no other man," she said with dignity. Then she added, more +mildly: "Badly as I may have treated you, I don't think you've quite +the right to say such a thing as that to me." + +"I haven't," he acknowledged contritely. "I beg your pardon; but I +surely have a right to ask what I've done to change you so. You were +not like this yesterday." + +Berenice forced herself to meet his eyes, but she ignored his question. +She sank back into the chair from which she had risen to face him. + +"Come," said she, trying to speak lightly, "I don't see why we need +stand. We are not rehearsing private theatricals. It was very kind of +you to take the trouble to come all the way up here, but you must see +that my nerves are all on edge. The shock has completely upset me." + +"Poor girl!" he said. + +There was a genuine ring in his voice which irritated while it touched +her. She hated to feel that he was really hurt. It made her seem the +more deeply guilty, and she unconsciously desired to discover in him +some excuse for her own shortcomings. + +"Oh, it's over now," she responded. "Let's talk of something else." + +"I'd be glad to," Stanford replied, "but I can't seem to. I want to +know how you escaped. I won't ask you to tell me now, but I keep +thinking about it." + +"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. I remember a tremendous crash, and +being thrown against Mr. Wynne"-- + +"Mr. Wynne?" + +The tone showed Berenice that Stanford did not attach especial +importance to the question, but asked only from a natural curiosity. +Nevertheless she could not keep her voice from, hurrying a little as +she answered:-- + +"Mr. Wynne is a young clergyman who was in the seat next to mine. He's +a cousin of Mrs. Staggchase." + +"Oh, a clergyman," Stanford echoed. + +The tone seemed to her excited mood to be full of intolerable +superiority. + +"He may be a clergyman," she retorted with unnecessary warmth, "but he +is a gentleman and a hero. He saved my life!" + +"Oh, he did!" + +The exclamation stung her beyond endurance. She sprang up with flashing +eyes. + +"Mr. Stanford," she exclaimed, "I don't know what you mean to +insinuate, but you will please to remember that you are speaking of the +man that saved me, and of my grandmother's guest." + +"Your grandmother's guest? Do you mean that he is staying here?" + +"Certainly he is. Why shouldn't he be?" + +The young man rose, and stood looking at her a moment; then he began to +pace up and down, his gaze fixed on the floor. Berenice felt herself +being swept away by tumultuous feelings which she could neither compel +nor understand. Her mind was in confusion, out of which rose most +definitely the desire that Stanford would go and leave her in peace. + +"There is no reason why I should question the right of Mrs. Morison to +choose her own guests," said Stanford at length, pausing, and speaking +with an evident effort to be entirely calm; "and as I know nothing of +this Mr. Wynne, I shouldn't in any case have a right to say anything +about him. You can't wonder, though, that I'm jealous of him for having +had the luck to save your life, or that when I come here and find you +so suddenly different and this man staying in the house and a hero in +your eyes"-- + +"I wish that you wouldn't keep calling Mr. Wynne 'this,'" she +interrupted hastily. "It sounds dreadfully superior. Come," she added, +softening her tone, and pleased at having prevented him from going on, +"there is no need that we should quarrel about him. He is a priest, or +going to be, and he's to take the vows of celibacy, so that it is +absurd for anybody to think of being jealous of him. If I seem +different to-day, it isn't any wonder after what I've been through." + +"I beg your pardon," he said, coming quickly forward and extending his +hand. "I'm awfully selfish. Of course I understand that what you've +been saying isn't to be taken seriously. We stand as we did before. +Only," he added, his voice deepening, "you are to remember that the +danger of losing you has shown me how fond I am of you. Good-by." + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and before she could speak, he was +gone. She stood where he had left her, hearing him leave the house, and +the tears came into her eyes. + +"Oh," she moaned to herself, "I've made it worse than it was before. I +wanted to be honest, and he wouldn't let me!" + +She stood a moment disconsolately, then she shrugged her shoulders as +if to throw off all care. + +"Well," she told herself, "I've given him fair warning. Now it is time +to go and entertain grandmother's guest." + + + + XIII + + + A NECESSARY EVIL + Julius Caesar, ii. 2. + + +While the advocates of Father Frontford were laboring, the friends of +other candidates were not idle. By the middle of January, however, the +contest had practically narrowed itself down to a struggle between the +supporters of the Father and those of the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore. +Other names had been suggested, but in the end it was felt that there +was no doubt that one or the other of these men would succeed to the +vacant bishopric. Even church politicians are human, and most divisions +are sure sooner or later to arouse the vanity of contestants. The +struggle, which begins without consciously personal motives, is apt to +be strongly tempered by the determination not to be beaten. For +thousands who can accomplish the difficult feat of triumphing humbly, +there is hardly one who can submit to defeat generously; and against +the humiliation of failure the human being instinctively strives with +every power. Those who upheld the rival candidates were undoubtedly +convinced that they had the best interests of the church at heart; but +that meant the election--even at some cost!--of their favorite. + +There could be no question that Mr. Strathmore was the more generally +popular candidate. He was a man who appealed strongly to the common +heart, both by his sympathy and by flexibility of character and +temperament which made it impossible for him to be repellantly stern or +austere. He preached the high ideals which are dear to the best thought +of the children of the Puritans; he demanded high purpose and high +life, noble aims and unfailing charity; while he laid little stress on +dogmas, and allowed an elasticity of individual interpretation of +doctrine which made the creed easy of adoption by all who believed +anything. His enemies--for he was by no means so insignificant as to be +without enemies--declared that he carried the doctrine of "mental +reservations" to the extent of rendering the articles of faith mere +empty forms of words; his defenders protested that he was but wisely +conforming in non-essentials to the progressive spirit of the age. +Bitterly attacked by the more conservative members of his own +denomination, he was looked up to by the general public as a great +spiritual leader, and loved with an affection exceedingly rare in this +unpriestly age. Those who urged his elevation had the support of the +body of the laity, and also of the public outside of the church, which +for once was interested in church politics on account of affection and +reverence for the candidate. + +Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely +in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic +assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant +office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was +indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be +made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of +Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a +duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his +ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that he +had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant. There +was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said, so +that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or +meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and +self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but +he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for +the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is +the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the +public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore +was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in +conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself +without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a +smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised. + +Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial +liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art +of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so +that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in +whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute +of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart. +He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young +men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period +when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of +both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the +sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him +that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human +qualities, endears a man to his fellows. + +Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to +represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the +relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of +barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all, +acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the +conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of +interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all +standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can +result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church. +Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a +devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and +conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father +Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if +the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his +popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little +better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic. + +One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in +clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr. +Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to +the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the +windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered +with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony +pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet +draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be +thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of +the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with +one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely +consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome +carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by +Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table, +had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however, +and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr. +Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The +clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall +nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he +carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were +keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed +their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses. +He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too +generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have +seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen +eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was +acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and +sympathy. + +The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously +his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with +inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the +incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of those +men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their +stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was +evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel +pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service +of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would +tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he +handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all +addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his +appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come +on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not +vote for him in the coming election. + +Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even +with no appearance of disapproval. + +"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be +disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that +my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can +conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more +dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am +capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote +against me." + +He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily, +becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for +existing at all. + +"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen. +That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to +Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of +the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself. + +"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on, +turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection +with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the +good of the church must be considered first, as you say." + +Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with +a piteous appeal in his face. + +"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it +seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I +appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you." + +Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently. + +"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were +different"-- + +"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are, +however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you +have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm +glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand." + +"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch +has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, +all under ten." + +The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable gravity. + +"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested. + +"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs. +Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we +couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs. +Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but +it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us." + +Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it +a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on. + +"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has +something to do with your decision in regard to the election?" + +"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father +Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop. +It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous +that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a +man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church." + +"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented +blandly. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr. +Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my +inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you +that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to +me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was +likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure +you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night +that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained." + +"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but +his eyes still kindly. + +"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice." + +"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course +in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let +the consequences take care of themselves." + +"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I +said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be +decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I +should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand +that I personally wish you all success." + +He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief. + +"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you +wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state +properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken +a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case +there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and +let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally, +you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful." + +When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his +forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, +as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged +his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a +tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room. + +"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready +to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore." + +The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, +with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or +careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils +unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together. + +"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she +can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the +vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so +many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not +allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs. +Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him." + +"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for +him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in +him." + +"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response, +"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a +very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active +part in this matter there are others she can influence." + +"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up +with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring +the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would +have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way." + +"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr. +Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would +be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding +instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual +liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in +opposition to the spirit of the age." + +"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly. + +"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other, +"would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more +religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its +place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent +and deadly peril of the church to-day." + +"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague. + +"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the +deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in +sympathy with the tendencies of the time." + +"You put it admirably," the other murmured. + +Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden +thought behind the words. + +"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone. + +The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, +talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where +they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a +lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her +cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her. + +"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you +said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden +better. I want to thank you with all my heart." + +"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness. +"The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you." + +"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes, +"that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized. +It was like talking to a brother." + +He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet +which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of +reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head. + +"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do +you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?" + +"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car." + +"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently, +"and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from +the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may +want to read at the meeting." + +"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of +opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air +of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character, +"so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents." + +The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further +remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend +a meeting of the Charity Board. + +"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen +whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control." + + + + XIV + + + HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not +to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to +cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by +his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work, +and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is +amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing +excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such +desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that +he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is +impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which +testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning. + +At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been +going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was +to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able +to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been +looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that +there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford +and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing +division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities; +and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out +openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of +the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which +differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board. +The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were +evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed +to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the +meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are +times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of +principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a +time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by +the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs. +Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment +unconscious of being beside her. + +The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour +passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston, +with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles. + +"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air +of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into +discredit with the class which we most wish to reach." + +He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in +his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general +approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred +nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father +Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation. + +"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has +been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there +is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church, +and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand +the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that +there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He +believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the +background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the +sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection +to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am +convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that +they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I +think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too +prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich +to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that +philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators +in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong +to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I +believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that +philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with +treason." + +He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his +companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something +of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That +the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was +an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as if +to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and +incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected +the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to +resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a +keener emphasis. + +"Neither have we escaped the accusation that we use the poor simply as +a means of self-improvement. An old Irish woman in a tumble-down +tenement house once said to me: 'Ye'll have no chance to work out your +salvation doing for me.' I believe that there are many of the poor who +more or less consciously have the same idea. They think that we make +visiting them a sort of penance, and they resent it. I am not sure that +I can find it in my heart to blame them." + +"He is either sacrificing himself completely, or making one of those +bold strokes that are irresistible," Ashe whispered to Mrs. Fenton; and +she nodded assent. + +"What should be," the speaker proceeded, amid a deep hush which showed +the keen interest which his words had aroused, "is that we should dare +to be consistent. As individuals and as churchmen we should exercise +the virtue of charity, but both as individuals and as churchmen we are +bound to see to it that we make our charity effective for the glory of +God and the salvation of men. There is no stronger instrument in our +hands than philanthropy, and not to utilize it for the good of the +church is to be culpably negligent. I believe that charity should be +the instrument of evangelization. The poor will have a reason for our +interest in them. Let them have this. Let them believe, if they will, +that we purchase their spiritual acquiescence by ministering to their +bodily needs. Certainly I believe that we should limit our work to +those who can be spiritually influenced. There are more of these than +we can at present attend to, and I am in favor of boldly and +consistently taking the position that as administrators of the bounties +of the church we feel bound to use them for the advancement of the +church. To aid the corrupt, the evil, the hardened without any attempt +to draw them into the fold and without any pledge that they will be +influenced, is simply to aid the avowed enemies of religion and to +strengthen their hands against righteousness." + +The air of the room was becoming electric. Philip could see the +exchange of glances all around him, some of surprise, some of +consternation, some--or he was deceived--of triumph and scornful +satisfaction. He fancied that he saw Mr. Thurston shoot toward Mr. +Strathmore a flash of gratification, but the face of the latter +remained unmoved and inscrutable. Ashe, full of uneasiness as to the +result of the speech, was greatly excited, but at the same time moved +to profound admiration for its boldness and its consistency. He was in +sympathy with the views expressed, and he was more than ever convinced +that Father Frontford was the only man for the sacred office of bishop. + +"Even our Lord," Father Frontford went on, his thin cheeks burning and +his slender frame swayed by the strength of his emotion, "did not many +works in places where he found unbelief. There was no limit to his +power; there was no limit to his mercy. It was out of love for the +whole of mankind that He refused to benefit individuals who would have +hindered the work He came to do. The example is one which we shall do +well to follow. We have more work than we can do in aiding the faithful +and in building up the church. Let us accept the name of proselyters +which has been contemptuously flung at us, and wear it as our glory. We +are proselyters. We must be proselyters. It is the highest joy and +honor of our lives that we are allowed of heaven to take this work upon +us. God will require it at our hands if we fail in our private +charities, and still more if we fail in the administration of the +revenues of the church to be always ardent, consistent, unwearied +proselyters!" + +There was a good deal of applause when the speaker sat down. The +profound earnestness of the man carried the hearers away, at least for +the moment. Ashe saw Thurston look inquiringly at Strathmore, as if to +ask if the latter was not intending to reply, but Strathmore sat silent. + +"Don't you suppose Mr. Strathmore means to speak?" Mrs. Fenton +whispered. "He almost always does speak after Father Frontford, and he +has expressed very strong views about the charities." + +"I cannot understand why he doesn't speak," Ashe responded. "It may be +he feels that the meeting is not with him, and does not wish to take +the unpopular side." + +Several men did speak, however, among them Mr. Candish. Their remarks +were in accord with the views expressed by the Father, yet they somehow +lessened the effect of his words. Put into their plain and sometimes +even awkward language his position seemed unpractical and hopelessly +far from daily life; so that even Ashe, warm partisan as he was, could +not but feel his enthusiasm somewhat chilled. Again he intercepted a +glance between Thurston and his superior. Philip sat with the two men +directly in his range of vision, and could not keep his eyes from +watching them. He recognized that there was danger in the keen, crafty +face of the colleague, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed; he wondered in +troubled fashion how far it was possible that Mr. Strathmore was of the +same nature as his assistant. Ashe was confident that Thurston was a +born intriguer, and he instinctively watched for signs of understanding +between Mr. Strathmore and the other. He could detect nothing of the +sort. The Rev. Rutherford Strathmore bore a countenance as beneficent, +as kindly, as guileless as ever; responding to the challenge of his +colleague's eyes by no evidence of understanding or connivance. It was +not until the talkers ceased and there fell a silence which indicated +that the first force of admiration and enthusiasm had spent itself, +that Strathmore rose. + +"No one can possibly disagree with the sentiments which have just been +expressed," he began in his cordial, frank manner. "There is no truth +which we need in these days to keep more constantly before us than the +duty of being always eager for the advancement of the church, and of +employing all means to this end. The question which is of vital +interest is how best to do this. When the caution was given that to the +harmlessness of doves be added the guile of serpents, it might almost +seem as if it was especially intended for our own day and case. There +has certainly never been a time when wisdom was more needed than it is +to-day. The growth of doubt, the overthrow of old traditions, old +beliefs, old forms, in short of all that has been sanctioned by custom +and by time, have gone on in every department of human knowledge and +endeavor. The spirit of the time is restless, progressive, liberal, +even irreverent. The beautiful serenity of the church, its reverent +conservatism, its hallowed enthusiasm, for old ideals, are at variance +with the temper of the century. Since the church is the shrine of truth +it is impossible that it should alter with every shifting of scientific +thought, every alteration in the fashions of human opinion; and we +stand face to face with the trying fact that the age is not in sympathy +with the church." + +He paused, looking down as if in thought. Ashe regarded him closely, +much impressed by the apparent spontaneity and candor with which this +was said. The hearers were closely attentive. "The only thing upon +which we seem to have some possible disagreement," continued Mr. +Strathmore, "is in regard to the best method of meeting this want of +sympathy, this feeling which often seems to amount almost to general +indifference. Is it to arouse all the suspicion and opposition +possible? Is it to seem to justify the charges brought against us of +narrowness, of formalism, of repression, and of obstructing the +progress of the race? It does not seem to me that this is the wisest +course. I agree that it is our duty to forward the interests of the +church, and to make our administration of charity a means to this end. +It is certainly a question whether open and avowed proselyting is the +best means. Religion is no more to be bought with a price than is love. +The person who conforms for a soup-ticket or a blanket has simply added +hypocrisy to his other failings, and has moreover gained for the church +that contempt which men always feel for those they have overreached. +The child that goes to Sunday-school for the Christmas tree and the +summer week has learned a lesson in deception which can never be +blotted out. It is of course proper that these means should be used; +but unless it is understood fully and frankly that they are employed +not as a bribe but as a persuasion, not as a price but as a kindness, +the evil that they do is more than any good that it is possible to +bring about through their means. I do not believe that our charities +should be conducted on the basis of bargain and sale; nor do I believe +that they should be put on a sectarian basis at all." + +He sat down quietly, with an unimpassioned air which seemed to rebuke +the emotional close of the remarks of Father Frontford. Strathmore +could be emotional and impassioned upon occasion, and this deliberate, +matter-of-fact mien affected Ashe as a calculated stroke of policy. +Philip felt that his leader had suffered a defeat; and he was +profoundly moved by the thought. Other speakers took up the question, +but he paid little heed. He was occupied in speculating how the meeting +would affect the chances of the election. When he was walking home with +Mrs. Fenton after the session was over, he was so absorbed that she +rallied him on his absent-mindedness. + +"I was thinking of the discussion," he said. "I am afraid that Father +Frontford injured himself this morning." + +"But how noble it was of him to say what he believed in spite of the +chances," she responded. "I was delighted with Mr. Candish for +seconding him as he did." + +"Yes," Ashe said, a pang of jealousy piercing him at the mention of Mr. +Candish. "It was fine. What I cannot make out," he added, "is whether +Mr. Strathmore is as simple and candid as he looks. He always seems to +speak sincerely and freely, and yet he somehow contrives never to say +anything that might not have been thought out with the most clever +policy." + +"I cannot make out either," returned she. "Mr. Fenton used rather +paradoxically to say that Mr. Strathmore was too frank by half to be +honest." + +She sighed as she spoke, and instantly all thought of bishops and +church matters vanished from the mind of Ashe. He became entirely +absorbed in wondering how warm was Mrs. Fenton's affection for her dead +husband and in hating himself for the thought. + + + + XV + + + HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + Two Gentlemen of Verona, i. I + + +Instead of returning to Boston next morning, Maurice remained at +Brookfield for ten days. Mrs. Morison decided the matter, and it is not +to be supposed that he was entirely unwilling to be constrained. + +He naturally saw much of Berenice, and he passed hours in brooding over +thoughts of her. He was convinced that she was not engaged. She had +spoken of Stanford's visit, and it had seemed to Wynne that she had +conveyed the impression that her relations to the visitor were less +intimate than might at first sight appear. If she were free--the +thought made his heart beat, and he wondered if, had the circumstances +been different, he might himself have won her. He tormented himself +with all her ways and words; the smiles she gave him, the trifling +attentions which were addressed to the guest, but which seemed to have +a touch of something deeper, that might be due to her thinking of him +as her preserver, but which might even go beyond that. There was a +delicious torture in all this reverie, in these continual +self-reproaches which involved the thought of her, the remembrance of +how she had looked, how she had spoken, how she had moved. He became +every day more hopelessly her slave, yet every day insisting more +strongly to himself that he felt nothing more than warm friend. Once +for a moment he tried to believe that his feeling was merely a desire +for her spiritual good, that his attitude was that which it was proper +for a priest to feel toward a beautiful and frivolous worldling; but +the pretense was too ghastly, and he abandoned it with a shudder of +disgust. He had moments, too, when he said to himself frankly, in +defiance or in sorrow as the mood might be, that he loved her; but for +the most part he tried to keep the assumption of simple friendship +between him and bitter thought. + +He found great pleasure in Mrs. Morison. She was to him a revelation of +possibilities of which he had never dreamed. It was a continual +surprise to him to find himself so impressed by the wit, the wisdom, +and the sanity of this fine old lady. He not only felt himself an +ignorant and inexperienced boy beside her, but found himself shrinking +from comparing with her the men whom he had followed as leaders. The +ease of her manner, the completeness of her self-poise, her frank +simplicity, high-bred and winning, delighted him, while the extent of +her mental resources filled him with amazement. + +Mrs. Morison opened to Wynne a new world in her conversation. At first +she gave herself up chiefly to entertaining him, telling him delightful +stories of famous folk she had known, of her life abroad and in +Washington. She was full of charming little tales which she had the art +of relating as if she were not thinking of how she was telling them, +but as if they came to her mind and bubbled into talk spontaneously. +She had a way, too, of putting in unobtrusive observations on character +and events which impressed Maurice. The art of saying things +trenchantly he had found in Mrs. Staggchase, but his cousin had the air +of being aware of her cleverness, while Mrs. Morison said these things +as if they were of the natural and habitual current of her thoughts. +Mrs. Morison said clever things as if she thought them; Mrs. Staggchase +as if she thought of them. + +It did not take the young man long to discover that Mrs. Morison was +not in sympathy with his creed. She was too well-bred to bring the +matter forward, but he could not resist the temptation now and then to +touch upon it. She was of principles at once so broad and so deep that +he found himself as often surprised by her devoutness as he felt it his +duty to be shocked by her liberality. One day when Maurice had made +some allusion to a discussion over the doctrine of predestination which +was agitating the English church, Mrs. Morison said:-- + +"It always seems to me a pity that those who believe in that dreadful +doctrine do not remember that if one were not one of the elect, he +could at least carry through eternity the realization that he was lost +through no fault of his own. God could not take from him that +consolation." + +He was silent in mingled amazement and disapproval; yet he found his +mind following out with obstinate persistence the train of thought +which her words suggested. In this or in many another remark it could +hardly be said that her words convinced him, but they awoke a swarm of +doubts in his mind. He found himself following speculations that were +lawless, wild, dangerous, and intoxicating. However convinced he might +be that the reasoning of Mrs. Morison was fallacious, he did not find +it easy to tell just wherein the fallacy lay. He felt that as a priest +he should be able to refute her, and he was filled with dismay to +discover that he was rather himself falling into the attitude of a +doubter. + +One subject which was constantly in his mind he did not touch upon +until the day before he left Brookfield. He longed to sound Mrs. +Morison on the subject of a celibate priesthood. He was well enough +aware that she would not approve of it, and he was irritated by the +knowledge that he secretly felt that her decision would be founded on +strong common sense. He tried to assure himself that it was her +dangerous laxity of principle that blinded her to the nobility and +sanctity of asceticism; but it was impossible to feel that such was the +case. He was teased by a wish which he would not acknowledge that she +might advance arguments which he could not controvert; though to +himself he said that she would be his temptation in tangible form, and +that he would struggle against it with his whole soul. + +His opportunity came while they were discussing the election of the +bishop. Mrs. Morison was not immediately concerned in the matter, not +being a churchwoman, but she had an intelligent interest in all +questions of the day. + +"I find it hard to understand," Mrs. Morison observed, "how any +churchman can be so blind to the importance of conciliating public +thought and the general feeling as for a moment to think of any other +candidate than Mr. Strathmore. He is so completely in sympathy with the +broadening tendencies of the time." + +"But that means ultimately the destruction of creeds," Maurice +objected, answering rather the implication than her words. + +"I think that perhaps the highest courage men are called upon to show," +she answered, "is that of giving up a theory which has served its use. +The race forces us to do it sooner or later, but the men who are really +great are those who are able to say frankly that their creeds have done +their work, and that the new day must have new ones. You might almost +say that the extent to which a man prefers truth to himself is to be +judged by his willingness to give up a dogma that is outworn." + +"But you leave no stability to truth." + +"The truth is stable without effort or will of mine," she returned, +smiling; "but surely you would have human appreciation of it advance." + +He felt that there must be an answer to this, but he was not able to +see just what it was, and he shifted the question. + +"But Mr. Strathmore," he said hesitatingly, "is married." + +"Yes," she assented. "'The husband of one wife.'" + +"If you begin to quote Scripture against me," Maurice retorted, +laughing in spite of himself, "I might easily reply to St. Paul by St. +Paul. But letting that pass, it is certainly true that the church has +always held that marriage absorbs a man in earthly things so that he +cannot give the best of his thoughts to his work." + +"When the church sets itself against marriage," Mrs. Morison responded +quietly, "it seems to me to be setting up to know more than the Creator +of the race." + +Maurice colored, although he might not have been able to tell whether +his strongest feeling was horror at this bold language or joy at the +emphasis with which she spoke. + +"Perhaps I should beg your pardon for saying so frankly what I think," +Mrs. Morison continued. "It isn't the way in which one generally talks +to a clergyman; but the subject is one for which I haven't much +patience, and of course I couldn't help seeing that you are in doubt +yourself." + +Maurice started. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I--I in doubt?" + +"I hadn't any intention of forcing your confidence," returned she. "I +am an old woman, and sometimes I find that I don't make allowance +enough for the slowness of you young people in arriving at a knowledge +of self." + +He cast down his eyes. + +"Until this moment," he said, "I have never acknowledged to myself that +I was in doubt. I see what you mean, and it shows that I have been +playing with fire." + +She looked at him questioningly, then turned the subject. + +"Which is perhaps a hint that our fire is going down. Sit still, +please. Every woman likes to tend her own fire." + +"I should have learned that by this time," was his answer. "I lost an +inheritance once by insisting upon fixing a fire." + +"That sounds interesting. Is it proper to ask for the story?" + +"Oh, there isn't much of a story. I had a great-aunt who was worth a +lot of money, and who was eccentric. She was in a way fond of me when I +was a child, and used to have me at the house a good deal. I confess I +didn't like it much. Things went by rule, and the rules were often +pretty queer. One of them was that nobody should presume to touch the +fire if she was in the room. I liked to play with the fire as well as +she did, and when I was a boy just in my teens I used to do it. After +she'd corrected me half a dozen times I got into my foolish pate that +it was my duty to cure her of her whim. So I set to poking the fire +ostentatiously until she lost her temper and ordered me out of the +house. Then she burned up the will in my favor and made a new one, +giving all her money to the church." + +"How unjust," commented Mrs. Morison, "and how human. Did you never +make peace with her?" + +"Yes, but of course I was careful that she should understand that I +didn't do it for the sake of her money. She told my mother that she had +made a new will in my favor, but it never turned up. My aunt's death +was very singular. She was found dead in her bed, and the woman who +lived with her, an old nurse of mine, had disappeared. Of course there +was at once suspicion of foul play, but the doctors pronounced the +death natural, and there was no evidence of theft." + +"Did you never discover the nurse?" + +"Never. We tried, for we thought she might give a clue to the missing +will. She'd been in the family so long that she was a sort of +confidential servant, and knew all Aunt Morse's affairs. She was +devoted to me." + +"The romance may not be ended yet," Mrs. Morison suggested smilingly. +"Who knows but the missing nurse will some day turn up with the missing +will." + +"I'm afraid that after a dozen years there's little enough chance of +it." + +His mind was so racked upon this wretched question of the right of a +priest to marry, that he could not rest until he had drawn from +Berenice also an expression of opinion on the subject. He made Mr. +Strathmore again the excuse for the introduction of the topic. + +"I don't see," he said to her, "how you can think that it's well to +have a married bishop. His wife is sure to be meddling in the affairs +of the diocese." + +She looked at him with a mocking glance. + +"Do you wish to drag me into a discussion of the wisdom of allowing the +clergy to have wives?" she asked cruelly. + +He flushed with confusion, but tried to carry a bold front. + +"Very likely it does come down to the general principle of the thing," +he answered. + +"Well then, the question of the marriage of the clergy doesn't interest +me in the least." + +She looked so pretty and mischievous that he began to lose his head. + +"But it is of the greatest possible interest to me," he returned, with +a manner which gave the words a personal application. + +She flushed in her turn, and tossed her head. + +"That is by no means the same thing," she retorted. + +"But what interests me you might try to consider; just out of charity, +of course." + +"Oh, well, then, since you ask me, this celibacy of the clergy of our +church isn't at all a thing that anybody can take seriously. Everybody +knows that a clergyman may have his vows absolved by the bishop, so +that after all he can marry if he wants to; so that the whole thing +seems"-- + +"Well?" he demanded, as she broke off. "Seems how?" + +"Pardon me. I didn't realize what I was saying." + +"Seems how?" he repeated insistently. + +He challenged her with his eyes, and he could see the spark which +kindled defiantly in hers. She threw back her head saucily. + +"Well, since you insist! I was going to say that it made the whole +thing seem a little like amateur theatricals." + +He became grave instantly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "You do not seem to understand that what +you are speaking of may mean the bitter sacrifice of a man's whole +life. Even a clergyman is human, and may love as strongly, as +completely"-- + +He choked with the emotion he could not control. He realized that he +was telling his passion, and there came to him an overwhelming sense +that he must never tell it save in this indirect manner. He hastened on +lest she should interrupt him. + +"Don't you suppose that a priest may know what it is to worship the +very ground a woman walks on? Don't you suppose he has had his heart +beat till it suffocated him just because her fingers touched his or her +gown brushed him? A man is a man after all, and the dreams that come to +one are much the same as come to another. The difference is that the +priest has to tear his very heart out, and turn his back on all that +other men may find delight in." + +Berenice looked at him with shining eyes, not undimmed, he thought, by +tears. + +"If you really care for her so much," she said softly, "you can give +only a divided heart to your work. It is better to own that to +yourself, isn't it?" + +"For her?" he echoed. + +"Oh, there must be somebody," she returned hastily, her color coming. +"No matter about that." + +"But think of giving up!" he cried, leaning toward her. "Even those who +believe nothing despise a renegade priest." + +"That's of less consequence than that he should ruin his life and +despise himself." + +He held out his uninjured hand impulsively. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She flushed celestial red, and for an instant her eyes responded to the +love in his. Then she sprang to her feet, with a laugh. + +"There!" she cried. "See what dunces we are to get to discussing +theology. I'll never forgive you if you try to inveigle me into another +talk about such subjects. Here is Mehitabel to say that she's ready to +help you with your packing." + + + + XVI + + + THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + Macbeth, iv. 3. + + +"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," Mrs. Wilson said to her husband, +coming into the library one afternoon, "but the fact is that I was +dressing for a comedy." "Gad! you dress for a comedy every day, as far +as that goes." + +She made a mocking courtesy. + +"Well, what is life without comedy?" + +"Oh, nothing but a bore, of course. Is this comedy with some of your +ministerial hangers-on?" + +She sat down by the fire and stretched out her feet upon a hassock. She +was radiant with beauty and mischief, and dressed to perfection. + +"That isn't a respectful way to speak of the clergy." + +"It's as respectful as I feel," he responded, lighting a pipe. "You do +have a nice gang of them round. There's Candish, for instance. He looks +like an advertisement for a misfit tailor, and he's fairly putrid with +philanthropy." + +Elsie gave a quick burst of laughter. Then she pretended to frown. + +"Chauncy," she said, "you have the most abominable way of putting +things that I ever heard. What would you say to the youngsters from the +Clergy House that I have in train? They're perfect lambs, and they love +each other like twins. Have you seen them?" + +"Oh, yes; I've seen them. They seem to have been brought up on +sterilized milk of the gospel, and to have Jordan water for blood." + +"Oh, don't be too sure. You can't tell from a man's looks how red his +blood is, especially if he's a priest. I suppose it's the men that have +to hold themselves in hardest that make the best ministers." + +"I dare say," he answered indifferently. "Priest-craft has always been +clever enough to see that unless the things it called sins were natural +and inevitable its occupation would be gone. However, as long as folks +will follow after them they'd be foolish to give up their trade." + +"Of course," his wife assented laughingly. "You won't get a rise out of +me, my dear boy." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled. + +"You're a devilish humbug," he remarked admiringly; "but you do manage +to get a lot of fun out of it." + +She smoothed her gown a moment, half smiling and half grave. + +"Of course it's of no use to tell you that in spite of all my fun I'm +serious at bottom," she said slowly; "but it's a fact all the same. I +don't take things with doleful solemnity like the old tabbies; but +that's no sign that I'm not just as sincere. It's no matter, though; +you won't believe it. What did you want to see me about?" + +"Oh, it was about those mortgages. I saw Lincoln this morning, and he +has heard from Mrs. Frostwinch. She insists upon paying them off." + +"Then there isn't any truth in the story that that Sampson woman is +circulating that Anna is going to build a spiritual temple or +something. I never believed that Anna could be such an idiot as to give +her money for anything so vulgar." + +"The whole thing is nonsensical on the face of it," was his response. +"Mrs. Frostwinch can't build churches, let alone temples, if there's +any difference." + +"Oh, in these days," Elsie interpolated, "a temple is only a church +_déclassé_." + +"She has only a life interest in the property," Wilson went on. +"Berenice Morison is residuary legatee of almost everything, unless +Mrs. Frostwinch has saved up her income." + +The talk ran on business for a few moments, Wilson advising with +shrewdness, and practically deciding the matter for his wife. + +"I suppose," he said, when this was disposed of, "that Mrs. Frostwinch +is too much wrapped up in faith-cure nonsense to take much interest in +your holy war against Strathmore." + +"She isn't so much wrapped up in that stuff as you think. Dear Anna +hasn't any sense of humor, but she's a model of propriety, and she's +constantly shocked at herself for being alive by a treatment so +irregular. She was mortified beyond words when that Crapps woman gave a +treatment to Mrs. Bodewin Ranger's dog." + +"That snarling little black devil that's always under foot at the +Rangers'? Gad! I'd like to give it a treatment!" + +"It got its ear hurt somehow, and Mrs. Crapps pretended to cure it. +Mrs. Ranger was all but in tears over it, she was so grateful. Anna was +entirely disgusted. She told Mrs. Crapps that she hadn't known before +that she was in the hands of a veterinary." + +Dr. Wilson smoked in silence for a moment. The fire of soft coal purred +in the grate, the smoke from his pipe ascended in the warm air. The +thin sunshine of the winter afternoon filtered in through the windows, +and made bright patches on the rugs. + +"By the way," Wilson asked lazily, "how is the campaign going? I +haven't heard anything interesting about it for some time." + +"Oh, things are moving on. The man I sent up to canvass the western +part of the state--one of your sterilized milk-of-the-word babies, you +know,--got smashed up in the accident; but he'll be back in a few days. +Cousin Anna has brought her pensioners into line beautifully. There's +no doubt that we'll carry the convention." + +"What happens after that?" + +"The election has to be ratified by a majority of bishops; but of +course they'll hardly dare to go against the convention, even if they +want to." + +"It would make things much more interesting if they'd do it, and get up +a scandal," commented the doctor. "You'll get bored to death with the +whole thing if something exciting doesn't turn up." + +"I had half a mind to get up a scandal myself with Mr. Strathmore," +Elsie said with a laugh; "but I confess I should be afraid of that +she-dragon of a wife of his." + +"It's devilish interesting to know that you are afraid of anybody." + +"At least," she went on, "I could go to New York and see Bishop +Candace. I can wind him round my finger. I'd tell him what Mrs. +Strathmore said about his Easter sermon last year. With a little +judicious comment that would do a good deal. I never yet saw a man that +couldn't be managed through his vanity." + +"I suppose that explains why I'm as clay in your hands." + +"Oh, you're not a man; you're a monster," she retorted, rising. "Well, +I must go and prepare for my comedy." + +He regarded her with a look of evident admiration; a look not without a +savor of the sense of ownership, and, too, not entirely devoid of +good-natured insolence. + +"You are devilishly well dressed for it," he observed. + +"Thank you," returned Elsie, sweeping him a courtesy again. "The wife +that can win compliments from her own husband has indeed scored a +triumph." + +Dr. Wilson puffed out a cloud of smoke with a characteristic chuckle. + +"I have to admire you to justify my own taste. But you haven't told me +about the comedy." + +She thrust forward one of her pretty slippers. + +"Do you see that?" she demanded. + +"I suppose you expect me to say that I see the prettiest foot in +Boston." + +"Thank you again, but I'm not yet reduced to trying to drag compliments +out of you, Chauncy. I sha'n't do that till the other men fail me. It's +the slipper I wanted you to notice, and these ravishing stockings." + +"If the comedy has stockings in it," he began; but she stopped him. + +"There, no impudence," she said. "Did you ever see anything so entirely +heavenly as those stockings and slippers? I declare I've wanted ever +since I put them on to keep my feet on the table to look at." + +"You might do worse." + +"Oh, I'm going to." + +"Indeed! It's apparently getting time for me to interfere. What's your +game?" + +"I'm going to squelch that detestable Fred Rangely." + +"How?" + +"My slippers," Elsie said vivaciously, again thrusting one of them +forward, "are ravishing." + +"Gad," her husband returned, regarding her with a look of the utmost +amusement in his topaz-brown eyes, "you have a good deal to say about +them." + +"Do you notice anything particular about my hair?" she asked. + +"It looks as if it might come down." + +"It will come down," she corrected, nodding. Then she glanced at the +clock. "It will come down in about twenty minutes; all tumbling over my +shoulders. I shall be so mortified and surprised!" + +Her husband stretched himself luxuriously back in his chair, regarding +her with laughing eyes. There was an air of perfect understanding +between the two which might have been an effectual enlightenment for +any man who thought of making love to the wife. Elsie went on, telling +off on her slender fingers the points as she made them. + +"In fifteen minutes I shall be standing on the piano in the +drawing-room, straightening a picture. I never can bear a picture +crooked, and I had Jane tip it a little this morning, just to vex me. +Fred Rangely will come in unannounced. Of course I shall be dreadfully +confused, and have to get down. In my maidenly confusion I am almost +sure I can't help showing my slippers, and just a trifle--a very +discreet trifle, of course,--of these beautiful, beautiful stockings. +Nothing vulgar, you know, but"-- + +"But just enough," interpolated Wilson with huge enjoyment. "You +needn't apologize. I don't begrudge the poor devil whatever +satisfaction he can get out of that." + +"And then as he is helping me down, with his heart in a flutter,--it +will flutter, I assure you." + +"You mean his vanity; but it's of no consequence. He'd call it a heart +if he were putting the scene in a novel." + +"With his whichever it is in a flutter, by some provoking accident down +comes my hair and tumbles over his shoulders." + +Wilson regarded her with amused admiration. + +"Five years ago," he observed placidly, "I should have thought you were +telling me half the truth to cover the other half, and were really +having a devilish flirtation with that cad." + +Elsie flushed, and into her gay voice came a strain of seriousness. + +"Five years are five years," she answered. "Don't go to dragging all +that up again, Chauncy." + +His laugh was not untinged with malicious delight, but he put his hand +on hers and patted her fingers. + +"All right, old girl. Bygones are bygones. But what in the world is all +this fooling with Rangely for?" + +"Why, don't you see? The fool is sure to say something so silly that I +can snub him within an inch of his life. I've only been holding off +until he had that thing written for the Churchman. Now I've got that, +I'll settle him." + +"Oh, the gratitude of women!" + +"Why, it isn't that. He needn't be smirking at me the way he does. I +simply won't stand it. Besides, he makes eyes at me wherever I go, just +to advertise the fact that he's silly about me. He's a cad, through and +through. Would you come here as he does if I refused to invite your +wife?" + +Chauncy Wilson laughed again, leaning forward to knock the ashes out of +his pipe. + +"He's a fool, fast enough; and I dare say you're tired of his beastly +spooning; but all the same, the real reason for this circus is that you +want to amuse yourself." + +She drew up her head in mock dignity. + +"Of course," she returned, "if my own husband does not appreciate how I +resent"--She broke off in a burst of laughter. "Nobody ever understood +me but you, Chauncy," she cried. "Good-by. It's time I took the stage." + +She threw him a kiss, and went to the drawing-room. Looking at her +watch, she placed herself behind the curtains of a window which +commanded the avenue. Presently she espied her victim, and with a last +glance around to assure herself that everything was as she wished it to +be, she mounted to the top of the piano. There she hastily tucked the +hem of her skirt between the piano and the wall. The reflection in a +great blue-black Chinese jar showed her when Rangely appeared between +the portičres, so that she was able to step back as if to view the +effect of her work just as he reached the middle of the room. + +"Be careful!" exclaimed he, hurrying forward. "You almost stepped off +backward!" + +She wheeled about quickly. + +"O Mr. Rangely!" she cried. "How did you get into the room without my +knowing? How horrid of you to surprise me like that!" + +"But think how charming it is for me," he responded with an elaborate +air of gallantry. "It is so delightful to see you on a pedestal." + +"Meaning that I am no better than a graven image?" she demanded with a +smile. "If that is the best you can do, I may as well come down." + +She held out her hand for his, and then sat down, displaying one of the +fascinating slippers, and the openwork instep of her silk stocking, +through the meshes of which the pearly skin gleamed evasively. + +"My dress is caught," she said, turning to conceal her face, and +pretending to pull at her skirt. "I hope my slippers haven't damaged +the piano." + +"The piano is harder than my heart if they haven't!" + +She gave a sly twitch at a hairpin. + +"That is very pretty," observed she, giving her head a shake that +brought her hair down in a rolling billow. "Oh, dear! Now my hair has"-- + +Before she could finish he had dropped her fingers, and gathered her +hair in both hands, kissing it again and again. + +"Mr. Rangely!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?" + +For reply he stooped to her foot, and kissed the mesh-clad instep +fervidly. + +"How dare you!" she cried, scrambling down hastily without his +assistance. + +But, alas, even trickery is not always successful in this uncertain +world! The hold of the piano upon the hem of her gown was stronger than +she realized. She tripped and stumbled, half-hung for a second, and +then dropped in an inglorious heap at the feet of the man she wished to +humiliate. + +Elsie was on her feet in a minute. She did not take the hand which +Rangely extended, but drew back, her eyes sparkling with rage. + +"Oh, you find it laughable, do you?" she cried. "A gentleman would at +least have concealed his amusement!" + +He grew suddenly grave, and seemed not a little surprised. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope you were not hurt." + +She looked at him scornfully without replying, and then walked to the +mantel, where there was a small antique mirror of silver. + +"Thank you, not in the least." + +Her tone was no warmer than an arctic night. She gathered her hair, and +began to twist it up. He followed and stood behind her with an air at +once deprecatory and insinuating. + +"I shouldn't think you could see in that thing," he observed. + +She took no notice of his words. + +"If I laughed," continued he, "it was only from nervousness. I was +carried away"-- + +"I observed that you were," she interrupted icily. + +He stood awkwardly a moment, while she finished putting up her hair. +Then, as she turned toward him, he smiled again, holding out his hand. + +"Surely you are not angry with me," he pleaded. "I care more for your +feeling toward me than for anything else in the world." + +"It would amuse Mrs. Rangely to hear you say so, not to mention my +husband." + +He stared at her with the air of a man not sure whether he is awake or +dreaming. + +"What are they to us?" he asked, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. + +"Mrs. Rangely may be nothing to you, but Dr. Wilson is still a good +deal to me, thank you." + +He looked at her again with perplexity in his glance, but with his face +hardening. + +"You surely cannot mean that you have ceased to care for me just for a +second of meaningless laughter?" + +She swept him a scornful courtesy. + +"You do these things better in your novels, Mr. Rangely, which shows +what an advantage it is to have time to think speeches over. I wouldn't +have my hero say a thing like that, if I were you. It would make him +seem like a conceited cad." + +The insolence of her manner was such as no man could bear. Rangely +crimsoned to the temples. He paced across the room, while she coolly +seated herself in a great Venetian chair, and began to play with a +little jade image. He came back to her, and stood a moment as if he +could not find words. + +"Why don't you go?" she asked, looking up at him as if he were a +servant sent upon an errand. + +"Because," he broke out angrily, "when I go I shall not come back; and +I should like to understand this thing." + +She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair, looking him +over from head to foot. + +"Why you quarrel with me is more than I know," he went on. "You've got +tired of me, I suppose, and want to amuse yourself with another man." + +The red flushed in her cheek. + +"If my husband, who you say is nothing to us, were here," she said, "he +would horsewhip you." + +The other laughed savagely. + +"He is not here, however, so you may digest my remark at your leisure." + +Mrs. Wilson rose from her seat with an air of dignity which was really +imposing. + +"Mr. Rangely," she said, "it is not my custom to bandy words, even with +my equals. I have allowed you the freedom of my house because I was +willing to help you in your desire to be useful to Father Frontford. +You have taken advantage of my kindness to insult me. This seems to me +sufficiently to explain the situation." + +He stared at her a moment in evident amazement. Then he burst into +hoarse laughter. + +"My desire to be useful to Father Frontford!" he echoed. "That is the +best yet! You know I cared nothing about your pottering old church +politics except to please you." + +"I see that I was deceived completely," she responded coldly. + +She crossed the room and pressed an ivory button. + +"Deceived!" he sneered. "It would take a clever man to deceive you." + +She looked not at him, but beyond him. He turned, and saw a footman in +the doorway. + +"The gentleman wishes to be shown out, Forrester," said she. + +She held the tips of her fingers to Rangely. + +"Thank you so much for coming," she murmured in her most conventional +manner. + +"The pleasure has been mine," he responded. + +They both bowed, and Rangely followed the footman. + + + + XVII + + + A BOND OF AIR + Troilus and Cressida, i. 3. + + +"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison +in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind +as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days +his home with Mrs. Staggchase. + +There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a +religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment +when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had +been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that +he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield, +moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view +of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him +well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the +swaddling-clothes of infancy. + +On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found +himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a +committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice +sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly +well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more +than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The young +man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the kindliness +of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly. + +"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked +abruptly. + +"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience." + +"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have +felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now." + +The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so +keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm. + +"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are +tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?" + +Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to +go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a +confidence when he had not intended to make one. + +"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that +I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil." + +Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn. + +"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the +mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so +differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you +if I tried." + +"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said. + +"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman +responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going +right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of advice?" + +"I shall be glad if you will." + +"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore." + +"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise. + +"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church +matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but +he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that +there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice." + +"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"-- + +"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference. +Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll +consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift +of understanding." + +No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind. +Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not +take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort +almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from +Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it +was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked +upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had +been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father +Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior +now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew, +however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts which +for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would simply be +told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and the young +man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he were to seek +aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his state of +mind. + +Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to +Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he +felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the +middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It +was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements +where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice +began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his +head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his +cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he +would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore, +in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows +fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose. +When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his +private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised +to be there. + +The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose +readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which +endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring +look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat +at a loss how to begin. + +"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly. + +"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit +down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire." + +The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated. + +"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in +the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things." + +Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of +the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal +charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that +understanding and sympathy were here. + +"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to +talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy." + +He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then +melt into a smile. + +"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?" + +Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden +gravity broke out earnestly:-- + +"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing +me. I don't even know what I believe." + +"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me +rather than your Superior?" + +Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but +absolute frankness. + +"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the +Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really +followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been +among men, and"-- + +He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him. + +"And among women," he went on bravely; "and--and"-- + +"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which +declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore. + +Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without +need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so +intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not +so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt. + +"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that +Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is +given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman." + +"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems +to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very +tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of +celibacy." + +"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented involuntarily. + +"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters," +Strathmore suggested with a twinkle. + +"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily, +flushing, and ignoring the thrust. + +"Then what is your trouble?" + +"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing." + +"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change +the mind is the same as to do it?" + +"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take +them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry--if you will +pardon my saying so." + +"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has +already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really +know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your +mind as to the sacredness of marriage,--for the clergy or for anybody +else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to +abandon a position once taken?" + +The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were +spoken. + +"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling +as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I +have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so +strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?" + +"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to +put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young +men accept medićvalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make +you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the +church?" + +"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded. + +"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have +doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an +inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach." + +Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his +belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was +startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had +declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that +while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth. + +"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to +be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church +teaches." + +"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting +against the age. You have been taught to believe,--if you will pardon +me,--that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of +reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be +received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret +figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if +we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and +infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of +his own conscience and reason." + +"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the +line. The heathen are very likely honest enough." + +"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly +searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there +can be no danger." + +"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself +upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this +is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You +seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme +authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that +authority." + +The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so +winning. + +"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever +mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some +little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase +conveys to you and to me?" + +"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but +practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?" + +"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means +by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would +mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man, +and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church. +You would allow that, of course." + +"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of +it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine." + +"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since +absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon +it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the +search for truth." + +The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters, +though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more +and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe. + +"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted. + +"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?" + +"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told." + +He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to +him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr. +Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes +no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and +sympathy. + +"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with +the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in +an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing +frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men +always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or +not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear +thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who +are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are +thinking." + +"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for +themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in. + +"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church +are?" Strathmore asked significantly. + +Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net +of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely +sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between +the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions +which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the +manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and +unaffected. + +"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a +doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice +felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who +is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it." + +Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your +kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I +haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own +salvation." + +"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne." + +The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered +Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore +grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:-- + +"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness. +Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything +else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God +help you in your search for light." + + + + XVIII + + + CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + As You Like It, i. 2. + + +The afternoon was already darkening into dusk one day late in January +when Philip Ashe stood in the hallway of a squalid tenement house, +looking out into a dingy court. The place was surrounded by tall +buildings which cut off the light and made day shorter than nature had +intended, an effect which was not lessened by the clothes drying +smokily on lines above. In one corner of the court yawned like the +entrance to a cave the mouth of the passageway by which it was entered. +In another stood a dilapidated handcart in which some dweller there was +accustomed to carry abroad his rubbishy wares. The windows were for the +most part curtainless, rising row above row with an aspect of +wretchedness which gave Ashe a sense of discomfort so strong as almost +to be physical. Here and there rags and old hats did duty instead of +glass; some windows were open, framing slatternly women. + +These women were stupidly quiet. Ashe wondered if they would have +talked to each other across the court if he had not been in sight, or +if the gathering dusk silenced them. One of them was smoking a short +black pipe, and once let fall a spark upon the head of another idler a +couple of floors below. The injured woman poured forth a volley of +oaths, and Ashe expected a war of words. Nothing of the sort occurred. +The figure above was so indifferent as hardly to glance down where the +offended harridan was steaming with a fume of curses. + +Philip began to be uneasy. He looked up at the darkening sky, and +backward to the gloom of the stairway behind him. No gas had been +lighted in the building, and he wondered if any ever were. It was +certainly too late for Mrs. Fenton to be poking about in these +dangerous places. They had been doing charity visiting together, and +she had insisted on coming to this one house more before going home. He +had remonstrated, but she had laughed at his fears. + +"I don't believe any of these places are really dangerous," she had +declared. "I've been coming here for years, and nobody ever troubled +me." + +"By daylight it is all very well," he had answered, "but it's a +different thing after dark. I have been here once or twice to see some +sick person in the evening, and it is a rough place." + +"But it isn't after dark," she had persisted, "and it won't be for an +hour." + +She had had her way, but Ashe reflected uneasily that if harm came to +her it would be his fault. He should have insisted upon her going home. +The light was fading fast, and the locality was one of the worst in +town. He wondered why the mere absence of daylight gave wickedness so +much boldness. Men who by day were the veriest cowards seemed to spring +into appalling fearlessness as soon as darkness gave its uncertain +promise of concealment. The thought made him turn, and begin slowly to +walk up the stairs. + +He was not sure what floor she meant to visit. She was going, he knew, +to see a woman whose husband got drunk and beat her. She had told him +about the poor creature as they came along. She was sure Mrs. Murphy +must have known a decent life. She set her down as having been a +housekeeper or upper servant who had foolishly married a rascal. The +woman, Mrs. Fenton had added, was evidently ashamed of her present +condition, and afraid that those who had known her in her better days +should discover her. + +"It is pitiful," Mrs. Fenton had said musingly, "to see how she clings +to her husband. She pulls down her sleeves to cover the bruises, and +tells how good he was to her when they were first married. She says he +doesn't mean to hurt her, but that he's the strongest man in the court, +and doesn't realize what he is doing. She's even proud of his strength." + +"Strength is apt to impress women," Ashe had answered, not without a +secret sense of humiliation to lack this quality. + +As he walked gropingly up the dark stairway, a man came clumsily after, +and presently stumbled past him. A strong smell of liquor enveloped the +newcomer, and he lurched heavily against Ashe without apology. Philip +heard his uneven steps mounting in the gloom, and followed almost +mechanically. He paused in one of the hallways to listen to a babble of +words in one of the rooms. It was chiefly profanity, but it hardly +seemed to be ill-natured. It was simply a family cursing each other +with well-accustomed vehemence. He grew every instant more and more +uneasy, and thought of knocking at every door until he found his +friend. What right had philanthropy to demand that a beautiful, noble +woman should be exposed to the chances of a nest of ruffianism and +vice? He was indignant at the committee for not delegating such work to +men. Then he remembered that Mrs. Fenton was herself on the committee, +and that it was by her own insistence that she was here. + +"She is capable of any sacrifice to what she believes to be right," he +said to himself; "but she is too good for such work; she is too +delicate, too"-- + +Suddenly a noise arose on the floor above him. A man's voice, thick +with anger or drink, was pouring out a stream of words, half oaths; a +woman was shrilly entreating. Ashe sprang quickly upstairs, and as he +did so he heard Mrs. Fenton scream. The sound was behind a door, and +without stopping to deliberate he tried to open it. The latch yielded, +but he could not open. + +"Let me in!" he cried fiercely. "What is the matter?" + +The voice of a man who was evidently against the door answered him with +blasphemies. A woman within cried to the man to stop, while Mrs. Fenton +called to Ashe for help. Philip set his shoulder against the door and +strained with all his might to force it. He remembered then what Mrs. +Fenton had said about the strength of the husband of her pensioner. + +"Go to the window, and call the police," he shouted. + +"He's holding me!" Mrs. Fenton cried back pantingly. + +Philip strained more desperately, and as he did so he heard the window +within flung open, and the voice of a woman yelling for the police. The +man inside sprang forward with an oath, the door yielded, and Philip +plunged headlong into the room. + +As Philip fell upon his knees, he saw a man seize the woman who from +the window was calling for help, and fling her to the floor. The sound +of her fall, with her wild shriek beaten into a choking gasp by the +force with which she struck, turned his heart sick; but his fear for +Mrs. Fenton kept him up. He scrambled to his feet, and as he did so she +ran toward him. + +"Your cassock is all dust!" she cried hysterically. "Oh, come away!" + +The absurdity of the words made him burst into nervous laughter; yet he +saw that the drunken man was coming, and he instinctively put her +behind him and took some sort of a posture of defense. + +"Save yourself," he cried hastily. "He's killed the woman." + +All this passed with the quickness of thought. There seemed to Philip +hardly the time of a breath between the opening of the door and the +blow which now fell upon the side of his face. Fortunately he partly +evaded it, but he reeled and staggered, feeling the earth shake and the +air full of stinging points of fire. He saw the figure of his assailant +towering between him and the light; he had a glimpse of Mrs. Fenton +rushing to the window to call again for help; he realized with a +horrible shrinking that that hammer-like fist was again striking out +for his face; he was conscious of a sickening impulse to run, a +humiliating and overwhelming sense of his inability to cope with this +brute and of even his ignorance how to try; yet most of all he felt the +determination to defend Edith or to die in the attempt. In a wild and +futile fashion he dashed against his assailant, striking blindly and +furiously, crying with rage and weakness, but throwing all his force +into the fight. He felt crushing blows on his head and chest. Once he +was struck on the side of the throat so that he gasped for breath with +the sensation that he was drowning. Now and then he felt his own fist +strike flesh, and the sensation was to him horrible. He fought blindly, +doggedly, inwardly weeping for the shame and the pity of it, wondering +if there would never be any end, and what would happen to Mrs. Fenton +if he were beaten helpless. Surely if aid were coming it must have +arrived long ago. He had been fighting for hours. He kept striking on, +but he felt his strength failing, and he could have laughed wildly at +the pitiful feebleness of his blows. He was knocked down, and scrambled +up again, amazed that he was not killed or disabled. His one hope lay +in the fact that the man was evidently much the worse for drink, and +often struck as blindly as himself. If he could but occupy the brute's +attention until help came, Mrs. Fenton would be saved. + +Suddenly he was aware that the roaring in his ears was not all from the +ringing in his head, but that heavy steps were sounding from the +stairway. In a moment more screaming women were swarming in, and the +din become intolerable as they scuttled about him, calling out to his +opponent to stop and not to do murder. Men followed, and a couple of +policemen came in their wake. Ashe saw through heavy eyelids the shine +of brass buttons, and felt that the wearers of the uniforms to which +these belonged had seized upon his assailant. He staggered against the +wall, sick, faint, and dizzy. The two policemen were having a severe +struggle to subdue their prisoner, and it seemed to Philip that all the +inhabitants of the neighborhood were crowding in at the narrow door. +The wife lay where she had been dashed to the floor, and Mrs. Fenton +bent over her. + +"Oh, Mr. Ashe," the latter said, coming to him, "you must be terribly +hurt! I think Mrs. Murphy's killed." + +He tried to smile, but his face was swollen and unmanageable. + +"It's no matter about me," he managed with difficulty to say, "if you +are not hurt." + +The realities of life came back. The whirling rush of the swift moments +of the fight seemed already far off. The crowd examined him with frank +curiosity, commenting on him as "the dude that's been scrappin' with +Mike Murphy." He saw some of the women busy over the prostrate form of +Mrs. Murphy, lifting her from the floor to the bed. + +"Well, Mike," one of the policemen said, "I guess this job'll be your +last. You've done it this time." + +The prisoner seemed to have become sober all at once, now that he was +in the hands of the law. He went over to the bed, between his captors, +and examined the injured woman with the air of one accustomed to such +occurrences. + +"Oh, the old woman'll pull round all right," he growled. "She ain't no +flannel-mouth charity chump." + +Without a word Ashe put his hand upon the arm of Mrs. Fenton, and led +her toward the door. The insult cut him more than all that had gone +before. What had passed belonged to a drunken and irrational mood. This +taunt came evidently from deliberate contempt and ingratitude. Philip +had a bewildered sense of being outside of all conditions which he +could understand. This shameless effrontery and brutality seemed to him +rather the distorted fantasy of an evil dream than anything which could +be real. His one thought now was to get his companion away before she +was exposed to fresh insult. + +They were detained a little by the police; but after giving their +addresses were allowed to go. Ashe felt shaky and exhausted, but the +hand of Mrs. Fenton was on his arm, and the need of sustaining her gave +him strength. They got with some difficulty through the crowd and out +of the court, and after walking a block or two were fortunate enough to +find a carriage. + +"Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Fenton said, as they drove up Hanover Street, "I'm +afraid you're terribly hurt; and it is all my fault." + +"No, no," he replied with swollen lips. "The fault was mine. I +shouldn't have let you go into that place." + +"But you did try to stop me; only I was obstinate. Oh, I don't know how +to thank you for coming as you did." + +"But what happened before I came?" + +Mrs. Fenton shuddered. + +"Oh, I don't think I know very clearly. That great drunken man came in, +and asked me for money. Of course I didn't give it to him; and his wife +tried to get him to let me go. Then he struck her on the mouth!" + +"The brute!" Ashe involuntarily cried, clenching his bruised fists. + +"Then he caught me by the waist, and I screamed; and in another minute +I heard you at the door." + +"But it was the woman that called the police." + +"Yes; and when she did that I was fearfully frightened. I knew that if +she called the police against her own husband she must think that he'd +really hurt me." + +Philip leaned back in the carriage, dizzy with the overwhelming sense +of the peril that had beset her,--her! Then, mastered by an +overpowering impulse, he threw himself forward and caught her hands, +covering them with kisses. + +"Oh, my darling!" he gasped. "Oh, thank God you are safe!" + +She dragged her hands away from him, and shrank back. + +"Mr. Ashe!" she cried. "What is the matter with you? What are you +doing?" + +He did not attempt to retain his hold, but drew himself back into the +darkness of his corner of the carriage. A strange calmness followed his +outbreak; a sort of joyous uplifting which made him master of himself +completely. + +"I am sinning," he answered with a riotous sense of delight. "I am +laying up remorse for all my future. I am telling you I love you; that +I love you: I love you! I love you and I have saved you; and I shall +brood over that, and do penance, and brood over it again, and do +penance again, all my life long!" + +"Oh, you are confused, excited, hurt," she cried. "You don't know what +you are saying!" + +"I know only too well what I am saying. I am saying that I"-- + +"Oh, for pity's sake, don't!" she moaned, putting out her hand. + +He caught her wrist, and again kissed her hand passionately. + +"Yes, I know that I ought not to say this now when you have had to bear +so much already; that I ought never to say it; but it is said! It is +said! You'll forget it, but I shall remember it all my life. I shall +remember that you heard me say that I love you!" + +He threw himself back into his corner, and she shrank into hers, while +the carriage went rattling over the pavement. Aching and sore, Philip +yet knew a wild exhilaration, a certain divine madness which was so +intense a delight that it almost made him weep. It was like a religious +ecstasy, recalling to his mind moments in which he had seemed to be +lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits. + +"I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew +near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't +regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that +is--for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet." + +He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch. + +"Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault +that this happened?" + +"Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I +love you so!" + +"No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love +you! For pity's sake don't say such things!" + +She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his +lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled +his voice as well as he was able. + +"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head. +Forget my impertinence, and"-- + +He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved +him the need of farther effort. + +He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice +which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman. + + + + XIX + + + 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + Othello, i. 3. + + +Poor Ashe got home more dead than alive. His passion had shaken him +like a delirium. He had been swept away by his emotion, and had thrown +to the winds past and future. He felt as the carriage drove away from +Mrs. Fenton's as if he had been swung up and down on some monstrous +wave and dashed, broken and bleeding, on a rough shore. He could not +think; and fortunately for him he was even too benumbed to feel greatly. + +He reached the Hermans' in a sort of half-stupor, in which +indifference, keen joy, and bitter contrition were strangely mingled. +The contrition, however, seemed somehow to belong to the future; it was +what he must endure when the time should come for repentance; the joy +was a present blessing, tingling in his every fibre. + +He met Mrs. Herman in the hall. She exclaimed when she saw him, and he +stood smiling at her, swaying as if he were intoxicated. + +"What has happened?" she cried. "What have you done to your face?" + +The room and his cousin swam before him in a golden mist. He felt that +he was grinning idiotically, yet he could not stop. He tried to speak, +but his lips seemed too swollen to form words. He put out his hand to +grasp a chair, and perceived that he could not reach it. + +"I--fall!" he managed to ejaculate. + +Mrs. Herman caught him, and supported him to a chair. He felt her arm +around him, and he wondered how he came to be thus embraced. He tried +to grope back into the dusk of his mind to tell what had happened, and +the fiery glow of the moment in which he had kissed the hand of Mrs. +Fenton came back to him. He sat suddenly erect. + +"Cousin Helen," he said, with husky fervor, "I have been a wretch, and +I rejoice in it! I have found out how sweet it is to sin! I am lost, +lost, lost!" + +He buried his face in his hands, almost hysterical. He felt his +cousin's hand on his shoulder. + +"Philip," she said decisively, "you must stop this, and tell me what +has happened." + +"I beg your pardon," he answered, dropping his hands. "Mrs. Fenton was +attacked by a drunken man in the North End, and I fought him. I am +afraid that I am pretty disreputable looking." + +"Yes, you are. I hope that is the worst of it." + +She took him by the arm and led him into the library, where she +established him in an easy-chair by the fire. + +"I'll send for a doctor to look you over," she said, "and meanwhile you +are to take what I give you." + +She left him, and Philip sat looking into the coals. + +"Ah, if the glove had been off!" he murmured half aloud. + +He flushed hotly, and struck his clenched hand against his breast, +rubbing it back and forth until the haircloth within stung and smarted. + +"No, no," he said to himself fiercely. "I will not think about it!" + +Helen came back with a tumbler of something hot and fragrant, which +made his eyes water as he drank. It sent a strange sensation of warmth +through him, and seemed to restore his energy. The doctor, who came in +soon after, found nothing serious the matter. Ashe was temporarily +disfigured, but had luckily escaped without worse injury. He was sent +to bed, and despite his expectation of passing the night in an agony of +remorse, he sank almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. + +When Philip awoke his first sensation was that of stiffness and +soreness,--soreness such as he had felt once when he had slept on the +floor with his arms extended in the form of a cross. The thought of +penance performed gave him a thrill of happiness, but to this instantly +succeeded the remembrance of the events of yesterday, and his brief +satisfaction vanished. + +His face was discolored, and as he set out after breakfast to seek his +spiritual adviser he felt a grim satisfaction in going abroad thus +marked. It was in the nature of a mortification and a penance. He +repeated prayers as he walked, his eyes cast down, his bosom pricked by +haircloth. He felt that he had already begun the expiation of the sin +of yesterday. + +He found Father Frontford at home, but so occupied as to be unable to +listen to him. It would have been impossible for Philip to do as +Maurice had done, and go to a man like Strathmore; and indeed, he had +come to his Father Superior partly because of the sharpness with which +he felt that his offending would be judged. Where Maurice would +question, Philip would submit blindly and with ardent faith. + +"Good-morning," the Father greeted Ashe kindly, holding out his left +hand, while the right held suspended the pen which had already produced +a heap of letters. "I am very glad to see you; but you find me +extremely busy. There are so many things to be thought of just now, and +so many letters to be written." + +"Yes?" Philip responded absently. + +"The election is so near at hand now," the other continued, "that we +cannot leave any stone unturned. I am writing to some of the country +clergy this morning. By the way, I wanted to speak to you about +Montfield." + +Philip wondered at himself for the remoteness which the affairs of the +church had for him, so absorbed had he been in his own experiences. + +"It seems to me," Father Frontford went on with fresh animation, "that +perhaps you can do something there. Can't you go down and talk with Mr. +Wentworth? He's inclined to support Mr. Strathmore. You should be able +to influence him; you are his spiritual son." + +Mr. Wentworth was the rector in Philip's native town, and under him +both Ashe and Wynne had come from Congregationalism into the Church. + +"It is possible," Philip said doubtfully. "Mr. Wentworth is, however, +rather inclined to disagree with me nowadays. He is completely carried +away by Mr. Strathmore." + +A strange look came into the face of the old priest. He laid down his +pen, and pressed together the tips of his white fingers, thin with +fasting and self-denial. + +"Did you not once tell me," he asked, "that Mr. Wentworth has hoped for +years that he might bring your mother also into the fold?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are her only child?" + +"Yes." + +Father Frontford cast down his eyes; then raised them to flash a glance +of vivid intelligence upon Ashe. Then again he looked down. + +"I think that you had better run down and see your mother," he said. +"It is possible that she may be even now leaning toward the truth; and +in any case you might arouse Mr. Wentworth to fresh activity. It is of +much importance that the country clergy should be pledged not to +support Mr. Strathmore in the convention." + +Philip went away confused and baffled. He said to himself that his +feeling was caused solely by his disappointment that he had found no +opportunity to talk with the Father Superior about his own affairs; but +it was impossible for him to put out of his mind the way in which his +mission to Montfield had been spoken of. He was willing to go down and +do what he could to arouse Mr. Wentworth to the gravity of the +situation, but he could neither forget nor endure the hint that he +should make of the hope of his mother's conversion to the church a +bribe. He could not think of this without being moved to blame Father +Frontford; and he set himself to argue his mind into the belief that +there was no harm in the suggestion. He walked along in a reverie as +deep as it was painful, trying to see that the occasion called for the +use of all lawful means, and that it was natural for the Father to +suppose that Mrs. Ashe might be influenced more readily if the rector +yielded to the wishes of her son in voting for Frontford. + +"My dear Ashe, what have you been doing to yourself?" a strong voice +asked him. + +He came with a start to the consciousness of where he was, and that he +had almost run into the Rev. De Lancy Candish. The thought flashed +through his mind that Father Frontford had been too deeply absorbed in +his plans to notice the bruised face of his deacon. + +"How do you do?" he exclaimed impulsively. "Providence has sent you to +me. Can you spare me a little of your time?" + +"Certainly," the other answered, with some appearance of surprise. "I'm +on my way home now." + +They walked in silence toward the home of Mr. Candish, Ashe trying to +frame some form of words by which he could confess the sin of his heart +without betraying Mrs. Fenton. He wondered if Maurice Wynne could have +helped him, and reflected how they had been in the habit of confiding +everything to one another. Now he shrank from opening his heart to his +friend, and was almost seeking out a confidant in the highways and +hedges. + +"You have not told me what sort of an accident you have had," Candish +observed, as he fitted the latch-key into the lock of his door. + +"I was attacked by a man in the North End," Philip answered, obeying +the wave of the hand which invited him to enter. "He had insulted Mrs. +Fenton, and"-- + +"Mrs. Fenton!" echoed Candish. + +The tone made Ashe turn quickly. Into his mind flashed the words of +Helen and of Mrs. Wilson connecting the name of Candish with that of +Mrs. Fenton. In his longing for comfort and advice he had seized upon +the rector of the Nativity without remembering that he was the last +person to whom he should come. + +"Ah," he said, "it was true!" + +Candish did not answer, and they went into the study in silence. The +host sat down in the well-worn chair by his writing-table, while Philip +took a seat facing him. + +"What a foolish thing for me to say," Ashe broke out; then surprised at +the querulousness of his tone he stopped abruptly. + +"Mr. Ashe," Candish said gravely, "if there is anything I can do for +you will you tell me what it is?" + +Philip rose quickly, and took a step towards him, leaning down over the +thin, homely face. + +"I have found you out!" he cried with exultation. "I came to confess my +sin to you, and I find that you love her too!" + +"Don't be hysterical and melodramatic," was the cool response. "Sit +down, and let us talk rationally if we are to talk at all." + +The manner of Candish recalled Philip to himself. He sat down heavily. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "Since that fight I have been half beside +myself. I am like a hysterical girl." + +The other regarded him compassionately. + +"Mr. Ashe," responded he, "there is no good in my pretending that I +didn't understand what you meant just now. You and I are both given to +the priesthood. If we both love a woman"-- + +"I love her," burst in Philip, half defiantly, half remorsefully, "and +I have told her so! I have condemned myself"-- + +"Stop," Candish interrupted. "First you have to think of her." + +Philip stared in silence. It came over him how entirely he had been +thinking of himself, and how little he had considered Mrs. Fenton in +his reflections upon the events of the previous evening. Here was a man +who could love her so well as to think of her first and himself last. + +"But I have given her up," Philip stammered. + +"Was she yours to give up?" + +There was nothing bitter or sneering in the words; they were said +simply and dispassionately. + +"No," Philip answered, dropping his voice; "she was not mine." + +The older man rose and walked to the fire, where he stood looking down +at the flaming coals. + +"After all," he said, "we are pretty much in the same plight. I knew +her when her husband brought her here a bride, the loveliest creature +alive. Arthur Fenton was a clever, selfish, wholly irreligious man; and +I could not help seeing how completely he failed to understand or +appreciate his wife. She was kind to me, and when her trouble came she +turned to me for comfort and sympathy. It is my weakness that I love +her; but she will never know it." + +"And does she love nobody?" demanded Ashe jealously. + +Candish turned upon him a look of rebuke. + +"What right have you or I to ask that question?" he retorted sternly. +"I do penance for loving her, and God is my witness how carefully I +have hidden it. It is not for me to question her right to love if she +please." + +Philip rose, and went to the other, holding out his hand. + +"Mr. Candish," said he earnestly, "you have taught me my lesson. I have +been a weak fool, and worse. I will pray for strength to lay my passion +on the altar and forget it." + +The rector took the extended hand, looking into Philip's eyes with a +glance so wistful, so humble, and so tender that the remembrance went +with Ashe long. + +"And forget it?" he repeated. "I do not know that I could do that!" + +He dropped the hand of Ashe, and shook himself as if he would shake off +the mood which had taken possession of him. + +"Come," he declared resolutely, "this will not do. This is not the sort +of mood that makes men. Let me give you a single piece of advice,--I am +older, you know; don't pity yourself, whatever else you do. In the +first place, that would be equivalent to saying that Providence doesn't +know what is best for you; and in the second, it spoils all one's sense +of values." + +As Ashe that afternoon journeyed down to Montfield, he recalled all the +details of this interview. The more he considered the more he respected +Candish and the less satisfaction he found in his own conduct. Yet +perhaps the human mind cannot cease self-justification at any point +short of annihilation, and Philip still had in his secret thought a +deep feeling that the church should more absolutely settle the question +of the celibacy of its clergy, so that there might be no more doubts. +He honored the attitude of Candish, and he resolved to imitate it. He +who has never shaken hands with the devil, however, can have little +idea how hard it is to loose his grasp; and Philip groaned at the +thought of how far he was even from wishing to put his love out of its +high place in his heart. + +His mind was calmer as he sat that evening talking with his mother. +Mrs. Ashe was a plain, sweet-faced woman, with gray hair brushed +smoothly under her cap of black lace. There was in her pale, faded face +little beauty of feature or coloring; yet the light of her kindly and +delicate spirit shone through. Maurice Wynne had once said that she was +like a sweet-pea,--born with wings, but tethered so that she might not +fly away. Philip, with his exquisite sensitiveness, found an +unspeakable comfort in her presence; a soothing sense of rest and peace +so blissful that it seemed almost wrong. There are even in this worldly +age many women who hide under the covering of uneventful, commonplace +lives existences full of spiritual richness,--women who find in +religion not the mechanical acceptance of form, not a mere superstition +which encrusts an outworn creed, but a vital, uplifting force; a power +which fills their souls with imaginative warmth and fervor. The worth +of an experience is to be estimated by the emotional fire which it +kindles; and to the lives of such women the dull, colorless round of +their daily existence gives no real clue. Theirs is the life of the +spirit, and for them the inner is the only true life. It is when the +sunken eye shines with a glow from deep within; when the thin cheeks +faintly warm with the ghost of a flush and the blue veins swell from +the throbbing of a heart stirred by a spiritual vision, that the +observer gets a hint of the realities of such a life. + +Mrs. Ashe was a type of the saintly woman that the spirit of Puritanism +bred in rural New England. Such women are the living embodiment of the +power which has inspired whatever is best in the nation; the power +which has been a living force amid the worldliness, the materialism, +the crudity that have threatened to overwhelm the people of this yet +young land, so prematurely old. In her face was a look of high +unworldliness that marks the mystic, the inheritance from ancestors +bred in a faith impossible without mysticism in the very fibres of the +race. The heroic self-denial, the persistent belief, the noble fidelity +to the ideal which is the salvation of a nation, shine in such a +countenance, and make real the high deeds of a past generation the +narrowness of whose creeds too often blinds us to-day to the greatness +of their character. + +She smiled a little on hearing the object of her son's visit. + +"I am glad to see you on any terms," she observed, "but I cannot say +that I think your coming very wise." + +"But, mother," he urged, "don't you see that it is a matter of so much +importance that we ought not to neglect any chance?" + +"My dear boy," questioned she, "do you really think that it is of so +much importance who is bishop?" + +"It is of the greatest possible importance," he returned earnestly. "Of +course you don't agree with me as to the importance of forms of +worship, but suppose that it were your own church, and the question +were of having a man put into a place so influential. Wouldn't you be +troubled if one were likely to be chosen who taught what you regarded +as heresy?" + +She smiled on him still, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes. + +"Yes," she said, "I suppose I should; but doesn't it ever occur to you, +Philip, that we are all too much inclined to feel that everything is +going wrong if Providence doesn't work in our way? We can't help, I +suppose, the habit of regarding our plans as somehow essential to the +proper management of the universe." + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"You always had a most effective way of taking down my conceit," he +responded. "I don't mean that it is necessary that Father Frontford +shall be bishop because I want him, but"-- + +"But because you believe in him," his mother interrupted with a little +twinkle in her eye. "Well, we cannot do better than to follow our +convictions, I suppose." + +She ended with a sigh, and Philip knew that it was because into her +mind came the sadness she felt at his defection from the faith of his +fathers. + +"Yes, you trained me from the cradle to do what I thought right without +considering the consequences." + +They fell into more general talk after that; and after the news of the +family and the neighborhood had been pretty well exhausted, Mrs. Ashe +said:-- + +"I have asked Alice Singleton to make me a visit." + +"Alice Singleton! Why, mother, I cannot think of a person I should have +supposed it less likely you would want to stay with you." + +"I'm afraid that I don't want her very much; but she wrote me that she +was very lonely, that she hadn't any plans, and that Boston seemed to +her a very homesick place. Her mother was my nearest friend, you know; +and if Alice needs friendship it's very little for me to do for her." + +"I didn't know she'd been in Boston," Philip commented thoughtfully. +"She never seemed to me honest, mother. I never could be charitable to +her at all." + +The sweet face of his mother took on a curious expression of mingled +amusement and contrition. + +"If I must confess it, Phil," she said, "neither could I; and I'm +afraid that there was more notion of doing penance in my asking her +than of real hospitality. She is after all not to blame for her manner, +and no doubt we do her wrong." + +"If you have come to doing penance, mother, there's no knowing how soon +you will be with me." + +"No, Phil," she answered softly, "do you remember what Monica told her +son? 'Not where he is, shalt thou be, but where thou art he shall be.'" + +He shook his head, sighing. + +"I ought not to have touched on that matter, mother. You know that I am +trying to follow my conscience." + +"Yes, I cling to that. I should be miserable if I did not believe that +your way and my way will come together somewhere, on this side or the +other; and I bid you Godspeed on whatever way you go with prayerful +conviction." + +A sudden impulse leaped up within him, and it was almost as if some +voice not his own spoke through his lips, so little was he conscious of +meaning to ask such a question. + +"Even if the way led to Home?" + +Mrs. Ashe grew paler, but her eyes steadfastly met those of her son. + +"I trust you in the hands of God," she said. + +Late that night Philip woke from a heavy sleep into which fatigue had +plunged him. He reached out his arm, and drew aside the curtain near +his bed, so that he might see the window of his mother's chamber. A +faint light was shining there; and he knew that the beams of the candle +fell on his mother on her knees. + + + + XX + + + IN WAY OF TASTE + Troilus and Cressida, iii. 3. + + +The two deacons were together again in the Clergy House. Maurice +frankly confessed to himself that he did not like it, and he wondered +if Philip were also dissatisfied. It was a question too delicate to +ask, however; and he contented himself with watching his friend to +discover, if possible, whether the stay outside had affected Ashe as it +had him. They returned late in the afternoon, and their greeting was of +the warmest. + +"Dear old boy," Maurice cried, "you don't know how glad I am to get at +you again. Where in the world have you kept yourself?" + +"Just at the last," Philip responded, "I've been down to Montfield." + +"Down home? Have you really? How is everybody? I hope your mother is +well." + +"She is very well, and I do not remember anybody that we know who +isn't. I went down to see Mr. Wentworth, and found that he is already +pledged to Mr. Strathmore." + +"Is he really? How did that happen?" + +"It seems that he is a cousin of that Mrs. Gore where we heard that +heathen, and she is greatly interested in Mr. Strathmore's election. +Mr. Wentworth promised her his vote. How people are carried away by +that man. Mr. Wentworth told me that he looked upon him as the greatest +man in the church to-day." + +"It is strange," Maurice assented absently; "but he is a man of great +personal fascination." + +"To me," Philip retorted, "he is a whited sepulchre. His doctrine of +mental reservation amounts to nothing less than that a priest is at +liberty to believe anything he pleases if he will only conform +outwardly." + +Maurice was secretly much of the same opinion, but they came now to the +dinner table, where silence was the rule. Wynne had a feeling of +dishonesty from the fact that he concealed from his friend that he had +sought an interview with Strathmore, yet he felt that he could not +confess the visit. While they sat at table a brother read aloud, and +the reading chanced to be to-night from the book of Job. The words of +the splendid poem mingled in the mind of Maurice with the most +incongruous and unpriestly thoughts. He chafed at the routine into +which he had fallen as into a pit from which he had once escaped; the +meagre repast seemed to him pitifully poor; and most of all he was +angry with himself that he could not feel joy at his return to the +house which was the symbol of the consecrated work to which he had +given his life. After dinner came an hour and a half of recreation, and +in this he was called to the study of the Father Superior. + +"You returned so late in the day," the Father said with a smile, "that +you will not mind giving up recreation to-night. I wish to speak with +you on a matter of importance." + +Maurice took the seat toward which the other waved his hand. He felt +alien and strange. He recalled the attitude of submission and reverence +with which he had once been accustomed to enter this room, the respect +with which he had heard every word of the Father; and he blamed himself +bitterly that he now took rather a defensive mood, and felt an +instinctive desire to escape. He reflected that he had been poisoned by +the world; yet he could not wholly shut out the consciousness that he +had no genuine desire to be freed from the sweet madness which had +seized him. He tried to put all thought of these matters by, however, +and to give his whole attention to what the priest might say to him. + +"I think that you have met Mrs. Frostwinch," the Father said. + +"I went to her house once," Maurice answered, surprised at the remark, +and feeling his pulse quicken at the remembrance of his first sight of +Berenice. + +"I remember that you mentioned it in confession," was the grave reply. +"Satan sets his snares in the most unlikely places." + +The words seemed almost a reply to Wynne's secret thought. His first +impulse was to resent this open allusion to a sacred confidence +whispered in the confessional. It was like a stab in the back, or a +trick to take unfair advantage; and the matter was made worse by this +allusion to a snare of Satan, which could mean nothing else but +Berenice herself. Maurice flushed hotly, but habit was strong in him, +and he cast down his eyes without reply. + +"Have you heard that Mrs. Frostwinch is on her way home?" Father +Frontford went on. + +"No." + +"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she +is coming home to die." + +"To die?" echoed Maurice. + +He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred, +apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible +that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy +death, and live on simply by her own splendid will. + +"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it +is to us to have her influence in the election?" + +"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that +she is in"--he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time--"our +interests." + +"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three +are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand +behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or +another." + +"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote +unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her +support?" + +"They would not vote unconscientiously," was the dry response, "but +they believe that the support which she gives to them and to their +missions is of more importance than that the man they really prefer +should be chosen." + +"But what can be done?" + +Father Frontford sat leaning back in his chair, his face in shadow, and +the tips of his thin fingers pressed together in his habitual gesture. + +"Perhaps nothing," he answered. + +His voice had dropped into a soft, silky half-tone, insinuating and +persuasive. Maurice began to have an uneasy feeling as if he were being +hypnotized; yet the words of the other came to him with a quality +strangely soothing and attractive. + +"Perhaps," the priest went on after a pause of a second, "perhaps +everything that is necessary." + +It seemed to Maurice that there was something significant in the tone +which the words did not reveal. He looked keenly at the shadowed face, +but without being able clearly to make out its expression. He could see +little but the bright eyes holding and dominating his own. + +"It is for you to do this work," Father Frontford continued; "and it is +wonderful how Providence brings good out of all things. Here is an +opportunity for you not only to expiate your fault, but to serve the +cause of the church." + +Without understanding, Maurice began to tremble with inner dread lest +the name of Berenice should again be brought up between himself and +this pitiless priest. + +"I do not see that there is anything that I can do," he said coldly. + +"On the contrary. Do you chance to know anything about the Canton +estate? I suppose you are not likely to." + +"Nothing whatever. What is the Canton estate?" + +"Mrs. Frostwinch was a Canton. Her father was a brother of old Mrs. +Morison." + +Maurice could not see how all this involved him, but he became more and +more uneasy. + +"The estate of old Mr. Canton," the Father went on in the same smooth +voice, "was, as I have just learned from Mrs. Wilson, left to his +daughter for life and to her children after her. If she died childless +it was to go to Miss Morison." + +"And she is childless?" + +"She is childless. If she is taken away now, the property will all be +in the hands of Miss Morison." + +There was a moment of stillness in which the thought most insistent in +the mind of Maurice was that in this fortune fate had raised another +wall between himself and Berenice. He spoke to escape the reflection. + +"But all this is surely not my concern." + +"It is your concern if it shows you a way in which the votes of those +clergymen may be assured, although Mrs. Frostwinch should not recover." + +"It shows me no way." + +Maurice tried to speak naturally and without evidence of feeling, but +his throat was parched and his heart hot. He hated this inquisition. +The long reverence and admiration which had bound him to the Father +melted to nothing in the twinkling of an eye. Who was this Jesuit that +sat here making of Berenice and her fortune pawns in his game; +involving her in a web of intrigue unworthy of his sacred office; and +forcing his disciple to listen through a knowledge of facts +stammeringly poured out in the confessional? Absence from the Clergy +House and from town, and after that a growing reluctance, had prevented +Maurice from confessing anything beyond his first attraction to Miss +Morison, but he had written to the Father Superior of the accident, and +had mentioned that he was thought to have been of assistance in saving +her. It came to him now that he was being repaid for the accursed +vanity which had led him to make this boast; and he became the more +animated against his director from his anger against himself. + +"Whatever Mrs. Frostwinch has done with the property," Father Frontford +said, "of course Miss Morison may do if she pleases." + +"I should suppose so; but I know nothing about it." + +"Then if Miss Morison will promise to continue the donations of Mrs. +Frostwinch, the position of the beneficiaries will be the same toward +her as toward Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Maurice bent forward quickly, unable longer to maintain an appearance +of calm. + +"Father Frontford," he exclaimed, "you certainly cannot ask this of +Miss Morison! It would be sheer impertinence! I beg your pardon, but I +cannot help saying it. Besides, there is something horribly +cold-blooded in talking about what shall be done with the property of +Mrs. Frostwinch when she is dead. Miss Morison would not listen to +anything of the sort." + +"The circumstances justify what otherwise would be inadmissible. It is +necessary, Mrs. Wilson thinks, to be able to tell those men that their +situation is not changed by the death of Mrs. Frostwinch, which is +almost sure to take place before the convention. You must explain that +to Miss Morison." + +"I!" + +"The obligation which she is under to you," the Father said, ignoring +the exclamation, "will naturally incline her to listen." + +"But I cannot"-- + +"I had thought that it was mine to decide what you could and should do." + +"But, Father, this is so extraordinary, so impossible, so"-- + +"Miss Morison is to be in Boston in a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson will +let us know when she arrives. I know how strange this looks to you, and +how repugnant it must be. Do you think that it is any less hateful to +me? Do you think that it is easy for me to be working for what is to be +my own personal exaltation if we succeed? I give you my word, Wynne, +that the severest sacrifice that any one can be called on to make in +this matter is that which I make when I take these steps toward putting +myself in office. I am not naturally humble, and it humiliates me to +the very soul; but I do what seems to me to be for the good of the +church, and try to put my personal feeling entirely out of the matter. +It is for you to do the same." + +It was impossible for Maurice to doubt the sincerity with which this +was said. He had no answer to give. + +"Go now, my son," the Father concluded, "and do not forget to thank God +that the weakness of your heart may be turned into a means by which the +church may be served." + +Maurice retired to his room in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was +summoned almost immediately to vespers and complines. The familiar +ritual soothed him, and he was able to join in the chants in much the +old way. His feeling was that he would gladly have had the service last +into the night. He would have liked to go on with this half emotional, +half mechanical devotion, which kept him from thinking, and which put +off the dreaded hour when he must face the proposition which had been +made to him. + +It was the rule of the house that all the inmates should preserve +unbroken silence among themselves from complines until after nones the +next day. Maurice knew therefore that he was free from intrusion of +human companionship, which it seemed to him he could not have borne. +Even the talk of dear old Phil, to a chat with whom he had looked +forward as the one pleasure in coming back to the Clergy House, would +have been intolerable while this nightmarish trouble lay upon him. He +went at once to his chamber, a cell-like room, and sat down to think. +Could he do it? How would Berenice regard this impertinent interference +with her private affairs? How could he go to her and say: "It is +necessary for church politics that you assume to dispose of the +property which now your cousin holds, and over which you have no rights +until she is in her grave." He could see her eyes sparkle with +indignation and contempt, and he grew hot in anticipation. He could not +do it, he thought over and over. It was impossible that in this age of +the world anybody should dream of having such a thing done. If he were +almost a priest, he told himself fiercely, he had not yet ceased to be +a gentleman! + +The stricture which this thought seemed to cast upon the priesthood +made him pause. He had not yet shaken off the dominion of old ideas and +old habits. He apologized to an unseen censor for the apparent +irreverence of his thought. It was not the priesthood, it was--He came +again to a standstill. He was not prepared to own to himself that he +disapproved of the Father Superior. He had vowed obedience, and here he +sat raging against a decree because it sacrificed his personal feelings +to the good of the church. The blame should be upon himself. There was +nothing in all this revolt except his own selfishness and wounded +vanity. He had transgressed by allowing his thoughts to be entangled in +earthly affection, and this misery and wickedness followed inevitably. +The fault was in him entirely; it was his own grievous fault. The +familiar words of the office of confession made him beat his breast, +and fall in prayer before the crucifix which seemed to waver in the +flickering candlelight. He repeated petition after petition. He would +not allow himself to think. It was his to obey, not to question. He +would regain his old tranquillity, his old docility. He would submit +passively. It was his own fault, his most grievous fault. + +The ten o'clock bell rang, calling for the extinguishing of lights. He +sprang from his knees, blew out the candle, threw off his clothes in +the dark, and hurried into his hard and narrow bed. He was resolved not +to think. He said the offices of the day; he repeated psalms; and at +last, in desperate attempt to control his mind and to induce sleep, he +began to multiply large numbers. All the time he was resolutely saying +to himself: "It is my fault; my most grievous fault!" And all the time +some inner self, unsubdued, was persistently replying: "It is not! It +is not! I am right!" + + + + XXI + + + THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +Maurice woke next morning to a deep sadness, as if some bitter calamity +had befallen. In a moment the conversation of the previous evening +rushed to his mind, and his gloom rather deepened than grew less. The +rising-bell had rung, and he rose languidly in the cold, gray twilight. +So long had he tossed restlessly in the night unsleeping that he felt +worn out and miserable, and after the hours which he had necessarily +kept at the house of his cousin half past five seemed hardly to be day. +He shivered with a discouraged disgust as he made his toilet, +endeavoring to forget. + +The routine of the morning followed: meditation, lauds and prayers; +mass; breakfast; prime; then the study hours before luncheon; and so on +to nones. All this time the rule of the house protected him from +speech, but now that the hour for recreation came he was in the midst +of questioning fellow-deacons. They had all so much to tell, however, +of the manner in which they had passed their time during their absence +from the Clergy House that Maurice was able for the most part to listen +instead of speaking. He watched with curiosity to see that they +appeared glad to return to seclusion. They had been troubled by the +sensation of finding themselves out of their accustomed groove, and had +found the world confusing. Most often they seemed to him to have been +oppressed by the need of deciding what they should do, and how they +should meet trifling unforeseen emergencies. + +"It is impossible to be spiritually calm except in seclusion," one of +them said. + +Involuntarily Maurice looked at the speaker, feeling that this must be +mere cant. It struck him as nonsense, yet one glance at the serene, +honest face of the deacon who spoke, with its tender, candid eyes, like +those of a pure girl, was enough to convince him of the entire +sincerity of the words. He sighed, and turned away; as he did so he +caught the eye of Philip, who was watching him with solicitous +attention. Maurice put his hand on the arm of his friend, and led him +away. + +"Why did you look at me that way, Phil?" he asked. "Does it seem to you +that spiritual calm is the best thing in life?" + +Ashe was silent a moment. Maurice noted that he looked thinner than of +old, and reproached himself that he had seen so little of his friend +during their absence from the Clergy House. + +"I was thinking," Philip replied at length, hesitating and dropping his +voice, "that I feared both you and I had discovered that something more +than seclusion is needed to give it, however good it may be." + +Maurice laid his hand on the back of Philip's, grasping it tightly. + +"You too?" was his response. + +They stood in silence for some moments, looking out of a window over +the dingy back yards which formed the prospect from the rear of the +house. Wynne was wondering how it was that for the first time in his +life it was impossible to be frankly confidential with Philip, and how +far it was probable that his friend would be in sympathy with him in +his trouble. He longed for counsel, and the force of old habit pressed +him to tell everything. + +"Phil," he said, "will you go out with me for a walk this afternoon?" + +"Of course," Ashe answered. "Don't we always go together?" + +Wynne laughed, turning to look at his companion as if from afar. + +"I doubt," he observed, "if anything I could tell you directly would +give you so good an idea of how upset I am, and how completely out of +the routine of our life, as the fact that I seem to have forgotten that +there ever were any walks before." + +"I am afraid that I am a good deal out of touch with the life here," +Ashe responded seriously. "I have been troubled, and tempted, and--Oh, +Maurice," he broke off suddenly, "Maynard is right: no spiritual calm +is possible in the world outside!" + +"Even if that were true," returned Maurice, "I don't know that I am +prepared to agree that calm is the best thing in life." + +"It is the highest thing." + +"I don't believe it. It isn't growth." + +The bell for study sounded, and ended their talk. Maurice went to his +work uneasy, perhaps a little irritated. He was disquieted that Philip +should be so monastically out of sympathy, and he was annoyed with +himself for being out of key with his friend. He felt as if he had +returned to his old place in the body without being here at all in the +spirit. He had while at Mrs. Staggchase's looked into many books which +in the Clergy House would never have come in his way; he had more than +once been startled to encounter thoughts which had been in his own +mind, but which he had felt it wrong to entertain. Here they were +stated coolly, dispassionately, with no consciousness, apparently, that +they should not be considered with frankness. He had heard opinions and +ideas which from the standpoint of the religious ascetic were not only +heretical but little short of blasphemous, yet they were evidently the +ordinary current thought of the time. It was impossible that these +things should not affect him; and to-day as he sat in lecture he found +himself trying all that was said by a new standard and involuntarily +taking the position of an objector. He was able to see nothing but +flaws in the logic, faults in the deduction, breaks in the argument. + +"I am come to that state of mind when I should see a seam in the +seamless robe," he groaned in spirit. + +Father Frontford lectured that afternoon on church history. Sometimes +in the long hour Maurice studied the priest, wondering at him, trying +to comprehend the working of his mind. Sometimes he would ask himself +whether it were possible that this man were wholly sincere, whether it +were possible that an intellect so acute could really believe the +things which were the foundation of the teaching of the day; but he +came back always to faith in the complete conviction of the Father. +Maurice, indeed, said to himself that Frontford was quite capable of +taking his spiritual self by the throat and compelling it to believe; +and then the young doubter asked himself if this were the secret of the +faith which showed in every word and look of the speaker. He told +himself that Father Frontford was his Superior, and as such to be +followed, not criticised; he resolved not to think, but endeavored to +give his whole attention to the lecture. Here however he did little +better. The glories of the church upon which the speaker dwelt seemed +to Wynne in his present mood poor and paltry triumphs of dogmatism,--or +even, why not of superstition indeed? He was startled by the sin of his +questioning, yet it seemed impossible to silence the mocking inner +voice. + +"This is one of the incidents," he at last became aware that the Father +was saying to close, "which strikingly illustrate the need of implicit +obedience. If the church were a simple organization of man, if it were +for the accomplishment of worldly ends, if its object were the +aggrandizement of individuals, nothing could be more dangerous than the +establishment in it of what seems like arbitrary power. As it is +directed from above; as its aim is nothing less than the spiritual +uplifting of the race; as, indeed, upon it rests the salvation, under +God, of mankind, the case is different. It is necessary that no energy +be lost; that all the power of the church be used to the best +advantage; that the hand assist the head and the head have complete +control of the hand. Obedience is of all the lessons which you have to +learn perhaps the hardest. It is no less one of the most essential. In +an age which is lacking not only in obedience but even in that +reverence upon which obedience must rest, it is for the true priest to +be an example of reverence and obedience alike. Revere and obey, and +you have done noble service." + +The deacons buzzed together as they left the lecture-room. They were +but boys after all, and some of them light-hearted enough. Maurice +heard one or two of them commenting upon the lecture or upon +indifferent things. A curly-haired young deacon, a Southerner with the +face of a cherub, was laughing lightly to himself. He was the youngest +of them all, and Maurice had for him that liking which one might have +for a pretty kitten. + +"I say, Wynne," he remarked, looking up into the face of the other with +a twinkling eye, "the Dominie gave us a good preachment to-day in +support of his authority. It almost made me resolve to rebel the next +time I was told to do anything." + +"Then I suppose that you don't agree with him," Maurice responded +rather absently. + +"Oh, it isn't that. I do agree with him. I mean to be a bishop myself +some day, and then the doctrine will come in all right. I'll work it. +Down South we understand that sort of thing better than you do up here." + +"Then what did you object to in the lecture?" + +"I didn't object to anything; only when anybody proves that you ought +not to do a thing isn't it human nature to want to do it, just for the +fun of it?" + +Maurice felt how far from serious was the temper of the boy, and that +it would be utterly unreasonable to expect from him anything like +reverence. "Then how do you expect anybody to hold to the doctrine of +implicit obedience?" he questioned, smiling. + +"Oh, everybody expects to wield the authority sometime," was the light +answer. "Nobody'd hold to it otherwise." + +Maurice instinctively glanced at Ashe. In Philip's pale, enrapt face +was an expression of self-surrender which made Wynne feel how +completely the teaching to which they had just listened must appeal to +the temperament of his friend. + +"To obey for the sake of obeying is precisely what Phil would delight +in," he thought. "How entirely different we are! Yet if it hadn't been +for him I should never have come here. Haven't I strength enough to +follow my own convictions?" + +The hour for walking was four, and a few minutes after the clocks had +struck, Maurice and Philip started out. It was a dull and lowering +afternoon, and the narrow, street was already gloomy with shadows. Half +unconsciously Wynne found himself casting about in his mind for topics +of conversation which should be free from the personal element. Now +that the time for confidences had come, he shrank from words. He +reproached himself, and then half peevishly thought: "I seem nowadays +to do nothing but to find fault with myself for things that I can't +help feeling!" + +"I am glad Father Frontford said what he did today," Ashe remarked +after they had walked in silence for a little. "It was just what I +needed. I've got so in the habit of following my own will since we have +been out in the world that I needed to be reminded that there is +something better." + +Maurice felt a faint irritation that the talk was begun in precisely +the key he would most gladly have avoided, but honesty would not let +him be silent. + +"I am afraid, Phil," he said, "that I'm not entirely in sympathy with +you. I didn't like the lecture. Since we are given will and reason, I +believe that it was intended that we should use them." + +"Of course. If I had no reason, how could I bring myself to give up my +own will to one that I know to be higher?" + +Maurice smiled unhappily. + +"Well," was his answer, "when you begin with a paradox like that it is +evident that I couldn't go on without getting into a discussion darker +than the darkness of Egypt. I'd rather just talk about common everyday +things. Where shall we go?" + +"I want to go to the North End. There is an old woman there that I +thought of visiting. I had trouble with her husband the other day; he +threw her down and hurt her." + +"What sort of trouble?" + +"He struck me, and we had a sort of struggle. He wasn't sober." + +"Were you on the street?" + +"No; in his room. I--I broke in." + +"Broke in?" + +"Yes." Ashe hesitated, and then added: "Mrs. Fenton was there, and he +tried to rob her." + +"Mrs. Fenton? Why didn't you tell me about it? When was it?" + +"The day before I went down home. You weren't here, you know. There was +not much to tell." + +Maurice questioned eagerly, and his friend related briefly what had +happened. + +"Why, Phil, you're a hero!" Wynne exclaimed. "You've quite taken the +wind out of my sails. I counted for something of an adventurer simply +by having been in a smash-up; but you rushed in and had a real +adventure. I never thought of you as a defender of dames." + +The other turned toward him a face contracted with a look of pain. + +"Don't, Maurice," he protested. "I can't joke about it. It was not +anything to be proud of; and nobody knows better than I how far I am +from being a hero." + +"Oh, you're modest, of course. That's like you; but I call it stunning. +Mrs. Fenton must have admired you tremendously." + +"Do you suppose she did?" Philip demanded impetuously. Then his voice +altered. "Oh, she knows me too well!" he added. + +The intense bitterness of his tone gave Maurice a shock. + +"Phil!" cried he. + +His companion apparently understood the thought which lay behind the +exclamation. He dropped his head, and for a little distance they walked +in silence. + +"I may as well tell you," Ashe said in a moment. "It is true, what you +guess. I--I have been thinking of her more than was right. That is one +reason why I am glad to get back to the Clergy House." + +"To give her up?" + +"She was not mine to give up." + +"But do you mean not to try to--Oh, Phil, doesn't it ever come to you +that all this monkish business is a mistake? We were a couple of +foolish boys that didn't know what we were about when we went into it; +and"-- + +Ashe turned and looked at him with eyes full of reproach, and of almost +despairing determination. + +"Is that the way you help me?" he asked. + +Maurice drew a long, deep breath, and set his strong jaw with a resolve +not to abandon so easily the endeavor to bring his friend out of his +trouble. It hardly occurred to him for the moment that it was his own +cause that he was defending. + +"Phil," he persisted, "isn't it possible that after all we may be wrong +in making ourselves wiser than the church by taking vows that are not +required?" + +"Do you suppose that the devil has forgotten to say that to me over and +over again?" was the response. + +"Meaning that I am the old gentleman?" Maurice retorted, trying to be +lightsome. + +"Oh, don't joke. I can't stand it. I've been through so much, and this +is so terrible a thing to bear anyway." + +Wynne seized his rosary with one hand, and struck it across the other +so hard that the corner of the crucifix wounded his finger. + +"Phil, old fellow," he said gravely, "I never felt less like joking. It +cuts me to the quick to see you suffer; and I know how hard you will +take this. I know what it is, for I'm going through the same thing +myself, and I've about made up my mind that we are wrong. I begin to +think that celibacy is only a device that the early church somehow got +into when it was necessary to hold complete authority over the priest, +or when men thought that it was. It belongs to the Middle Ages; not to +the nineteenth century." + +"Then you don't see how marriage would be sure to interfere with a +man's zeal for his work?" + +"But it would certainly bring him into closer sympathy with humanity." + +Ashe shook his head. + +"You don't seem to realize," he said with a certain doggedness which +Wynne had seldom seen in him, "how it must absorb a man, and take +possession of his very reason. Why, see me. I know it is a sin to think +of her, and yet"--He broke off and choked. "Besides," he resumed +presently, "you say yourself that you feel as I do, and that means that +you are not looking at the thing fairly. You are trying to make your +conscience come round to the side of your desires." + +They walked on up the dingy street into which they had come, and for +some time nothing more was said. Maurice recognized that it was idle to +attempt to reply to the charge of his companion. He had made it to +himself and succumbed to it; but now that another stated it, he +instinctively found himself refusing to yield. He repeated to himself +that he was not trying to befool his conscience, but merely acting with +human sanity. + +Presently they came into a dusky court, and crossing it, found +themselves at the door of an ill-smelling tenement house. Here Ashe +turned suddenly, and faced his friend, his face full of strange +excitement. + +"Do you suppose," he said, in a voice which, though low, was full of +feeling, "that I do not know how absorbing a thing it is to give up +life to a woman? Here I am, when she is nothing to me, when I do not +mean ever to see her again, going into this place simply because here +she was half a minute in my arms, because here for two minutes she +looked at me as her preserver. It is sin, and I know it; but it is too +strong for me." + +"But, Phil," Maurice exclaimed in astonishment, "there is surely no +harm in going to see a sick woman." + +The other laughed bitterly. + +"So I told myself, and so I kept saying over and over till the talk +we've had forced me to stop lying to myself. I'm not going to see a +sick woman. I'm going to stand where she stood that day." + +"If you feel that way about it," Maurice said, putting his hand on the +other's arm, "you ought not to go in." + +"I will go in." + +"But obedience, Phil. Think what you were saying about the lecture." + +"Nobody has forbidden me," Ashe responded defiantly. "I will go in. I +had made up my mind before I came. Oh, I shall do penance enough for +it; you need not be afraid of that. I shall suffer enough for it." + +He started up the stairs, and Maurice followed blindly, full of +sympathy and dismay. + + + + XXII + + + THE BITTER PAST + All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3. + + +They found the old woman in bed, attended by a slatternly half-grown +girl, who was reading by the dying light a torn and dirty illustrated +paper. There was little furniture in the chamber; merely the frowsy +bed, a bare table, a single broken chair besides the one in which the +girl was sitting. The floor was bare and dirty; one of the window-panes +was broken and stuffed with a bundle of paper. There were a rusty +stove, a few dishes on the shelf, a kettle and a tin tea-pot. On the +window-sill by the bed were a medicine bottle and a cup. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Murphy?" Ashe asked. "Are you any better to-day?" + +"No better, thank yer riverince. I'll never be better again. My back is +broke, and the pain in me is like purgatory already." + +The slatternly girl laid her paper on her knees, but she neither rose +nor spoke. To Maurice she seemed to have an air of contempt. + +"I am sorry to hear it, Mrs. Murphy," said Ashe. "I thought that I +would drop in and ask after you." + +Maurice involuntarily glanced at him, surprised by the indifference of +the tone. Enlightened by the passionate words which had been spoken +below, he could see that Philip was preoccupied, and gave to the sick +woman no more than the barest semblance of attention. Ashe mechanically +inquired about Mrs. Murphy's wants, his thin cheeks glowing and his +eyes wandering about the room. He was apparently reacting the scene of +the fight, and presently he made a step or two backward, so that he +stood near the middle of the chamber. Here he took his stand, and +seemed to become lost in reverie. + +"Might as well set," remarked the girl, looking toward the unoccupied +chair. + +Maurice made a slight gesture inviting Philip to the seat; but Philip +remained where he was. Wynne realized that his companion must be +standing where he had supported Mrs. Fenton in his arms; and so +touching was the expression of Ashe's face that he felt his throat +contract. He turned away and looked out of the dim window over the +chimney-pots and the irregular roofs. + +"I'm used to falls," the sick woman said. "I've had plenty of 'em. I +left a good home and them as was good to me, to be beat and starved, +and murdered in the end. Women are all like that. If a man asks 'em, +they're always ready to cut their own throats. Sorry was the day for me +I ever left old Miss Hannah." + +Maurice turned toward the bed, his attention suddenly arrested. The +name was that by which his aunt had usually been called, and he seemed +to perceive in the talk of the woman something familiar. The +possibility that this battered old creature might be his nurse came to +him with a shock, so broken, so altered, so degraded was she; and as he +looked at her he rejected the idea as preposterous. + +"But your husband will be punished for his brutality," Ashe remarked +absently. + +He spoke like a man in a dream, as if his whole intent were fixed upon +something so widely apart from the present that he hardly knew what was +passing about him. + +"Who wants him punished?" cried out the sick woman with sudden shrill +vehemence. "That's what you rich folks are always after. Who asked the +lady to come here with her purse in her hand to tempt him when he +wasn't himself to know what he was doing? First you get him into a +scrape, and then you punish him for it! What for do I want Tim shut up +and me left to starve in me bed? If Tim's a little pleasant when he's +had a drop more'n would be handy for a priest, whose business is it but +mine? It's little comfort he gets, poor man; and he only takes what he +can get to keep up his spirits in these poor times, and me sick and +can't do for him." + +"That's what I say too, Mrs. Murphy," the slatternly girl aroused +herself to interpose. "Them as never had no hard times in their lives +is always ready to jump on a poor man when he's down." + +Maurice began to feel as if he were entangled in a strange and uncanny +dream. Philip seemed more and more to retire within himself, and Wynne +felt that he must do something to attract attention from his friend's +conduct. + +"We haven't anything to do with punishment, Mrs. Murphy," he said +soothingly, coming forward as he spoke. "We came only to see if there +is anything we can do to make you more comfortable." + +The old woman answered nothing, but she stared at him with wild eyes. + +"We may be able to make you more easy," he went on cheerfully, "if we +can't fix things for you just as they were at Aunt Hannah's." + +He used the name half unconsciously as the result of the suggestion of +old association and half with an impulse to prove the faint possibility +that this might be Norah Dolen. As he spoke Mrs. Murphy raised herself +on one elbow, stretching out a lean hand convulsively toward him. + +"Master Maurice!" she cried. "Holy Mother of Heaven, is it yourself?" + +He went to her quickly, and took the outstretched hand. + +"Yes, Norah. It is I." + +She gazed at him a moment with haggard eyes, and then a look of deep +tenderness came into the worn old face. + +"Blessed be the saints!" she murmured. "It's me own boy!" + +She drew her hand out of his grasp to stroke his arm and the folds of +his cassock. He sat down by her on the bed, and she fell back upon the +dingy pillow, breaking into hysterical tears. She caught one of his +hands and carried it to her lips, kissing it in a sort of rapture. + +"My own baby," she chuckled. "My Master Maurice so big and fine! I +always said you'd be taller than Master John." + +The allusion to his half-brother, dead nearly a dozen years, seemed to +carry him back into a past so remote that he could hardly remember it. +He smiled at Norah's enthusiasm, more moved by it than he cared to show. + +"I've had time to grow big since you deserted us, Norah." + +A look of terror came into her face. + +"It wasn't my fault," she gasped, sobbing between her words. "Don't +believe it against me, me darling. I never went to hurt old Miss Hannah +in me life, and the saints knows how she died." + +"I never laid any blame on you," he answered. "I knew you wouldn't hurt +a fly." + +She broke into painful, hysterical laughter. + +"No more I wouldn't. To think it's me own baby boy that I've carried in +me arms, and him a priest!" + +The attendant, who had been watching in stupid and undisguised +curiosity, gave an audible sniff. + +"Oh, he ain't a real priest," she interrupted with brutal candor. +"They're just fakes. They ain't even Catholics." + +A pang of irritation shot through Maurice at the girl's words, but his +sense of humor asserted itself, and helped him to smile at his own +weakness. + +"But, Norah," he said, ignoring the taunt, "I want to know about +yourself. We've often tried to find you," he added, a sudden perception +of the possible importance of this recognition coming into his mind. +"You know we depended on you to tell us a lot of things at the time of +Aunt Hannah's death." + +"He told me you'd be after me," Norah exclaimed with rising excitement. +"He said you'd be laying it to me; but, Master Maurice, by the Mother +of Mercy, I never"-- + +"I know that," he interrupted, to check her excitement; "but why did +you go off in that way?" + +"She told me to go. She ordered me out of the house like a dog, just +because I wouldn't give up Tim when she'd accidentally seen him when +he'd had one drop more than the full of him,--and any poor body might +take a wee drop more'n he meant to take beforehand. She was that hot in +her way when her temper was up, rest her soul,--and that nobody knows +better than yourself,--that the devil himself couldn't hold her with a +pair of red-hot tongs,--saving the presence of your riverinces for +mentioning the Old Gentleman." + +Her momentary discomposure at having mentioned the arch fiend in the +presence of those who were his professional enemies gave Wynne a chance +to interpolate a question. He could easily understand that the violent +excitement of a quarrel with her old servant might account for the +sudden death of his aunt. He perceived in a flash how Norah, terrified +by the newspaper reports which had openly accused her of making way +with her mistress, would without difficulty be induced by her husband +to conceal herself. The matter to him most important, however, had not +yet been touched upon. + +"But what became of her will?" he asked. "You told me she made a new +one." + +"She did that, Master Maurice. Wasn't I night and day telling her she'd +treated you scandalous, and upside down of all reason; and didn't she +send for old Burnham, with the squinchy eyes and the wife that had a +wart on her nose, and have it all writ over." + +"So he said. But what became of it?" + +"Ain't you ever had it?" + +"No; we could never find it." + +"Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy +demanded in much excitement. + +"Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. + +"The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures +on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you +should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while +before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." + +"Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time." + +Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy +clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could +hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to +return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily +ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed +fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the +house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed +in silence. + +As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, +evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye. + +"Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly +fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?" + +"In the house we came out of," Maurice answered. "She's on the fifth +floor, at the front." + +The priest regarded him with some surprise in his look, and something, +too, of uncertainty. + +"You haven't been there, have you?" he asked. + +"Yes; we've just come from her place." + +"Then perhaps she won't want me," the priest remarked. "It'll save me a +good bit of a climb." + +"But we went only as friends," Maurice explained. "She might wish the +consolations of religion." + +"Then you did not"-- + +"We are not of your church," Maurice interrupted, flushing. + +The priest looked at them with a puzzled air. + +"But surely," he said, "you are Catholic. Haven't you been to me at the +confession?" + +Maurice had not at first recognized the priest to whom he had been in +the habit of confessing at St. Eulalia, but he had known him before +this announcement made Philip stare at him with a face of astonishment. + +"Yes," he responded steadily. "I have confessed to you at St. Eulalia, +but I am not of your communion." + +He turned, and walked away quickly, not looking at Phil. He resolved +not to bother his head about this unchancy encounter. It was awkward, +and the fact that he had never confided in Ashe seemed to give to these +visits to St. Eulalia an air almost of under-handedness; but there was +nothing wrong, he told himself, and he would not be vexed at this +moment when he was full of delight at the probability of discovering +the missing will. He was certainly in no danger of becoming a Catholic. +He smiled to think how little likely he was to exchange the too strict +rule of the Clergy House for one which might be more rigid still. The +keen thought now was the remembrance of the wealth which he hoped soon +to possess. + +"Phil, old man," he said joyously, "I believe I shall get Aunt Hannah's +money after all. I always felt that it belonged to me." + +"Yes," Ashe replied, so dully that Maurice turned to him quickly. + +"Come, Phil, don't answer me like that. What are you moping about?" + +There was no answer for a moment. Maurice, full of a fresh vigor born +of the discovery of the afternoon, was yet rebuked by the silence of +his friend. + +"Of course, Phil," he went on, "you know I don't mean anything unkind. +I am no end obliged to you for taking me there this afternoon. When we +go tomorrow"-- + +"I shall never go there again," Ashe interrupted. + +"Nonsense! Why not?" + +"I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go again." + +A prickling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of +Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life +as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with +the monkish mood. + +"Oh, stuff, Phil!" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake don't be so morbid. +You talk like a medićval anchorite." + +Ashe regarded him with a look of pain. + +"It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice." + +"It is I," was the sturdy answer; "and it is I in a sane frame of mind, +old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see +that's the only fault you've committed." + +"Maurice," Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, "have you +thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?" + +The pronoun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his +friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being +forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to +define for himself. + +"Phil," he said determinedly, "I insist that your way of looking at +this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with +you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall +get my property after all." + +"But our lives are devoted to poverty." + +Maurice turned upon his friend, more exasperated than he had ever been +with him before in the whole course of their lives. + +"Look here, Phil," he declared, "if you want to be as mopish as a +mildewed owl yourself, that is no reason why you should try to make me +so too." + +There was no response to this, and in silence they went toward the +Clergy House. Just as they reached the door, Maurice turned quickly and +held out his hand to his friend. Ashe grasped it so hard that it ached; +and Maurice went to his room with a sigh on his lips, while in his +heart he said to himself, "Poor Philip!" + +Maurice went next day to see Mrs. Murphy, and for a number of days +thereafter. Norah was sinking, and clung to him with pathetic +tenderness. He learned not much more about the will. She was sure that +it had been concealed under the false bottom of a little traveling-desk +which he remembered, but beyond that she knew nothing. Maurice wrote to +Mr. Burnham, the family lawyer, and the question now was, what had +become of the desk? The effects of the testator had been sold at +auction, but as they had been largely bought by relatives, Maurice +believed that it would not be difficult to trace the missing document. + +The interest and excitement of this new business so occupied the +thoughts of Maurice that he almost ceased to think of religious +matters. Perhaps there was more danger to his monastic profession in +this indifference than in the most poignant doubt. He went through his +duties at the Clergy House cheerfully because he thought little about +them. They were part of the routine of life, and when the hour for +recreation came he laid all that aside. He even on one occasion wrote a +hurried note to Mr. Burnham in the hour for meditation, and it amazed +him when he thought of it that his conscience did not protest. He +reflected with a certain naive pleasure that it was possible after all +to modify the strict rules of the house without suffering undue +contrition afterward. The discovery might have seemed to Father +Frontford a dangerous one. + + + + XXIII + + + THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + Measure for Measure, iv. 4. + + +So much was Maurice absorbed in his thought of the will and his +inquiries after it that he gave little consideration to the disquieting +plan of Father Frontford for the securing of Miss Morison's cooperation +in the election schemes. Several days having gone by without farther +allusion to the matter, he decided that his remonstrances had been +effective, and was greatly relieved to be freed from a task so +repugnant under any circumstances and made intolerable by his feeling +for Berenice. It was with a most painful shock, therefore, that he one +day received from the Father the information that Miss Morison had +returned to Boston. He met the Father Superior in the hall one morning +after matins, and although it was a silent hour the latter spoke. + +"It is better to see her at once," he added. "Mrs. Frostwinch is very +low, and the sooner the thing is settled the better." + +"But," stammered Maurice, "I"-- + +"I think," the other went on, ignoring the interruption, "that it will +be best for you to call on her this afternoon at exercise hour. She is +likely to be at home then, and it will be rather early for other +visitors." + +Maurice struggled with himself, endeavoring to shake off the influence +which this man always exercised over him. He determined to speak, and +to decline the hateful errand. + +"Father Frontford," he said with an effort, "I cannot undertake this." + +"My son," the other responded with gentle severity, "you forget that +this is a silent hour. Although I may speak to you on affairs +concerning the church, that does not give you the right to answer +irrelevantly." + +"It is not irrelevantly," Maurice protested, feeling his growing +irritation strengthen his resolve. "I"-- + +The voice of the old priest was more stern as he interrupted. + +"You seem to forget entirely your vow of obedience. There is little +merit," he added, his tone softening persuasively, "in service which is +easy and pleasant. It is in the sacrifice of self and our own +inclinations that we gain the conquest of self. Go, my son, and pray to +be forgiven for pride and insubordination. Do you think that you would +be objecting if it were not for the wound to your vanity which this +work inflicts? You may repeat ten _paters_ for having violated the rule +of silence." + +Maurice moved away, feeling that he dared not trust himself to speak +again. To be thus treated like a willful child galled his pride and +quickened all the obstinacy of his nature. + +"The rule of silence!" he said to himself angrily as he went. "Are we +in the Middle Ages?" + +It came to him as a sort of jeer from an outside intelligence that +after all they were trying to ape mediaeval discipline. He had been for +weeks coming to the point where the whole monastic life seemed to him +fantastic and theatrical; and now that his personal liberty was so +sharply assailed, his self-respect so threatened, he was prepared to +see everything in the most unfavorable light. He laughed bitterly in +his mind at the tangle he was in, and contempt for himself and for the +community took hold of his very soul. + +Yet he was not ready to throw off allegiance. The bonds of habit are +strong; the power of old belief is stronger; and strongest of all is +that vanity which holds a man back from the avowal that he has been +mistaken in his most ardent professions. It is one thing to change a +conviction; it is quite another to acknowledge that a belief formerly +upheld with ardor is now outgrown. It is not simply the ignoble shame +of fearing the opinion of others that is involved in such a case, but +that of losing confidence in one's own judgment, of standing convicted +of error in that inner court of consciousness where all disguises are +stripped away and all excuses vain. To see that even the most +passionate conviction may have been mistaken is to feel profound and +disquieting doubt of all that human faith may compass; it is to seem to +be helpless in the midst of baffling and sphinx-like perplexities. +Maurice was already at the point where he could hardly be regarded as +holding his old opinions, but he had not reached that of being ready to +confess that he had been wrong in a matter so vital that error in it +would involve the whole reordering of his life and leave him with no +standards of faith. + +He was, moreover, noble in his impulses, and he had too long been bred +in introspection not to perceive now that he was greatly influenced by +his inclinations. He was too honest not to be aware that there was as +much passion as reason in his revulsion from the monastic life, and +that Berenice Morison's perfections weighed as heavily in the scale as +any shortcomings of theology. He reproached himself stoutly, in +thoroughly monkish fashion, and ended by resolving that obedience was a +duty; that the errand on which he was sent was one which would abase +his sinful pride and must be executed for the benefiting of his +spiritual condition. + +He said this to himself sincerely, yet he was human, and behind all was +the consciousness that in this bad business there was at least the +consolation that he should be face to face with Berenice. If +humiliation was doubly bitter by being wrought through his love, at +least his love might find some scanty comfort in the very means of his +humiliation. + +When the hour for exercise, four in the afternoon, came, Maurice set +out on his mission. He had blushed at himself in the mirror for the +solicitude with which he regarded his image, but he had tried to +believe that this arose only from a disinterested anxiety to appear at +his best in behalf of the object which he was sent to accomplish. + +Miss Morison was living with Mrs. Frostwinch, and as Maurice walked +buoyantly along, forgetting his errand and only remembering that he was +to see her, he recalled how on the day when they had first met he had +walked home with her from Mrs. Gore's. He recalled the pretty, willful +turn of her head and the saucy side-glance of her eyes, the proud curve +of her neck, the color on her cheeks delicate as the first +peach-blossom in spring. That he had no right thus to be thinking of a +woman perhaps added a certain piquancy to his thought; but he quieted +his conscience with the reflection that he was in the path of duty, and +of a duty, moreover, which was likely to prove sufficiently hard and +humiliating. + +Miss Morison was at home, and would see Mr. Wynne. + +The high reception room in which he waited for her had a gloomy +formality, a sort of petrified respectability, most discouraging. On +the wall was a large painting, evidently a copy from some famous +original, although Maurice did not know what. The picture represented a +painter with a model in the dress of a nun. The artist was evidently +engaged in painting a saint for some convent, a beautiful sister had +been chosen as his model, and he was improving the opportunity to make +love to her. Her reluctant and remorseful yielding was evident in every +line of her figure as she allowed the painter to steal his arm around +her waist and bend his lips toward hers. Wynne looked at the picture +with vague disquiet. Here was the struggle of the natural human impulse +against the constraint of ascetic vows; the irresistible yielding to +nature and to the call of a passion interwoven with the very fibres of +humanity. The sombre Boston parlor vanished, and he seemed to be in +some old-world nunnery with the unknown lovers. He felt all their +guilty bliss and their scalding remorse. He sighed so deeply that the +soft laugh behind him seemed almost an echo. Turning quickly, he found +Berenice watching him with a teasing smile on her lips. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," she said, holding out her hand, +"but you were so absorbed in Filippo and his Lucretia that you paid no +attention to me." + +"I beg your pardon," he responded, taking her hand cordially. "I was +looking at the picture and wondering what it represented." + +"It is that reprobate Filippo Lippi and Lucretia Buti, the nun that he +ran away with. Why it pleased the fancy of my grandfather, I'm sure I +can't imagine. Sit down, please. It is a long time since I have seen +you, and now that Lent is coming, I suppose that you will be lost to +the world altogether." + +He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted +him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild +geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then +without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at +the Lucretia. Berenice laughed frankly. + +"Are you comparing us?" she asked gayly. "Or are you trying to decide +what I would have done in her case? I can tell you that." + +"What would you have done?" + +"Done? I would have run away from him and the convent both! Do you +think I was made to be cooped up in a nunnery if I could escape?" + +"No," he answered with fervor, "you were certainly not made for that." + +"That is an unclerical answer from a monk." + +"I am not a monk." + +She put her head a little on one side with delicious coquetry. + +"Would it be rude to ask what you are, then?" + +He regarded her a moment, and then with explosive vehemence he broke +out:-- + +"I am a deacon who has not taken the vows, and I am a man who loves you +with his whole soul!" + +She paled, and then flushed to her temples. She cast her eyes down, and +seemed to be struggling for self-control. He did not offer to touch +her, although his throat contracted with the intensity of his effort to +maintain his outward calm. Then she looked up with a smile light and +cold. + +"We are not called upon to play Filippo and Lucretia in reversed +parts," she said. "I am not trying to tempt you away from your calling. +Wouldn't it be better to talk about the weather?" + +He was unable to answer her, but sat staring with hot eyes into her +face, feeling its beauty like a pain. + +"It has been very cold for the season during the past week," she went +on. + +"Miss Morison," he retorted hotly, "I had no right to say that, but you +needn't insult me. It is cruel enough as it is." + +Her face softened a little, but she ignored his words. + +"Tell me," she remarked, as if more personal subjects had not come into +the conversation, "what are the chances of the election? I hear so many +things said that I have ceased to have any clear ideas on the subject +at all." + +Maurice sat upright, throwing back his shoulders. This girl should not +get the better of him. He lifted his head, his nostrils distending. + +"It is too soon to speak with certainty," he responded; "but it is in +regard to that that I came--that I was sent to see you this afternoon. +We are under vows of obedience at the Clergy House." + +He said this defiantly, fancying he saw in her face a smile at the idea +of his servitude. + +"You will regard what I say as the words of a messenger." + +"All?" she interrupted. + +He flushed with confusion, but he was determined that he would not +again lose control of himself. + +"All that I _shall_ say," he responded. "What I have said is to be +forgotten." + +"By me or by you?" she asked, dimpling into a smile so provoking that +he had to look away from her or he should have given in. + +"By you," was his reply; but he could not help adding under his breath: +"If you wish to forget it." + +She laughed outright. + +"I will consider the matter. But this errand from the powers that be at +the Clergy House; I am curious about that." + +"You will remember," he urged, his face falling, "that it is only a +message for which I have no responsibility." + +"Certainly; although you would of course bring no message of which you +didn't approve." + +"I am not asked whether I approve or disapprove. It is the decision of +the Father Superior that it should be said; and that is the whole of +it." + +"Well," she inquired, as he paused, unable to go on, "after this +tremendous preamble, what is it?" + +It seemed to Maurice that he could not say it; but he cleared his +throat, and forced himself to look her in the face. + +"It has to do with your inheritance of the--your inheritance through +Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"My inheritance? What do you mean?" she demanded, suddenly becoming +grave. + +As briefly as possible he explained to her the errand which had been +given to him. He could see indignation gathering in her look. + +"But who has told Father Frontford that Mrs. Frostwinch is so ill?" she +broke out at last. "Cousin Anna is not so well since she came from the +South, but that is all. It is shameful to be speculating on her death +and disposing of her property as if she were buried already! I wonder +at you!" + +Wynne smiled bitterly. + +"I have already said that I had nothing whatever to do with the +matter," he answered. + +"You had no right to come to me with such a message. It puts me in the +position of waiting for her death! Oh, it's an insult! It's an insult +to me and to Cousin Anna! What will she think?" + +"She will think nothing," he said, roused by a sense of her injustice, +"because she will never know." + +"Why will she not?" + +"Because if it is cruel for me to say a thing which harms nobody except +me for bringing the message, it would be a thousand times more cruel +for you to tell your cousin that her death was counted on." + +He rose as he spoke, and stood looking down on her with the full +purpose of constraining her to his will. She sprang up in her turn. + +"Very well; I will not tell her. You may say to Father Frontford from +me that it will be time enough for him to undertake the disposal of my +property when it is mine. I thank him for his officiousness!" + +"You are unjust to Father Frontford. I have made his wish seem +offensive by the way I have put it, I suppose. At any rate, he is +simply seeking the good of the church." + +"And to have himself made bishop." + +"He would vote to-morrow for any man that he thought would do better +than he can do. He would support Mr. Strathmore himself if he believed +it well for the church. I do not find myself in sympathy with +everything that he does, but I know him, and of one thing I am sure: he +would be burned alive in slow fires to advance the good of the church." + +She looked at him curiously. Then she turned away in seeming +carelessness, and began to arrange some pink roses which stood in a big +vase on a table near at hand. + +"Good-by," he said. "I am sorry to have offended you." + +"Must you go?" responded she with a society manner which cut him to the +quick. "Let me give you a rose." + +She broke one off, and handed it to him. He took it awkwardly, wholly +at a loss to understand her. + +"They are lovely, aren't they?" she said. "Mr. Stanford sent them to me +this morning." + +He looked at her until her eyes fell. Then he laid the rose on the +table near the hand which had given it to him, and without further +speech went out. + + + + XXIV + + + FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + Richard II., ii. 2. + + +Although Ashe had said that he should not go again to the +poverty-stricken dwelling of Mrs. Murphy, he found himself a few days +later beside her bed. Word had been brought to him that she was dying, +and that she begged to see him before her death. There was no resisting +a call like this, and on a gloomy afternoon he had gone down to the +dingy court, torn by memories and worn with inward struggles. + +He found the old woman almost speechless with weakness. The room was +more comfortable, and he knew that Maurice had been at work. The +slatternly girl was in attendance, and there was also the +pleasant-faced priest whom Philip and Maurice had encountered in the +court. The priest had come with an acolyte to administer the last +rites, and the woman had made her confession. So intent, however, was +Mrs. Murphy upon the purpose for which she had summoned Ashe that she +cried out to him as he entered, and apparently for the moment forgot +all else. + +Ashe looked at the priest in apology, but the latter said kindly:-- + +"Let her speak to you, and then she will be done with things of this +earth." + +It was the safety of her husband for which the poor creature was +concerned. It was on her mind that Ashe and Mrs. Fenton could save him +from punishment if they chose. She pleaded piteously with Philip to +have the prisoner set free. + +"He'll be all alone of me," she moaned. "That'll be more punishment +than you're thinking, your riverince. He'll come out of jail sober, and +he'll remember how he had me to do for him night and day these long +years. He'll not be liking that, your riverince; and he'll be uneasy to +think maybe he had some small thing to do with it himself. Not that I +say he did," she added hastily. "His little fun wouldn't be the cause +of harm to me as is used to his ways, but maybe he'll be after thinking +so. It's the fever I have, from poor living, and maybe from being so +long without Tim and worrying the heart out of my body for him, and he +there in jail. Only if you'll promise to let him go, you and the sweet +lady that very likely didn't know his pleasant ways when he had a drop +too much, you'd make it easier dying without him." + +She gasped out her words as if every syllable were an effort, her eyes +appealing with a wildness which touched his heart. The girl went to the +bed and leaned over, taking in hers the thin, withered hand. + +"There, there, Mrs. Murphy," she said, "of course the gentleman'll do +it. He couldn't have the heart to resist your dying prayer." + +"I am ready to do all I can, Mrs. Murphy," Philip stammered, struggling +with his conscience to promise as much as he could; "and I'll see Mrs. +Fenton. I'm sure she won't wish to have anything done that you would +not like." + +The sick woman burst into weak tears, stammering half inarticulate +blessings. + +"I don't know," Philip began, feeling that it was not honest to give +her the impression that he could set her husband free, "how much"-- + +The priest crossed to him and laid a hand quickly on his shoulder. + +"Whist!" he said in Philip's ear. "There's no need of troubling her +with that. You'll do what you can, and the rest's with heaven that is +good to the poor." + +Mrs. Murphy had not heard or heeded what Ashe said, and still mumbled +her thanks while the Father prepared to administer the viaticum. The +acolyte and the girl looked at Ashe as if expecting him to withdraw. + +"May I remain?" Philip asked, looking at the priest with deep feeling. + +The other regarded him benignly. + +"Remain, my brother; and may the Holy Virgin bless the sacrament to +your soul as well as to hers." + +Ashe could not have told why he had yielded to the impulse to stay. He +had for months been coming more and more to feel that the church of +Rome was his true refuge, yet he hardly now dared confess this to +himself. He had been deeply affected by the discovery that Maurice had +been to confession at St. Eulalia, and he longed himself to follow the +example of his friend. To Ashe, however, it seemed like trifling with +sacred things, and he could not do it. Now as he knelt on the unclean +and uneven floor of that sordid chamber he experienced a peace and a +security such as he had never before known. He was moved almost to +tears; yet he would not yield. + +"It is not Rome," he insisted to himself. "It is the simple faith of +these poor souls. That is beautiful and holy. It would be easy for me +to think that I was becoming a Catholic." + +He left as soon as the rite was concluded, but the memory of it +remained. + +He saw Mrs. Fenton on the afternoon following. He had not been alone +with her since his mad declaration of love. He wished now to meet her +calmly, yet the moment he entered her house his heart quickened its +beating. He was no longer a priest bent on an errand of mercy; he was +an ardent lover, acutely conscious that he was in the rooms through +which she passed day by day, that in a moment he should see her, hear +her voice, perhaps touch her hand. He was shown into the library where +she was sitting, and she rose to greet him frankly and simply. + +"She was not touched by what happened in the carriage," Philip said to +himself, with the woeful wisdom of love, "or she could not so +completely ignore it." + +"How do you do, Mr. Ashe?" she said with perfect calmness. "You are +just in time for a cup of tea. I am having mine early, because I came +in a little chilled." + +He was too confused with the joy of her presence to decline. + +"I have come on an errand which is not over pleasant," he remarked, +watching her handling the cups, "and I am afraid that it is useless +too." + +"Does that mean that it is something you wish me to do but think I'm +too hard-hearted or selfish to agree to?" + +"It is not a question of willingness so much as of power. Mrs. Murphy +is dying,--very likely by this time she is not living,--and she begs us +to save her husband from being punished." + +"But how could that be done?" + +"I doubt if it could be done; but I promised her that I would speak to +you. I suppose that if we did not give evidence there would not be much +that could be told; but I hardly think that we have the right not to." + +Mrs. Fenton thoughtfully regarded the fire a moment; then seemed to be +recalled to the present by the active boiling of the little silver +teakettle. + +"I'm afraid women would drive justice out of the world if they had +their way," she said with a smile. + +He smiled in reply, full of delight in her mere presence. They talked +the matter over, arriving at some sort of a compromise between their +sympathy for the dying woman and their feeling that a man like Murphy +should be dealt with by the law. They came for the moment to seem to be +on the old footing of simple friendliness, while she made the tea and +they discussed the situation. + +"One lump or two?" Mrs. Fenton asked, pausing with tongs suspended over +the sugar. + +"Two," answered he. "I am afraid I am self-indulgent in my tea, but +then I very seldom take it." + +"So small an indulgence," she said, handing him his cup, "does not seem +to me to indicate any great moral laxity." + +"It is the principle of the thing," Philip returned, smiling because +she smiled. + +Mrs. Fenton shook her head. + +"Come," she said, "this is a good time for me to say something that has +been in my mind for a long time. You may think that it isn't my affair, +but I can't help saying that it seems to me you have allowed yourself +to get into a frame of mind that is rather--well, that isn't entirely +healthy. I hope you don't think me too presuming." + +"You could not be," was his reply; "but I do not understand what you +mean." + +She had grown graver, and leaned back in her chair with downcast eyes. + +"I hardly know how to say it," she began slowly, "but you seem to me to +be feeling rather morbidly about the virtue of personal discomfort. If +you will pardon me, I can't think that you really believe it to be any +merit in the sight of heaven that a man should make himself needlessly +uncomfortable." + +"But if the mortification of the flesh helps us to"-- + +She put up her hand and interrupted him. + +"I am a good churchwoman, but I am not able to believe in scoring off +the sins of the soul by abusing the body. The old monks scourging +themselves and the Hindus swinging by hooks in their backs seem to me +both pathetically mistaken, and both to be moved by the same feelings." + +"Then you do not believe in asceticism at all?" + +"Mr. Fenton used to say that asceticism was the most insolent insult to +Heaven that human vanity ever invented." + +"But if we are to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts," +Ashe broke out, his inner excitement bursting forth through his +calmness, "if we are to give way to the joys of this life, if--Do you +not see, Mrs. Fenton, that this covers so much? It goes down into the +depths of a man's heart. It comes almost at once, for instance, to the +question of the marriage of priests." + +She flushed, and her manner grew perceptibly colder. + +"That is naturally not a subject that I care to go into," she said; +"but I have no scruple against saying that I do not believe in a +celibate priesthood. In our church and our time, it is out of place." + +"But it is the supreme test whether a man is willing to give up all his +earthly joy for the service of Heaven." + +She frowned slightly, and he realized how significant his manner must +have been. + +"The marriage of the clergy is not a subject that it seems to me +necessary for us to discuss," she said. + +"Mrs. Fenton," Philip said, "I have given you too good a right to be +offended with me once, but I must say something that I fear may offend +you again. It is not about myself. It is about a better man." + +She looked at him in evident surprise and disquiet. + +"I asked what you think of the marriage of the clergy," he went on, +"because it seems to me right to tell you that Mr. Candish loves you." + +She flushed to her temples, starting impulsively in her seat. + +"Mr. Ashe," she said vehemently, "what right have you to talk to me of +such subjects at all?" + +"None," he answered, "none at all,--unless--None that you would +recognize; but I wish to atone for the wrong I did in speaking to you, +and to say what he would never say. If it were possible that you cared +for him, I should perhaps help you both." + +"You forget, I think, that I have been married." + +"I do not forget anything," Philip returned desperately. "It is only +that he is a good man, a noble man, a man that would never have fallen +under his weakness as I did, and if you cared for him, he is too fine +to be allowed to suffer. He loved you long before I ever saw you." + +"He has never given me any sign of it." + +Her flushed cheeks and something in the way in which she said this +seemed to him to indicate that she did love Candish. He had been moved +by the most sincere desire to sacrifice his own will and happiness to +the well-being of the woman he loved, and if it were that she loved his +rival he had been ready to forget everything but that. Now by a quick +revulsion it seemed to him that he could not endure the success of this +man whose cause he had been pleading. + +"Ah!" he cried, bending toward her, "you love him!" + +She rose indignantly to her feet. + +"Your impertinence is amazing!" she exclaimed. "It is time that +somebody told you the truth. It is hard for me to say unkind things to +one who has saved my life, but you ought to know how you appear. You +have got yourself into a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind and body; +and unless you get out of it you will ruin your whole career. Does it +seem to you that a man who has so little control over himself is a fit +leader for others? Can't you see that you have brooded over this +question of celibacy until you are completely morbid? Find some +wholesome, right-minded woman, Mr. Ashe; love her and marry her, and be +done with all this wretched, unwholesome mawkishness. As for me, when I +married once, I married for life. My son will never be given a second +father." + +He had risen also, and his self-possession had returned to him. + +"I have annoyed you," he said with a new dignity. "You are perhaps +right in saying that I am morbid, but in what I said to-day I was +trying to put self entirely out of the question. There is only one +thing more that I want to say; and that is that it is not fair to judge +our order by me. I know only too well how natural it is that you should +think all the men at the Clergy House weak and despicable like me; but +that is not so. They are sincere, self-forgetful fellows. You have seen +my friend Wynne. He, for instance, is as manly and fine and honest as +any man alive." + +"I do not misjudge them or you, Mr. Ashe. I only feel that in these +past weeks you have not been yourself. We will forget it all, and I +hope that you will forgive me if I have hurt you." + +"I have nothing to forgive. It is you who must do that. Good-by." + +He went away with the remembrance of her beautiful eyes looking in pity +into his, and once more the phrase of the Persian came into his mind +like a refrain: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a +slave!" + + + + XXV + + + WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + Comedy of Errors, i. I + + +Maurice soon heard from his lawyer that the missing desk had passed +into the hands of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Singleton, and that that lady +was staying at Montfield as the guest of Mrs. Ashe. He determined to go +down himself, feeling unwilling to trust business so important to any +other. In order to leave the Clergy House, it was necessary to have +permission from the Father Superior, and on Monday of Shrove week Wynne +requested what the deacons jestingly called among themselves a +dispensation. He did not think it honest to conceal the reason for his +wishing leave of absence, and briefly related the story of his finding +his old nurse and of her revelation. + +"Poor old Norah is dead," he concluded, "but I had her affidavit taken, +and if the will can be found there should be no difficulty in +establishing it. The other witnesses are alive." They were sitting in +the Father's study, a room severely plain in its furnishings, like all +the apartments in the Clergy House. The table by which the Superior sat +was covered with papers and letters, the signs of the large +correspondence which Wynne knew Frontford to keep up with members of +his order in England and this country. The furniture was stiff and +uncompromising, the windows covered only by plain shades, while the +bookshelves took an austere air from the dull leather of the bindings +of their tall, formal volumes. Father Frontford leaned back in his +uncushioned chair and pressed together his thin finger-tips in the +gesture which was habitual with him, regarding the young man with keen +eyes. + +"This property, if I understand you rightly, is now in the possession +of the church?" + +"It was given by the will that was found to the church and to missions. +Some of it went to the founding of a home for invalid priests. My aunt +was the one of my relatives who was a churchwoman." + +"And if you succeed in finding and establishing this new will, you mean +to divert the money to your own use?" + +"If the will is valid, is not the money mine?" + +The Father looked at him a moment before he answered. Then he sighed. + +"My son," he asked, "would you have put that question six months ago?" + +Maurice flushed, but he did not wish to show that he understood. + +"Why not?" he demanded. + +"There was not then in your heart a wish to wrest property from the +church that you might enjoy it yourself." + +"I haven't any wish now to take from the church anything which is not +mine already." + +"By divine right or by human?" the Father inquired with cold +inflexibility. + +Maurice began to be irritated. He felt that he was being treated with +too high a hand. + +"Have I no rights as a man?" demanded he warmly. + +The other sighed once more, and a look of genuine pain came into his +face. + +"My son," he said with a gentleness which touched Maurice in spite of +himself, "when you gave yourself to the church, did you keep back part +of the price? Was not your gift all you were and all you might possess?" + +Maurice was silent. He could not for shame answer, that he did not then +know that he had so much to give, and he realized too that this would +then have made no difference. He felt as if he were now being held to a +pledge which he had never meant to make, yet he could not see what +reply there was to the words of the Superior. He cast down his eyes, +but he said in his heart that he would not yield his claim; that the +demand was unjust. + +"I have for some time," Father Frontford went on, "in fact ever since +your return, seen with pain that your heart is no longer single to the +good of the church. An earthly passion has eaten into your soul. Your +confessions are evidently attempts to satisfy your own conscience by +telling as little as possible of the doubts which you have been +harboring in your heart. Now there is given you an opportunity to see +for yourself, without the possibility of disguise, what your true +feeling is. The question now is whether you are seeking your own will +or the good of religion. Will you fail us and yourself?" + +Maurice was touched by the tone in which this was said. While he had +been growing to be less and less in sympathy with Father Frontford and +with the ideals which the brotherhood represented, he had never for an +instant ceased to believe in the sincerity of the Superior. He might +think him narrow, mistaken, even at times so blinded by desire for the +success of the brotherhood as to become almost Jesuitical in method; +but he felt that the Father lived faithful to his belief, ready, if the +cause required, to sacrifice himself utterly. He could not but be moved +by the appeal which the priest made, and by the genuine feeling which +rang through every word. + +"Father," he said, raising his eyes to the face of the other, "I cannot +deny that I am less satisfied about our faith than I used to be. I can +see now that I perhaps have not been entirely frank in confession, +though I hadn't recognized it before. I cannot go into a discussion of +my doubts now. I am not in a mood to talk with you when we must look at +so many things from different points of view. I haven't hidden from you +anything that has happened, and you could not be persuaded that all the +change in me has not come from the fact that I--has not come from my +feeling toward--my feeling about marriage. This is not true. Everything +has changed; and while I may be wrong, I have been trying to act +conscientiously. I feel that it is right for me to follow up this +matter of my aunt's will; and if I cannot make you share my feeling, I +can only say that I don't wish to do anything that seems to me wrong." + +The other smiled sadly. + +"What does that mean in plainer words?" asked he. "It means that you do +not wish to do wrong because whatever you desire will seem to you +right." + +"You are unjust!" Maurice retorted, flushing. + +The face of the Father grew stern. "Since when did the rule of the +order allow you to use such language to your superiors? If you are not +thinking of evading your vows, you do evade them daily; and the +throwing them off can be nothing but an affair of time." + +Maurice felt that he could not endure this longer without breaking out +into words which he should afterward repent. He rose at once. + +"Will you permit me to retire?" he said. "I shall be glad of your +answer to my request for leave of absence, but I cannot go on with this +conversation." + +The other stretched out his hand with a gesture infinitely tender. + +"My son!" he entreated. "Do not stray into the wilderness!" + +Maurice looked at the outstretched hand. His eyes moistened, but he +could not yield. He felt tenderness for Father Frontford, but he was +more and more at war with the Father Superior. For an instant they +remained thus, and then the thin hand dropped. + +"You are then still resolute in asking leave?" the Father said, in his +coldest voice. + +"It seems to me my duty to see that if possible the last wishes of my +aunt be carried out." + +"Is that your only motive?" + +Maurice flushed hotly, but he looked the other boldly in the face. + +"I must allow you to impute to me any motive you please. The point is +whether I am to have your permission." + +"Under the circumstances I do not feel justified in granting it. We +will speak of the matter again, when you have examined your heart more +carefully." + +Maurice bowed and left the room in silence, his spirit hot within him. +That he should be denied had not entered his mind. He was now confused +by the conflict in his thoughts. To disobey would be equivalent to +nothing less than a defiance of the authority of the Father Superior. +To assert his right to decide this matter could only mean a resolve to +break away from the brotherhood altogether. He was hardly prepared for +a step so extreme; yet he could not but ask himself whether he were +willing to accept the conditions involved in remaining. He realized for +the first time what the vow of obedience meant. He had received the +slight sacrifices involved thus far in his novitiate as right and +proper; simple things which had marked his willingness to yield to the +authority which by his own choice was above him. Now he said to himself +that to continue this life was to become a mere puppet; to give up +independence and manhood itself. + +On the other hand, he had not been bred in theological subtilties +without having come to see that the act cannot be judged without the +motive, and he had been more nearly touched by the words of Father +Frontford than he would have been willing to confess. He knew that he +had been hiding from his confessor the extent to which a longing for +the world had taken possession of him; that there was in this wish to +secure the will and through it the property an eagerness to be +independent of control and to take his place in the world as a man +among men. The thought that the money was now in the hands of the +church to which he had pledged himself tormented him. There came into +his mind the question what he would do with the wealth if he obtained +it. He had vowed himself to poverty, at least in his intention. If he +had this fortune and became a priest, he would be pledged to endow the +church with all his worldly goods. + +He faced his inner self with sudden defiance, as if he had thrown off a +disguise cunningly but weakly worn. He confessed with frankness that he +had secretly desired this money that he might be in a position to gain +Berenice. He pleaded with himself that he did not mean to abandon the +priesthood; that he had simply discovered that he had not a vocation +for the existence he had contemplated. He tried to see some way in +which he might gain the end he desired without giving up the faith he +professed; and in the end he succeeded only in getting his mind into a +confusion so great that it seemed impossible to think of anything +clearly. + +He had an errand at Mrs. Wilson's on Shrove Tuesday, and she invited +him to accompany her to midnight service at the Church of the Nativity. +When he repeated the request to Father Frontford, he was given +permission to go. + +"It is an unusual, and even an extraordinary request," the Superior +said; "but Mrs. Wilson is so deeply interested in the welfare of the +brotherhood that it is better to make a concession. What time are you +to meet her?" + +"She is to send her carriage for me at half past eleven. She was so +sure that you would not object that she told me not to send any word." + +"It is not well to have her treat so great a departure from rules as a +matter of course," the Father answered gravely. "I will send her a note +which will show her this. You have permission not to retire at the +usual hour." + +The carnival season was celebrated at the Clergy House with a meal +better than usual, and with some gayety on the part of the young +deacons. The light-hearted Southerner improved to the full the +permission to talk at dinner, and chatted away with a volubility which +seemed to Maurice to indicate a nature too buoyant or too shallow to be +deeply stirred. Father Frontford was absent, and there was nothing to +throw a shadow of restraint over the feast, the other priests being +almost as boyish as the deacons. + +"Here's Wynne," the Southerner said laughing, "is as glum as if he were +Lent incarnate, come six hours too soon. You must have a good deal on +your conscience to be so solemn." + +Maurice smiled, trying to shake off his depression. + +"It isn't always what is on one's conscience," he retorted, "so much as +how tender the conscience is." + +"Good! He has you there, Ballentyne," one of the deacons cried. + +"Oh, not at all. If a conscience is tender, it must be because it is +harrowed up. Now Wynne has probably vexed his so that it is habitually +sore." + +Maurice was out of the mood of the company, but he tried to answer with +a light word. The jesting seemed to him trifling; and his companions, +compared to the men he had seen during his stay with Mrs. Staggchase, +appeared like boys chattering at boarding-school. He wondered where +they had been for their absence; then he remembered that they had all +told him, and that he had forgotten. He had had no real interest in +them after all, he reflected; and at the thought he reproached himself +with egotism and a lack of brotherliness. He glanced at Ashe, and was +struck by the paleness of his friend. His look was perhaps followed by +Ballentyne, for the latter commented on the downcast aspect of Philip. + +"Ashe," the young man said, "looks ten times more doleful than Wynne. +What have you fellows been doing? One would think that you had been +eating the bitterest of all the apples of Sodom." + +"They have been in the gay world," another rejoined. + +"Then they might be set up as a warning against it," was the retort. + +Laughter that one cannot share is more nauseous than sweets to the +sick; and this harmless trifling was intolerable to Maurice. He got +away from it as soon as it was possible, and passed the heavy hours in +his chamber, waiting for the coming of the carriage. He tried at first +to read and then to pray; but in the end he abandoned himself to bitter +reverie. + +He did not attempt to reason, he merely gave way to gloomy retrospect, +without sequence or order. Seen in the light of his experiences during +the past weeks, his life looked poor, and dull, and misdirected. It was +little comfort to assert that he had at least been true to ideals high, +no matter how mistaken. + +"It is not what one does," he thought, "but the intention with which he +does it. Only that does not excuse one for being stupid, and raw, and +ignorant. When a man is a weakling and a fool, he always takes refuge +in the excuse that he is at least fine in his intentions. Bah! No +wonder she laughed at me! I have shut myself up with ideas as mouldy as +a mediaeval skeleton, and when I come to daylight all that I can say is +that I meant well. I suppose an idiot means well from his point of +view!" + +He looked about for something which should divert him from thoughts so +tormenting. His eye fell upon his Bible, and he took it up half +mechanically. On the title page was written the name of his aunt, to +whom it had once belonged. The name brought back the interview with +Father Frontford, and the refusal of his request for leave of absence. + +"Nothing belongs to me," he said to himself. "I am a thing, a sort of +thing like a numbered prisoner. How could she care for a chattel, a +creature without even identity! I will go down to Montfield. I am not +yet so completely out of the world that I can't have a word in the +disposition of my own property." + +He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep was +impossible. He only thought the more hotly and wildly. The hours +stretched on and on interminably before he heard the bell ring, and +knew that the carriage had come. Rising hastily, he adjusted his +cassock and his tumbled hair, and went down. + +"Perhaps I may find peace at the mass," he sighed with a great +wistfulness. + +The fresh, cool air of night was grateful, and as he was driven along +the quiet streets, a new hopefulness came to him. He had supposed that +he was to be taken to Mrs. Wilson's, and when the carriage stopped was +surprised to find himself before a large building which he did not +recognize. + +"But I was to meet Mrs. Wilson," he said doubtfully to the footman who +opened the carriage door. + +"Mrs. Wilson is here, sir," was the answer. "She said to carry you +here. James is inside to tell you what to do." + +A footman was indeed within, waiting for him. + +"Mrs. Wilson says will you please come to her, sir," the man said, and +led the way upstairs. + +The sound of gay music, growing louder as he advanced, filled Wynne's +ears. He began to feel disquieted, and once half halted. + +"Are you sure there is no mistake?" he asked. + +"Oh, no mistake at all, sir," his guide answered. "Mrs. Wilson has +arranged everything. Leave your hat and cloak here, sir, if you please." + +Maurice mechanically did as requested, but as he threw off his outer +garment the opening of a door let in a burst of music which seemed so +close at hand that he was startled. He was in what was evidently a +coat-room, the attendant of which regarded him with open curiosity; and +he realized suddenly that he must be near a ball-room. + +"Where am I?" he demanded. + +"It's the ball, sir, that they has to end the season before Lent. It's +Lent to-morrow, sir, as I thought you'd know." + +Maurice stared at him in amazement and anger. + +"There is a mistake," he said. "Give me my cloak." + +"Indeed, sir," the man said, holding back the garment he had taken, +"Mrs. Wilson said, sir, that I was to say that she particular wanted +you to come fetch her in the ball-room, sir; and I was to bring you +without fail." + +"You may send her word that I am here." + +"Please, sir," the man returned, in a voice which struck Maurice as +absurdly pleading, "she was very particular, and it's no hurt to go in, +sir. She'll blame me, sir." + +Maurice looked at him, and laughed at the solemnity of the man's homely +face. A spirit of recklessness leaped up within him. He said to himself +that at least Mrs. Wilson should not think that he dared not come. + +"Very well," he said. "Show me the way." + +"Thank you, sir," the servant said, as if he had received a great +favor. "It's not easy to bear blame that don't belong to you." + +He opened a door into an anteroom thronged with people laughing and +chatting. The sound of the music was clear and loud, with the voices +striking through its cadences. Across this he led Wynne, to the wide +door of a ball-room flooded with light and full of moving figures. + + + + XXVI + + + O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + Hamlet, i. 5. + + +The brilliant glare of lights, the strident sound of dance-music, the +enlivening sense of a living, vivaciously stirring company of gayly +dressed merrymakers, assailed Maurice as he followed his guide across +the anteroom. At the door of the ball-room he was for a moment hindered +by a group of men who were lounging and chatting there. All his senses +were keenly alert, and he perhaps unconsciously listened to hear if +there were any comment on his appearance in such a place. He had not +realized what he was coming into, and now that it was too late for him +to withdraw without sacrificing his pride, he saw how incongruous his +presence really was. Almost instantly he caught a name. + +"By Jove!" one of the men said. "Isn't the Wilson in great form +to-night! That diamond on her toe must be worth a fortune." + +"She saves the price in the materials of her gowns," another responded +lightly. "I never saw her with quite so little on." + +"No material is allowed to go to waist there," put in a third. + +"She has two straps and a rosebud," yet another voice laughed; "and +nothing else above the belt but diamonds." + +"Her very smile is décolleté" some one commented. "This is one of her +nights. When I see Mrs. Wilson with that expression, I am prepared for +anything." + +Maurice felt his cheeks burn at this light talk. It seemed to him +ribald, and he was outraged that the name of a woman should be bandied +about so carelessly. He raised his head and set his square jaw +defiantly; then began to push his way through the group, keenly +conscious of the stare which greeted him. + +"Hallo! What the devil's that?" he heard behind him. + +"The skeleton at the feast," responded one voice. + +"Oh, it's some devilish trick of Mrs. Wilson's, of course," put in +another. + +All this Maurice heard with an outraged sense that there was no attempt +to prevent him from hearing. He might have been a servant or a piece of +furniture for any restraint these men put upon their speech. He was +troubled with the fear of what absurdity Mrs. Wilson might intend. Now +that he was here, however, he would go on. The natural obstinacy of his +temper asserted itself, and if there was little pious meekness in his +spirit at that moment, there was plenty of grit. + +The ball-room was garlanded with wreaths of laurel stuck thickly with +red roses; women in white and in bright-hued gowns, with fair shoulders +and arms, were floating about in the embraces of men; the music set +everything to a rhythmic pulse, and gaily quickened the blood in the +veins of the young deacon as he looked. The throbbing of the violins +made him quiver with an excitement joyous and bewildering. He was +dazzled by the bright, moving figures, the shining colors, the +sparkling of gems, the lovely faces, the alluring creamy necks and +arms; a sweet intoxication began to creep over him, despite the +defiance of his feelings toward the men he had passed in the doorway. +Half blinded by the glare, dazed and fascinated by the sights, the +sounds, the perfumes, he followed the footman down the hall. + +He was obliged to skirt the room, even then hardly evading the dancers. +His progress was necessarily slow. The footman so continually paused to +apologize for having brushed against some lady in his anxiety to avoid +a whirling pair of dancers, that it began to seem to Maurice that they +should never reach Mrs. Wilson. He cast his eyes to the floor, resolved +not to look at the worldly sights around him. Country bred and trained +in the asceticism of the Clergy House, he could not see these women +without blushing; and more than ever he wondered that he had been so +blindly obedient as to allow himself to be brought to such a place. + +He heard a man clap his hands. He looked up to see a flock of dancers +hurrying to the upper end of the room. Among them, with a shock so +violent that his heart seemed to stand still, he recognized Berenice +Morison. He saw her go to a table and pick up something; then she and +her companions turned and came glancing and gleaming down the hall like +a flock of pigeons which fly and shine in the sun. Fair, flushed +softly, more beautiful than all the rest in his eyes, Berenice came on, +her hair curling about her forehead, her eyes shining with laughter and +pleasure. She was dressed in white, and at one shoulder, crushed +against her bare, creamy neck, was a bunch of crimson roses. Maurice +trembled at the sight of her beauty; he reddened at the consciousness +of her dress; over him came some inexplicable sense of fear. + +Suddenly he perceived that she had caught sight of him. He could see +the look of amazement rise in her face, give place to one of amusement, +then change instantly into sparkling mischievousness. He moved on +toward her, abashed, bewildered, feeling as if he were running a +gauntlet. He could not withdraw his gaze from her, as she came quickly +onward, dimpling, smiling, her face overflowing with saucy fun, her +glance holding his. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Wynne," she said lightly, coming up to him. "This is +an unexpected pleasure." + +"Good-evening," Maurice responded, hardly able to drag the words out of +his parched throat. + +"Of course you came for the german," Miss Morison went on, more +mockingly than before. "I am so glad that I happen to have a favor for +you." + +She leaned forward, swaying toward him her white shoulders, dazzling +him with the hint of the swell of her bosom, bewildering him with the +perfume of her dark hair, the alluring feminine presence which brought +the hot blood to his face. Before he guessed her intention, she had +pinned to his cassock a grotesque little dangling mask which swung from +a bright ribbon. + +"There," she commented, drawing back as if critically to observe. "The +effect is novel, but striking." + +A burst of amusement, light and blinding as the spray from a whirlpool, +went up from the women around. The music, the voices, the laughter, +seemed to Maurice so many insults flung at him in idle contempt. He +looked around him with a bitter anger which could almost have smitten +these laughing women on their red mouths. Then he turned back to +Berenice. He saw that she shrank before the wrath of his look; he felt +with a thrill that he had at least power to make her fear him. He bent +toward her full of rage made the wilder by the impulse to catch her in +his arms and cover her beautiful neck with kisses. + +"Shameless!" he hissed into her ear. + +He saw her turn pale and then flush burning red; but he hastened on +after the footman without waiting for more. Presently he reached the +head of the hall, where Mrs. Wilson stood laughing and talking with +several men. Her dress was of alternate stripes of crimson silk and +tissue of gold, and since it had excited comment from the loungers at +the door, it is small wonder that to the unsophisticated deacon, almost +convent bred, it appeared no less than horribly indecent. He cast down +his eyes; but his glance fell upon the foot which just then she thrust +laughingly forward, evidently in answer to some remark from Stanford, +who stood at her right hand. Upon the toe of her exquisite little shoe +sparkled a great diamond like a fountain of flame. + +"It gives light to my steps," she laughed. + +"The service is worthy of it," Stanford returned with a half-mocking +bow. + +"Thank you," Mrs. Wilson retorted, sweeping him a satirical courtesy. +"If you say such nice things to me, what must you say to Berenice!" + +It seemed to Maurice that the devil was exerting all his infernal +ingenuity that night to have him tormented at every turn. He came +forward hastily, eager to stop the talk. + +"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?" + +The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice +could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence. + +"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to +penance and confession." + +"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men +said, "that there's no necessity of going so early." + +"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected, +Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you +only mean to be?" + +Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind +the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets +of all sorts of fantastic devices. + +"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What +sort of a favor ought I to give you?" + +"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of +the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be +too surprised to put it down." + +"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs. Staggchase. +"That is all very well for her, but how is it for her victims?" + +"Oh, the honor of being her victim is compensation enough for them." + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, and shook her head, twinkling with diamonds which +dazzled the eyes of the young deacon. + +"You are all worldly," she retorted. "Brother Martin and I are too +unsophisticated to understand you." + +Maurice winced at the name. He felt that he must be a picture of +confusion. To stand here among these sumptuously dressed women, to +endure the glances which he knew were watching him from all parts of +the room, to be pricked with this monkish title by a woman who was +making of him and of the whole incident a sport and a spectacle, stung +him to the quick. He thought of Berenice, and he cast at Mrs. +Staggchase a look of defiance, lifting his head proudly in assertion of +his hurt dignity. + +"I am at your service, Mrs. Wilson," he said with cold sternness. + +"Well, we will go then. Unless, that is, you are dancing, Mr. Wynne. I +see that you have a favor." + +He glanced down at the grotesque little mask, dangling by its red +ribbon. With unbroken gravity he detached and laid it upon the table in +silence. He would have given much to hide it in his pocket, since it +came from Berenice; but even as he put it down a bevy of girls swept up +for favors, and one of them bore it away. + +"He has abandoned his opportunity," Mrs. Staggchase observed. "The +favor goes to Mr. Stanford." + +The girl who had taken up the mask was indeed pinning it to the coat of +that gentleman, with whom she quickly danced away. Maurice felt his +heart grow hot, but he looked at his cousin with face hard and +determined. + +"It was never mine," he said, "except by the chance of a +misunderstanding." + +A maid now came forward with a black domino, which Mrs. Wilson slipped +into gracefully, drawing up her glittering draperies. The big diamond +on the toe of her slipper glowed fantastically, peeping from beneath +the penitential robe. + +"Hallo," Dr. Wilson exclaimed, coming up at this moment, "what's in the +wind now? Is this turning into a masquerade?" + +"Your wife is about to retire from the world," Mrs. Hubbard answered, +laughing. + +"With a man," Mrs. Staggchase added, her eyes shining on her cousin. + +Wynne stabbed her with a glance of indignation. + +"No, with a priest," corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about +her face. + +"Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself," Dr. +Wilson observed jovially. "Well, good-night." + +Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on +her bosom. + +"My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent +in ten minutes." + +She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down +the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it +seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole +gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs. +Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for +her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around +grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he assured +himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred +things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs. +Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door. + +"He looks as if he belonged to the church militant," he heard one of +the men say as he passed out. + +"Even the church militant is nothing against a woman," another replied, +catching the eye of Mrs. Wilson, and laughing. + +In the vestibule stood a footman bearing Maurice's cloak, and a maid +with fur over-shoes and an ermine-lined wrap for Mrs. Wilson. Maurice +said not a word except to reply in monosyllables to the questions of +his companion, and almost in silence they drove to the Church of the +Nativity. + + + + XXVII + + + UPON A CHURCH BENCH + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 3. + + +The music of the Church of the Nativity was most elaborate, the very +French millinery of sacred music. The selection of a new singer was +debated with a zeal which spoke volumes for the interest in the service +of the sanctuary, and the money expended in this part of the worship +would have supported two or three poorer congregations. The church, +moreover, was appointed with a richness beautiful to see. The vestments +might have moved the envy of high Roman prelates, and the altar plate +shone in gold and precious stones. + +It was no wonder, then, that a midnight service at the Nativity +attracted a crowd. Mrs. Wilson and Wynne had to force a path between +ranks of curious sight-seers in order to make their way to the guarded +pew of the former, which was well up the main aisle. It came to Maurice +suddenly that in his angry mood he was pushing against these worshipers +rudely, and that he was venting upon them a fury which had rather +increased than diminished in his ride to the church. He was seething +with anger; anger against Mrs. Wilson for having put him in a ludicrous +position, at Berenice for her mockery, at Mrs. Staggchase for her +satire, and at all the frivolous fools who had stood around, grinning +to see him made ridiculous. His hurt vanity throbbed with an ache +intolerable, and as he forced his way between the crowding spectators +he felt a certain ugly joy in thrusting them aside. + +He was recalled to self-control by the expression in the face of a girl +whom he pressed back to give Mrs. Wilson passage. She turned to him +with a look of surprise and pain, and to his excited fancy her hair in +the half shadow was like that of Berenice. + +"You hurt me!" she exclaimed. + +"I beg your pardon," he answered with instant compunction. "I did not +mean to. Come with me." + +He yielded to the sudden impulse, and then reflected as they passed +down the aisle that he had no right to bring a stranger into Mrs. +Wilson's pew. Having invited her, however, it was impossible to +retract, and he showed her into the slip after Mrs. Wilson. As the +latter turned to sit down, she became aware of the stranger. She +paused, and looked at her with haughty surprise. + +"I beg pardon," she said, "this is a private pew." + +The girl flushed, looking inquiringly at Maurice. His masculine nature +resented the insolence of the glance with which Mrs. Wilson had swept +the stranger, and he came instantly to the rescue. + +"I invited her," he said, leaning forward, speaking with a +determination at which his hostess raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, very well then," Mrs. Wilson murmured. + +She sank into her seat, and inclined her head on the rail before her. +As Maurice did the same there shot through his mind a wonder at the +change there must be in the mental attitude of the woman who spoke with +haughtiness almost insulting to the stranger, and the penitent who bent +to ask pity and forgiveness from heaven. He tried to fix his thoughts +on his own prayer, but the words ran on as mechanically as might water +flow over a stone. The serious danger of a ritualistic religion must +always be that the mere repetition of words shall come to answer for an +act of worship; and to-night Maurice might have exclaimed with King +Claudius:-- + + "My words fly up; my thoughts remain below." + +The service went on with its deep, appealing prayers for pardon, for +help, for uplifting, and Maurice followed it only half consciously. It +was as if he were drugged, so that only now and then a phrase +penetrated to his real consciousness,--words which in their instant and +particular application were so poignant that he could not avoid their +force. + +"'From all inordinate and sinful affections,'" repeated the rich voice +of Mr. Candish, thrilling the church from floor to vaulted, roof, "'and +from the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil.'" + +"'Good Lord, deliver us!'" swelled the response of the congregation; +and on the lips of the deacon the words were almost a groan. + +He lost himself then in a flood of bitter repentance and prayer, hardly +realizing where he was or what was passing around him. The music +swelled and eddied; there was a genuine "Kyrie," wherein a single +voice, a rich contralto, wailed and implored in a passion of +supplication until the whole congregation quivered with the fervor of +the music. Maurice felt himself swayed and lifted upon the rising tide +of emotion. He lost his anger, he swam in billows of celestial delight; +a blessed peace soothed his troubled soul; he knew again some of the +old-time ecstasy. Yet in all this religious fervor there was some +subtle consciousness that it was unreal. He was not able so completely +to give himself up to it as to fail to watch its growth, its progress, +its intensity; he was vexed that he should trap himself, as it were, +glorying in the susceptibility to religious influences which such +excitement showed. He had even a whimsical, momentary irritation that +the part of his mind which was acting the devotee could not do it so +well that his other consciousness could not detect the unreality of it +all. Then he struggled to forget everything in the service; to steep +himself in the spiritual intoxication of the hour. + +The girl whom he had introduced into the pew dropped her prayer-book. +He turned, startled by the sound, and saw her sway toward him. He +realized that the crowd, the heat, the excitement, the odor of incense +with which the air was heavy, had overcome her, and that she was +fainting. He rose instantly, and, lifting her, assisted her into the +aisle. She was half in his arms as he led her down the nave, and her +hair, the hair which had seemed to him like that of Berenice, brushed +now and again against his shoulder. He recalled the wreck, when +Berenice had been in his arms, and his religious mood vanished as if it +had never been. His cheek flushed; he thrilled with anger at himself. +He had been playing a part here in the church. He had never for an +instant wished to be set free from his bondage to Berenice,--Berenice +who had to-night mocked him and his profession in the eyes of all the +world. + +The way to the door seemed interminable. He was eager to get rid of +this stranger and escape. Fortunately the party to which the fainting +girl belonged were at hand to take charge of her; and presently Maurice +had made his way out of the church. He hardly gave a thought to Mrs. +Wilson. She was abundantly able to take care of herself, he reflected +with angry amusement; or, if not, the very pavement would spring up +with troops of men to assist her. She was the sort of woman whose mere +presence creates cavaliers, even in the most unlikely places. + +The cool outer air seemed to wake him from a bad dream. He walked +hastily through the quiet streets toward the Clergy House, full of +disordered thoughts, wondering whether the ball were yet over, or if +Berenice were still dancing in the arms of other men. The blood flushed +into his cheeks at the thought. He hated furiously the partner against +whose shoulder her white, bare arm might be resting. He looked back +with ever growing anger to the scene at the dance, tingling with shame +at the humiliation, at the thought of standing before the women who had +laughed when Berenice had fastened upon his breast the tawdry trinket +which seemed chosen purposely to mock him. He wished that he had kept +the toy, that he might now throw it down into the mire and tread on it. +Yet grotesque and insulting as the thing had been, he was conscious +that if the little mask were still in his possession he should not have +been able to trample on it, but should have taken it to his lips +instead. He remembered that now Stanford wore it. He looked up to the +shining stars and felt the overwhelming presence of night like a child; +his helplessness, his misery, his hopelessness swept over him in bitter +waves. + +Late as it was when he reached his room he did not at once undress. He +sat down heavily, staring with hot eyes at the crucifix opposite. From +black and unknown depths of his heart welled up rage against life and +its perplexities. He threw upon his faith the blame of his suffering. +What was this religion which made of all human joys, of all human +instincts only devilish devices for the torture of the very soul? Why +should the world be filled only with temptations, with humiliations, +with desires which burned into the very heart yet which must be denied? +Was any future bliss worth the struggle? He realized with a shudder +that he might be arraigning the Maker of the world; then he assured +himself that he was but raging against those who misunderstood and +misinterpreted the purposes of life. + +He flung himself down on his knees before the crucifix in a quick +reaction of mood, extending his hands and trying to pray; but he found +himself repeating over and over: "For Thine is the kingdom and the +power and the glory." He felt with the whole strength of his soul the +force of the words. This deity to whom he knelt might in a breath +change all his agony; might out of overflowing power and dominion and +splendor spill but one unnoted drop, yet flood all his tortured being +with richest happiness. The contrast between his weakness, his +helplessness, his insignificance, and the superabundant resources of +the Infinite crushed him. He was transported with aching pity for +himself and for all poor mortals. He repeated, no longer in entreaty +but with passionate reproach: "For _Thine_ is the kingdom and the power +and the glory." It seemed an insult to the clemency of Heaven to call +so piteously when it were a thing lighter than the puffing away of a +flake of swan's down for One with all power to help and to comfort. If +he were in the hands of a God to whom belonged the universe, why this +agony of doubt? Then he cried out to himself that this was the +temptation of the devil. He cast himself upon the ground, beating his +breast and moaning wildly: "Mea culpa! Mea culpa!" With quick +histrionic perception he was affected by the intensity and the +effectiveness of his penitence, and redoubled his fervor. + +Then in a flash came over him the sickening realization that this +devotion was a sham; that it was hysteria, simple pretense. He ceased +to writhe on the floor. It was like coming to consciousness in a +humiliating situation. He blushed at his folly, and rose hastily from +before the crucifix. + +"I have been acting private theatricals," he muttered scornfully; "and +for what audience?" + +He threw himself again into his chair, burying his face in his hands. +He plunged into a reverie so deep and so self-searching that it could +have been fathomed by no plummet. + +"I do not believe," he said at last aloud, raising his face as if to +address the crucifix. "I have never believed. I have simply bejuggled +myself. I have been a contemptible lie in the sight of men, not even +knowing enough to be honest to myself." + +He was silent a moment, a smile of bitter contempt curling his lip. + +"I have not even been a man," he added. + +Then he rose with a spring to his feet, and looked about him, +stretching out his arms as if to embrace all the world. + +"But now," he exclaimed with gladness bursting through every syllable, +"at last I am free!" + + + + XXVIII + + + BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + Love's Labor's Lost, ii. 1. + + +When Maurice Wynne's bitter word stung her, Berenice Morison stood for +a second too overwhelmed to speak or move. She felt the blood mount to +her temples, and she could see reflected in the eyes of acquaintances +around a mingled curiosity and amusement. Wynne passed on, and she +shrank into her seat, which fortunately was near. + +"Who in the world is that, and what did he say to you when you gave him +that favor?" exclaimed her neighbor. "I don't see how you dared to do +it!" + +A gentleman took the speaker away, so that Berenice was spared the +necessity of answering. She watched Wynne advance to the group of which +Mrs. Wilson was the centre, and she understood well enough that his +being here was some contrivance of the latter's. She was angry with +Wynne and humiliated by the insult that he had flung at her, yet she +had room in her heart for rage against the woman who had brought him +there. She looked at Mrs. Wilson laughing and jesting, she watched the +comedy proceed as the black domino covered the white shoulders and the +gown of gold and crimson, yet most of all was she conscious of how +straight and strong Maurice stood among the gay group which surrounded +him. The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his +look, seemed to her most manly and noble. She felt that he had by his +bearing mastered the absurd circumstances in which he was placed; she +smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own +thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice +saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She +watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed +figures passing like shadows among the dancers. When they had +disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of +regret, anger, and confusion. + +"Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that +before?" queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. "She +gets more amazing every day." + +"She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that +everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad +taste it is." + +"Oh, she amuses folks," Mr. Van Sandt said. "Nobody takes her +seriously." + +"It is time that they did," answered Berenice rather sharply. "Such a +performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were +her accomplices." + +"Oh, you take it too seriously; besides, I thought that you helped it +on a bit." + +Berenice was silenced, but she was none the happier for that. She was +vexed with herself for having any feeling about the incident; but the +word of Wynne came afresh into her mind, and brought the blood anew to +her cheek. She said to herself that she hoped that she should meet him +soon again, that she might wither him with a glance of burning +contempt, ever after to ignore him. + +"You think I wouldn't do it," she sneered to some inner doubt; "but I +would!" + +She was interrupted by a partner, and went whirling down the bright +hall to the tingling measures of a new waltz; yet all the while she was +thinking of the moment she had stood face to face with Maurice. She +scoffed at herself for giving so much weight to a thing so trifling; +she made a strong effort to appear gay, only the more keenly to realize +that at heart she was miserable. + +Mrs. Staggchase, on her way out of the hall a little later, stopped and +spoke to her. + +"Come, Bee, it is time for you to go home. You don't seem to profit by +the godly example of Elsie Wilson at all." + +"Heaven forbid that I should take her as my exemplar!" Berenice flung +back with unnecessary fervor. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase observed good-humoredly, "there are things in +which it is conceivable that you might find a better model. By the way, +what did Cousin Maurice say to you when you gave him that german favor? +Of course I haven't any right to ask, but you see I am interested in +bringing the boy up properly." + +Berenice flushed with confusion and vexation. + +"It was something no gentleman would have said!" + +"Ah," the other returned with perfect calmness, "that is the danger of +doing an unladylike thing. It is so apt to provoke an ungentlemanly +return. Men, you know, my dear, haven't the fine instincts that we +have. However, I'm sorry that Maurice didn't behave better than you +did. Good-night, dear." + +Mrs. Staggchase had hardly gone when Parker Stanford came up with a +favor. + +"I am tired, Mr. Stanford," Berenice said. "Thank you, but you had +better ask some one else." + +"I'd rather sit it out with you," he answered. + +"Nonsense; one doesn't sit out turns in the german." + +"They do if they wish." + +"Well, instead of sitting it out," she said, rising, "let us go and get +a cup of bouillon. I feel the need of something to hold me up." + +"Here is your favor," remarked Stanford, as they passed down the hall. + +It was an absurd Japanese monster, with eyes goggling out of its head. + +"How horrible!" cried Berenice. "It looks exactly like old Christopher +Plant when he is talking about his last invention in sauces. Don't you +know the way in which he sticks out his eyes, and says: 'It is the +greatest misfortune in nature that the nerves of taste do not extend +all the way down to the stomach!'" + +Stanford laughed gleefully. + +"Jove, I don't know but he's right. Think of tasting a cocktail all the +way down to the stomach!" + +"Or a quinine pill!" returned she with a grimace. "Thank you, no. +Things are bad enough as they are." + +At the door of the supper-room they encountered Dr. Wilson, with a bud +on his arm. + +"Well, Miss Morison," he exclaimed, with his usual jovial brusqueness, +"I thought that my wife was the cheekiest woman in Boston, but you ran +her hard to-night." + +"Oh, even if I surpassed her," Berenice retorted in sudden anger, yet +forcing herself to speak laughingly, "she is entirely safe to leave the +reputation of the family in the hands of her husband." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled with perfect good-nature. + +"Oh, we men are not in it with the women," laughed he. + +He passed on with his companion, and Berenice, with feminine +perversity, avenged herself upon the girl he was escorting. + +"How stout Miss Harding is," she commented. "It is such a pity for a +bud." + +"But she is pretty," Stanford returned. + +"Oh, yes, in a way. She has the face of an overripe cherub." + +He laughed and led her to a seat. + +"Take your picture of Mr. Plant," said he, "and I will get you the +bouillon." + +"No, I can't have anything so hideous. Give me one of yours instead. +I'll have that little fat monk." + +"All that I have is at your service," he responded with seriousness +sounding through the mock gravity, as he unpinned the little mask and +put it into her hand. + +"Thank you, but I don't ask your all. I hope that you didn't value this +especially." + +"Not that I remember. I haven't an idea who gave it to me." + +"You don't seem to value a gift on account of the giver." + +"That depends," returned he. "Now there are some givers whose favors I +cherish most carefully." + +He took from his breast-pocket a little Greek flag of silk, neatly +folded. Berenice flushed, recognizing a favor which she had given him +early in the evening. + +"Now this," he said, "I put away next to my heart, you observe." + +"The giver would be flattered," Berenice observed. "Was it Clare +Tophaven?" + +He looked at her, laughing; then seemed to reflect. + +"I don't know that it is right to tell you," he returned; "but if you +won't mention it, I'll confide to you that it must have been Miss +Tophaven. Sweet girl." + +"Very. Are congratulations in order?" Berenice inquired. + +She was pleased that the talk had taken this bantering tone, and +secretly determined to keep it away from dangerous seriousness. + +"Somewhat premature, I should say," Stanford replied. "You see she has +no suspicion of my devotion, and her engagement to Fred Springer is to +come out next week." + +The bit of gossip served Berenice well. She had heard it already, but +it was easy to feign surprise, and to chat lightly about the match, as +if she had not a thought beyond it in her mind. To her amazement and +disconcerting Stanford cut through the light talk to demand with sudden +gravity:-- + +"And when may our engagement be announced, Berenice?" + +She regarded him with startled eyes, but she held herself well in hand, +managing to use the same jesting tone in which she had been speaking. + +"Certainly not before it exists," was her answer. + +He leaned toward her eagerly. The room was almost deserted, and they +sat in the shelter of a great palm, so that she felt herself to be +alone with him. + +"Don't try to put me off," he pleaded. "I am in earnest." + +She rose quickly, setting her cup down in the tub of the palm. + +"Come," she said, "you forget that I am dancing the german with Mr. Van +Sandt. He will have no idea what has become of me." + +Stanford stood before her, barring her way. + +"Hang Van Sandt! You should be dancing with me, only I had to do the +polite to this everlasting English girl. I wish she was in Australia. I +wonder why in the world an English girl is never able to learn to +dance." + +"That I cannot answer. Perhaps their feet are too big; but you must go +back to her all the same, whether she can dance or not." + +"Not until you answer me. You know you are keeping me on hot coals, +Berenice. You know I love you." + +She flushed, drew back, grew pale. + +"I have answered you already," she replied, hurriedly but firmly. "Why +must you make me say it again? I don't love you, and that is reason +enough why you shouldn't care for me." + +"It isn't any reason at all. I should be fond of you anyway. Why, even +if you made a guy of me before everybody as you did to-night of that +clerical thing"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice interrupted, her color rising and her eyes shining. "I +will not have you speak of Mr. Wynne in that way. What I did was bad +enough." + +"Berenice," demanded Stanford, regarding her keenly, "do you mean to +marry _him_?" + +"You have no right to ask me whom I mean to marry! I am not going to +marry you, at least!" + +"A clergyman. A man in petticoats! Well, I must say"-- + +She drew herself up to her full height, looking at him with anger and +excitement in her heart so great that they seemed to choke her. + +"Do you see this?" she asked, holding up the little mask dangling from +her finger. "I fastened this to his cassock to-night. I insulted him in +the sight of everybody. Does that look as if"-- + +"Is that the same mask?" broke in Stanford. "You begged it of me +afterward!" + +She could not command her voice to reply. Shame, grief, indignation, +struggled in her heart; yet her strongest conscious feeling was a +determination that the tears in her eyes should not fall. She slipped +past him, and moved toward the ball-room. With a quick step he gained +her side. + +"I beg your pardon," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you. +You used to be nice to me, but lately"-- + +She mastered herself by a strong effort. She was fully aware that there +were too many curious eyes about her to make any demonstration safe. + +"Let me take your arm," she answered. "Folks are watching. We need not +make a spectacle of ourselves. I haven't meant to treat you badly. A +girl never knows how a man is going to take things, and I only meant to +be pleasant. As soon as you began to show that you were in earnest"-- + +She was so conscious that her words were not entirely frank that she +instinctively hesitated. + +"I have always been in earnest," interpolated he. + +"But you will get over it," murmured she, desperately. + +They had come to a group of palms, where they paused to let a bevy of +dancers pass. + +"Do you really mean," Stanford asked, in a hard voice, "that there is +really no hope for me?" + +"There is no hope that I shall ever feel differently about this." + +"Then I shall certainly get over it," returned he with a touch of anger +in his voice. "I don't propose to go through life wearing the willow +for anybody." + +She raised to his her eyes shining with shy but irresistible light. + +"Ah," she half whispered, "that is the difference. I know he wouldn't +get over it." + +"He!" + +The monosyllable brought to her an overwhelming sense of the confession +which her words had carried. She pressed the arm upon which her +finger-tips rested. + +"I have trusted you," she whispered hurriedly. "Be generous. Ah, Mr. +Van Sandt," she went on aloud, "I hope you didn't think I had deserted +you. Mr. Stanford found me incapable of dancing, and had to revive me +with bouillon." + + + + XXIX + + + WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + Hamlet, i. 2. + + +Strangely enough the thought which most strongly impressed Maurice +Wynne on the morning following the Mardi Gras ball was the simplicity +of life. He had heard in the early dawn the bell for rising; he had +started up, then upon his elbow realized that he had freed himself from +its tyranny. He had slidden back into his warm place, smiling to +himself, and fallen into a sleep as quiet as that of a child. About +eight he was roused by a brother sent to see if he was ill, his absence +from early mass having been noted. Maurice sent the messenger away with +the explanation that having been out to the midnight service he had +slept late; then, being left alone, he made his toilet with +deliberation. He seemed to himself a new man. There appeared to be no +longer any difficulty in life. He reflected that one had but to follow +common sense, to live sincerely up to what commended itself to his +reason, and existence became wonderfully simplified. He no longer +experienced any of the confusing doubts and perplexities which had of +late made him so thoroughly miserable. + +He hesitated to don again the dress of a deacon, but he reflected that +to do otherwise would be to expose himself to the curiosity and comment +of his fellows. With a smile and a sigh he put on for the last time the +cassock, recalling the contemptuous terms in which at the time of the +accident Mehitabel Durgin had referred to the garment. He wondered at +himself for ever finding it possible to appear before the eyes of men +in such a dress, and blushed to think how incongruous the clerical +livery must have looked in the ballroom. + +Breakfast was already half over when he appeared, and the reading of +Lamentations was accompanying the frugal meal. He sank into his seat in +silence, casting his eyes down upon his plate lest they should betray +the joy he felt. He knew that he could have no talk with Philip until +after nones, and he was not willing to leave the house without bidding +his friend good-by. While he went on with his breakfast he was busy +planning what he would do when he had left the routine of the Clergy +House behind him. He determined to go to Mrs. Staggchase for advice, +and to ask her to direct him to some quiet boarding-place where he +might reorganize his scheme of life. + +In the study hour which followed breakfast Wynne went boldly to the +room of Father Frontford, and knocked at the door. When he heard the +voice of the Father Superior bidding him enter he was for the first +time seized with an unpleasant doubt. The long habit of obedience half +asserted itself, so that for an instant he was almost minded to turn +back. With a smile of self-scorn he shook off the feeling, and opened +the door. + +The Father looked up in evident surprise at sight of the deacon who +came unsummoned at such an hour. He was alone, a fact which Maurice +noted with satisfaction. + + "Good morning, Wynne," he said. "Did you wish to see me?" + +"Yes, sir," Maurice answered, closing the door, and standing before it. +"I came to tell you that I have decided to leave the Clergy House." + +The abruptness of the communication evidently startled the Superior. +Wynne watched him as he laid down his pen, the lines about his thin +lips growing tense. + +"Sit down," he said gravely. + +Maurice obeyed unwillingly. He would have been glad to retreat at once, +his errand being done; but he knew this to be of course impossible. He +sat down facing the other, meeting with steadfast eyes the searching +look fastened upon him. + +"Since when," Father Frontford asked, "have you held this +determination?" + +"Since last night." + +"Is it founded upon any especial circumstance connected with your going +with Mrs. Wilson to midnight service?" + +Maurice looked down for a moment in thought, then he met the eyes of +the other frankly. + +"Father," he said, "I don't think that I could tell you all that has +led to this decision if I would; and I do not see that it would be wise +for us to go into the matter in any case. It seems to me that the fact +that I have decided, and decided absolutely, is enough." + +The face before him grew a shade sterner. + +"You seem to forget that you are speaking to your Superior." + +"Perhaps," the young man returned with calmness, "it is you who forget +that I have ended that relation." + +Father Frontford's face darkened. + +"I do not recognize that you have authority to end it." + +Maurice tried to repress the irritation which he could not but feel; +and forced himself to speak as civilly as before. + +"Will you pardon me," he said; "I do not wish that our last talk should +be bitter. I owe you much, and I shall never cease to respect the +unselfishness with which you have tried to help me. That I cannot +follow your path does not blind me to the fact that you have worked so +untiringly to make the way plain and attractive to me." + +He was not without a secret feeling that he was speaking with some +magnanimity, yet he was entirely sincere. He realized with thorough +respect, even at the moment of breaking away, how complete was the +devotion of the Father. There was in his mind, too, some satisfaction +at the tone he had unconsciously adopted. It flattered him to find that +he should be almost patronizing his Superior. + +Father Frontford regarded Maurice with a look in which were mingled +surprise, disapprobation, and regret. As the two sat holding each +other's eyes, the face of the older man changed and softened. Into it +came a smile of high and spiritual beauty, of nobility and +unworldliness, of tenderness most touching. All that was most winning +in the character of the man was embodied in the look which he fixed +upon his recreant disciple, a look pleading and wistful, yet full of +dignity and strength. He leaned forward, laying the tips of his thin +fingers almost caressingly on the arm of the other. + +"My son," he said, "it is not what I have done that you remember; it is +what I represent. The truth and sweetness of religion is what has +touched you. I am only the representative; and no one knows better how +unworthy I am to be so looked on. If the grace of divine love seems to +you good shining through me, think what it is in itself. Oh, my son," +he went on, the tears coming into his eyes, "I have loved you, and I +love you more now that I see you tempted and bewildered. Turn back to +the bosom of the church before it is too late." + +Maurice sat silent with look downcast. His firmness was not shaken; he +had no inclination to reconsider his decision, but he was deeply moved +by the emotion of the other. He could not bear to meet pleading so +affectionate with a cold negative. + +"It is for yourself that I appeal to you," the priest went on. "It is +for the good of your own soul, and for your happiness in this world and +the world to come. Think of your mission. Think how men need you; of +the sin and the error that cry out to Heaven, and of how few there are +to do the Lord's work. You have been confused by the temptations of the +world, and in all of us there is a selfish spirit that may lead us to +do in a moment of madness what we shall repent with tears of blood all +our lives." + +Still Maurice could not answer; and the Father, bending still nearer, +taking one of the young man's hands in both his own, still pleaded. + +"You have said that you felt my interest in you. Do not give me the +bitterness of feeling that I am a careless shepherd who has lost a lamb +to the wolves. If you have gone astray it must be in part my fault; it +must be my negligence. Oh, my son, don't force me to stand guilty +before God to answer for your lost soul." + +It seemed to Maurice that he was being swept away by the simple power +of the emotion of Frontford. He felt the tears in his eyes, and almost +without his volition his hand responded to the pressure of the hand +that clasped it. He made a strong effort to call back his will. + +"Father," he responded, "we must each stand or fall alone. It is not +your fault that I can't see things as you do, or that I can't any +longer remain here. I am changed. If I stayed, it would be against my +convictions." + +"Ah," was the eager reply, "but you could submit your convictions to +the church." + +Maurice drew back. + +"I am a man, to think for myself. I must be honest with my reason. The +church cannot take for me the place of honesty and conviction." + +The Father Superior dropped the hand he held. + +"Then you insist on putting your own will and your own wisdom above +that of the church?" + +"I must do the thing that seems to me right." + +The priest's face hardened. It was as if over the surface of a pool a +film of ice formed. He sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again +it was in a voice so hard and cold that the young man started. + +"When do you leave?" the Father Superior asked. + +"I meant to wait until after nones so as to say good-by to Philip." + +"I prefer that you should go at once." + +"You mean that you prefer that I should not see him?" Maurice demanded +quickly. + +"I merely said that I prefer that you should go at once," was the cold +reply. + +Maurice rose briskly. His impulse was to retort sharply, but he held +himself in check. + +"Very well," he answered. "I shall take it as a favor if you will let +Philip know that I did not willingly leave him without a word. It would +hurt him to think that." + +"The wounds of earth," the Father Superior said gravely, "are the joys +of heaven." + +Maurice stood an instant with a keen desire to reply, to break down +this icy statue of religion; then he drew back. + +"I will not trouble you longer," he said. "Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Wynne," the other responded with the manner of one +addressing a stranger. + +Maurice went to his chamber thoroughly aroused and excited. The +restraint which he had put on himself during the talk with Father +Frontford brought now its reaction. He rehearsed in his mind the +telling and caustic things which he might have said, then laughed at +himself for his unnecessary fervor. He packed his belongings, and, +leaving them to be called for, set out for the house of his cousin. To +go out from the Clergy House seemed to him like the ending of a life. + +Mrs. Staggchase was fortunately at home. It seemed to Maurice that her +keen eyes took in the whole story from his secular dress. He blushed as +she gave him her hand. + +"Well, my dear boy," she observed, "you have come to luncheon, I +suppose, because the fare at the Clergy House is so poor in Lent. Sit +down, and give me an account of your doings last night. I trust that +you saw Mrs. Wilson safe home." + +"I left her in the church." + +"Ah! And what did you do then?" + +"I went home and fought it out with myself. You were right in saying +that things were not concluded when I became a deacon. I have given up +the whole thing." + +"What do you mean by the whole thing?" + +"I mean," he returned earnestly, "that I found out that I was acting a +part. That I didn't believe even the first principles of the religion I +was getting ready to teach. I have broken down in the temptation, +Cousin Diana." + +She looked at him closely. The buoyancy of his morning mood was gone, +and it was hard for him to endure her searching look. It came over him +that he was an apostate; one who had abandoned all that he had vowed to +uphold; his vanity smarted at the thought that she must think him weak +and unstable as water. + +"I am only what I was," he went on. "The difference is that I have +discovered what you probably saw all the time, that I don't believe the +things I have been taught. I am as free from the old creeds as you are. +I don't even pretend to know that there is a God." + +"My dear boy," she responded, shrugging her shoulders, "you run into +extremes like a schoolgirl. I beg you won't talk as if I could be so +vulgar as not to believe in a deity. Don't rank me with the crowd of +common folk that try to increase their own importance by insisting that +there's nothing above them. Really, an atheist seems to me as bad as a +man who eats with his knife." + +He changed countenance, but her words left him speechless. He could not +hear her speak in this way without being shocked. He might be without +creed, but his temper was still devout. + +"If you've thrown overboard all your old dogmas," she went on with +unruffled face, "you'd better go to work to get a new set. I've just +heard of some sort of a society got up by women out in Cambridge, where +they deduce the ethnic sources of prophetic inspiration--whatever that +means!--from the 'Arabian Nights' and 'Mother Goose.' You might find +something there to suit you." + +He could not answer her; he could only wonder whether she disapproved +of what he had done, or if she were vexed with him for coming to her. + +"It's possible," she went on mercilessly, a fresh note of mockery in +her voice, "that Berenice might help you. Very often a woman wins +converts where a priest fails. After last night"-- + +He came to his feet with a spring. + +"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I can't stand any more. Do you think that it's +been easy for me to find out the truth about myself; to have to own +that I've been a cheating fool, without honesty enough to know my own +mind? As for Miss Morison"-- + +His voice failed him. He was unnerved; the reaction from his long +vigil, from his interview with Father Frontford, overcame him. The +simple mention of the name of Berenice made him choke, and he stood +there speechless. His cousin rose and came to him softly. Before he +knew what she was doing, she bent forward and kissed his forehead. + +"You poor boy," she said in a voice half laughing, yet so gentle that +he hardly recognized it, "don't take my teasing so much to heart. You +are only finding out like the rest of us that it is impossible not to +be human." + +He could answer only by grasping her hand, ashamed of the weakness +which had betrayed him, and touched deeply by her kindness. + +"Come," Mrs. Staggchase said, moving to the bell, and speaking in her +natural tone. "I have helped you to break your life into bits; I must +try to help you to put the pieces together into something better. You +must stay here for a while, and we'll consider what is to be done next. +Will you tell Patrick how to get your things from the Clergy House? +Take your old room. I'll see you at luncheon." + +And as the servant appeared at one door she withdrew by another. + + + + XXX + + + PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + Othello, ii. 1. + + +Berenice had abundant leisure to reflect upon her attitude toward her +lovers, for Mrs. Frostwinch was soon so seriously ill that it was +evident to all that the end was at hand. Berenice devoted herself to +the invalid, although there was little that she could do. The sick +woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to +have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened +grasp. + +"The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say +I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully +convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end." + +"Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee. "It is too dreadful." + +"It won't make it any less dreadful to be solemn over it," the other +answered. "However, death should be spoken of with respect; even one's +own." + +Berenice longed to know what had taken place between her cousin and +Mrs. Crapps, but she hardly liked to ask. That there had been a +disagreement of some kind, and that Mrs. Frostwinch had lost faith in +the woman, she knew; but beyond this she was in the dark. One +afternoon, however, her cousin explained matters. + +"It is so humiliating, Bee, that I can hardly bear to think of it, the +way things turned out. My conscience will be easier, though, if I tell +you the whole of it. It is so vulgar that it makes me creep. We were at +Jekyll's Island, and she had an ulcerated tooth." + +"I thought she couldn't have such things?" + +"She thought or pretended that she couldn't. I must say that she fought +against it with tremendous pluck; but the face kept swelling, and the +pain got to be more than she could bear. When she gave out she went to +pieces completely. She literally rolled on the floor and howled. I +couldn't go on believing in her after that. She'd actually made herself +ridiculous." + +"But," began Berenice, "I should think"-- + +"If it had been something dangerous, so that I had had to think of her +life," went on her cousin, not heeding, "I could have borne it; but +that common thing! Why, her face looked like a drunken cook's! I can't +tell you the humiliation of it!" + +"But if she could help you, why not herself?" + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled wanly. + +"I've tried to think that out," answered she. "It was always said of +the old witches, you know, that they couldn't help themselves. It is +faith in somebody else that is behind the wonders they do. I've grown +very wise in the last few weeks, Bee. I don't pretend that I understand +all the facts, but I do know pretty well what the facts are. I believed +in Mrs. Crapps, and that belief kept me up. When I couldn't believe in +her, that was the end of it." + +There seemed to Berenice something uncanny and monstrous in this calm +acquiescence. She could not comprehend how her cousin could give up the +struggle for life in this fashion, after having succeeded so long in +holding death at bay. + +"But surely," she protested, "you can't be willing to let everything +depend upon her. You've proved the possibility"-- + +"I've proved the possibility of depending upon somebody else; that's +all." + +"Then find another woman that you can believe in." + +"It is too late. I can't have the faith over again. I should always be +expecting another humiliating downfall of my prophetess." + +She was silent a moment, and then continued:-- + +"Do you know, Bee, it seems to me after all that my experience is like +almost all religion. There are a few men and women who believe in +themselves in that self-poised way that makes it possible for them to +get on with just ethics; and there are those who can take hold of +unseen things; but for the rest of us it's necessary to have some human +being to lean on. I hope I don't shock you. I lie awake in the night a +good deal, and my mind seems clearer than it used to be. All the +religions seem to have a real, tangible human centre, a personality +that human beings can appreciate and believe in. Mrs. Crapps was so +real and so near at hand that I could have faith in her; now that that +is gone there isn't anything left for me. I can't believe in her, and +she has destroyed the Possibility of my believing in anybody else." + +Berenice put out her hand in the growing dusk, caressing the thin +fingers of the sick woman. + +"But--but," she hesitated, "she hasn't destroyed your faith in--in +everything, has she?" + +"No, dear; she hasn't touched my belief in God; but it makes me ashamed +to see how different a thing it is to believe in what we see and touch, +from having a genuine faith in what we do not see. I have a faith in my +soul still; the other was only a faith of the body. Perhaps it had only +to do with the body, and it is not so bad to have lost it." + +"Oh, Cousin Anna," Berenice murmured, tears choking her voice, "I can't +bear to see you getting farther and farther off every day, and to feel +so helpless." + +"There, there, Bee," responded the other with tender cheerfulness, "you +are not to agitate yourself or to excite me. I've lived half a year +more now than the doctors allowed me, and I've enjoyed it too. Besides, +think of the blessedness of not having any pain. Do you know, the night +after Mrs. Crapps had that scene in the hotel, I was in a panic of +terror lest my old agony should come back; but it didn't. Then I said +to myself: 'Of course I couldn't suffer; I'm really dead!' You can't +think what a comfort it was." + +"Oh, don't, don't!" cried Bee. "I can't bear to have you talk like +that." + +"Well, then, we won't. There's something else I want to speak to you +about while I am strong enough. Do you realize that when I am gone +you'll be a rich woman?" + +"I haven't thought about it. I've hated to think." + +"Yes, dear, I understand; but when you are older you'll come to realize +that half of the duty of life is to think of things which one would +rather forget." + +"But it could do no good to think of this." + +"Perhaps not; but I want to ask you something. I know you'll forgive +me. It's about Parker Stanford." + +"You may ask me anything you like, of course, Cousin Anna. As for +Parker Stanford, he's nothing more than the rest of the men I know, +only he's been more polite. We are very good friends." + +"No more?" + +"No more; and we never shall be." + +"But he surely wished to be?" The day had darkened until the room was +lighted only by the flames of the soft coal fire which sputtered in the +grate. The cousins could hardly see each other's faces; but in the dim +light Berenice turned frankly toward Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"That is all over now," responded she. "Of course to anybody else I +shouldn't own that there ever was anything; but whatever there may have +been is ended. He understands that perfectly." + +For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the +firelight glancing on her face and hair. + +"How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without +pause she added: "Is there anybody else?" + +Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, +dropping the hand she held. + +"Who should there be?" she returned. + +Her cousin laughed softly. + +"You are as transparent as glass," she said. "Come, who is it?" + +Berenice hesitated an instant, then threw herself forward, bending over +the hand of her companion until her face was hidden. + +"There isn't really anybody; and besides I've insulted him so that he +never could help hating me. No, there isn't anybody, Cousin Anna; and +there never will be. I know I should despise him if he wasn't angry; +and besides," she added with the air of suddenly recollecting herself, +"I hate him for what he said." + +"That is evident," the other assented smilingly. "I could see at once +that you hated him. But who is it?" + +"Why, there isn't anybody, I tell you. Of course I thought about him +after he saved my life, but"-- + +"Oh," interrupted Mrs. Frostwinch. "Then it is Mr. Wynne. But I +thought"-- + +"He isn't a priest any more," Berenice struck in, replying to the +unspoken doubt as if it had been in her own mind. "I heard yesterday +that he has left the Clergy House for good, and is staying with Mrs. +Staggchase." + +"Have you seen him lately?" + +"He overtook me on the street yesterday." + +Mrs. Frostwinch put out her hand with a loving gesture. + +"Bee," said she tenderly, "I want you to be happy. You've been like a +daughter to me ever since your mother died, and I've thought of you +almost as if you were my own child. If this is the man to make you +happy"-- + +But Bee stooped forward and stopped the words with kisses. + +"I can't talk of him," she said, "and he will never be anything to me. +He is angry, and he has a right to be. He"-- + +The entrance of the nurse interrupted them, and Berenice made haste to +get away before there was opportunity for further question. In her +anxiety to know something more of Mr. Wynne, Mrs. Frostwinch sent for +Mrs. Staggchase, who came in the next day. + +Mrs. Staggchase found her friend weak and frightfully changed. The +high-bred face was haggard, the nostrils thin, while beneath the eyes +were heavy purple shadows. A ghost of the old smile lighted her face, +making it more ghastly yet, like the gleaming of a candle through a +death-mask. The hand extended to the visitor was so transparent that it +might almost have belonged to a spirit. + +"My dear Anna," Mrs. Staggchase exclaimed, "I hadn't an idea"-- + +"That I was so near dying, my dear," interrupted the other. "I am worse +than that, I am dead, really; but it doesn't matter. I want to talk to +you about Bee." + +"About Bee?" echoed the other, seating herself beside the bed. "What +about her?" + +"I should have said that I want to ask you about Mr. Wynne. Do you know +anything about his relations to her?" + +"The only relation that he has is that of a perfectly desperate adorer. +He worships the ground she walks on, but he doesn't cherish anything +that could be decently called hope." + +"Then he does care for her?" + +"My dear Anna, it almost makes me weep for my lost youth to see him. He +has so wrought upon my glands of sentiment that this morning I actually +examined my husband's wardrobe to see if the maid darns his stockings +properly. Fred would be perfectly amazed if he knew how sentimental I +feel. I even thought of sitting up last night to welcome him home from +the club, but about half past one I came to the end of my novel and +felt sleepy, so I gave that up." + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled with the air of one who understands that the +visitor is endeavoring to furnish a diversion from the dull sadness of +the sick chamber. + +"But Bee said he was angry with her." + +"The anger of lovers, my dear, is legitimate fuel for the flame. That's +nothing. She's been amusing herself with him, and if she thinks he +resents it, so much the better for him." + +"But is he"-- + +She hesitated as if not knowing how best to frame her question. + +"He is a handsome creature, as you know if you remember him," the +visitor said, taking up the word. "He is well born, he is well bred, if +a little countrified. He's been shut up with monks and other mouldy +things, and needs a little knocking about in the world; but I am very +fond of him." + +"Then you think"-- + +"I think that whoever gets Bee will get a treasure; but I am not sure +that she is any too good for my cousin. He hasn't much money, unless he +gets a little fortune that ought to have been his, and which he has +some hope of. I mean to give him something myself one of these days, if +he behaves himself; but of course he hasn't any idea of that." + +"Bee will have all the Canton money, and can do as she likes." + +Mrs. Staggchase looked down at the carpet as if studying the pattern. + +"Perhaps," she returned. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"If I know Maurice Wynne, the fact that she has money will make him +very slow to speak. Besides, he has a silly crotchet in his head now. +He thinks that if he tried to marry her it would look as if he had +given up his religion for her." + +"Did he?" + +"Bless you, no. He was simply led into the Clergy House by being fond +of a friend; one of those men that young men and old women fall in love +with. Maurice never belonged there at all. I saw that the first day he +came to stay with me at the beginning of the winter. I was abroad while +he was in college, so I never knew him except most casually before." + +"But if he really cares for her he'll get over those obstacles." + +"If she cares for him, he must be made to." + +"I am convinced that she does," Mrs. Frostwinch said. "I am so glad you +speak well of him. I do so want Bee to be happy." + +There was a long silence in the chamber. The two friends sat wrapped in +thought. They had seen so much of life, they had had so many blessings +of fortune, culture, position, wealth, that there was a grim irony in +their sitting here helpless in the face of coming death. To their +reverie, moreover, the mention of love could not but give color. No +woman has ever come to speak of love entirely unmoved, though her heart +may have been deadened or crushed beyond the power of thrilling or +quickening at any other thought. These two, who had led lives so happy, +so protected, so rich, sat there silent before the possibilities which +lay in the love of a girl; until at last both sighed, whether with +regret or tenderness perhaps they could not themselves have told. +Perhaps both remembered their youthful days; remembered how one had +lost her first love by death and the other parted from hers in anger, +making a marriage which seemed more a matter of affronting the man +discarded than of affection for the man she chose. They knew each +other's history so completely that there could be no disguise between +them. Their eyes met, and for an instant there was a suspicion of +wistfulness in the glance. Then Mrs. Frostwinch shook her head, and +smiled sadly. + +"At least," she said, "I shall be spared the pain of growing old." + +"After all," the other responded, "the bitterness of growing old is to +feel that one has never completely been young." + +The sick woman regarded her with burning eyes. + +"But we have been young, Di," she said eagerly. "Surely we had all that +there was." + +"Anna," Mrs. Staggchase murmured, leaning toward her, "we know each +other too well not to say things that most women are afraid to say. We +both married well, and we have cared for our husbands and been happy. +But we both know that there was deep down a memory"-- + +"No, no, Di," her friend interrupted excitedly, "you shall not make me +think of that! I have forgotten all that; and I am dying comfortably. +You shall not make me think of him! Only, dear Di, I want you to help +Bee to marry the man she loves with her whole heart; that she loves as +we might have loved if"-- + +Mrs. Staggchase kissed her solemnly. + +"I promise, Anna." + +Then she rose, her whole manner changing. + +"Do you know, my dear," she observed, in a tone gayly satirical, "that +I believe that Elsie Wilson is going to be beaten in her bishop +steeplechase?" + +"Do you mean that Father Frontford won't be elected?" + +"I mean just that. However, things are still uncertain. It will be +amusing to see what Elsie will do if she is defeated. She is capable of +setting up a church of her own." + +"There are two or three men with whom I have some influence that will +go over to Mr. Strathmore if I am not here to look after them. I must +write to them to-morrow and get them to promise to hold by our side." + +But that night Mrs. Frostwinch died quietly in her sleep, and the +letters were not written. + + + + XXXI + + + HOW CHANCES MOCK + 2 Henry IV., iii. 1. + + +Maurice had seen Berenice only once since his encounter at the ball. He +had hoped and dreaded to meet her, but for more than a week after his +leaving the Clergy House he had failed. One morning he saw her walking +before him on Beacon Street; and while he instantly said to himself +that he trusted that she would not discover him, he hurried forward to +overtake her. His feet carried him forward even while he told himself +that he did not wish to go. He was beside her in a moment, and as he +spoke she raised those rich, dark eyes with a glance which made him +thrill. + +"Good-morning," he said with his heart beating as absurdly as if the +encounter were of the highest consequence. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wynne," she responded, with a manner entirely +abstract. + +She had started and blushed, he was sure, on perceiving him; but if so +she had instantly recovered her self-possession. He was disconcerted by +the coldness of her manner, and began to wish in complete earnest that +he had not overtaken her. + +"I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, his voice hardening, "but"-- + +"The public street is free to anybody, I suppose," she returned, with +an air of studied politeness. "I don't claim any exclusive right to it." + +"I didn't apologize for being on the street, but for speaking to you." + +"Oh, that," answered Berenice carelessly, although he thought that he +detected a spark of mischief in her eye, "is a thing of so little +consequence that it isn't worth mentioning." + +"I venture to speak to you," he said, ignoring the thrust, "because I +have wanted to beg your pardon for my rudeness when I saw you last." + +She turned upon him quickly, her cheeks aflame. + +"Your rudeness?" she exclaimed. "Your brutality, I think you mean!" + +It was his turn to grow red. + +"My brutality, if you choose. I beg your pardon for whatever offended." + +"It was unpardonable! It was a thing no woman could ever forgive!" + +Maurice turned pale. He stopped where he stood. + +"In that case," he said, bowing with formality, "I have no business to +be speaking to you now." + +He turned and was gone before she could add a word. + +This interview probably made neither of the young persons happy; and +Maurice it left entirely miserable. He was not without a proper pride, +however, and in his present frame of mind was ready to call it to his +aid. He bore a brave outward front. He resolved not to think of his +love; yet he was not without the hardly confessed hope that if he could +find the lost will he might be taking a step in the direction of the +realization of his desires. He tried to forget Berenice in the very +means he was taking to bring himself nearer to her. + +He set out for Montfield one bright February day, amused at himself for +the difference in his attitude toward the world from the mere fact that +he had discarded the ecclesiastical garb. It gave him a fresh and +delightful sensation to be traveling on business in clothing like that +of other men. He had no longer any wish to be separated by his dress, +and thought with contemptuous amusement of the lurking +self-consciousness which had always attached itself in his mind to the +fact that he was in a costume apart. He realized now that he had from +this derived a certain satisfaction, half simple vanity and half the +gratification of his histrionic instinct. He felt as if he had been +like a child pleased to attract attention by a feather stuck in his +cap, or a toy sword girt at his side. Now that the whole experience was +past he could smile at it, but he had small patience with those who +still retained the clerical garb. Men have usually little tolerance for +the fault which they have but newly outgrown; and Maurice thought with +a sort of amazement of his late fellows at the Clergy House, and of +their manifest satisfaction in the dress they wore. It was almost with +a sensation of self-righteousness that he enjoyed the habiliments of +ordinary civilized man. + +As the train sped on, and the scenery became more familiar as he +approached nearer to Montfield, Maurice naturally fell to thinking, in +an irregular, detached fashion, of his youth. Both Wynne's parents had +died in his childhood, and there had been little to keep firm the bonds +of family. Alice Singleton he had known, however, both as a girl and as +the wife of his half brother, but he had known only to dislike and +avoid her. He began now to wonder how she would receive him, and +whether she would allude to the scene at Mrs. Rangely's when he had +broken up her spiritualistic deception. + +The train of thought into which reminiscence had plunged him carried +him over his whole life. He realized for the first time that his +religious experiences had been little more than a reflection of those +of Philip. It was Ashe who had interested him in spiritual things, who +had led him into the church, who had practically determined for him +that he should become a priest. For the first time, and with profound +amazement, Maurice realized how completely his theological life had +been the growth of the mind of Ashe rather than of his own. The thought +brought with it a sense of weakness and self-contempt. + +"Haven't I any strength of character?" he asked himself. "In everything +practical Phil has always relied on me. It was always Phil I cared for, +not the church." + +Imperfectly as he was able to phrase it, Maurice was not in the end +without some reasonably clear conception of the fact that in his life +Philip had represented the feminine element. It was by love for his +friend that he had been led on. Now that his reason was fully awake +this emotional yielding to the thought of another was no longer +possible; now that his heart was filled with a passion for Berenice his +nature no longer responded to the appeal of the feminine in Ashe. + +Maurice was half aware that his was a character sure to be influenced +greatly by affection; but he felt that it would never again be possible +for him so to give up to another the guidance of his life as he now saw +that he had yielded it to his friend. He had learned his weakness, and +the lesson had been enforced too sharply ever to be forgotten. + +He was coming now into the region of his old home. The forests were +beginning faintly to show the approach of spring; the treetops were +dimly warming in color, the branches thickening against the sky. Here +and there Maurice looked down on a brook black with the late rains and +with the floods from the snow-drifts still melting on the distant +hills. Now he caught a far flash of the river where he had skated in +winters almost forgotten, so fast does time move, where he had fished +and bathed in summers so long gone that they seemed to belong to the +life of some other. Yet once more and a distant hill, duskily blue +against the bluer heavens, wakened for him some memory of his boyhood, +seeming to challenge him to renew the old joys and to revel in the +by-gone fervors. + +All these things softened the mood in which Maurice came back to the +old town, and as he walked up the village street, so well remembered +yet so strange, he had a sense of unreality. The very homely +familiarity of it all made it appear the more like a dream. He felt his +heart-beats quicken as he approached the Ashe place, wondering if he +should see Mrs. Ashe. He had always, with all his affection, felt for +Philip's mother a sort of awe, as if she were more than a simple human +creature. He found it difficult to understand that Mrs. Singleton +should be staying with her, so incongruous was the association in his +mind of two such women. With Mrs. Ashe, Alice must at least be at her +best. + +He walked up to the house, passing under the leafless lilac bushes with +a keen remembrance of how they were laden with odors in June. He +wondered if the tansy still grew under the sitting-room window, and if +the lilies-of-the-valley flourished on the north side of the house as +of old. Then he knocked with the quaint old black knocker, and with the +sound came back the present and the thought that he had before him an +interview which might be neither pleasant nor easy. + +Mrs. Singleton herself opened the door. + +"I saw you coming," she greeted him, "and there is nobody at home but +me." + +Maurice tried not to look disappointed. + +"Then Mrs. Ashe is not at home?" + +"No; she is out, and the girl is out. Will you come in? You probably +didn't come to see me." + +"But I did come to see you." + +She led the way into the long, low sitting-room, with its many doors +and its wide fireplace, so familiar that he might have left it +yesterday. + +"I can't imagine what you want of me," Mrs. Singleton said, waving her +hand toward a chair. "The last time I saw you you didn't seem very fond +of me." + +She seated herself by the side of the fire in a great old-fashioned +chair covered with chintz and spreading out wings on either side of her +head. + +"You are still angry, Alice, I see," he rejoined. "Well, I can't help +that. I did what was right. How in the world could you make up your +mind to fool those people so?" + +"They wanted to be fooled; why not oblige them?" + +He regarded her with astonishment. He had expected her to deny that her +deception was deliberate, to claim that the manifestations were real. +Her frank and cynical speech disconcerted him. He had no reply. She +broke into a sneering laugh. + +"There," she said, "you didn't come here to talk about that séance. +What did you come for?" + +"I came to ask you if you still have Aunt Hannah's desk." + +She regarded him keenly. + +"The little traveling desk?" + +"Yes." + +"What if I have?" + +"But have you?" + +"Oh, I don't mind telling you that. I don't see that it can do you any +good to know that I have it. I always carry it round with me. It's so +convenient." + +"Will you sell it to me?" + +"Certainly not. If you didn't want it, I might give it to you; but if +you do you can't have it." + +Maurice began to feel his anger rising. He felt helpless before this +woman, with her innocent, baby face, this woman with the guileless look +of a child and a child's freedom from moral scruples, who faced him +with a smile of pleased malice. It might be unwise to tell his real +errand, but she surely could not do any harm greater than to be +disagreeable. There must be some method, he reflected, of getting at +the thing legally; but what it was he was entirely ignorant; and now +that he had shown a desire for the desk he was confident that Mrs. +Singleton would persist until she had discovered the truth. He could +think of nothing to do but to make a clean breast of the whole matter. +He nerved himself to the task, and told her of the finding of Norah and +of what followed. + +"Have you ever discovered that the desk had a false bottom?" he asked +in conclusion. + +"No, brother Maurice. The spirits hadn't revealed it to me. But then I +never asked them about that." + +There was an air of triumphant glee in her manner, an open and mocking +sneer, which dismayed him. He was sure that he had erred in telling her +his secret; yet he reflected that he could hardly have done otherwise, +and that she surely would not dare to refuse to give up a legal +document so important. + +"Will you let me examine the desk?" + +"I am so happy to oblige you," she returned. "Though whether your story +is true or not must depend, you know, upon the unsupported testimony of +the medium--I mean of the speaker." + +Maurice rose and went toward her, facing her squarely. + +"I understand, Alice," he said, "that you don't love me, and I haven't +come to ask favors. This is a matter of simple honesty. I certainly +don't think you would willfully keep me out of my property." + +"Thank you for drawing the line somewhere. It was so noble of you to +interfere at Mrs. Rangely's! You didn't in the least mind robbing me of +my good name, and them of the comfort of believing it was real. +Besides, I did see things! I swear to you that I did! I am a medium in +spite of whatever you say. I can call up spirits!" + +Her voice rose as she went on, and he feared lest she should work +herself into one of her furies of excitement and temper which he had +seen of old. + +"Why should we go back to that?" he said, as gently as he could. "That +is past, and I only did what I thought was my duty." + +"Oh, you did your duty, did you?" she sneered. + +"Well, I'll do mine now. Stay here, while I go and empty that old desk. +I'll match you in doing my duty!" + +She hurried tumultuously from the room, leaving Maurice in anything but +an enviable frame of mind. He began to walk up and down, assailed by +old memories at every turn, yet so disturbed by Mrs. Singleton's words +and manner that he could not heed the recollections. The minutes +passed, and Alice did not return. It seemed to him that she took a long +time to remove her papers from the desk. Then he smiled to himself in +bitter amusement and impatience. Of course his sister-in-law was trying +to discover the secret of the double bottom. She would probably +persevere until she had gained the precious document of which he had +come in search. She would read it, and then--He broke off in his +reverie with an exclamation of impatience. What a fool he had been to +attempt to deal with this woman alone! He had, it was true, expected to +find Mrs. Ashe, but he should have sent a lawyer. What did he, a puppet +from the Clergy House, know of managing the affairs of life? He felt +that he had failed in his match with Mrs. Singleton; and he had almost +made up his mind to go in search of her, when he heard her returning. + +She came in with her face flushed, her eyes shining, and an air of +triumph which struck dismay to the heart of Maurice. + +"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long," she said, "but I had to +light a fire in the parlor, I was so cold. However, I have something to +show you that will interest you." + +"Is it the will?" he asked eagerly. + +She answered with a laugh, but led the way across the narrow front +entry into the parlor. The pleasant noise of a crackling fire sounded +within, and as he entered the room he saw that the fireplace was filled +with a ruddy blaze. Then he rushed forward with a cry. There on the top +of the blazing logs were the unmistakable remains of the desk, eaten +through and through by tongues of red flame. He seized the tongs, and +dragged the burning mass to the hearth, but even as he did so he saw +that he was too late. + +"It is kind of you to want to save my old desk, Maurice," jeered his +companion; "but I had the misfortune to put the poker through the +bottom of it before I called you, so that I'm afraid it really isn't +worth saving." + +He saw that the wood had indeed been punched through and through, and +that it was reduced almost to a cinder. It was easy to see that the +bottom had been double, and burned flakes of paper were visible among +the remains; whether of the will or not it was obviously impossible now +to discover. He looked at the burned bits of board falling into ashes +and cinders at his feet, realizing that here was an end to all his +dreams of regaining his aunt's fortune; that with this dream ended, +too, his visions of being in a position to offer Berenice--His wrath +blazed up in an uncontrollable force. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried, facing the woman who smiled beside him. +"You are a thief, a shameless, deliberate thief!" + +She stood the image of mirthful, innocent girlhood, her smooth forehead +unclouded, her eyes gleaming as if with the merriment of a child. + +"It is a pretty fire, isn't it, Maurice?" + +Then her whole expression changed. Into her dark, dewy eyes came a look +of rage, visible murder in a glance. + +"You called me a liar, there in Boston," she said hissingly. "I am not +surprised to have you add thief now. I have only done what I chose with +my own property; but I would have been cut into little bits before you +should have had that will through me!" + +He could not trust himself to reply. He felt that if he spoke he might +break out into curses, and he was conscious of an unmanly longing to +strike her, to mar that beautiful, false face, childlike and pure in +every line,--for the expression of rage had melted as quickly as it had +come,--to feel the joy of seeing her limbs slacken and her red lips +grow white. He clinched his hands and turned resolutely away. + +"I'm sure I don't know that there was anything there that you had any +interest in," she pursued lightly. "I tried as long as I dared to get +the bottom open, and I couldn't, so I decided that it wasn't any of my +business. Only when I put the poker through there seemed to be papers +there." + +Maurice could endure no more. He started toward her so fiercely that +she recoiled, a sudden pallor blanching her rosy loveliness. Then he +turned abruptly away again, and got out of the house. + + + + XXXII + + + NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + Romeo and Juliet, ii. 4. + + +Interest in the question who would be bishop increased as Lent waned +and the time for the meeting of the convention approached. The general +public could not be expected to be greatly concerned about a matter so +purely ecclesiastical, but the wide popularity of Mr. Strathmore gave +to the election a character of its own. The question was generally held +to be that of the prevalence of liberal views. Many who cared nothing +about the church were interested in seeing whether new or old ideas +would prevail. The age is one in which there is a keen curiosity to see +what course the church will take. It is partly due, undoubtedly, to the +inherited habit of being concerned in theology; it is perhaps more +largely the result of unconscious desire for a liberalism so great that +it shall justify those who have been so liberal as to lay aside all +religion whatever. + +The papers had entered into the discussion with an alacrity quickened +by the fact that at this especial season there was not much else in the +way of news. Rangely wrote for the "Daily Eagle" a glowing editorial in +which he urged the choice of Strathmore on the ground that the new +bishop should be not the representative of a faction, but of the whole +church, and as far as possible of the people. It insisted that only a +man liberal himself could have breadth to understand and sympathize +with all shades of feeling. Others of the secular press had taken up +the discussion, and Mrs. Wilson declared that the devil was +contributing editorials to the papers in his keen fear that Father +Frontford would be elected. + +Lent wore at last to an end, and the festivities which follow Easter +came in with all their usual gayety. One evening, about a week before +the election, a musicale was given at the house of Mrs. Gore. Mr. and +Mrs. Strathmore were present, the tall figure of the former being +conspicuous in the crowd which after the music surged toward the +supper-room and later eddied through the parlors. Fred Rangely came +upon the clergyman at a moment when he had detached himself from the +admiring women who usually surrounded him, and taken refuge in the +shadow of a deep window. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Strathmore," Rangely said. "Are you making a +retreat? I thought Lent was the time for that." + +The other smiled with that kindly benevolence which was characteristic. + +"Ah, Mr. Rangely," he responded, extending his hand. "I am glad to see +you. Will you share my retirement?" + +"Thank you," Rangely answered, stepping into the recess. "A retreat is +especially grateful to a journalist. We get so tired that even a moment +of respite is welcome." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled more genially than ever. + +"Yes; you journalists are expected to know everything, and it must be +wearing to have to learn all that there is to know." + +"Oh, it's easy enough to learn instead how to appear to know." + +The clergyman regarded him with a quizzical look. + +"Is that the way it is done? I've often wondered at the infallibility +of your guild." + +"A trick, of the trade, I assure you. We have to seem to be infallible +to secure any attention at all, you see; and we soon learn the knack of +it." + +The clergyman, as if unconsciously, drew back a little farther into the +shadow of the heavy draperies veiling the nook in which they stood. + +"I dare say," he observed, as if speaking at random, "that one of your +clever professional writers would be able, for instance, to give the +reader quite an inside view even in church matters." + +Rangely's face changed, and he in turn altered his position by leaning +his elbow against the heavy middle sash of the window. The two men were +thus not only concealed from the passing crowd, but stood with faces +screened from each other by the shadow. + +"Oh, even that might be possible," Rangely returned lightly. + +"There is so much interest in church matters now," the other continued +dispassionately. "I noticed that the 'Churchman' had rather a striking +article two or three weeks ago on a layman's point of view of the +bishop question. Did you see it?" + +"I seldom see the 'Churchman,'" Rangely replied in a voice not wholly +free from constraint. + +"It is a pity you didn't see this, it was so well done. It is true that +it proved me to be all sorts of a heretic; but if I am, of course it +should be known." + +There was a pause of a moment. Outside in the drawing-room rose the +constant babble of speech, unintelligible and confusing. Then above it +Rangely laughed softly. + +"The wisdom of the journalist," he remarked, "is as nothing compared to +that of the clergy. How did you discover that I wrote it?" + +"Discover? Isn't that a word applied to finding things by seeking?" + +"What of that?" + +"I was merely thinking that you give me credit for more leisure and +more curiosity than I possess if you suppose me to have tried to find +out about that article." + +Rangely laughed again. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said with a new resolution in his tone, "will you +pardon me if I am frank? I want to ask you what I can do to help you to +secure the election." + +"Don't think I am given to word-splitting, Mr. Rangely, but I've no +wish to _secure_ it. If the church needs me--but, after all, we need +not quibble. Will you pardon me if I say that your question is rather +remarkable coming from the author of the 'Churchman' paper." + +"Although I wrote the 'Churchman' article, I wrote also the 'Eagle' +editorial," was the reply. "I see things in a different light. The fact +is that I was trapped into writing that stuff for the 'Churchman,' and +now I'm anxious to undo any harm I may have done." + +"I am glad that you do not really think me as bad as that article made +me out," Strathmore said. "There have been some queer things about this +election. Mrs. Gore has a letter that a woman has written which +illustrates how injudicious some of those interested have been." + +"What sort of a letter?" + +"A letter that is amusing in a way. Of course I only mention the thing +confidentially. Very likely, though, Mrs. Gore might be willing to let +you see it if you are interested. It was written to a clergyman in the +western part of the State by Mrs. Wilson." + +"Mrs. Wilson?" + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. Of course you know that she is much interested in +the matter. It isn't a very discreet document. I shall be much relieved +when the whole thing is settled. It causes too much excitement, +especially for us who have been named in connection with the office." + +"It can't be pleasant," Rangely assented. + +"It is not, I assure you. Now it is my duty to be talking to ladies and +helping Mrs. Gore. She told me that she depended on me." + +He moved forward as he spoke, and the two were soon in the company +again. Rangely weltered through the crowd to Mrs. Gore and asked about +the letter. + +"It is a trump card," she said. "I am glad you spoke about it. I was +wondering how it could be used to the best advantage. Mr. Strathmore +talks about its being a private letter, but I have a shrewd suspicion +that he wouldn't mind if somebody else used it. Come in to-morrow about +five, and we'll talk it over." + +Maurice Wynne was naturally not entirely at home in this sort of a +gathering. He had not overcome his shyness and want of familiarity with +social usages, so that he was especially relieved when he found himself +comfortably seated in a corner with Mrs. Herman, to whom he could talk +freely. + +"Isn't there something that can be done for Phil, Mrs. Herman?" he +asked earnestly. "I haven't seen him since I left the Clergy House. I +had to come away without saying good-by to him, and in answer to my +letter he says that Father Frontford advises him not to see me for the +present." + +Mrs. Herman sighed, playing with her fan. + +"Life is hard for a nature like his," answered she. "He is born to be a +martyr. He has the martyr temperament. It's part of our inheritance +from Puritanism, I suppose." + +Maurice smiled, looking up impulsively. + +"I can't see why you lay so much stress on Puritanism," he said. "What +has Puritanism resulted in? Its whole struggle has come to an end in +doubt and agnosticism and flippancy. Intellectual curiosity has taken +the place of spiritual stress; ethical casuistry or theological +amusements seem to me to stand instead of religious conviction." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with an inquiring smile. + +"You make me feel old," she interposed; "it is so long since I went +through that stage. Will you pardon me for saying that you are not +quite a disinterested observer?" + +"It is the eyes newly open that see most clearly," he responded, +throwing back his head with a little laugh. "The Puritan came into the +wilderness to establish a city of God. Time has shown that he dreamed +an impossible dream. The result of that effort has been the +establishment of a religious liberty"-- + +"One might almost say a religious license, I own," she interpolated. + +"A religious liberty or license as you like, but at any rate something +that would have seemed to them appallingly wicked,--a thousand times +worse than anything they fled from into the desert." + +Mrs. Herman was silent a moment while he waited for her answer. Her +eyes grew darker, and the color flushed in her cheeks. + +"It is odd enough for me to be the champion of Puritanism," she said at +length, "and yet it seems to me that after all they did their work +well, and that it was permanent. They left on the land the stress of +sincerity and earnestness. Creeds fall away just as leaves drop from +the trees, but each leaf has helped. Religions decay, but the salvation +of the race must depend upon human steadfastness to conviction." + +"Then I suppose that you think Phil is nearer to the heart of things +than I am." + +"Not in the least. The difference between you is superficial rather +than real so long as you are both true to your convictions." + +"But it seems to me," Maurice objected, "that Phil is looking at truth +as a sort of fetish. He seems to feel that the root of the matter is in +a dogma, and a dogma is only the fossil remains of a truth that is gone +by." + +She laughed appreciatively. + +"Have you caught the fever for making epigrams? I'm afraid there's a +good deal of truth in what you say about Cousin Philip. He can't help +looking at religion as an end rather than a means." + +"Has it ever struck you that he might finish by going over to the +Catholics?" + +"No," she answered, "I confess I'd never thought of it; but I see what +you mean." + +"It will seem to him a moral catastrophe, a sort of ecclesiastical +cataclysm," Maurice continued, "if Father Frontford isn't elected; and +as far as I can judge there isn't much chance of that." + +"No," she assented, "I don't think there is much chance." + +"He said to me one day," added Maurice thoughtfully, "that in the +Catholic Church there never could have been any danger of the election +of a heretic bishop. I am afraid this will decide him." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with a smile, studying him as if she were +reading the working of his mind. + +"You think that a misfortune," she commented. "You feel that it is a +step farther into the darkness." + +"It is to narrow rather than to broaden his horizon, is it not?" + +She played with her fan a moment, smiling to herself in a way which he +did not understand, and looking down as if considering some old memory. +Then she met his glance with a look at once kind and wistful. + +"It isn't of much use to argue the matter, I suppose," were her words. +"It seems to me as if in talking to you I see my old mental self in a +mirror, if you'll pardon me for saying so. When we come out from any +conviction, and most of all from a religious belief, it seems to us a +profound misfortune that any man should still believe what we have +decided is false. By and by I think you will see that the chief point +is that a man shall believe. What he believes doesn't so much matter. +It must be the thing that best suits his temperament." + +"Then to outgrow a dogma is to weaken our power. It certainly weakens +our faith in general." + +"Yes," she assented, "that is the price we must pay for freedom; but if +Philip can still believe, I have long ago passed the place where I +should regret it. Perhaps he is to be envied." + +Maurice shook his head. + +"We may feel like that in some moods," he concluded with a smile, "but +certainly nothing would induce you to change places with him." "Oh, +no," she cried; "certainly not. But that is mere womanly lack of logic!" + + + + XXXIII + + + A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +The disappointment of Maurice at the failure of his effort to secure +his aunt's fortune was perhaps rather more than less keen because the +property had never tangibly been his. The title of the fancy is that of +which men are most tenacious, and the thing which has been held in fee +of the imagination is precisely that which it is most grievous to lose. +Maurice returned to Boston completely overcome by the result of his +expedition, his mind overflowing with chagrin and anger. + +It was not only the money which he had missed, but he had to his +thinking lost also the hope of being in a position to press his suit +with Berenice. However intangible might be his plans for winning her, +they none the less filled his mind. He refused to regard her coldness +as enduring. He had in his thoughts imagined so many tender scenes of +reconciliation in which he magnanimously forgave her for the sharpness +of the repulse of their last meeting or humbly besought pardon for his +own offenses, that he came to feel as if all misunderstanding had +really been done away with. It had been in his mind that if he were but +in a position to meet Berenice on equal terms in regard to fortune all +might be well; and to be deprived of this hope was infinitely bitter. + +Meanwhile he had before him the problem of reshaping his life. It was +necessary that he decide what should take the place of the profession +which he had laid down. Fortunately the decision was not difficult, as +former inclination had practically settled the matter. The definite +shaping of his plans came one day in a talk which he had with his +cousin. + +"It isn't exactly my affair, Maurice," Mrs. Staggchase said, "but I +want to know, and that always makes a thing her affair with a +woman,--what are you going to do with your life now that you have +pulled it out of the mouth of the church?" + +"It is good of you to care to ask," he answered. "I suppose I shall +study law." + +"May I talk with you quite frankly?" she asked. "Fred does me the honor +to say that for a woman I have a reasonably clear head." + +"You may say whatever you like, Cousin Diana. I shall only be grateful." + +"Well, then, in the first place, how much have you to live on?" + +"I've about a thousand dollars a year. What was left of the estate at +mother's death amounts to about that. I wanted to give it all to the +church when I went into the Clergy House." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Father Frontford wouldn't allow it. He said that a continual sacrifice +meant more than an act that stripped me of power to decide, and which +might be regretted." + +"That was a noble temper," Mrs. Staggchase remarked thoughtfully. "A +priest is a strange being. As for you, you say you have never believed, +and yet you would have given up everything you possessed." + +Maurice flushed, and looked a little shamefaced. + +"I never did believe, so far as I can see now; but I thought I did, if +you see the difference. My wanting to give up everything wasn't belief; +it was a sort of instinctive desire to play fair. If I were to do the +thing at all, my impulse was to do it thoroughly. It isn't in my blood +to do a thing half way. I'm afraid the explanation doesn't speak very +well for my common sense; but so far as I can understand myself that's +the way of it." + +"But if you didn't believe what were you there for?" + +"I was there because Phil was. I don't pretend to understand why I, who +led Phil in everything else, who did all sorts of things that he +couldn't and had to decide everything else for him, should have +followed his lead so in religion; but I did. It was part of my caring +for him. It would have hurt him so much if I hadn't, that of course I +had to." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him keenly. He turned away his eyes, thinking +of his friend and of the wide gulf which had opened between them, so +that he but half heard and did not understand the comment she made +softly. + +"The _ewigweibliche_ in masculine shape," she murmured, smiling to +herself. "When the real came, it couldn't hold its power any longer." + +"What?" he asked. + +"Nothing. I was speaking in riddles. To come back to business,--you say +you've decided upon the law." + +"Yes. That was always my choice. I read a good deal of law while I was +in college. It wasn't till I graduated two years ago that I fell into +theology. It's two years wasted." + +"Oh, perhaps, and perhaps not. After all, experience in youth is +generally worth what it costs, little as we think so when we pay the +price. Well, then, you can easily live on your income if you choose. +Mr. Staggchase and I will be glad to have you make this your home, +and"-- + +"But, Cousin Diana," he interrupted in astonishment, "there is +certainly no reason why you should burden yourself with me. Not that I +am not a thousand times obliged to you, but"-- + +"Be as obliged as you like," interrupted she in turn, "only don't be +foolish. Fred and I are not exactly sentimentalists, and we both know +what we wish. He likes to have you to talk with, and when you have +learned to smoke you will find him a very clever and agreeable +companion after dinner. He knows the world, and he'll teach you a great +many things that you'd be slow to find out for yourself. As for me, you +amuse me, let us say. The gods have spared us the bother of children; +but the gifts of the gods are always to be paid for, and we begin to +feel as if there were a sort of loneliness ahead of us with nobody to +be especially interested in. To have somebody younger to care for is a +luxury when you are young yourself, but it's a necessity to age. I +assure you that we shouldn't have you here if we didn't want you, and +that we shall turn you out without scruple when we are tired of you." + +"Very well, then," he responded with a laugh, "I am rejoiced to remain +to be a blessing." + +They looked into the fire a little time as if they were considering +what effect upon the future this new arrangement would have; then Mrs. +Staggchase glanced up with a smile. + +"Just now," she remarked, "before you are plunged in the study of the +law, you may do escort duty for me. I am going to call on Berenice +Morison." + +"On Miss Morison?" + +"Yes. Her grandmother is staying with her. Mr. Frostwinch has gone +abroad, you know, and as the old house belongs to Bee, she is staying +on there." + +"But--but she won't care to see me." + +"Very likely not," assented his cousin coolly, "but she'll endure you +for my sake." + +"I don't like being endured," he retorted, between fun and earnest. +"Besides, she's so much money"-- + +"You are not such a cad as to be afraid of her money, I hope." + +"Not in one way, but don't you see now that she has so much, and I have +lost Aunt Hannah's"-- + +"Really, Maurice," she interrupted brusquely, "you must learn not to +speak your thoughts out like that! I'm not asking you to go to propose +to Bee. You have the theological habit of taking things with too +dreadful seriousness. Come with me for a call, and don't bother about +consequences and possibilities." + +Maurice blushed at his own folly in betraying his secret scruples, but +his cousin spared him any farther teasing, and they went on their way +peacefully. It seemed to him when he entered the stately Frostwinch +house that it had somehow been transformed. Everything was much as it +had been in the lifetime of Mrs. Frostwinch, yet to his fancy all +looked fresher and more cheerful. He smiled to himself, feeling that +the change must simply be the result of his knowledge that this was now +the home of Berenice; yet even so he could not persuade himself that +the alteration was not actual. He felt joyously alert as he followed +Mrs. Staggchase to the library, where Bee was sitting with old Mrs. +Morison. + +He had never been in this apartment before. It was high, and heavily +made, with an open fire on the hearth, and enough books to justify its +name. Berenice came forward to meet them, and Mrs. Morison remained +seated near the fire. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Staggchase," Bee said cordially. "It is +just one of those dreary days when it proves true courage to come out." + +"And true friendship, I hope," the other answered, passing on to Mrs. +Morison. "My dear old friend, I wish I could believe you are as glad to +see me as I am to see you." + +Berenice in the mean time gave her hand to Maurice graciously, but with +a certain grave courtesy which he felt to put them upon a purely +ceremonious footing. + +"It is kind of you to come," she said. "Grandmother will be glad to see +you." + +Maurice tried hard to look unconscious, but he could not help +questioning her with his eyes. She flushed under his eager regard, and +drew back a little. + +"I am very glad of the chance to see--Mrs. Morison," he answered. + +Bee flushed more deeply yet. Then she turned mischievously to Mrs. +Morison. + +"Grandmother," she said, "it seems that Mr. Wynne came to see you and +not me." + +The old lady greeted him kindly. + +"I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wynne," she said. "I hope +that your arm does not trouble you at all." + +"Not at all. I was too well taken care of at Brookfield." + +Mrs. Staggchase laughed, spreading out her hands. + +"There," said she gayly, "you see! He has only been in my hands a few +weeks, but I call that a very pretty speech." + +"He probably has a natural gift for pleasing speeches," Berenice +remarked meaningly. + +Maurice crimsoned, but his education had not proceeded far enough for +him to have any reply. + +"Well, take him away, Bee, and give him tea or gossip. I want to talk +to your grandmother about old friends, and you young people won't +understand." + +"He may have tea if he is tractable," responded Bee. "We are evidently +not appreciated, Mr. Wynne. Will you ring the bell over there, please." + +He did as he was directed, and then followed her to the tea-table at a +little distance from the fire. He was full of a troubled joy, the +mingled delight of being with her and the consciousness that he had +firmly determined in his own mind that he had no right to show her his +feelings. He said to himself that he could bear anything else better +than that she should think of him as a fortune-hunter. Her wealth +loomed between them as a wall which it were dishonorable even to +attempt to scale. His brain was busy phrasing things which he longed to +say to her, words seemed to seethe in his head, yet he found himself +strangely tongue-tied and awkward. When most of all he desired to +appear at his ease, he was most completely uncomfortable and +self-conscious. + +A servant came with the tea, and he was able to cover to some extent +his uneasiness by serving the ladies. When this was done, and he sat +nervously stirring his own cup, he found himself searching his mind in +vain for those things which it would be safe to say. His brain was full +of things which must not be said. He could think only of things which +it was not safe to utter; and his discomfiture increased as he saw Miss +Morison watching him with a half-veiled smile. + +"By the way," she said at length, when the silence was becoming too +marked, "I fulfilled your request." + +"My request?" he echoed, unable to remember that he had made any. + +"Yes. Have you forgotten that you came to ask me"-- + +He put out his hand impulsively. + +"Please don't!" he interrupted. "It is bad enough to remember what an +unmitigated idiot I was without the humiliation of thinking that you +remember it too." + +"I remember," she responded, with a sparkle in her eye, "that you did +not seem to relish the mission on which you were sent. However, I +accepted the intention, and I have promised the men a continuance of +their stipends." Her face grew suddenly grave, and she added: "I can't +joke about it, though. I really did it because Cousin Anna would have +wished it." + +They were silent now because they had come so near a solemn subject +that neither of them cared to speak. The thoughts of Maurice went back +to the day he had come to do the errand of Father Frontford, and his +cheek grew hot. + +"I hope you will believe," he said eagerly, "that I had really no idea +of how very ill your cousin was. She seemed so well when I saw her that +it was all unreal to me. I wish I could tell you how sorry I have been +for you. I have thought of you." + +She raised her eyes to his, and they exchanged a look in which there +was more than sympathy. Maurice felt her glance so deeply that for the +moment he forgot all else. Obstacles no longer existed. He was looking +into the eyes of the woman he loved, and thrilling as if her heart was +questioning his. It seemed to him that her very self was demanding how +deep and how true had been his thought of her in her time of sorrow. He +bent forward, sounding her gaze with his, trying to convey all the +unspoken words which jostled in his brain. Her eyes fell before his +burning look, and her head drooped. The room was darkening with the +coming dusk, and they sat at some distance from the others. He laid his +hand on hers. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She rose as if she had not noted. + +"Don't you think it is time for lights, grandmother?" she said in a +voice so unemotional that it sent a chill to his heart. + +"It is certainly time for us to be going home," Mrs. Staggchase +interposed, rising in her turn. + +And far into the night Maurice Wynne vexed his soul with vain endeavors +to decide what Berenice meant by her treatment of him. + + + + XXXIV + + + WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +The grief which Philip felt over the apostasy of Maurice overshadowed +for a time every other feeling. He sorrowed for his friend, praying and +yearning, searching his heart to discover whether his own influence or +example had helped to bring about this lamentable fall; he turned over +in his mind plans for bringing the wanderer back to the fold; he ceased +to think about the coming election, and thought of his ill-starred love +hardly otherwise than as a possible sin which had helped perhaps to +lead to this catastrophe. + +Affection between two men is much more likely to be mutual than that +between two women. Men are more generally frank in their likes and +dislikes, they are as a rule more accustomed to feel at liberty to be +open and to please themselves in their familiarities; and it seems to +be true that men are more constant in friendship, as women are said to +be more constant in love. Affection between women, moreover, is apt to +be founded upon circumstance, while that between men is more often a +matter of character. + +The fondness of Philip and Maurice for each other was of long standing; +it had arisen out of the mutual needs of their natures, and was part of +their growth. Philip was the one most dependent upon his friend, +however, and now he felt as if he were torn away from his chief +support. He reasoned with himself that he had been letting affection +for his friend come between him and Heaven; he tried to feel that +Providence had interfered to break down his idol; yet to all this he +could not but answer that Maurice had been always a help, and that it +was impossible to believe that Providence would accomplish his good by +the hurt of his benefactor. He did assure himself that his suffering +was the will of a higher power, and as such to be acquiesced in and +improved to his spiritual good. If the voice of his secret heart, that +inner self from which we hide our faces and whose words we so +obstinately refuse to hear, cried out against the cruelty of this +discipline, he but closed his ears more resolutely. To listen would be +to yield to temptation. He would not see Maurice; he hardly permitted +himself to read his friend's letters. He answered these notes by fervid +appeals to the wanderer to return to the fold, to be reconciled with +the church, to take up again the priesthood he had discarded. Hard as +it was, he still strove for what he felt to be the other's lasting good. + +Lent ended, and the gladness of Easter came upon the land; the spring +showed traces of its secret presence by a thousand intangible and +delicate signs in sky, and air, and earth: there was everywhere a stir +and a quickening, a blitheness which belongs to the vernal season only. +Philip felt all these things by the growing sharpness of the contrast +between his mood and that of the world without. His melancholy and +unrest seemed to him to grow every day more intense and unbearable. + +That Father Frontford did not more fully realize Philip's condition was +probably due to the near approach of the election. As the time for the +convention drew near, the supporters of the rival candidates redoubled +their exertions; there was hurrying to and fro, writing of letters and +continued consultation, all of which inevitably distracted the +attention of the Father. He did perceive, however, that Philip was +troubled, and nothing could have been more tender or considerate than +his attitude. He did not talk to Ashe about Maurice, but he contrived +to make his deacon understand that no blame was attached to him for the +apostasy of Wynne. Philip found a new affection for the Father +springing in his heart, so soothing, so winning was the sympathy of the +Superior. + +The days passed on until the convention actually assembled. Philip was +feverishly anxious; yet he persistently assured himself that he had no +doubt in regard to the result. He felt that the end had been +accomplished by the work which had already been done; and the +convention itself seemed to him somewhat unreal and unmeaning. It had +in his mind not much more than the function of announcing a result +which he felt to have been arrived at already in the canvassing of +lists of delegates in which he had taken part at Mrs. Wilson's. Until +the thing was formally announced, however, it was impossible to be at +ease. + +The first day of the convention was mainly one of organization and of +preparation. Business was disposed of and all made ready for the +election of the morrow. Philip went into the convention in the hour of +recreation. He tried to be interested in matters which he assured +himself were of real importance; yet he found his memory dwelling on +Maurice and the times they had talked of this convention. Even his +efforts to fix his thoughts on the election itself could not drive his +friend from his mind. He walked home at last, saying passionately that +he had ceased to care for the church, for its welfare, its fate; that +he had cared only for his own selfish desires and interests. He looked +back upon the convention which he had left, and saw mentally a picture +of men who seemed strange and remote, concerned with matters which he +did not understand, in which he had no interest. He felt completely out +of key with everything; he longed for Maurice with unspeakable pain. He +had rested on Maurice. In every mental crisis he had depended upon +finding his friend at hand, sympathetic, strong, responsive; he had +come to be as one unable to stand alone. It seemed impossible for him +to go on longer without seeing his fellow, his friend, his confidant, +his support. The convention and the Clergy House alike became misty and +accidental in comparison with his own desperate need of Maurice. + +A couple of blocks from the House he was joined by a fellow deacon. + +"I say, Ashe," was the other's greeting, "did you ever know anything so +unfortunate as that Wilson letter?" + +Philip turned upon him an uncomprehending face. + +"What is the Wilson letter?" he inquired absently. + +"What? Don't you know about it? I saw you at the convention." + +"I was there a little while; but there was nothing said about a letter, +that I heard." + +"Oh, there has been nothing said about it in the convention, but they +say it will turn the scale." + +"But what is it?" + +"It's a letter Mrs. Wilson--Mrs. Chauncy Wilson, you know--you must +know who she is?" + +"Yes; I know her." + +"Well, this is a letter that she wrote to a rector in the western part +of the State,--his name was Briggs or Biggs, or something of that kind. +She said that if he didn't vote for Father Frontford she could get him +out of his parish." + +"What!" exclaimed Philip. "She couldn't have written such a thing!" + +"There's a fac-simile of it in the hands of every member of the +convention." + +"But how did it get out?" + +"They say," answered the other, eager to impart his information, "that +a man named Rangely had it printed, and sent it around. I don't know +who he is, but he's a newspaper man, I believe." + +"I know who he is," Philip returned, "but I thought he was a friend of +Mrs. Wilson. I've seen him at her house. How did he get the letter?" + +"I'm sure I don't know; but he had it. He's written a circular to go +with it. He says that that is the way the friends of Father Frontford +are trying to secure the election. There is a great deal of feeling +about it." + +"But will it make much difference?" + +"They say that it will turn the scale. There are a number of men who +were in doubt, and this is likely to be enough to insure Mr. +Strathmore's election." + +"What a disgraceful trick!" Philip cried indignantly. "Father Frontford +isn't responsible for what Mrs. Wilson did. Besides, it doesn't change +the real facts of the case. It doesn't make Father Frontford any the +less the right man." + +"Of course it doesn't," was the reply. "But I've been talking with my +uncle. He's a delegate from Springfield. He says that he's sure it will +get Mr. Strathmore elected." + +The news gave Philip a shock, but it seemed impossible that a trivial, +outside trick like this could alter the conscientious vote of the +candidates. He was uneasy, but he seemed to have lost all vital care +about the election, and even this disconcerting event did not greatly +change his feeling. He reproached himself that he cared so little; yet +his personal misery so absorbed him that his thoughts wandered even +from this new cause for self-reproach. + +After supper that night he was summoned to the Father Superior. + +"I wish you to do an errand for me," Father Frontford said. "I presume +that you have heard of the publication of Mrs. Wilson's letter. It may +do harm, and whatever happens I want her to know that I do not blame +her. She acted unwisely, no doubt; but her intention was good. Besides, +I really became responsible when I trusted so much to her judgment. I +shall be happier if I know that she is not thinking that I feel +disposed to be vexed with her." + +The tone in which this was said was too sincere for Philip to doubt +that the Father uttered his true feeling. He looked into the face of +the other, and was struck by the complete weariness, almost exhaustion, +which marked it. He went on his way haunted by those deep-set eyes, so +full of pain, of fatigue, and, it seemed to Philip, of self-reproach. + +Mrs. Wilson was not at home, so that Philip had only to leave the note. +He turned back, crossing the Public Garden in the soft evening. +Overhead was the mysterious darkness, quivering with stars. The air was +full of suggestions of advancing spring. He felt in his veins an +unreasonable restlessness, a stirring as of sap in the tree, a longing +for that which he could not define. He heard around him gay voices and +laughter, for the night was warm, and people were sitting about on the +benches or strolling along the walks. He began to examine the groups he +passed, looking with a curious eye at the couples sitting side by side +in friendly or in loving companionship. He felt so utterly alone, and +all these about him were mated. The tones of women sounded soft and +sweet in his ear. Stray verses of Canticles began to float through his +mind as wisps of vapor drift across the sky before the fog comes in +from the sea. He repeated the collect for the day, and through it all +he was thinking that it was possible to walk past the house of Mrs. +Fenton. The difference in the time of his reaching the Clergy House +would not be so great as to attract notice; he might see her shadow on +the curtain; it was not probable, of course, but it was possible; in +any case, he should feel near to her. He walked more quickly, and as he +did so he heard the notes of a guitar, and then the sound of a girl +singing. It was only the hard, coarse voice of a street-singer, and the +language was Italian. He did not understand the words, but the music +was seductive, the night of spring, star-lit and fragrant with +intangible odors, quickened his sense. Constantly recurring in the +song, as if set there for his ear, he understood the magic word +"_amóre, amóre_" strung like beads down the necklace warm on a girl's +bosom. Surely he had a right to be human. All the world had leave to +love. He had given Mrs. Fenton up; she was only a memory; he should +never speak to her again; it could not be wrong simply to walk past her +house. He had lost even his friend; if this poor act were a comfort, it +surely was not sin. "_Amóre--amóre_," sang the Italian girl over there +in the warm, palpitating night. He had consecrated his love as an +offering on the altar; surely he need not therefore deny it. + +He had gained Beacon Street, and was walking rapidly, his cheeks hot +and flushed, his heart on fire. Far down a neighboring street he heard +the approach of a band of the Salvation Army. They were singing +shrilly, with beating of tambourines and clanging of cymbals, a vulgar, +raucous tune, redolent of animal vigor and of coarse passions, a tune +as unholy as the rites of a pagan festival. Ashe stood still as with +flaring torches they drew nearer. The blare of the brass, the vibrant, +tingling clangor of the cymbals, the high, penetrating voices of the +women, the barbaric rhythm of the air, made him in his sensitive mood +tremble like a tense string. He shivered with excitement, nervous tears +coming into his eyes so thickly that he turned away blinded, and +stumbled against a man who was passing. + +"My good brother," exclaimed a rich, Irish voice, jovial, yet not +without dignity, "you don't see where you are going." + +Philip recognized instantly the tones of the priest whom he had met at +the North End; and without even apologizing he answered with an +overwhelming sense of how true were the words in a figurative sense:-- + +"No, I cannot see." + +The other was evidently impressed by the manner in which the reply was +given, for instead of passing on he stopped and examined Ashe closely. + +"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. + +"Providence has sent you to me, I think," Philip returned. Then he put +his hand on the arm of the stranger, bending forward in his eagerness. +"Where do you live?" he asked. "May I come to see you to-morrow +afternoon? It may be that you can tell me where I am going." + + + + XXXV + + + THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + Merchant of Venice, iii. 2. + + +However much or little the ill-starred letter of Mrs. Wilson may have +had to do with it, the fact was that both houses of the convention +elected Mr. Strathmore by majorities sufficiently large to satisfy even +his friends. The lay delegates were more generally in his favor than +the clergy, which circumstance gave for a time some shadowy hope to the +high-church party that the House of Bishops might refuse to confirm the +election; but whatever consolation was derived from such an expectation +was of short duration. The election was ratified, and almost +immediately preparations were begun for the consecration of the new +bishop. + +Father Frontford remarked to an interviewer at the close of the +convention that "it was not the least happy of the incidents of the +election that Mr. Strathmore had been chosen by a majority so decided, +since it indicated clearly the wishes of the church;" and he used his +influence to prevent any attempt to induce the House of Bishops to +oppose the choice of the convention. As soon as the matter was settled +he called upon Mr. Strathmore and offered his congratulations in person. + +"It is true that I would have prevented your election had I been able," +he said frankly; "but that was entirely a question of church polity. I +hardly need say how complete is my confidence in your sincerity and +your ability." + +"Brother," Mr. Strathmore replied, with that smile whose charm no man +could resist, "I thank you for coming, and I thank you for your +generous words. One thing we may be sure of and be grateful to God for. +The church is certainly too great and too stable to be shaken by the +mistakes of any one man. If we differ sometimes about the best way of +showing it outwardly, we at least are one in wishing the best interests +of religion and of humanity." + +Father Frontford had had some difficulty in soothing Mrs. Wilson after +the election. She declared vehemently that the House of Bishops should +not confirm Mr. Strathmore. + +"I will go to New York myself," she announced. "I know I can manage the +Metropolitan. If he's on our side we can prevent that infidel +Strathmore from getting a majority." + +It is possible that Father Frontford, with all his decision, might have +been unable to prevent some demonstration, but Dr. Wilson quietly +remarked to his wife:-- + +"Elsie, we've had enough of this bishop racket. I'm devilish tired of +the whole thing, and I wish you'd find a new amusement." + +"But, Chauncy," she responded, "think how maddening it is to be beaten! +And as for that Fred Rangely, I could dig out his eyes and pour in hot +lead!" + +Wilson chuckled gleefully. + +"You played your private theatricals just a little prematurely. It was +devilish clever of him to get back at you that way; but that letter has +made newspaper talk enough about you, and you'd better drop church +politics. Isn't it time to get your stud into shape for the summer?" + +Elsie shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know. I hate to give it up while there's a fighting chance. +The campaign has been a lot of fun. However, I suppose you are right. +You have a dreadfully aggravating way of being. Besides, I am pretty +tired of parsons, and horses wear better." + +She therefore managed to secure a visiting English duke with a +characteristically shady reputation, gave the most brilliant dinner of +the season in his honor, and retired to her country place in a blaze of +glory; finding some consolation for all her disappointments in the +purchase of a couple of new racers with pedigrees far longer than that +of the duke. + +Easter came that year almost at its earliest, and it was therefore +found possible to have the consecration of the new bishop in June. To +it were assembled all the dignitaries of the church. Boston for a +couple of days overflowed with men in ecclesiastical garb; and if the +general public was not deeply stirred by the importance of the event, +all those connected with it were full of interest and excitement. + +Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening +her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her +intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country +place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had +been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the +people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high +spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she +said:-- + +"I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week." + +"Off for a week? Where are you going?" + +"Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop +Strathmore." + +"Well," her husband said, laughing, "I like your grit. If you can't +win, you won't show the white feather." + +She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child. + +"I'm going for revenge." + +"Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?" + +"Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any +time. It's better fun than that." + +"Well, let's hear." + +"You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in +Boston." + +"Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her +in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." + +"Oh, no; I'm going to meet her." + +"Marion Delegass, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the +French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons." + +"Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen." + +"Is she to take part?" + +"Don't be flippant. I am to give Mlle. Delegass a luncheon. I've +arranged it by letter. By one of the most curious coincidences in the +world it comes on the very day of the consecration." + +"That is amusing, but I don't see that it's much of a revenge." + +"No?" Elsie responded demurely, casting down her eyes. "I am so sorry +that Mrs. Strathmore can't come." + +"Mrs. Strathmore? You didn't ask her!" + +"Why, of course, Chauncy, I wanted to show that I hadn't any ill +feeling against the family of my bishop." + +"To meet Marion Delegass?" + +"Of course. I thought it would liven Mrs. Strathmore up a little. She +always reminded me of water-gruel with not enough salt in it." + +Dr. Wilson burst into a roar of laughter, leaning back in his chair and +slapping his knee. + +"Marion Delegass! Why she's left more husbands and lovers behind her +than a sailor has wives! Marion Delegass and that prig in petticoats! +Well, Elsie, you do beat the devil!" + +"Am I to understand that you know His Satanic Majesty well enough to +speak with authority?" she laughed. "What do you think now of my +revenge?" + +"I don't exactly see where the revenge comes in. She won't come to the +lunch." + +"Come? Oh, no; thank Heaven, she won't come. She'd be like a death's +head in a punch-bowl. She won't come, but she'll tell that she was +invited. She'll be too furious not to tell; and everybody will know +that I asked her. That's all I care about." + +Wilson laughed again. + +"Well," he said again, "you are the cheekiest and the most amusing +woman in town. You'll shock all your relations, but they must be +getting hardened to that by this time." + +Whether the relatives were on this occasion more or less shocked than +upon others was not a question to which Elsie devoted any especial +thought. She gave her luncheon, and all the world knew that she had +invited Mrs. Strathmore to meet Marion Delegass on the day of the +consecration. Mrs. Strathmore was so enraged that she talked flames and +fury, even going so far as to wonder whether there were not some +possibility of excommunication; so that her tormentor was enchanted +with the success of her revenge. + +The consecration took place on a beautiful June day, and was as +imposing a function in its line as Boston had ever seen. Trinity was +crowded to overflowing, and if the ceremony was less imposing than +would have been the induction of a Catholic bishop, it was impressive +and dignified. The sunlight filtering through the windows of stained +glass splashed fantastic colors over the long surpliced train which +wound through the aisles down to the chancel, singing processionals of +joyous hope; the air was full of the sense of solemn meaning; the organ +pealed; the noble words of the fine old ritual spoke to the hearts of +the hearers, and carried their message of a faith which took hold upon +the unseen. Above all the circumstance, the form, the conventions, the +creeds, rose the spirit of the worshipers, uplifted by the thrilling +realization of the outpouring of the soul of humanity before the +unknown eternal. + +Maurice had accompanied Mrs. Staggchase and Miss Morison to the +ceremony. It had been his impulse not to go, but his cousin urged it, +and it needed little to induce him to go to any place where Berenice +was, even though it were a church. He went with some secret misgiving +lest the service should move him more than he wished; but to his +satisfaction he found that while he felt ćsthetic pleasure, he was +inclined to be critical about the doctrine of the ritual. His +satisfaction, he reflected, would have been thought amusing by Mrs. +Staggchase; but it at least assured him that he had not been mistaken +in his mental attitude toward the creed he had discarded. + +The thing which most moved him was the sight of Philip among the +surpliced deacons in the procession. Philip's face seemed to him +thinner and paler than of old; he blamed himself that he had not +disregarded his friend's injunction, and insisted upon seeing him. To +his repeated requests Philip had returned answer that he could not bear +the meeting. Maurice had come at length to feel something almost of +resentment at the wall which this prohibition put between them; but +to-day, seeing the white countenance, he experienced a pang of deep +self-reproach. He reflected how sharply his defection must have weighed +his friend down. He should have tried to comfort him; at least he +should have assured Phil that in spite of whatever might come his +affection would remain unchanged. + +He thought lovingly of the old days when he and Phil were together, and +of the plans they had sometimes made for keeping if possible together +even after they went out into the world to work. He had the impatience +of one who has recently put a doctrine by for the blindness, as it +seemed to him, which kept Phil still in the power of the old +superstition; but with his friend's white face, marked with mental +suffering, there to soften him, he dwelt little on this, and much on +his affection for his friend and fellow. + +As Maurice brooded, watching Philip moving slowly down the aisle, +Berenice bent forward to take a book from the rack, and her face came +between him and his friend. The thought of Philip vanished as a shadow +before a sun-burst. He was conscious only of Berenice, sitting there so +near him, her dark eyes serious with the solemnity of the occasion, her +cheeks tinged with a color so lovely that the lining of a shell or the +petals of a rose were poor things with which to compare it. He forgot +all else, and lost himself in a delicious, troubled dream of what might +be. Surely, surely she must love him! He could not give her up; it was +not possible that he should not some day win her. He fixed on her a +look so ardent that it seemed to compel her glance to meet his. The +flush in her cheek deepened, and he reflected with an exultant thrill +that even in the absorption of a time like this he could reach and move +her spirit. + +The rest of the service was little to Maurice. He heard the music, +listened now and then to the words which were being spoken, thought for +a moment here and there upon the strangeness that these people should +be consecrating Mr. Strathmore and not recognizing in the least that +they were assisting at the breaking down of the church; he gave a +little reflection to his own interview with the new bishop, unable +completely to satisfy himself how far Mr. Strathmore was sincere and +how far simply following out a policy; these and other matters floated +through his mind, but they were mere trifles on the surface. His real +thought was of Berenice, always of Berenice. The fluttered, troubled +look which he had seen when his gaze had compelled hers, a look which +seemed to him full of confession of things unutterable, full almost of +appeal as if she realized that she was betraying a feeling that she +feared to own even to herself, this look of a moment so fleeting clocks +could hardly have measured it, filled him with a wild, unreasoning +bliss. He did not again try to challenge her eyes. He sat in a dream of +happiness; a vague, intangible, ecstatic sense that all was well, that +the universe was in tune, and that all things were but ministers of his +joy. + +When the ceremonial was concluded Mrs. Staggchase went home with +Berenice to lunch with Mrs. Morison. Maurice put them into their +carriage, feeling that he could not let Berenice go out of his sight. +He stood on the curbstone watching the carriage as if it had set out on +a voyage to regions unknown and far; then smiling at himself with a +realization of what he was doing he turned back to go home himself. As +he did so he came face to face with Philip. + + + + XXXVI + + + THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + Measure for Measure, iv. I + + +The mind of Philip Ashe had not become more quiet as time went on, and +the day of the consecration found him hesitating between his old life +and a new one. Ever since the chance encounter with the Irish priest he +had been going almost every afternoon to talk with this new friend, and +one by one he had found his doubts about the supremacy of the Roman +church fading away. Ashe was of a nature which must rely upon another, +and since he was shut off from the companionship of Wynne it was +inevitable that he should lean upon this great, hearty, healthy man, +who with the possibility of adding a son to the church received him so +warmly. Philip's nature, moreover, inclined him strongly toward a +church which exercised absolute authority, and in doctrinal points he +found himself surprisingly at one with his teacher. Nothing held him +back but the force of habit and a natural hesitancy to break away from +the faith which he had professed. Undoubtedly his feeling for Father +Frontford counted for much; but the fact, that in the months which had +preceded the election the Father Superior had been so much absorbed +that intimacy between him and his deacons was impossible, had greatly +lessened Philip's sense of loyalty to him. Very tenderly and wisely the +priest led Ashe on, until he was in very truth a Catholic in all but +name. + +To his ardent, mystical mind, deeply responsive to the ritual of the +older church, the ceremonies of the consecration seemed poor and thin. +He craved symbolism and richly suggestive rites. He had been more than +once in these latter days to the services of the Catholics, and his +imagination came more and more to demand the embodiment in form of the +aspirations of his soul. He tried to stifle the disappointment which +assailed him as the function proceeded, but it was impossible for him +not to realize that the ceremonial of his own faith left him cold and +unsatisfied. He missed the warm emotional excitement of the music, the +incense, the sonorous Latin, the sumptuous robes, and the romantic +associations of the mass. + +He felt keenly, moreover, that the man who was being to-day installed +as the head of the diocese was of tendencies distinctly opposed to his +desires. He mingled with disappointment that Father Frontford had not +been chosen a genuine conviction that Strathmore would use his +influence to carry church forms toward a worship ever simpler and more +bare. He could not wholly smother an almost personal resentment against +Strathmore, and a consciousness that it would be always impossible for +him to regard the newly consecrated bishop with that respect and +veneration due to one holding the office. He reflected that the church +must itself be tending toward a dangerous liberalism if it were +possible for this thing to have come about. He listened dully and +confusedly to the service until the time came when the bishop elect +made his vows. He heard the strong voice of Strathmore, vibrant, +deliberate, penetrating, repeat with slow solemnity the promise of +conformity and obedience to the doctrine and worship of the church. The +words tingled through the mind of Ashe like an electric shock. To his +excited feeling Strathmore was perjuring himself in the name of God, +since it was impossible to feel that the new bishop followed or +intended to follow either. He experienced a wild impulse to spring to +his feet and protest; he wondered if he only of all the persons in this +crowded church recognized the shocking irreligion of that vow. He +reflected that in the Catholic communion it would have been impossible +for popular suffrage to raise to the bishopric a man like this, a +heretic and a perjurer. + +The service went on, and Philip sat in a sort of dull stupor. He could +not think clearly; he was only dreamily conscious of what was going on +about him. The music, the prayers, the solemn words were to him so +remote from his true self that he seemed to hear them through a veil of +distance. He had ceased to have part in this rite; he ceased even to +heed it. + +Like one who is lost in idle musing, one who concerns himself with +trifling thoughts lest he realize too poignantly a bitter actuality, +Philip sat in his place, now and then glancing about the great church. +Changing his position a little, he saw the face of Mrs. Fenton. He +dwelt on it with mingled grief and pain. More and more he became +absorbed in gazing, while love and anguish swelled in his heart. He +forgot where he was; he saw her only; he felt only her presence in all +the throng. His passion seemed to him greater than ever. He did not for +an instant think of her as of one who could or would requite his +affection; or even as one who belonged to his future life. He was +filled with a sense of the completeness of his devotion to her; he felt +that he had loved her more than Heaven itself; but he felt also that he +was bidding her good-by. He had not definitely said to himself that a +change was before him; yet looking at her he felt it. The shadow of an +eternal farewell seemed to be over him. He was benumbed with suffering; +he drank in her face greedily; he seemed to himself to be imprinting +for the last time upon his memory that which was dearer to him than +life, yet which he was to see no more. + +The service ended at last, and once more the long procession of which +he was a part slowly made its way out of the church. Philip found +himself in the vestry in the midst of a crowd of ecclesiastics from +which he extricated himself with all possible speed; and got once more +into the open air. He threaded his way among the groups standing on the +sidewalks chatting and hindering him. Suddenly a man turned close to +him, and Maurice stood before his face. + +"Phil!" he heard the joyful voice of his friend cry. "My dear old Phil, +how glad I am to see you!" + +The sound was like a charm which breaks a spell. For the instant all +else was forgotten in the pleasure of being again with his +heart-fellow. He could have flung his arms about the other's neck and +kissed him, so keen was his delight. The doubts and distractions which +a moment earlier had bewildered and tortured him vanished before +Wynne's greeting as a mist before a brisk and wholesome wind. He seized +the hand held out to him, and clasped it almost convulsively. + +"Maurice!" was all that he could say. + +"I really ought not to recognize you," Maurice said, in a great hearty +voice which sounded to Philip strangely unfamiliar. "Why in the world +have you refused to see me? I assure you I'm not contagious." + +They were close to a group waiting on the sidewalk, and with +instinctive shrinking Ashe led the way down the street. Soon they were +walking in much the old fashion, and Philip left his friend's question +unanswered until they had gone some distance. Then he turned with a +smile not a little wistful. + +"Certainly it was not because I did not long to see you," he said. + +Maurice smiled, but Philip sensitively felt a veiled impatience in his +tone as he replied:-- + +"Oh, Phil, if I could only get the ascetic nonsense out of you!" + +Ashe could not answer. He could not reprove his friend after the +separation--which to him had been so long and so sorrowful, and he had +a secret feeling that they were to be more entirely divided. The pair +walked in silence a moment, and then Wynne spoke. + +"Well, I'll not talk on forbidden subjects; but, surely, Phil, you are +not going to throw me over entirely. I wouldn't drop you, no matter +what happened." + +"I'm not throwing you over," Philip answered with a choking in his +throat. "I would--Oh, Maurice," he broke out, interrupting himself, "it +isn't for want of caring for you, but if I am ever to help you, I must +keep my own faith. I have been so troubled and so--There," he broke off +again, "let us talk of something else." + +He felt that Maurice was studying him carefully. + +"Phil, old fellow, you are hysterically incoherent. What's the matter +with you? It can't be all my going off. Can't you come home with me, +and talk it out?" + +Ashe shook his head. The more he was touched and moved by the affection +of his friend, the more he shrank from him. This tender comradeship +seemed to him the most subtile of temptations. He feared, moreover, +lest he might reveal to Maurice too much of what was in his heart. + +"Not now," he said. "I must go home at once." + +"Then I'll walk along with you," rejoined the other. "I do wish you'd +let me help you. You are evidently all played out physically, and half +an eye could see that you've something on your mind. Is it the bishop?" + +"That has troubled me a good deal," Ashe returned, feeling a relief in +being able to say this truthfully. + +"Well, Phil, if you worry yourself sick over what you can't help, what +strength will you have for the things that you can do? I'm glad it +isn't all my going that has brought you to this, for you look +positively ill. I wish you'd get sick-leave, and go off a while." + +Ashe shook his head again. He felt that if Maurice went on talking to +him he should lose his self-command. He must get away; yet he could not +bear to hurt his friend. He turned toward Maurice and held out his hand. + +"Dear Maurice," he said, "don't be hurt; but I can't talk with you. I +must be alone. I am upset, and not myself. It is not that I don't trust +you, you know; but there are things that a man has to fight out for +himself." + +The other stopped, and regarded him closely. + +"All right, Phil," he said. "I understand. If you've got a fight with +the devil on hand nobody can help you. I only wish I could." + +He wrung the hand of Ashe, and added: + +"Good-by. I'm always fond of you, old fellow; and you know that when +there is a place that I can help there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." + +Ashe tried to answer, but he could not command his voice. He could only +return the warm pressure of Wynne's hand, and then, miserable and +hopeless, go on his way to his conflict with the arch fiend. + +Once in his chamber Ashe fastened the door, drew down the shades, and +lighted the gas. He laid aside his cassock, and loosened his clothing +so that his breast lay bare. He took from a drawer a little crucifix of +iron. This he placed across the chimney of the gas-burner, and watched +it until it was heated. Then he seized it with his fingers, but the +stinging pain made him drop it to the floor. He bared his breast, +wildly calling aloud to heaven, and flung himself down upon the +crucifix, pressing the hot iron to his naked bosom. A fierce shudder +convulsed him; he extended his arms in the form of a cross, and with +closed eyes lay still an instant. A horrible odor filled the room; +great drops of sweat dripped from his forehead; his teeth were set in +his lower lip. For a moment he remained motionless; then in +uncontrollable agony he writhed over upon his back and fainted. + +The return to consciousness was a terrible sensation of misery and +weakness. He was heart-sick and racked in body and mind. Feebly he +rose, and gathered his scattered senses. Then with trembling he got to +his feet. His wound gave him bitter agony, but the bodily pain made him +smile. He took from the same drawer a picture of the Madonna, and knelt +before it with clasped hands. His doubts, his passion, his +self-reproaches, danced like demons before his distracted brain. The +troubled, stormy thoughts of his distraught mind merged insensibly into +prayers. He put aside the clothing and showed to the Virgin Mother his +wounded breast, scarred and bleeding. He looked into her face with +murmured words of contrition, of imploring, of faith. A gracious sense +of her womanly pity, of her heavenly tenderness, stole soothingly over +him. He seemed almost to feel cool hands on his hot forehead; it was as +if in a moment more the heavens might open and grant to him the +beatific vision. There came over him a wave of joy which was beyond +words. The longing of his soul for the woman he loved was merged in the +desire of his heart which yearned toward the blessed Virgin Mother. His +prayers became more glowing, more ecstatic, until in a rapture of +adoration, of bliss, of passion, he fell prostrate before the divine +image, crying out with all his soul:-- + +"Thou ever blessed one! To thee I give myself! 'O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave,' receive me, save me!" + +He had no sense of incongruity to make the phrase unseemly or +ludicrous. It was to him the formal transfer of his deepest allegiance +from an earthly love to a heavenly. He had at last found peace. + + + + XXXVII + + + THIS IS NOT A BOON + Othello, iii. 3. + + +It was Mrs. Wilson who was the immediate means of bringing about an +understanding between Maurice and Berenice. Mrs. Wilson was never so +occupied that she was not able to attend to any new thing which might +turn up, and her interest in the spring races did not prevent her from +having a hand in the affairs of the lovers. While she was in town +attending to the luncheon for Marion Delegass she dined with Mrs. +Staggchase, and Maurice took her down. + +"I understand that you are a renegade," she remarked vivaciously as +soon as they were seated. "I wonder you dare look me in the face." + +"Because you are the church?" he demanded. + +"Certainly not now that that Strathmore is bishop," she retorted, +tossing her head. "However, I always said that you were too good to be +wasted in a cassock." + +"Thank you. What would you say if I made such a reflection on the +clergy?" + +"Oh, I've no patience with the clergy!" she declared. "They bore me to +death. There's that solemn-faced friend of yours, Mr. Ashe--his name +ought to be Ashes!--he actually lectured me on my worldliness! _My_ +worldliness, if you please, and I working myself to a shadow for the +election of Father Frontford!" + +"He has imagination, you see," Maurice suggested, smiling. + +"Now you are sneering, Mr. Wynne. I shall talk to the man on the other +side." + +She was good as her word, and left Maurice to devote himself to the +lady on his right. He had the American adaptability, and a couple of +months had sufficed to make him reasonably at ease at a dinner. The +continuous delight he felt in his freedom, moreover, inspired him with +an inclination to be frank and communicative, so that if he did not +talk like the conventional man of the world, he managed not to sit +silent. His neighbor to-night was Mrs. Thayer Kent, and he chatted +easily with her about the West, where for a couple of years she had +been living on a ranch. Something in Mrs. Kent's talk reminded him of +Berenice, and he sighed inwardly that the latter's mourning prevented +her from going out. As if the thought had been spoken aloud, Mrs. +Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:-- + +"It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since +the Mardi Gras ball?" + +"Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush. +"I saw her yesterday at the consecration." + +"Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for +Marion Delegass." + +"So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do." + +"Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for +deserting me in the middle of the service that night." + +"I had to take care of that girl. She fainted." + +"Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't +care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story +you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there." + +Wynne was too confused to answer this sally, although he wanted to say +something about the cruelty of taking him into the ball-room. His +confusion increased Mrs. Wilson's amusement. + +"I think I should like to be in at the death," she said. "She is coming +down to stay with me next week. Come down and make love to her. I won't +tell about the girl you carried out of church in your arms." + +More and more disconcerted and self-conscious, Maurice could only +stammer that Mrs. Wilson flattered him if she supposed that Miss +Morison would tolerate any love-making on his part. + +"You are adorable when you blush like that," was the reply which he +got. "I have almost a mind to set you to make love to me. However, that +wouldn't be fair. I will take it out in seeing you and her. You must +surely come down." + +Maurice regarded the invitation as merely part of Mrs. Wilson's +badinage, but in due time it was formally repeated by note. He opened +the letter at the breakfast table, and was advised by his cousin to +accept. + +"Mrs. Wilson," she commented, "is like a banjo, more exciting than +refined, but she isn't bad-hearted. She has the old Boston blood and +traditions behind her." + +"They are sometimes rather far behind," interpolated Mr. Staggchase +dryly. "She wasn't a Beauchester, you know. However, she has her +ancestors safe in their graves so that they can't escape her." + +Mrs. Staggchase smiled good-naturedly at the little fling at her own +family pretensions. + +"You are wicked this morning, Fred," was her reply. "Elsie is something +of a sport on the ancestral tree; but she is worth visiting. Berenice +Morison is going down there sometime soon. Perhaps she will be there +with you, Maurice." + +"I thought," Mr. Staggchase observed, "that old Mrs. Morison didn't +approve of Mrs. Wilson." + +"Nobody approves of Elsie," was Mrs. Staggchase's calm reply. "I'm sure +I don't; but after all she is a sort of cousin of Berenice, and she +can't very well refuse to visit her. Really, there is nothing bad about +Elsie. She is startling, and she certainly does things which are bad +form. That's half of it because she married as she did." + +Nothing more was said, and Maurice kept his own counsel in regard to +the fact that he knew that Miss Morison was to be his fellow-guest. He +was full of wild hopes. He reproached himself that he was wrong to +forget that Berenice was rich and he was poor; yet not for all his +reproaches could he keep himself from feeling Mrs. Wilson had not +seemed to see any insurmountable obstacle to his wooing; that she had +appeared rather to be ready to help his suit. He must not, of course, +try to win Berenice; yet he was going to Mrs. Wilson's to meet her, to +be with her, to revel in the delicious pleasure of hoping, of fearing, +of loving. + +The house of the Wilsons at Beverly Farms was on a bluff overlooking +the sea. It was reached by a long avenue winding through pines mingled +with birches and rowan trees; and stood in a clearing where all the day +and all the night the sound of the waves on the cliff answered the +whispering of the wind in the pine-tops. The broad piazzas of the house +looked out over the sea, and gave views of the islands off shore, the +ever-changing water, the beautiful curves of the sea marge, now high +with defiant rocks, and now falling into sandy beaches. A level lawn, +velvety and green, stretched from the house to the edge of the cliff, +with here and there a rustic seat or a century plant stiff and arrogant +in its lonely exile from warmer climes. + +On this piazza Maurice found himself, just before dinner on the evening +of his arrival, walking up and down with Berenice. It was still cool +enough to make the exercise grateful. + +"It is so delightful to have the weather warm enough to be out of doors +without being all bundled up," she said, looking over the sea, cold +green and gray in the declining light. + +"The water doesn't look very warm," Maurice responded, following her +gaze. + +"No, it isn't exactly summer yet," she replied lightly. "Do you know," +she added, turning to meet his eyes, "I can't help thinking how +different this is from the last time we were together away from Boston." + +"When we were at Brookfield?" + +"Yes." + +"It is different; more different to me than you can have any idea of. +Then I was a cog in a machine; now I am my own master." + +They walked to the end of the piazza, turned, and came down again. They +were facing the light now, and her face shone with the pale glow of the +declining day. In her black dress, with a soft shawl thrown about her, +she was dazzling; and Maurice found it difficult not to take her in his +arms then and there. + +"It must have been a strange feeling," she observed thoughtfully, "to +know that you were not master of your own movements, but had to do as +you were told, whether you approved of it or not." + +"Strange," he echoed, a sense of slavery coming over him which was far +stronger than anything he had felt while the bondage lasted, "it was +intolerable!" + +"Yet you endured it?" she returned, regarding him curiously. + +"Yes, I endured it. In the first place, I thought that it was my duty; +and in the second, it was not so hard until I had seen"-- + +"Well, until you had seen?"-- + +"Until I had seen you, I was going to say." + +Berenice flushed, and tossed her head. + +"You have caught a pretty trick of paying compliments, Mr. Wynne." + +"No," he answered with gravity, "I have only the mistaken temerity to +say the truth." + +She regarded him with a mocking light in her deep, velvety eyes. + +"And is it the truth that you have given up your religion because you +have seen me?" + +Maurice wondered afterward how he looked when she sped this shaft, for +he saw her shrink and pale. She even stammered some sort of an apology; +but he did not heed it. Although he was sure that he should sooner or +later have come to the same conclusion whether he had met Berenice or +not, he knew in his secret heart that there was in her words some savor +at least of truth. He felt their bitterness to his heart's core, and +could only stand speechless, reproaching her with his glance. If they +were true it was cruel for her to say them. He regarded her a moment, +and then turned toward the long French window by which they had come +out of the house. Berenice recovered herself instantly, and behaved as +if nothing had occurred to mar the serenity of their talk. + +"Yes," she said in an even voice, "you are right. It is becoming too +cold to stay out here." + +He held open the window for her, and she swept past him with a soft +rustle and a faint breath of perfume. He did not follow, but drew the +window to behind her and continued his promenade alone until he was +summoned to dinner. All his glorious air-castles had fallen in ruins +about his feet, and he rated himself as a fool for having come to +Beverly Farms to meet this girl who evidently flouted him. + +The result of this conversation was to bring Maurice to the resolution +to return to town. All the doubts which had been in his mind arose like +ghosts ill exorcised, more tangible and more insistent than ever. He +realized that he had come here fully persuaded in his secret heart that +Miss Morison must love him, and with the hope of winning some proof of +it. Now he assured himself that she did not care for him and that he +had been a fool to indulge in a dream so absurd. The obstacles which +lay between them presented themselves to him in a dismal array. He +decided that she could have no respect for him, or she could not have +thrown at him the implication that he had apostatized from selfish +motives. With all the awful solemnity with which a man deeply in love +examines trifles, he recalled her looks and words, deciding that he was +to her nothing more than the butt of her light contempt; and secretly +wondering when and where he should see her again, he decided to leave +her forever. + +He announced his determination next morning to his hostess. As he could +not well give the real reason for his decision, and had no experience +in social finesse, he came off badly when asked why he had come to this +sudden decision. He could not equivocate; and when Mrs. Wilson asked +him point-blank if Berenice had been treating him badly, he could only +take refuge in the reply that it was not for him to criticise what Miss +Morison chose to do. He persisted in his resolution to return to +Boston, feeling obstinately that he could not with dignity remain where +he was while Berenice was there. A man of the world would at once have +seen the folly of such a course, but Maurice was not a man of the world. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson said, after she had argued with him a little, "you +have retained the clerical obstinacy, whatever else you've given up. I +am not in the habit of pressing my guests to stay if they are tired of +my society. If you choose to go, of course you will go." + +"Oh, it is not that I am tired of your society," poor Maurice put in +eagerly. + +"If I were a man," his hostess went on, "I never would let a woman see +that I minded how she treated me. You'd soon have her coming down from +her high horse if you showed her that you didn't care." + +Maurice flushed painfully. It was impossible for him to talk to Mrs. +Wilson about his feeling for Berenice. + +"I am afraid that I had better go," he said, with eyes abased. + +She regarded him with a mixture of impatience and amusement struggling +in her face. + +"By all means go," she retorted. "I'll tell Patrick to be at the door +in time to take you to the three o'clock train." + +She swept away rather brusquely, leaving him disconsolate and uneasy. +He felt that he had bungled matters; but before he had time to consider +Berenice appeared, and joined him on the piazza. + +"I am sent by Mrs. Wilson," she announced, "to ask you to stay." + +"You take some pains to clear yourself from the suspicion of having any +interest in the matter." + +"'I am only a messenger,'" she quoted saucily, seating herself on the +rail of the piazza in the sunshine, and looking so piquant that Maurice +felt resolution and resentment oozing out of his mind with fatal +rapidity. + +He flushed at her allusion to his ill-considered interview with her, +but he could not for his life be half so indignant as he wished to be. + +"Apparently an indifferent messenger. You evidently do not care whether +I go or I stay." + +"Why should I?" + +"Why should Mrs. Wilson?" he retorted, not very well knowing what he +was saying. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilson is your hostess. Besides," Bee went on, a delightful +look of mischief coming into her face, "she said that she hated to have +her plans interfered with, and that you were so handsome that she liked +to have you about." + +Maurice flushed with a strangely mixed sensation of pleased vanity and +irritation, and was angry with himself that he could not receive her +jesting unmoved. He bowed stiffly. + +"I am very sorry," he returned, "that Mrs. Wilson should be deprived of +so beautiful an ornament for her place." + +"Then you will go?" Bee demanded, looking at him with mirthful eyes, a +glance which so moved him that he could not face it. + +"I see no reason why I should remain." + +"There certainly can be none if you see none. Well, I want to give you +something of yours before you leave us." + +She drew from the folds of her handkerchief the little grotesque mask +which she had pinned upon her lover's cassock at the Mardi Gras ball. +Maurice flushed hotly at the sight. + +"You are determined, Miss Morison, to spare me no humiliation in your +power." + +"Humiliation?" she echoed. "Why, I was humiliating myself. Seriously, +Mr. Wynne, I have been ashamed of that performance ever since; and I +most sincerely beg your pardon. The humiliation is mine entirely." + +"But where in the world," demanded he, a new thought striking him, "did +you get the thing? You know I threw it on the table." + +"Miss Carstair gave it to Mr. Stanford, and I got it from him." + +Maurice came a step nearer. + +"Why?" he asked, his voice deepening. + +"I--I didn't like to have him keep it," Bee murmured, with downcast +face and lower tone. + +"Why?" he repeated, so much in earnest that his voice was almost +threatening. + +She was for a moment more confused than ever, but rallying she held out +the mask. + +"Oh, that I might tease you with it again!" she laughed. + +He took the absurd trinket in his hand. + +"It is pretty badly dilapidated," he observed. + +"Yes," she said demurely. "I crushed it in the carriage on the way home +from the ball. I--I crumpled it up in my hand." + +"Why?" + +"You keep saying 'why' over and over to me, Mr. Wynne, as if I were on +the witness-stand." + +"Why?" he persisted. + +He had forgotten all the doubts which had beset and hindered him, the +scruples he had had about wooing, and the fears that she did not love +him. He was conscious only that she was there before him and that he +loved her; that her downcast looks seemed to encourage him, so that it +was impossible to rest until he knew what was really in her mind. The +unspoken message which he had somehow intangibly received from her made +him forget everything else. He loved her; he loved her, and a wild hope +was beating in his heart and seething in his brain. He could not turn +back now; he must know. He saw her grow paler as he looked at her, +standing so close that his face was bent down almost over her bent +head. He felt that her secret, nay, the crown of life itself, was +within his grasp if he did not fail now. + +"Why?" he asked still again, hardly conscious that he said it, and yet +determined that he would win an answer at whatever cost. + +She raised her face slowly, shyly; her eyes were shining. + +"Because," she said, hardly above a whisper, "I was determined to +convince myself that I hated you. But then"-- + +Her words faltered, yet he still did not dare to give way to the warm +tide which he felt swelling up from his heart. His voice softened +almost to the tone of hers. + +"But then?" + +The crimson stained her beautiful face, and faded. + +"I think I--I kissed it," she murmured, so low that the words were mere +phantoms of speech. + +He tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat. He sprang +forward, and gathered her into his arms. It is an art which even +deacons may know by nature. + +When the pair came in to luncheon an hour later, Mrs. Wilson looked up +at them, and then without question turned to a servant. + +"You may tell Patrick that we shan't need the carriage for the +station," that sagacious woman said coolly. + +Maurice was both surprised and touched by the gratification which his +engagement gave to his friends. Mrs. Wilson might be expected to take +satisfaction, since any woman is likely to approve of any match which +she may be allowed to have a hand in promoting; the Staggchases were +delighted, and Mrs. Morison received him with a kindness which moved +him more than anything else. Mrs. Morison treated him much as if he +were her son. She spoke wisely to him about his future, and she had a +word of warning on the subject of his attitude toward religion. + +"My dear Maurice," she said, after she had come to call him by that +name, "let me give you a caution. The most fanatical belief is less +evil than dogmatic denial. If you are really the agnostic you claim to +be, your very confession that the truth is too great for human grasp +binds you to respect the unknown." + +"But one cannot respect dogmas," he objected. + +"We were not speaking of dogmas," she responded with sweet and +dignified earnestness, "but of the mystery of life and the great +unknown that incloses it. The great fault and danger of this age is +that it is all for breaking down. It reforms abuses and improves away +old errors; but it seems to forget the need of providing something to +take the place of what it clears away. Men can no more live without a +belief than without air." + +"But it is hard to have patience with what one sees to be false." + +"What one believes to be false, you mean. It isn't easy to have +patience with those who hold to theories that we've laid by; but surely +it is impossible not to respect the spirit in which any honest soul +sincerely believes." + +"Yes," Maurice assented, somewhat doubtfully; "but it is so hard to +have patience with creeds that are entirely outworn." + +The old lady smiled and shook her head. + +"Again I have to say 'which seem to you outworn.' A creed is never +really outworn so long as a single man sincerely believes in it. +However, you may have as little patience as you like with them if you +will only remember that after all the creed itself is nothing, while +the attitude of the mind to truth is everything. If you respect +conviction, that is all I ask." + +Mrs. Staggchase at another time had also an ethical word for him. +Maurice was deeply moved by the fact that Philip had gone into the +Catholic church and entered a monastery at Montreal. Like his friend, +Ashe had left the Clergy House as soon as he had come to the decision +to which his doubts led. He had seen Maurice, and had talked to him +unreservedly of his faith and of his plans. It was idle to attempt to +move him; and it was after bidding the proselyte good-by that Maurice +was talking of him to Mrs. Staggchase, and lamenting what occurred. + +"My dear fellow," she observed in her faintly satirical manner, "I know +that I'm growing old, because whereas my convictions used to be all +right and my actions all wrong, now my actions are right enough, but my +convictions have all evaporated. Mr. Ashe is still young enough to need +convictions, and the more rigid they are the more contented he'll be." + +"But with his training, to turn out in this way," responded Maurice. +"It's amazing. Think of a New England Puritan turned Catholic!" + +"On the contrary, it is the most natural thing in the world. His +Puritan training is what has made him a Catholic." + +Maurice thought a moment in silence. + +"I suppose," he said at length, "that in this age there are only two +things possible for a thinking man. One must go over to Rome and rest +on authority, or choose to use his reason, and be an agnostic." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him with a smile which made him flush a little. + +"'No doubt but ye are the people,'" she quoted, "'wisdom shall die with +you.' Yet I have known persons really of intellectual respectability +who haven't found it necessary to do either." + +He was too wise to answer her. He remembered that it was time to keep +an appointment with Berenice, and he smiled with the air of one too +happy to be ruffled. + +"I suppose," he remarked, as he rose to go, "that if I would give you +the chance you would easily prove that Phil and I both are merely +Puritans more or less disguised!" + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + +***** This file should be named 8522-8.txt or 8522-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/5/2/8522/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner 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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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/8522-8.zip b/8522-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..595beed --- /dev/null +++ b/8522-8.zip diff --git a/8522.txt b/8522.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e436dc8 --- /dev/null +++ b/8522.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13959 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +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 Puritans + +Author: Arlo Bates + +Posting Date: October 20, 2012 [EBook #8522] +Release Date: July, 2005 +First Posted: July 19, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + + + + The Puritans + + + By + + + Arlo Bates + + + The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. + _All's Well That Ends Well_, iv. 3. + + + + + +"Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her till I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me." + _Persian Religious Hymn. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + II. THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + III. AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + IV. SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + V. VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + VI. HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + VII. THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + VIII. LIKE COVERED FIRE + IX. HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + X. A SYMPATHY OF WOE + XI. IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + XII. THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE + XIII. A NECESSARY EVIL + XIV. HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + XV. HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + XVI. THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + XVII. A BOND OF AIR + XVIII. CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + XIX. 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + XX. IN WAY OF TASTE + XXI. THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + XXII. THE BITTER PAST + XXIII. THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + XXIV. FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + XXV. WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + XXVI. O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + XXVII. UPON A CHURCH BENCH + XXVIII. BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + XXIX. WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + XXX. PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + XXXI. HOW CHANCES MOCK + XXXII. NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + XXXIII. A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + XXXIV. WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + XXXV. THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + XXXVI. THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + XXXVII. THIS IS NOT A BOON + + + + + THE PURITANS + + + + + I + + + AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + Henry VIII., i. 3. + + +"We are all the children of the Puritans," Mrs. Herman said smiling. +"Of course there is an ethical strain in all of us." + +Her cousin, Philip Ashe, who wore the dress of a novice from the Clergy +House of St. Mark, regarded her with a serious and doubtful glance. + +"But there is so much difference between you and me," he began. Then he +hesitated as if not knowing exactly how to finish his sentence. + +"The difference," she responded, "is chiefly a matter of the difference +between action and reaction. You and I come of much the same stock +ethically. My childhood was oppressed by the weight of the Puritan +creed, and the reaction from it has made me what you feel obliged to +call heretic; while you, with a saint for a mother, found even +Puritanism hardly strict enough for you, and have taken to +semi-monasticism. We are both pushed on by the same original impulse: +the stress of Puritanism." + +She had been putting on her gloves as she spoke, and now rose and stood +ready to go out. Philip looked at her with a troubled glance, rising +also. + +"I hardly know," said he slowly, "if it's right for me to go with you. +It would have been more in keeping if I adhered to the rules of the +Clergy House while I am away from it." + +Mrs. Herman smiled with what seemed to him something of the tolerance +one has for the whim of a child. + +"And what would you be doing at the Clergy House at this time of day?" +she asked. "Wouldn't it be recreation hour or something of the sort?" + +He looked down. He never found himself able to be entirely at ease in +answering her questions about the routine of the Clergy House. + +"No," he answered. "The half hour of recreation which follows Nones +would just be ended." + +His cousin laughed confusingly. + +"Well, then," she rejoined, "begin it over again. Tell your confessor +that the woman tempted you, and you did sin. You are not in the Clergy +House just now; and as I have taken the trouble to ask leave to carry +you to Mrs. Gore's this afternoon, more because you wanted to see this +Persian than because I cared about it, it is rather late for +objections." + +Philip raised his eyes to her face only to meet a glance so quizzical +that he hastened to avoid it by going to the hall to don his cloak; and +a few moments later they were walking up Beacon Hill. + +It was one of those gloriously brilliant winter days by which Boston +weather atones in an hour for a week of sullenness. Snow lay in a thin +sheet over the Common, and here and there a bit of ice among the +tree-branches caught the light like a glittering jewel. The streets +were dotted with briskly gliding sleighs, the jingle of whose bells +rang out joyously. The air was full of a vigor which made the blood +stir briskly in the veins. + +Philip had not for years found himself in the street with a woman. +Seldom, indeed, was he abroad with a companion, except as he took the +walk prescribed in the monastic regime with his friend, Maurice Wynne. +For the most part he went his way alone, occupied in pious +contemplation, shutting himself stubbornly in from outward sights and +sounds. Now he was confused and unsettled. Since a fire had a week +earlier scattered the dwellers in the Clergy House, and sent him to the +home of his cousin, he had gone about like one bewildered. The world +into which he was now cast was as unknown to him as if he had passed +the two years spent at St. Mark's in some far island of the sea. To be +in the street with a lady; to be on his way to hear he knew not what +from the lips of a Persian mystic; to have in his mind memory of light +talk and pleasant story; all these things made him feel as if he were +drifting into a strange unknown sea of worldliness. + +Yet his feeling was not entirely one of fear or of reluctance. +Sensitive to the tips of his fingers, he felt the influences of the +day, the sweetness of his cousin's laughter, the beauty of her face. He +was exhilarated by a strange intoxication. He was conscious that more +than one passer looked curiously at them as, he in his cassock and she +in her furs, they walked up Beacon Street. He felt as in boyhood he had +felt when about to embark in some adventure to childhood strange and +daring. + +"It is a beautiful day," he said involuntarily. + +"Yes," Mrs. Herman answered. "It is almost a pity to spend it indoors. +But here we are." + +They had come into Mt. Vernon Street, and now turned in at a fine old +house of gray stone. + +"Is there any discussion at these meetings?" he asked, as they waited +for the door to be opened. + +"Oh, yes; often there is a good deal. You'll have ample opportunity to +protest against the heresies of the heathen." + +"I do not come here to speak," he replied, rather stiffly. "I only come +to get some idea of how the oriental mind works." + +He felt her smile to be that of one amused at him, but he could not see +why she should be. + +"I must give you one caution," she went on, as they entered the house. +"It's the same that the magicians give to those who are present at +their incantations. Be careful not to pronounce sacred words." + +"But don't they use them?" + +"Oh, abundantly; but they know how to use them in a fashion understood +only by the initiated, so that they are harmless." + +They passed up the wide staircase of Mrs. Gore's handsome, if +over-furnished house. They were shown into the drawing-room, where they +were met by the hostess, a tall, superb woman of commanding presence, +her head crowned with masses of snow-white hair. Coming in from the +brilliant winter sunlight, Philip could not at first distinguish +anything clearly. He went mechanically through his presentation to the +hostess and to the Persian who was to address the meeting, and then +sank into a seat. He looked curiously at the Persian, struck by the +picturesque appearance of the long snow-white beard, fine as silk, +which flowed down over the rich robe of the seer. The face was to +Philip an enigma. To understand a foreign face it is necessary to have +learned the physiognomy of the people to which it belongs, as to +comprehend their speech it is necessary to have mastered their +language. As he knew not whether the countenance of the old man +attracted or repelled him more, and could only decide that at least it +had a strange fascination. + +Suddenly Ashe felt his glance called up by a familiar presence, and to +his surprise saw his friend, Maurice Wynne, come into the room, +accompanied by a stately, bright-eyed woman who was warmly greeted by +Mrs. Gore. He wondered at the chance which had brought Maurice here as +well as himself; but the calling of the meeting to order attracted his +thoughts back to the business of the moment. + +The Persian was the latest ethical caprice of Boston. He had come by +the invitation of Mrs. Gore to bring across the ocean the knowledge of +the mystic truths contained in the sacred writings of his country; and +his ministrations were being received with that beautiful seriousness +which is so characteristic of the town. In Boston there are many +persons whose chief object in life seems to be the discovery of novel +forms of spiritual dissipation. The cycle of mystic hymns which the +Persian was expounding to the select circle of devotees assembled at +Mrs. Gore's was full of the most sensual images, under which the +inspired Persian psalmists had concealed the highest truth. Indeed, +Ashe had been told that on one occasion the hostess had been obliged to +stop the reading on the ground that an occidental audience not +accustomed to anything more outspoken than the Song of Solomon, and +unused to the amazing grossness of oriental symbolism, could not listen +to the hymn which he was pouring forth. Fortunately Philip had chanced +upon a day when the text was harmless, and he could hear without +blushing, whether he were spiritually edified or not. + +The Persian had a voice of exquisite softness and flexibility. His +every word was like a caress. There are voices which so move and stir +the hearer that they arouse an emotion which for the moment may +override reason; voices which appeal to the senses like beguiling +music, and which conquer by a persuasive sweetness as irresistible as +it is intangible. The tones of the Persian swayed Ashe so deeply that +the young man felt as if swimming on a billow of melody. Philip +regarded as if fascinated the slender, dusky fingers of the reader as +they handled the splendidly illuminated parchment on which glowed +strange characters of gold, marvelously intertwined with leaf and +flower, and cunning devices in gleaming hues. He looked into the deep, +liquid eyes of the old man, and saw the light in them kindle as the +reading proceeded. He felt the dignity of the presence of the seer, and +the richness of his flowing garment; but all these things were only the +fitting accompaniments to that beautiful voice, flowing on like a topaz +brook in a meadow of daffodils. + +The Persian spoke admirable English, only now and then by a slight +accent betraying his nationality. He made a short address upon the +antiquity of the hymn which he was that day to expound, its authorship, +and its evident inspiration. Then in his wonderful voice he read:-- + + + + THE HYMN OF ISMAT. + + +Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarters where the vintners +dwell, to seek the daughter of an infidel who sells wine. + +At the end of the street, there advanced before me a damsel, with a +fairy's cheeks, who in the manner of a pagan wore her tresses +dishevelled over her shoulders like a sacerdotal thread. I said: "O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave, what +quarter is this, and where is thy mansion?" + +She answered: "Cast thy rosary to the ground; bind on thy shoulder the +thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from +a full goblet." + +"After that come before me that I may whisper a word in thine +ear;--thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my discourse." + +Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her until I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me. + +At a distance I beheld a company all insane and inebriated, who came +boiling and roaring with ardor from the wine of love. + +Without cymbals or lutes or viols, yet all filled with mirth and +melody; without wine or goblet or flagon, yet all incessantly drinking. + +When the cord of restraint slipped from my hand, I desired to ask her +one question, but she said: "Silence!" + +"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive +precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult, +but without knowledge. This is the banquet-house of infidels, and +within it all are intoxicated; all from the dawn of eternity to the day +of resurrection lost in astonishment." + +"Depart thou from the cloister and take thy way to the tavern; cast off +the cloak of a dervish, and wear the robe of a libertine." + +I obeyed; and if thou desirest the same strain and color as Ismat, +imitate him, and sell this world and the next for one drop of pure wine! + +The company sat in absorbed silence while the reading went on. Nothing +could be more perfect than the listening of a well-bred Boston +audience, whether it is interested or not. The exquisitely modulated +voice of the Persian flowed on like the tones of a magic flute, and the +women sat as if fascinated by its spell. + +When the reading was finished, and the Persian began to comment upon +the spiritual doctrine embodied in it, Ashe sat so completely absorbed +in reverie that he gave no heed to what was being said. In his ascetic +life at the Clergy House he had been so far removed from the sensuous, +save for that to which the services of the church appealed, that this +enervating and luxurious atmosphere, this gathering to which its +quasi-religious character seemed to lend an excuse, bred in him a +species of intoxication. He sat like a lotus-eater, hearing not so much +the words of the speaker as his musical voice, and half-drowned in the +pleasure of the perfumed air, the rich colors of the room, the +Persian's dress, the illuminated scroll, in the subtile delight of the +presence of women, and all those seductive charms of the sense from +which the church defended him. + +The Persian, Mirza Gholan Rezah, repeated in his flute-like voice: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave;'" and, +hearing the words as in a dream, Philip Ashe looked across the little +circle to see a woman whose beauty smote him so strongly that he drew a +quick breath. To his excited mood it seemed as if the phrase were +intended to describe that beautifully curved brow, brown against the +fair skin, and in his heart he said over the words with a thrill: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!'" Half +unconsciously, and as if he were taken possession of by a will stronger +than his own, he found himself noting the soft curve and flush of a +woman's cheek, the shell-texture of her ear, and the snowy whiteness of +her throat. She sat in the full light of the window behind him, leaning +as she listened against a pedestal of ebony which upheld the bronze +bust of a satyr peering down at her with wrinkled eyes; her throat was +displayed by the backward bend of her head, and showed the whiter by +contrast with the black gown she wore. Philip's breath came more +quickly, and his head seemed to swim. Sensitive to beauty, and starved +by asceticism, he was in a moment completely overcome. + +Suddenly he felt the regard of his friend Maurice resting upon him with +a questioning glance, and it was as if the thought of his heart were +laid bare. Philip made a strong effort, and fixed his look and his +attention upon the speaker, who was deep in oriental mysticism. + +"It is written in the Desatir," Mirza Gholan Rezah was saying, "that +purity is of two kinds, the real and the formal. 'The real consists in +not binding the heart to evil: the formal in cleansing away what +appears evil to the view.' The ultimate spirit, that inner flame from +the treasure-house of flames, is not affected by the outward, by the +apparent. What though the outer man fall into sin? What though he throw +stones at the glass of piety and quaff the wine of sensuality from a +full goblet? The flame within the tabernacle is still pure and +undefined because it is undefilable." + +Ashe looked around the circle in astonishment, wondering if it were +possible that in a Christian civilization these doctrines could be +proclaimed without rebuke. His neighbors sat in attitudes of close +attention; they were evidently listening, but their faces showed no +indignation. On the lips of Wynne Philip fancied he detected a faint +curl of derisive amusement, but nowhere else could he perceive any +display of emotion, unless--He had avoided looking at the lady in +black, feeling that to do so were to play with temptation; but the +attraction was too strong for him, and he glanced at her with a look of +which the swiftness showed how strongly she affected him. It seemed to +him that there was a faint flush of indignation upon her face; and he +cast down his eyes, smitten by the conviction that there was an +intimate sympathy between his feeling and hers. + +"This is the word of enlightenment which the damsel, the +personification of wisdom, whispered into the ear of the seeker," +continued the persuasive voice of the Persian. "It is the heart-truth +of all religion. It is the word which initiates man into the divine +mysteries. 'Thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my +discourse.' Life is affected by many accidents; but none of them +reaches the godhead within. The divine inebriation of spiritual truth +comes with the realization of this fact. The flame within man, which is +above his consciousness, is not to be touched by the acts of the body. +These things which men call sin are not of the slightest feather-weight +to the soul in the innermost tabernacle. It is of no real consequence," +the speaker went on, warming with his theme until his velvety eyes +shone, "what the outer man may do. We waste our efforts in this +childish care about apparent righteousness. The real purity is above +our acts. Let the man do what he pleases; the soul is not thereby +touched or altered." + +Ashe sat upright in his chair, hardly conscious where he was. It seemed +to him monstrous to remain acquiescent and to hear without protest this +juggling with the souls of men. The instinct to save his fellows which +underlies all genuine impulse toward the priesthood was too strong in +him not to respond to the challenge which every word of the Persian +offered. Almost without knowing it, he found himself interrupting the +speaker. + +"If that is the teaching of the Persian scriptures," he said, "it is +impious and wicked. Even were it true that there were a flame from the +Supreme dwelling within us, unmanifested and undeniable, it is +evidently not with this that we have to do in our earthly life. It is +with the soul of which we are conscious, the being which we do know. +This may be lost by defilement. To this the sin of the body is death. +I, I myself, I, the being that is aware of itself, am no less the one +that is morally responsible for what is done in the world by me." + +Led away by his strong feeling, Philip began vehemently; but the +consciousness of the attention of all the company, and of the searching +look of Mirza, made the ardent young man falter. He was a stranger, +unaccustomed to the ways of these folk who had come together to play +with the highest truths as they might play with tennis-balls. He felt a +sudden chill, as if upon his hot enthusiasm had blown an icy blast. + +Yet when he cast a glance around as if in appeal, he saw nothing of +disapproval or of scorn. He had evidently offended nobody by his +outburst. He ventured to look at the unknown in black, and she rewarded +him with a glance so full of sympathy that for an instant he lost the +thread of what the Persian, in tones as soft and unruffled as ever, was +saying in reply to his words. He gathered himself up to hear and to +answer, and there followed a discussion in which a number of those +present joined; a discussion full of cleverness and the adroit handling +of words, yet which left Philip in the confusion of being made to +realize that what to him were vital truths were to those about him +merely so many hypotheses upon which to found argument. There were more +women than men present, and Ashe was amazed at their cleverness and +their shallow reasoning; at the ease and naturalness with which they +played this game of intellectual gymnastics, and at the apparent +failure to pierce to anything like depth. It was evident that while +everything was uttered with an air of the most profound seriousness, it +would not do to be really in earnest. He began to understand what Helen +had meant when she warned him not to pronounce sacred words in this +strange assembly. + +When the meeting broke up, the ladies rose to exchange greetings, to +chat together of engagements in society and such trifles of life. Ashe, +still full of the excitement of what he had done, followed his cousin +out of the drawing-room in silence. As they were descending the wide +staircase, some one behind said:-- + +"Are you going away without speaking to me, Helen?" + +Ashe and Mrs. Herman both turned, and found themselves face to face +with the lady in black, who stood on the broad landing. + +"My dear Edith," Mrs. Herman answered, "I am so little used to this +sort of thing that I didn't know whether it was proper to stop to speak +with one's friends. I thought that we might be expected to go out as if +we'd been in church. I came only to bring my cousin. May I present Mr. +Ashe; Mrs. Fenton." + +"I was so glad that you said what you did this afternoon, Mr. Ashe," +Mrs. Fenton said, extending her hand. "I felt just as you did, and I +was rejoiced that somebody had the courage to protest against that +dreadful paganism." + +Philip was too shy and too enraptured to be able to reply intelligibly, +but as they were borne forward by the tide of departing guests he was +spared the need of answer. At the foot of the stairway he was stopped +again by Maurice Wynne, and presented to Mrs. Staggchase, his friend's +cousin and hostess for the time being; but his whole mind was taken up +by the image of Mrs. Fenton, and in his ears like a refrain rang the +words of the Persian hymn: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the +new moon is a slave!" + + + + II + + + THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + Henry VI., iv. 1. + + +That afternoon at Mrs. Gore's had been no less significant to Maurice +Wynne than to Philip Ashe. His was a less spiritual, less highly +wrought nature, but in the effect which the change from the atmosphere +of the Clergy House to the Persian's lecture had upon him, the +experience of Maurice was much the same. He too was attracted by a +woman. He gave his thoughts up to the woman much more frankly than +would have been possible for his friend. She was young, perhaps twenty, +and exquisite with clear skin and soft, warm coloring. Her wide-open +eyes were as dark and velvety as the broad petals of a pansy with the +dew still on them; her cheeks were tinged with a hue like that which +spreads in a glass of pure water into which has fallen a drop of red +wine; her forehead was low and white, and from it her hair sprang up in +two little arches before it fell waving away over her temples; her lips +were pouting and provokingly suggestive of kisses. The whole face was +of the type which comes so near to the ideal that the least +sentimentality of expression would have spoiled it. Happily the big +eyes and the ripe, red mouth were both suggestive of demure humor. +There was a mirthful air about the dimple which came and went in the +left cheek like Cupid peeping mischievously from the folds of his +mother's robe. A boa of long-haired black fur lay carelessly about her +neck, pushed back so that a touch of red and gold brocade showed where +she had loosened her coat. Maurice noted that she seemed to care as +little for the lecture as he did, and he gave himself up to the delight +of watching her. + +When the company broke up Mrs. Staggchase spoke almost immediately to +the beautiful creature who so charmed him. + +"How do you do, Miss Morison," Mrs. Staggchase said; "I must say that I +am surprised that cousin Anna brought you to a place where the doctrine +is so far removed from mind-cure. My dear Anna," she continued, turning +to a lady whom Wynne knew by name as Mrs. Frostwinch and as an +attendant at the Church of the Nativity, "you are a living miracle. You +know you are dead, and you have no business consorting with the living +in this way." + +"It is those whom you call dead that are really living," Mrs. +Frostwinch retorted smiling. "I brought Berenice so that she might see +the vanity of it all." + +Mrs. Staggchase presented Maurice to the ladies, and after they had +spoken on the stairs with one and another acquaintance, and Maurice had +exchanged a word with his friend Ashe, it chanced that the four left +the house together. Wynne found himself behind with Miss Morison, while +his cousin and Mrs. Frostwinch walked on in advance. He was seized with +a delightful sense of elation at his position, yet so little was he +accustomed to society that he knew not what to say to her. He was +keenly aware that she was glancing askance at his garb, and after a +moment of silence he broke out abruptly in the most naively unconscious +fashion:-- + +"I am a novice at the Clergy House of St. Mark." + +A beautiful color flushed up in Miss Morison's dark cheek; and Wynne +realized how unconventional he had been in replying to a question which +had not been spoken. + +"Is it a Catholic order?" she asked, with an evident effort not to look +confused. + +"It is not Roman," he responded. "We believe that it is catholic." + +"Oh," said she vaguely; and the conversation lapsed. + +They walked a moment in silence, and then Maurice made another effort. + +"Has Mrs. Frostwinch been ill?" he asked. "Mrs. Staggchase spoke of her +as a miracle." + +"Ill!" echoed Miss Morison; "she has been wholly given up by the +physicians. She has some horrible internal trouble; and a consultation +of the best doctors in town decided that she could not live a week. +That was two months ago." + +"But I don't understand," he said in surprise. "What happened?" + +"A miracle," the other replied smiling. "You believe in miracles, of +course." + +"But what sort of a miracle?" + +"Faith-cure." + +"Faith-cure!" repeated he in astonishment. "Do you mean that Mrs. +Frostwinch has been raised from a death-bed by that sort of jugglery?" + +His companion shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't think it would raise you in her estimation if she heard you. +The facts are as I tell you. She dismissed her doctors when they said +they could do nothing for her, and took into her house a mind-cure +woman, a Mrs. Crapps. Some power has put her on her feet. Wouldn't you +do the same thing in her place?" + +Wynne looked bewildered at Mrs. Frostwinch walking before him in a +shimmer of Boston respectability. He had an uneasy feeling that he was +passing from one pitfall to another. He was keenly conscious of the +richness of the voice of the girl by his side, so that he felt that it +was not easy for him to disagree with anything which she said. He let +her remark pass without reply. + +"For my part," she went on frankly, "I don't in the least believe in +the thing as a matter of theory; but practically I have a superstition +about it, because I've seen Cousin Anna. She was helpless, in agony, +dying; and now she is as well as I am. If I were ill"-- + +She broke off with a pretty little gesture as they came within hearing +of the others, who had halted at Mrs. Frostwinch's gate. Wynne said +good-by absently, and went on his way down the hill like a man in a +dream. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, "you have seen one of Boston's ethical +debauches; what do you think of it?" + +"It was confusing," he returned. "I couldn't make out what it was for." + +"For? To amuse us. We are the children of the Puritans, you know, and +have inherited a twist toward the ethical and the supernatural so +strong that we have to have these things served up even in our +amusements." + +"Then I think that it is wicked," Maurice said. + +"Oh, no; we must not be narrow. It isn't wrong to amuse one's self; and +if we play with the religion of the Persians, why is it worse than to +play with the mythologies of the Greeks or Romans? You wouldn't think +it any harm to jest about classical theology." + +Wynne turned toward her with a smile on his strong, handsome face. + +"Why do you try to tangle me up in words?" he asked. + +Mrs. Staggchase did not turn toward him, but looked before with face +entirely unchanged as she replied:-- + +"I am not trying to entangle you in words, but if I were it would be +all part of the play. You are undergoing your period of temptation. I +am the tempter in default of a better. In the old fashion of +temptations it wouldn't do to have the tempter old and plain. Then you +were expected to fall in love; now we deal in snares more subtle." + +Maurice laughed, but somewhat unmirthfully. There was to him something +bewildering and worldly about his cousin; and he had come to feel that +he could never be at all sure where in the end the most harmless +beginning of talk might lead him. + +"What then is the modern way of temptation?" he inquired. + +"It shows how much faith we have in its power," she replied, as they +waited on the corner of Charles Street for a carriage to pass, "that I +don't in the least mind giving you full warning. Did you know the lady +in that carriage, by the way?" + +"It was Mrs. Wilson, wasn't it?" + +"Yes; Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. You have seen her at the Church of the +Nativity, I suppose. She is one phase of the temptation." + +"I don't in the least understand." + +"I didn't in the least suppose that you would. You will in time. My +part of the temptation is to show you all sorts of ethical jugglery, +the spiritual and intellectual gymnastics such as the Bostonians love; +to persuade you that all religion is only a sort of pastime, and that +the particular high-church sort which you especially affect is but one +of a great many entertaining ways of killing time." + +"Cousin Diana!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. + +"I hope that you understand," she continued unmoved. "I shall exhibit a +very pretty collection of fads to you if we see them all." + +"But suppose," he said slowly, "that I refused to go with you?" + +"But you won't," returned she, with that curious smile which always +teased him with its suggestion of irony. "In the first place you +couldn't be so impolite as to refuse me. A woman may always lead a man +into questionable paths if she puts it to his sense of chivalry not to +desert her. In the second, the spirit of the age is a good deal +stronger in you than you realize, and the truth is that you wouldn't be +left behind for anything. In the third, you could hardly be so cowardly +as to run away from the temptation that is to prove whether you were +really born to be a priest." + +"That was decided when I entered the Clergy House." + +"Nonsense; nothing of the sort, my dear boy. The only thing that was +decided then was that you thought you were. Wait and see our ethical +and religious raree-shows. We had the Persian to-day; to-morrow I'm to +take you to a spiritualist sitting at Mrs. Rangely's. She hates to have +me come, so I mustn't miss that. Then there are the mind-cure, +Theosophy, and a dozen other things; not to mention the +semi-irreligions, like Nationalism. You will be as the gods, knowing +good and evil, by the time we are half way round the circle,--though it +is perhaps somewhat doubtful if you know them apart." + +She spoke in her light, railing way, as if the matter were one of the +smallest possible consequence, and yet Wynne grew every moment more and +more uncomfortable. He had never seen his cousin in just this mood, and +could not tell whether she were mocking him or warning him. He seized +upon the first pretext which presented itself to his mind, and +endeavored to change the subject. + +"Who is Mrs. Rangely?" he asked. "A medium?" + +"Oh, bless you, no. She is not so bad as a medium; she is only a New +Yorker. Do you think we'd go to real mediums? Although," she added, +"there are plenty who do go. I think that it is shocking bad form." + +"But you speak as if"-- + +"As if spiritualism were one of the recognized ethical games, that's +all. It is played pretty well at Mrs. Rangely's, I'm told. They say +that the little Mrs. Singleton she's got hold of is very clever." + +"Mrs. Singleton," Maurice repeated, "why, it can't be Alice, brother +John's widow, can it? She married a Singleton for a second husband, and +she claimed to be a medium." + +"Did she really? It will be amusing if you find your relatives in the +business." + +"She wasn't a very close relative. John was only my half-brother, you +know, and he lived but six months after he married her. She is clever +enough and tricky enough to be capable of anything." + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, as they turned in at her door, "if it is +she it will give you an excellent chance to do missionary work." + +They entered the wide, handsome hall, and with an abrupt movement the +hostess turned toward her cousin. + +"I assure you," she said, "that I am in earnest about your temptation. +I want to see what sort of stuff you are made of, and I give you fair +warning. Now go and read your breviary, or whatever it is that you sham +monks read, while I have tea and then rest before I dress." + +Maurice had no reply to offer. He watched in silence as she passed up +the broad stairway, smiling to herself as she went. He followed slowly +a moment later, and seeking his room remained plunged in a reverie at +which the severe walls of the Clergy House might have been startled; a +reverie disquieted, changing, half-fearful; and yet through which with +strange fascination came a longing to see more of the surprising world +into which chance had introduced him, and above all to meet again the +dark, glowing girl with whom he had that afternoon walked. + + + + III + + + AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + Merchant of Venice, v. 2. + + +It was cold and gray next morning when Maurice took his way toward a +Catholic church in the North End. He had been there before for +confession, and had been not a little elated in his secret heart that +he had been able to go through the act of confession and to receive +absolution without betraying the fact that he was not a Romanist. He +had studied the forms of confession, the acts of contrition, and +whatever was necessary to the part, and for some months had gone on in +this singular course. To his Superior at the Clergy House he confessed +the same sins, but Maurice had a feeling that the absolution of the +Roman priest was more effective than that of his own church. He was not +conscious of any intention of becoming a Catholic, but there was a +fascination in playing at being one; and Wynne, who could not +understand how the folk of Boston could play with ethical truths, was +yet able thus to juggle with religion with no misgiving. + +This morning he enjoyed the spiritual intoxication of the confessional +as never before. He half consciously allowed himself to dwell upon the +image of the beautiful Miss Morison to the end that he might the more +effectively pour out his contrition for that sin. He was so eloquent in +the confessional that he admired himself both for his penitence and for +the words in which he set it forth. He floated as it were in a sea of +mingled sensuousness and repentance, and he hoped that the penance +imposed would be heavy enough to show that the priest had been +impressed with the magnitude of the sin of which he had been guilty in +allowing his thoughts, consecrated to the holy life of the priesthood, +to dwell upon a woman. + +It was one of those absurd anomalies of which life is full that while +Maurice sometimes slighted a little the penances imposed by his own +Superior, he had never in the least abated the rigor of any laid upon +him by the Catholic priest. It was perhaps that he felt his honor +concerned in the latter case. This morning the penance was +satisfactorily heavy, and he came out of the church with a buoyant +step, full of a certain boyish elation. He had a fresh and delightful +sense of the reality of religion now that he had actually sinned and +been forgiven. + +Next to being forgiven for a sin there is perhaps nothing more +satisfactory than to repeat the transgression, and if Maurice had not +formulated this fact in theory he was to be acquainted with it in +practice. As he walked along in the now bright forenoon, filled with +the enjoyment of moral cleanness, he suddenly started with the thrill +of delicious temptation. Just before him a lady had come around a +corner, and was walking quietly along, in whom at a glance he +recognized Miss Morison. There came into his cheek, which even his +double penances had not made thin, a flush of pleasure. He quickened +his steps, and in a moment had overtaken her. + +"Good morning," he said, raising his ecclesiastical hat with an air +which savored somewhat of worldliness. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" + +She started at his salutation, but instantly recognized him. + +"Good morning," she responded. "I didn't expect to find anybody I knew +in this part of the town." + +"It isn't one where young ladies as a rule walk for pleasure, I +suppose," Maurice said, falling into step, and walking beside her. + +"I am very sure that I don't," Miss Morison replied with a toss of her +head. "I do it because I was bullied into being a visitor for the +Associated Charities, and I go once a week to tell some poor folk down +here that I am no better than they are. They know that I don't believe +it, and I have my doubts if they even believe it themselves, only they +wouldn't be foolish enough to prevaricate about it. Oh, it's a great +and noble work that I'm engaged in!" + +There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty +head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she +intoxicated him with delight. + +"You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm," said he. + +"Enthusiasm!" she retorted. "Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it, +the people I visit hate it, and there's nobody pleased but the +managers, who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, +and make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am +tired of the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to +try the unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting." + +She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious +that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth. +There was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, +and Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone +amiss. + +"But philanthropy," he began, "is surely"-- + +"Your cousin," she interrupted, "declares that only the eye of +Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what passes for +philanthropy and what is sheer egotism." + +He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked. + +"But what," he asked, "has impressed this view of things upon you this +morning in particular?" + +His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands. + +"Of course I show it," she said; "though you needn't have reminded me +that I have lost my temper." + +"I beg your pardon," began Maurice in confusion, "I"-- + +"Oh, you haven't done anything wrong," she interrupted, "the trouble is +entirely with me. I've been making a fool of myself at the instigation +of the powers that rule over my charitable career, and I don't like the +feeling." + +They walked on a moment without further speech. Maurice said to himself +with a thrill of contrition that he would double the penance laid upon +him, and he endeavored not to be conscious of the thought which +followed that the delight of this companionship was worth the price +which he should thus pay for it. + +"This is what happened," Miss Morison said at length. "I don't quite +know whether to laugh or to cry with vexation. There's a poor widow who +has had all sorts of trials and tribulations. Indeed, she's been a +miracle of ill luck ever since I began to have the honor to assure her +weekly that I'm no better than she is. It may be that the fib isn't +lucky." + +She turned to flash a bright glance into the face of her companion as +she spoke, and he tried to clear away the look of gravity so quickly +that she might not perceive it. + +"Oh," she cried; "now I have shocked you! I'm sorry, but I couldn't +help it." + +"No," he replied, "you didn't really shock me. It only seemed to me a +pity that you should be working with so little heart and under +direction that doesn't seem entirely wise." + +"Wise!" she echoed scornfully. "There's a benevolent gentleman who +insisted upon giving this old woman five dollars. It was all against +the rules of the Associated Charities, for which he said he didn't care +a fig. That's the advantage of being a man! And what do you think the +old thing did? She took the whole of it to buy a bonnet with a red +feather in it! The committee heard of it, though I can't for my life +see how. There are a lot of them that seem to think that benevolence +consists chiefly in prying into the affairs of the poor wretches they +help! And they posted me off to scold her." + +"But why did you go?" + +"They said they would send Miss Spare if I didn't, and in common +humanity I couldn't leave that old creature to the tender mercies of +Miss Spare." + +"What did you say?" + +The face of Miss Morison lighted with mocking amusement. + +"That's the beauty of it," she cried, bursting into a low laugh which +was full of the keenest fun. "I began with the things I'd been told to +say; but the old woman said that all her life long she had wanted a +bonnet with red feathers, but that she had never expected to have one. +When she got this money, she went out to buy clothing, and in a window +she saw this bonnet marked five dollars. She piously remarked that it +seemed providential. She's like the rest of the world in finding what +she likes to be providential." + +"Yes," murmured Maurice, half under his breath; "like my meeting you." + +Miss Morison looked surprised, but she ignored the words, and went on +with her story. + +"She said she concluded she'd rather go without the clothes, and have +the bonnet; and by the time we were through I had weakly gone back on +all the instructions I'd received, and told her she was right. She knew +what she wanted, and I don't blame her for getting it when she could. +I'm sick of seeing the poor treated as if they were semi-idiots that +couldn't think without leave from the Associated Charities." + +The whole tone of the conversation was so much more frank than anything +to which Wynne was accustomed that he felt bewildered. This freedom of +criticism of the powers, this want of reverence for conventionalities, +gave him a strange feeling of lawlessness. He felt as if he had himself +been wonderfully and almost culpably daring in listening. He wondered +that he was not more shocked, being sure that it was his duty to be. +There was about the young man's mental condition a sort of infantile +unsophistication. The New England mind often seems to inherit from +bygone Puritanism a certain repellent quality through which it takes +long for anything savoring of worldliness or worldly wisdom to +penetrate. When once this covering is broken, it may be added, the +result is much the same as in the case of the cracking of other glazes. + +After he had parted from Miss Morison, Maurice walked on in a blissful +state of conscious sinfulness. He understood himself well enough to +know that before him lay repentance, but this did not dampen his +present enjoyment. He had not so far outgrown his New England +conscience as to escape remorse for sin, but he had become so +accustomed to the belief that absolution removed guilt that there was +in his cup of self-reproach little abiding bitterness. + +That afternoon he accompanied Mrs. Staggchase to the house of Mrs. +Rangely with a confused feeling as if he were some one else. His cousin +wore the same delicately satirical air which marked all her intercourse +with him. She carried her head with her accustomed good-humored +haughtiness, and her straight lips were curled into the ghost of a +smile. + +"This is the most stupid humbug of them all," she remarked, as they +neared Mrs. Rangely's house on Marlborough Street. "You'll think the +deception too transparent to be even amusing,--if you don't become a +convert, that is." + +"A convert to spiritualism?" Wynne returned with youthful indignation. +"I'm not likely to fall so low as that. That is one of the things which +are too ridiculous." + +She laughed, with that air of superiority which always nettled him a +little. + +"Don't allow yourself to be one of those narrow persons to whom a thing +is always ridiculous if they don't happen to believe it. You believe in +so many impossible things yourself that you can't afford to take on +airs." + +The tantalizing good nature with which she spoke humiliated Wynne. She +seemed to be playing with him, and he resented her reflection upon his +creed. He was, however, too much under the spell of his cousin to be +really angry, and he was silenced rather than offended. They entered +the house to find several of the persons whom he had seen at Mrs. +Gore's on the day previous; and Wynne was at once charmed and +disquieted by the entrance a moment later of Miss Morison, who came in +looking more beautiful than ever. It gave him a feeling of exultation +to be sharing her life, even in this chance way. + +The preliminaries of the sitting were not elaborate. Mrs. Rangely, the +hostess, impressed it upon her guests that Mrs. Singleton, the medium, +was not a professional, but that she was with them only in the capacity +of one who wished to use her peculiar gifts in the search for truth. + +"She does not understand her powers herself," Mrs. Rangely said; "but +she feels that it is not right to conceal her light." + +Maurice was too unsophisticated to understand why Mrs. Rangely's talk +struck him as not entirely genuine, but he was to some extent +enlightened when his cousin said to him afterward: "Frances Rangely has +the imitation Boston patter at her tongue's end now, but she is too +thoroughly a New Yorker ever to get the spirit of it. She rattles off +the words in a way that is intensely amusing." + +The shutters of the small parlor in which the company was assembled had +been closed and the gas lighted. There were about a dozen guests, and +all had the air of being of some position. While the hostess went to +summon the medium, Maurice asked in a whisper if the master of the +house was present, and was answered that Fred Rangely was too clever to +be mixed up in this sort of thing. Wynne caught a satirical glance +between his cousin and Miss Morison, and more than ever he felt that +the meeting was a farce in which he, vowed to a nobler life, should +have had no part. + +His musings were cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Rangely with the +medium. He recognized Mrs. Singleton at a glance, and was struck as he +had been before by the appealing look of innocence. She was a slender, +almost beautiful woman, with exquisite shell-like complexion, and +delicate features. An entire lack of moral sense frequently gives to a +woman an air of complete candor and purity, and Alice Singleton stood +before the company as the incarnation of sincerity and truth. Her face +was of the rounded, full-lipped, wistful type; the sensuous, selfish +face moulded into the likeness of childlike guilelessness which of all +the multitudinous varieties of the "ever womanly" is the one most +likely to be destructive. + +Had it not been that Maurice was acquainted with her history, he could +hardly have resisted the fascination of this creature, as tender and as +innocent in appearance as a dewy rose; but he was thoroughly aware of +her moral worthlessness. Yet as she stood shrinking on the threshold as +if she were too timid to advance, he could not but feel her +attractiveness and the sweetness of her presence. He watched curiously +as in response to a word from Mrs. Rangely she came hesitatingly +forward, bowed in acknowledgment to a general introduction, and sank +into the chair placed for her in the centre of the circle. She was clad +in black, but a little of her creamy neck was visible between the folds +of lace which set off its fairness. Her arms were bare half way to the +elbows, and her hands were ungloved. Maurice wondered if she would +recognize him; then he reflected that he sat in the shadow, out of the +direct line of her vision, and that it was years since she had seen him. + +"We will have the gas turned down," Mrs. Rangely said; and at once +turned it, not down, but completely out, leaving the room in absolute +darkness. + +There followed an interval of silence, and Maurice, whose wits were +sharpened by his knowledge of the medium, and who was on the lookout +for trickery, reflected how inevitable it was that this breathless +silence, coupled with the darkness and the expectation of something +mysterious, should bring about the frame of mind which the medium would +desire. The silence lasted so long that he, not wrapt in expectation, +began to grow impatient. He put out his hand timidly in the darkness +and touched the chair in which Miss Morison was sitting, getting +foolish comfort from even such remote communion. He fell into a reverie +in which he felt dimly what life might have been with her always at his +side, had he not been vowed to the stern refusal of all earthly +companionship. + +His reflections were broken by a loud, quivering sigh seeming to come +from the medium, and echoed in different parts of the room. There was +another brief interval of silence, and then the medium began to speak. +Her tone was strained and unnatural, and at first she murmured to +herself. Then her words came more clearly and distinctly. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" she whispered. Then in a voice growing clearer she +went on: "Bright forms! There are three,--no, there are five; oh, the +room is full of them. Oh, how bright they are growing! They shine so +that they almost blind me. Don't you see them?" + +The room rustled like a field of wheat under a breeze. + +"There is one that is clearer than the others," went on the voice of +the medium in the electrical darkness. "She is all shining, but I can +see that her hair is white as snow. She must have been old before she +went into the spirit world. She smiles and leans over the lady in the +armchair. Oh, she is touching you! Don't you feel her dear hands on +your head?" + +Maurice felt the chair against which his fingers rested shaken by a +movement of awe or of impatience. He flushed with indignation. It was +Miss Morison to whom the medium was directing this childish +impertinence. He longed to interfere, and even made so brusque a +movement that Mrs. Staggchase leaned over and whispered to him to +remain quiet. + +"There are many spirits here," the medium went on with increasing +fervor, "but none of them are so clear. She is speaking to you, but you +cannot hear her. She is grieved that you do not understand her. Oh, try +to listen so that you may hear her message with the spiritual ear. She +is so anxious." + +The audience seemed to quiver with excitement. Simply because a woman +whom Maurice knew to be capable of any falsehood sat here in the +darkness and pretended to see visions, these men and women were +apparently carried out of themselves. It seemed to him at once +monstrous and pitifully ridiculous. + +"It must be your grandmother," spoke again the voice of Mrs. Singleton, +now thick with emotion. "Yes, she nods her head. She is so anxious to +reach through your unconsciousness. Wait! she is going to do something. +I think she is going to give you some token. Let me rest a moment, so +that I can help her. She wants to materialize something." + +Heavy silence, but a silence which seemed alive with excitement, once +more prevailed. Maurice began himself to feel something of the +influence pervading the gathering, and was angry with himself for it. +Suddenly a cry from the medium, earnest and full of feeling, broke out +shrilly. + +"Oh, she has something in her hand. Try to assist her. She will succeed +in materializing it fully if we can help her with our wills. I can see +it becoming clearer--clearer--clearer! Now she is smiling. She is +happy. She knows she will succeed. Yes; it is--Oh, what beautiful +roses! They are changing from white to red in her hands. She holds them +up for me to see; she is lifting them up over your head. Now, now she +is going to drop them! Quick! The light!" + +The voice of Mrs. Singleton had risen almost to a scream, and bit the +nerves of the hearers. As she ended Maurice heard the soft sound of +something falling, and felt Miss Morison start violently. The gas was +at once lighted, and there in the lap and at the feet of Berenice, who +regarded them with an expression of mingled disgust and annoyance, lay +scattered a handful of crimson roses. + +The company broke into expressions of admiration, of belief, of awe. +Mrs. Singleton had played to her audience with evident success. Miss +Morison gathered up the flowers without a word, and held them out to +the medium, who lay back wearied in her chair. + +"Don't give them to me," Mrs. Singleton said in a faint voice. "They +were brought for you." + +"How can you bear to give them up?" a woman said. "It must be your +grandmother that brought them." + +"My grandmother was in very good health in Brookfield yesterday," +Berenice responded. "I hardly think that they come from her." + +The tone was so cold that Mrs. Singleton was visibly disconcerted. + +"Of course I don't know the spirit," she said. "But are both your +grandmothers living?" + +"She nodded her head, you know," put in another. + +To this Miss Morison did not even reply; but the awkwardness of the +situation was relieved by Mrs. Rangely, who broke into conventional +phrases of admiration and wonder. + +"Yes, Frances," Mrs. Staggchase observed dryly, "as you say, it +couldn't be believed if one hadn't seen it." + +Her manner was unheeded in the flood of praise and congratulation with +which Mrs. Singleton was being overwhelmed. + +"It is what I've longed for all my life," one lady declared, wiping her +eyes. "I never could have confidence in professional mediums, but this +is so perfectly satisfactory. Oh, I _do_ feel that I owe you so much, +Mrs. Singleton!" + +"Yes, this we have seen with our own eyes," another added. "It is +impossible for the most skeptical to doubt this." + +To this and more Maurice listened in amazement, until he rather thought +aloud than consciously spoke:-- + +"But it all depends upon the unsupported testimony of the medium." + +Mrs. Rangely drew herself up with much dignity. + +"That," she said, "I will be responsible for." + +"It isn't unsupported," chimed in one of the ladies. "Here are the +roses." + +At the sound of Maurice's voice Mrs. Singleton had turned toward him, +and he saw that she recognized him. She looked around with a glance +half terrified, half appealing. + +"It is so kind in you to believe in me," she murmured pathetically. "I +don't ask you to. I only tell you what I see, and"-- + +Maurice rose abruptly and strode forward. + +"Alice," he exclaimed, "what do you mean by this humbug? Don't you see +that they take it seriously? Tell them it's a joke." + +Again Mrs. Singleton looked around as if to see whether she had support. + +"It is manly of you to attack me," she answered, evidently satisfied +with the result of her survey. "I cannot defend myself." + +"Do you mean to insist?" he demanded, with growing anger. + +"If the roses do not justify what I said," responded she, sinking back +as if exhausted, "it may be that I saw only imaginary shapes." + +A sharp murmur ran around the room. The believers were evidently +rallying indignantly to the support of their sibyl, and cast upon Wynne +glances of bitter reproach. He looked at Mrs. Staggchase, but it was +impossible to judge from her expression whether she approved or +disapproved of what he had done. He was suddenly abashed, and stood +speechless before the rising tide of outraged remonstrance. Then +unexpectedly came from behind him the clear voice of Miss Morison. + +"It is unfortunate that the roses should have been given to me," she +said, "for by an odd chance I saw them bought a couple of hours ago on +Tremont Street." + +There was an instant of hushed amazement, and then the medium fled from +the parlor in hysterics. + + + + IV + + + SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + Measure for Measure, v. 1. + + +"O thou to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + +Philip Ashe colored with self-consciousness as the words came into his +mind. He felt that he had no right to think them, and yet as he looked +across the table at his hostess it seemed almost as if the phrase had +been spoken in his ear by the seductive voice of Mirza Gholan Rezah. He +sighed with contrition, and looked resolutely away, letting his glance +wander about the room in which he was sitting at dinner. He noted the +panels of antique stamped leather, and although he had had little +artistic training, he was pleased by the exquisite combination of rich +colors and dull gold. Some Spanish palace had once known the glories +which now adorned the walls of Mrs. Fenton's dining-room, and even his +uneducated eye could see that care and taste had gone to the decoration +of the apartment. Jars of Moorish pottery, few but choice, and pieces +of fine Algerian armor inlaid with gold were placed skillfully, each +displayed in its full worth and yet all harmonizing and combining in +the general effect. Ashe knew that the husband of Mrs. Fenton had been +an artist of some note, and so strongly was the skill of a master-hand +visible here that suddenly the painter seemed to the sensitive young +deacon alive and real. It was as if for the first time he realized that +the beautiful woman before him might belong to another. By a quick, +unreasonable jealousy of the dead he became conscious of how keenly +dear to him had become the living. + +Ashe had met Mrs. Fenton a number of times during the week which had +intervened since the Persian's lecture at Mrs. Gore's. He had seen her +once or twice at the house of his cousin, with whom Mrs. Fenton was +intimate, and chance had brought about one or two encounters elsewhere. +He had until this moment tried to persuade himself that his admiration +for her was that which he might have for any beautiful woman; but +looking about this room and realizing so completely the husband dead +half a dozen years, he felt his self-deception shrivel and fall to +ashes. With a desperate effort he put the thought from him, and gave +his whole attention to the talk of his companions. + +"Yes, Mr. Herman is in New York," Mrs. Herman was saying. "He has gone +on to see about a commission. They want him to go there to execute it, +but I don't think he will." + +"Doesn't he like New York?" asked Mr. Candish, the rector of the Church +of the Nativity, who was the fourth member of the little company. + +Mrs. Herman and Mrs. Fenton both laughed. + +"You know how Grant feels about New York, Edith," the former said. "If +anything could spoil his temper, it is a day in what he calls the +metropolis of Philistinism." + +"I never heard Mr. Herman say anything so harsh as that about +anything," Candish responded. "Do you feel in that way about it?" + +"The thing which I dislike about the place is its provincialism," she +answered. "It is the most provincial city in America, in the sense that +nothing really exists for it outside of itself. If I think of New York +for ten minutes I have no longer any faith in America." + +"Then I shouldn't think of it, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton. + +"Then you wouldn't go with your husband if he went there to do this +work, I suppose," Mr. Candish observed. + +"I should go with him anywhere that, he thought it best to go. I fear +that you haven't an exalted idea of the devotion of the modern wife, +Mr. Candish." + +Ashe watched with interest the rector, who flushed a little. He knew of +him well, having more than once heard the awkwardness and social +inadaptability of the man urged as reasons of his unfitness to be +placed at the head of the most fashionable church in the city. Philip +saw him glance at the hostess and then cast down his eyes; and wondered +if this were simple diffidence. + +"That is hardly fair," Mr. Candish said, somewhat awkwardly. "The +clergy, not having wives, are poor judges in such a matter." + +"That might be taken as an argument for the marriage of the clergy," +she responded with a smile. + +"How so?" + +"If they had wives they would be better able to sympathize with the +trials and joys of their parishioners." + +"I never thought of that," murmured Mrs. Fenton. + +Mr. Candish flushed all over his homely, freckled face. + +"By the same reasoning you might hold that a clergyman should have +committed all the sins in the decalogue, so that he should have ready +sympathy with all sorts of sinners." + +"I'm not sure that he wouldn't be more useful if he had," Mrs. Herman +answered with a smile; "at least a man who hasn't wanted to commit a +sin must find it hard to sympathize with the wretch that hasn't been +strong enough to resist temptation. Still, I hope that sin and marriage +are not put into the same category." + +"Oh, of course not," Mrs. Fenton interpolated. "Marriage is a +sacrament." + +"It has always seemed to me inconsistent," Mrs. Herman went on, "that +the church should exclude her priests from one of the sacraments." + +Ashe saw a faint cloud pass over the face of the hostess. He was +himself a little shocked; and Candish frowned slightly. + +"The church admits her priests to this sacrament in a higher sense," he +said with some stiffness. + +Helen smiled. + +"Now I have shocked you," was her comment. "I beg your pardon." + +"I can never accustom myself to a familiar way of handling sacred +things," he returned. "It is to me too vital a matter." + +"I am afraid that that is because you are still so young," she +retorted. "It is, if you'll pardon me, the prerogative of youth to find +all views but its own intolerable." + +The manner in which this was said deprived the words of their sting, +but Mrs. Fenton evidently felt that they were getting upon dangerous +ground, and she interposed. + +"We shall ask you to define youth next, Helen," she threw in. + +"Oh, that is easy. Young people are always those of our own age." + +In the laugh that followed this the question of the marriage of the +clergy was allowed to drop; but to all that had been said Philip had +listened with a beating heart. He felt the air about him to be charged +with meanings which he could not divine. He had somehow a suspicion +that the hostess was more interested in this talk than she was willing +to show; and with what in a moment he recognized as consummate and +fatuous egotism, he felt in his heart the shadow of a hope that there +might be some connection between this and her interest in him. Then a +fear followed lest there might be things here hidden which would make +him miserable did he understand. + +"Mrs. Herman insists that she is a Puritan," Mrs. Fenton said a moment +later. "You see how she proves it by the position she takes on all +these questions." + +"Of course I am a Puritan," was the answer. "I was born so. There is +nothing which I believe that wouldn't have seemed to my forefathers +good ground for having me whipped at the cart's tail, but I am Puritan +to the bone." + +"I don't see what you mean," Candish said. + +"I mean that I inherit, like all of us children of the Puritans, the +way of looking at things without regard to consequences, of feeling +devoutly about whatever seems to us true, and of realizing that +individual preferences do not alter the laws of the universe; isn't +that the essence of Puritanism?" + +"Perhaps," he answered; "but are the unbelievers of to-day devout?" + +Ashe looked at his cousin as she paused before answering. He felt that +the question must baffle her. He did not comprehend what was behind her +faint smile. + +"Certainly not all of them," was her reply. "The age isn't greatly +given to reverence. I am a Puritan, however, and I must say what I +think. I believe that there is a hundredfold more devoutness in the +infidelity of New England to-day than in its belief." + +Ashe leaned forward in amazement, half overturning his glass in his +eagerness. + +"Why, that is a contradiction of terms," he exclaimed. + +Mrs. Herman's smile deepened. + +"Not necessarily, Cousin Philip," returned she. + +"It is possible for belief to degenerate into mere conventionality, +while sincere doubters at least must have a realization of the mystery +and the awe which overshadow life." + +Mrs. Fenton put up her hand in a pretty gesture of deprecation. + +"Come," she said, "I don't wish to be despotic, but I can't let Mrs. +Herman lead you into a discussion of that sort. We'll talk of something +else." + +"Am I to bear the blame of it all?" demanded Helen. "That I call +genuinely theological." + +"Worse and worse," the hostess responded. "Now you attack the cloth." + +"It seems to me," observed Mr. Candish, coming out of a brief study in +which he had apparently not heard Mrs. Fenton's last words, "that you +leave out of account the matter of desire. The believer at least longs +to believe, and surely deserves well for that." + +"I don't see why. Certainly he hasn't learned the first word of the +philosophy of life who still confounds what he desires and what he +deserves." + +"Come, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton; "I wouldn't have suspected you of +trying to pose as a belated remnant of the Concord School." + +Ashe easily perceived that the hostess was becoming more and more +uneasy at the course of the discussion. He could see too that Mr. +Candish was growing graver, and his sallow face beginning to flush +through its thin skin. It was evident that Mrs. Fenton saw and +appreciated these signs, and wished to change the subject of +conversation. Philip wondered that she took the matter so gravely, but +cast about in his own mind for the means of helping her. Before he +could think of anything to say his cousin had started a fresh topic. + +"By the way," she asked, "who is to be bishop?" + +Candish shook his head with a grave smile. + +"We should be relieved if we knew," was his answer. + +"There's a great deal being done to defeat Father Frontford," Ashe +added; "but the lay delegates haven't been chosen." + +"The friends of Mr. Strathmore are working very hard," observed Mrs. +Fenton. "It would be a great misfortune if they were to succeed." + +"But I suppose the friends of Father Frontford are at work too?" +returned Helen. + +Ashe thought that he detected a faint trace of satire in her voice, and +he turned toward her with earnest gravity. + +"It is not to be supposed," he answered, "that the friends of the +church are idle at a time of so much importance. Mr. Strathmore is +really little better than a Unitarian; or at least he is so lax that he +gives the world that opinion." + +He felt that this was a reply which must end all inclination to +raillery on her part. He began to feel fresh sympathy with the +disturbance of Mr. Candish earlier in the dinner. The matter now was to +him so vital that he could not talk of it except with the greatest +gravity. He watched Helen closely to discover if she were disposed to +smile at his reply. He could detect no ridicule in her expression, +although she did not seem much impressed with the weight of the charge +he had brought against Mr. Strathmore, the popular candidate for the +bishopric of the diocese, then vacant. + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson is doing a good deal," Mrs. Fenton remarked, +glancing smilingly at Helen. + +"Oh, yes," responded the other. "I remember now that she declined to be +on a committee for the picture-show because, as she said, she had to +run the campaign for the bishop." + +"The expression," Candish began, rather stiffly, "is somewhat"-- + +"It is hers, not mine," Helen replied. "I should not have chosen the +phrase myself." + +"It is singular," Mrs. Fenton said thoughtfully, "how little general +interest there is in this matter of the choice of a bishop." + +"And what there is," Mrs. Herman put in with a faint suspicion of +raillery in her tone, "comes from the fact that Mr. Strathmore is +popular as a radical." + +"It is natural enough that the general public should look at it in that +way," Mr. Candish commented. "Mr. Strathmore has all the elements of +popularity. He is emotional and sympathetic; and religious laxity +presented by such a man is always attractive." + +"The infidelity of the age finds such a man a living excuse," Ashe +said, feeling to the full all that the words implied. + +Mrs. Fenton smiled upon him, but shook her head. + +"That is a somewhat extreme view to take of it, Mr. Ashe. I think it is +rather the personal attraction of the man than anything else." + +The talk drifted away into more secular channels, and Ashe in time +forgot for the moment that he was already almost a priest. Youth was +strong in his blood, and even when a man has vowed to serve heaven by +celibacy the must of desire may ferment still in his veins. A youthful +ascetic has in him equally the making of a saint and a monster; and +until it is decided which he is to be there will be turmoil in his +soul. His newly realized love for Mrs. Fenton threw Ashe into a tumult +of mingled bliss and anguish. The heart of the most simple mortal soars +and exults in the sense that it loves. It may be timid, sad, +despairing, but even the smart of love's denial cannot destroy the joy +of love's existence. Philip felt the sting of his conscience; he looked +upon his passion as no less hopeless than it was opposed to his vows; +he was overshadowed by a half-conscious foresight of the pain which +must arise from it; yet he swam on waves of delight such as even in his +moments of religious ecstasy he had never before known. He felt his +cheeks flush, and when his cousin glanced at him he dropped his eyes in +the fear that they would betray his secret. He dared not look openly at +Mrs. Fenton, yet from time to time he stole glances so slyly that he +seemed almost to deceive himself and to conceal from his conscience the +transgression. + +Yet, too, he struggled. He realized at moments what he was doing, and +his cheek grew pale at the idea that he was juggling with his +conscience and his soul. He tried to attend to the talk, and could only +succeed in listening for the sound of her voice. He kept no more hold +on the conversation than was sufficient to allow him to put in a word +now and then to cover his preoccupation. The instinct of simulation +asserted itself as it springs in a bird which flies away to decoy the +hunter from its nest. He feigned to be interested, to be as usual, but +all his blood was trembling and tumbling with this new delirium; and +all struggles to forget his passion only increased its intensity. + +At moments he was astonished at himself. He could not understand what +had taken possession of him. He even whispered a desperate question to +himself whether it might not be that he had been singled out for a +special temptation of the devil,--a distinction too flattering to be +wholly disagreeable. Then he glanced again at his hostess, fair, sweet, +and to his mind sacred before him, and felt that he had wronged her by +supposing that the arch fiend could make of her a temptation. He had +for a moment a humiliating fear that he might have eaten something that +after the spare diet of the Clergy House had exhilarated him unduly. He +felt that at best he was a poor thing; and he seemed to stand outside +of his bare, empty life, pitying and scorning the futility of an +existence unblessed by the love of this peerless woman. + +The evening went on, and Ashe struggled to conceal the wild commotion +of his mind, feeling it almost a relief to get away, so fearful had he +been of losing control of his tumultuous emotions. It would be bliss to +be alone with his dream. + +As he and Mrs. Herman were going home, Helen said:-- + +"I do wonder"-- + +"What do you wonder?" he asked. + +"Did I say that out loud?" she responded. "I didn't mean to. I was +thinking that I couldn't help wondering whether Edith Fenton will ever +marry Mr. Candish." + +The first thought of Ashe was terror lest his secret had been +discovered; his second was a memory of the way in which he had seen +Mrs. Fenton look at the rector at dinner. He was overwhelmed by a rush +of hot anger against his rival. + +"Mr. Candish!" he echoed. "Why, he is an ordained priest!" + +His own words cut him like a sword. He had himself pronounced the death +sentence of his own hope. It was with difficulty that he suppressed a +groan, and what reply or comment Mrs. Herman made was lost in the +tumult of an inner voice crying in his heart: "O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + + + + V + + + VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + Comedy of Errors, ii. 1. + + +On the morning after the dinner at Mrs. Fenton's, Philip Ashe and +Maurice Wynne met on the steps of Mrs. Chauncy Wilson's. The house was +on the proper side of the Avenue, with a regal front of marble and with +balconies of wrought iron before the wide windows above, one of +especially elaborate workmanship, having once adorned the front of the +palace of the Tuileries. Pillars of verd antique stood on either side +of the doorway, as if it were the portal of a temple. + +"Good morning, Phil," Maurice called out as they met. "Are you bound +for Mrs. Wilson's too?" + +"Yes," was the answer. "I had a note last night." + +"Well," Wynne said gayly, as they mounted the steps, "if the inside of +the house is as splendid as the outside, we two poor duffers will be +out of place enough in it." + +Ashe smiled. + +"You may be a duffer if you like," he retorted, "but I'm not." + +"Here comes somebody," was the reply. "For my part I'm half afraid of +Mrs. Wilson. They say"-- + +But the door began to move on its hinges, and cut short his words. + +Wynne might have concluded his remark in almost any fashion, for there +were few things which had not been said about Mrs. Wilson. Although she +had been born and bred in Boston, one of the most common comments upon +her was that she was "so un-Bostonian." Exactly what the epithet +"Bostonian" might mean would probably have been hard to explain, but it +is seldom difficult to defend a negation; it was at least easy to show +that the lady did not regard the traditions in which she had been +nourished, and that she had a boldness which was as far as possible +from the decorous conventionality to be expected of one in whose veins +ran the blood of the most correctly exclusive old Puritan families. + +There was a general feeling that Mrs. Wilson's marriage was to be held +accountable for many of her eccentricities; although, as Mrs. +Staggchase remarked, if Elsie Dimmont had not been what she was she +would not have chosen Chauncy Wilson. Well-born, wealthy, pretty, and +not without a certain cleverness, Miss Dimmont had had choice of +suitors enough who were all that the most exacting of her relatives +could desire; yet she had disregarded the conviction of the family that +it was her duty to marry to please them, and had chosen to please +herself by selecting a handsome young doctor whom she met at the house +of a cousin in the country. He was of some local eminence in his +profession, it is true, although as time went on he gave less attention +to it; he was handsome, and astute, and amusing; but he was a man +without ancestors or traditions. He seemed born to justify the saying +that nothing subdues the feminine imagination like force; and although +the stormy times which were liberally predicted at the marriage of two +creatures so strong-willed had undoubtedly marked their marital career, +it was in the end impossible not to see that Dr. Wilson had secured and +held command of his household. + +It is impossible for two to live together, however, without mutual +reaction, and Elsie had unquestionably lost something of the fineness +of the breeding which was hers by right of birth. For a time after her +marriage she had been excessively given up to gayety. She had figured +as a leader in the fastest of the "smart set," as society journals +called it. She rode well, owned a stud which could not be matched in +town, and raced for stakes which startled the conservative old city. It +was even affirmed by the more credulous or more scandalous of the +gossips that it was only the stand taken by the managers of the County +Club which prevented her on one occasion from riding as her own jockey; +and short of this there was little she did not do. + +All this, however, was in the early days of the marriage, before Dr. +Wilson had become accustomed to his position as husband of the richest +woman in town and a member of what was to him the sacred aristocracy. +When the time came that he had found his place and entered his veto +upon these wild doings, there was an instant and determined revolt on +the part of his wife. Elsie fought desperately to maintain her position +as head of the family. By way of humiliating her husband she flirted +with an openness which won for her a reputation by no means to be +envied, and she wantonly trampled on his wishes. Given a husband, +however, with an iron will and a fibre not too fine, with a good temper +and yet with a certain ruthlessness in asserting his sway, and there is +little doubt that in the end he will triumph. If a clever, handsome, +good-humored man does not subdue a wild, headstrong wife, it is almost +surely owing to over-delicacy; and Chauncy Wilson was never hampered by +this. Elsie plunged and reared when she felt the curb,--to use a figure +which in those days might have been her own,--but she was by a +judicious application of whip and spur taught that she had found her +master. The result was that she became not only manageable, but +devotedly fond of her husband. No woman was ever mastered and treated +with kindness who did not thereupon love. Dr. Wilson was too +good-natured to be unkind, and for the most part he allowed his wife to +have her way, fully aware that he had but to speak to restrain her; and +thus it came about that the household was on a most peaceful and +satisfactory basis. + +Mrs. Wilson, however, craved excitement, and ethical amusements she +laughed to scorn. She did, it is true, take up high-church piety, which +she treated, as Mrs. Staggchase did not hesitate to say, as a +plaything; but her interest in church matters was chiefly in the line +of politics. She took charge of the affairs of the Church of the +Nativity with a high hand which abashed and disquieted the devout +rector. She liked Mr. Candish, although she did not hesitate to jest at +his unpolished manners and rather unprepossessing person, and it was +inevitable that she should be unable to appreciate his self-denying +devotion. On one or two occasions she had found him to have a will not +inferior to her own; and although she resented whatever balked her +pleasure, she was yet a woman and respected power in a man. + +Mr. Candish was of all men the one least resembling the traditional +pastor of a fashionable church, and had nothing of the caressing manner +dear to the souls of self-pampered penitents. Fashionable women found +little to admire in this man with the air of a bourgeois and the +simplicity of a babe. He had, however, a strong will, and a sure faith +which was not without its effect upon his parishioners. Ladies whose +religion was largely an affair of nerves found comfort in relying upon +his simple and untroubled devotion. They were piqued by being treated +as souls rather than bodies, but this was perhaps one of the secrets of +his influence. Every woman of his flock had unconsciously some secret +conviction that to her was reserved the triumph of subduing this +intractable nature, hitherto unconquered by the fascinations of the +sex. An ugly man may generally be successful with women if he remains +sufficiently indifferent to them. His unattractiveness, suggesting, as +it must, the idea of his having cause to be especially solicitous and +humble, imparts to his attitude in such a case an all-subduing flavor +of mystery. The instinctive belief of the other sex is that he is but +protecting his sensitiveness, and each longs to tear aside the veil of +dissimulation. The rector, it may be added, was an eloquent preacher, +and he intoned the service wonderfully. His voice in speaking was +somewhat harsh, but when he intoned, it melted into a beautiful +baritone, rich, full, and sweet, which, informed by his deep and +earnest feeling, thrilled his hearers with profound emotion. Mrs. +Wilson was proud of the effect which the service at the Nativity always +had, and she took in it the double pleasure of one who claimed a share +in religious enthusiasms and who had something of the glory of a +manager whose tenor succeeds in opera. + +Into the contest over the election of a bishop to fill the place +recently left vacant Mrs. Wilson had thrown herself with characteristic +vigor. There were but two candidates now seriously considered, the Rev. +Rutherford Strathmore and Father Frontford. The former, a popular +preacher of liberal views, was regarded as the more likely to receive +the appointment, but the High Church party contested the point warmly, +supporting the claims of the Father Superior of the Clergy House which +was the home of Maurice Wynne and Philip Ashe. The political side of +the matter was exactly to Mrs. Wilson's taste. A woman has but to be +rich enough and determined enough to be allowed to amuse herself with +the highest concerns of both church and state; and Mrs. Wilson lacked +neither money nor determination. Her vigor at first disconcerted and in +the end outwardly subdued the clergy. If she actually had less +influence than she supposed, she was at least thoroughly entertained, +and that after all was her object. She interviewed influential persons, +she wrote letters, some of them sufficiently ill-judged, she sought +information in regard to the character and circumstances of the clergy +in the diocese, and did everything with the zeal and dash which +characterized whatever she undertook. + +"Have you any idea what Mrs. Wilson wants of us?" Wynne asked of +Philip, as they waited in the luxurious reception-room. + +"I only know that Father Frontford said that we were to put ourselves +under her orders," was the reply. "Of course it is something about the +election." + +Maurice looked at him keenly. + +"Old fellow," he said, "you look pale. What's the matter with you?" + +"I didn't sleep well," Ashe answered with a flush. "I went to Mrs. +Fenton's to dine, and the indulgence wasn't good for me. It's really +nothing." + +Maurice did not reply, but sank into an easy-chair and looked about +him. The room was a charming fancy of the decorator, who claimed to +have taken his inspiration from the American mullein. The ceiling was +of a pale, almost transparent blue, a tint just strong enough to +suggest a sky and yet leave it half doubtful if such a meaning were +intended; the walls were hung with a rough paper matching in hue the +velvety leaves of the plant, here and there touched with +conventionalized figures of the yellow blossoms. This contrast of green +and yellow was softened and united by a clever use of the clear red of +the mullein stamens sparingly used in the figures on the walls, in the +cords of the draperies, and in the trimmings of the velvet furniture. +The decorator had used the same simple tone for walls, furniture, and +curtains; and the effect was delightfully soothing and distinguished. + +Wynne felt somehow out of place in this room which bore the stamp of +wealth and taste so markedly. He smiled to himself a little bitterly, +recalling how alien he was to these things. Descended from a family for +generations established in a New England town, he had in his veins too +good blood to feel abashed at the sight of splendors; but he had in his +life seen little of the world outside of lecture-rooms or the Clergy +House. Born with the appreciation of sensuous delight, with the +instinctive desire for the beautiful and refined, he felt awake within +him at contact with the richness and luxury of the life which he was +now leading tastes which he had before hardly been aware of possessing. +He was being influenced by the joy of worldly life, so subtly presented +that he did not even appreciate the need of guarding against the danger. + +His reflections were cut short by the entrance of a servant who +conducted the young men to a private sitting-room up-stairs. The halls +through which they passed were hung with superb old tapestry, +interspersed with magnificent pictures. On the broad landing it was +almost as if the visitors came into the presence of a beautiful woman, +lying naked amid bright cushions in an oriental interior. As he dropped +his eyes from the alluring vision, Maurice saw in the corner the name +of the artist. + +"Fenton," he said aloud. "Did he paint that?" + +His companion started, regarding the picture with widening eyes. The +English footman, whom Wynne addressed, turned back to say over his +shoulder:-- + +"Yes, sir; they say it's his best picture, and some says he painted his +best friend's wife that way, with nothing on, sir." + +"It is a wicked picture!" Ashe said with what seemed to Maurice +unnecessary emphasis. + +The footman regarded the speaker over his shoulder with a smile. + +"Oh, that's owin' to your bein' of the cloth, sir," was his comment. +"They don't generally feel to own to likin' it; but they mostly notices +it." + +A superb screen of carved and gilded wood stood before an open door +above. When this was reached, the footman slipped noiselessly behind +it, and they heard their names announced. + +"Show them in," Mrs. Wilson's voice said. + +The lady met them in a wonderful morning gown which seemed to be +chiefly cascades of lace, with bows of carmine ribbon here and there +which brought out the color of the dark eyes and hair of the wearer. +Maurice could hardly have told why he flushed, yet he was conscious of +the feeling that there was something intimate in the costume. To be met +by this beautiful woman, her hand outstretched in greeting, her eyes +shining, her white neck rising out of the foam of laces; to breathe the +air, soft and perfumed, of this room; to be surrounded by this luxury, +these tokens of a life which stinted nothing in the pursuit of +enjoyment; more than all to appreciate by some subtle inner sense the +appealing charm of femininity, the suggestions of domestic intimacies; +all this was to the young deacon to be exposed to influences far more +formidable to the ascetic life than those grosser temptations with +which a stupid fiend assailed St. Anthony. Wynne drew a deep breath, +wondering why he felt so strangely moved and confused; yet +unconsciously steeling himself against owning to his conscience what +was the truth. + +"It is so good of you to come early," Mrs. Wilson said brightly. "I +hope you don't mind coming upstairs. I wanted to talk to you +confidentially, and we might be interrupted. Besides, you see, I am not +dressed to go down." + +The young men murmured something to the effect that they did not in the +least mind coming up. + +"Didn't mind coming up!" she echoed. "Is that the way you answer a lady +who gives you the privilege of her private sitting-room? Come, you must +do better than that. If you can't compliment me on my frock, you might +at least say that you are proud to be here." + +The two deacons stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, abashed at +her raillery. Maurice saw the lips of Ashe harden, and he hastened to +speak lest his companion should say something stern. + +"You should remember, Mrs. Wilson," he said a little timidly, yet not +without a gleam of humor, "that our curriculum at the Clergy House does +not include a course in compliment." + +"It should then," she responded gayly. "How in the world is a clergyman +to get on with the women of his congregation if he can't compliment? +Why, the salvation or the damnation of most women is determined by +compliments." + +The visitors stood speechless. Mrs. Wilson broke into a gleeful laugh. + +"Come," cried she; "now I have shocked you! Pardon me; I should have +remembered--_virginibus puerisque!_ Sit down, and we will come to +business." + +Both the young men flushed at her half-contemptuous, half-jesting +phrase, but they sat down as directed. Mrs. Wilson took her seat +directly in front of them, and proceeded to inspect them with cool +deliberation. + +"I am looking you over," she observed calmly. "I must decide what work +you are fitted for before I can assign anything to you." + +Two young men do not live together so intimately, and care for each +other so tenderly as did the two deacons without coming to know each +other well; and Maurice was so fully aware of the extreme sensitiveness +of Ashe that he involuntarily glanced at his friend to see how he bore +this inspection. He resented the impertinence of the scrutiny far more +on Philip's account than his own. Ashe's pale face had on it the +faintest possible flush, and his always grave manner had become really +solemn; but otherwise he made no sign. Wynne had a certain sense of +humor which helped him through the ordeal, and there was a faint gleam +of a smile in his eye as he confronted the brilliant woman before him; +but he was ill-pleased that his friend should be made uncomfortable. + +"Do you judge by outward appearances," he asked, "or have you power to +read the heart?" + +"Men so seldom have hearts," she retorted, "that it is not worth while +to bother with that branch." Then she added, as if thinking aloud, and +looking Ashe in the face: "You are an enthusiast, and take things with +frightful seriousness. You must see Mrs. Frostwinch. You'll just suit +her." + +Maurice could see his companion shrink under this cool directness, and +he hastened to interpose. + +"But Mrs. Frostwinch," he said, "is absorbed in Christian Science or +something, isn't she?" + +"Oh, dear, yes," Mrs. Wilson answered, toying with the broad crimson +ribbon which served her as a girdle. "There is a horrid woman named +Trapps, or Grapps, or Crapps, or something, that has fastened herself +upon cousin Anna, and is mind-curing her, or Christian-sciencing her, +or fooling her in some way; but Mrs. Frostwinch is too well-bred really +to have any sympathy with anything so vulgar. She takes to it in +desperation; but she really detests the whole thing." + +"But," Ashe began hesitatingly, "does her conscience"-- + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, making a gesture as if sweeping all that sort of +thing aside. + +"I dare say her conscience pricks her, if that's what you mean; but +it's so much easier to endure the sting of conscience than of cancer +that I'm not surprised at her choice." + +"Besides," Maurice put in, "this is all done nowadays under the name of +religion. It isn't as if it were called by the old names of mesmerism +or Indian doctoring." + +"That's true enough," assented she. "At any rate Anna is mixed up with +this woman, who gets a lot of money out of her, and earns it by making +her think that she's better. However, Cousin Anna must be made to see +that it's her duty in this case to use her influence to prevent the +election of a man who would subvert the church if he could." + +"But if you are her cousin," Ashe began, "would it not"-- + +"Be better if I went to see her myself? Not in the least. She entirely +disapproves of my having anything to do with the election. Besides, +nobody can successfully talk religion to a woman but a man." + +Maurice smiled in spite of himself at the air with which this was said, +but he none the less felt that Mrs. Wilson was flippant. + +"What influence has Mrs. Frostwinch?" he asked. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson answered, leaning back to consider, "I don't know +whether to say that she controls three votes in the upper house of the +Convention, or four." + +The two young men regarded her in puzzled silence. + +"There are at least three clergymen in the diocese that are dependent +upon her," Mrs. Wilson explained. "There is Mr. Bobbins: he married her +cousin,--not a near cousin, but near enough so that Anna has half +supported the family, and the family is always increasing. I tell Anna +that they have babies just to work on her compassion. I think it's +wrong to encourage it, myself. Then there is Mr. Maloon; he depends on +Mrs. Frostwinch to support his mission. Then there's Brother +Pewtap,--did you ever know such a lovely name for a country parson?--he +just lives on her with a family bigger than Mr. Robbins's. He's really +a Strathmore man, but he wouldn't dare to vote against her wishes. She +might manage all those votes. Besides, there's a Mr. Jewett somewhere +near Lenox that she's helped a good deal; but I haven't found out about +him yet." + +She rose as she spoke, and went to a writing-table fitted out with all +the inventions known to man for the decoration of the desk and the +encumbrance of the writer. + +"I have here a list of all the clergy of the diocese," she said, taking +up a book bound in red morocco and silver. "I've marked them down as +far as I've found out about them. It's necessary to be systematic. I've +done just as they do in canvassing a city ward." + +Maurice regarded Mrs. Wilson with ever-increasing amazement, but, too, +not without increasing amusement. He was somewhat shocked by the +business way in which she treated the subject, but his heart was set on +the election of Father Frontford; he was honest in feeling that the +church would be injured by the election of Mr. Strathmore, and he was +too completely a man not to be half-unconsciously willing that for the +accomplishment of an end he desired a woman should do many things which +he would not do himself. The three went over the list together, the +young men giving such information as they possessed, Maurice all the +time strangely divided in his mind between disapprobation of Mrs. +Wilson and admiration. Her breath was on his cheek as she bent over the +book, the perfume of her laces filled faintly the air, now and then her +hand touched his. He was not conscious of the potency of this feminine +atmosphere which enveloped him; he did not so much think personally of +Mrs. Wilson, beautiful and near though she was, as he felt her presence +as a sort of impersonation of woman. He thought of Miss Morison, and +warmed with a nameless thrill, of longing. Then he recalled the remark +of Mrs. Staggchase that he was undergoing his temptation, and his heart +sank. + +"You see," Mrs. Wilson was saying, when he forced his wandering +attention to heed her words, "men are really elected before the +convention. The work must be done now. You two can, of course, do a lot +of things that it wouldn't be good form for a regular clergyman to do. +Of course you wouldn't be able to manage the directing, but there is a +good deal of work that is in your line." + +"Of course we are glad to do what we can," Maurice responded, smiling. + +He glanced at Ashe and saw that his friend's face was stern. + +"I knew you would be," the lady went on. "Mr. Ashe is to see Mrs. +Frostwinch. You can't be too eloquent in telling her the consequences +of Mr. Strathmore's election. If you can get her to write to the men +I've named, she can secure them. It won't be amiss to flatter her a +little; and above all don't abuse the faith-cure business." + +"But if she speaks of it," Ashe returned hesitatingly, "what am I to +do?" + +"Oh, she'll be sure to speak of it; but you must manage to evade. Let +her say, and don't you contradict. She'll say enough, I've no doubt. +Very likely she'll abuse it herself; but don't for goodness' sake make +the mistake of falling in with her. If you do, it'll be fatal." + +"But I know Mrs. Frostwinch so slightly," Philip objected, "that I do +not see"-- + +"Come!" she interrupted; "there is to be none of this. You are under my +orders. I'll give you a letter to Cousin Anna now." + +"But"-- + +"But! But what?" she cried, laughing. "Do you mean that you distrust +your leader so soon? Do I look like a woman to fail?" + +She spread out her arms in a gesture half imploring, half jocose, her +laces fluttering, her ribbons waving, the ringlets about her face +dancing. Her eyes were brimming with mocking light, and however poorly +she might seem to represent ideas theological she certainly did not +personify failure. + +Maurice laughed lightly and glanced at his friend. Ashe did not smile, +but he bowed as if in resignation to the command of a leader. + +"You are to go to Mrs. Frostwinch's this very afternoon," Mrs. Wilson +declared. "It won't do to lose any time. If once her votes get pledged +to the other party, there's an end to that. That's your work. Now you," +she continued, turning to Wynne, "are to go to Springfield and the +western part of the State." + +"The western part of the State?" Maurice ejaculated in astonishment. +"Do you work there too?" + +"Of course we have to cover the whole diocese," she returned +vivaciously. "Did you suppose we left everything but Boston to the +enemy?" + +He could only reply by a stare. He had never in his life encountered +anything like this woman, and he was bewildered by her audacity, her +alertness, her beauty, and the dash with which she carried everything +off. + +"You will go to-morrow," she went on, "and I will send you the list of +the men you have to see. I'm sorry not to go over it with you, but I +have an engagement this morning, and I shall be late now. You are +staying with Mrs. Staggchase, aren't you?" + +"Yes; she is my cousin." + +"So much the better for you. It's a liberal education to have a cousin +as clever as that. Good-by. Thank you both for coming." + +She rang as she spoke, and handed the young men over to the maid who +appeared; the maid in turn handed them over to the footman, and by him +they were seen safely out of the house. As they turned away from the +door, Ashe sighed deeply, while Wynne was smiling to himself. + +"What a--a--what a woman!" Philip said fervently. "She's amazing!" + +"Oh, yes," his friend laughed; "but what do you or I know about women +anyway?" + + + + VI + + + HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + Love's Labour's Lost, i. 1. + + +As Philip Ashe, his eyes cast down in earnest thought, approached Mrs. +Frostwinch's gate that afternoon, he looked up suddenly to find himself +face to face with Mrs. Fenton. She was dressed in dark, heavy cloth, +set down the waist with small antique buckles of dark silver; and +seemed to him the perfection of elegance and beauty. + +"Good morning, Mr. Ashe," she greeted him, smiling. "I did not expect +to find you coming to hear Mrs. Crapps." + +"To hear Mrs. Crapps?" he echoed. "Who is Mrs. Crapps?" + +Mrs. Fenton turned back as she was entering the iron gate which between +stately stone posts shut off the domain of the Frostwinches from the +world, and marked with dignity the line between the dwellers on Mt. +Vernon Street and the rest of the world. + +"Do you mean," asked she, "that you didn't know that Mrs. Crapps, the +mind-cure woman, is to lecture here this afternoon?" + +Ashe drew back. + +"I certainly did not know it," he answered. "I was coming to speak to +Mrs. Frostwinch about the election." + +"It's the last of three lectures," Mrs. Fenton explained. "Mrs. Crapps, +you know, is the woman that has been curing Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Ashe stood hesitatingly silent in the gateway a moment. + +"I should like to see her," he said thoughtfully. "Not from mere +curiosity, but because I cannot understand what gives these persons a +hold over intelligent men and women." + +"The thing that gives her a hold over Mrs. Frostwinch is that she has +raised her up from a bed of sickness. Come in with me, and see her. I +should like to see how she strikes you. You can speak to Mrs. +Frostwinch after the lecture." + +He hesitated a moment, and then followed her, saying to himself with +suspicious emphasis that the fact that the invitation came from her had +nothing to do with his acceptance. He soon found himself seated in the +great dusky drawing-room of the Frostwinch house, an apartment whose +very walls were incrusted with conservative traditions. It was +furnished with richness, but both with much greater simplicity and +greater stiffness than he had seen in any of the houses he had thus far +been in. The chief decoration, one felt, was the air of the place's +having been inhabited by generations of socially immaculate Boston +ancestors. There was a savor of lineage amounting almost to godliness +in the dark, self-contained parlors; and if pedigree were not in this +dwelling imputed for righteousness, it was evidently held in becoming +reverence as the first of virtues. There are certain houses where the +atmosphere is so completely impregnated with the idea of the departed +as to give a certain effect as a spiritual morgue; and in the +drawing-room of Mrs. Frostwinch there was a good deal of this flavor of +defunct, but by no means departed, merit. Grim portraits stared coldly +from the walls, Copleys that would have looked upon a Stuart as +parvenu; the Frostwinch and Canton arms hung over the ends of the +mantel; while the very furniture seemed to condescend to visitors. Ashe +could not have told why the place affected him as overpowering, but he +none the less was conscious of the feeling. The company was apparently +nearly all assembled when he came in, and he sank down into a chair in +a corner, glad to escape observation. + +The speaker of the afternoon was already in her place when he entered, +and he examined her with curiosity. She was a woman who might have been +forty years of age, with a hard, eager, alert face; her forehead was +narrow, her lips thin and straight, her nostrils cut too high. Her eyes +were bold and sharp, dominating her face, and fixing upon the hearers +the look of a bird of prey. Mrs. Crapps's hair was tinged with gray, +and in her whole appearance there was a sharpness which seemed to speak +of one who had battled with the world. Ashe was struck by the +personality of the woman, yet strongly repelled. She was evidently a +creature of abundant vitality, and exultantly dominant of will. The +bold, black eyes sparkled with determination, and he could at once +understand that Mrs. Crapps was one to establish easily an influence +over any nature naturally weak or debilitated by disease. + +Ashe listened with curiosity to the opening of the address. The voice +of the speaker had much of the vivacity of her glance. She spoke with +an air of candor and frankness, and yet Philip found himself +distrusting her from the outset. He said to himself that it was because +he was prejudiced, that he doubted; but he yet felt that her manner +would in any case have begotten repulsion. She had that air of +insistence, of determination to be believed, which belongs to the +speaker who is absorbed rather in the desire to prevail than in the +wish to be true. He felt that her air of conviction was no proof of her +conception of the truth of what she was saying; she protested too much. +He was at first so absorbed in watching the woman that he paid little +heed to her theories; but he soon began to flush with indignation. This +woman, with her bold air and masculine dominance, sat there talking of +herself as a present incarnation of Christ; of Christ as the +incarnation of the human will; of disease as a sin; and of death as a +mere figment of the imagination. The paganism of the Persian as he had +heard it at Mrs. Gore's seemed to him less offensive than this. He +moved uneasily in his seat, his cheeks flushing, and his lips pressed +together. Presently he felt the glance of Mrs. Fenton, who sat near +him, and looking up he encountered her eyes. She seemed to him to show +sympathy with his feeling, but to remind him that this was not the time +or place for protest. He regained instantly his self-control, and +perhaps from that time on thought less of Mrs. Crapps than of his +neighbor. + +The talk of Mrs. Crapps was commonplace enough, and hackneyed enough, +could Ashe but have known it. There was the usual patter about +spiritual and physical freedom, about faith and perfection, "the Deific +principle as a rule of health," a jumble of things medical and things +physical, things profane and things holy mingled in a strange and +unintelligible jargon. By the time that the eager-eyed speaker had +talked for an hour Ashe felt his mind to be in confusion, and he could +not but feel that not a few of the hearers must be in a state of utter +mental bewilderment if the address had impressed at all. + +"The end of the whole matter is," Mrs. Crapps said in closing, "that +mankind has for ages submitted to this cruel superstition of death. We +have bowed ourselves beneath the wheels of this Juggernaut; we have +sent to the dark tomb our best loved friends; we crouch and cower in +awful fear of the time when we shall follow. We hear ever thrilling in +our ears the quivering minor chord of human woe, voice of the burning +heart-pain of the race, launched rudderless upon a troubled sea of woe, +and undrowned even by the throbbing march-beats of the progression of +man down the vista of the ages. And yet there is no death. This fear is +only the terror of children frightened by ghosts of their own +invention. What we dread has no existence save in the fevered and +fancy-fed fear of blinded men. O my hearers, why can we not seize upon +the hem of this truth which the Messiah came to teach! Death is but +sin; and sin has been removed by atonement; the holiness of the soul is +immortal. There is, there can be no death! Receive the glad tidings, +and cry it aloud! There is no death! Let all the earth hear, until +there is none so base, so low, so poor, so ignorant, so sinful that he +shall not be immortal. It is his birthright, for we are all born to +eternal life." + +The voice of Mrs. Crapps took on a more persuasive inflection as she +delivered this peroration; and it was easy to see that she had affected +the nerves if not the minds of her audience. There was a deep hush as +she concluded. She lifted for a moment her sharp black eyes toward +heaven, and then dropped her glance to earth, as if overcome by +feeling, or as if with awe she had caught sight of sacred mysteries +which it was not lawful to look upon. In a moment more she raised her +eyes, and invited any of her hearers to question her about anything +connected with the subject which troubled them. For a breathing time +there was silence, and then a lady asked with a puzzled air:-- + +"But do you Christian Scientists deny"-- + +"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Crapps interrupted, leaning forward with a +deprecatory smile, "but I am not a Christian Scientist." + +"I mean do you Faith Healers"-- + +"That is not our title," Mrs. Crapps said with gentle insistence. + +"Are you called Mind Curers, then?" + +"No," the priestess responded, with an air lofty yet condescending; +"with those forms of error we have no dealing or sympathy. It is true +that those who teach faith-healing, mind-cure, or any sort of religious +rejuvenance, have in part taken our high tenets; but they have in each +case obscured them by errors and follies of their own. We are the +Christian Faith Healed,--not healers, you will observe, because we +believe that all mankind are really healed, and that all that is needed +is that they recognize and acknowledge this precious truth." + +The ladies present looked at one another in some confusion, and Ashe +caught in the eyes of Mrs. Staggchase, who sat half facing him, a gleam +of amusement. This emboldened him to repeat the question which had been +abandoned by its first asker, who had evidently been overwhelmed by the +delicacy of the distinction of sects made by Mrs. Crapps. + +"Do you then," he asked, "deny the existence of death?" + +"Utterly," the seeress returned, bending upon him a bold look as if to +challenge him to differ from what she asserted. "It is as amazing as it +is melancholy that mankind should have submitted to the indignity of +death so long." + +"How can they submit to that which does not exist?" + +"It exists in seeming, but not in reality." + +A murmur ran through the company, and Philip met the eyes of Mrs. +Fenton, who shook her head slightly, as who would say that discussion +was futile. + +"But--but how"--one hearer began falteringly, and then stopped, +evidently too overwhelmed by the astounding nature of the proposition +laid down to be able even to frame a question. + +"Indeed," Mrs. Crapps said, taking up the word, "we may well ask how. +It transcends the incredible that the monstrous delusion of death +should ever have been entertained for an instant. The explanation lies +in sin. Death is but the projection of a sin-burdened conscience upon +the mists of the unknown. Thank God that it has been given to our +generation to tear away the veil from this falsehood, and to recognize +the absolute unreality of the phantom which the ignorance and +superstition of guilty humanity have conjured up." The smooth, +deliberate voice of Mrs. Staggchase broke the silence which this +declaration produced. + +"It is then your idea that death comes entirely from the belief of +mankind?" + +"What we call death undoubtedly has that origin," Mrs. Crapps answered. + +"How then could so extraordinary a delusion have had a beginning?" + +A faint shade crossed the face of the seeress, but it merged instantly +into a smile of patient superiority. + +"That is the question unbelief always asks," she said. "It seems so +difficult to answer, and yet it is really so simple. The idea of death +of course arose from a distorted projection of the condition of sleep +upon the diseased imagination. With sin came the bewilderment of human +reason, and the delusion followed as an inevitable morbid growth." + +"Then the earlier generations of mankind were immortal?" + +"Undoubtedly. We have traces of the fact in all the old mythologies." + +"But what became of them?" + +"Once the idea of death had entered the world," Mrs. Crapps said +impressively, "it spread like the plague until it had infected all +mankind. Even those who had lived for ages to prove it false were not +able to resist the prevalence of the thing they knew to be untrue,--any +more," she added, dropping her eyes, and speaking in a tone sad and +patient, "than we who to-day understand that there is no such thing as +death can resist the overwhelming power of the belief of the masses of +the race. The might of the will of the majority, directed by an +appalling delusion, compels us to submit to that which we yet know to +be an unreality." + +Again there was a hush. The woman was appealing to the most fundamental +facts of human experience and the most poignant emotions of human life, +and boldly denying or confounding both. It seemed to Ashe that the only +possible answer to such talk was an accusation either of madness or +blasphemy. The silence was once more broken by Mrs. Staggchase. + +"But if there is no such thing as death," she observed, with the +faintest touch of irony perceptible in her well-bred voice, "of course +you do not really die; and since you do not share the general delusion +in thinking yourselves to be dead, it would seem to follow that +although you may be dead for the world in general, you are still +immortal for yourselves and each other." + +The black eyes of Mrs. Crapps sparkled, but she controlled herself, and +shook her head with an air of gentle remonstrance. + +"It proves how strong is the hold upon mankind of this delusion," she +said, "that what I tell you appears incredible. The truth is always +incredible, because the blind eyes of humanity can see only half-truths +except by great effort. I have tried to enlighten you, and I can do no +more. It is for you and not for myself that I speak." + +She rose from her chair, which seemed to be the signal for the breaking +up of the assembly, and that her cleverness in securing the last word +was not without its effect was apparent by the murmurs of the company. +In another moment, however, Ashe heard as at Mrs. Gore's the exchange +of greetings and bits of news, the making of appointments for shopping +or theatre-going, and all the trivial chat of daily life. He stood +aside until the crowd should thin, and in the mean time had the +felicity of being near Mrs. Fenton. He began to feel himself almost +overcome by the delight of being so near her, of meeting her clear +glance, frank and sympathetic, of hearing her voice, of noting the +ripples of her hair, the curve of nostril and neck. He was like a boy +in the first budding of passion before reason has softened the +extravagance of his feeling. The talk of the afternoon, his indignation +at the words of Mrs. Crapps, his feeling that he had been assisting at +a sacrament of impiety, were all forgotten as he stood talking to his +neighbor. + +"Come," she said at length, "I must speak to Mrs. Frostwinch before I +go." + +He bent forward to remove a chair which was in her way, and her gloved +hand brushed against his. He covered the spot with his other hand as if +he would preserve the precious touch. + +"I found Mr. Ashe at the door," Mrs. Fenton said to the hostess, "and I +would not let him turn back. I was too much interested in his errand." + +"I am sorry if he needed urging to come in," Mrs. Frostwinch responded +with graceful courtesy; "but what was the errand?" + +"Mrs. Wilson asked me to see you in relation to the election," Ashe +answered. + +"Elsie is having a beautiful time managing this election," commented +Mrs. Frostwinch. "She hasn't been so amused for a long time. She thinks +Father Frontford is a puppet in her hands, while he knows that she is +one in his." + +"I hope," Mrs. Fenton put in, "that you may be able to help Mr. Ashe. I +can answer for it that he is not making the matter one of amusement." + +Ashe could not help flushing. He thanked her with a glance, and turned +again to Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"I do not know or like the electioneering of such affairs," he said +gravely; "but since there is a strong effort being made on the other +side it certainly seems necessary to do whatever can be done fairly." + +A few last visitors who had been chatting among themselves now came +forward to say good-by. Mrs. Fenton also took leave, and Ashe found +himself alone with his hostess and Mrs. Crapps. + +"Mrs. Crapps, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch said. + +It seemed to him that there was in the manner of Mrs. Frostwinch +something of condescension, as if the Faith Healed was a sort of upper +servant. He had himself not outlived the ingenuous period wherein a +youth feels that the preservation of truth in the world depends upon +his not covering his impressions, and he was accordingly extremely cold +in his manner. + +"Ah, a new disciple to our faith, I trust," Mrs. Crapps said, fixing +upon him her keen, bold eyes. + +"I have never even heard of your doctrine until to-day," he answered. + +"But surely it must strike you at once," she responded, with a manner +evidently meant to be insinuating. + +He hesitated. He remembered that he had been expressly warned not to +say anything against the vagaries with which Mrs. Frostwinch was +concerned; but his conscience would not allow him to evade this direct +challenge. + +"It struck me as being blasphemous," he responded with unnecessary +fervor. + +Mrs. Crapps raised her eyes to the ceiling, and uttered a theatrical +sigh. + +"Oh, sacred truth!" she exclaimed. + +"Come, Mrs. Crapps," Mrs. Frostwinch interposed almost sharply, "you +know that Mr. Ashe is right. It is blasphemous, and I feel as if I'd +allowed my house to be used for a sacrifice to false gods. If you will +excuse us, I wish to speak with Mr. Ashe on business. Will you kindly +come to the library, Mr. Ashe." + +As he followed, Philip caught sight in a mirror of the face of Mrs. +Crapps. It wore a singular smile, but whether of anger or contempt he +could not tell. + +"I dare say, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch remarked, as soon as they were +seated in the library, "that it seems strange to you that I have that +woman speak in my parlors. Of course I don't mean to apologize, but I +am sorry that you should hear things that shocked you." + +"Dear madam," he answered, leaning forward in his eagerness, "what I +heard does not matter; but it does seem to me a pity that such things +should be said, and said under your protection." + +He was too much in earnest to be self-conscious, even when she regarded +him in silence a moment before replying. + +"You are perhaps right," she said at length, "although you exaggerate +the influence of such things." + +"I do not pretend to know whether they are influential or not," he +returned simply. "It is only that they do not seem to me to be right. +If they are wrong, they are wrong." + +She smiled and sighed. + +"Life is not so simple as that," was her reply. "The woman has saved my +life. I should have been in my grave months ago but for her. My +physician insists now that I haven't any real right to be out of it. I +cannot refuse to allow her to say the thing that she believes, since +that thing has a certain proof in my very life." + +Philip shook his head. + +"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts +of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston +seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names +and aid"-- + +He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the +fact that he was condemning her. + +"There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented. "I suppose +that the difficulty is that we have ceased to recognize any authority +in matters of belief." + +"But the church!" + +"Yes, there is the church," she said doubtfully, "but to many it has +ceased to be an authority, and modern thought allows so much individual +freedom. Our church has never claimed to be infallible like the +Catholic; and individual freedom of conscience has come pretty +generally to mean freedom from conscience." + +"Then it is a pity that the authority which is exercised in the Roman +church is not exercised in ours." + +"Ah, Mr. Ashe, you reckon without the spirit of the age in which we +live. But tell me what I can do for you in the matter of the election." + +Mrs. Frostwinch was a devout churchwoman in her way, although she was +now in appearance following after strange gods. She readily promised +her aid in favor of Father Frontford. + +"I agree with you, Mr. Ashe," she said, "that everything possible +should be done to stem the tide of laxness which seems advancing +everywhere. The mental reservations of Mr. Strathmore are certainly so +broad that they may cover anything. I know women who go to his church +and simply say the beginning of the creed: 'I believe in God;' and who +do not hesitate in private to explain that by the name God they mean +whatever force it is that moves the universe, whether it is intelligent +or not." + +"How dreadful!" Philip exclaimed. "How can the church endure if this +goes on?" + +They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that +she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her +pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he +had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions. Yet +perhaps more potent still in warming his heart was the remembrance of +the pleasant words which Mrs. Fenton had spoken in his behalf. The +memory colored all his thoughts of elections, of bishops, and of +creeds, as a gleam of rosy light tinges all upon which it falls. + + + + VII + + + THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + Othello, iv. 1. + + +"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing +with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should +she send parlor-car checks too?" + +"It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, +smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it +is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church +now"-- + +"If I don't go as a representative of the church," he responded, as she +paused with a significant smile, "I go as nothing." + +"Oh, I thought that it was Elsie that was sending you. However, it's no +matter. The point is that you are becoming acquainted with the luxuries +of life. You are being tried by the insidious softness of the world." + +He regarded her with some inward irritation. He had a half-defined +conviction that she was mocking him, and that her words were more than +mere badinage. He was not without a suspicion that his cousin was +sometimes histrionic, and that many things which she said were to be +regarded as stage talk. He did not know how far to take her seriously, +and this gave him a feeling at once confused and uncomfortable. To be +played with as if he were not of discernment ripe enough to perceive +her raillery or as if he were not of consequence sufficient to be taken +seriously, offended his vanity; and the man whom the devil cannot +conquer through his vanity is invulnerable. Wynne had no answer now for +the words of Mrs. Staggchase. He contented himself with a glance not +entirely free from resentment, at which she laughed. + +"I wonder, Cousin Maurice," she said, "if you realize how completely +you have changed in the ten days you have been here. It is like +bringing into light a plant that has been sprouting in the dark." + +He did not answer for a moment, trying to find it possible to deny the +charge. + +"The fact that you know me better makes me seem different," he answered +evasively. + +"How much has the fact that you don't know yourself so well to do with +it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, anything you like. I merely suspect that you are not so sure of +your vocation as you were in the Clergy House. Even a deacon is human, +I suppose; and if life is alluring, he can't help feeling it. Are you +still sure that the clergy should be celibate, for instance?" + +He felt her eyes piercing him as if his secret thoughts were open to +her, and he knew that he was flushing to his very hair. He hastened to +answer, not only that he might not think, but that she might not +perceive that he had admitted any doubt to his heart. + +"More than ever," he responded. "It is impossible not to see that a +clergyman who is married must have his thoughts distracted from his +sacred calling." + +Mrs. Staggchase leaned back in her chair and regarded him with the +smile which he found always so puzzling and so disconcerting. + +"You did that very well," she said, "only you shouldn't have put in the +word 'sacred.' That made it all sound conventional. However, you +probably meant it. She is distracting." + +The hot blood leaped into his face so that he knew that it was utterly +impossible to conceal his confusion. + +"I don't know what you mean," he stammered. + +Instantly his conscience reproached him with not speaking the truth. He +responded to his conscience that it was impossible in circumstances +like these to say the whole, and that what he had said was not untrue. +He could not know what his cousin meant by her pronoun, and if the +thought of Miss Morison had come instantly into his mind, it by no +means followed that it was she of whom Mrs. Staggchase was thinking. +Life seemed suddenly more complex than he had ever dreamed it possible; +and before this remark the unsophisticated deacon became so completely +confused that for the instant it was his instinctive wish to be once +more safely within the sheltering walls of the Clergy House, protected +from the temptations and vexations of the world. He was after all of a +nature which did not yield readily, however, and the next thought was +one of defiance. He would not yield up his secret, and he defied the +world to drag it from him. His companion smiled upon him with the +baffling look which her husband called her Mona Lisa expression, and +then she laughed outright. + +"My dear boy," she said, "you are no more a priest than I am; and you +are as transparent as a piece of crystal. Well, I am fond of you, and +I'm glad to have a hand in proving to you that you are not meant for +the priesthood before it's too late." + +"But it hasn't been proved to me," he cried, not without some sternness. + +"Oh, bless you, it's in train, and that's the same thing. 'Not poppy, +nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the east' could put you to +sleep again in the dream you had in the Clergy House. It will take you +a little longer to find yourself out, but the thing is done +nevertheless." + +As she spoke, a servant came to the door to announce the carriage. Mrs. +Staggchase held out her hand. + +"Good-by," she said, as Maurice rose, and came forward to take it. "I +hope that we shall see you again in a couple of days. I have still a +good deal to show you." + +He had recovered his self-possession a little, and answered her with a +smile:-- + +"You make it so delightful for me here that I am not sure you are not +right in saying that you are my temptation." + +"Oh, I've already given up the office of tempter," she responded +quickly. "I found a rival, and that I never could endure. You'll have +your temptation with you." + +It seemed to Maurice when he came to take his seat in the parlor car +that his cousin was little short of a witch. In the chair next to his +own sat Berenice Morison. She greeted him with a friendly nod and smile. + +"Mrs. Wilson told me that you were going on this train," she said, "and +she got a chair for you next to mine so that you should take care of +me." + +He bowed rather confusedly, but with his heart full of delight. + +"I shall be glad to do anything I can for you," he answered, vexed that +he had not a better reply at command. + +He saw the dapper young man across the aisle regard him curiously, and +a feeling of dissatisfaction came over him as he reflected upon the +singularity of his garb, and the incongruity between the clerical dress +and the squiring of dames. Religious fervor is nourished by martyrdom, +but it is seldom proof against ridicule. It is not impossible that the +faint shade of amusement which Maurice fancied he detected in the eyes +of the stranger opposite was a more effective cause for discontent with +his calling than any of the influences to which he had been exposed +under the auspices of Mrs. Staggchase. + +He could not help feeling, moreover, that there was a gleam of fun in +the clear dark eyes of Miss Morison. She was so completely at ease, so +entirely mistress of the situation, that Wynne, little accustomed to +the society of women, and secretly a little disconcerted by the +surprise, felt himself at a disadvantage. It touched his vanity that he +should be smiled at by the trimly appointed dandy opposite, and that he +should be in experience and self-possession inferior to the girl beside +him. He began vaguely to wonder what he had been doing all his life; he +reflected that he had not in his old college days been so ill at ease, +and it annoyed him to think that two years in the Clergy House should +have put him so out of touch with the simplest matters of life. He said +to himself scornfully that he was a monk already; and the thought, +which would once have given him satisfaction, was now fraught with +nothing but vexation and self-contempt. He had a subtile inclination to +give himself up to the impulse of the moment. He felt the intoxication +of the presence of Miss Morison, and he yielded to it with frank +unscrupulousness. He resolved that he would repent afterward; yet +instantly demanded of himself if this were really a sin. He was after +all a man, if he had chosen the ecclesiastic calling. If indeed he were +transgressing he told himself half contemptuously that as he did +penance doubly, once that imposed by his own spiritual director and +again that set by the Catholic at the North End, he might be held to +expiate amply the pleasure of this hour. He at least was determined to +forget for the once that he was a priest, and to remember only that he +was a man, and that he loved this beautiful creature beside him. He +noted the curve of her clear cheek and shell-like ear; the sweep of her +eyelashes and the liquid deeps of her dark eyes. He let his glance +follow the line of her neck below the rounded chin, and became suddenly +conscious that he was fascinated by the soft swell of her bosom. The +blood came into his cheeks, and he looked hastily out of the window. + +The train was already clear of the city, and was speeding through the +suburbs, rattling gayly and noisily past the ostentatious stations and +the scattered houses. Maurice felt that his companion was secretly +observing him, although she was apparently looking at the landscape +which slid precipitately past. He wished to say something, and desired +that it should not be clerical in tone. He would fain have spoken, not +as a deacon, but as a man of the world. + +"Are you going to New York?" he asked. + +"I shall not have the pleasure of your company so far," she returned +with a smile. + +"No," he responded naively. "I am going only to Springfield." + +"Ah," she said, smiling again; and too late he realized that she had +meant that she was not going through. + +He was the more vexed with himself because he was sure that his +confusion was so plain that she could not but see it, and that it was +with a kind intention of relieving his embarrassment that she spoke +again. + +"I am going to visit my grandmother in Brookfield." + +He replied by some sort of an unintelligible murmur, and was doubly +angry with himself for being so shy and awkward. He glanced furtively +at the trim young man opposite, and was relieved to find that that +individual was reading and giving no heed. He wondered why he should be +so completely thrown out of his usual self-possession by this girl, so +that when he talked to her, and was most anxious to appear at his best, +he was most surely at his worst. There came whimsically into his head a +thought of the wisdom of training the clergy to the social gifts and +graces, and he remembered the flippant speech of Mrs. Wilson about the +need of their being able to pay compliments. + +"I seem to be specially stupid when I try to talk to you," he said with +boyish frankness. + +Miss Morison looked at him curiously. + +"Am I to take that as a compliment or the reverse?" she asked. + +"It must be a compliment, I suppose, for it shows how much power you +have over me." + +He was reassured by her smile, and felt that this was not so badly said. + +"The power to make you stupid, I think you intimated." + +"Oh, no," he responded, with more eagerness than the occasion called +for; "I didn't mean that." + +She smiled again, a smile which seemed to him nothing less than +adorable, and yet which teased him a little, although he could not tell +why. She took up the novel which lay in her lap. + +"Have you read this?" she inquired. + +He shook his head. + +"You forget," he answered, "that I am a deacon. At the Clergy House we +do not read novels." + +"How little you must know of life," returned she. + +There was a silence of some moments. The train rushed on, past fields +desolate under patches of snow, and stark, leafless trees; over rivers +dotted with cakes of grimy ice; between banks of frost-gnawed rock. The +landscape in the dim January afternoon was gray and gloomy; and as day +declined everything became more lorn and forbidding. Maurice turned +away from the window, and sighed. + +"How disconsolate the country looks!" said he. "I am country bred, and +I don't know that I ever thought of the sadness of it; but now if I see +the country in winter it makes me sigh for the people who have to live +there all the year round." + +"But they don't notice it any more than you did when you lived in it." + +"Perhaps not; but it seems to me as if they must. At any rate they must +feel the effects of it, whether they are conscious of it or not." + +Miss Morison looked out at the dull, sodden fields and stark trees. + +"I am afraid that you were never a true lover of the country," said she +thoughtfully. "You should know my grandmother. She is almost ninety, +but she is as young as a girl in her teens. She has lived in the finest +cities in the world,--London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and of course our +American cities. Now she is happiest in the country, and can hardly be +persuaded to stay in town. She says that she loves the sound of the +wind and the rain better than the noise of the street-cars." + +"That I can understand," he answered; "but I am interested in men. I +don't like to be away from them. There is something intoxicating in the +presence of masses of human beings, in the mere sense that so many +people are alive about you." + +She looked at him with more interest than he had ever seen in her eyes. + +"But I don't understand," she began hesitatingly, "why"-- + +"Why what?" he asked as she paused. + +"I don't know that I ought to say it, but having begun I may as well +finish. I was going to say that I could not understand how one so +interested in men and so sensitive to humanity could be content to +choose a profession which cuts him off from so much of active life." + +"It was from interest in men, I suppose, that I chose it. I wanted to +reach them, to do something for them. Although," Maurice concluded, +flushing, "I don't think that I realized at that time the feeling of +being carried away by the mere presence of crowds of living beings." + +There was another interval of silence, during which they both looked +out at the cold landscape, blotted and marred by patches of snow tawny +from a recent thaw. + +"I doubt if you have got the whole of it," Miss Morison said +thoughtfully, turning toward him. "Dear old grandmother is as deeply +interested in the human as anybody can be. She always makes me feel +that my life in the midst of folk is very thin and poor as compared to +hers. She has known almost everybody worth knowing. Grandfather was +minister to England and Russia, and she of course was with him. Yet +she's content and happy off here in Brookfield." + +"Perhaps," Wynne returned hesitatingly, "there's something the matter +with the age. I don't suppose that at her time of life she has anything +of this generation's restless"-- + +He broke off abruptly. + +"Well?" his companion said curiously. + +He smiled and sighed. + +"I don't know why I am talking to you so frankly," replied he. "As a +matter of fact I find that I'm more frank with you than I am with +myself. I've always refused to own to myself that there was anything +restless in my feeling toward life; yet here I am saying it to you." + +"One often thinks things out in that way. Hasn't that been your +experience?" + +"Yes," he responded thoughtfully; "although I don't know that I ever +realized it before. I see now that I've often reasoned out things that +bothered me simply by trying to tell them to my friend, Mr. Ashe." + +"Is he your bosom friend and confidant? It is usually supposed to be a +woman in such a case." + +"Oh, no," was his somewhat too eager rejoinder; "I never talked like +this to a woman. I never wanted to before." + +A look which passed over her face seemed to tell him that the talk was +taking a tone more confidential than she liked. He was keyed up to a +pitch of excitement and of sensitiveness; and a thrill of +disappointment pierced him. He became at once silent; and then he +fancied that she glanced at him as if in question why his mood had +changed so suddenly. The train rolled into the station at Worcester, +and he went out to walk a moment on the platform, and to try to collect +his thoughts. He had forgotten now to question his right to be enjoying +the companionship of Miss Morison; he gloated over her friendly looks +and words, thinking of how he might have said this and that, and thus +have appeared to better advantage, and resolving to be more +self-controlled for the remainder of the ride. The open air was +refreshing; and a great sense of joyousness filled him to overflowing. +When again he took his seat in the car he could have laughed from +simple pleasure. + +The chat of the latter part of the journey was more easy and +unconstrained than at the beginning. It was not clear to Wynne what the +change was, but he was aware that he was somehow talking less +self-consciously than before. They spoke of one thing and another, and +it teased the young man somewhat that when now and then his companion +mentioned a book he had seldom seen it. The things which he had read of +late years he knew without asking that she would not have seen. Even +the names of current writers of fiction were hardly known to him, and +an allusion to what they had written was beyond him. In spite of a word +which now and again brought out the difference between his world and +hers, however, Maurice thoroughly enjoyed the talk. Now and then he +would reflect in a sort of sub-consciousness that the delight of this +hour was to be dearly paid for with penance and repentance, but this +provoked in him rather the determination at least to enjoy it to the +full while it lasted, than any inclination to deny himself the present +gratification. + +It has been remarked that the ecclesiastical temper is histrionic; and +Wynne was not without a share of this spirit. He would have gone to the +stake for a conviction, and made a beautifully effective death-scene +for the edification of men and angels, not for a moment aware that +there was anything artificial in what he was doing. Now he was not +without a consciousness that he was playing the role of a lover and a +prodigal, sincere in his love and devotion; yet none the less subtly +aware how much more interesting is repentance when there is genuine +human passion to repent, is renunciation when there is real love to +sacrifice; of how much more effective is saintliness set off against a +background of transgression. It was a real if somewhat childish joy to +be able to sin actually yet without going beyond hope; of being +dramatically false to his vows without crossing the line of possible +pardon. + +"We shall be in Brookfield in ten minutes," Miss Morison said, +beginning to look about for her belongings. "We pass the New York +express just here." + +Hardly had she spoken when suddenly and without warning there was an +outburst of shrieks from the whistle of the engine, answered and +blended with that of another. Before Maurice could realize what the +outburst meant, there followed a horrible shock which seemed to +dislocate every joint in his body. Berenice was thrown violently into +his arms, flung as a dead weight, and shrieking as she fell against his +breast. Instinctively he clasped her, and in the terror of the moment +it was for a brief instant no more to him that his embrace enfolded her +than if she had been the veriest stranger. A hideous din of yells, of +crashing wood and rending iron, of shivering glass, of escaping steam, +of indescribable sounds which had no resemblance to anything which he +had ever heard or dreamed of, and which seemed to beat upon his ears +and his brain like blows of bludgeons wielded by the hands of infuriate +giants. The end of the car before him was beaten in; splinters of wood +and fragments of glass flew about him like hail; it was like being +without warning exposed to the fiercest fire of batteries of an +implacable enemy. A woman was dashed at his very feet torn and +bleeding, her face mangled so that he grew sick and faint at the sight; +pinned against the seat opposite, transfixed by a long splinter as with +a javelin, was the dapper young man, horribly writhing and mowing, and +then stark dead in an instant, staring with wide open eyes and +distorted face like a ghastly mask. Moans and shrieks, grindings and +roarings, howlings and babbling cries that were human yet were +piercingly inarticulate filled the air with an inhuman din which drove +him to a frenzy. It seemed as if the world had been torn into fragments. + +Yet all this was within the space of a second. Indeed, although all +these things happened and he saw and heard them clearly, there was no +pause between the first alarming whistle and the overturning of the car +which now came. He was lifted up; he saw the whole car sway with a +dizzying, sickening motion, and then plunge violently over. Fortunately +it so turned that he and Miss Morison were on the upper side. He fell +across the aisle, striking the chair opposite, but somehow +instinctively managing to protect Berenice from the force of the +concussion. She no longer cried out, but she clung convulsively about +his neck, and as they swayed for the fall he saw in her eyes a look of +wild and desperate appeal. He forgot then everything but her. The +desire to protect and save her, the feeling that he belonged absolutely +to her and that even to the death he would serve her, swallowed up +every other feeling. As they went over a vise-like grip caught his arm, +and amid all the infernal confusion he somehow connected that +despairing clutch with a succession of shrill and piercing shrieks +which rang in his ear, seeming to be close to him. He remembered that +in the chair behind his had been a young girl, and he felt a pity for +her that choked him like a hand at his throat. Then as they went down +he instinctively but vainly tried to shake off the hold, which was as +that of a trap. It was like being in the actual grip of death. + +All sorts of loose articles fell with them from the upturned side of +the car to the other; they were part of a cataract of falling bodies, +involved as in a crushing avalanche. Wynne found himself in this +falling shower crumpled up between two chairs, one of his feet +evidently thrust through a broken window and the other still held by +that convulsive clasp. Miss Morison was half above him, partly +supported by a chair which still held by its fastenings to the floor. +He could not see her face, and his body was so twisted that he could +not move his head with freedom. Berenice was evidently insensible, but +whether stunned from the shock or more seriously hurt he could not +tell. He struggled fiercely to free himself, straining her to his +breast. There were still movements in the car after it had overturned. +It rocked and settled; for some time small articles continued to fall. +He drew the face of the unconscious girl more closely into his bosom to +protect it. As he did so he was aware that his arm was hurt. A burning, +biting pain singled itself out from all the aches of blows and +contusions. He seemed to remember that a long time ago, some hours +nearer the beginning of this catastrophe which had lasted but a moment, +he had felt something rip and tear the flesh; but he had been so +absorbed in the attempt to shield Berenice that he had not heeded. Now +the anguish was so great that it seemed impossible to endure it. He set +his teeth together, determined not to cry out lest she should hear him +and think that he lacked courage. Then it seemed to him that he was +swooning. He struggled against the feeling; and for what seemed to him +an interminable time he wavered between consciousness and +insensibility. It was either growing darker or he was losing the power +to see. He could not distinguish clearly any longer that human hand, +smeared with blood, sticking ludicrously in the air from amid a pile of +bags, coats, and all sorts of things thrown together just where the +position of his head constrained him to look. He had been seeing that +hand for a long time, it seemed to him, and only now that the darkness +had so increased as to cut it off from his sight did he realize what it +was and what it must mean. + +He still retained a consciousness of the face of Berenice, warm against +his bosom, and with each wave of faintness he struggled to keep his +senses that he might protect her. The din of noises seemed far away, +the cries somewhere at a distance ever increasing. The moans that had +seemed to him those of the girl who clutched his arm grew fainter, +until they were lost in the buzz and whirr of a hundred other sounds. +Then the clasp which held him relaxed as suddenly as if a rope had been +cut away. It came into his mind with a wave of horror that the girl who +had held him was dead. The thought that Berenice might be dead also +followed like a flash, and aroused his benumbed senses. He spoke to +her; he tried to move; to release her from her position. He seemed +buried under a mound of debris, and she gave no sign of life. He +exhausted himself in frantic attempts to escape; to get his arms free; +to turn his head far enough to see her face; to thrust back the rubbish +which had fallen against them. The anguish to his arm was so great that +he could not continue; he could do nothing but suffer whatever fate had +in store for him. He tried to pray; but his prayers were broken and +confused ejaculations. + +All at once he distinguished amid the chaos of noises roaring and +singing in his ears something which made his heart stand still; which +pierced to his dulled consciousness like a stab. It was the cry of +"Fire!" He had once seen a servant with her hair in flames, and +instantly arose before him the picture of her shriveling locks and the +terror of her face. He seemed to see the dear head on his bosom--The +thought was more than he could bear, and for the first time he cried +out, shouting for help in a transport of frenzied fear. He was so +absorbed in his thought of Berenice that he had forgotten himself; but +the realization of his own peril revived as a waft of smoke came over +him, choking and bewildering. He was then to die here, stifled or +wrapped in the torture of flame. Then the wild and desperate thought +sprang up that at least if he must die he should die with her on his +bosom, clasped in his arms. He might give himself up to the delirium of +that joy, since there was no more of earth to contaminate it. But the +horror of it! The anguish for her as well as for him! Not by fire! His +thoughts whirled in his brain like sparks caught in a hurricane. He +scarcely knew where he was or what had happened to him. Only he was +acutely aware of the acrid smoke, of how it increased, constantly more +dense and stifling. + +However the mind may for a moment be turned aside from its usual way by +circumstances, habit is quick to reassert itself. The habitual +constrains men even in the midst of events the most startling. The mind +of Wynne had been too long bred in priestly forms not to turn to the +religious view here in the face of death. His conscience cried out that +he might be responsible for the peril and disaster which had come upon +them. With the unconscious egotism of the devotee, he felt that heaven +had been avenging the impiousness of his sin. He had dared to trifle +with his sacred calling, to look back to the loves of the world and of +the flesh, and swift destruction had overtaken him. And Berenice had +been crushed by the divine vengeance which had so deservedly fallen on +him. He groaned in anguish, seeming to see how she had perished through +the blight of his passion. Not by fire, O God! Not by fire! How long +would it be possible to breathe in this stifling reek, heavy with +unspeakable odors? It was his crime that had brought her to this death. +He, a man set apart and consecrated to the work of God, had turned from +heaven to earth, and heaven had smitten with one blow him and the woman +who had been unwittingly his temptation. And she so innocent, so pure, +so sacred! Through his distraught mind rushed a pang of hatred against +the power that could do this. He was willing to suffer for his sin, but +where was the justice of involving her in his ruin? It was because this +was what would hurt him most! It was the work of a devil! Then this +thought seemed to him a new transgression which might lessen the +chances of his being able to save her, and he tried to forget it in +prayer, to atone by penitence. He offered his own life amid whatever +tortures would propitiate the offended deity, but he prayed that she +might be spared. + +All this time--and whether the time were long or short he could not +tell--he had heard continued cries and groans. He had now and then been +dully aware of a change in the noises. Now it would seem as if all else +was swallowed up in the sound of tremendous blows, as if the car were +being struck again and again by a mighty battering-ram. Then a chorus +of shouting went roaring up, as if an army cried. Noise and physical +sensation were too intimately blended to be separated; his brain +struggled in confusion, emerging now and then for a moment of +consecutive thought and sinking back into semi-unconsciousness as a +spent swimmer goes down, fighting wildly for life. He knew that a light +had come into the car. He saw it amid the smoke, and his first thought +was that it was flame. Dulled and half asphyxiated, he said to himself +now almost with indifference that the end had come. Then with a thrill +which for a moment aroused all his energies he recognized that it was +the glow of a lantern. He was aware that rescuers were close above him, +climbing down through the windows over his very head. He cried to them +in a paroxysm of appeal:-- + +"Save her! Save her!" + +Whether he was heeded amid the babble of cries and all the noises which +seemed to swell to drown his voice, he could not tell, but in another +instant he felt that friendly hands had seized Miss Morison, and were +endeavoring to lift her insensible form. He strove to loosen his hold, +but the effort gave him agony so intolerable that he could do nothing. +A thousand points seemed to rend and tear him as he tried to move, and +when a voice somewhere above him shouted: "We'll have to try to lift +them together!" he experienced a strange sort of double consciousness +as if he stood outside of himself and heard others talking of him. He +felt himself grasped under the arms, and the pain of being moved was +too horrible to be endured. He shrieked in mortal agony, and then in a +whirl of dizzying circles seemed to go down in a tide of blackness +sparkling with millions of sharp scintillations. + + + + VIII + + + LIKE COVERED FIRE + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 1. + + +Philip Ashe found himself less and less able either to understand or to +sympathize with the politics of Mrs. Wilson. He believed in the +righteousness of her cause, and was keenly alive to the peril of the +appointment of Mr. Strathmore to the vacant bishopric. It is an +inevitable and necessary condition of enthusiasm that it shall be +narrow; and religious fervor would be impossible to a mind open to +conviction. To accept the possibility of any opposed truth is to be +secretly doubtful of the creed which one holds; and tolerance is of +necessity the child of indifference. Had Ashe been able to perceive +that the church would go on much the same no matter which of the rival +candidates was chosen, it would have been impossible for him to be so +deeply concerned for the success of Father Frontford. As it was he was +as much in earnest as Mrs. Wilson, and thus he felt forced to acquiesce +in the strangeness of her methods of work. He said to himself that he +supposed this electioneering to be a necessity, no matter how +unpleasant; and he added the reflection that in any case it was not in +his power to prevent it. + +Other feelings were, moreover, completely absorbing his mind. Although +he was not yet conscious that anything had come between him and the +church, priesthood in which had been his highest earthly ideal, the +truth was that his passion for Mrs. Fenton waxed steadily. Chance threw +them together. Mrs. Fenton had been appointed to a committee on +charities, and it happened that Ashe was a visitor in the North End in +a region which the committee were making an especial field of labor. He +was called into consultation with her, and sometimes they even went +together to visit some of the poverty-stricken families which evidently +existed chiefly to be subjects for philanthropic manipulation. Day by +day Ashe felt her speak to him more easily and familiarly; and although +their talk was strictly impersonal and unemotional, none the less did +it feed his growing love. + +The nature which does not sometimes try to deceive itself is an +abnormal one; and Ashe was not behind his fellows in devising excuses +for the joy which he found in Mrs. Fenton's presence. He dwelt in his +musings upon her devotion to the church, her good works, her visitings +of the poor and sick. He assured himself with a vehemence too feverish +not to be fallacious that he was instigated only by entirely +disinterested feelings; by the desire to assist in deeds of Christian +helpfulness, and by pleasure in the society of one whose devotion to +godliness was so marked. He argued with himself as eagerly as if he +were struggling to convince another, protesting to his own secret heart +as earnestly as he would have protested to a friend. + +A man seldom really deceives himself, however, save in thinking that he +can deceive himself. There were moments in which his inner self rose up +and laughed him to scorn; moments in which his sin glowed before him in +colors blood-red. He saw himself apostate, false to his vows, drawn +away by his earthly lusts and beguiled. There were nights when he cast +himself upon the ground in an agony of self-abasement, beating his +breast and praying in a passion of remorse; times when by the cruelty +of his self-accusings he involuntarily sought to do penance for the +sweet sin which festered in his bosom. + +Worse than all was the color which was imparted to his passion by the +self-imposed prohibitions which he was violating. The insistence upon +the earthly side of love which is an inevitable accompaniment to the +idea that woman is a temptation, cannot but degrade the relation of the +sexes in the mind of the professed celibate. To keep before the +thoughts the theory that passion is a snare and a pollution is to +render it impossible to love with purity and self-abandonment. Poor +Philip, endowed at birth with a nature of instinctive delicacy, could +not free himself from the taint of his training; yet he shrank as from +hot iron from the blasphemy of connecting any shadow of earthliness +with the woman who had become his ideal. His only resource was to take +refuge in repeating to himself that he did not love Mrs. Fenton; but +even in denying it he felt that he was defending himself from a charge +which was a degradation to her as well as to himself. He fell into that +morbid state of mind where whatever he tried as a remedy made his +disease but the worse; where the idea of love was the more horrible to +him the more it possessed and pervaded his whole being. + +Mrs. Herman was not unobservant of his condition, although she was far +from understanding his state of mind. She felt that there was little +use in forcing his confidence, but she gave him now and then an +opportunity to confide in her, feeling sure that he would be the better +for freeing his heart in speech. + +She was sitting one afternoon alone in the library when Ashe came home +from a missionary expedition. The day was gray and gloomy, and the +early twilight was shutting down already, so that the fire began to +shine with a redder hue. Mrs. Herman was taking her tea alone, and as +it chanced, she was thinking of her cousin. + +"You are just in time for tea," she greeted him. "It is hot still." + +"But I seldom take tea," he answered, seating himself by the fire with +an air of weariness which did not escape her. + +"That is so much more reason that you should take it now. It will have +more effect. I can see that you are tired out. One lump or two?" + +He yielded with a wan smile, and, resuming his seat, sat sipping his +tea in silence for some moments. At length he sighed so heavily that +she asked with a smile:-- + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Is what so bad?" he returned, looking at her in surprise. + +"You sighed as if all life had fallen in ruins about your feet, and I +couldn't help wondering if there were really no joy left to you." + +He smiled rather soberly, and did not at once reply. The fire burned +cheerily on the hearth, noiseless for the most part, but now and then +purring like a cat full of happy content; the shadows showed themselves +more and more boldly in the corners, daring the firelight to chase them +to discover their secrets. The colors of the room were softened into a +dull richness; the dim gilding on the old books which had belonged to +Helen's father, dead since her infancy, caught now and then a gleam +from a tongue of flame which sprang up to peer into the gathering dusk; +the copper tea equipage reflected a red glow, and gave to the picture a +certain suggestion of comfort and cheer. + +"I was thinking how comfortable it is here," Philip said at length. + +"And that made you sigh?" + +"Yes; I'm ashamed to say that it came over me how far away from me all +this is." + +"If it is," she returned slowly, "it is simply because you choose that +it shall be." + +He turned his face toward her as if about to protest; then looked again +into the fire. The conversation seemed ended, until Mrs. Herman spoke +again as if nothing had been said. + +"You have been slumming this afternoon?" + +"I do not like the name, but I suppose I have." + +"It isn't a cheerful day to go poking about alone among the tenement +houses." + +"I was not alone," Ashe answered with a hesitation which she could not +help noting and with a significant softening of voice. "Mrs. Fenton was +with me." + +"Ah!" + +The exclamation was involuntary. In an instant there had flashed upon +Helen's mind a suspicion of the true state of things. The despondency +of her cousin, the reflection upon the comfort of domesticity, +connected themselves in her thought with trifling incidents which had +before come under her observation; and his manner of speaking brought +instantly to her mind the conviction that Ashe was thinking of Mrs. +Fenton with more than the friendliness of acquaintanceship. When Philip +looked up with a question in his eyes, however, she was already on her +guard. + +"The weather is so doleful," she hastened to add, "that I should think +that even philanthropy might lose its power of amusing." + +"Cousin Helen," returned he, with some hesitation, "I do not like to +hear you speak in that way of what is part of my life work." + +She smiled; then sighed and shook her head. + +"My dear Philip," replied she, "I had certainly no intention of +wounding you; and if you'll let me say so, I think you are going out of +your way to find cause of offense. Philanthropy isn't a thing so sacred +that it is not to be spoken of with a smile." + +"No; but"-- + +"But what?" + +He did not answer at once. He put down his empty cup absently, and then +sat staring into the fire as if he were trying there to read the +solution of the riddle of existence. + +"Come," Helen observed, after waiting for a little, "you have something +on your mind. What is it? It will do you good to tell it, even if I'm +not clever enough to help you." + +"I am sure that you could help me," he began eagerly; and then in a +changed voice he added, "if anybody could." + +She left her place behind the tea-table and came nearer to him, sitting +directly before the fire. The light fell on her convincing face and on +her wavy hair. She folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him. + +"Well?" she said. + +"I do not know how to say it," Philip responded slowly. "I am afraid +that you have not much sympathy with my views of life." + +"I probably have more than you realize. It's true that I do not believe +as you do, but we are both Puritans at heart, so that in the end our +theories come to much the same thing." + +He looked up with evident inability to follow her meaning. + +"I don't understand," he said. + +"Very likely I couldn't make myself clear if I tried to explain. +Suppose we give up abstractions and come to the concrete. What is the +especial thing in which you think that my theories are different from +yours?" + +"I do not think," he answered, hesitating more than ever, "that you +have much sympathy with asceticism." + +"None whatever," she declared uncompromisingly. "Nobody could have more +honor for a sacrifice to principle than I have; but I believe that a +sacrifice to an idea is apt to be the outcome of nothing but vanity or +policy." + +"But what is the difference?" + +"Why, an idea is a thing that we believe with the head; don't you know +the way in which we think things out while we secretly feel altogether +different?" + +"I do not think I follow you; but surely self-denial is a sacrifice to +principle." + +"Not necessarily. I'm afraid I may seem to you profane, Philip, but I +must say that it seems to me that asceticism is one of the worst +plague-spots which ever afflicted humanity. The root of it is the pagan +idea of propitiating a cruel deity by self-torture." + +"How can you say so!" he cried. "It is the pure devotion of a man to +the good of his higher nature and to the good of the race." + +"As far as the race goes, vicarious suffering can't be anything, so far +as I see, except an effort to placate an unforgiving deity. As for the +devotion of a man to his higher nature, you will never convince me that +to go against nature and to indulge in morbidness is improving to +anything. But here we are, swamped in a bog of great moral propositions +again. We can't agree about these things, and the thing which we really +want to say will be lost sight of entirely." + +He turned his face away from her again, either troubled by what she had +been saying or unable to find words and confidence to go on with the +confession of his trouble. + +"Is it," Helen inquired, "that you have found that you have yourself a +doubt of the value of asceticism?" + +"No, not that," he answered, dropping his voice; "but--but I begin to +doubt myself." + +She leaned forward in her chair. Some power outside of her own will +seemed to constrain her. + +"Philip," she said, bending over and touching his hand, "has love made +you doubt?" + +The question evidently took him entirely by surprise. She wondered what +impulse had made her speak and how her question would affect him. He +flushed to his forehead, and cast at her a look so full of pathetic +appeal that she felt the tears come into her eyes. It was the look of a +hunted creature which sees no way of escape, yet which has not the fury +of resistance, which pleads its own weakness. She knew that Philip +could not equivocate and that the secret of his heart lay bare before +her. She shrank from what she had done, and a flood of pity and +sympathy filled her mind. + +He gave her no more than a single look, and then buried his face in his +hands. + +"I have betrayed my high calling," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter +suffering. "I have put my hand to the plough and looked back. I am too +weak to be worthy to"-- + +"Stop," she interposed brusquely, although she was deeply touched. "I +can't listen to that sort of talk. It isn't wholesome and it isn't +manly. If you have fallen short of your ideal, your experience is that +of the rest of the race. I suppose the secret of our making any +progress is the power of conceiving things higher than we can reach. It +keeps us trying." + +"But I devoted myself to"-- + +"My dear boy," she interrupted him again, "you are like the rest of us. +You told yourself that you would be above all the passions and emotions +of common humanity, and you are discouraged to find that you're human +after all. That's really the whole of it." + +"But to allow yourself to love"-- + +It was not necessary for her to interrupt him now. He stopped of his +own will, casting down his eyes and blushing like a school-boy. It +seemed to her that it might be better to try raillery. + +"To allow yourself, O wise cousin!" she cried. "Men do not allow or +disallow themselves to love. It's deeper business than that." + +"But I should have had strength not to yield." + +"Is there anything discreditable in loving?" she demanded. + +"There is for a priest." + +"If there were, you are not a priest." + +"In intention I am; and that is the same in the sight of Heaven." + +She could not repress a gesture of impatience. She felt at once an +inward annoyance and a secret admiration. The temper of his mind was +exasperatingly like her own in its tenacity of conviction. He would not +excuse himself by any shifts, no matter how convincing they might seem +to others. The matter must be met fairly and frankly, and she must +reach his deepest feelings if she would move him. She reflected how +best to deal with him, and with her thoughts mingled the question +whether Edith Fenton could return Philip's love. The young man was well +made and sufficiently good-looking, although paled by study and +austerities. He was of good birth and property, and from a worldly +point of view not entirely an unsuitable match for the widow, should +she think of a second husband. He was somewhat younger than Mrs. +Fenton; and Helen was not without the thought that this passion might +be on his part no more than the inevitable result of his coming in +contact with a beautiful woman after having been immured in the +monastic seclusion of the Clergy House; a passion which would pass with +a wider acquaintance with the world. The whole matter perplexed and +troubled her, and yet she earnestly longed to help her cousin. + +"Dear Philip," she said, "I can't tell you how I enter into your +feeling. I don't agree with you, but we are not so far apart in +temperament, if we are in doctrine. I'm afraid that you'll think that +I'm merely tempting you when I say that it seems to me that your +conscientiousness is entirely right, and that your conviction is all +wrong." + +"Of course I know that you do not hold the same faith that I do." + +"But one of your own faith might remind you that your own church +upholds the marriage of the clergy." + +"Yes," he assented with apparent unwillingness, "but my conscience does +not." + +"Do you mean that you find your conscience a better guide than the +church? That seems to put you on my ground, after all." + +"Oh, no, no! Certainly I do not put myself above the authority of the +church." + +"The eagerness with which you disclaim any common ground with me isn't +polite," she retorted, glad of a chance to speak more lightly and +smilingly; "but it's sincere, and that is better." + +"I wasn't trying to disclaim thinking as you do; but to insist that I +do not set myself above the church." + +"Then I repeat that the church sanctions the marriage of the clergy. If +you don't agree, I don't see why you do not really belong in the Roman +Catholic Church." + +There was a long pause, during which she watched her cousin narrowly. +He seemed to be thinking deeply, with eyes intent on the fire. She was +so little prepared for the direction which his thought took that she +was startled when he said at last with a sigh:-- + +"I do sometimes find myself envying the absolute authority with which +the Roman Catholic Church speaks." + +"Authority!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you mean that you wish to +give up your individuality?" + +"No; not that; but it must be of unspeakable comfort in times of mental +doubt to repose on unquestioned and unquestionable authority." + +Helen rose from her place by the fire and walked to the window. She +felt that she was on very delicate ground, and she would gladly have +escaped from the discussion could she have done so without the feeling +of having evaded. She stood a moment looking out into the darkening +street, dusky in the growing January twilight, bleak and dreary. Then +with a sudden movement she went to her husband's desk and took up a +picture of her boy, a beautiful, manly little fellow of three years, of +whom Philip was especially fond. Crossing to her cousin, she put the +picture in his hand, at the same time turning up the electric light +behind him. + +"See," she said, with feminine adroitness. "I don't think I've shown +you this picture of Greyson." + +He looked at it earnestly, and sighed. + +"It is beautiful," said he. "Greyson is a son to be proud of and to +love." + +"Well?" she asked significantly. + +"What do you mean?" returned he. "What has Greyson's picture to do with +what we were talking about?" + +She took the photograph from his hand, extinguished the light, and +walked back toward the desk. The room seemed darker than before now +that the firelight only was left. Suddenly she turned, with an outburst +almost passionate:-- + +"O Philip!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see? My son! Surely if there is +anything in this world that is holy, that is entirely pure and noble, +it is parentage. Do you suppose that all the churches in the world, +with authority or without it, could make Grant and me feel that there +is anything higher for us than to take our little son in our arms and +thank God for him!" + +He did not answer, and she controlled her emotion, smiling at her own +extravagance, while she wiped away a tear. She kissed the picture, and +put it in its place; then she returned to her chair by the fire. + +"I don't expect you to understand my feeling," she said. "You never can +until you have a son of your own. If a little cherub like Grey puts his +baby hands into your eyes and pulls your hair, you'll suddenly discover +that a good many of your old theories have evaporated." + +"But, Cousin Helen," he began hesitatingly, "certainly there is often +sin"-- + +She interrupted him indignantly. + +"There is no sin in faithful, loving, self-respecting marriage," she +insisted. "That is what I am talking about. It is the holiest thing on +earth. Anything may be degraded. I've even heard of a burlesque of the +sacrament. I don't see why I shouldn't speak frankly, Philip. You are +in a state of mind that is morbid and self-tormenting. If you love a +woman, tell her so honestly and clearly; and if she is a good woman and +can love you, go down on your knees, and thank God." + +He leaned his forehead on his hands, as if he were struggling with +himself. The firelight shone on his rich hair, auburn like her own. +Helen watched him anxiously, wondering if she had said too much, and +whether she were taking too great a responsibility in the advice she +gave. Certainly anything must be good that took him out of his +unhealthy mood. + +"Come," she said, rising, and turning on the electric light again. "It +is time for Grant to be at home, and for me to be dressing. We are to +dine at the Bodewin Rangers to-night." + +He put up his hand to arrest her, and said in a tone that wrung her +heart:-- + +"But, Cousin Helen, I cannot speak of love to a woman until I am ready +to give up for her my priestly calling." + +"Until you are willing to give up your unwholesome idea of celibacy and +asceticism, you mean." + +"It would be sacrificing a principle to a passion." + +Helen sighed. + +"I could reason with you," she returned, half-humorously, "but how +shall I get on with all the Puritan ancestors who prevail in you and +me! The thing that I say isn't that you are to give up your notions +about the celibacy of the priesthood in order to marry, but because +they are unwholesome and abnormal. The thing that most closely links +you to humanity is the thing that best fits you to be of use in the +world." + +He regarded her with a glance of painful intensity. + +"But suppose," he suggested, "that the woman I loved could not love me? +Then I should come back to the church, and lay on the altar only a +discarded and worthless sacrifice." + +"Come back to the church!" she echoed. "You don't leave it. If marriage +takes you out of the church, then the sooner such a church is left the +better! Do you realize what you are doing, Philip? Do you remember that +you insult the good name of your mother by the view you take of +marriage? I am sick of all this infamous condemnation of what to me is +holy! If the church cannot rise to a noble and pure conception of it, +the sooner the church is done away with, the better for mankind!" + +"But you wrong the church," he interrupted eagerly. "The church makes +marriage a sacrament; it recognizes its purity; it"-- + +"Then what are you doing," she burst in, "with your exceptions to the +theory of the church? It is you who degrade it--Pardon me, cousin," she +added in a calmer voice, coming to him and laying her fingers lightly +on his shoulder. "I am speaking out of my heart. I have the shame of +knowing that I once failed to realize how high and how noble a thing +marriage is. I am older than you, and I have suffered as I hope you may +never have to suffer; the end of it all is that I have learned that +there is nothing else on earth so blessed as the real love of husband +and wife. Of course," she concluded, as he would have interrupted, "I +talk as a woman, and I cannot decide what you are to do. Only I would +like you to believe that I would help you if I could, and that what I +say of marriage is the thing which seems to me the truest thing on +earth." + +Then without waiting for reply, she went away and left him to his +thoughts. + + + + IX + + + HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + Two Gentlemen of Verona, iv. 2. + + +"Who is Mr. Rangely?" Ashe inquired one morning at breakfast. + +Mrs. Herman looked at her husband as if she expected him to reply, +although the question had been addressed to her. + +"Fred Rangely," Grant Herman answered, "is a writer. He writes for the +magazines and is a newspaper man. He's written one or two novels, and +the first one was pretty successful. He's written plays too." + +Helen smiled. + +"Grant is too good-natured to tell you what you really want to know," +she commented. "Mr. Rangely was once in some sort a friend of his, in +the old days when there was still something like an artistic +brotherhood in Boston, and he can't bear to say things that are not to +his credit. Now I should have answered your question by saying that +Fred Rangely is a warning." + +"A what?" Ashe asked, while Herman sighed. + +"A warning. A dozen years ago he was one of the most promising men +about. He had made a good beginning, he was clever and popular, and +both as a novelist and as a playwright we hoped for great things from +him." + +"And now?" + +"Now he is a failure." + +Herman looked up almost reprovingly. + +"I don't think he would recognize that," he observed. + +"No, he wouldn't; and that's the worst of it. Ten years ago if anybody +had said of Fred Rangely: 'Here's a fellow that has started out to do +good work, but has found that there's more money in sensationalism; who +despises the popular taste and caters to it; who writes things he +doesn't believe for the newspapers and spends the money in running +after society,' he would have pronounced such a fellow a cad. Now he +would say: 'Well, a man must live, you know; and the public will only +pay for what it wants.' It's lamentable." + +"You put it rather worse than it is," her husband responded. "We are +all in the habit of judging men as if their degradation was deliberate, +which as a matter of fact I suppose it never is. Rangely hasn't coolly +accepted the choice between honesty and Philistinism. It's all come +gradually." + +"Like learning to pick pockets," she interpolated. + +"Besides," Herman continued, "we over-estimated in the beginning both +his character and his talent. He found he couldn't do what was expected +of him, and he was weak enough to do then what was most comfortable +instead of what seemed to him highest. It is what nine men out of ten +do." + +"Of course," Helen assented, "but after all it has come about by his +giving in on one thing after another. There was always a good deal that +is attractive about him, but he never showed much moral stamina. He +could never have married as he did if he had possessed fine instincts." + +"And his wife?" Ashe inquired. + +"Oh, he married a New York girl, who"-- + +"There, there," broke in Herman good-naturedly. "It is just as well not +to go into a characterization of Mrs. Rangely. I own that there isn't +much good to be said of her; so it is as well to let her pass." + +"Well, so be it," his wife assented, smiling. "I have only to say," she +added, turning to her cousin, "that when Grant declines to have a woman +discussed it is equivalent to a condemnation more severe"-- + +"Nonsense," protested Herman. "Don't believe her, Ashe. As for Mrs. +Rangely, it's enough to say that she is merely an imitation in most +things, and that she has called out the worst of her husband's nature +instead of the best. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid it's true." + +Mrs. Herman looked at him with a smile which seemed to tease him for +having been betrayed into saying a thing so much more severe than were +his usual judgments. Then with true feminine instinct she brought the +talk back to its most significant point. + +"Why did you ask about his wife?" she inquired of Philip. + +"I--I did not know," he returned, so evidently disconcerted that she +did not press the matter. + +Had Helen been a gossip she might have added that Rangely had acquired +the reputation of being always philandering with some woman or other. +Before his marriage he had been the slave of Mrs. Staggchase, and now, +after devotion to all sorts of society women, he had come to be counted +as one of the train of admirers who offered their devotion at the +shrine of Mrs. Wilson. Where a Frenchwoman prides herself on the +intensity of the devotion of some man not her husband, an American of +the same type glories in the number of slaves that her charms ensnare. +In either case the root of the matter is vanity rather than passion. +The American fashion is at once the more demoralizing and the less +dangerous. Mrs. Wilson in the early days of her married life had tried +to make her husband jealous by allowing the desperate attentions of a +single lover. She never repeated the experiment. The lover went abroad +to recover from the sting of having been made hopelessly ridiculous, +and Mrs. Wilson learned that in marrying she had found a master. +Fortunately she had married for love, and no woman loves a man less for +finding him able to control her. In these days Mrs. Wilson amused +himself by having a troop of admirers, and perhaps prided herself upon +being able to outdo the wiles of the other women of her set in securing +and holding her captives; but she discussed them with her husband with +the utmost frankness, mocking them to their faces if they made a step +across the line which she drew for them. They were kept in a state of +marked but respectful admiration. It was expected of them that they +should pretend to be consumed by a passion as violent as they might +please, but always a passion which was hopeless, which asked for no +reward but to be allowed to continue; which found in mere admission to +her presence joy enough at least to keep it alive. + +It may be that Rangely had more vanity than the rest of Mrs. Wilson's +followers, or it may be that he was more resolute. Certain it is that +he was more presuming than the rest, and that his devotion had not +failed to produce a good deal of talk. Little as Mrs. Herman was +accustomed to pay attention to social gossip, she had not failed to +hear tattle about Elsie Wilson; and while she probably did not much +heed it, she was at heart too conscientious not to feel shame and +irritation. That a woman in the position of Mrs. Wilson should allow +herself to give rise to vulgar gossip moved her to deep disapproval; +while she could not but feel contempt for the man who neglected his own +wife to wait upon the caprices of one whom Helen looked upon as a +heartless and vain creature. + +Behind the question which Ashe had asked about Rangely lay an incident +which had occurred the day previous. He was now called upon to see Mrs. +Wilson frequently in relation to matters connected with the election, +and with that instinct which was inborn she had carelessly exercised +upon him her arts of fascination. There is a certain sort of woman in +whom the mere presence of anything masculine awakens the rage for +conquest. It is as impossible for such women not to exert their +fascinations as it is for a magnet to cease to attract. It is the +destiny of woman to love, and dangerous is she who is inspired only +with the desire to be loved, the woman who instead of loving man loves +love. Elsie was saved from being such a monster by the fact that she +had a husband strong enough to subdue and control her nature; but +nothing could prevent her from trying her wiles on every man she met. + +Philip was too completely unsophisticated to understand, and too much +absorbed by his passion for another woman to respond to the cunning +attractions of Mrs. Wilson; yet it is not impossible that she so far +influenced him as to render him unconsciously jealous of another man. +He had surprised Rangely kissing the hand of that lady with an air of +devotion so warm that the blood of the young deacon rose in resentment +which he supposed to be entirely disapproval. He was in a state of mind +which made him especially sensitive to any suggestion of love; and the +sight of any man caressing the hand of a beautiful woman could not but +set his heart throbbing with disconcerting rapidity. In his world even +the touch of a woman's fingers was almost a forbidden thing, and to +kiss them an act not to be so much as imagined. Philip dared not think, +or to define to himself what significance he attached to this incident. +An unsophisticated man is often suspicious from the simple fact that he +is forced to distrust his judgment. He is unable to estimate the value +of appearances, and in the end often falls the victim of errors which +might seem to arise from malevolence or low-mindedness, when in reality +they are the inevitable fruit of ignorance. + +As Philip stood confronted with Mrs. Wilson after Rangely had left the +room it seemed to him that he read unspeakable things in her glance. +His clerical bias with its unholy blight of asceticism, his ignorance +of the world, made him a victim of a misapprehension which brought the +blood to his cheeks. His hostess looked at him curiously, and then +burst into a laugh. + +"Upon my word," she cried, "I believe you are shocked! You are really +too delicious!" + +He flushed hotter yet, and there came over him a helpless sense of +being alike unable to understand this brilliant creature or to cope +with her. + +"But--but," he stammered, "I--I"-- + +"Well?" she demanded, her eyes dancing. "You what? You saw Mr. Rangely +kiss my hand. You may kiss it too, if you like; though I doubt if you +can do it half so devotedly. He's had a lot of practice with a lot of +hands." + +Ashe stared at her with wide open eyes. + +"But has he a wife?" he asked gravely. + +"Meaning to remind me that I have a husband?" she gayly returned. "Yes; +we are both of us married. To think," she continued, spreading out her +hands and appealing to the universe at large, "that such simplicity +exists! Where have you been all your life? Did you never kiss a lady's +hand--or a lady's lips, for that matter?" + +"I think you forget, Mrs. Wilson," Ashe said with real dignity, "that I +am a priest." + +She regarded him with lifted brows for a moment. Then she moved to a +seat. + +"Come," said she; "sit down and talk to me. Where have you passed your +life? You cannot have been brought up in a monastery, for we don't have +them in our church." + +"It is a great pity," responded Philip, obeying her command, and +seating himself in a large arm-chair near her. + +"Do you really mean it?" was her reply. "Yes, I believe you do! You +were evidently born to be a monk. Oh, how _triste_ it must be to be +made without an appreciation of us!" + +He remained silent, his face more grave than ever. + +"Well," she went on, settling herself comfortably in the corner of her +sofa amid a pile of sumptuous cushions, "tell me something about your +life. It may be that you were designed by fate to introduce a new order +of monks." + +"There is not much to tell," he responded stiffly and almost +mechanically. "I was brought up in the country by a widowed mother. I +went through Harvard and the Divinity School, and since then I have +lived at the Clergy House." + +She regarded him closely. Her glance seemed half mocking, and yet to +search into the very secrets of his heart, as if she were asking him +questions which he would not have dared to ask himself. Her eyes +suggested impossible things; they demanded if he had not known of +forbidden cups which held wine deliriously enticing. He cast down his +glance, no longer able to endure hers, yet not knowing why he was thus +abashed. + +"But don't you know anything of life?" she questioned. "How could you +go through Harvard without seeing something of it? What were your +amusements?" + +"I rowed some, and I walked. The only thing that was a real pleasure +outside of my work was to be with Maurice Wynne. I do not remember that +I ever thought about needing to be amused. Of course I knew a few +fellows. I never knew a great many of the men." + +"And no women?" + +"None except the boarding-house keeper." + +She looked at him rather incredulously. Then she once more threw out +her hands in a gesture of amusement and amazement. + +"Good heavens!" declared she; "there are just two things which might be +done with you. You should be put in a glass case as a unique specimen +of otherwise extinct virtue; or you should be sent to Paris to learn to +be a real man. However, it's not my place to take charge of you, so +that may pass." + +There burned in the cheek of Ashe a spot of crimson which was perhaps +too deep not to betoken something of the nature of earthly indignation. + +"Mrs. Wilson," he said, "I came here to discuss church interests, and +not to be myself the subject of remarks which you certainly would not +think of making to other gentlemen who call on you." + +She clapped her hands. + +"Bravo!" she cried. "There's the making of a man in him. It's a +thousand pities you can't go to Paris and learn the fun of life." + +He rose indignantly. + +"If you wish only to talk lightly of evil things," said he, "I do not +see that it is necessary for me to take up more of your time." + +"Well," she responded, smilingly unmoved, "I'll confess that if there +is one thing for which I am especially grateful to Providence it is for +its having spared me the ennui of having to live in a virtuous world! +But sit down, and I'll talk as if that blessing had not been granted to +us. As for the salutation of Mr. Rangely which so shocked your +reverence, that was part of the campaign. He had just promised to write +an article for the 'Churchman' advocating Father Frontford from the +point of view of a layman; and of course until that is in print it is +necessary to be gracious to him. The trouble with you is that you've +seen so little of life that you exaggerate the most innocent things. +You really are rather insulting to me, if you think of it; but I pardon +it because you don't know what you were doing. I suppose you never +wanted to kiss a woman's hand or to write a sonnet to her eyebrow?" + +Ashe felt the blood rush into his face in so hot a tide that he +involuntarily turned away from his tormentor and walked toward the +door. The question would in any case have been disconcerting, but it +was made doubly so by the word which recalled the phrase from the +Persian hymn which was in his mind so closely associated with Mrs. +Fenton: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" +He had taken but a step, however, before Mrs. Wilson sprang from her +seat, clapping her hands again. She interposed between him and the +door, her face radiant with fun and mischief. + +"Oh, what a blush!" she cried. "Upon my word, there's a woman; there is +a woman even in that icebox you keep for a heart!" + +She burst into a peal of laughter, while he stood confounded and +speechless, trying to look unconscious, and vexatiously aware of how +completely he failed. Mrs. Wilson laid the tips of her slender fingers +on his arm, and peered up into his eyes. + +"I wouldn't have believed it, St. Anthony! Come, make me your mother +confessor, and I'll give you good advice. It's part of my mission to +take charge of the love affairs of the clergy. Only yesterday I spent +half the afternoon trying to find out how deeply Mr. Candish is smitten +with a pretty widow." + +Ashe started in amazement and alarm. The words of Mrs. Herman +connecting the name of Mrs. Fenton with that of Candish flashed into +his mind, and seemed to supply what Mrs. Wilson left unspoken. The +jealous pang which he felt at this confirmation of the interest of +Candish in the woman he loved was doubled by the resentment he felt +that this mocking torment before him should dare even to think of +Edith. Almost without knowing it he broke out excitedly into protest. + +"How dare you meddle with her affairs?" he cried. + +Mrs. Wilson stared at him an instant in amazement, evidently taken +completely aback. Then a light of cunning comprehension flashed into +her sparkling eyes. + +"Ah!" exclaimed she. "You too! Is Mrs. Fenton so irresistible to the +ecclesiastical heart?" + +He confronted her in silence. A wave of misery, of helplessness, of +weakness, swept over him. He had no right even to be Mrs. Fenton's +defender. He was, as Mrs. Wilson intimated, not a real man, but a +priest. The very tone of the whole conversation this morning showed how +far she was from regarding him as one having any part in her world. He +had only injured Mrs. Fenton by his ill-judged outburst, and given this +creature who so delighted in baiting him one more opportunity. Worse +than all else was the fact that he had given her a chance to jest about +the woman whom he loved. The tears rushed to his eyes in the intensity +of his feelings, and the beautiful face before him, with its teasing +brightness and dancing fun, swam in his vision. He hated its laughter, +and he expected fresh mockery for the emotion which he could not help +betraying. To his surprise, however, Mrs. Wilson again laid her hand on +his arm, and her face lost its gayety. + +"You poor boy," she said, with genuine feeling in her tone, "is it so +real as that? I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, if I had known. +What business had you to be meddling with vows and renunciation until +you knew what they meant?" + +She moved back to her seat as she spoke, motioning Ashe to resume his +place. He was too deeply moved to obey her. + +"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will see you to-morrow in regard +to those delegates. I--I am not quite myself." + +"But you shall not go without saying that you forgive me for my +teasing. Really, I am sorry and ashamed. I never intend to hurt you, +but I see that my teasing may be taken more seriously than it is meant." + +There was real gentleness and pity in her smile, and as she rose to +stand looking into his face with a winning smile of apology he forgot +all his bitterness. + +"The trouble is with me," he said. "I do not understand the world, and +I should keep out of it." + +"Oh, not at all," she retorted briskly. "You should learn how to live +in it." + +A spark of mischief kindled in her glance as she spoke, and she +extended to him the back of her hand. Her smile challenged him, and he +had been won and moved by the sympathy of her voice. The hand, too, was +so beautiful, so slender, so feminine; he had so keen a longing to be +comforted, to be soothed by womanly softness, and to assuage his +loneliness by woman's sympathy, that it seemed impossible to resist the +invitation of those delicate fingers. He took her hand, and raised it +half way to his lips. Then he dropped it abruptly, letting his own arm +swing lifelessly to his side. + +"No," he said bitterly. "I am a priest!" + + + + X + + + A SYMPATHY OF WOE + Titus Andronicus, iii. 1. + + +The first sensation which returning consciousness brought to Berenice +Morison, after the shock of the collision and the feeling that the +whole train had been hurled confusedly into space, was that of coming +into fresher air as if she were emerging from the depths of the sea. +Opening her eyes without comprehending where she was or what had +happened, she found herself on the side of an overturned car. Around +her were dreadful noises, yells, groans, cries, shouts; her nostrils +were filled with the reek of burning stuffs; the light of lanterns and +of torches blinded her eyes; a sense of horror oppressed her; appalling +calamity which she could not understand seemed to have overtaken her; +and she shuddered with terror unspeakable. Her first impulse was to +shriek and to attempt to flee from the fearful things which surrounded +her; but instantly the self-control of returning reason made itself +felt. + +Berenice found herself supported by a couple of men, and it became +clear to her in an instant that she had just been lifted from that pit +below where she could see the glint of flame and the blinding smother +of smoke, and from which came such heartrending cries that she +instinctively tried to cover her ears. In the movement she realized +that beside the hold which her rescuers had of her, she was grasped by +other arms; that she was in the embrace of a man apparently dead. In +the dim light her dazed sense did not recognize him, and she struggled +to release herself from the hold of this corpse. + +"Take him away from me!" she shrieked hysterically in mingled terror +and repulsion. + +"Gently, gently," said one of the men who held her. "He's got killed +tryin' to save yer." + +"If this cut in his arm was in your back," remarked the other, who was +unlocking the hands so strongly clasped behind her, "it'd 'a' been a +finisher." + +Her head reeled, and she nearly swooned again; but somehow she found +herself released, and passed down from the car into the arms of more +men. + +"For God's sake, hurry," one of them said. "It's getting too hot to +stand here." + +A blistering puff of smoke enwrapped her as she went down. She saw a +face blackened and ghastly advance in the flaring light of a lantern. +Hands that seemed to come out of a cloud and a great darkness helped +and sustained her, until she was out of the instant press beside the +burning car. When once she was free and stood upon her feet, she +regained something like self-possession. Her head swam, but she +realized the situation and felt that she was able to help herself. + +"I am not hurt," she said to those who would have assisted her. "Don't +mind me." + +As she spoke, the body of a man was passed out of the smoke close to +her, and she saw that it was Wynne. Instantly she remembered being +flung into his arms, although what followed she could not recall. She +looked at him now with a piercing conviction that he was dead. His +cassock hung about him in rags, his face was smeared with blood and +grime, his arm hung limp and bleeding. The words of the rescuer on the +car-roof came to her, and she saw in the disfigured form of the young +deacon the body of the man who had given his life for hers. Instantly +all her powers rallied to help and if possible to save him. + +"Bring him this way," she said, stepping forward eagerly, her weakness +forgotten. "I'll take care of him." + +She moved out of the smoke without any clear idea where she was going +or what she could do. The hurt man was brought after her, one of the +many that were being carried as dead weights among the confused and +agonized crowd. At a short distance from the track there were hastily +arranged car-cushions, coats, and loose coverings thrown down on a bank +half covered with snow. Here the bearers laid Wynne, hurrying back to +their work with a precipitancy which seemed to Berenice heartless. + +The scene which Berenice took in at a glance was so wild and terrible +that it stamped itself on her brain in a flash. Lanterns were burning +all about, dancing and flitting to and fro like fireflies in a mist. +The eye caught everywhere glimpses by their light of disordered groups, +dim and dreadful as a nightmare. Close about her were the victims +heaped as if from a battlefield, the wounded moaning in pain, the women +wailing over the dying or the dead, each with cruel egotism intent upon +her own, and seizing upon any helper with terrible eagerness of +despair. A hundred feet away, lighted by the flames which were +beginning to thrust quick tongues through the smoke and the darkness, +was a long heap of shapeless wreck, about which dark figures were +swarming like midges about a bonfire. She could distinguish in the +middle of the line the two locomotives silhouetted against the +darkness, standing half on end like two grotesque monsters rearing in +deadly conflict. Every moment the flames became fiercer, and the +hurrying lanterns moved more wildly. + +It was Wynne, however, that claimed her attention. One swift glance +took in the awful picture, and then she sank down on her knees beside +him as he lay, bleeding and insensible, perhaps dead. For a moment she +was ready to cast herself down on the snow in helplessness and in +terror at the horrors of the situation; but the grit of stout Puritan +ancestors was in her fibres, the moral endurance which finds in the +sense of a duty to be done an inspiration that lifts above all +difficulties. Her work was before her; to abandon it impossible. + +The flames of the burning car brightened with appalling rapidity. +Shrieks arose so piercing that they wrung her heart as if with a +physical agony. It was the car from which she and Wynne had been taken +which was now that hell of fire. Its glare lit up the pale and bleeding +face beside her, and she realized that at that minute they might have +been in that awful agony. She began to sob wildly, but she began, too, +to try to bring Wynne back to consciousness. She took snow in her hands +and put it to his forehead; she twisted her handkerchief about his arm +to stop its bleeding. She tried to recall what she had heard at +Emergency Lectures, with a strong determination forcing herself to +remember. Kneeling in the snow, in the light of the burning car, her +heart torn by the cries of the suffering, trembling with excitement, +fear, and the shock she had undergone, sobbing almost hysterically, she +yet constrained herself to do her best, binding up his arm with strips +of her clothing, and trying to bring back his senses. + +A physician came to her without her knowing until he was at her side. +He bent to examine Wynne, and Berenice tried to repress her sobs that +she might talk to him, and take his directions. The life of Wynne might +depend upon her calmness. She caught up more snow, and pressed it to +her own temples. + +"Is he much hurt?" she asked feverishly. + +"It is not dangerous as far as I can judge," the doctor answered +hurriedly. "Get him away from here as soon as you can." + +She looked after him as he hurried on to other patients, and her first +feeling was one of indignation. Then it occurred to her that his going +so soon must mean that her patient was less hurt than she had feared. +But why was Wynne so long insensible? She knelt beside him again, and +as she did so he opened his eyes. + +"Where am I?" he cried feebly. + +He tried to start up, but fell back with a groan. + +"There has been an accident," she said hurriedly. "It's all right now. +You are safe. Are you in much pain?" + +"Are you hurt?" he demanded almost fiercely. + +"No, no; never mind me." + +He struggled again to rise, but fell back with a groan. She put her +hand on his shoulder. + +"Lie still," she commanded authoritatively. "I'll see what can be done. +Lie still while I look about." + +A second car was burning, and the whole place was aglare with yellow +light. The wild groups stood out black against the trodden and dingy +snow, while overhead rolled clouds of sooty smoke. It occurred to +Berenice that the accident had taken place so near Brookfield that many +persons must have come from the town. She seized a respectable-looking +man by the arm, and asked him if he knew of any way in which she could +get an injured friend to Brookfield. He stared at her a moment as if it +was impossible at such a time to receive words in their ordinary +meaning, but when the question had been repeated he answered that there +were some hackmen from town in the crowd. He helped her to find one, +and as Mrs. Morison was well known, Berenice had little further +difficulty. Wynne submitted to being half led, half carried through the +crowd, and when at last with the assistance of the hackman Berenice got +him into the carriage he fainted again. + +Singular and frightful to Berenice was that ride. The terrors through +which she had passed, the shock, mental and physical, which she had +undergone, had almost prostrated her. As soon as she was in the +carriage she broke out into hysterical tears. The fainting of her +companion, however, called her attention from herself, forcing her to +think of him. She supported his head on her shoulder, lifting his +wounded arm on to her lap; and into her heart came that thrill of +interest and compassion which is the instinctive response of a woman to +the appeal of masculine helplessness. A woman's love is apt to be half +maternal, and she who nurses a man is for the time being in place of +his mother. Berenice's thoughts were in a whirl, but pity for the hurt +man at her side was her most conscious feeling. She remembered the +words of her rescuer, and endowed Wynne with the nobility which belongs +to him who risks his life for another. What had happened she could not +tell. She remembered the awful terror of the collision, and mistily of +being hurled into his arms; but after that came a blank until the +moment of her rescue. It was evident that Wynne had in some way been +hurt in protecting her, and the very vagueness of the service he had +rendered made the deed loom larger in her imagination. She felt his +breath warm on her cheek, and suddenly into her dispassionate musings +there came a fresh sense, which made her face grow hot. She was angry +at the absurdity of flushing there in the dark, and asked herself why +the mere breath on her cheek of an insensible and wounded man should +set her to blushing like a self-conscious fool! Then she remembered how +he had held her in his arms, and she grew more self-conscious still. A +jolt made her companion moan, and in a twinkling all else was forgotten +in the anxiety of getting to shelter and aid. + +When the carriage stopped before the house of Mrs. Morison, the old +lady and a servant appeared instantly, rushing out to see what the +arrival meant. Almost before the carriage had come to a stand-still, +Berenice put her head out of the window and called as cheerily as she +could:-- + +"All right, grandmamma." + +She could not keep her voice steady, and she could only try to carry +off her emotion by a laugh which was rather shaky and hysterical. She +could not rise, for Wynne's head was on her shoulder. The carriage door +was torn open, and she felt her grandmother's arms about her in the +darkness. + +"My darling! My darling!" she heard murmured in a sobbing voice. + +"Look out, grandmother," she said, embracing Mrs. Morison with her one +free arm; "I've brought a man with me, and he's hurt. I think he's +fainted." + +There is nothing so efficacious in restraining the outpouring of +emotion as the necessity of attending to practical details. The need of +getting Wynne out of the hack and into the house as speedily and as +safely as possible restored Mrs. Morison to calmness, and although for +the rest of the evening and for many days after she and her +granddaughter had a fashion of rushing into each other's arms in the +most unexpected manner, they now devoted themselves to the unconscious +young deacon. + +Wynne revived again when he was lifted out of the carriage, and when he +had been, with the friendly aid of the driver, got into the house and +given a little brandy, he came once more to his complete if somewhat +shaken senses. He was too weak from the shock and the loss of blood to +resist anything that his friends chose to do to him, and although he +feebly protested against being quartered upon Mrs. Morison, his protest +was not in the least heeded. + +"Say no more about it," Mrs. Morison said, with a quiet smile. "You are +here, and you are to stay here. There is nowhere else for you to go, +even if you don't like our hospitality." + +"That isn't it," he began feebly; "only I've no claim"-- + +"There, that will do," Berenice interposed with decision. "Do you +suppose, grandmother, that it's possible to get anybody to come and see +his arm?" + +"I'm afraid not, dear," was the answer. "Everybody's at the wreck. I've +been cowering down in the corner of the fire for what seemed to me +years since Mehitabel came rushing in with the news; and all the time +I've heard people driving past the house on their way out of town." + +"There ain't a man left," put in Mehitabel, a severe elderly servant, +who had the air of being personally responsible for her mistress, and +of being bound to fulfill her duties faithfully, even if the effort +killed her. "I see Dr. Strong go gallopin' past first, and the other +doctors was all after him; even to that little squinchy electrical +image that's round the corner on Front Street." + +"Electrical image?" repeated Berenice. + +"She means the eclectic physician," explained Mrs. Morison. "I'm sure +that there's no use in sending for the doctors now. Later we will see. +We must manage the best we can. If I hurt you, Mr. Wynne, you must tell +me." + +Berenice looked on, sick with the sight of the blood, while her +grandmother examined the wounded arm. Wynne shrank a little, but +Berenice noted that he bore the pain pluckily. The sleeve was cut to +the shoulder, and his arm laid bare. A jagged cut was revealed reaching +from the wrist to the elbow; a cut so ugly in appearance that the girl +went faint again. + +"There, there, Miss Bee," old Mehitabel said, taking her by the +shoulder. "You've had enough of this sort of thing for one night. +You'll dream gray hairs all over your head if you don't get out." + +But Berenice refused to give up her place. She stood beside Wynne while +her grandmother examined the arm, handing the things that were wanted; +fighting with the faintness that came over her in waves. + +"No, Mehitabel," said she. "I'm made of better stuff than you think." + +In her heart she had a half unconscious feeling that she had been +inclined to hold this man in contempt because of his priestly garb; and +that she owed him this reparation. She did not know what had occurred +in that overturned car; but she looked back to it as to a horror of +great darkness in which Wynne had risked his life for hers. She felt +that she could not do less than to stand by while the wound he had +received in her service was being attended to. It was Wynne himself who +put her away. + +"You are too kind, Miss Morison," he said; "but you are not fit to do +this. I beg that you'll not stay. Your face shows how hard it is for +you." + +The first thought that shot through her mind was one of relief that she +now might properly leave her self-inflicted task; the second was a pang +of self-reproach that she should wish to leave it; the third and +lasting was a sense of pleasure that even in his pain he had not failed +to note her face and divine her feelings. + +"Mr. Wynne is right," Mrs. Morison added decisively. "Mehitabel can +help me, my dear. Go into the other room and let Rosa get you a cup of +tea." + +"It won't be much of a cup of tea," Mehitabel commented grimly. "That +fool of a girl's got it into her head that it's a good time to cry for +her doxy, because he's a brakeman on some other train." + +Berenice smiled at the characteristic crispness and the absurd speech +of the old servant. She remembered Mehitabel from the days when in +pinafores she used to visit here, and when she looked upon the tall, +gaunt woman with an awe which was saved from being terror only by the +fact that she had learned to associate with that abrupt speech an after +gift of crisp cakes. Mehitabel was to her as much a part of the +establishment as were the tall chairs, the lion-headed fire-dogs, or +the silver which had belonged to her grandmother's grandmother. + +Passing into the dining-room Berenice summoned the afflicted Rosa, who +came with face all be-blubbered with tears, and who sniffed audibly as +soon as she caught sight of the visitor. + +"How do you do, Rosa? I wouldn't cry, if I were you," Berenice said. +"Mehitabel says that this wasn't his train." + +"Oh, I know it, Miss," responded Rosa, with more tears; "but I can't +help thinking how dreadful it would be if it was; and me not to know +whether he was dead or alive. It don't seem to me I could ever marry +him, not to be able to tell whether he'd come home any day dead or +alive. I'll have to give him up, Miss; and he's real kind and +free-handed." + +Her tears flowed so freely at the thought of giving up her lover that +they splashed on Berenice's hand as Rosa leaned over to reach for +something on the table. + +"Well, Rosa," Miss Morison remarked, smiling at the absurdity of the +maid, and wiping her hand, "I'm sorry that you feel so bad; but I don't +like to be deluged with tears." + +"Indeed, Miss," Rosa returned penitently, "I didn't mean to cry on you; +but tears come so easy in this world. We're all born crying." + +Berenice laughed in spite of herself. + +"If we are born crying," she said, "that's reason enough for our +smiling when we've outgrown being babies." + +"That's all well enough for you," Rosa retorted with fresh tears. +"You've got your man here all safe if he is hurt a little; and I don't +know"-- + +Berenice broke in with indignant amazement, feeling her face burn. + +"My man!" she exclaimed. "How dare you speak to me like that! Mr. Wynne +is nothing to me. He's only a clergyman that was hurt saving my life." + +She broke off with a laugh somewhat hysterical. Her nerves were not +under control yet. + +"I'm sure I didn't mean," wailed the girl, "to say anything wrong." + +"There, there, Rosa," the other interrupted. "We are both upset. You +shouldn't take so much for granted, or talk to me about 'men.'" + +But in her mind the phrase repeated itself vexatiously: "your man." + + + + XI + + + IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + 1 Henry IV., v. 1. + + +The power of self-torture which the human heart possesses is well-nigh +infinite. When one considers how futile are self-reproaches, +self-examinations, remorses for faults and weaknesses; how vanity puts +itself upon the rack and conscience inflicts envenomed wounds; how self +tortures self until the whole man writhes in anguish, and in the end +nothing is altered by all this pain, one might almost thank the gods +for moral insensibility. Yet New England was founded upon the principle +that this temper of mind develops manlihood; that inward struggles are +the only discipline which can fit a human being for the outward +conquest of life. The Puritans had power to subdue the wilderness, to +overcome whatever obstacles interposed to the founding of a state and +the establishing of the truth as they conceived it, because all these +difficulties were accidents, outward and of comparative insignificance +when set against the real life, which was within. If a heritage of +self-consciousness has come down with the noble gifts which the +forefathers have left to their children, it is at least part of the +price paid for great things. + +To Maurice that night only the pain and misery of his Puritan +inheritance made themselves felt. Through the long hours he lacerated +his heart and soul with repentance, with remorseful self-reproaches, +enduring agony intense enough to be the reward meet for a crime. +Fevered with the loss of blood, racked with the smart of bodily wounds, +bruised and sore from the injuries of the accident, unable to move +without torture in every joint, he yet forgot physical in mental +suffering. + +The weakness and disorder of his body confused and distorted his +thoughts, but it was in any case inevitable that with his training he +should be wrung with bitter self-condemnation. He flushed and thrilled +at the remembrance of the pressure of Berenice against his breast; the +warmth of her breath, the odor of her hair, seemed to come back to him +even out of the tumult and reek of the burning car. He remembered how +it had seemed to him--to him, a priest--sweet to die if he might die +clasping unrebuked this woman in his arms. The blood throbbed in his +temples as he recalled the wild thoughts that had swirled in a mad +throng through his brain in those moments which had seemed like hours; +the blood throbbed, too, in his wounded arm, so that a groan forced +itself through his parched lips. He was constantly throwing himself to +and fro as if to escape from some teasing thought, always to be by the +sharp pang in his wound brought to a sense of his condition. The whole +night passed in an agony of mind and body. + +There were moments, too, when he seemed to stand outside of himself and +judge dispassionately this human creature, wounded, broken, rent in +body and in soul; moments in which he sometimes seemed to smile in +supreme contempt of the wretch so weak, so wavering, so utterly to be +despised; sometimes to protest in angry pity against the unmerited +anguish which had been heaped upon the sufferer. He had instants of +delirious clearness and exaltation in which he felt himself lifted +above the ordinary weaknesses of humanity; to see more clearly, and to +take a view broader than any to which he had ever before attained. It +shocked and startled him to realize that in these intervals which +seemed like inspiration,--intervals in which he felt himself +illuminated with inner light,--he cast from him the ideals which he had +hitherto cherished. As if for the first time seeing clearly, he felt +that men should not be hampered by dogmas which cramp and restrain. A +line he had seen somewhere, and which he had put aside as irreverent +and irreligious, kept repeating itself over and over in his head-- + + "He had crippled his youth with a creed." + + +Life stretched out before him futile and meaningless unless love should +light it, unless he could win Berenice; and he protested feverishly +against any vow that would thwart or restrain him. He had crippled his +youth with a creed unnatural and deforming; it was time for the manhood +within him to shake off its fetters and assert its strength. He told +himself wildly that now for the first time he saw life as it was; that +now first he understood the meaning of existence, and that life meant +nothing without freedom and love. + +The beliefs of years, however, or even those habits which so often pass +for beliefs, are not to be done away with in a night. Even love cannot +completely alter the course of life in a moment. At the last, worn out +with the conflict, but with a supreme effort to regain spiritual calm, +Maurice flung his whole soul into an agony of supplication, as he might +have flung his body at the foot of a cross, and prayed to be delivered +from this too great temptation. He would renounce; he would pluck up by +the roots this passion which had sprung and grown in his heart; at +whatever cost he would tear it up, and be faithful to his high calling. +As a child casts itself upon the bosom of its mother, he cast himself +upon the Divine, and with an ecstatic sense of pardon, of peace, of +perfect joy, he fell asleep at last. + +Maurice awoke in broad daylight, with a confused sense that the world +was falling in fragments about his ears, and that his name was being +shouted by the angel of the last trump. He found that the physician who +could not be had on the previous night had now been brought to his +chamber by Mehitabel. + +"Here's the saw-bones at last," was the characteristically +uncompromising introduction of the woman. + +"Dr. Murray's come to tell you that all Mis' Morison did last night was +wrong, and that probably you'll have to have your arm cut off 'cause of +it." + +Wynne sat up in bed dazed and uncomprehending, but the smile of the +doctor brought him to a sense of where he was. The latter was not in +the least surprised by Mehitabel's manner of speech. + +"If you'd had anything to do with it, Mehitabel," was Dr. Murray's +comment, "I've no doubt the arm would have had to go; but when Mrs. +Morison does a thing, it's another story." + +"Humph!" sniffed she. "You've got some small amount of sense, if it +ain't much. Now, young man, set your teeth together and put out your +tongue--your arm, I mean." + +Maurice smiled, not so much at the humor of the error as at the fact +that it was so evidently intentional on the part of the elderly virgin, +who cunningly glanced at him and at the doctor to discover if the rare +stroke of wit were properly appreciated. + +"Jocose as ever, Mehitabel," observed the doctor, going to work at once +with swift and delicate precision. "You've a nasty cut here, Mr. Wynne; +but you're lucky to get off with nothing worse. It's a good deal to +come through such an accident without a permanent injury." + +"That's true," Maurice responded cheerfully. "I dreamed in the night +that I was all in bits." + +"Plenty of poor fellows were. It was the most terrible smash-up for +years." + +"How is Miss Morison?" Wynne asked, wondering if his voice betrayed the +inward agitation without which he could not pronounce her name. + +"Oh, she's all right. Nervous and shaky, of course; but she's a sound, +wholesome creature, and it won't take her long to recover her tone." + +"Yes; I brought her up," interposed Mehitabel, with grim +self-complacency. "Don't pull that bandage so tight, doctor. You want +to have me running over after you in an hour to come and loosen it." + +"That's it, Mehitabel; teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I come +here, Mr. Wynne, chiefly to learn my profession from her." + +"She seems willing to teach you," Wynne replied, and then, with a +boyish doubt if she might not take offense, he added, "which of course +is very kind of her." + +Mehitabel chuckled in high good-humor. + +"Kind it is and unappreciated it is; and little is the credit he does +to his training. Men are all alike; if they owned half they owe to +women they'd be too ashamed to show their heads in daylight." + +The droll airs of the old woman entertained Wynne so greatly that he +bore with exemplary fortitude the painful attentions of the physician, +the harder to bear because the wound had had time to inflame. The arm +was dressed at last, and the doctor took himself away with a parting +passage of arms with Mehitabel. + +"The thing for you to do, young man," she said, when Dr. Murray had +departed, "is to stay in bed where you are, and that's reason enough +for a man to want to get up." + +"I'm not fond of staying in bed," Maurice responded with a smile; "and +besides that I must get back to Boston." + +She regarded him with an expression of marked disfavor. + +"Humph," said she. "Quarters ain't good enough for you, I suppose." + +"On the contrary, it is I who am not good enough for the quarters." + +Mehitabel went on with her work of arranging the curtains and putting +the room to rights as she answered:-- + +"Well, I dare say you ain't; but what special thing've you done?" + +"Special thing?" Maurice repeated, somewhat confused. "Oh, I see. The +fact is, I don't think I've any right to impose on the hospitality of +Mrs. Morison." + +"Well," assented she again, "I dare say you ain't; but if she's +willing, you ain't no occasion to grumble, 's I see. She ain't a-going +to hear of your starting out hot-foot, 's if she wouldn't keep you. +It'd look bad for the reputation of the family." + +"But," began he, "I"-- + +"Besides," the old woman continued, ignoring his attempt to speak, "you +ain't got much to wear. Them petticoats you come in, which ain't +suitable for any man to wear, without it's the bearded lady in the +circus if she's a man, which I never rightly knew, is so torn to pieces +by the grace of heaven that you can't go in them, and all the rest of +your clothes are all holes and blood." + +"I suppose my clothes were pretty well used up," he replied, divided +between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he should resent the +affront to his clerical garb; "and of course my baggage is nowhere. Can +I get clothing here, or shall I have to send to Boston?" + +"You can't get men's petticoats," Mehitabel retorted uncompromisingly, +"nor none of them Popish things. If it's good, plain God-fearing pants +and such, there ain't no trouble, and the price is reasonable." + +"Plain God-fearing trousers and coat will do," Maurice answered, +bursting into a laugh. "Do you think that you could send for some if I +give you the size?" + +She was evidently pleased at the success of her attempts to be funny, +for her face relaxed, but she set her mouth primly. + +"I'd go myself," was her reply. "I'd trust myself to pick out things, +and it might give the girls ideas to go traipsing round buying pants +and men's fixings." + +When she was gone Maurice lay in a pleasant half-doze, smiling at the +absurd old servant with her labored determination to be thought witty, +and wondering at the caprices of existence. He was interrupted by the +arrival of his breakfast, and after that had been disposed of he +received a visit from Mrs. Morison. She was a fine old lady with snowy +hair, her sweet face wrinkled into a relief-map of the journey of life, +her eyes as bright and sparkling as those of her granddaughter. Wynne +could see the family likeness at a glance, and said to himself that +some day when time had wrinkled her smooth cheeks and whitened her hair +Berenice would be such another beautiful dame. Mrs. Morison brought +with her an air of brisk yet serene individuality, as of the fire which +on a winter evening burns cheerily on the hearth, warming, +invigorating, suggesting wholesome and happy thoughts. She was so +kindly and yet so thoroughly alive to the very tips of her fingers that +her age almost seemed rather a merry disguise like the powdered hair of +a young girl. + +"Good-morning," she greeted him cheerily. "The doctor says that you are +doing well. I hope that you feel so." + +"Thank you," he answered. "I don't seem to have as many joints as I +used to have, but I'm doing famously, thanks to the skillful treatment +I had last night." + +"It was not too skillful, I'm afraid; but Dr. Murray says I did no +harm, and that's really a good deal of a compliment from him." + +"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Maurice said. "It is so +strange to be taken care of"-- + +He broke off suddenly, awkward from shyness and genuine feeling. He +looked up, however, to meet a glance so reassuring that he felt at once +at ease. + +"It is time that it ceased to be strange," she returned. "We must try +before you go to make you more accustomed to being looked after a +little." + +He returned her kind look with a grateful smile. + +"You are too generous," he said. "I must not trespass on your +good-nature. I think that I could manage to get back to Boston to-day +if the trains are running." + +"The trains are running, but that is no reason why you should think of +running too. We mean to mend you before we let you go." + +"But"-- + +"There is no 'but' about it," Mrs. Morison declared, speaking more +seriously. "Berenice and I have settled it, and we are accustomed to +having our own way. You are selfish to wish that we should be left with +all the obligation on our shoulders." + +"Obligation?" repeated he. "How on earth is there any obligation but +mine?" + +"Do you think that there is no obligation in owing to you Bee's life?" + +He stared at her in complete confusion. He made a vain effort to recall +clearly what had happened in the car. He remembered the crash, the din, +the pain, the horrible clutch on his arm, the choking reek of the +smoke, his frantic fear for Berenice, but all these things seemed +blurred in his mind like a landscape obscured by a night-fog. Only one +memory stood out clear and sharp; that was the joy of holding Berenice +clasped in his arms, and of thinking that they would die together. He +felt the blood mount in his cheek at the thought, and he hastened to +speak, lest his hostess should divine what was in his mind. + +"Why do you say that?" he asked. "It was not I that saved her. I was +not even conscious when she was taken out." + +Mrs. Morison smiled, and touched lightly with the tip of her finger the +bandaged arm which lay on the outside of the coverlid. + +"We won't dispute about it," said she. "The proof is here. Let it go, +if you like; but we shall remember." + +"But," protested Maurice, "it wouldn't be honest for me to let you +think that I did anything for Miss Morison. I should have been only too +glad to help her, but I couldn't. I wish what you think could have been +true; but since it isn't, I can't let you think it is." + +Mrs. Morison let the matter drop, but her kind old eyes were brighter +than ever. She contented herself with saying that at least he was to +remain with them, and need not try to escape; then she led the talk to +more indifferent matters. Her hand, worn and thin, the blue veins +relieved under the delicate skin, lay on the white coverlid like a +beautiful carving of ivory. As Maurice looked at it, it brought into +his mind the hand of his mother, as in her last days, when he sat by +her bedside, it had rested in the same fashion. The tears sprang in his +eyes at the memory, half-blinding him. As he tried to brush them away +unseen he caught the sympathetic look of his hostess, and its sweetness +overpowered him still more. Meeting his glance, she leaned forward +tenderly, taking his fingers in her own. + +"What is it?" asked she softly. + +"Your hand," he answered simply. "It looked so like my mother's." + +"Poor boy," she murmured. + +He returned the pressure of her clasp, and then the masculine dislike +for effusiveness asserted itself. + +"I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," he said shamefacedly. "I'm +almost hysterical." + +She glanced at him shrewdly, and smiling, rose. + +"For all that," she returned, "you are to get up. Dr. Murray says that +it will be better, and you would get hopelessly tired of bed before +to-morrow morning. I'll send you something in the way of clothing, and +we'll let you play invalid in a dressing-gown to-day. If Mehitabel can +help you, you've only to ring. I dare say that you can do something +with one hand." + +"One never knows until he tries," Wynne answered. + +Maurice wished to ask for a barber, but could not pluck up courage. +When he was alone he gazed ruefully into the mirror at his stoutly +sprouting black beard, which so little understood the exigencies of the +situation that it persisted in growing as vigorously as ever. + +"If I stay here a couple of days without shaving," he mused, "I shall +simply be hideous. Well, my vanity very likely needs a lesson. What did +Mrs. Morison mean by my saving Miss Morison's life? I certainly could +not have said so when I was unconscious. It must be from something she +herself has said. If I could only remember what did happen after the +car went over!" + +His bath and toilet were difficult and unsatisfactory enough. The linen +with which he was provided, however, smelled sweetly of lavender, and +the odor seemed to bear him away into a pleasant reverie, in which he +was chiefly conscious of the pleasure of being near--of being near, he +assured himself, so delightful and sympathetic an old lady as Mrs. +Morison. A feeling of well-being, of content, saturated him. Behind his +thought of his hostess and his denial to himself that the presence +under the same roof of Berenice was the true source of his happiness, +lay the consciousness that the latter regarded him as her preserver. He +resolutely thrust the thought down deep into his heart, but he could +not forget it. + +Before he was ready to leave his chamber Mehitabel brought him a +telegram from Mrs. Staggchase, to whom he had sent a line announcing +his safety. It was merely a friendly word with an offer to come to him +if he needed her; but it changed the whole current of his thoughts. He +seemed to see the mocking smile of his cousin as she read that he was +staying with the Morisons, and to hear again her words about his period +of temptation. He resolved, however, to put the whole question of the +future out of his mind. Somehow there must be a way to steer safely +between his duty and his inclination. He failed to reflect that he who +decides to compromise between duty and desire has already sacrificed +the former. + +Berenice greeted him on his appearance in the library, whither he +descended rather shakily. She held in her hand a telegram when he +entered under the escort of Mehitabel, and her cheeks were flushed. +Instantly into his mind came the feeling that her color was connected +with the message which the yellow paper brought, and he became jealous +in a flash. There was no possible reason why he should scent a rival in +the mere presence in his lady's hand of a telegram, unless there were +an intangible shade of self-consciousness in her manner. He had come +downstairs eager to see her and to assure himself that she was really +no worse for the accident, but the sight of the paper instantly changed +his mood. In crossing the half-dozen steps from the door to the fire +Maurice shifted from frank eagerness to aggrieved distrust. He said +good-morning as he entered in the tone of a lover; he spoke as he +reached the hearth with the formality of an acquaintance. + +He was too keenly alive to the change in his feelings not to know that +he showed it. He endeavored to hide his perturbation under an +appearance of simple politeness, but he was sure that she watched him +and that she was puzzled. + +"Well," she said, as she arranged a cushion in the big easy-chair +beside the crackling wood fire, "you have the genuine scarred veteran +air." + +"Please don't bother to wait on me, Miss Morison," he answered, trying +to speak naturally, and painfully aware that he did not succeed. "I'm +all right, except for the scratch on my arm." + +"Scratch, indeed," she returned with a smile which almost disarmed him. +"How many stitches did the doctor have to put in?" + +"'Bout enough for a week's mending," interpolated Mehitabel, putting +him into the chair with an air of authority, and preparing to retire. +"There, now stay there till you want to go upstairs again, and then +send for me." + +"Indeed," he protested, laughing, "I am not helpless. You can't make a +baby of me just for a disabled arm." + +"I suppose," Berenice said, "that I ought to be willing to say that I +had rather the wound were in my back, where it would have been but for +you; only as a matter of fact I shouldn't be telling the truth. I am +sorry for you, Mr. Wynne; but I can't help being glad for myself." + +She seemed to be setting herself to win him from his ill-humor, and he +had to look into the fire away from her lips and eyes to prevent +himself from yielding. He fortified his resistance, which he felt to be +weakening, by the reflection that it was his duty not to be carried +away by her charm. He called upon his religious scruples to aid him in +holding to his passion-born jealousy. + +"There," Miss Morison said, when he had been properly ensconced and +Mehitabel had departed, "now it is my duty to entertain you. What shall +I do? My accomplishments are at your service. I can read, without +stopping to spell out any except the very longest words. I can play two +tunes on the mandolin, only that I've forgotten the middle of one and +the other has a run in it that I always have to skip. The piano is too +far off across the hall to be available; so that the little I can do in +that way doesn't count. I can--let me see, I can teach you three +solitaires, or play cribbage, or--I beg your pardon, I forgot." + +"You forgot what?" he asked, so intent upon watching the sunlight +filtering through her hair that he had hardly noticed what she said. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"You don't play cards, perhaps?" she said tentatively. + +"No," he answered. "In the country in my boyhood they weren't held in +high repute, to say the least; and naturally we don't play at the +Clergy House." + +There was a brief interval of silence, during which he watched her, +while she in her turn looked into the fire. When she spoke again it was +in a different tone. + +"I know," said she, "that you must think me frivolous, and that I can't +be anything else; but"-- + +"Oh, no," he interrupted, "I never thought you frivolous." + +She made an impulsive little gesture with one of her hands. + +"Oh, you wouldn't put it in that way, I dare say. You'd call it being +worldly, I suppose; but it comes to much the same thing." + +Wynne could not understand what was the direction of her thoughts, and +he was taken entirely by surprise when she leaned forward impulsively +and took in hers his free hand. + +"At least," she said, quickly and eagerly, "I can't forget that you +saved my life, and I thank you from my heart if I don't know just how +to do it in words." + +He returned the pressure of her fingers, longing to cover them with +kisses. + +"I'm afraid," responded he, "that I've very little claim to glory on +account of anything I did for you. I certainly don't deserve the credit +of having saved you. I only wish I did." + +She laughed gayly, springing up from her seat, and he realized that his +voice had lost all trace of unfriendliness. He told himself recklessly +that he did not care; that if he were a thousand times a priest he +could not but be kindly to Berenice. + +"Come," she laughed, "we have been through a real adventure; and that's +more than happens to most people if they live to be a hundred." +Suddenly she became grave. "I can't bear to think of it, though," she +added. Then she turned toward him, and spoke with seriousness. "At +least, Mr. Wynne, I am not so flighty that I do not thank God for my +escape yesterday." + +"Amen," he responded. + +She walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sunny day. +The fire burned cheerfully on the wide, red hearth, and Maurice looked +into its glowing heart thinking gratefully of his preservation and of +the friendly refuge into which he had been brought. No reverent man can +come face to face with death and escape without some feeling of awe and +of gratitude to the power which has preserved him; and Maurice was +filled with a sense of how great had been the hand which could bring +him through such peril, how kind the protection which had preserved +Berenice unscathed. Humility and tenderness overflowed his heart, and +the inward thanksgiving which his spirit breathed was as sweet and as +unselfish as if a personal passion had never invaded his breast. + +"It seems to me," Berenice remarked from her place by the window, "that +the woods on the hills over there are already beginning to show signs +of spring. There is a sort of delicate change of color in them that +means buds beginning to grow." + +Before he could reply, the door opened, and Mehitabel presented herself +with a card. + +"Oh," said Berenice, as she received it, "already!" + +There seemed to Maurice something of impatience or dismay in her tone. +She excused herself and went out, leaving the old servant with Wynne. +As soon as the door closed, Mehitabel turned upon him at once. + +"Do you know him?" she demanded. + +"Know whom?" + +"This sprig that's come from Boston to see Miss Bee?" + +Maurice looked at her with a sharp sense that he ought not to allow her +to go on, yet with a desire to know more so burning that he could not +refrain. + +"I didn't even know that anybody had come from Boston to see Miss +Morison," he replied; "so that it isn't easy to say whether I know him +or not." + +"His name is Parker Stanford, and he's all the signs of being better'n +his grandfathers and knowing it through and through. He's too fond of +his looks to suit me." + +"I don't know him," Maurice answered, "except that I've heard my +cousin, Mrs. Staggchase, mention his name. He's very rich, I believe, +and a good deal of a leader in society." + +"Humph," sniffed Mehitabel. "He may be a leader in society, but he's as +selfish as a sucking calf!" + +"You seem to know him pretty well," commented Maurice. "I suppose +you've seen him often." + +"Never saw him in my life till this minute. Young man, I'll tell you +this, though. Every woman with any brains knows what a man is the +minute she claps eyes on him; only if he's good-looking, or awful +wicked, or makes love to her, or forty thousand other things, she'll +deny to herself that she knows any bad about him." + +"Then it seems to be much the same thing as if your sex weren't gifted +with such extraordinary insight," Maurice responded, laughing. + +"If women didn't cheat themselves there wouldn't be no marriages," +Mehitabel retorted, grinning, and retired in evident delight over her +success in repartee. + +As for Maurice, he became wonderfully grave the moment he was left +alone. + + + + XII + + + THE ONLY TOUCH OF LOVE + Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii. 7. + + +_To be_ is an irregular verb in all languages, but always regular is +the verb _to love_. There are many sides to the existence of mortals; +but to love is the same for high and low. Any mortal knows little +enough about himself; but a mortal in love knows nothing. Love is a +bewildering and a bedazzling fire, wherewith the eyes of youth are so +blinded that they are able to see clearly neither within nor without. +Often it happens, indeed, that the first intimation the heart has of +the presence of the divine flame is the bewilderment which fills the +mind. + +Berenice had long been contentedly and unenthusiastically convinced +that, she was to marry Parker Stanford. She approved of him; he was +wealthy, well-born, agreeable enough, and apparently very fond of her. +She had not, it is true, become formally engaged to him. When he had +asked her to become his wife she had teasingly asked for time for +deliberation; but this was not because she felt any especial doubt +about ultimately accepting him. She was pleased, maiden-like, to dally, +and shrank from being formally bound. Her pulses had not yet stirred +with the unrest which love awakens. Her vanity had been pleasantly +aroused, and for the rest she was in all the ignorance of those whom +passion has not yet made wise. She regarded marriage rather as an +abstract thing; she was familiar with the idea that it was a matter of +social arrangement and necessity, to be looked upon as a part of life. +She had, it is true, some vaguely sentimental notion that love was a +necessity, and being persuaded that the match before her was a +desirable one, was persuaded also that she was in love with Stanford. +At least she was sure that he was in love with her, and as she liked +him, that answered. To find a man amusing, agreeable, handsome, and +fulfilling the social requirements of a desirable husband seemed to her +unsophisticated mind to love him. She was pleased with her lover; she +was not insensible of the triumph of having won the attentions of one +of the most sought-after men in her set; to pass her life in the +well-ordered establishment which he would provide seemed to her a +decorous and desirable method of fulfilling the destiny of a woman. She +was willing that the event should be postponed indefinitely, it is +true; and the man himself in her considerations of the future was +something of a shadow; a shadow pleasant enough, yet so remote as to +count for nothing intimately important. She was somewhat less +sophisticated than most modern girls, inheriting that New England +nature which is slow to understand emotion and endowed with the power +rather of tenacity than of spontaneity of passion. + +When on the day previous Stanford had come to the train to see Berenice +off, she had been especially gracious. She had been in particularly +good spirits, full of amusement that Mr. Wynne was to be her neighbor +on the train, and that he did not know it. She had chanced to send for +tickets with Mrs. Wilson, the pair had laughingly planned the +arrangement, and Berenice had promised herself some entertainment in +teasing the young cleric on the journey. It pleased her, too, that +Stanford should take the trouble to come to the station, especially as +Kate West, who had tried so hard to secure him despite the fact that +she was ten years his senior, chanced to be meeting a friend and to be +there to see. She allowed herself to smile on her lover with more +warmth than usual, and was a little vexed as well as a little amused by +it afterward. On the train she reflected that if she were to be so +gracious Stanford would press his suit more warmly than she wished; yet +on the other hand it occurred to her that if she were to be engaged to +him, she might as well get it over. Why not marry in the spring and go +abroad? She wished much to go to Bayreuth for the Wagner operas in the +summer, and the aunt with whom she had hoped to travel was not willing +to go. Besides, she really could not afford the trip, and at least +Stanford had plenty of money. The idea of marrying with a thought to +his wealth was distasteful, and she at once said to herself that she +could not do that; but if she were to marry him--As the train rolled on +she had filled in the talk with Wynne with speculations whether it +might not be as well to let Stanford propose once more, and have +matters settled. + +These cogitations, however, she interspersed with reflections that her +traveling companion had a beautiful eye and a finely cut nostril; that +he was on the whole a fine-looking man, handsome and well made, if he +were not disguised in that detestable clerical garb; and that his hands +were distinctly those of a gentleman. She liked the tones of his voice +and the carriage of his head, smiling to herself at the thought that in +the latter there was hardly so much meekness as was to be expected in +one of his profession. She laughed at him almost openly, for to the +young woman of to-day there is apt to be something bordering on the +ludicrous and unmanly in a youth who is preparing to take orders, no +matter how great her respect for the completed clergyman. Berenice felt +something not entirely free from a trace of good-natured contempt for +deacons in the abstract, not dreaming that she might be led to make an +exception in favor of this especial deacon in the concrete. She became +more and more alive to the attractions of Wynne, although up to the +time of the accident she hardly realized the fact. + +From the moment, however, that the rescuer said to her that Maurice had +saved her life, her feeling was changed. She felt that she had failed +to do Wynne justice; that she had allowed his cassock to be the sign of +a lack of manhood; she accused herself of having wronged him. She began +now to exalt him in her thoughts, and to regard him as a hero. She had +long been aware of the effect that she had on him. From the morning +when she had encountered him at the North End, and had met the quick, +troubled glance of his eye, full of doubt and of fire, she had been +conscious that he was not indifferent to her presence. She had not +reasoned about it; but it gave her pleasure. It was a passing breath of +homage, pleasing like a breath from some rose-bed passed in a walk. Up +to the moment, however, when she said to herself that he had risked his +life for her, Berenice had never consciously thought of Maurice as a +lover. When she saw him lying insensible, depending upon her, a new +feeling kindled in her breast. She would not think of it; she shrank +from it, and refused to acknowledge it to herself. Yet for her the +world was altered, and however she might try to hide the fact from her +heart, secretly she felt it fluttering and throbbing deep within her +breast. + +When the telegram came in the morning announcing the visit of Stanford, +her first thought was one of gratification. The act was friendly, and +it gave her a pleasant sense of importance. The reaction came +instantly. The purport of the visit flashed upon her. She remembered +how she had smiled on Stanford yesterday,--Yesterday that now seemed so +far away that she looked back to it over distances of emotion which +made it strangely remote. She felt that she must receive him; but she +found herself seeking for the means of making him understand that what +he hoped was forever impossible. She certainly could never marry him. +She was sure that the thought could never have been seriously in her +mind. The idea of belonging to him, of having no right to think of +another man with tenderness, became all at once too repugnant to be +endured. She would not consider why her attitude was so different from +that of yesterday; she only insisted vehemently in her thought that now +first she really knew her own mind. Her cheek burned at the reflection +that Stanford was probably sure of her consent to be his. It seemed to +give him a claim upon her; to shut the door upon all other +possibilities; to smutch the whiteness of her soul and render her +unworthy of any man whom she might some day come to love. To remember +that in her secret thought she had actually contemplated being +Stanford's wife made her cringe. + +She stood by the window with the telegram in her hands, twisting it to +and fro, wondering what it was possible for her to do. She thought of +excusing herself from her visitor when he should come, but the evasion +seemed to her unworthy, and she was eager to free herself from even the +suspicion of belonging to him. She felt that she could not breathe +freely until she were clear of the faintest shadow of any claim, even +in Stanford's secret thought. She must belong once more to herself. + +It was at this point in her musings that Wynne came into the library. +He was pale and sunken-eyed, and the tinge of his sprouting beard gave +to his face a certain virility which startled her. It imparted a trace +of something perhaps remotely animal and brutal, subtly altering his +whole expression. He became in appearance at once more vigorous and +more human. For the first time Berenice saw a suggestion of the +possibility that this man might be a master; and the strength in man +that makes a woman tremble also makes her thrill. Some inward voice +cried in her ear: "Here is the reason why Parker Stanford is +repugnant!" But she denied the accusation indignantly in her mind, +putting the thought by, and refusing to see in Wynne anything more than +the man to whom she had cause to be grateful. Yet in that part of her +mind where a woman keeps so many things which she declines to confess +to herself that she knows, Berenice from that moment kept the fact that +this man before her had touched her heart. + +She made a strong effort to greet Wynne frankly, and to conceal from +him the feeling which his coming excited. She would have died rather +than show him how glad she was that he had come. She saw the eagerness +of his glance when he entered, and she felt the warmth of his greeting. +She noted the change in his manner, and fancied it arose from his fear +lest he betray himself. She set herself to overcome his reserve; and +when she had succeeded she sprang up with a gay laugh, light-hearted +and full of a delicious, incomprehensible pleasure. She wanted to break +out into singing, so sweet is the delight of new love unrecognized save +as simple joy in living. + +The entrance of Mehitabel with the card of Mr. Stanford brought her +back to earth. + +"Already?" she said, feeling as if she were defrauded that thus her +moment of enjoyment was cut short. + +She could not trust herself for more than a word of excuse to Wynne, +but hurried to her chamber to collect her thoughts and to examine her +toilet before she descended to her visitor. Some inward personality +seemed to be trying properly to frame the speech by which she should +make Stanford understand that it was idle for him to hope longer; while +all the time she was thinking of the man whom she had just left. + +Stanford was holding out his hands to the blaze in the fireplace when +she entered the parlor, for the morning was a sharp one. Berenice saw +with appreciation how satisfactory he was in all his appointments and +in his bearing; how well kept and how well bred. She felt, however, for +the first time that he was perhaps a little too faultlessly attired for +a man, and she glanced at his cleanly shaven cheek with an acute memory +of the stout black stubble on the face she had left behind her, yet +carried still in the eye of her mind. + +"Good-morning," she said, giving the visitor her hand, and making her +manner at once as cordial and as unemotional as possible. "It was too +good of you to come all the way up here in this cold weather, just to +see me." + +He pressed her hand with eagerness, and so meaningly that the color +flushed into her cheeks. His air seemed to her to have in it a +suggestion of intimacy which was irritating beyond endurance. + +"There was nothing good about it," he answered. "I had to assure myself +by actual sight that you were safe; and, besides, it gave me an excuse +for coming, and I was only too glad of that." + +"Sit down," Berenice said, ignoring the compliment. "It really was +frightful; but I came through safe. Grandmother wouldn't let me see the +paper this morning; but I know the details must have been horrible." + +She grew grave as she spoke. She seemed again to see the whole terrible +sight. The wreck, thrusting out tongues of fire, the dead and the dying +strewn about on the snow; Wynne, at her feet, insensible and ghastly in +the uncertain light. She shuddered and drew in her breath. + +"Oh, don't let's talk about it!" she exclaimed. "I can't bear to think +of it, and I feel as if I should never get it out of my head!" + +Stanford was silent a moment, pulling his mustache as if trying to find +the right word. + +"It must have been awful," he said hesitatingly; "and I'll never speak +of it again if you don't wish. Only I must say that it was dreadful to +me too. The thought of how near I came to losing you is more than I can +stand." + +She leaned back in her chair, suddenly chilled, yet moved by the +feeling in his voice. Her conscience reproached her that she had +allowed a false hope to grow up in his mind. She felt as if he were +establishing a claim upon her, and that at any cost she must make him +see things as they were. + +"You are very kind," she responded, trying to keep her tones from being +too cold; "but of course we always feel a shock when any friend has +been through a great danger." + +Her eyes were cast down, but she could divine his regard of disquiet +and surprise. + +"And especially those we love," he added, leaning forward, and +endeavoring to take her hand. + +"Oh, of course, Mr. Stanford," she said hastily. "That is of course +true. Were people in Boston much excited about the accident?" + +She felt herself a hypocrite, yet she could not help this one more +effort to avoid the explanation she dreaded. + +"I suppose so. I don't know. I was so taken up with thinking about you, +that I paid very little attention to anything else." + +"I'm afraid I didn't deserve it. I wasn't thinking of anybody but +myself. It was very good of you." + +"Of course you weren't thinking of anybody," Stanford responded, +pulling his mustache more furiously than ever; "but I was at the club +instead of being in a burning car. I was half crazy at the thought that +my future wife"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice broke in. "You mustn't say such things. I'm not your +future wife!" + +"Forgive me. I know I haven't any right to say that when you haven't +promised; but I can't help thinking of you so, and"-- + +"Oh, please don't!" she cried. + +A wave of humiliation, of repulsion, of terror, swept over her. That +this man had thought of her as his wife seemed almost like an +inexorable bond. She shrank away from him with an impulse too strong to +be controlled. + +"But, Berenice, I"-- + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"I have never promised you!" she declared with hurried vehemence. "I +never will promise you! I can't marry you. If I've made you think so, I +didn't mean to. I didn't know my own mind. I thought--O Mr. Stanford, +if I have deceived you, I beg your pardon. I"-- + +The tears choked and blinded her. She broke off, and put her +handkerchief to her eyes; but when she heard him rise and hurry toward +her, she went on hastily. + +"I've let you go on thinking I'd marry you; I know I have. I thought so +myself; but I've found out that it's all a mistake. I didn't realize +what I was doing. I'm so sorry. I do hope you'll forgive me." + +He regarded her in amazement not unmingled with indignation. + +"You have let me think so," he said. "Now I suppose there's somebody +else." + +"Oh, I shall never marry anybody," she answered quickly. + +"When a girl tells one man she never'll marry," retorted he bitterly, +"there's sure to be another man in her mind." + +She felt herself burn with blushes to her brow; and then in very shame +and anger to grow pale again. Her first impulse was to leave him; but +she controlled herself. He was her guest, he had come all the way from +Boston to assure himself that she was safe, and more than all she was +sorely aware that she had not treated him well. To have injured a man +is to a woman apt to be an excuse for continuing to treat him ill; but +when the opposite occurs she can be very forbearing. + +"There is no other man," she said with dignity. Then she added, more +mildly: "Badly as I may have treated you, I don't think you've quite +the right to say such a thing as that to me." + +"I haven't," he acknowledged contritely. "I beg your pardon; but I +surely have a right to ask what I've done to change you so. You were +not like this yesterday." + +Berenice forced herself to meet his eyes, but she ignored his question. +She sank back into the chair from which she had risen to face him. + +"Come," said she, trying to speak lightly, "I don't see why we need +stand. We are not rehearsing private theatricals. It was very kind of +you to take the trouble to come all the way up here, but you must see +that my nerves are all on edge. The shock has completely upset me." + +"Poor girl!" he said. + +There was a genuine ring in his voice which irritated while it touched +her. She hated to feel that he was really hurt. It made her seem the +more deeply guilty, and she unconsciously desired to discover in him +some excuse for her own shortcomings. + +"Oh, it's over now," she responded. "Let's talk of something else." + +"I'd be glad to," Stanford replied, "but I can't seem to. I want to +know how you escaped. I won't ask you to tell me now, but I keep +thinking about it." + +"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. I remember a tremendous crash, and +being thrown against Mr. Wynne"-- + +"Mr. Wynne?" + +The tone showed Berenice that Stanford did not attach especial +importance to the question, but asked only from a natural curiosity. +Nevertheless she could not keep her voice from, hurrying a little as +she answered:-- + +"Mr. Wynne is a young clergyman who was in the seat next to mine. He's +a cousin of Mrs. Staggchase." + +"Oh, a clergyman," Stanford echoed. + +The tone seemed to her excited mood to be full of intolerable +superiority. + +"He may be a clergyman," she retorted with unnecessary warmth, "but he +is a gentleman and a hero. He saved my life!" + +"Oh, he did!" + +The exclamation stung her beyond endurance. She sprang up with flashing +eyes. + +"Mr. Stanford," she exclaimed, "I don't know what you mean to +insinuate, but you will please to remember that you are speaking of the +man that saved me, and of my grandmother's guest." + +"Your grandmother's guest? Do you mean that he is staying here?" + +"Certainly he is. Why shouldn't he be?" + +The young man rose, and stood looking at her a moment; then he began to +pace up and down, his gaze fixed on the floor. Berenice felt herself +being swept away by tumultuous feelings which she could neither compel +nor understand. Her mind was in confusion, out of which rose most +definitely the desire that Stanford would go and leave her in peace. + +"There is no reason why I should question the right of Mrs. Morison to +choose her own guests," said Stanford at length, pausing, and speaking +with an evident effort to be entirely calm; "and as I know nothing of +this Mr. Wynne, I shouldn't in any case have a right to say anything +about him. You can't wonder, though, that I'm jealous of him for having +had the luck to save your life, or that when I come here and find you +so suddenly different and this man staying in the house and a hero in +your eyes"-- + +"I wish that you wouldn't keep calling Mr. Wynne 'this,'" she +interrupted hastily. "It sounds dreadfully superior. Come," she added, +softening her tone, and pleased at having prevented him from going on, +"there is no need that we should quarrel about him. He is a priest, or +going to be, and he's to take the vows of celibacy, so that it is +absurd for anybody to think of being jealous of him. If I seem +different to-day, it isn't any wonder after what I've been through." + +"I beg your pardon," he said, coming quickly forward and extending his +hand. "I'm awfully selfish. Of course I understand that what you've +been saying isn't to be taken seriously. We stand as we did before. +Only," he added, his voice deepening, "you are to remember that the +danger of losing you has shown me how fond I am of you. Good-by." + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and before she could speak, he was +gone. She stood where he had left her, hearing him leave the house, and +the tears came into her eyes. + +"Oh," she moaned to herself, "I've made it worse than it was before. I +wanted to be honest, and he wouldn't let me!" + +She stood a moment disconsolately, then she shrugged her shoulders as +if to throw off all care. + +"Well," she told herself, "I've given him fair warning. Now it is time +to go and entertain grandmother's guest." + + + + XIII + + + A NECESSARY EVIL + Julius Caesar, ii. 2. + + +While the advocates of Father Frontford were laboring, the friends of +other candidates were not idle. By the middle of January, however, the +contest had practically narrowed itself down to a struggle between the +supporters of the Father and those of the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore. +Other names had been suggested, but in the end it was felt that there +was no doubt that one or the other of these men would succeed to the +vacant bishopric. Even church politicians are human, and most divisions +are sure sooner or later to arouse the vanity of contestants. The +struggle, which begins without consciously personal motives, is apt to +be strongly tempered by the determination not to be beaten. For +thousands who can accomplish the difficult feat of triumphing humbly, +there is hardly one who can submit to defeat generously; and against +the humiliation of failure the human being instinctively strives with +every power. Those who upheld the rival candidates were undoubtedly +convinced that they had the best interests of the church at heart; but +that meant the election--even at some cost!--of their favorite. + +There could be no question that Mr. Strathmore was the more generally +popular candidate. He was a man who appealed strongly to the common +heart, both by his sympathy and by flexibility of character and +temperament which made it impossible for him to be repellantly stern or +austere. He preached the high ideals which are dear to the best thought +of the children of the Puritans; he demanded high purpose and high +life, noble aims and unfailing charity; while he laid little stress on +dogmas, and allowed an elasticity of individual interpretation of +doctrine which made the creed easy of adoption by all who believed +anything. His enemies--for he was by no means so insignificant as to be +without enemies--declared that he carried the doctrine of "mental +reservations" to the extent of rendering the articles of faith mere +empty forms of words; his defenders protested that he was but wisely +conforming in non-essentials to the progressive spirit of the age. +Bitterly attacked by the more conservative members of his own +denomination, he was looked up to by the general public as a great +spiritual leader, and loved with an affection exceedingly rare in this +unpriestly age. Those who urged his elevation had the support of the +body of the laity, and also of the public outside of the church, which +for once was interested in church politics on account of affection and +reverence for the candidate. + +Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely +in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic +assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant +office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was +indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be +made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of +Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a +duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his +ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that he +had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant. There +was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said, so +that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or +meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and +self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but +he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for +the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is +the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the +public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore +was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in +conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself +without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a +smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised. + +Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial +liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art +of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so +that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in +whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute +of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart. +He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young +men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period +when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of +both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the +sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him +that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human +qualities, endears a man to his fellows. + +Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to +represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the +relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of +barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all, +acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the +conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of +interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all +standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can +result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church. +Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a +devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and +conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father +Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if +the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his +popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little +better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic. + +One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in +clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr. +Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to +the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the +windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered +with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony +pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet +draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be +thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of +the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with +one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely +consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome +carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by +Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table, +had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however, +and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr. +Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The +clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall +nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he +carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were +keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed +their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses. +He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too +generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have +seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen +eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was +acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and +sympathy. + +The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously +his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with +inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the +incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of those +men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their +stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was +evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel +pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service +of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would +tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he +handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all +addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his +appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come +on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not +vote for him in the coming election. + +Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even +with no appearance of disapproval. + +"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be +disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that +my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can +conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more +dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am +capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote +against me." + +He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily, +becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for +existing at all. + +"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen. +That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to +Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of +the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself. + +"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on, +turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection +with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the +good of the church must be considered first, as you say." + +Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with +a piteous appeal in his face. + +"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it +seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I +appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you." + +Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently. + +"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were +different"-- + +"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are, +however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you +have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm +glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand." + +"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch +has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, +all under ten." + +The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable gravity. + +"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested. + +"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs. +Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we +couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs. +Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but +it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us." + +Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it +a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on. + +"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has +something to do with your decision in regard to the election?" + +"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father +Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop. +It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous +that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a +man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church." + +"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented +blandly. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr. +Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my +inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you +that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to +me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was +likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure +you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night +that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained." + +"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but +his eyes still kindly. + +"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice." + +"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course +in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let +the consequences take care of themselves." + +"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I +said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be +decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I +should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand +that I personally wish you all success." + +He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief. + +"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you +wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state +properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken +a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case +there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and +let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally, +you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful." + +When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his +forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, +as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged +his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a +tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room. + +"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready +to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore." + +The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, +with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or +careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils +unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together. + +"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she +can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the +vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so +many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not +allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs. +Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him." + +"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for +him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in +him." + +"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response, +"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a +very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active +part in this matter there are others she can influence." + +"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up +with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring +the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would +have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way." + +"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr. +Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would +be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding +instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual +liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in +opposition to the spirit of the age." + +"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly. + +"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other, +"would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more +religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its +place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent +and deadly peril of the church to-day." + +"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague. + +"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the +deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in +sympathy with the tendencies of the time." + +"You put it admirably," the other murmured. + +Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden +thought behind the words. + +"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone. + +The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, +talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where +they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a +lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her +cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her. + +"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you +said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden +better. I want to thank you with all my heart." + +"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness. +"The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you." + +"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes, +"that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized. +It was like talking to a brother." + +He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet +which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of +reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head. + +"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do +you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?" + +"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car." + +"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently, +"and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from +the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may +want to read at the meeting." + +"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of +opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air +of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character, +"so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents." + +The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further +remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend +a meeting of the Charity Board. + +"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen +whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control." + + + + XIV + + + HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not +to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to +cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by +his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work, +and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is +amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing +excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such +desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that +he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is +impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which +testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning. + +At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been +going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was +to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able +to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been +looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that +there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford +and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing +division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities; +and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out +openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of +the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which +differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board. +The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were +evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed +to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the +meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are +times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of +principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a +time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by +the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs. +Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment +unconscious of being beside her. + +The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour +passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston, +with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles. + +"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air +of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into +discredit with the class which we most wish to reach." + +He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in +his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general +approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred +nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father +Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation. + +"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has +been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there +is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church, +and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand +the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that +there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He +believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the +background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the +sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection +to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am +convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that +they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I +think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too +prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich +to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that +philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators +in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong +to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I +believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that +philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with +treason." + +He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his +companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something +of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That +the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was +an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as if +to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and +incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected +the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to +resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a +keener emphasis. + +"Neither have we escaped the accusation that we use the poor simply as +a means of self-improvement. An old Irish woman in a tumble-down +tenement house once said to me: 'Ye'll have no chance to work out your +salvation doing for me.' I believe that there are many of the poor who +more or less consciously have the same idea. They think that we make +visiting them a sort of penance, and they resent it. I am not sure that +I can find it in my heart to blame them." + +"He is either sacrificing himself completely, or making one of those +bold strokes that are irresistible," Ashe whispered to Mrs. Fenton; and +she nodded assent. + +"What should be," the speaker proceeded, amid a deep hush which showed +the keen interest which his words had aroused, "is that we should dare +to be consistent. As individuals and as churchmen we should exercise +the virtue of charity, but both as individuals and as churchmen we are +bound to see to it that we make our charity effective for the glory of +God and the salvation of men. There is no stronger instrument in our +hands than philanthropy, and not to utilize it for the good of the +church is to be culpably negligent. I believe that charity should be +the instrument of evangelization. The poor will have a reason for our +interest in them. Let them have this. Let them believe, if they will, +that we purchase their spiritual acquiescence by ministering to their +bodily needs. Certainly I believe that we should limit our work to +those who can be spiritually influenced. There are more of these than +we can at present attend to, and I am in favor of boldly and +consistently taking the position that as administrators of the bounties +of the church we feel bound to use them for the advancement of the +church. To aid the corrupt, the evil, the hardened without any attempt +to draw them into the fold and without any pledge that they will be +influenced, is simply to aid the avowed enemies of religion and to +strengthen their hands against righteousness." + +The air of the room was becoming electric. Philip could see the +exchange of glances all around him, some of surprise, some of +consternation, some--or he was deceived--of triumph and scornful +satisfaction. He fancied that he saw Mr. Thurston shoot toward Mr. +Strathmore a flash of gratification, but the face of the latter +remained unmoved and inscrutable. Ashe, full of uneasiness as to the +result of the speech, was greatly excited, but at the same time moved +to profound admiration for its boldness and its consistency. He was in +sympathy with the views expressed, and he was more than ever convinced +that Father Frontford was the only man for the sacred office of bishop. + +"Even our Lord," Father Frontford went on, his thin cheeks burning and +his slender frame swayed by the strength of his emotion, "did not many +works in places where he found unbelief. There was no limit to his +power; there was no limit to his mercy. It was out of love for the +whole of mankind that He refused to benefit individuals who would have +hindered the work He came to do. The example is one which we shall do +well to follow. We have more work than we can do in aiding the faithful +and in building up the church. Let us accept the name of proselyters +which has been contemptuously flung at us, and wear it as our glory. We +are proselyters. We must be proselyters. It is the highest joy and +honor of our lives that we are allowed of heaven to take this work upon +us. God will require it at our hands if we fail in our private +charities, and still more if we fail in the administration of the +revenues of the church to be always ardent, consistent, unwearied +proselyters!" + +There was a good deal of applause when the speaker sat down. The +profound earnestness of the man carried the hearers away, at least for +the moment. Ashe saw Thurston look inquiringly at Strathmore, as if to +ask if the latter was not intending to reply, but Strathmore sat silent. + +"Don't you suppose Mr. Strathmore means to speak?" Mrs. Fenton +whispered. "He almost always does speak after Father Frontford, and he +has expressed very strong views about the charities." + +"I cannot understand why he doesn't speak," Ashe responded. "It may be +he feels that the meeting is not with him, and does not wish to take +the unpopular side." + +Several men did speak, however, among them Mr. Candish. Their remarks +were in accord with the views expressed by the Father, yet they somehow +lessened the effect of his words. Put into their plain and sometimes +even awkward language his position seemed unpractical and hopelessly +far from daily life; so that even Ashe, warm partisan as he was, could +not but feel his enthusiasm somewhat chilled. Again he intercepted a +glance between Thurston and his superior. Philip sat with the two men +directly in his range of vision, and could not keep his eyes from +watching them. He recognized that there was danger in the keen, crafty +face of the colleague, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed; he wondered in +troubled fashion how far it was possible that Mr. Strathmore was of the +same nature as his assistant. Ashe was confident that Thurston was a +born intriguer, and he instinctively watched for signs of understanding +between Mr. Strathmore and the other. He could detect nothing of the +sort. The Rev. Rutherford Strathmore bore a countenance as beneficent, +as kindly, as guileless as ever; responding to the challenge of his +colleague's eyes by no evidence of understanding or connivance. It was +not until the talkers ceased and there fell a silence which indicated +that the first force of admiration and enthusiasm had spent itself, +that Strathmore rose. + +"No one can possibly disagree with the sentiments which have just been +expressed," he began in his cordial, frank manner. "There is no truth +which we need in these days to keep more constantly before us than the +duty of being always eager for the advancement of the church, and of +employing all means to this end. The question which is of vital +interest is how best to do this. When the caution was given that to the +harmlessness of doves be added the guile of serpents, it might almost +seem as if it was especially intended for our own day and case. There +has certainly never been a time when wisdom was more needed than it is +to-day. The growth of doubt, the overthrow of old traditions, old +beliefs, old forms, in short of all that has been sanctioned by custom +and by time, have gone on in every department of human knowledge and +endeavor. The spirit of the time is restless, progressive, liberal, +even irreverent. The beautiful serenity of the church, its reverent +conservatism, its hallowed enthusiasm, for old ideals, are at variance +with the temper of the century. Since the church is the shrine of truth +it is impossible that it should alter with every shifting of scientific +thought, every alteration in the fashions of human opinion; and we +stand face to face with the trying fact that the age is not in sympathy +with the church." + +He paused, looking down as if in thought. Ashe regarded him closely, +much impressed by the apparent spontaneity and candor with which this +was said. The hearers were closely attentive. "The only thing upon +which we seem to have some possible disagreement," continued Mr. +Strathmore, "is in regard to the best method of meeting this want of +sympathy, this feeling which often seems to amount almost to general +indifference. Is it to arouse all the suspicion and opposition +possible? Is it to seem to justify the charges brought against us of +narrowness, of formalism, of repression, and of obstructing the +progress of the race? It does not seem to me that this is the wisest +course. I agree that it is our duty to forward the interests of the +church, and to make our administration of charity a means to this end. +It is certainly a question whether open and avowed proselyting is the +best means. Religion is no more to be bought with a price than is love. +The person who conforms for a soup-ticket or a blanket has simply added +hypocrisy to his other failings, and has moreover gained for the church +that contempt which men always feel for those they have overreached. +The child that goes to Sunday-school for the Christmas tree and the +summer week has learned a lesson in deception which can never be +blotted out. It is of course proper that these means should be used; +but unless it is understood fully and frankly that they are employed +not as a bribe but as a persuasion, not as a price but as a kindness, +the evil that they do is more than any good that it is possible to +bring about through their means. I do not believe that our charities +should be conducted on the basis of bargain and sale; nor do I believe +that they should be put on a sectarian basis at all." + +He sat down quietly, with an unimpassioned air which seemed to rebuke +the emotional close of the remarks of Father Frontford. Strathmore +could be emotional and impassioned upon occasion, and this deliberate, +matter-of-fact mien affected Ashe as a calculated stroke of policy. +Philip felt that his leader had suffered a defeat; and he was +profoundly moved by the thought. Other speakers took up the question, +but he paid little heed. He was occupied in speculating how the meeting +would affect the chances of the election. When he was walking home with +Mrs. Fenton after the session was over, he was so absorbed that she +rallied him on his absent-mindedness. + +"I was thinking of the discussion," he said. "I am afraid that Father +Frontford injured himself this morning." + +"But how noble it was of him to say what he believed in spite of the +chances," she responded. "I was delighted with Mr. Candish for +seconding him as he did." + +"Yes," Ashe said, a pang of jealousy piercing him at the mention of Mr. +Candish. "It was fine. What I cannot make out," he added, "is whether +Mr. Strathmore is as simple and candid as he looks. He always seems to +speak sincerely and freely, and yet he somehow contrives never to say +anything that might not have been thought out with the most clever +policy." + +"I cannot make out either," returned she. "Mr. Fenton used rather +paradoxically to say that Mr. Strathmore was too frank by half to be +honest." + +She sighed as she spoke, and instantly all thought of bishops and +church matters vanished from the mind of Ashe. He became entirely +absorbed in wondering how warm was Mrs. Fenton's affection for her dead +husband and in hating himself for the thought. + + + + XV + + + HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + Two Gentlemen of Verona, i. I + + +Instead of returning to Boston next morning, Maurice remained at +Brookfield for ten days. Mrs. Morison decided the matter, and it is not +to be supposed that he was entirely unwilling to be constrained. + +He naturally saw much of Berenice, and he passed hours in brooding over +thoughts of her. He was convinced that she was not engaged. She had +spoken of Stanford's visit, and it had seemed to Wynne that she had +conveyed the impression that her relations to the visitor were less +intimate than might at first sight appear. If she were free--the +thought made his heart beat, and he wondered if, had the circumstances +been different, he might himself have won her. He tormented himself +with all her ways and words; the smiles she gave him, the trifling +attentions which were addressed to the guest, but which seemed to have +a touch of something deeper, that might be due to her thinking of him +as her preserver, but which might even go beyond that. There was a +delicious torture in all this reverie, in these continual +self-reproaches which involved the thought of her, the remembrance of +how she had looked, how she had spoken, how she had moved. He became +every day more hopelessly her slave, yet every day insisting more +strongly to himself that he felt nothing more than warm friend. Once +for a moment he tried to believe that his feeling was merely a desire +for her spiritual good, that his attitude was that which it was proper +for a priest to feel toward a beautiful and frivolous worldling; but +the pretense was too ghastly, and he abandoned it with a shudder of +disgust. He had moments, too, when he said to himself frankly, in +defiance or in sorrow as the mood might be, that he loved her; but for +the most part he tried to keep the assumption of simple friendship +between him and bitter thought. + +He found great pleasure in Mrs. Morison. She was to him a revelation of +possibilities of which he had never dreamed. It was a continual +surprise to him to find himself so impressed by the wit, the wisdom, +and the sanity of this fine old lady. He not only felt himself an +ignorant and inexperienced boy beside her, but found himself shrinking +from comparing with her the men whom he had followed as leaders. The +ease of her manner, the completeness of her self-poise, her frank +simplicity, high-bred and winning, delighted him, while the extent of +her mental resources filled him with amazement. + +Mrs. Morison opened to Wynne a new world in her conversation. At first +she gave herself up chiefly to entertaining him, telling him delightful +stories of famous folk she had known, of her life abroad and in +Washington. She was full of charming little tales which she had the art +of relating as if she were not thinking of how she was telling them, +but as if they came to her mind and bubbled into talk spontaneously. +She had a way, too, of putting in unobtrusive observations on character +and events which impressed Maurice. The art of saying things +trenchantly he had found in Mrs. Staggchase, but his cousin had the air +of being aware of her cleverness, while Mrs. Morison said these things +as if they were of the natural and habitual current of her thoughts. +Mrs. Morison said clever things as if she thought them; Mrs. Staggchase +as if she thought of them. + +It did not take the young man long to discover that Mrs. Morison was +not in sympathy with his creed. She was too well-bred to bring the +matter forward, but he could not resist the temptation now and then to +touch upon it. She was of principles at once so broad and so deep that +he found himself as often surprised by her devoutness as he felt it his +duty to be shocked by her liberality. One day when Maurice had made +some allusion to a discussion over the doctrine of predestination which +was agitating the English church, Mrs. Morison said:-- + +"It always seems to me a pity that those who believe in that dreadful +doctrine do not remember that if one were not one of the elect, he +could at least carry through eternity the realization that he was lost +through no fault of his own. God could not take from him that +consolation." + +He was silent in mingled amazement and disapproval; yet he found his +mind following out with obstinate persistence the train of thought +which her words suggested. In this or in many another remark it could +hardly be said that her words convinced him, but they awoke a swarm of +doubts in his mind. He found himself following speculations that were +lawless, wild, dangerous, and intoxicating. However convinced he might +be that the reasoning of Mrs. Morison was fallacious, he did not find +it easy to tell just wherein the fallacy lay. He felt that as a priest +he should be able to refute her, and he was filled with dismay to +discover that he was rather himself falling into the attitude of a +doubter. + +One subject which was constantly in his mind he did not touch upon +until the day before he left Brookfield. He longed to sound Mrs. +Morison on the subject of a celibate priesthood. He was well enough +aware that she would not approve of it, and he was irritated by the +knowledge that he secretly felt that her decision would be founded on +strong common sense. He tried to assure himself that it was her +dangerous laxity of principle that blinded her to the nobility and +sanctity of asceticism; but it was impossible to feel that such was the +case. He was teased by a wish which he would not acknowledge that she +might advance arguments which he could not controvert; though to +himself he said that she would be his temptation in tangible form, and +that he would struggle against it with his whole soul. + +His opportunity came while they were discussing the election of the +bishop. Mrs. Morison was not immediately concerned in the matter, not +being a churchwoman, but she had an intelligent interest in all +questions of the day. + +"I find it hard to understand," Mrs. Morison observed, "how any +churchman can be so blind to the importance of conciliating public +thought and the general feeling as for a moment to think of any other +candidate than Mr. Strathmore. He is so completely in sympathy with the +broadening tendencies of the time." + +"But that means ultimately the destruction of creeds," Maurice +objected, answering rather the implication than her words. + +"I think that perhaps the highest courage men are called upon to show," +she answered, "is that of giving up a theory which has served its use. +The race forces us to do it sooner or later, but the men who are really +great are those who are able to say frankly that their creeds have done +their work, and that the new day must have new ones. You might almost +say that the extent to which a man prefers truth to himself is to be +judged by his willingness to give up a dogma that is outworn." + +"But you leave no stability to truth." + +"The truth is stable without effort or will of mine," she returned, +smiling; "but surely you would have human appreciation of it advance." + +He felt that there must be an answer to this, but he was not able to +see just what it was, and he shifted the question. + +"But Mr. Strathmore," he said hesitatingly, "is married." + +"Yes," she assented. "'The husband of one wife.'" + +"If you begin to quote Scripture against me," Maurice retorted, +laughing in spite of himself, "I might easily reply to St. Paul by St. +Paul. But letting that pass, it is certainly true that the church has +always held that marriage absorbs a man in earthly things so that he +cannot give the best of his thoughts to his work." + +"When the church sets itself against marriage," Mrs. Morison responded +quietly, "it seems to me to be setting up to know more than the Creator +of the race." + +Maurice colored, although he might not have been able to tell whether +his strongest feeling was horror at this bold language or joy at the +emphasis with which she spoke. + +"Perhaps I should beg your pardon for saying so frankly what I think," +Mrs. Morison continued. "It isn't the way in which one generally talks +to a clergyman; but the subject is one for which I haven't much +patience, and of course I couldn't help seeing that you are in doubt +yourself." + +Maurice started. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I--I in doubt?" + +"I hadn't any intention of forcing your confidence," returned she. "I +am an old woman, and sometimes I find that I don't make allowance +enough for the slowness of you young people in arriving at a knowledge +of self." + +He cast down his eyes. + +"Until this moment," he said, "I have never acknowledged to myself that +I was in doubt. I see what you mean, and it shows that I have been +playing with fire." + +She looked at him questioningly, then turned the subject. + +"Which is perhaps a hint that our fire is going down. Sit still, +please. Every woman likes to tend her own fire." + +"I should have learned that by this time," was his answer. "I lost an +inheritance once by insisting upon fixing a fire." + +"That sounds interesting. Is it proper to ask for the story?" + +"Oh, there isn't much of a story. I had a great-aunt who was worth a +lot of money, and who was eccentric. She was in a way fond of me when I +was a child, and used to have me at the house a good deal. I confess I +didn't like it much. Things went by rule, and the rules were often +pretty queer. One of them was that nobody should presume to touch the +fire if she was in the room. I liked to play with the fire as well as +she did, and when I was a boy just in my teens I used to do it. After +she'd corrected me half a dozen times I got into my foolish pate that +it was my duty to cure her of her whim. So I set to poking the fire +ostentatiously until she lost her temper and ordered me out of the +house. Then she burned up the will in my favor and made a new one, +giving all her money to the church." + +"How unjust," commented Mrs. Morison, "and how human. Did you never +make peace with her?" + +"Yes, but of course I was careful that she should understand that I +didn't do it for the sake of her money. She told my mother that she had +made a new will in my favor, but it never turned up. My aunt's death +was very singular. She was found dead in her bed, and the woman who +lived with her, an old nurse of mine, had disappeared. Of course there +was at once suspicion of foul play, but the doctors pronounced the +death natural, and there was no evidence of theft." + +"Did you never discover the nurse?" + +"Never. We tried, for we thought she might give a clue to the missing +will. She'd been in the family so long that she was a sort of +confidential servant, and knew all Aunt Morse's affairs. She was +devoted to me." + +"The romance may not be ended yet," Mrs. Morison suggested smilingly. +"Who knows but the missing nurse will some day turn up with the missing +will." + +"I'm afraid that after a dozen years there's little enough chance of +it." + +His mind was so racked upon this wretched question of the right of a +priest to marry, that he could not rest until he had drawn from +Berenice also an expression of opinion on the subject. He made Mr. +Strathmore again the excuse for the introduction of the topic. + +"I don't see," he said to her, "how you can think that it's well to +have a married bishop. His wife is sure to be meddling in the affairs +of the diocese." + +She looked at him with a mocking glance. + +"Do you wish to drag me into a discussion of the wisdom of allowing the +clergy to have wives?" she asked cruelly. + +He flushed with confusion, but tried to carry a bold front. + +"Very likely it does come down to the general principle of the thing," +he answered. + +"Well then, the question of the marriage of the clergy doesn't interest +me in the least." + +She looked so pretty and mischievous that he began to lose his head. + +"But it is of the greatest possible interest to me," he returned, with +a manner which gave the words a personal application. + +She flushed in her turn, and tossed her head. + +"That is by no means the same thing," she retorted. + +"But what interests me you might try to consider; just out of charity, +of course." + +"Oh, well, then, since you ask me, this celibacy of the clergy of our +church isn't at all a thing that anybody can take seriously. Everybody +knows that a clergyman may have his vows absolved by the bishop, so +that after all he can marry if he wants to; so that the whole thing +seems"-- + +"Well?" he demanded, as she broke off. "Seems how?" + +"Pardon me. I didn't realize what I was saying." + +"Seems how?" he repeated insistently. + +He challenged her with his eyes, and he could see the spark which +kindled defiantly in hers. She threw back her head saucily. + +"Well, since you insist! I was going to say that it made the whole +thing seem a little like amateur theatricals." + +He became grave instantly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "You do not seem to understand that what +you are speaking of may mean the bitter sacrifice of a man's whole +life. Even a clergyman is human, and may love as strongly, as +completely"-- + +He choked with the emotion he could not control. He realized that he +was telling his passion, and there came to him an overwhelming sense +that he must never tell it save in this indirect manner. He hastened on +lest she should interrupt him. + +"Don't you suppose that a priest may know what it is to worship the +very ground a woman walks on? Don't you suppose he has had his heart +beat till it suffocated him just because her fingers touched his or her +gown brushed him? A man is a man after all, and the dreams that come to +one are much the same as come to another. The difference is that the +priest has to tear his very heart out, and turn his back on all that +other men may find delight in." + +Berenice looked at him with shining eyes, not undimmed, he thought, by +tears. + +"If you really care for her so much," she said softly, "you can give +only a divided heart to your work. It is better to own that to +yourself, isn't it?" + +"For her?" he echoed. + +"Oh, there must be somebody," she returned hastily, her color coming. +"No matter about that." + +"But think of giving up!" he cried, leaning toward her. "Even those who +believe nothing despise a renegade priest." + +"That's of less consequence than that he should ruin his life and +despise himself." + +He held out his uninjured hand impulsively. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She flushed celestial red, and for an instant her eyes responded to the +love in his. Then she sprang to her feet, with a laugh. + +"There!" she cried. "See what dunces we are to get to discussing +theology. I'll never forgive you if you try to inveigle me into another +talk about such subjects. Here is Mehitabel to say that she's ready to +help you with your packing." + + + + XVI + + + THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + Macbeth, iv. 3. + + +"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," Mrs. Wilson said to her husband, +coming into the library one afternoon, "but the fact is that I was +dressing for a comedy." "Gad! you dress for a comedy every day, as far +as that goes." + +She made a mocking courtesy. + +"Well, what is life without comedy?" + +"Oh, nothing but a bore, of course. Is this comedy with some of your +ministerial hangers-on?" + +She sat down by the fire and stretched out her feet upon a hassock. She +was radiant with beauty and mischief, and dressed to perfection. + +"That isn't a respectful way to speak of the clergy." + +"It's as respectful as I feel," he responded, lighting a pipe. "You do +have a nice gang of them round. There's Candish, for instance. He looks +like an advertisement for a misfit tailor, and he's fairly putrid with +philanthropy." + +Elsie gave a quick burst of laughter. Then she pretended to frown. + +"Chauncy," she said, "you have the most abominable way of putting +things that I ever heard. What would you say to the youngsters from the +Clergy House that I have in train? They're perfect lambs, and they love +each other like twins. Have you seen them?" + +"Oh, yes; I've seen them. They seem to have been brought up on +sterilized milk of the gospel, and to have Jordan water for blood." + +"Oh, don't be too sure. You can't tell from a man's looks how red his +blood is, especially if he's a priest. I suppose it's the men that have +to hold themselves in hardest that make the best ministers." + +"I dare say," he answered indifferently. "Priest-craft has always been +clever enough to see that unless the things it called sins were natural +and inevitable its occupation would be gone. However, as long as folks +will follow after them they'd be foolish to give up their trade." + +"Of course," his wife assented laughingly. "You won't get a rise out of +me, my dear boy." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled. + +"You're a devilish humbug," he remarked admiringly; "but you do manage +to get a lot of fun out of it." + +She smoothed her gown a moment, half smiling and half grave. + +"Of course it's of no use to tell you that in spite of all my fun I'm +serious at bottom," she said slowly; "but it's a fact all the same. I +don't take things with doleful solemnity like the old tabbies; but +that's no sign that I'm not just as sincere. It's no matter, though; +you won't believe it. What did you want to see me about?" + +"Oh, it was about those mortgages. I saw Lincoln this morning, and he +has heard from Mrs. Frostwinch. She insists upon paying them off." + +"Then there isn't any truth in the story that that Sampson woman is +circulating that Anna is going to build a spiritual temple or +something. I never believed that Anna could be such an idiot as to give +her money for anything so vulgar." + +"The whole thing is nonsensical on the face of it," was his response. +"Mrs. Frostwinch can't build churches, let alone temples, if there's +any difference." + +"Oh, in these days," Elsie interpolated, "a temple is only a church +_declasse_." + +"She has only a life interest in the property," Wilson went on. +"Berenice Morison is residuary legatee of almost everything, unless +Mrs. Frostwinch has saved up her income." + +The talk ran on business for a few moments, Wilson advising with +shrewdness, and practically deciding the matter for his wife. + +"I suppose," he said, when this was disposed of, "that Mrs. Frostwinch +is too much wrapped up in faith-cure nonsense to take much interest in +your holy war against Strathmore." + +"She isn't so much wrapped up in that stuff as you think. Dear Anna +hasn't any sense of humor, but she's a model of propriety, and she's +constantly shocked at herself for being alive by a treatment so +irregular. She was mortified beyond words when that Crapps woman gave a +treatment to Mrs. Bodewin Ranger's dog." + +"That snarling little black devil that's always under foot at the +Rangers'? Gad! I'd like to give it a treatment!" + +"It got its ear hurt somehow, and Mrs. Crapps pretended to cure it. +Mrs. Ranger was all but in tears over it, she was so grateful. Anna was +entirely disgusted. She told Mrs. Crapps that she hadn't known before +that she was in the hands of a veterinary." + +Dr. Wilson smoked in silence for a moment. The fire of soft coal purred +in the grate, the smoke from his pipe ascended in the warm air. The +thin sunshine of the winter afternoon filtered in through the windows, +and made bright patches on the rugs. + +"By the way," Wilson asked lazily, "how is the campaign going? I +haven't heard anything interesting about it for some time." + +"Oh, things are moving on. The man I sent up to canvass the western +part of the state--one of your sterilized milk-of-the-word babies, you +know,--got smashed up in the accident; but he'll be back in a few days. +Cousin Anna has brought her pensioners into line beautifully. There's +no doubt that we'll carry the convention." + +"What happens after that?" + +"The election has to be ratified by a majority of bishops; but of +course they'll hardly dare to go against the convention, even if they +want to." + +"It would make things much more interesting if they'd do it, and get up +a scandal," commented the doctor. "You'll get bored to death with the +whole thing if something exciting doesn't turn up." + +"I had half a mind to get up a scandal myself with Mr. Strathmore," +Elsie said with a laugh; "but I confess I should be afraid of that +she-dragon of a wife of his." + +"It's devilish interesting to know that you are afraid of anybody." + +"At least," she went on, "I could go to New York and see Bishop +Candace. I can wind him round my finger. I'd tell him what Mrs. +Strathmore said about his Easter sermon last year. With a little +judicious comment that would do a good deal. I never yet saw a man that +couldn't be managed through his vanity." + +"I suppose that explains why I'm as clay in your hands." + +"Oh, you're not a man; you're a monster," she retorted, rising. "Well, +I must go and prepare for my comedy." + +He regarded her with a look of evident admiration; a look not without a +savor of the sense of ownership, and, too, not entirely devoid of +good-natured insolence. + +"You are devilishly well dressed for it," he observed. + +"Thank you," returned Elsie, sweeping him a courtesy again. "The wife +that can win compliments from her own husband has indeed scored a +triumph." + +Dr. Wilson puffed out a cloud of smoke with a characteristic chuckle. + +"I have to admire you to justify my own taste. But you haven't told me +about the comedy." + +She thrust forward one of her pretty slippers. + +"Do you see that?" she demanded. + +"I suppose you expect me to say that I see the prettiest foot in +Boston." + +"Thank you again, but I'm not yet reduced to trying to drag compliments +out of you, Chauncy. I sha'n't do that till the other men fail me. It's +the slipper I wanted you to notice, and these ravishing stockings." + +"If the comedy has stockings in it," he began; but she stopped him. + +"There, no impudence," she said. "Did you ever see anything so entirely +heavenly as those stockings and slippers? I declare I've wanted ever +since I put them on to keep my feet on the table to look at." + +"You might do worse." + +"Oh, I'm going to." + +"Indeed! It's apparently getting time for me to interfere. What's your +game?" + +"I'm going to squelch that detestable Fred Rangely." + +"How?" + +"My slippers," Elsie said vivaciously, again thrusting one of them +forward, "are ravishing." + +"Gad," her husband returned, regarding her with a look of the utmost +amusement in his topaz-brown eyes, "you have a good deal to say about +them." + +"Do you notice anything particular about my hair?" she asked. + +"It looks as if it might come down." + +"It will come down," she corrected, nodding. Then she glanced at the +clock. "It will come down in about twenty minutes; all tumbling over my +shoulders. I shall be so mortified and surprised!" + +Her husband stretched himself luxuriously back in his chair, regarding +her with laughing eyes. There was an air of perfect understanding +between the two which might have been an effectual enlightenment for +any man who thought of making love to the wife. Elsie went on, telling +off on her slender fingers the points as she made them. + +"In fifteen minutes I shall be standing on the piano in the +drawing-room, straightening a picture. I never can bear a picture +crooked, and I had Jane tip it a little this morning, just to vex me. +Fred Rangely will come in unannounced. Of course I shall be dreadfully +confused, and have to get down. In my maidenly confusion I am almost +sure I can't help showing my slippers, and just a trifle--a very +discreet trifle, of course,--of these beautiful, beautiful stockings. +Nothing vulgar, you know, but"-- + +"But just enough," interpolated Wilson with huge enjoyment. "You +needn't apologize. I don't begrudge the poor devil whatever +satisfaction he can get out of that." + +"And then as he is helping me down, with his heart in a flutter,--it +will flutter, I assure you." + +"You mean his vanity; but it's of no consequence. He'd call it a heart +if he were putting the scene in a novel." + +"With his whichever it is in a flutter, by some provoking accident down +comes my hair and tumbles over his shoulders." + +Wilson regarded her with amused admiration. + +"Five years ago," he observed placidly, "I should have thought you were +telling me half the truth to cover the other half, and were really +having a devilish flirtation with that cad." + +Elsie flushed, and into her gay voice came a strain of seriousness. + +"Five years are five years," she answered. "Don't go to dragging all +that up again, Chauncy." + +His laugh was not untinged with malicious delight, but he put his hand +on hers and patted her fingers. + +"All right, old girl. Bygones are bygones. But what in the world is all +this fooling with Rangely for?" + +"Why, don't you see? The fool is sure to say something so silly that I +can snub him within an inch of his life. I've only been holding off +until he had that thing written for the Churchman. Now I've got that, +I'll settle him." + +"Oh, the gratitude of women!" + +"Why, it isn't that. He needn't be smirking at me the way he does. I +simply won't stand it. Besides, he makes eyes at me wherever I go, just +to advertise the fact that he's silly about me. He's a cad, through and +through. Would you come here as he does if I refused to invite your +wife?" + +Chauncy Wilson laughed again, leaning forward to knock the ashes out of +his pipe. + +"He's a fool, fast enough; and I dare say you're tired of his beastly +spooning; but all the same, the real reason for this circus is that you +want to amuse yourself." + +She drew up her head in mock dignity. + +"Of course," she returned, "if my own husband does not appreciate how I +resent"--She broke off in a burst of laughter. "Nobody ever understood +me but you, Chauncy," she cried. "Good-by. It's time I took the stage." + +She threw him a kiss, and went to the drawing-room. Looking at her +watch, she placed herself behind the curtains of a window which +commanded the avenue. Presently she espied her victim, and with a last +glance around to assure herself that everything was as she wished it to +be, she mounted to the top of the piano. There she hastily tucked the +hem of her skirt between the piano and the wall. The reflection in a +great blue-black Chinese jar showed her when Rangely appeared between +the portieres, so that she was able to step back as if to view the +effect of her work just as he reached the middle of the room. + +"Be careful!" exclaimed he, hurrying forward. "You almost stepped off +backward!" + +She wheeled about quickly. + +"O Mr. Rangely!" she cried. "How did you get into the room without my +knowing? How horrid of you to surprise me like that!" + +"But think how charming it is for me," he responded with an elaborate +air of gallantry. "It is so delightful to see you on a pedestal." + +"Meaning that I am no better than a graven image?" she demanded with a +smile. "If that is the best you can do, I may as well come down." + +She held out her hand for his, and then sat down, displaying one of the +fascinating slippers, and the openwork instep of her silk stocking, +through the meshes of which the pearly skin gleamed evasively. + +"My dress is caught," she said, turning to conceal her face, and +pretending to pull at her skirt. "I hope my slippers haven't damaged +the piano." + +"The piano is harder than my heart if they haven't!" + +She gave a sly twitch at a hairpin. + +"That is very pretty," observed she, giving her head a shake that +brought her hair down in a rolling billow. "Oh, dear! Now my hair has"-- + +Before she could finish he had dropped her fingers, and gathered her +hair in both hands, kissing it again and again. + +"Mr. Rangely!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?" + +For reply he stooped to her foot, and kissed the mesh-clad instep +fervidly. + +"How dare you!" she cried, scrambling down hastily without his +assistance. + +But, alas, even trickery is not always successful in this uncertain +world! The hold of the piano upon the hem of her gown was stronger than +she realized. She tripped and stumbled, half-hung for a second, and +then dropped in an inglorious heap at the feet of the man she wished to +humiliate. + +Elsie was on her feet in a minute. She did not take the hand which +Rangely extended, but drew back, her eyes sparkling with rage. + +"Oh, you find it laughable, do you?" she cried. "A gentleman would at +least have concealed his amusement!" + +He grew suddenly grave, and seemed not a little surprised. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope you were not hurt." + +She looked at him scornfully without replying, and then walked to the +mantel, where there was a small antique mirror of silver. + +"Thank you, not in the least." + +Her tone was no warmer than an arctic night. She gathered her hair, and +began to twist it up. He followed and stood behind her with an air at +once deprecatory and insinuating. + +"I shouldn't think you could see in that thing," he observed. + +She took no notice of his words. + +"If I laughed," continued he, "it was only from nervousness. I was +carried away"-- + +"I observed that you were," she interrupted icily. + +He stood awkwardly a moment, while she finished putting up her hair. +Then, as she turned toward him, he smiled again, holding out his hand. + +"Surely you are not angry with me," he pleaded. "I care more for your +feeling toward me than for anything else in the world." + +"It would amuse Mrs. Rangely to hear you say so, not to mention my +husband." + +He stared at her with the air of a man not sure whether he is awake or +dreaming. + +"What are they to us?" he asked, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. + +"Mrs. Rangely may be nothing to you, but Dr. Wilson is still a good +deal to me, thank you." + +He looked at her again with perplexity in his glance, but with his face +hardening. + +"You surely cannot mean that you have ceased to care for me just for a +second of meaningless laughter?" + +She swept him a scornful courtesy. + +"You do these things better in your novels, Mr. Rangely, which shows +what an advantage it is to have time to think speeches over. I wouldn't +have my hero say a thing like that, if I were you. It would make him +seem like a conceited cad." + +The insolence of her manner was such as no man could bear. Rangely +crimsoned to the temples. He paced across the room, while she coolly +seated herself in a great Venetian chair, and began to play with a +little jade image. He came back to her, and stood a moment as if he +could not find words. + +"Why don't you go?" she asked, looking up at him as if he were a +servant sent upon an errand. + +"Because," he broke out angrily, "when I go I shall not come back; and +I should like to understand this thing." + +She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair, looking him +over from head to foot. + +"Why you quarrel with me is more than I know," he went on. "You've got +tired of me, I suppose, and want to amuse yourself with another man." + +The red flushed in her cheek. + +"If my husband, who you say is nothing to us, were here," she said, "he +would horsewhip you." + +The other laughed savagely. + +"He is not here, however, so you may digest my remark at your leisure." + +Mrs. Wilson rose from her seat with an air of dignity which was really +imposing. + +"Mr. Rangely," she said, "it is not my custom to bandy words, even with +my equals. I have allowed you the freedom of my house because I was +willing to help you in your desire to be useful to Father Frontford. +You have taken advantage of my kindness to insult me. This seems to me +sufficiently to explain the situation." + +He stared at her a moment in evident amazement. Then he burst into +hoarse laughter. + +"My desire to be useful to Father Frontford!" he echoed. "That is the +best yet! You know I cared nothing about your pottering old church +politics except to please you." + +"I see that I was deceived completely," she responded coldly. + +She crossed the room and pressed an ivory button. + +"Deceived!" he sneered. "It would take a clever man to deceive you." + +She looked not at him, but beyond him. He turned, and saw a footman in +the doorway. + +"The gentleman wishes to be shown out, Forrester," said she. + +She held the tips of her fingers to Rangely. + +"Thank you so much for coming," she murmured in her most conventional +manner. + +"The pleasure has been mine," he responded. + +They both bowed, and Rangely followed the footman. + + + + XVII + + + A BOND OF AIR + Troilus and Cressida, i. 3. + + +"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison +in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind +as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days +his home with Mrs. Staggchase. + +There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a +religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment +when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had +been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that +he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield, +moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view +of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him +well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the +swaddling-clothes of infancy. + +On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found +himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a +committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice +sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly +well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more +than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The young +man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the kindliness +of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly. + +"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked +abruptly. + +"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience." + +"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have +felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now." + +The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so +keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm. + +"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are +tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?" + +Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to +go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a +confidence when he had not intended to make one. + +"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that +I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil." + +Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn. + +"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the +mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so +differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you +if I tried." + +"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said. + +"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman +responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going +right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of advice?" + +"I shall be glad if you will." + +"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore." + +"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise. + +"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church +matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but +he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that +there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice." + +"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"-- + +"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference. +Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll +consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift +of understanding." + +No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind. +Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not +take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort +almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from +Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it +was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked +upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had +been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father +Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior +now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew, +however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts which +for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would simply be +told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and the young +man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he were to seek +aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his state of +mind. + +Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to +Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he +felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the +middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It +was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements +where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice +began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his +head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his +cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he +would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore, +in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows +fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose. +When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his +private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised +to be there. + +The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose +readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which +endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring +look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat +at a loss how to begin. + +"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly. + +"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit +down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire." + +The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated. + +"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in +the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things." + +Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of +the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal +charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that +understanding and sympathy were here. + +"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to +talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy." + +He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then +melt into a smile. + +"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?" + +Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden +gravity broke out earnestly:-- + +"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing +me. I don't even know what I believe." + +"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me +rather than your Superior?" + +Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but +absolute frankness. + +"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the +Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really +followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been +among men, and"-- + +He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him. + +"And among women," he went on bravely; "and--and"-- + +"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which +declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore. + +Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without +need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so +intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not +so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt. + +"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that +Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is +given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman." + +"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems +to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very +tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of +celibacy." + +"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented involuntarily. + +"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters," +Strathmore suggested with a twinkle. + +"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily, +flushing, and ignoring the thrust. + +"Then what is your trouble?" + +"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing." + +"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change +the mind is the same as to do it?" + +"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take +them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry--if you will +pardon my saying so." + +"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has +already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really +know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your +mind as to the sacredness of marriage,--for the clergy or for anybody +else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to +abandon a position once taken?" + +The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were +spoken. + +"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling +as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I +have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so +strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?" + +"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to +put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young +men accept mediaevalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make +you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the +church?" + +"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded. + +"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have +doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an +inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach." + +Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his +belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was +startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had +declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that +while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth. + +"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to +be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church +teaches." + +"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting +against the age. You have been taught to believe,--if you will pardon +me,--that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of +reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be +received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret +figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if +we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and +infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of +his own conscience and reason." + +"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the +line. The heathen are very likely honest enough." + +"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly +searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there +can be no danger." + +"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself +upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this +is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You +seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme +authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that +authority." + +The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so +winning. + +"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever +mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some +little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase +conveys to you and to me?" + +"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but +practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?" + +"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means +by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would +mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man, +and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church. +You would allow that, of course." + +"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of +it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine." + +"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since +absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon +it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the +search for truth." + +The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters, +though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more +and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe. + +"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted. + +"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?" + +"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told." + +He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to +him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr. +Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes +no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and +sympathy. + +"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with +the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in +an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing +frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men +always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or +not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear +thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who +are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are +thinking." + +"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for +themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in. + +"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church +are?" Strathmore asked significantly. + +Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net +of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely +sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between +the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions +which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the +manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and +unaffected. + +"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a +doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice +felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who +is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it." + +Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your +kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I +haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own +salvation." + +"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne." + +The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered +Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore +grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:-- + +"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness. +Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything +else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God +help you in your search for light." + + + + XVIII + + + CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + As You Like It, i. 2. + + +The afternoon was already darkening into dusk one day late in January +when Philip Ashe stood in the hallway of a squalid tenement house, +looking out into a dingy court. The place was surrounded by tall +buildings which cut off the light and made day shorter than nature had +intended, an effect which was not lessened by the clothes drying +smokily on lines above. In one corner of the court yawned like the +entrance to a cave the mouth of the passageway by which it was entered. +In another stood a dilapidated handcart in which some dweller there was +accustomed to carry abroad his rubbishy wares. The windows were for the +most part curtainless, rising row above row with an aspect of +wretchedness which gave Ashe a sense of discomfort so strong as almost +to be physical. Here and there rags and old hats did duty instead of +glass; some windows were open, framing slatternly women. + +These women were stupidly quiet. Ashe wondered if they would have +talked to each other across the court if he had not been in sight, or +if the gathering dusk silenced them. One of them was smoking a short +black pipe, and once let fall a spark upon the head of another idler a +couple of floors below. The injured woman poured forth a volley of +oaths, and Ashe expected a war of words. Nothing of the sort occurred. +The figure above was so indifferent as hardly to glance down where the +offended harridan was steaming with a fume of curses. + +Philip began to be uneasy. He looked up at the darkening sky, and +backward to the gloom of the stairway behind him. No gas had been +lighted in the building, and he wondered if any ever were. It was +certainly too late for Mrs. Fenton to be poking about in these +dangerous places. They had been doing charity visiting together, and +she had insisted on coming to this one house more before going home. He +had remonstrated, but she had laughed at his fears. + +"I don't believe any of these places are really dangerous," she had +declared. "I've been coming here for years, and nobody ever troubled +me." + +"By daylight it is all very well," he had answered, "but it's a +different thing after dark. I have been here once or twice to see some +sick person in the evening, and it is a rough place." + +"But it isn't after dark," she had persisted, "and it won't be for an +hour." + +She had had her way, but Ashe reflected uneasily that if harm came to +her it would be his fault. He should have insisted upon her going home. +The light was fading fast, and the locality was one of the worst in +town. He wondered why the mere absence of daylight gave wickedness so +much boldness. Men who by day were the veriest cowards seemed to spring +into appalling fearlessness as soon as darkness gave its uncertain +promise of concealment. The thought made him turn, and begin slowly to +walk up the stairs. + +He was not sure what floor she meant to visit. She was going, he knew, +to see a woman whose husband got drunk and beat her. She had told him +about the poor creature as they came along. She was sure Mrs. Murphy +must have known a decent life. She set her down as having been a +housekeeper or upper servant who had foolishly married a rascal. The +woman, Mrs. Fenton had added, was evidently ashamed of her present +condition, and afraid that those who had known her in her better days +should discover her. + +"It is pitiful," Mrs. Fenton had said musingly, "to see how she clings +to her husband. She pulls down her sleeves to cover the bruises, and +tells how good he was to her when they were first married. She says he +doesn't mean to hurt her, but that he's the strongest man in the court, +and doesn't realize what he is doing. She's even proud of his strength." + +"Strength is apt to impress women," Ashe had answered, not without a +secret sense of humiliation to lack this quality. + +As he walked gropingly up the dark stairway, a man came clumsily after, +and presently stumbled past him. A strong smell of liquor enveloped the +newcomer, and he lurched heavily against Ashe without apology. Philip +heard his uneven steps mounting in the gloom, and followed almost +mechanically. He paused in one of the hallways to listen to a babble of +words in one of the rooms. It was chiefly profanity, but it hardly +seemed to be ill-natured. It was simply a family cursing each other +with well-accustomed vehemence. He grew every instant more and more +uneasy, and thought of knocking at every door until he found his +friend. What right had philanthropy to demand that a beautiful, noble +woman should be exposed to the chances of a nest of ruffianism and +vice? He was indignant at the committee for not delegating such work to +men. Then he remembered that Mrs. Fenton was herself on the committee, +and that it was by her own insistence that she was here. + +"She is capable of any sacrifice to what she believes to be right," he +said to himself; "but she is too good for such work; she is too +delicate, too"-- + +Suddenly a noise arose on the floor above him. A man's voice, thick +with anger or drink, was pouring out a stream of words, half oaths; a +woman was shrilly entreating. Ashe sprang quickly upstairs, and as he +did so he heard Mrs. Fenton scream. The sound was behind a door, and +without stopping to deliberate he tried to open it. The latch yielded, +but he could not open. + +"Let me in!" he cried fiercely. "What is the matter?" + +The voice of a man who was evidently against the door answered him with +blasphemies. A woman within cried to the man to stop, while Mrs. Fenton +called to Ashe for help. Philip set his shoulder against the door and +strained with all his might to force it. He remembered then what Mrs. +Fenton had said about the strength of the husband of her pensioner. + +"Go to the window, and call the police," he shouted. + +"He's holding me!" Mrs. Fenton cried back pantingly. + +Philip strained more desperately, and as he did so he heard the window +within flung open, and the voice of a woman yelling for the police. The +man inside sprang forward with an oath, the door yielded, and Philip +plunged headlong into the room. + +As Philip fell upon his knees, he saw a man seize the woman who from +the window was calling for help, and fling her to the floor. The sound +of her fall, with her wild shriek beaten into a choking gasp by the +force with which she struck, turned his heart sick; but his fear for +Mrs. Fenton kept him up. He scrambled to his feet, and as he did so she +ran toward him. + +"Your cassock is all dust!" she cried hysterically. "Oh, come away!" + +The absurdity of the words made him burst into nervous laughter; yet he +saw that the drunken man was coming, and he instinctively put her +behind him and took some sort of a posture of defense. + +"Save yourself," he cried hastily. "He's killed the woman." + +All this passed with the quickness of thought. There seemed to Philip +hardly the time of a breath between the opening of the door and the +blow which now fell upon the side of his face. Fortunately he partly +evaded it, but he reeled and staggered, feeling the earth shake and the +air full of stinging points of fire. He saw the figure of his assailant +towering between him and the light; he had a glimpse of Mrs. Fenton +rushing to the window to call again for help; he realized with a +horrible shrinking that that hammer-like fist was again striking out +for his face; he was conscious of a sickening impulse to run, a +humiliating and overwhelming sense of his inability to cope with this +brute and of even his ignorance how to try; yet most of all he felt the +determination to defend Edith or to die in the attempt. In a wild and +futile fashion he dashed against his assailant, striking blindly and +furiously, crying with rage and weakness, but throwing all his force +into the fight. He felt crushing blows on his head and chest. Once he +was struck on the side of the throat so that he gasped for breath with +the sensation that he was drowning. Now and then he felt his own fist +strike flesh, and the sensation was to him horrible. He fought blindly, +doggedly, inwardly weeping for the shame and the pity of it, wondering +if there would never be any end, and what would happen to Mrs. Fenton +if he were beaten helpless. Surely if aid were coming it must have +arrived long ago. He had been fighting for hours. He kept striking on, +but he felt his strength failing, and he could have laughed wildly at +the pitiful feebleness of his blows. He was knocked down, and scrambled +up again, amazed that he was not killed or disabled. His one hope lay +in the fact that the man was evidently much the worse for drink, and +often struck as blindly as himself. If he could but occupy the brute's +attention until help came, Mrs. Fenton would be saved. + +Suddenly he was aware that the roaring in his ears was not all from the +ringing in his head, but that heavy steps were sounding from the +stairway. In a moment more screaming women were swarming in, and the +din become intolerable as they scuttled about him, calling out to his +opponent to stop and not to do murder. Men followed, and a couple of +policemen came in their wake. Ashe saw through heavy eyelids the shine +of brass buttons, and felt that the wearers of the uniforms to which +these belonged had seized upon his assailant. He staggered against the +wall, sick, faint, and dizzy. The two policemen were having a severe +struggle to subdue their prisoner, and it seemed to Philip that all the +inhabitants of the neighborhood were crowding in at the narrow door. +The wife lay where she had been dashed to the floor, and Mrs. Fenton +bent over her. + +"Oh, Mr. Ashe," the latter said, coming to him, "you must be terribly +hurt! I think Mrs. Murphy's killed." + +He tried to smile, but his face was swollen and unmanageable. + +"It's no matter about me," he managed with difficulty to say, "if you +are not hurt." + +The realities of life came back. The whirling rush of the swift moments +of the fight seemed already far off. The crowd examined him with frank +curiosity, commenting on him as "the dude that's been scrappin' with +Mike Murphy." He saw some of the women busy over the prostrate form of +Mrs. Murphy, lifting her from the floor to the bed. + +"Well, Mike," one of the policemen said, "I guess this job'll be your +last. You've done it this time." + +The prisoner seemed to have become sober all at once, now that he was +in the hands of the law. He went over to the bed, between his captors, +and examined the injured woman with the air of one accustomed to such +occurrences. + +"Oh, the old woman'll pull round all right," he growled. "She ain't no +flannel-mouth charity chump." + +Without a word Ashe put his hand upon the arm of Mrs. Fenton, and led +her toward the door. The insult cut him more than all that had gone +before. What had passed belonged to a drunken and irrational mood. This +taunt came evidently from deliberate contempt and ingratitude. Philip +had a bewildered sense of being outside of all conditions which he +could understand. This shameless effrontery and brutality seemed to him +rather the distorted fantasy of an evil dream than anything which could +be real. His one thought now was to get his companion away before she +was exposed to fresh insult. + +They were detained a little by the police; but after giving their +addresses were allowed to go. Ashe felt shaky and exhausted, but the +hand of Mrs. Fenton was on his arm, and the need of sustaining her gave +him strength. They got with some difficulty through the crowd and out +of the court, and after walking a block or two were fortunate enough to +find a carriage. + +"Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Fenton said, as they drove up Hanover Street, "I'm +afraid you're terribly hurt; and it is all my fault." + +"No, no," he replied with swollen lips. "The fault was mine. I +shouldn't have let you go into that place." + +"But you did try to stop me; only I was obstinate. Oh, I don't know how +to thank you for coming as you did." + +"But what happened before I came?" + +Mrs. Fenton shuddered. + +"Oh, I don't think I know very clearly. That great drunken man came in, +and asked me for money. Of course I didn't give it to him; and his wife +tried to get him to let me go. Then he struck her on the mouth!" + +"The brute!" Ashe involuntarily cried, clenching his bruised fists. + +"Then he caught me by the waist, and I screamed; and in another minute +I heard you at the door." + +"But it was the woman that called the police." + +"Yes; and when she did that I was fearfully frightened. I knew that if +she called the police against her own husband she must think that he'd +really hurt me." + +Philip leaned back in the carriage, dizzy with the overwhelming sense +of the peril that had beset her,--her! Then, mastered by an +overpowering impulse, he threw himself forward and caught her hands, +covering them with kisses. + +"Oh, my darling!" he gasped. "Oh, thank God you are safe!" + +She dragged her hands away from him, and shrank back. + +"Mr. Ashe!" she cried. "What is the matter with you? What are you +doing?" + +He did not attempt to retain his hold, but drew himself back into the +darkness of his corner of the carriage. A strange calmness followed his +outbreak; a sort of joyous uplifting which made him master of himself +completely. + +"I am sinning," he answered with a riotous sense of delight. "I am +laying up remorse for all my future. I am telling you I love you; that +I love you: I love you! I love you and I have saved you; and I shall +brood over that, and do penance, and brood over it again, and do +penance again, all my life long!" + +"Oh, you are confused, excited, hurt," she cried. "You don't know what +you are saying!" + +"I know only too well what I am saying. I am saying that I"-- + +"Oh, for pity's sake, don't!" she moaned, putting out her hand. + +He caught her wrist, and again kissed her hand passionately. + +"Yes, I know that I ought not to say this now when you have had to bear +so much already; that I ought never to say it; but it is said! It is +said! You'll forget it, but I shall remember it all my life. I shall +remember that you heard me say that I love you!" + +He threw himself back into his corner, and she shrank into hers, while +the carriage went rattling over the pavement. Aching and sore, Philip +yet knew a wild exhilaration, a certain divine madness which was so +intense a delight that it almost made him weep. It was like a religious +ecstasy, recalling to his mind moments in which he had seemed to be +lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits. + +"I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew +near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't +regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that +is--for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet." + +He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch. + +"Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault +that this happened?" + +"Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I +love you so!" + +"No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love +you! For pity's sake don't say such things!" + +She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his +lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled +his voice as well as he was able. + +"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head. +Forget my impertinence, and"-- + +He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved +him the need of farther effort. + +He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice +which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman. + + + + XIX + + + 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + Othello, i. 3. + + +Poor Ashe got home more dead than alive. His passion had shaken him +like a delirium. He had been swept away by his emotion, and had thrown +to the winds past and future. He felt as the carriage drove away from +Mrs. Fenton's as if he had been swung up and down on some monstrous +wave and dashed, broken and bleeding, on a rough shore. He could not +think; and fortunately for him he was even too benumbed to feel greatly. + +He reached the Hermans' in a sort of half-stupor, in which +indifference, keen joy, and bitter contrition were strangely mingled. +The contrition, however, seemed somehow to belong to the future; it was +what he must endure when the time should come for repentance; the joy +was a present blessing, tingling in his every fibre. + +He met Mrs. Herman in the hall. She exclaimed when she saw him, and he +stood smiling at her, swaying as if he were intoxicated. + +"What has happened?" she cried. "What have you done to your face?" + +The room and his cousin swam before him in a golden mist. He felt that +he was grinning idiotically, yet he could not stop. He tried to speak, +but his lips seemed too swollen to form words. He put out his hand to +grasp a chair, and perceived that he could not reach it. + +"I--fall!" he managed to ejaculate. + +Mrs. Herman caught him, and supported him to a chair. He felt her arm +around him, and he wondered how he came to be thus embraced. He tried +to grope back into the dusk of his mind to tell what had happened, and +the fiery glow of the moment in which he had kissed the hand of Mrs. +Fenton came back to him. He sat suddenly erect. + +"Cousin Helen," he said, with husky fervor, "I have been a wretch, and +I rejoice in it! I have found out how sweet it is to sin! I am lost, +lost, lost!" + +He buried his face in his hands, almost hysterical. He felt his +cousin's hand on his shoulder. + +"Philip," she said decisively, "you must stop this, and tell me what +has happened." + +"I beg your pardon," he answered, dropping his hands. "Mrs. Fenton was +attacked by a drunken man in the North End, and I fought him. I am +afraid that I am pretty disreputable looking." + +"Yes, you are. I hope that is the worst of it." + +She took him by the arm and led him into the library, where she +established him in an easy-chair by the fire. + +"I'll send for a doctor to look you over," she said, "and meanwhile you +are to take what I give you." + +She left him, and Philip sat looking into the coals. + +"Ah, if the glove had been off!" he murmured half aloud. + +He flushed hotly, and struck his clenched hand against his breast, +rubbing it back and forth until the haircloth within stung and smarted. + +"No, no," he said to himself fiercely. "I will not think about it!" + +Helen came back with a tumbler of something hot and fragrant, which +made his eyes water as he drank. It sent a strange sensation of warmth +through him, and seemed to restore his energy. The doctor, who came in +soon after, found nothing serious the matter. Ashe was temporarily +disfigured, but had luckily escaped without worse injury. He was sent +to bed, and despite his expectation of passing the night in an agony of +remorse, he sank almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. + +When Philip awoke his first sensation was that of stiffness and +soreness,--soreness such as he had felt once when he had slept on the +floor with his arms extended in the form of a cross. The thought of +penance performed gave him a thrill of happiness, but to this instantly +succeeded the remembrance of the events of yesterday, and his brief +satisfaction vanished. + +His face was discolored, and as he set out after breakfast to seek his +spiritual adviser he felt a grim satisfaction in going abroad thus +marked. It was in the nature of a mortification and a penance. He +repeated prayers as he walked, his eyes cast down, his bosom pricked by +haircloth. He felt that he had already begun the expiation of the sin +of yesterday. + +He found Father Frontford at home, but so occupied as to be unable to +listen to him. It would have been impossible for Philip to do as +Maurice had done, and go to a man like Strathmore; and indeed, he had +come to his Father Superior partly because of the sharpness with which +he felt that his offending would be judged. Where Maurice would +question, Philip would submit blindly and with ardent faith. + +"Good-morning," the Father greeted Ashe kindly, holding out his left +hand, while the right held suspended the pen which had already produced +a heap of letters. "I am very glad to see you; but you find me +extremely busy. There are so many things to be thought of just now, and +so many letters to be written." + +"Yes?" Philip responded absently. + +"The election is so near at hand now," the other continued, "that we +cannot leave any stone unturned. I am writing to some of the country +clergy this morning. By the way, I wanted to speak to you about +Montfield." + +Philip wondered at himself for the remoteness which the affairs of the +church had for him, so absorbed had he been in his own experiences. + +"It seems to me," Father Frontford went on with fresh animation, "that +perhaps you can do something there. Can't you go down and talk with Mr. +Wentworth? He's inclined to support Mr. Strathmore. You should be able +to influence him; you are his spiritual son." + +Mr. Wentworth was the rector in Philip's native town, and under him +both Ashe and Wynne had come from Congregationalism into the Church. + +"It is possible," Philip said doubtfully. "Mr. Wentworth is, however, +rather inclined to disagree with me nowadays. He is completely carried +away by Mr. Strathmore." + +A strange look came into the face of the old priest. He laid down his +pen, and pressed together the tips of his white fingers, thin with +fasting and self-denial. + +"Did you not once tell me," he asked, "that Mr. Wentworth has hoped for +years that he might bring your mother also into the fold?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are her only child?" + +"Yes." + +Father Frontford cast down his eyes; then raised them to flash a glance +of vivid intelligence upon Ashe. Then again he looked down. + +"I think that you had better run down and see your mother," he said. +"It is possible that she may be even now leaning toward the truth; and +in any case you might arouse Mr. Wentworth to fresh activity. It is of +much importance that the country clergy should be pledged not to +support Mr. Strathmore in the convention." + +Philip went away confused and baffled. He said to himself that his +feeling was caused solely by his disappointment that he had found no +opportunity to talk with the Father Superior about his own affairs; but +it was impossible for him to put out of his mind the way in which his +mission to Montfield had been spoken of. He was willing to go down and +do what he could to arouse Mr. Wentworth to the gravity of the +situation, but he could neither forget nor endure the hint that he +should make of the hope of his mother's conversion to the church a +bribe. He could not think of this without being moved to blame Father +Frontford; and he set himself to argue his mind into the belief that +there was no harm in the suggestion. He walked along in a reverie as +deep as it was painful, trying to see that the occasion called for the +use of all lawful means, and that it was natural for the Father to +suppose that Mrs. Ashe might be influenced more readily if the rector +yielded to the wishes of her son in voting for Frontford. + +"My dear Ashe, what have you been doing to yourself?" a strong voice +asked him. + +He came with a start to the consciousness of where he was, and that he +had almost run into the Rev. De Lancy Candish. The thought flashed +through his mind that Father Frontford had been too deeply absorbed in +his plans to notice the bruised face of his deacon. + +"How do you do?" he exclaimed impulsively. "Providence has sent you to +me. Can you spare me a little of your time?" + +"Certainly," the other answered, with some appearance of surprise. "I'm +on my way home now." + +They walked in silence toward the home of Mr. Candish, Ashe trying to +frame some form of words by which he could confess the sin of his heart +without betraying Mrs. Fenton. He wondered if Maurice Wynne could have +helped him, and reflected how they had been in the habit of confiding +everything to one another. Now he shrank from opening his heart to his +friend, and was almost seeking out a confidant in the highways and +hedges. + +"You have not told me what sort of an accident you have had," Candish +observed, as he fitted the latch-key into the lock of his door. + +"I was attacked by a man in the North End," Philip answered, obeying +the wave of the hand which invited him to enter. "He had insulted Mrs. +Fenton, and"-- + +"Mrs. Fenton!" echoed Candish. + +The tone made Ashe turn quickly. Into his mind flashed the words of +Helen and of Mrs. Wilson connecting the name of Candish with that of +Mrs. Fenton. In his longing for comfort and advice he had seized upon +the rector of the Nativity without remembering that he was the last +person to whom he should come. + +"Ah," he said, "it was true!" + +Candish did not answer, and they went into the study in silence. The +host sat down in the well-worn chair by his writing-table, while Philip +took a seat facing him. + +"What a foolish thing for me to say," Ashe broke out; then surprised at +the querulousness of his tone he stopped abruptly. + +"Mr. Ashe," Candish said gravely, "if there is anything I can do for +you will you tell me what it is?" + +Philip rose quickly, and took a step towards him, leaning down over the +thin, homely face. + +"I have found you out!" he cried with exultation. "I came to confess my +sin to you, and I find that you love her too!" + +"Don't be hysterical and melodramatic," was the cool response. "Sit +down, and let us talk rationally if we are to talk at all." + +The manner of Candish recalled Philip to himself. He sat down heavily. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "Since that fight I have been half beside +myself. I am like a hysterical girl." + +The other regarded him compassionately. + +"Mr. Ashe," responded he, "there is no good in my pretending that I +didn't understand what you meant just now. You and I are both given to +the priesthood. If we both love a woman"-- + +"I love her," burst in Philip, half defiantly, half remorsefully, "and +I have told her so! I have condemned myself"-- + +"Stop," Candish interrupted. "First you have to think of her." + +Philip stared in silence. It came over him how entirely he had been +thinking of himself, and how little he had considered Mrs. Fenton in +his reflections upon the events of the previous evening. Here was a man +who could love her so well as to think of her first and himself last. + +"But I have given her up," Philip stammered. + +"Was she yours to give up?" + +There was nothing bitter or sneering in the words; they were said +simply and dispassionately. + +"No," Philip answered, dropping his voice; "she was not mine." + +The older man rose and walked to the fire, where he stood looking down +at the flaming coals. + +"After all," he said, "we are pretty much in the same plight. I knew +her when her husband brought her here a bride, the loveliest creature +alive. Arthur Fenton was a clever, selfish, wholly irreligious man; and +I could not help seeing how completely he failed to understand or +appreciate his wife. She was kind to me, and when her trouble came she +turned to me for comfort and sympathy. It is my weakness that I love +her; but she will never know it." + +"And does she love nobody?" demanded Ashe jealously. + +Candish turned upon him a look of rebuke. + +"What right have you or I to ask that question?" he retorted sternly. +"I do penance for loving her, and God is my witness how carefully I +have hidden it. It is not for me to question her right to love if she +please." + +Philip rose, and went to the other, holding out his hand. + +"Mr. Candish," said he earnestly, "you have taught me my lesson. I have +been a weak fool, and worse. I will pray for strength to lay my passion +on the altar and forget it." + +The rector took the extended hand, looking into Philip's eyes with a +glance so wistful, so humble, and so tender that the remembrance went +with Ashe long. + +"And forget it?" he repeated. "I do not know that I could do that!" + +He dropped the hand of Ashe, and shook himself as if he would shake off +the mood which had taken possession of him. + +"Come," he declared resolutely, "this will not do. This is not the sort +of mood that makes men. Let me give you a single piece of advice,--I am +older, you know; don't pity yourself, whatever else you do. In the +first place, that would be equivalent to saying that Providence doesn't +know what is best for you; and in the second, it spoils all one's sense +of values." + +As Ashe that afternoon journeyed down to Montfield, he recalled all the +details of this interview. The more he considered the more he respected +Candish and the less satisfaction he found in his own conduct. Yet +perhaps the human mind cannot cease self-justification at any point +short of annihilation, and Philip still had in his secret thought a +deep feeling that the church should more absolutely settle the question +of the celibacy of its clergy, so that there might be no more doubts. +He honored the attitude of Candish, and he resolved to imitate it. He +who has never shaken hands with the devil, however, can have little +idea how hard it is to loose his grasp; and Philip groaned at the +thought of how far he was even from wishing to put his love out of its +high place in his heart. + +His mind was calmer as he sat that evening talking with his mother. +Mrs. Ashe was a plain, sweet-faced woman, with gray hair brushed +smoothly under her cap of black lace. There was in her pale, faded face +little beauty of feature or coloring; yet the light of her kindly and +delicate spirit shone through. Maurice Wynne had once said that she was +like a sweet-pea,--born with wings, but tethered so that she might not +fly away. Philip, with his exquisite sensitiveness, found an +unspeakable comfort in her presence; a soothing sense of rest and peace +so blissful that it seemed almost wrong. There are even in this worldly +age many women who hide under the covering of uneventful, commonplace +lives existences full of spiritual richness,--women who find in +religion not the mechanical acceptance of form, not a mere superstition +which encrusts an outworn creed, but a vital, uplifting force; a power +which fills their souls with imaginative warmth and fervor. The worth +of an experience is to be estimated by the emotional fire which it +kindles; and to the lives of such women the dull, colorless round of +their daily existence gives no real clue. Theirs is the life of the +spirit, and for them the inner is the only true life. It is when the +sunken eye shines with a glow from deep within; when the thin cheeks +faintly warm with the ghost of a flush and the blue veins swell from +the throbbing of a heart stirred by a spiritual vision, that the +observer gets a hint of the realities of such a life. + +Mrs. Ashe was a type of the saintly woman that the spirit of Puritanism +bred in rural New England. Such women are the living embodiment of the +power which has inspired whatever is best in the nation; the power +which has been a living force amid the worldliness, the materialism, +the crudity that have threatened to overwhelm the people of this yet +young land, so prematurely old. In her face was a look of high +unworldliness that marks the mystic, the inheritance from ancestors +bred in a faith impossible without mysticism in the very fibres of the +race. The heroic self-denial, the persistent belief, the noble fidelity +to the ideal which is the salvation of a nation, shine in such a +countenance, and make real the high deeds of a past generation the +narrowness of whose creeds too often blinds us to-day to the greatness +of their character. + +She smiled a little on hearing the object of her son's visit. + +"I am glad to see you on any terms," she observed, "but I cannot say +that I think your coming very wise." + +"But, mother," he urged, "don't you see that it is a matter of so much +importance that we ought not to neglect any chance?" + +"My dear boy," questioned she, "do you really think that it is of so +much importance who is bishop?" + +"It is of the greatest possible importance," he returned earnestly. "Of +course you don't agree with me as to the importance of forms of +worship, but suppose that it were your own church, and the question +were of having a man put into a place so influential. Wouldn't you be +troubled if one were likely to be chosen who taught what you regarded +as heresy?" + +She smiled on him still, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes. + +"Yes," she said, "I suppose I should; but doesn't it ever occur to you, +Philip, that we are all too much inclined to feel that everything is +going wrong if Providence doesn't work in our way? We can't help, I +suppose, the habit of regarding our plans as somehow essential to the +proper management of the universe." + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"You always had a most effective way of taking down my conceit," he +responded. "I don't mean that it is necessary that Father Frontford +shall be bishop because I want him, but"-- + +"But because you believe in him," his mother interrupted with a little +twinkle in her eye. "Well, we cannot do better than to follow our +convictions, I suppose." + +She ended with a sigh, and Philip knew that it was because into her +mind came the sadness she felt at his defection from the faith of his +fathers. + +"Yes, you trained me from the cradle to do what I thought right without +considering the consequences." + +They fell into more general talk after that; and after the news of the +family and the neighborhood had been pretty well exhausted, Mrs. Ashe +said:-- + +"I have asked Alice Singleton to make me a visit." + +"Alice Singleton! Why, mother, I cannot think of a person I should have +supposed it less likely you would want to stay with you." + +"I'm afraid that I don't want her very much; but she wrote me that she +was very lonely, that she hadn't any plans, and that Boston seemed to +her a very homesick place. Her mother was my nearest friend, you know; +and if Alice needs friendship it's very little for me to do for her." + +"I didn't know she'd been in Boston," Philip commented thoughtfully. +"She never seemed to me honest, mother. I never could be charitable to +her at all." + +The sweet face of his mother took on a curious expression of mingled +amusement and contrition. + +"If I must confess it, Phil," she said, "neither could I; and I'm +afraid that there was more notion of doing penance in my asking her +than of real hospitality. She is after all not to blame for her manner, +and no doubt we do her wrong." + +"If you have come to doing penance, mother, there's no knowing how soon +you will be with me." + +"No, Phil," she answered softly, "do you remember what Monica told her +son? 'Not where he is, shalt thou be, but where thou art he shall be.'" + +He shook his head, sighing. + +"I ought not to have touched on that matter, mother. You know that I am +trying to follow my conscience." + +"Yes, I cling to that. I should be miserable if I did not believe that +your way and my way will come together somewhere, on this side or the +other; and I bid you Godspeed on whatever way you go with prayerful +conviction." + +A sudden impulse leaped up within him, and it was almost as if some +voice not his own spoke through his lips, so little was he conscious of +meaning to ask such a question. + +"Even if the way led to Home?" + +Mrs. Ashe grew paler, but her eyes steadfastly met those of her son. + +"I trust you in the hands of God," she said. + +Late that night Philip woke from a heavy sleep into which fatigue had +plunged him. He reached out his arm, and drew aside the curtain near +his bed, so that he might see the window of his mother's chamber. A +faint light was shining there; and he knew that the beams of the candle +fell on his mother on her knees. + + + + XX + + + IN WAY OF TASTE + Troilus and Cressida, iii. 3. + + +The two deacons were together again in the Clergy House. Maurice +frankly confessed to himself that he did not like it, and he wondered +if Philip were also dissatisfied. It was a question too delicate to +ask, however; and he contented himself with watching his friend to +discover, if possible, whether the stay outside had affected Ashe as it +had him. They returned late in the afternoon, and their greeting was of +the warmest. + +"Dear old boy," Maurice cried, "you don't know how glad I am to get at +you again. Where in the world have you kept yourself?" + +"Just at the last," Philip responded, "I've been down to Montfield." + +"Down home? Have you really? How is everybody? I hope your mother is +well." + +"She is very well, and I do not remember anybody that we know who +isn't. I went down to see Mr. Wentworth, and found that he is already +pledged to Mr. Strathmore." + +"Is he really? How did that happen?" + +"It seems that he is a cousin of that Mrs. Gore where we heard that +heathen, and she is greatly interested in Mr. Strathmore's election. +Mr. Wentworth promised her his vote. How people are carried away by +that man. Mr. Wentworth told me that he looked upon him as the greatest +man in the church to-day." + +"It is strange," Maurice assented absently; "but he is a man of great +personal fascination." + +"To me," Philip retorted, "he is a whited sepulchre. His doctrine of +mental reservation amounts to nothing less than that a priest is at +liberty to believe anything he pleases if he will only conform +outwardly." + +Maurice was secretly much of the same opinion, but they came now to the +dinner table, where silence was the rule. Wynne had a feeling of +dishonesty from the fact that he concealed from his friend that he had +sought an interview with Strathmore, yet he felt that he could not +confess the visit. While they sat at table a brother read aloud, and +the reading chanced to be to-night from the book of Job. The words of +the splendid poem mingled in the mind of Maurice with the most +incongruous and unpriestly thoughts. He chafed at the routine into +which he had fallen as into a pit from which he had once escaped; the +meagre repast seemed to him pitifully poor; and most of all he was +angry with himself that he could not feel joy at his return to the +house which was the symbol of the consecrated work to which he had +given his life. After dinner came an hour and a half of recreation, and +in this he was called to the study of the Father Superior. + +"You returned so late in the day," the Father said with a smile, "that +you will not mind giving up recreation to-night. I wish to speak with +you on a matter of importance." + +Maurice took the seat toward which the other waved his hand. He felt +alien and strange. He recalled the attitude of submission and reverence +with which he had once been accustomed to enter this room, the respect +with which he had heard every word of the Father; and he blamed himself +bitterly that he now took rather a defensive mood, and felt an +instinctive desire to escape. He reflected that he had been poisoned by +the world; yet he could not wholly shut out the consciousness that he +had no genuine desire to be freed from the sweet madness which had +seized him. He tried to put all thought of these matters by, however, +and to give his whole attention to what the priest might say to him. + +"I think that you have met Mrs. Frostwinch," the Father said. + +"I went to her house once," Maurice answered, surprised at the remark, +and feeling his pulse quicken at the remembrance of his first sight of +Berenice. + +"I remember that you mentioned it in confession," was the grave reply. +"Satan sets his snares in the most unlikely places." + +The words seemed almost a reply to Wynne's secret thought. His first +impulse was to resent this open allusion to a sacred confidence +whispered in the confessional. It was like a stab in the back, or a +trick to take unfair advantage; and the matter was made worse by this +allusion to a snare of Satan, which could mean nothing else but +Berenice herself. Maurice flushed hotly, but habit was strong in him, +and he cast down his eyes without reply. + +"Have you heard that Mrs. Frostwinch is on her way home?" Father +Frontford went on. + +"No." + +"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she +is coming home to die." + +"To die?" echoed Maurice. + +He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred, +apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible +that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy +death, and live on simply by her own splendid will. + +"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it +is to us to have her influence in the election?" + +"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that +she is in"--he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time--"our +interests." + +"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three +are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand +behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or +another." + +"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote +unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her +support?" + +"They would not vote unconscientiously," was the dry response, "but +they believe that the support which she gives to them and to their +missions is of more importance than that the man they really prefer +should be chosen." + +"But what can be done?" + +Father Frontford sat leaning back in his chair, his face in shadow, and +the tips of his thin fingers pressed together in his habitual gesture. + +"Perhaps nothing," he answered. + +His voice had dropped into a soft, silky half-tone, insinuating and +persuasive. Maurice began to have an uneasy feeling as if he were being +hypnotized; yet the words of the other came to him with a quality +strangely soothing and attractive. + +"Perhaps," the priest went on after a pause of a second, "perhaps +everything that is necessary." + +It seemed to Maurice that there was something significant in the tone +which the words did not reveal. He looked keenly at the shadowed face, +but without being able clearly to make out its expression. He could see +little but the bright eyes holding and dominating his own. + +"It is for you to do this work," Father Frontford continued; "and it is +wonderful how Providence brings good out of all things. Here is an +opportunity for you not only to expiate your fault, but to serve the +cause of the church." + +Without understanding, Maurice began to tremble with inner dread lest +the name of Berenice should again be brought up between himself and +this pitiless priest. + +"I do not see that there is anything that I can do," he said coldly. + +"On the contrary. Do you chance to know anything about the Canton +estate? I suppose you are not likely to." + +"Nothing whatever. What is the Canton estate?" + +"Mrs. Frostwinch was a Canton. Her father was a brother of old Mrs. +Morison." + +Maurice could not see how all this involved him, but he became more and +more uneasy. + +"The estate of old Mr. Canton," the Father went on in the same smooth +voice, "was, as I have just learned from Mrs. Wilson, left to his +daughter for life and to her children after her. If she died childless +it was to go to Miss Morison." + +"And she is childless?" + +"She is childless. If she is taken away now, the property will all be +in the hands of Miss Morison." + +There was a moment of stillness in which the thought most insistent in +the mind of Maurice was that in this fortune fate had raised another +wall between himself and Berenice. He spoke to escape the reflection. + +"But all this is surely not my concern." + +"It is your concern if it shows you a way in which the votes of those +clergymen may be assured, although Mrs. Frostwinch should not recover." + +"It shows me no way." + +Maurice tried to speak naturally and without evidence of feeling, but +his throat was parched and his heart hot. He hated this inquisition. +The long reverence and admiration which had bound him to the Father +melted to nothing in the twinkling of an eye. Who was this Jesuit that +sat here making of Berenice and her fortune pawns in his game; +involving her in a web of intrigue unworthy of his sacred office; and +forcing his disciple to listen through a knowledge of facts +stammeringly poured out in the confessional? Absence from the Clergy +House and from town, and after that a growing reluctance, had prevented +Maurice from confessing anything beyond his first attraction to Miss +Morison, but he had written to the Father Superior of the accident, and +had mentioned that he was thought to have been of assistance in saving +her. It came to him now that he was being repaid for the accursed +vanity which had led him to make this boast; and he became the more +animated against his director from his anger against himself. + +"Whatever Mrs. Frostwinch has done with the property," Father Frontford +said, "of course Miss Morison may do if she pleases." + +"I should suppose so; but I know nothing about it." + +"Then if Miss Morison will promise to continue the donations of Mrs. +Frostwinch, the position of the beneficiaries will be the same toward +her as toward Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Maurice bent forward quickly, unable longer to maintain an appearance +of calm. + +"Father Frontford," he exclaimed, "you certainly cannot ask this of +Miss Morison! It would be sheer impertinence! I beg your pardon, but I +cannot help saying it. Besides, there is something horribly +cold-blooded in talking about what shall be done with the property of +Mrs. Frostwinch when she is dead. Miss Morison would not listen to +anything of the sort." + +"The circumstances justify what otherwise would be inadmissible. It is +necessary, Mrs. Wilson thinks, to be able to tell those men that their +situation is not changed by the death of Mrs. Frostwinch, which is +almost sure to take place before the convention. You must explain that +to Miss Morison." + +"I!" + +"The obligation which she is under to you," the Father said, ignoring +the exclamation, "will naturally incline her to listen." + +"But I cannot"-- + +"I had thought that it was mine to decide what you could and should do." + +"But, Father, this is so extraordinary, so impossible, so"-- + +"Miss Morison is to be in Boston in a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson will +let us know when she arrives. I know how strange this looks to you, and +how repugnant it must be. Do you think that it is any less hateful to +me? Do you think that it is easy for me to be working for what is to be +my own personal exaltation if we succeed? I give you my word, Wynne, +that the severest sacrifice that any one can be called on to make in +this matter is that which I make when I take these steps toward putting +myself in office. I am not naturally humble, and it humiliates me to +the very soul; but I do what seems to me to be for the good of the +church, and try to put my personal feeling entirely out of the matter. +It is for you to do the same." + +It was impossible for Maurice to doubt the sincerity with which this +was said. He had no answer to give. + +"Go now, my son," the Father concluded, "and do not forget to thank God +that the weakness of your heart may be turned into a means by which the +church may be served." + +Maurice retired to his room in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was +summoned almost immediately to vespers and complines. The familiar +ritual soothed him, and he was able to join in the chants in much the +old way. His feeling was that he would gladly have had the service last +into the night. He would have liked to go on with this half emotional, +half mechanical devotion, which kept him from thinking, and which put +off the dreaded hour when he must face the proposition which had been +made to him. + +It was the rule of the house that all the inmates should preserve +unbroken silence among themselves from complines until after nones the +next day. Maurice knew therefore that he was free from intrusion of +human companionship, which it seemed to him he could not have borne. +Even the talk of dear old Phil, to a chat with whom he had looked +forward as the one pleasure in coming back to the Clergy House, would +have been intolerable while this nightmarish trouble lay upon him. He +went at once to his chamber, a cell-like room, and sat down to think. +Could he do it? How would Berenice regard this impertinent interference +with her private affairs? How could he go to her and say: "It is +necessary for church politics that you assume to dispose of the +property which now your cousin holds, and over which you have no rights +until she is in her grave." He could see her eyes sparkle with +indignation and contempt, and he grew hot in anticipation. He could not +do it, he thought over and over. It was impossible that in this age of +the world anybody should dream of having such a thing done. If he were +almost a priest, he told himself fiercely, he had not yet ceased to be +a gentleman! + +The stricture which this thought seemed to cast upon the priesthood +made him pause. He had not yet shaken off the dominion of old ideas and +old habits. He apologized to an unseen censor for the apparent +irreverence of his thought. It was not the priesthood, it was--He came +again to a standstill. He was not prepared to own to himself that he +disapproved of the Father Superior. He had vowed obedience, and here he +sat raging against a decree because it sacrificed his personal feelings +to the good of the church. The blame should be upon himself. There was +nothing in all this revolt except his own selfishness and wounded +vanity. He had transgressed by allowing his thoughts to be entangled in +earthly affection, and this misery and wickedness followed inevitably. +The fault was in him entirely; it was his own grievous fault. The +familiar words of the office of confession made him beat his breast, +and fall in prayer before the crucifix which seemed to waver in the +flickering candlelight. He repeated petition after petition. He would +not allow himself to think. It was his to obey, not to question. He +would regain his old tranquillity, his old docility. He would submit +passively. It was his own fault, his most grievous fault. + +The ten o'clock bell rang, calling for the extinguishing of lights. He +sprang from his knees, blew out the candle, threw off his clothes in +the dark, and hurried into his hard and narrow bed. He was resolved not +to think. He said the offices of the day; he repeated psalms; and at +last, in desperate attempt to control his mind and to induce sleep, he +began to multiply large numbers. All the time he was resolutely saying +to himself: "It is my fault; my most grievous fault!" And all the time +some inner self, unsubdued, was persistently replying: "It is not! It +is not! I am right!" + + + + XXI + + + THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +Maurice woke next morning to a deep sadness, as if some bitter calamity +had befallen. In a moment the conversation of the previous evening +rushed to his mind, and his gloom rather deepened than grew less. The +rising-bell had rung, and he rose languidly in the cold, gray twilight. +So long had he tossed restlessly in the night unsleeping that he felt +worn out and miserable, and after the hours which he had necessarily +kept at the house of his cousin half past five seemed hardly to be day. +He shivered with a discouraged disgust as he made his toilet, +endeavoring to forget. + +The routine of the morning followed: meditation, lauds and prayers; +mass; breakfast; prime; then the study hours before luncheon; and so on +to nones. All this time the rule of the house protected him from +speech, but now that the hour for recreation came he was in the midst +of questioning fellow-deacons. They had all so much to tell, however, +of the manner in which they had passed their time during their absence +from the Clergy House that Maurice was able for the most part to listen +instead of speaking. He watched with curiosity to see that they +appeared glad to return to seclusion. They had been troubled by the +sensation of finding themselves out of their accustomed groove, and had +found the world confusing. Most often they seemed to him to have been +oppressed by the need of deciding what they should do, and how they +should meet trifling unforeseen emergencies. + +"It is impossible to be spiritually calm except in seclusion," one of +them said. + +Involuntarily Maurice looked at the speaker, feeling that this must be +mere cant. It struck him as nonsense, yet one glance at the serene, +honest face of the deacon who spoke, with its tender, candid eyes, like +those of a pure girl, was enough to convince him of the entire +sincerity of the words. He sighed, and turned away; as he did so he +caught the eye of Philip, who was watching him with solicitous +attention. Maurice put his hand on the arm of his friend, and led him +away. + +"Why did you look at me that way, Phil?" he asked. "Does it seem to you +that spiritual calm is the best thing in life?" + +Ashe was silent a moment. Maurice noted that he looked thinner than of +old, and reproached himself that he had seen so little of his friend +during their absence from the Clergy House. + +"I was thinking," Philip replied at length, hesitating and dropping his +voice, "that I feared both you and I had discovered that something more +than seclusion is needed to give it, however good it may be." + +Maurice laid his hand on the back of Philip's, grasping it tightly. + +"You too?" was his response. + +They stood in silence for some moments, looking out of a window over +the dingy back yards which formed the prospect from the rear of the +house. Wynne was wondering how it was that for the first time in his +life it was impossible to be frankly confidential with Philip, and how +far it was probable that his friend would be in sympathy with him in +his trouble. He longed for counsel, and the force of old habit pressed +him to tell everything. + +"Phil," he said, "will you go out with me for a walk this afternoon?" + +"Of course," Ashe answered. "Don't we always go together?" + +Wynne laughed, turning to look at his companion as if from afar. + +"I doubt," he observed, "if anything I could tell you directly would +give you so good an idea of how upset I am, and how completely out of +the routine of our life, as the fact that I seem to have forgotten that +there ever were any walks before." + +"I am afraid that I am a good deal out of touch with the life here," +Ashe responded seriously. "I have been troubled, and tempted, and--Oh, +Maurice," he broke off suddenly, "Maynard is right: no spiritual calm +is possible in the world outside!" + +"Even if that were true," returned Maurice, "I don't know that I am +prepared to agree that calm is the best thing in life." + +"It is the highest thing." + +"I don't believe it. It isn't growth." + +The bell for study sounded, and ended their talk. Maurice went to his +work uneasy, perhaps a little irritated. He was disquieted that Philip +should be so monastically out of sympathy, and he was annoyed with +himself for being out of key with his friend. He felt as if he had +returned to his old place in the body without being here at all in the +spirit. He had while at Mrs. Staggchase's looked into many books which +in the Clergy House would never have come in his way; he had more than +once been startled to encounter thoughts which had been in his own +mind, but which he had felt it wrong to entertain. Here they were +stated coolly, dispassionately, with no consciousness, apparently, that +they should not be considered with frankness. He had heard opinions and +ideas which from the standpoint of the religious ascetic were not only +heretical but little short of blasphemous, yet they were evidently the +ordinary current thought of the time. It was impossible that these +things should not affect him; and to-day as he sat in lecture he found +himself trying all that was said by a new standard and involuntarily +taking the position of an objector. He was able to see nothing but +flaws in the logic, faults in the deduction, breaks in the argument. + +"I am come to that state of mind when I should see a seam in the +seamless robe," he groaned in spirit. + +Father Frontford lectured that afternoon on church history. Sometimes +in the long hour Maurice studied the priest, wondering at him, trying +to comprehend the working of his mind. Sometimes he would ask himself +whether it were possible that this man were wholly sincere, whether it +were possible that an intellect so acute could really believe the +things which were the foundation of the teaching of the day; but he +came back always to faith in the complete conviction of the Father. +Maurice, indeed, said to himself that Frontford was quite capable of +taking his spiritual self by the throat and compelling it to believe; +and then the young doubter asked himself if this were the secret of the +faith which showed in every word and look of the speaker. He told +himself that Father Frontford was his Superior, and as such to be +followed, not criticised; he resolved not to think, but endeavored to +give his whole attention to the lecture. Here however he did little +better. The glories of the church upon which the speaker dwelt seemed +to Wynne in his present mood poor and paltry triumphs of dogmatism,--or +even, why not of superstition indeed? He was startled by the sin of his +questioning, yet it seemed impossible to silence the mocking inner +voice. + +"This is one of the incidents," he at last became aware that the Father +was saying to close, "which strikingly illustrate the need of implicit +obedience. If the church were a simple organization of man, if it were +for the accomplishment of worldly ends, if its object were the +aggrandizement of individuals, nothing could be more dangerous than the +establishment in it of what seems like arbitrary power. As it is +directed from above; as its aim is nothing less than the spiritual +uplifting of the race; as, indeed, upon it rests the salvation, under +God, of mankind, the case is different. It is necessary that no energy +be lost; that all the power of the church be used to the best +advantage; that the hand assist the head and the head have complete +control of the hand. Obedience is of all the lessons which you have to +learn perhaps the hardest. It is no less one of the most essential. In +an age which is lacking not only in obedience but even in that +reverence upon which obedience must rest, it is for the true priest to +be an example of reverence and obedience alike. Revere and obey, and +you have done noble service." + +The deacons buzzed together as they left the lecture-room. They were +but boys after all, and some of them light-hearted enough. Maurice +heard one or two of them commenting upon the lecture or upon +indifferent things. A curly-haired young deacon, a Southerner with the +face of a cherub, was laughing lightly to himself. He was the youngest +of them all, and Maurice had for him that liking which one might have +for a pretty kitten. + +"I say, Wynne," he remarked, looking up into the face of the other with +a twinkling eye, "the Dominie gave us a good preachment to-day in +support of his authority. It almost made me resolve to rebel the next +time I was told to do anything." + +"Then I suppose that you don't agree with him," Maurice responded +rather absently. + +"Oh, it isn't that. I do agree with him. I mean to be a bishop myself +some day, and then the doctrine will come in all right. I'll work it. +Down South we understand that sort of thing better than you do up here." + +"Then what did you object to in the lecture?" + +"I didn't object to anything; only when anybody proves that you ought +not to do a thing isn't it human nature to want to do it, just for the +fun of it?" + +Maurice felt how far from serious was the temper of the boy, and that +it would be utterly unreasonable to expect from him anything like +reverence. "Then how do you expect anybody to hold to the doctrine of +implicit obedience?" he questioned, smiling. + +"Oh, everybody expects to wield the authority sometime," was the light +answer. "Nobody'd hold to it otherwise." + +Maurice instinctively glanced at Ashe. In Philip's pale, enrapt face +was an expression of self-surrender which made Wynne feel how +completely the teaching to which they had just listened must appeal to +the temperament of his friend. + +"To obey for the sake of obeying is precisely what Phil would delight +in," he thought. "How entirely different we are! Yet if it hadn't been +for him I should never have come here. Haven't I strength enough to +follow my own convictions?" + +The hour for walking was four, and a few minutes after the clocks had +struck, Maurice and Philip started out. It was a dull and lowering +afternoon, and the narrow, street was already gloomy with shadows. Half +unconsciously Wynne found himself casting about in his mind for topics +of conversation which should be free from the personal element. Now +that the time for confidences had come, he shrank from words. He +reproached himself, and then half peevishly thought: "I seem nowadays +to do nothing but to find fault with myself for things that I can't +help feeling!" + +"I am glad Father Frontford said what he did today," Ashe remarked +after they had walked in silence for a little. "It was just what I +needed. I've got so in the habit of following my own will since we have +been out in the world that I needed to be reminded that there is +something better." + +Maurice felt a faint irritation that the talk was begun in precisely +the key he would most gladly have avoided, but honesty would not let +him be silent. + +"I am afraid, Phil," he said, "that I'm not entirely in sympathy with +you. I didn't like the lecture. Since we are given will and reason, I +believe that it was intended that we should use them." + +"Of course. If I had no reason, how could I bring myself to give up my +own will to one that I know to be higher?" + +Maurice smiled unhappily. + +"Well," was his answer, "when you begin with a paradox like that it is +evident that I couldn't go on without getting into a discussion darker +than the darkness of Egypt. I'd rather just talk about common everyday +things. Where shall we go?" + +"I want to go to the North End. There is an old woman there that I +thought of visiting. I had trouble with her husband the other day; he +threw her down and hurt her." + +"What sort of trouble?" + +"He struck me, and we had a sort of struggle. He wasn't sober." + +"Were you on the street?" + +"No; in his room. I--I broke in." + +"Broke in?" + +"Yes." Ashe hesitated, and then added: "Mrs. Fenton was there, and he +tried to rob her." + +"Mrs. Fenton? Why didn't you tell me about it? When was it?" + +"The day before I went down home. You weren't here, you know. There was +not much to tell." + +Maurice questioned eagerly, and his friend related briefly what had +happened. + +"Why, Phil, you're a hero!" Wynne exclaimed. "You've quite taken the +wind out of my sails. I counted for something of an adventurer simply +by having been in a smash-up; but you rushed in and had a real +adventure. I never thought of you as a defender of dames." + +The other turned toward him a face contracted with a look of pain. + +"Don't, Maurice," he protested. "I can't joke about it. It was not +anything to be proud of; and nobody knows better than I how far I am +from being a hero." + +"Oh, you're modest, of course. That's like you; but I call it stunning. +Mrs. Fenton must have admired you tremendously." + +"Do you suppose she did?" Philip demanded impetuously. Then his voice +altered. "Oh, she knows me too well!" he added. + +The intense bitterness of his tone gave Maurice a shock. + +"Phil!" cried he. + +His companion apparently understood the thought which lay behind the +exclamation. He dropped his head, and for a little distance they walked +in silence. + +"I may as well tell you," Ashe said in a moment. "It is true, what you +guess. I--I have been thinking of her more than was right. That is one +reason why I am glad to get back to the Clergy House." + +"To give her up?" + +"She was not mine to give up." + +"But do you mean not to try to--Oh, Phil, doesn't it ever come to you +that all this monkish business is a mistake? We were a couple of +foolish boys that didn't know what we were about when we went into it; +and"-- + +Ashe turned and looked at him with eyes full of reproach, and of almost +despairing determination. + +"Is that the way you help me?" he asked. + +Maurice drew a long, deep breath, and set his strong jaw with a resolve +not to abandon so easily the endeavor to bring his friend out of his +trouble. It hardly occurred to him for the moment that it was his own +cause that he was defending. + +"Phil," he persisted, "isn't it possible that after all we may be wrong +in making ourselves wiser than the church by taking vows that are not +required?" + +"Do you suppose that the devil has forgotten to say that to me over and +over again?" was the response. + +"Meaning that I am the old gentleman?" Maurice retorted, trying to be +lightsome. + +"Oh, don't joke. I can't stand it. I've been through so much, and this +is so terrible a thing to bear anyway." + +Wynne seized his rosary with one hand, and struck it across the other +so hard that the corner of the crucifix wounded his finger. + +"Phil, old fellow," he said gravely, "I never felt less like joking. It +cuts me to the quick to see you suffer; and I know how hard you will +take this. I know what it is, for I'm going through the same thing +myself, and I've about made up my mind that we are wrong. I begin to +think that celibacy is only a device that the early church somehow got +into when it was necessary to hold complete authority over the priest, +or when men thought that it was. It belongs to the Middle Ages; not to +the nineteenth century." + +"Then you don't see how marriage would be sure to interfere with a +man's zeal for his work?" + +"But it would certainly bring him into closer sympathy with humanity." + +Ashe shook his head. + +"You don't seem to realize," he said with a certain doggedness which +Wynne had seldom seen in him, "how it must absorb a man, and take +possession of his very reason. Why, see me. I know it is a sin to think +of her, and yet"--He broke off and choked. "Besides," he resumed +presently, "you say yourself that you feel as I do, and that means that +you are not looking at the thing fairly. You are trying to make your +conscience come round to the side of your desires." + +They walked on up the dingy street into which they had come, and for +some time nothing more was said. Maurice recognized that it was idle to +attempt to reply to the charge of his companion. He had made it to +himself and succumbed to it; but now that another stated it, he +instinctively found himself refusing to yield. He repeated to himself +that he was not trying to befool his conscience, but merely acting with +human sanity. + +Presently they came into a dusky court, and crossing it, found +themselves at the door of an ill-smelling tenement house. Here Ashe +turned suddenly, and faced his friend, his face full of strange +excitement. + +"Do you suppose," he said, in a voice which, though low, was full of +feeling, "that I do not know how absorbing a thing it is to give up +life to a woman? Here I am, when she is nothing to me, when I do not +mean ever to see her again, going into this place simply because here +she was half a minute in my arms, because here for two minutes she +looked at me as her preserver. It is sin, and I know it; but it is too +strong for me." + +"But, Phil," Maurice exclaimed in astonishment, "there is surely no +harm in going to see a sick woman." + +The other laughed bitterly. + +"So I told myself, and so I kept saying over and over till the talk +we've had forced me to stop lying to myself. I'm not going to see a +sick woman. I'm going to stand where she stood that day." + +"If you feel that way about it," Maurice said, putting his hand on the +other's arm, "you ought not to go in." + +"I will go in." + +"But obedience, Phil. Think what you were saying about the lecture." + +"Nobody has forbidden me," Ashe responded defiantly. "I will go in. I +had made up my mind before I came. Oh, I shall do penance enough for +it; you need not be afraid of that. I shall suffer enough for it." + +He started up the stairs, and Maurice followed blindly, full of +sympathy and dismay. + + + + XXII + + + THE BITTER PAST + All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3. + + +They found the old woman in bed, attended by a slatternly half-grown +girl, who was reading by the dying light a torn and dirty illustrated +paper. There was little furniture in the chamber; merely the frowsy +bed, a bare table, a single broken chair besides the one in which the +girl was sitting. The floor was bare and dirty; one of the window-panes +was broken and stuffed with a bundle of paper. There were a rusty +stove, a few dishes on the shelf, a kettle and a tin tea-pot. On the +window-sill by the bed were a medicine bottle and a cup. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Murphy?" Ashe asked. "Are you any better to-day?" + +"No better, thank yer riverince. I'll never be better again. My back is +broke, and the pain in me is like purgatory already." + +The slatternly girl laid her paper on her knees, but she neither rose +nor spoke. To Maurice she seemed to have an air of contempt. + +"I am sorry to hear it, Mrs. Murphy," said Ashe. "I thought that I +would drop in and ask after you." + +Maurice involuntarily glanced at him, surprised by the indifference of +the tone. Enlightened by the passionate words which had been spoken +below, he could see that Philip was preoccupied, and gave to the sick +woman no more than the barest semblance of attention. Ashe mechanically +inquired about Mrs. Murphy's wants, his thin cheeks glowing and his +eyes wandering about the room. He was apparently reacting the scene of +the fight, and presently he made a step or two backward, so that he +stood near the middle of the chamber. Here he took his stand, and +seemed to become lost in reverie. + +"Might as well set," remarked the girl, looking toward the unoccupied +chair. + +Maurice made a slight gesture inviting Philip to the seat; but Philip +remained where he was. Wynne realized that his companion must be +standing where he had supported Mrs. Fenton in his arms; and so +touching was the expression of Ashe's face that he felt his throat +contract. He turned away and looked out of the dim window over the +chimney-pots and the irregular roofs. + +"I'm used to falls," the sick woman said. "I've had plenty of 'em. I +left a good home and them as was good to me, to be beat and starved, +and murdered in the end. Women are all like that. If a man asks 'em, +they're always ready to cut their own throats. Sorry was the day for me +I ever left old Miss Hannah." + +Maurice turned toward the bed, his attention suddenly arrested. The +name was that by which his aunt had usually been called, and he seemed +to perceive in the talk of the woman something familiar. The +possibility that this battered old creature might be his nurse came to +him with a shock, so broken, so altered, so degraded was she; and as he +looked at her he rejected the idea as preposterous. + +"But your husband will be punished for his brutality," Ashe remarked +absently. + +He spoke like a man in a dream, as if his whole intent were fixed upon +something so widely apart from the present that he hardly knew what was +passing about him. + +"Who wants him punished?" cried out the sick woman with sudden shrill +vehemence. "That's what you rich folks are always after. Who asked the +lady to come here with her purse in her hand to tempt him when he +wasn't himself to know what he was doing? First you get him into a +scrape, and then you punish him for it! What for do I want Tim shut up +and me left to starve in me bed? If Tim's a little pleasant when he's +had a drop more'n would be handy for a priest, whose business is it but +mine? It's little comfort he gets, poor man; and he only takes what he +can get to keep up his spirits in these poor times, and me sick and +can't do for him." + +"That's what I say too, Mrs. Murphy," the slatternly girl aroused +herself to interpose. "Them as never had no hard times in their lives +is always ready to jump on a poor man when he's down." + +Maurice began to feel as if he were entangled in a strange and uncanny +dream. Philip seemed more and more to retire within himself, and Wynne +felt that he must do something to attract attention from his friend's +conduct. + +"We haven't anything to do with punishment, Mrs. Murphy," he said +soothingly, coming forward as he spoke. "We came only to see if there +is anything we can do to make you more comfortable." + +The old woman answered nothing, but she stared at him with wild eyes. + +"We may be able to make you more easy," he went on cheerfully, "if we +can't fix things for you just as they were at Aunt Hannah's." + +He used the name half unconsciously as the result of the suggestion of +old association and half with an impulse to prove the faint possibility +that this might be Norah Dolen. As he spoke Mrs. Murphy raised herself +on one elbow, stretching out a lean hand convulsively toward him. + +"Master Maurice!" she cried. "Holy Mother of Heaven, is it yourself?" + +He went to her quickly, and took the outstretched hand. + +"Yes, Norah. It is I." + +She gazed at him a moment with haggard eyes, and then a look of deep +tenderness came into the worn old face. + +"Blessed be the saints!" she murmured. "It's me own boy!" + +She drew her hand out of his grasp to stroke his arm and the folds of +his cassock. He sat down by her on the bed, and she fell back upon the +dingy pillow, breaking into hysterical tears. She caught one of his +hands and carried it to her lips, kissing it in a sort of rapture. + +"My own baby," she chuckled. "My Master Maurice so big and fine! I +always said you'd be taller than Master John." + +The allusion to his half-brother, dead nearly a dozen years, seemed to +carry him back into a past so remote that he could hardly remember it. +He smiled at Norah's enthusiasm, more moved by it than he cared to show. + +"I've had time to grow big since you deserted us, Norah." + +A look of terror came into her face. + +"It wasn't my fault," she gasped, sobbing between her words. "Don't +believe it against me, me darling. I never went to hurt old Miss Hannah +in me life, and the saints knows how she died." + +"I never laid any blame on you," he answered. "I knew you wouldn't hurt +a fly." + +She broke into painful, hysterical laughter. + +"No more I wouldn't. To think it's me own baby boy that I've carried in +me arms, and him a priest!" + +The attendant, who had been watching in stupid and undisguised +curiosity, gave an audible sniff. + +"Oh, he ain't a real priest," she interrupted with brutal candor. +"They're just fakes. They ain't even Catholics." + +A pang of irritation shot through Maurice at the girl's words, but his +sense of humor asserted itself, and helped him to smile at his own +weakness. + +"But, Norah," he said, ignoring the taunt, "I want to know about +yourself. We've often tried to find you," he added, a sudden perception +of the possible importance of this recognition coming into his mind. +"You know we depended on you to tell us a lot of things at the time of +Aunt Hannah's death." + +"He told me you'd be after me," Norah exclaimed with rising excitement. +"He said you'd be laying it to me; but, Master Maurice, by the Mother +of Mercy, I never"-- + +"I know that," he interrupted, to check her excitement; "but why did +you go off in that way?" + +"She told me to go. She ordered me out of the house like a dog, just +because I wouldn't give up Tim when she'd accidentally seen him when +he'd had one drop more than the full of him,--and any poor body might +take a wee drop more'n he meant to take beforehand. She was that hot in +her way when her temper was up, rest her soul,--and that nobody knows +better than yourself,--that the devil himself couldn't hold her with a +pair of red-hot tongs,--saving the presence of your riverinces for +mentioning the Old Gentleman." + +Her momentary discomposure at having mentioned the arch fiend in the +presence of those who were his professional enemies gave Wynne a chance +to interpolate a question. He could easily understand that the violent +excitement of a quarrel with her old servant might account for the +sudden death of his aunt. He perceived in a flash how Norah, terrified +by the newspaper reports which had openly accused her of making way +with her mistress, would without difficulty be induced by her husband +to conceal herself. The matter to him most important, however, had not +yet been touched upon. + +"But what became of her will?" he asked. "You told me she made a new +one." + +"She did that, Master Maurice. Wasn't I night and day telling her she'd +treated you scandalous, and upside down of all reason; and didn't she +send for old Burnham, with the squinchy eyes and the wife that had a +wart on her nose, and have it all writ over." + +"So he said. But what became of it?" + +"Ain't you ever had it?" + +"No; we could never find it." + +"Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy +demanded in much excitement. + +"Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. + +"The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures +on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you +should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while +before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." + +"Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time." + +Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy +clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could +hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to +return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily +ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed +fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the +house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed +in silence. + +As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, +evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye. + +"Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly +fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?" + +"In the house we came out of," Maurice answered. "She's on the fifth +floor, at the front." + +The priest regarded him with some surprise in his look, and something, +too, of uncertainty. + +"You haven't been there, have you?" he asked. + +"Yes; we've just come from her place." + +"Then perhaps she won't want me," the priest remarked. "It'll save me a +good bit of a climb." + +"But we went only as friends," Maurice explained. "She might wish the +consolations of religion." + +"Then you did not"-- + +"We are not of your church," Maurice interrupted, flushing. + +The priest looked at them with a puzzled air. + +"But surely," he said, "you are Catholic. Haven't you been to me at the +confession?" + +Maurice had not at first recognized the priest to whom he had been in +the habit of confessing at St. Eulalia, but he had known him before +this announcement made Philip stare at him with a face of astonishment. + +"Yes," he responded steadily. "I have confessed to you at St. Eulalia, +but I am not of your communion." + +He turned, and walked away quickly, not looking at Phil. He resolved +not to bother his head about this unchancy encounter. It was awkward, +and the fact that he had never confided in Ashe seemed to give to these +visits to St. Eulalia an air almost of under-handedness; but there was +nothing wrong, he told himself, and he would not be vexed at this +moment when he was full of delight at the probability of discovering +the missing will. He was certainly in no danger of becoming a Catholic. +He smiled to think how little likely he was to exchange the too strict +rule of the Clergy House for one which might be more rigid still. The +keen thought now was the remembrance of the wealth which he hoped soon +to possess. + +"Phil, old man," he said joyously, "I believe I shall get Aunt Hannah's +money after all. I always felt that it belonged to me." + +"Yes," Ashe replied, so dully that Maurice turned to him quickly. + +"Come, Phil, don't answer me like that. What are you moping about?" + +There was no answer for a moment. Maurice, full of a fresh vigor born +of the discovery of the afternoon, was yet rebuked by the silence of +his friend. + +"Of course, Phil," he went on, "you know I don't mean anything unkind. +I am no end obliged to you for taking me there this afternoon. When we +go tomorrow"-- + +"I shall never go there again," Ashe interrupted. + +"Nonsense! Why not?" + +"I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go again." + +A prickling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of +Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life +as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with +the monkish mood. + +"Oh, stuff, Phil!" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake don't be so morbid. +You talk like a mediaeval anchorite." + +Ashe regarded him with a look of pain. + +"It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice." + +"It is I," was the sturdy answer; "and it is I in a sane frame of mind, +old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see +that's the only fault you've committed." + +"Maurice," Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, "have you +thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?" + +The pronoun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his +friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being +forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to +define for himself. + +"Phil," he said determinedly, "I insist that your way of looking at +this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with +you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall +get my property after all." + +"But our lives are devoted to poverty." + +Maurice turned upon his friend, more exasperated than he had ever been +with him before in the whole course of their lives. + +"Look here, Phil," he declared, "if you want to be as mopish as a +mildewed owl yourself, that is no reason why you should try to make me +so too." + +There was no response to this, and in silence they went toward the +Clergy House. Just as they reached the door, Maurice turned quickly and +held out his hand to his friend. Ashe grasped it so hard that it ached; +and Maurice went to his room with a sigh on his lips, while in his +heart he said to himself, "Poor Philip!" + +Maurice went next day to see Mrs. Murphy, and for a number of days +thereafter. Norah was sinking, and clung to him with pathetic +tenderness. He learned not much more about the will. She was sure that +it had been concealed under the false bottom of a little traveling-desk +which he remembered, but beyond that she knew nothing. Maurice wrote to +Mr. Burnham, the family lawyer, and the question now was, what had +become of the desk? The effects of the testator had been sold at +auction, but as they had been largely bought by relatives, Maurice +believed that it would not be difficult to trace the missing document. + +The interest and excitement of this new business so occupied the +thoughts of Maurice that he almost ceased to think of religious +matters. Perhaps there was more danger to his monastic profession in +this indifference than in the most poignant doubt. He went through his +duties at the Clergy House cheerfully because he thought little about +them. They were part of the routine of life, and when the hour for +recreation came he laid all that aside. He even on one occasion wrote a +hurried note to Mr. Burnham in the hour for meditation, and it amazed +him when he thought of it that his conscience did not protest. He +reflected with a certain naive pleasure that it was possible after all +to modify the strict rules of the house without suffering undue +contrition afterward. The discovery might have seemed to Father +Frontford a dangerous one. + + + + XXIII + + + THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + Measure for Measure, iv. 4. + + +So much was Maurice absorbed in his thought of the will and his +inquiries after it that he gave little consideration to the disquieting +plan of Father Frontford for the securing of Miss Morison's cooperation +in the election schemes. Several days having gone by without farther +allusion to the matter, he decided that his remonstrances had been +effective, and was greatly relieved to be freed from a task so +repugnant under any circumstances and made intolerable by his feeling +for Berenice. It was with a most painful shock, therefore, that he one +day received from the Father the information that Miss Morison had +returned to Boston. He met the Father Superior in the hall one morning +after matins, and although it was a silent hour the latter spoke. + +"It is better to see her at once," he added. "Mrs. Frostwinch is very +low, and the sooner the thing is settled the better." + +"But," stammered Maurice, "I"-- + +"I think," the other went on, ignoring the interruption, "that it will +be best for you to call on her this afternoon at exercise hour. She is +likely to be at home then, and it will be rather early for other +visitors." + +Maurice struggled with himself, endeavoring to shake off the influence +which this man always exercised over him. He determined to speak, and +to decline the hateful errand. + +"Father Frontford," he said with an effort, "I cannot undertake this." + +"My son," the other responded with gentle severity, "you forget that +this is a silent hour. Although I may speak to you on affairs +concerning the church, that does not give you the right to answer +irrelevantly." + +"It is not irrelevantly," Maurice protested, feeling his growing +irritation strengthen his resolve. "I"-- + +The voice of the old priest was more stern as he interrupted. + +"You seem to forget entirely your vow of obedience. There is little +merit," he added, his tone softening persuasively, "in service which is +easy and pleasant. It is in the sacrifice of self and our own +inclinations that we gain the conquest of self. Go, my son, and pray to +be forgiven for pride and insubordination. Do you think that you would +be objecting if it were not for the wound to your vanity which this +work inflicts? You may repeat ten _paters_ for having violated the rule +of silence." + +Maurice moved away, feeling that he dared not trust himself to speak +again. To be thus treated like a willful child galled his pride and +quickened all the obstinacy of his nature. + +"The rule of silence!" he said to himself angrily as he went. "Are we +in the Middle Ages?" + +It came to him as a sort of jeer from an outside intelligence that +after all they were trying to ape mediaeval discipline. He had been for +weeks coming to the point where the whole monastic life seemed to him +fantastic and theatrical; and now that his personal liberty was so +sharply assailed, his self-respect so threatened, he was prepared to +see everything in the most unfavorable light. He laughed bitterly in +his mind at the tangle he was in, and contempt for himself and for the +community took hold of his very soul. + +Yet he was not ready to throw off allegiance. The bonds of habit are +strong; the power of old belief is stronger; and strongest of all is +that vanity which holds a man back from the avowal that he has been +mistaken in his most ardent professions. It is one thing to change a +conviction; it is quite another to acknowledge that a belief formerly +upheld with ardor is now outgrown. It is not simply the ignoble shame +of fearing the opinion of others that is involved in such a case, but +that of losing confidence in one's own judgment, of standing convicted +of error in that inner court of consciousness where all disguises are +stripped away and all excuses vain. To see that even the most +passionate conviction may have been mistaken is to feel profound and +disquieting doubt of all that human faith may compass; it is to seem to +be helpless in the midst of baffling and sphinx-like perplexities. +Maurice was already at the point where he could hardly be regarded as +holding his old opinions, but he had not reached that of being ready to +confess that he had been wrong in a matter so vital that error in it +would involve the whole reordering of his life and leave him with no +standards of faith. + +He was, moreover, noble in his impulses, and he had too long been bred +in introspection not to perceive now that he was greatly influenced by +his inclinations. He was too honest not to be aware that there was as +much passion as reason in his revulsion from the monastic life, and +that Berenice Morison's perfections weighed as heavily in the scale as +any shortcomings of theology. He reproached himself stoutly, in +thoroughly monkish fashion, and ended by resolving that obedience was a +duty; that the errand on which he was sent was one which would abase +his sinful pride and must be executed for the benefiting of his +spiritual condition. + +He said this to himself sincerely, yet he was human, and behind all was +the consciousness that in this bad business there was at least the +consolation that he should be face to face with Berenice. If +humiliation was doubly bitter by being wrought through his love, at +least his love might find some scanty comfort in the very means of his +humiliation. + +When the hour for exercise, four in the afternoon, came, Maurice set +out on his mission. He had blushed at himself in the mirror for the +solicitude with which he regarded his image, but he had tried to +believe that this arose only from a disinterested anxiety to appear at +his best in behalf of the object which he was sent to accomplish. + +Miss Morison was living with Mrs. Frostwinch, and as Maurice walked +buoyantly along, forgetting his errand and only remembering that he was +to see her, he recalled how on the day when they had first met he had +walked home with her from Mrs. Gore's. He recalled the pretty, willful +turn of her head and the saucy side-glance of her eyes, the proud curve +of her neck, the color on her cheeks delicate as the first +peach-blossom in spring. That he had no right thus to be thinking of a +woman perhaps added a certain piquancy to his thought; but he quieted +his conscience with the reflection that he was in the path of duty, and +of a duty, moreover, which was likely to prove sufficiently hard and +humiliating. + +Miss Morison was at home, and would see Mr. Wynne. + +The high reception room in which he waited for her had a gloomy +formality, a sort of petrified respectability, most discouraging. On +the wall was a large painting, evidently a copy from some famous +original, although Maurice did not know what. The picture represented a +painter with a model in the dress of a nun. The artist was evidently +engaged in painting a saint for some convent, a beautiful sister had +been chosen as his model, and he was improving the opportunity to make +love to her. Her reluctant and remorseful yielding was evident in every +line of her figure as she allowed the painter to steal his arm around +her waist and bend his lips toward hers. Wynne looked at the picture +with vague disquiet. Here was the struggle of the natural human impulse +against the constraint of ascetic vows; the irresistible yielding to +nature and to the call of a passion interwoven with the very fibres of +humanity. The sombre Boston parlor vanished, and he seemed to be in +some old-world nunnery with the unknown lovers. He felt all their +guilty bliss and their scalding remorse. He sighed so deeply that the +soft laugh behind him seemed almost an echo. Turning quickly, he found +Berenice watching him with a teasing smile on her lips. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," she said, holding out her hand, +"but you were so absorbed in Filippo and his Lucretia that you paid no +attention to me." + +"I beg your pardon," he responded, taking her hand cordially. "I was +looking at the picture and wondering what it represented." + +"It is that reprobate Filippo Lippi and Lucretia Buti, the nun that he +ran away with. Why it pleased the fancy of my grandfather, I'm sure I +can't imagine. Sit down, please. It is a long time since I have seen +you, and now that Lent is coming, I suppose that you will be lost to +the world altogether." + +He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted +him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild +geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then +without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at +the Lucretia. Berenice laughed frankly. + +"Are you comparing us?" she asked gayly. "Or are you trying to decide +what I would have done in her case? I can tell you that." + +"What would you have done?" + +"Done? I would have run away from him and the convent both! Do you +think I was made to be cooped up in a nunnery if I could escape?" + +"No," he answered with fervor, "you were certainly not made for that." + +"That is an unclerical answer from a monk." + +"I am not a monk." + +She put her head a little on one side with delicious coquetry. + +"Would it be rude to ask what you are, then?" + +He regarded her a moment, and then with explosive vehemence he broke +out:-- + +"I am a deacon who has not taken the vows, and I am a man who loves you +with his whole soul!" + +She paled, and then flushed to her temples. She cast her eyes down, and +seemed to be struggling for self-control. He did not offer to touch +her, although his throat contracted with the intensity of his effort to +maintain his outward calm. Then she looked up with a smile light and +cold. + +"We are not called upon to play Filippo and Lucretia in reversed +parts," she said. "I am not trying to tempt you away from your calling. +Wouldn't it be better to talk about the weather?" + +He was unable to answer her, but sat staring with hot eyes into her +face, feeling its beauty like a pain. + +"It has been very cold for the season during the past week," she went +on. + +"Miss Morison," he retorted hotly, "I had no right to say that, but you +needn't insult me. It is cruel enough as it is." + +Her face softened a little, but she ignored his words. + +"Tell me," she remarked, as if more personal subjects had not come into +the conversation, "what are the chances of the election? I hear so many +things said that I have ceased to have any clear ideas on the subject +at all." + +Maurice sat upright, throwing back his shoulders. This girl should not +get the better of him. He lifted his head, his nostrils distending. + +"It is too soon to speak with certainty," he responded; "but it is in +regard to that that I came--that I was sent to see you this afternoon. +We are under vows of obedience at the Clergy House." + +He said this defiantly, fancying he saw in her face a smile at the idea +of his servitude. + +"You will regard what I say as the words of a messenger." + +"All?" she interrupted. + +He flushed with confusion, but he was determined that he would not +again lose control of himself. + +"All that I _shall_ say," he responded. "What I have said is to be +forgotten." + +"By me or by you?" she asked, dimpling into a smile so provoking that +he had to look away from her or he should have given in. + +"By you," was his reply; but he could not help adding under his breath: +"If you wish to forget it." + +She laughed outright. + +"I will consider the matter. But this errand from the powers that be at +the Clergy House; I am curious about that." + +"You will remember," he urged, his face falling, "that it is only a +message for which I have no responsibility." + +"Certainly; although you would of course bring no message of which you +didn't approve." + +"I am not asked whether I approve or disapprove. It is the decision of +the Father Superior that it should be said; and that is the whole of +it." + +"Well," she inquired, as he paused, unable to go on, "after this +tremendous preamble, what is it?" + +It seemed to Maurice that he could not say it; but he cleared his +throat, and forced himself to look her in the face. + +"It has to do with your inheritance of the--your inheritance through +Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"My inheritance? What do you mean?" she demanded, suddenly becoming +grave. + +As briefly as possible he explained to her the errand which had been +given to him. He could see indignation gathering in her look. + +"But who has told Father Frontford that Mrs. Frostwinch is so ill?" she +broke out at last. "Cousin Anna is not so well since she came from the +South, but that is all. It is shameful to be speculating on her death +and disposing of her property as if she were buried already! I wonder +at you!" + +Wynne smiled bitterly. + +"I have already said that I had nothing whatever to do with the +matter," he answered. + +"You had no right to come to me with such a message. It puts me in the +position of waiting for her death! Oh, it's an insult! It's an insult +to me and to Cousin Anna! What will she think?" + +"She will think nothing," he said, roused by a sense of her injustice, +"because she will never know." + +"Why will she not?" + +"Because if it is cruel for me to say a thing which harms nobody except +me for bringing the message, it would be a thousand times more cruel +for you to tell your cousin that her death was counted on." + +He rose as he spoke, and stood looking down on her with the full +purpose of constraining her to his will. She sprang up in her turn. + +"Very well; I will not tell her. You may say to Father Frontford from +me that it will be time enough for him to undertake the disposal of my +property when it is mine. I thank him for his officiousness!" + +"You are unjust to Father Frontford. I have made his wish seem +offensive by the way I have put it, I suppose. At any rate, he is +simply seeking the good of the church." + +"And to have himself made bishop." + +"He would vote to-morrow for any man that he thought would do better +than he can do. He would support Mr. Strathmore himself if he believed +it well for the church. I do not find myself in sympathy with +everything that he does, but I know him, and of one thing I am sure: he +would be burned alive in slow fires to advance the good of the church." + +She looked at him curiously. Then she turned away in seeming +carelessness, and began to arrange some pink roses which stood in a big +vase on a table near at hand. + +"Good-by," he said. "I am sorry to have offended you." + +"Must you go?" responded she with a society manner which cut him to the +quick. "Let me give you a rose." + +She broke one off, and handed it to him. He took it awkwardly, wholly +at a loss to understand her. + +"They are lovely, aren't they?" she said. "Mr. Stanford sent them to me +this morning." + +He looked at her until her eyes fell. Then he laid the rose on the +table near the hand which had given it to him, and without further +speech went out. + + + + XXIV + + + FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + Richard II., ii. 2. + + +Although Ashe had said that he should not go again to the +poverty-stricken dwelling of Mrs. Murphy, he found himself a few days +later beside her bed. Word had been brought to him that she was dying, +and that she begged to see him before her death. There was no resisting +a call like this, and on a gloomy afternoon he had gone down to the +dingy court, torn by memories and worn with inward struggles. + +He found the old woman almost speechless with weakness. The room was +more comfortable, and he knew that Maurice had been at work. The +slatternly girl was in attendance, and there was also the +pleasant-faced priest whom Philip and Maurice had encountered in the +court. The priest had come with an acolyte to administer the last +rites, and the woman had made her confession. So intent, however, was +Mrs. Murphy upon the purpose for which she had summoned Ashe that she +cried out to him as he entered, and apparently for the moment forgot +all else. + +Ashe looked at the priest in apology, but the latter said kindly:-- + +"Let her speak to you, and then she will be done with things of this +earth." + +It was the safety of her husband for which the poor creature was +concerned. It was on her mind that Ashe and Mrs. Fenton could save him +from punishment if they chose. She pleaded piteously with Philip to +have the prisoner set free. + +"He'll be all alone of me," she moaned. "That'll be more punishment +than you're thinking, your riverince. He'll come out of jail sober, and +he'll remember how he had me to do for him night and day these long +years. He'll not be liking that, your riverince; and he'll be uneasy to +think maybe he had some small thing to do with it himself. Not that I +say he did," she added hastily. "His little fun wouldn't be the cause +of harm to me as is used to his ways, but maybe he'll be after thinking +so. It's the fever I have, from poor living, and maybe from being so +long without Tim and worrying the heart out of my body for him, and he +there in jail. Only if you'll promise to let him go, you and the sweet +lady that very likely didn't know his pleasant ways when he had a drop +too much, you'd make it easier dying without him." + +She gasped out her words as if every syllable were an effort, her eyes +appealing with a wildness which touched his heart. The girl went to the +bed and leaned over, taking in hers the thin, withered hand. + +"There, there, Mrs. Murphy," she said, "of course the gentleman'll do +it. He couldn't have the heart to resist your dying prayer." + +"I am ready to do all I can, Mrs. Murphy," Philip stammered, struggling +with his conscience to promise as much as he could; "and I'll see Mrs. +Fenton. I'm sure she won't wish to have anything done that you would +not like." + +The sick woman burst into weak tears, stammering half inarticulate +blessings. + +"I don't know," Philip began, feeling that it was not honest to give +her the impression that he could set her husband free, "how much"-- + +The priest crossed to him and laid a hand quickly on his shoulder. + +"Whist!" he said in Philip's ear. "There's no need of troubling her +with that. You'll do what you can, and the rest's with heaven that is +good to the poor." + +Mrs. Murphy had not heard or heeded what Ashe said, and still mumbled +her thanks while the Father prepared to administer the viaticum. The +acolyte and the girl looked at Ashe as if expecting him to withdraw. + +"May I remain?" Philip asked, looking at the priest with deep feeling. + +The other regarded him benignly. + +"Remain, my brother; and may the Holy Virgin bless the sacrament to +your soul as well as to hers." + +Ashe could not have told why he had yielded to the impulse to stay. He +had for months been coming more and more to feel that the church of +Rome was his true refuge, yet he hardly now dared confess this to +himself. He had been deeply affected by the discovery that Maurice had +been to confession at St. Eulalia, and he longed himself to follow the +example of his friend. To Ashe, however, it seemed like trifling with +sacred things, and he could not do it. Now as he knelt on the unclean +and uneven floor of that sordid chamber he experienced a peace and a +security such as he had never before known. He was moved almost to +tears; yet he would not yield. + +"It is not Rome," he insisted to himself. "It is the simple faith of +these poor souls. That is beautiful and holy. It would be easy for me +to think that I was becoming a Catholic." + +He left as soon as the rite was concluded, but the memory of it +remained. + +He saw Mrs. Fenton on the afternoon following. He had not been alone +with her since his mad declaration of love. He wished now to meet her +calmly, yet the moment he entered her house his heart quickened its +beating. He was no longer a priest bent on an errand of mercy; he was +an ardent lover, acutely conscious that he was in the rooms through +which she passed day by day, that in a moment he should see her, hear +her voice, perhaps touch her hand. He was shown into the library where +she was sitting, and she rose to greet him frankly and simply. + +"She was not touched by what happened in the carriage," Philip said to +himself, with the woeful wisdom of love, "or she could not so +completely ignore it." + +"How do you do, Mr. Ashe?" she said with perfect calmness. "You are +just in time for a cup of tea. I am having mine early, because I came +in a little chilled." + +He was too confused with the joy of her presence to decline. + +"I have come on an errand which is not over pleasant," he remarked, +watching her handling the cups, "and I am afraid that it is useless +too." + +"Does that mean that it is something you wish me to do but think I'm +too hard-hearted or selfish to agree to?" + +"It is not a question of willingness so much as of power. Mrs. Murphy +is dying,--very likely by this time she is not living,--and she begs us +to save her husband from being punished." + +"But how could that be done?" + +"I doubt if it could be done; but I promised her that I would speak to +you. I suppose that if we did not give evidence there would not be much +that could be told; but I hardly think that we have the right not to." + +Mrs. Fenton thoughtfully regarded the fire a moment; then seemed to be +recalled to the present by the active boiling of the little silver +teakettle. + +"I'm afraid women would drive justice out of the world if they had +their way," she said with a smile. + +He smiled in reply, full of delight in her mere presence. They talked +the matter over, arriving at some sort of a compromise between their +sympathy for the dying woman and their feeling that a man like Murphy +should be dealt with by the law. They came for the moment to seem to be +on the old footing of simple friendliness, while she made the tea and +they discussed the situation. + +"One lump or two?" Mrs. Fenton asked, pausing with tongs suspended over +the sugar. + +"Two," answered he. "I am afraid I am self-indulgent in my tea, but +then I very seldom take it." + +"So small an indulgence," she said, handing him his cup, "does not seem +to me to indicate any great moral laxity." + +"It is the principle of the thing," Philip returned, smiling because +she smiled. + +Mrs. Fenton shook her head. + +"Come," she said, "this is a good time for me to say something that has +been in my mind for a long time. You may think that it isn't my affair, +but I can't help saying that it seems to me you have allowed yourself +to get into a frame of mind that is rather--well, that isn't entirely +healthy. I hope you don't think me too presuming." + +"You could not be," was his reply; "but I do not understand what you +mean." + +She had grown graver, and leaned back in her chair with downcast eyes. + +"I hardly know how to say it," she began slowly, "but you seem to me to +be feeling rather morbidly about the virtue of personal discomfort. If +you will pardon me, I can't think that you really believe it to be any +merit in the sight of heaven that a man should make himself needlessly +uncomfortable." + +"But if the mortification of the flesh helps us to"-- + +She put up her hand and interrupted him. + +"I am a good churchwoman, but I am not able to believe in scoring off +the sins of the soul by abusing the body. The old monks scourging +themselves and the Hindus swinging by hooks in their backs seem to me +both pathetically mistaken, and both to be moved by the same feelings." + +"Then you do not believe in asceticism at all?" + +"Mr. Fenton used to say that asceticism was the most insolent insult to +Heaven that human vanity ever invented." + +"But if we are to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts," +Ashe broke out, his inner excitement bursting forth through his +calmness, "if we are to give way to the joys of this life, if--Do you +not see, Mrs. Fenton, that this covers so much? It goes down into the +depths of a man's heart. It comes almost at once, for instance, to the +question of the marriage of priests." + +She flushed, and her manner grew perceptibly colder. + +"That is naturally not a subject that I care to go into," she said; +"but I have no scruple against saying that I do not believe in a +celibate priesthood. In our church and our time, it is out of place." + +"But it is the supreme test whether a man is willing to give up all his +earthly joy for the service of Heaven." + +She frowned slightly, and he realized how significant his manner must +have been. + +"The marriage of the clergy is not a subject that it seems to me +necessary for us to discuss," she said. + +"Mrs. Fenton," Philip said, "I have given you too good a right to be +offended with me once, but I must say something that I fear may offend +you again. It is not about myself. It is about a better man." + +She looked at him in evident surprise and disquiet. + +"I asked what you think of the marriage of the clergy," he went on, +"because it seems to me right to tell you that Mr. Candish loves you." + +She flushed to her temples, starting impulsively in her seat. + +"Mr. Ashe," she said vehemently, "what right have you to talk to me of +such subjects at all?" + +"None," he answered, "none at all,--unless--None that you would +recognize; but I wish to atone for the wrong I did in speaking to you, +and to say what he would never say. If it were possible that you cared +for him, I should perhaps help you both." + +"You forget, I think, that I have been married." + +"I do not forget anything," Philip returned desperately. "It is only +that he is a good man, a noble man, a man that would never have fallen +under his weakness as I did, and if you cared for him, he is too fine +to be allowed to suffer. He loved you long before I ever saw you." + +"He has never given me any sign of it." + +Her flushed cheeks and something in the way in which she said this +seemed to him to indicate that she did love Candish. He had been moved +by the most sincere desire to sacrifice his own will and happiness to +the well-being of the woman he loved, and if it were that she loved his +rival he had been ready to forget everything but that. Now by a quick +revulsion it seemed to him that he could not endure the success of this +man whose cause he had been pleading. + +"Ah!" he cried, bending toward her, "you love him!" + +She rose indignantly to her feet. + +"Your impertinence is amazing!" she exclaimed. "It is time that +somebody told you the truth. It is hard for me to say unkind things to +one who has saved my life, but you ought to know how you appear. You +have got yourself into a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind and body; +and unless you get out of it you will ruin your whole career. Does it +seem to you that a man who has so little control over himself is a fit +leader for others? Can't you see that you have brooded over this +question of celibacy until you are completely morbid? Find some +wholesome, right-minded woman, Mr. Ashe; love her and marry her, and be +done with all this wretched, unwholesome mawkishness. As for me, when I +married once, I married for life. My son will never be given a second +father." + +He had risen also, and his self-possession had returned to him. + +"I have annoyed you," he said with a new dignity. "You are perhaps +right in saying that I am morbid, but in what I said to-day I was +trying to put self entirely out of the question. There is only one +thing more that I want to say; and that is that it is not fair to judge +our order by me. I know only too well how natural it is that you should +think all the men at the Clergy House weak and despicable like me; but +that is not so. They are sincere, self-forgetful fellows. You have seen +my friend Wynne. He, for instance, is as manly and fine and honest as +any man alive." + +"I do not misjudge them or you, Mr. Ashe. I only feel that in these +past weeks you have not been yourself. We will forget it all, and I +hope that you will forgive me if I have hurt you." + +"I have nothing to forgive. It is you who must do that. Good-by." + +He went away with the remembrance of her beautiful eyes looking in pity +into his, and once more the phrase of the Persian came into his mind +like a refrain: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a +slave!" + + + + XXV + + + WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + Comedy of Errors, i. I + + +Maurice soon heard from his lawyer that the missing desk had passed +into the hands of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Singleton, and that that lady +was staying at Montfield as the guest of Mrs. Ashe. He determined to go +down himself, feeling unwilling to trust business so important to any +other. In order to leave the Clergy House, it was necessary to have +permission from the Father Superior, and on Monday of Shrove week Wynne +requested what the deacons jestingly called among themselves a +dispensation. He did not think it honest to conceal the reason for his +wishing leave of absence, and briefly related the story of his finding +his old nurse and of her revelation. + +"Poor old Norah is dead," he concluded, "but I had her affidavit taken, +and if the will can be found there should be no difficulty in +establishing it. The other witnesses are alive." They were sitting in +the Father's study, a room severely plain in its furnishings, like all +the apartments in the Clergy House. The table by which the Superior sat +was covered with papers and letters, the signs of the large +correspondence which Wynne knew Frontford to keep up with members of +his order in England and this country. The furniture was stiff and +uncompromising, the windows covered only by plain shades, while the +bookshelves took an austere air from the dull leather of the bindings +of their tall, formal volumes. Father Frontford leaned back in his +uncushioned chair and pressed together his thin finger-tips in the +gesture which was habitual with him, regarding the young man with keen +eyes. + +"This property, if I understand you rightly, is now in the possession +of the church?" + +"It was given by the will that was found to the church and to missions. +Some of it went to the founding of a home for invalid priests. My aunt +was the one of my relatives who was a churchwoman." + +"And if you succeed in finding and establishing this new will, you mean +to divert the money to your own use?" + +"If the will is valid, is not the money mine?" + +The Father looked at him a moment before he answered. Then he sighed. + +"My son," he asked, "would you have put that question six months ago?" + +Maurice flushed, but he did not wish to show that he understood. + +"Why not?" he demanded. + +"There was not then in your heart a wish to wrest property from the +church that you might enjoy it yourself." + +"I haven't any wish now to take from the church anything which is not +mine already." + +"By divine right or by human?" the Father inquired with cold +inflexibility. + +Maurice began to be irritated. He felt that he was being treated with +too high a hand. + +"Have I no rights as a man?" demanded he warmly. + +The other sighed once more, and a look of genuine pain came into his +face. + +"My son," he said with a gentleness which touched Maurice in spite of +himself, "when you gave yourself to the church, did you keep back part +of the price? Was not your gift all you were and all you might possess?" + +Maurice was silent. He could not for shame answer, that he did not then +know that he had so much to give, and he realized too that this would +then have made no difference. He felt as if he were now being held to a +pledge which he had never meant to make, yet he could not see what +reply there was to the words of the Superior. He cast down his eyes, +but he said in his heart that he would not yield his claim; that the +demand was unjust. + +"I have for some time," Father Frontford went on, "in fact ever since +your return, seen with pain that your heart is no longer single to the +good of the church. An earthly passion has eaten into your soul. Your +confessions are evidently attempts to satisfy your own conscience by +telling as little as possible of the doubts which you have been +harboring in your heart. Now there is given you an opportunity to see +for yourself, without the possibility of disguise, what your true +feeling is. The question now is whether you are seeking your own will +or the good of religion. Will you fail us and yourself?" + +Maurice was touched by the tone in which this was said. While he had +been growing to be less and less in sympathy with Father Frontford and +with the ideals which the brotherhood represented, he had never for an +instant ceased to believe in the sincerity of the Superior. He might +think him narrow, mistaken, even at times so blinded by desire for the +success of the brotherhood as to become almost Jesuitical in method; +but he felt that the Father lived faithful to his belief, ready, if the +cause required, to sacrifice himself utterly. He could not but be moved +by the appeal which the priest made, and by the genuine feeling which +rang through every word. + +"Father," he said, raising his eyes to the face of the other, "I cannot +deny that I am less satisfied about our faith than I used to be. I can +see now that I perhaps have not been entirely frank in confession, +though I hadn't recognized it before. I cannot go into a discussion of +my doubts now. I am not in a mood to talk with you when we must look at +so many things from different points of view. I haven't hidden from you +anything that has happened, and you could not be persuaded that all the +change in me has not come from the fact that I--has not come from my +feeling toward--my feeling about marriage. This is not true. Everything +has changed; and while I may be wrong, I have been trying to act +conscientiously. I feel that it is right for me to follow up this +matter of my aunt's will; and if I cannot make you share my feeling, I +can only say that I don't wish to do anything that seems to me wrong." + +The other smiled sadly. + +"What does that mean in plainer words?" asked he. "It means that you do +not wish to do wrong because whatever you desire will seem to you +right." + +"You are unjust!" Maurice retorted, flushing. + +The face of the Father grew stern. "Since when did the rule of the +order allow you to use such language to your superiors? If you are not +thinking of evading your vows, you do evade them daily; and the +throwing them off can be nothing but an affair of time." + +Maurice felt that he could not endure this longer without breaking out +into words which he should afterward repent. He rose at once. + +"Will you permit me to retire?" he said. "I shall be glad of your +answer to my request for leave of absence, but I cannot go on with this +conversation." + +The other stretched out his hand with a gesture infinitely tender. + +"My son!" he entreated. "Do not stray into the wilderness!" + +Maurice looked at the outstretched hand. His eyes moistened, but he +could not yield. He felt tenderness for Father Frontford, but he was +more and more at war with the Father Superior. For an instant they +remained thus, and then the thin hand dropped. + +"You are then still resolute in asking leave?" the Father said, in his +coldest voice. + +"It seems to me my duty to see that if possible the last wishes of my +aunt be carried out." + +"Is that your only motive?" + +Maurice flushed hotly, but he looked the other boldly in the face. + +"I must allow you to impute to me any motive you please. The point is +whether I am to have your permission." + +"Under the circumstances I do not feel justified in granting it. We +will speak of the matter again, when you have examined your heart more +carefully." + +Maurice bowed and left the room in silence, his spirit hot within him. +That he should be denied had not entered his mind. He was now confused +by the conflict in his thoughts. To disobey would be equivalent to +nothing less than a defiance of the authority of the Father Superior. +To assert his right to decide this matter could only mean a resolve to +break away from the brotherhood altogether. He was hardly prepared for +a step so extreme; yet he could not but ask himself whether he were +willing to accept the conditions involved in remaining. He realized for +the first time what the vow of obedience meant. He had received the +slight sacrifices involved thus far in his novitiate as right and +proper; simple things which had marked his willingness to yield to the +authority which by his own choice was above him. Now he said to himself +that to continue this life was to become a mere puppet; to give up +independence and manhood itself. + +On the other hand, he had not been bred in theological subtilties +without having come to see that the act cannot be judged without the +motive, and he had been more nearly touched by the words of Father +Frontford than he would have been willing to confess. He knew that he +had been hiding from his confessor the extent to which a longing for +the world had taken possession of him; that there was in this wish to +secure the will and through it the property an eagerness to be +independent of control and to take his place in the world as a man +among men. The thought that the money was now in the hands of the +church to which he had pledged himself tormented him. There came into +his mind the question what he would do with the wealth if he obtained +it. He had vowed himself to poverty, at least in his intention. If he +had this fortune and became a priest, he would be pledged to endow the +church with all his worldly goods. + +He faced his inner self with sudden defiance, as if he had thrown off a +disguise cunningly but weakly worn. He confessed with frankness that he +had secretly desired this money that he might be in a position to gain +Berenice. He pleaded with himself that he did not mean to abandon the +priesthood; that he had simply discovered that he had not a vocation +for the existence he had contemplated. He tried to see some way in +which he might gain the end he desired without giving up the faith he +professed; and in the end he succeeded only in getting his mind into a +confusion so great that it seemed impossible to think of anything +clearly. + +He had an errand at Mrs. Wilson's on Shrove Tuesday, and she invited +him to accompany her to midnight service at the Church of the Nativity. +When he repeated the request to Father Frontford, he was given +permission to go. + +"It is an unusual, and even an extraordinary request," the Superior +said; "but Mrs. Wilson is so deeply interested in the welfare of the +brotherhood that it is better to make a concession. What time are you +to meet her?" + +"She is to send her carriage for me at half past eleven. She was so +sure that you would not object that she told me not to send any word." + +"It is not well to have her treat so great a departure from rules as a +matter of course," the Father answered gravely. "I will send her a note +which will show her this. You have permission not to retire at the +usual hour." + +The carnival season was celebrated at the Clergy House with a meal +better than usual, and with some gayety on the part of the young +deacons. The light-hearted Southerner improved to the full the +permission to talk at dinner, and chatted away with a volubility which +seemed to Maurice to indicate a nature too buoyant or too shallow to be +deeply stirred. Father Frontford was absent, and there was nothing to +throw a shadow of restraint over the feast, the other priests being +almost as boyish as the deacons. + +"Here's Wynne," the Southerner said laughing, "is as glum as if he were +Lent incarnate, come six hours too soon. You must have a good deal on +your conscience to be so solemn." + +Maurice smiled, trying to shake off his depression. + +"It isn't always what is on one's conscience," he retorted, "so much as +how tender the conscience is." + +"Good! He has you there, Ballentyne," one of the deacons cried. + +"Oh, not at all. If a conscience is tender, it must be because it is +harrowed up. Now Wynne has probably vexed his so that it is habitually +sore." + +Maurice was out of the mood of the company, but he tried to answer with +a light word. The jesting seemed to him trifling; and his companions, +compared to the men he had seen during his stay with Mrs. Staggchase, +appeared like boys chattering at boarding-school. He wondered where +they had been for their absence; then he remembered that they had all +told him, and that he had forgotten. He had had no real interest in +them after all, he reflected; and at the thought he reproached himself +with egotism and a lack of brotherliness. He glanced at Ashe, and was +struck by the paleness of his friend. His look was perhaps followed by +Ballentyne, for the latter commented on the downcast aspect of Philip. + +"Ashe," the young man said, "looks ten times more doleful than Wynne. +What have you fellows been doing? One would think that you had been +eating the bitterest of all the apples of Sodom." + +"They have been in the gay world," another rejoined. + +"Then they might be set up as a warning against it," was the retort. + +Laughter that one cannot share is more nauseous than sweets to the +sick; and this harmless trifling was intolerable to Maurice. He got +away from it as soon as it was possible, and passed the heavy hours in +his chamber, waiting for the coming of the carriage. He tried at first +to read and then to pray; but in the end he abandoned himself to bitter +reverie. + +He did not attempt to reason, he merely gave way to gloomy retrospect, +without sequence or order. Seen in the light of his experiences during +the past weeks, his life looked poor, and dull, and misdirected. It was +little comfort to assert that he had at least been true to ideals high, +no matter how mistaken. + +"It is not what one does," he thought, "but the intention with which he +does it. Only that does not excuse one for being stupid, and raw, and +ignorant. When a man is a weakling and a fool, he always takes refuge +in the excuse that he is at least fine in his intentions. Bah! No +wonder she laughed at me! I have shut myself up with ideas as mouldy as +a mediaeval skeleton, and when I come to daylight all that I can say is +that I meant well. I suppose an idiot means well from his point of +view!" + +He looked about for something which should divert him from thoughts so +tormenting. His eye fell upon his Bible, and he took it up half +mechanically. On the title page was written the name of his aunt, to +whom it had once belonged. The name brought back the interview with +Father Frontford, and the refusal of his request for leave of absence. + +"Nothing belongs to me," he said to himself. "I am a thing, a sort of +thing like a numbered prisoner. How could she care for a chattel, a +creature without even identity! I will go down to Montfield. I am not +yet so completely out of the world that I can't have a word in the +disposition of my own property." + +He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep was +impossible. He only thought the more hotly and wildly. The hours +stretched on and on interminably before he heard the bell ring, and +knew that the carriage had come. Rising hastily, he adjusted his +cassock and his tumbled hair, and went down. + +"Perhaps I may find peace at the mass," he sighed with a great +wistfulness. + +The fresh, cool air of night was grateful, and as he was driven along +the quiet streets, a new hopefulness came to him. He had supposed that +he was to be taken to Mrs. Wilson's, and when the carriage stopped was +surprised to find himself before a large building which he did not +recognize. + +"But I was to meet Mrs. Wilson," he said doubtfully to the footman who +opened the carriage door. + +"Mrs. Wilson is here, sir," was the answer. "She said to carry you +here. James is inside to tell you what to do." + +A footman was indeed within, waiting for him. + +"Mrs. Wilson says will you please come to her, sir," the man said, and +led the way upstairs. + +The sound of gay music, growing louder as he advanced, filled Wynne's +ears. He began to feel disquieted, and once half halted. + +"Are you sure there is no mistake?" he asked. + +"Oh, no mistake at all, sir," his guide answered. "Mrs. Wilson has +arranged everything. Leave your hat and cloak here, sir, if you please." + +Maurice mechanically did as requested, but as he threw off his outer +garment the opening of a door let in a burst of music which seemed so +close at hand that he was startled. He was in what was evidently a +coat-room, the attendant of which regarded him with open curiosity; and +he realized suddenly that he must be near a ball-room. + +"Where am I?" he demanded. + +"It's the ball, sir, that they has to end the season before Lent. It's +Lent to-morrow, sir, as I thought you'd know." + +Maurice stared at him in amazement and anger. + +"There is a mistake," he said. "Give me my cloak." + +"Indeed, sir," the man said, holding back the garment he had taken, +"Mrs. Wilson said, sir, that I was to say that she particular wanted +you to come fetch her in the ball-room, sir; and I was to bring you +without fail." + +"You may send her word that I am here." + +"Please, sir," the man returned, in a voice which struck Maurice as +absurdly pleading, "she was very particular, and it's no hurt to go in, +sir. She'll blame me, sir." + +Maurice looked at him, and laughed at the solemnity of the man's homely +face. A spirit of recklessness leaped up within him. He said to himself +that at least Mrs. Wilson should not think that he dared not come. + +"Very well," he said. "Show me the way." + +"Thank you, sir," the servant said, as if he had received a great +favor. "It's not easy to bear blame that don't belong to you." + +He opened a door into an anteroom thronged with people laughing and +chatting. The sound of the music was clear and loud, with the voices +striking through its cadences. Across this he led Wynne, to the wide +door of a ball-room flooded with light and full of moving figures. + + + + XXVI + + + O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + Hamlet, i. 5. + + +The brilliant glare of lights, the strident sound of dance-music, the +enlivening sense of a living, vivaciously stirring company of gayly +dressed merrymakers, assailed Maurice as he followed his guide across +the anteroom. At the door of the ball-room he was for a moment hindered +by a group of men who were lounging and chatting there. All his senses +were keenly alert, and he perhaps unconsciously listened to hear if +there were any comment on his appearance in such a place. He had not +realized what he was coming into, and now that it was too late for him +to withdraw without sacrificing his pride, he saw how incongruous his +presence really was. Almost instantly he caught a name. + +"By Jove!" one of the men said. "Isn't the Wilson in great form +to-night! That diamond on her toe must be worth a fortune." + +"She saves the price in the materials of her gowns," another responded +lightly. "I never saw her with quite so little on." + +"No material is allowed to go to waist there," put in a third. + +"She has two straps and a rosebud," yet another voice laughed; "and +nothing else above the belt but diamonds." + +"Her very smile is decollete" some one commented. "This is one of her +nights. When I see Mrs. Wilson with that expression, I am prepared for +anything." + +Maurice felt his cheeks burn at this light talk. It seemed to him +ribald, and he was outraged that the name of a woman should be bandied +about so carelessly. He raised his head and set his square jaw +defiantly; then began to push his way through the group, keenly +conscious of the stare which greeted him. + +"Hallo! What the devil's that?" he heard behind him. + +"The skeleton at the feast," responded one voice. + +"Oh, it's some devilish trick of Mrs. Wilson's, of course," put in +another. + +All this Maurice heard with an outraged sense that there was no attempt +to prevent him from hearing. He might have been a servant or a piece of +furniture for any restraint these men put upon their speech. He was +troubled with the fear of what absurdity Mrs. Wilson might intend. Now +that he was here, however, he would go on. The natural obstinacy of his +temper asserted itself, and if there was little pious meekness in his +spirit at that moment, there was plenty of grit. + +The ball-room was garlanded with wreaths of laurel stuck thickly with +red roses; women in white and in bright-hued gowns, with fair shoulders +and arms, were floating about in the embraces of men; the music set +everything to a rhythmic pulse, and gaily quickened the blood in the +veins of the young deacon as he looked. The throbbing of the violins +made him quiver with an excitement joyous and bewildering. He was +dazzled by the bright, moving figures, the shining colors, the +sparkling of gems, the lovely faces, the alluring creamy necks and +arms; a sweet intoxication began to creep over him, despite the +defiance of his feelings toward the men he had passed in the doorway. +Half blinded by the glare, dazed and fascinated by the sights, the +sounds, the perfumes, he followed the footman down the hall. + +He was obliged to skirt the room, even then hardly evading the dancers. +His progress was necessarily slow. The footman so continually paused to +apologize for having brushed against some lady in his anxiety to avoid +a whirling pair of dancers, that it began to seem to Maurice that they +should never reach Mrs. Wilson. He cast his eyes to the floor, resolved +not to look at the worldly sights around him. Country bred and trained +in the asceticism of the Clergy House, he could not see these women +without blushing; and more than ever he wondered that he had been so +blindly obedient as to allow himself to be brought to such a place. + +He heard a man clap his hands. He looked up to see a flock of dancers +hurrying to the upper end of the room. Among them, with a shock so +violent that his heart seemed to stand still, he recognized Berenice +Morison. He saw her go to a table and pick up something; then she and +her companions turned and came glancing and gleaming down the hall like +a flock of pigeons which fly and shine in the sun. Fair, flushed +softly, more beautiful than all the rest in his eyes, Berenice came on, +her hair curling about her forehead, her eyes shining with laughter and +pleasure. She was dressed in white, and at one shoulder, crushed +against her bare, creamy neck, was a bunch of crimson roses. Maurice +trembled at the sight of her beauty; he reddened at the consciousness +of her dress; over him came some inexplicable sense of fear. + +Suddenly he perceived that she had caught sight of him. He could see +the look of amazement rise in her face, give place to one of amusement, +then change instantly into sparkling mischievousness. He moved on +toward her, abashed, bewildered, feeling as if he were running a +gauntlet. He could not withdraw his gaze from her, as she came quickly +onward, dimpling, smiling, her face overflowing with saucy fun, her +glance holding his. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Wynne," she said lightly, coming up to him. "This is +an unexpected pleasure." + +"Good-evening," Maurice responded, hardly able to drag the words out of +his parched throat. + +"Of course you came for the german," Miss Morison went on, more +mockingly than before. "I am so glad that I happen to have a favor for +you." + +She leaned forward, swaying toward him her white shoulders, dazzling +him with the hint of the swell of her bosom, bewildering him with the +perfume of her dark hair, the alluring feminine presence which brought +the hot blood to his face. Before he guessed her intention, she had +pinned to his cassock a grotesque little dangling mask which swung from +a bright ribbon. + +"There," she commented, drawing back as if critically to observe. "The +effect is novel, but striking." + +A burst of amusement, light and blinding as the spray from a whirlpool, +went up from the women around. The music, the voices, the laughter, +seemed to Maurice so many insults flung at him in idle contempt. He +looked around him with a bitter anger which could almost have smitten +these laughing women on their red mouths. Then he turned back to +Berenice. He saw that she shrank before the wrath of his look; he felt +with a thrill that he had at least power to make her fear him. He bent +toward her full of rage made the wilder by the impulse to catch her in +his arms and cover her beautiful neck with kisses. + +"Shameless!" he hissed into her ear. + +He saw her turn pale and then flush burning red; but he hastened on +after the footman without waiting for more. Presently he reached the +head of the hall, where Mrs. Wilson stood laughing and talking with +several men. Her dress was of alternate stripes of crimson silk and +tissue of gold, and since it had excited comment from the loungers at +the door, it is small wonder that to the unsophisticated deacon, almost +convent bred, it appeared no less than horribly indecent. He cast down +his eyes; but his glance fell upon the foot which just then she thrust +laughingly forward, evidently in answer to some remark from Stanford, +who stood at her right hand. Upon the toe of her exquisite little shoe +sparkled a great diamond like a fountain of flame. + +"It gives light to my steps," she laughed. + +"The service is worthy of it," Stanford returned with a half-mocking +bow. + +"Thank you," Mrs. Wilson retorted, sweeping him a satirical courtesy. +"If you say such nice things to me, what must you say to Berenice!" + +It seemed to Maurice that the devil was exerting all his infernal +ingenuity that night to have him tormented at every turn. He came +forward hastily, eager to stop the talk. + +"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?" + +The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice +could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence. + +"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to +penance and confession." + +"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men +said, "that there's no necessity of going so early." + +"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected, +Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you +only mean to be?" + +Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind +the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets +of all sorts of fantastic devices. + +"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What +sort of a favor ought I to give you?" + +"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of +the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be +too surprised to put it down." + +"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs. Staggchase. +"That is all very well for her, but how is it for her victims?" + +"Oh, the honor of being her victim is compensation enough for them." + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, and shook her head, twinkling with diamonds which +dazzled the eyes of the young deacon. + +"You are all worldly," she retorted. "Brother Martin and I are too +unsophisticated to understand you." + +Maurice winced at the name. He felt that he must be a picture of +confusion. To stand here among these sumptuously dressed women, to +endure the glances which he knew were watching him from all parts of +the room, to be pricked with this monkish title by a woman who was +making of him and of the whole incident a sport and a spectacle, stung +him to the quick. He thought of Berenice, and he cast at Mrs. +Staggchase a look of defiance, lifting his head proudly in assertion of +his hurt dignity. + +"I am at your service, Mrs. Wilson," he said with cold sternness. + +"Well, we will go then. Unless, that is, you are dancing, Mr. Wynne. I +see that you have a favor." + +He glanced down at the grotesque little mask, dangling by its red +ribbon. With unbroken gravity he detached and laid it upon the table in +silence. He would have given much to hide it in his pocket, since it +came from Berenice; but even as he put it down a bevy of girls swept up +for favors, and one of them bore it away. + +"He has abandoned his opportunity," Mrs. Staggchase observed. "The +favor goes to Mr. Stanford." + +The girl who had taken up the mask was indeed pinning it to the coat of +that gentleman, with whom she quickly danced away. Maurice felt his +heart grow hot, but he looked at his cousin with face hard and +determined. + +"It was never mine," he said, "except by the chance of a +misunderstanding." + +A maid now came forward with a black domino, which Mrs. Wilson slipped +into gracefully, drawing up her glittering draperies. The big diamond +on the toe of her slipper glowed fantastically, peeping from beneath +the penitential robe. + +"Hallo," Dr. Wilson exclaimed, coming up at this moment, "what's in the +wind now? Is this turning into a masquerade?" + +"Your wife is about to retire from the world," Mrs. Hubbard answered, +laughing. + +"With a man," Mrs. Staggchase added, her eyes shining on her cousin. + +Wynne stabbed her with a glance of indignation. + +"No, with a priest," corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about +her face. + +"Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself," Dr. +Wilson observed jovially. "Well, good-night." + +Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on +her bosom. + +"My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent +in ten minutes." + +She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down +the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it +seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole +gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs. +Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for +her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around +grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he assured +himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred +things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs. +Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door. + +"He looks as if he belonged to the church militant," he heard one of +the men say as he passed out. + +"Even the church militant is nothing against a woman," another replied, +catching the eye of Mrs. Wilson, and laughing. + +In the vestibule stood a footman bearing Maurice's cloak, and a maid +with fur over-shoes and an ermine-lined wrap for Mrs. Wilson. Maurice +said not a word except to reply in monosyllables to the questions of +his companion, and almost in silence they drove to the Church of the +Nativity. + + + + XXVII + + + UPON A CHURCH BENCH + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 3. + + +The music of the Church of the Nativity was most elaborate, the very +French millinery of sacred music. The selection of a new singer was +debated with a zeal which spoke volumes for the interest in the service +of the sanctuary, and the money expended in this part of the worship +would have supported two or three poorer congregations. The church, +moreover, was appointed with a richness beautiful to see. The vestments +might have moved the envy of high Roman prelates, and the altar plate +shone in gold and precious stones. + +It was no wonder, then, that a midnight service at the Nativity +attracted a crowd. Mrs. Wilson and Wynne had to force a path between +ranks of curious sight-seers in order to make their way to the guarded +pew of the former, which was well up the main aisle. It came to Maurice +suddenly that in his angry mood he was pushing against these worshipers +rudely, and that he was venting upon them a fury which had rather +increased than diminished in his ride to the church. He was seething +with anger; anger against Mrs. Wilson for having put him in a ludicrous +position, at Berenice for her mockery, at Mrs. Staggchase for her +satire, and at all the frivolous fools who had stood around, grinning +to see him made ridiculous. His hurt vanity throbbed with an ache +intolerable, and as he forced his way between the crowding spectators +he felt a certain ugly joy in thrusting them aside. + +He was recalled to self-control by the expression in the face of a girl +whom he pressed back to give Mrs. Wilson passage. She turned to him +with a look of surprise and pain, and to his excited fancy her hair in +the half shadow was like that of Berenice. + +"You hurt me!" she exclaimed. + +"I beg your pardon," he answered with instant compunction. "I did not +mean to. Come with me." + +He yielded to the sudden impulse, and then reflected as they passed +down the aisle that he had no right to bring a stranger into Mrs. +Wilson's pew. Having invited her, however, it was impossible to +retract, and he showed her into the slip after Mrs. Wilson. As the +latter turned to sit down, she became aware of the stranger. She +paused, and looked at her with haughty surprise. + +"I beg pardon," she said, "this is a private pew." + +The girl flushed, looking inquiringly at Maurice. His masculine nature +resented the insolence of the glance with which Mrs. Wilson had swept +the stranger, and he came instantly to the rescue. + +"I invited her," he said, leaning forward, speaking with a +determination at which his hostess raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, very well then," Mrs. Wilson murmured. + +She sank into her seat, and inclined her head on the rail before her. +As Maurice did the same there shot through his mind a wonder at the +change there must be in the mental attitude of the woman who spoke with +haughtiness almost insulting to the stranger, and the penitent who bent +to ask pity and forgiveness from heaven. He tried to fix his thoughts +on his own prayer, but the words ran on as mechanically as might water +flow over a stone. The serious danger of a ritualistic religion must +always be that the mere repetition of words shall come to answer for an +act of worship; and to-night Maurice might have exclaimed with King +Claudius:-- + + "My words fly up; my thoughts remain below." + +The service went on with its deep, appealing prayers for pardon, for +help, for uplifting, and Maurice followed it only half consciously. It +was as if he were drugged, so that only now and then a phrase +penetrated to his real consciousness,--words which in their instant and +particular application were so poignant that he could not avoid their +force. + +"'From all inordinate and sinful affections,'" repeated the rich voice +of Mr. Candish, thrilling the church from floor to vaulted, roof, "'and +from the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil.'" + +"'Good Lord, deliver us!'" swelled the response of the congregation; +and on the lips of the deacon the words were almost a groan. + +He lost himself then in a flood of bitter repentance and prayer, hardly +realizing where he was or what was passing around him. The music +swelled and eddied; there was a genuine "Kyrie," wherein a single +voice, a rich contralto, wailed and implored in a passion of +supplication until the whole congregation quivered with the fervor of +the music. Maurice felt himself swayed and lifted upon the rising tide +of emotion. He lost his anger, he swam in billows of celestial delight; +a blessed peace soothed his troubled soul; he knew again some of the +old-time ecstasy. Yet in all this religious fervor there was some +subtle consciousness that it was unreal. He was not able so completely +to give himself up to it as to fail to watch its growth, its progress, +its intensity; he was vexed that he should trap himself, as it were, +glorying in the susceptibility to religious influences which such +excitement showed. He had even a whimsical, momentary irritation that +the part of his mind which was acting the devotee could not do it so +well that his other consciousness could not detect the unreality of it +all. Then he struggled to forget everything in the service; to steep +himself in the spiritual intoxication of the hour. + +The girl whom he had introduced into the pew dropped her prayer-book. +He turned, startled by the sound, and saw her sway toward him. He +realized that the crowd, the heat, the excitement, the odor of incense +with which the air was heavy, had overcome her, and that she was +fainting. He rose instantly, and, lifting her, assisted her into the +aisle. She was half in his arms as he led her down the nave, and her +hair, the hair which had seemed to him like that of Berenice, brushed +now and again against his shoulder. He recalled the wreck, when +Berenice had been in his arms, and his religious mood vanished as if it +had never been. His cheek flushed; he thrilled with anger at himself. +He had been playing a part here in the church. He had never for an +instant wished to be set free from his bondage to Berenice,--Berenice +who had to-night mocked him and his profession in the eyes of all the +world. + +The way to the door seemed interminable. He was eager to get rid of +this stranger and escape. Fortunately the party to which the fainting +girl belonged were at hand to take charge of her; and presently Maurice +had made his way out of the church. He hardly gave a thought to Mrs. +Wilson. She was abundantly able to take care of herself, he reflected +with angry amusement; or, if not, the very pavement would spring up +with troops of men to assist her. She was the sort of woman whose mere +presence creates cavaliers, even in the most unlikely places. + +The cool outer air seemed to wake him from a bad dream. He walked +hastily through the quiet streets toward the Clergy House, full of +disordered thoughts, wondering whether the ball were yet over, or if +Berenice were still dancing in the arms of other men. The blood flushed +into his cheeks at the thought. He hated furiously the partner against +whose shoulder her white, bare arm might be resting. He looked back +with ever growing anger to the scene at the dance, tingling with shame +at the humiliation, at the thought of standing before the women who had +laughed when Berenice had fastened upon his breast the tawdry trinket +which seemed chosen purposely to mock him. He wished that he had kept +the toy, that he might now throw it down into the mire and tread on it. +Yet grotesque and insulting as the thing had been, he was conscious +that if the little mask were still in his possession he should not have +been able to trample on it, but should have taken it to his lips +instead. He remembered that now Stanford wore it. He looked up to the +shining stars and felt the overwhelming presence of night like a child; +his helplessness, his misery, his hopelessness swept over him in bitter +waves. + +Late as it was when he reached his room he did not at once undress. He +sat down heavily, staring with hot eyes at the crucifix opposite. From +black and unknown depths of his heart welled up rage against life and +its perplexities. He threw upon his faith the blame of his suffering. +What was this religion which made of all human joys, of all human +instincts only devilish devices for the torture of the very soul? Why +should the world be filled only with temptations, with humiliations, +with desires which burned into the very heart yet which must be denied? +Was any future bliss worth the struggle? He realized with a shudder +that he might be arraigning the Maker of the world; then he assured +himself that he was but raging against those who misunderstood and +misinterpreted the purposes of life. + +He flung himself down on his knees before the crucifix in a quick +reaction of mood, extending his hands and trying to pray; but he found +himself repeating over and over: "For Thine is the kingdom and the +power and the glory." He felt with the whole strength of his soul the +force of the words. This deity to whom he knelt might in a breath +change all his agony; might out of overflowing power and dominion and +splendor spill but one unnoted drop, yet flood all his tortured being +with richest happiness. The contrast between his weakness, his +helplessness, his insignificance, and the superabundant resources of +the Infinite crushed him. He was transported with aching pity for +himself and for all poor mortals. He repeated, no longer in entreaty +but with passionate reproach: "For _Thine_ is the kingdom and the power +and the glory." It seemed an insult to the clemency of Heaven to call +so piteously when it were a thing lighter than the puffing away of a +flake of swan's down for One with all power to help and to comfort. If +he were in the hands of a God to whom belonged the universe, why this +agony of doubt? Then he cried out to himself that this was the +temptation of the devil. He cast himself upon the ground, beating his +breast and moaning wildly: "Mea culpa! Mea culpa!" With quick +histrionic perception he was affected by the intensity and the +effectiveness of his penitence, and redoubled his fervor. + +Then in a flash came over him the sickening realization that this +devotion was a sham; that it was hysteria, simple pretense. He ceased +to writhe on the floor. It was like coming to consciousness in a +humiliating situation. He blushed at his folly, and rose hastily from +before the crucifix. + +"I have been acting private theatricals," he muttered scornfully; "and +for what audience?" + +He threw himself again into his chair, burying his face in his hands. +He plunged into a reverie so deep and so self-searching that it could +have been fathomed by no plummet. + +"I do not believe," he said at last aloud, raising his face as if to +address the crucifix. "I have never believed. I have simply bejuggled +myself. I have been a contemptible lie in the sight of men, not even +knowing enough to be honest to myself." + +He was silent a moment, a smile of bitter contempt curling his lip. + +"I have not even been a man," he added. + +Then he rose with a spring to his feet, and looked about him, +stretching out his arms as if to embrace all the world. + +"But now," he exclaimed with gladness bursting through every syllable, +"at last I am free!" + + + + XXVIII + + + BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + Love's Labor's Lost, ii. 1. + + +When Maurice Wynne's bitter word stung her, Berenice Morison stood for +a second too overwhelmed to speak or move. She felt the blood mount to +her temples, and she could see reflected in the eyes of acquaintances +around a mingled curiosity and amusement. Wynne passed on, and she +shrank into her seat, which fortunately was near. + +"Who in the world is that, and what did he say to you when you gave him +that favor?" exclaimed her neighbor. "I don't see how you dared to do +it!" + +A gentleman took the speaker away, so that Berenice was spared the +necessity of answering. She watched Wynne advance to the group of which +Mrs. Wilson was the centre, and she understood well enough that his +being here was some contrivance of the latter's. She was angry with +Wynne and humiliated by the insult that he had flung at her, yet she +had room in her heart for rage against the woman who had brought him +there. She looked at Mrs. Wilson laughing and jesting, she watched the +comedy proceed as the black domino covered the white shoulders and the +gown of gold and crimson, yet most of all was she conscious of how +straight and strong Maurice stood among the gay group which surrounded +him. The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his +look, seemed to her most manly and noble. She felt that he had by his +bearing mastered the absurd circumstances in which he was placed; she +smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own +thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice +saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She +watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed +figures passing like shadows among the dancers. When they had +disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of +regret, anger, and confusion. + +"Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that +before?" queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. "She +gets more amazing every day." + +"She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that +everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad +taste it is." + +"Oh, she amuses folks," Mr. Van Sandt said. "Nobody takes her +seriously." + +"It is time that they did," answered Berenice rather sharply. "Such a +performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were +her accomplices." + +"Oh, you take it too seriously; besides, I thought that you helped it +on a bit." + +Berenice was silenced, but she was none the happier for that. She was +vexed with herself for having any feeling about the incident; but the +word of Wynne came afresh into her mind, and brought the blood anew to +her cheek. She said to herself that she hoped that she should meet him +soon again, that she might wither him with a glance of burning +contempt, ever after to ignore him. + +"You think I wouldn't do it," she sneered to some inner doubt; "but I +would!" + +She was interrupted by a partner, and went whirling down the bright +hall to the tingling measures of a new waltz; yet all the while she was +thinking of the moment she had stood face to face with Maurice. She +scoffed at herself for giving so much weight to a thing so trifling; +she made a strong effort to appear gay, only the more keenly to realize +that at heart she was miserable. + +Mrs. Staggchase, on her way out of the hall a little later, stopped and +spoke to her. + +"Come, Bee, it is time for you to go home. You don't seem to profit by +the godly example of Elsie Wilson at all." + +"Heaven forbid that I should take her as my exemplar!" Berenice flung +back with unnecessary fervor. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase observed good-humoredly, "there are things in +which it is conceivable that you might find a better model. By the way, +what did Cousin Maurice say to you when you gave him that german favor? +Of course I haven't any right to ask, but you see I am interested in +bringing the boy up properly." + +Berenice flushed with confusion and vexation. + +"It was something no gentleman would have said!" + +"Ah," the other returned with perfect calmness, "that is the danger of +doing an unladylike thing. It is so apt to provoke an ungentlemanly +return. Men, you know, my dear, haven't the fine instincts that we +have. However, I'm sorry that Maurice didn't behave better than you +did. Good-night, dear." + +Mrs. Staggchase had hardly gone when Parker Stanford came up with a +favor. + +"I am tired, Mr. Stanford," Berenice said. "Thank you, but you had +better ask some one else." + +"I'd rather sit it out with you," he answered. + +"Nonsense; one doesn't sit out turns in the german." + +"They do if they wish." + +"Well, instead of sitting it out," she said, rising, "let us go and get +a cup of bouillon. I feel the need of something to hold me up." + +"Here is your favor," remarked Stanford, as they passed down the hall. + +It was an absurd Japanese monster, with eyes goggling out of its head. + +"How horrible!" cried Berenice. "It looks exactly like old Christopher +Plant when he is talking about his last invention in sauces. Don't you +know the way in which he sticks out his eyes, and says: 'It is the +greatest misfortune in nature that the nerves of taste do not extend +all the way down to the stomach!'" + +Stanford laughed gleefully. + +"Jove, I don't know but he's right. Think of tasting a cocktail all the +way down to the stomach!" + +"Or a quinine pill!" returned she with a grimace. "Thank you, no. +Things are bad enough as they are." + +At the door of the supper-room they encountered Dr. Wilson, with a bud +on his arm. + +"Well, Miss Morison," he exclaimed, with his usual jovial brusqueness, +"I thought that my wife was the cheekiest woman in Boston, but you ran +her hard to-night." + +"Oh, even if I surpassed her," Berenice retorted in sudden anger, yet +forcing herself to speak laughingly, "she is entirely safe to leave the +reputation of the family in the hands of her husband." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled with perfect good-nature. + +"Oh, we men are not in it with the women," laughed he. + +He passed on with his companion, and Berenice, with feminine +perversity, avenged herself upon the girl he was escorting. + +"How stout Miss Harding is," she commented. "It is such a pity for a +bud." + +"But she is pretty," Stanford returned. + +"Oh, yes, in a way. She has the face of an overripe cherub." + +He laughed and led her to a seat. + +"Take your picture of Mr. Plant," said he, "and I will get you the +bouillon." + +"No, I can't have anything so hideous. Give me one of yours instead. +I'll have that little fat monk." + +"All that I have is at your service," he responded with seriousness +sounding through the mock gravity, as he unpinned the little mask and +put it into her hand. + +"Thank you, but I don't ask your all. I hope that you didn't value this +especially." + +"Not that I remember. I haven't an idea who gave it to me." + +"You don't seem to value a gift on account of the giver." + +"That depends," returned he. "Now there are some givers whose favors I +cherish most carefully." + +He took from his breast-pocket a little Greek flag of silk, neatly +folded. Berenice flushed, recognizing a favor which she had given him +early in the evening. + +"Now this," he said, "I put away next to my heart, you observe." + +"The giver would be flattered," Berenice observed. "Was it Clare +Tophaven?" + +He looked at her, laughing; then seemed to reflect. + +"I don't know that it is right to tell you," he returned; "but if you +won't mention it, I'll confide to you that it must have been Miss +Tophaven. Sweet girl." + +"Very. Are congratulations in order?" Berenice inquired. + +She was pleased that the talk had taken this bantering tone, and +secretly determined to keep it away from dangerous seriousness. + +"Somewhat premature, I should say," Stanford replied. "You see she has +no suspicion of my devotion, and her engagement to Fred Springer is to +come out next week." + +The bit of gossip served Berenice well. She had heard it already, but +it was easy to feign surprise, and to chat lightly about the match, as +if she had not a thought beyond it in her mind. To her amazement and +disconcerting Stanford cut through the light talk to demand with sudden +gravity:-- + +"And when may our engagement be announced, Berenice?" + +She regarded him with startled eyes, but she held herself well in hand, +managing to use the same jesting tone in which she had been speaking. + +"Certainly not before it exists," was her answer. + +He leaned toward her eagerly. The room was almost deserted, and they +sat in the shelter of a great palm, so that she felt herself to be +alone with him. + +"Don't try to put me off," he pleaded. "I am in earnest." + +She rose quickly, setting her cup down in the tub of the palm. + +"Come," she said, "you forget that I am dancing the german with Mr. Van +Sandt. He will have no idea what has become of me." + +Stanford stood before her, barring her way. + +"Hang Van Sandt! You should be dancing with me, only I had to do the +polite to this everlasting English girl. I wish she was in Australia. I +wonder why in the world an English girl is never able to learn to +dance." + +"That I cannot answer. Perhaps their feet are too big; but you must go +back to her all the same, whether she can dance or not." + +"Not until you answer me. You know you are keeping me on hot coals, +Berenice. You know I love you." + +She flushed, drew back, grew pale. + +"I have answered you already," she replied, hurriedly but firmly. "Why +must you make me say it again? I don't love you, and that is reason +enough why you shouldn't care for me." + +"It isn't any reason at all. I should be fond of you anyway. Why, even +if you made a guy of me before everybody as you did to-night of that +clerical thing"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice interrupted, her color rising and her eyes shining. "I +will not have you speak of Mr. Wynne in that way. What I did was bad +enough." + +"Berenice," demanded Stanford, regarding her keenly, "do you mean to +marry _him_?" + +"You have no right to ask me whom I mean to marry! I am not going to +marry you, at least!" + +"A clergyman. A man in petticoats! Well, I must say"-- + +She drew herself up to her full height, looking at him with anger and +excitement in her heart so great that they seemed to choke her. + +"Do you see this?" she asked, holding up the little mask dangling from +her finger. "I fastened this to his cassock to-night. I insulted him in +the sight of everybody. Does that look as if"-- + +"Is that the same mask?" broke in Stanford. "You begged it of me +afterward!" + +She could not command her voice to reply. Shame, grief, indignation, +struggled in her heart; yet her strongest conscious feeling was a +determination that the tears in her eyes should not fall. She slipped +past him, and moved toward the ball-room. With a quick step he gained +her side. + +"I beg your pardon," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you. +You used to be nice to me, but lately"-- + +She mastered herself by a strong effort. She was fully aware that there +were too many curious eyes about her to make any demonstration safe. + +"Let me take your arm," she answered. "Folks are watching. We need not +make a spectacle of ourselves. I haven't meant to treat you badly. A +girl never knows how a man is going to take things, and I only meant to +be pleasant. As soon as you began to show that you were in earnest"-- + +She was so conscious that her words were not entirely frank that she +instinctively hesitated. + +"I have always been in earnest," interpolated he. + +"But you will get over it," murmured she, desperately. + +They had come to a group of palms, where they paused to let a bevy of +dancers pass. + +"Do you really mean," Stanford asked, in a hard voice, "that there is +really no hope for me?" + +"There is no hope that I shall ever feel differently about this." + +"Then I shall certainly get over it," returned he with a touch of anger +in his voice. "I don't propose to go through life wearing the willow +for anybody." + +She raised to his her eyes shining with shy but irresistible light. + +"Ah," she half whispered, "that is the difference. I know he wouldn't +get over it." + +"He!" + +The monosyllable brought to her an overwhelming sense of the confession +which her words had carried. She pressed the arm upon which her +finger-tips rested. + +"I have trusted you," she whispered hurriedly. "Be generous. Ah, Mr. +Van Sandt," she went on aloud, "I hope you didn't think I had deserted +you. Mr. Stanford found me incapable of dancing, and had to revive me +with bouillon." + + + + XXIX + + + WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + Hamlet, i. 2. + + +Strangely enough the thought which most strongly impressed Maurice +Wynne on the morning following the Mardi Gras ball was the simplicity +of life. He had heard in the early dawn the bell for rising; he had +started up, then upon his elbow realized that he had freed himself from +its tyranny. He had slidden back into his warm place, smiling to +himself, and fallen into a sleep as quiet as that of a child. About +eight he was roused by a brother sent to see if he was ill, his absence +from early mass having been noted. Maurice sent the messenger away with +the explanation that having been out to the midnight service he had +slept late; then, being left alone, he made his toilet with +deliberation. He seemed to himself a new man. There appeared to be no +longer any difficulty in life. He reflected that one had but to follow +common sense, to live sincerely up to what commended itself to his +reason, and existence became wonderfully simplified. He no longer +experienced any of the confusing doubts and perplexities which had of +late made him so thoroughly miserable. + +He hesitated to don again the dress of a deacon, but he reflected that +to do otherwise would be to expose himself to the curiosity and comment +of his fellows. With a smile and a sigh he put on for the last time the +cassock, recalling the contemptuous terms in which at the time of the +accident Mehitabel Durgin had referred to the garment. He wondered at +himself for ever finding it possible to appear before the eyes of men +in such a dress, and blushed to think how incongruous the clerical +livery must have looked in the ballroom. + +Breakfast was already half over when he appeared, and the reading of +Lamentations was accompanying the frugal meal. He sank into his seat in +silence, casting his eyes down upon his plate lest they should betray +the joy he felt. He knew that he could have no talk with Philip until +after nones, and he was not willing to leave the house without bidding +his friend good-by. While he went on with his breakfast he was busy +planning what he would do when he had left the routine of the Clergy +House behind him. He determined to go to Mrs. Staggchase for advice, +and to ask her to direct him to some quiet boarding-place where he +might reorganize his scheme of life. + +In the study hour which followed breakfast Wynne went boldly to the +room of Father Frontford, and knocked at the door. When he heard the +voice of the Father Superior bidding him enter he was for the first +time seized with an unpleasant doubt. The long habit of obedience half +asserted itself, so that for an instant he was almost minded to turn +back. With a smile of self-scorn he shook off the feeling, and opened +the door. + +The Father looked up in evident surprise at sight of the deacon who +came unsummoned at such an hour. He was alone, a fact which Maurice +noted with satisfaction. + + "Good morning, Wynne," he said. "Did you wish to see me?" + +"Yes, sir," Maurice answered, closing the door, and standing before it. +"I came to tell you that I have decided to leave the Clergy House." + +The abruptness of the communication evidently startled the Superior. +Wynne watched him as he laid down his pen, the lines about his thin +lips growing tense. + +"Sit down," he said gravely. + +Maurice obeyed unwillingly. He would have been glad to retreat at once, +his errand being done; but he knew this to be of course impossible. He +sat down facing the other, meeting with steadfast eyes the searching +look fastened upon him. + +"Since when," Father Frontford asked, "have you held this +determination?" + +"Since last night." + +"Is it founded upon any especial circumstance connected with your going +with Mrs. Wilson to midnight service?" + +Maurice looked down for a moment in thought, then he met the eyes of +the other frankly. + +"Father," he said, "I don't think that I could tell you all that has +led to this decision if I would; and I do not see that it would be wise +for us to go into the matter in any case. It seems to me that the fact +that I have decided, and decided absolutely, is enough." + +The face before him grew a shade sterner. + +"You seem to forget that you are speaking to your Superior." + +"Perhaps," the young man returned with calmness, "it is you who forget +that I have ended that relation." + +Father Frontford's face darkened. + +"I do not recognize that you have authority to end it." + +Maurice tried to repress the irritation which he could not but feel; +and forced himself to speak as civilly as before. + +"Will you pardon me," he said; "I do not wish that our last talk should +be bitter. I owe you much, and I shall never cease to respect the +unselfishness with which you have tried to help me. That I cannot +follow your path does not blind me to the fact that you have worked so +untiringly to make the way plain and attractive to me." + +He was not without a secret feeling that he was speaking with some +magnanimity, yet he was entirely sincere. He realized with thorough +respect, even at the moment of breaking away, how complete was the +devotion of the Father. There was in his mind, too, some satisfaction +at the tone he had unconsciously adopted. It flattered him to find that +he should be almost patronizing his Superior. + +Father Frontford regarded Maurice with a look in which were mingled +surprise, disapprobation, and regret. As the two sat holding each +other's eyes, the face of the older man changed and softened. Into it +came a smile of high and spiritual beauty, of nobility and +unworldliness, of tenderness most touching. All that was most winning +in the character of the man was embodied in the look which he fixed +upon his recreant disciple, a look pleading and wistful, yet full of +dignity and strength. He leaned forward, laying the tips of his thin +fingers almost caressingly on the arm of the other. + +"My son," he said, "it is not what I have done that you remember; it is +what I represent. The truth and sweetness of religion is what has +touched you. I am only the representative; and no one knows better how +unworthy I am to be so looked on. If the grace of divine love seems to +you good shining through me, think what it is in itself. Oh, my son," +he went on, the tears coming into his eyes, "I have loved you, and I +love you more now that I see you tempted and bewildered. Turn back to +the bosom of the church before it is too late." + +Maurice sat silent with look downcast. His firmness was not shaken; he +had no inclination to reconsider his decision, but he was deeply moved +by the emotion of the other. He could not bear to meet pleading so +affectionate with a cold negative. + +"It is for yourself that I appeal to you," the priest went on. "It is +for the good of your own soul, and for your happiness in this world and +the world to come. Think of your mission. Think how men need you; of +the sin and the error that cry out to Heaven, and of how few there are +to do the Lord's work. You have been confused by the temptations of the +world, and in all of us there is a selfish spirit that may lead us to +do in a moment of madness what we shall repent with tears of blood all +our lives." + +Still Maurice could not answer; and the Father, bending still nearer, +taking one of the young man's hands in both his own, still pleaded. + +"You have said that you felt my interest in you. Do not give me the +bitterness of feeling that I am a careless shepherd who has lost a lamb +to the wolves. If you have gone astray it must be in part my fault; it +must be my negligence. Oh, my son, don't force me to stand guilty +before God to answer for your lost soul." + +It seemed to Maurice that he was being swept away by the simple power +of the emotion of Frontford. He felt the tears in his eyes, and almost +without his volition his hand responded to the pressure of the hand +that clasped it. He made a strong effort to call back his will. + +"Father," he responded, "we must each stand or fall alone. It is not +your fault that I can't see things as you do, or that I can't any +longer remain here. I am changed. If I stayed, it would be against my +convictions." + +"Ah," was the eager reply, "but you could submit your convictions to +the church." + +Maurice drew back. + +"I am a man, to think for myself. I must be honest with my reason. The +church cannot take for me the place of honesty and conviction." + +The Father Superior dropped the hand he held. + +"Then you insist on putting your own will and your own wisdom above +that of the church?" + +"I must do the thing that seems to me right." + +The priest's face hardened. It was as if over the surface of a pool a +film of ice formed. He sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again +it was in a voice so hard and cold that the young man started. + +"When do you leave?" the Father Superior asked. + +"I meant to wait until after nones so as to say good-by to Philip." + +"I prefer that you should go at once." + +"You mean that you prefer that I should not see him?" Maurice demanded +quickly. + +"I merely said that I prefer that you should go at once," was the cold +reply. + +Maurice rose briskly. His impulse was to retort sharply, but he held +himself in check. + +"Very well," he answered. "I shall take it as a favor if you will let +Philip know that I did not willingly leave him without a word. It would +hurt him to think that." + +"The wounds of earth," the Father Superior said gravely, "are the joys +of heaven." + +Maurice stood an instant with a keen desire to reply, to break down +this icy statue of religion; then he drew back. + +"I will not trouble you longer," he said. "Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Wynne," the other responded with the manner of one +addressing a stranger. + +Maurice went to his chamber thoroughly aroused and excited. The +restraint which he had put on himself during the talk with Father +Frontford brought now its reaction. He rehearsed in his mind the +telling and caustic things which he might have said, then laughed at +himself for his unnecessary fervor. He packed his belongings, and, +leaving them to be called for, set out for the house of his cousin. To +go out from the Clergy House seemed to him like the ending of a life. + +Mrs. Staggchase was fortunately at home. It seemed to Maurice that her +keen eyes took in the whole story from his secular dress. He blushed as +she gave him her hand. + +"Well, my dear boy," she observed, "you have come to luncheon, I +suppose, because the fare at the Clergy House is so poor in Lent. Sit +down, and give me an account of your doings last night. I trust that +you saw Mrs. Wilson safe home." + +"I left her in the church." + +"Ah! And what did you do then?" + +"I went home and fought it out with myself. You were right in saying +that things were not concluded when I became a deacon. I have given up +the whole thing." + +"What do you mean by the whole thing?" + +"I mean," he returned earnestly, "that I found out that I was acting a +part. That I didn't believe even the first principles of the religion I +was getting ready to teach. I have broken down in the temptation, +Cousin Diana." + +She looked at him closely. The buoyancy of his morning mood was gone, +and it was hard for him to endure her searching look. It came over him +that he was an apostate; one who had abandoned all that he had vowed to +uphold; his vanity smarted at the thought that she must think him weak +and unstable as water. + +"I am only what I was," he went on. "The difference is that I have +discovered what you probably saw all the time, that I don't believe the +things I have been taught. I am as free from the old creeds as you are. +I don't even pretend to know that there is a God." + +"My dear boy," she responded, shrugging her shoulders, "you run into +extremes like a schoolgirl. I beg you won't talk as if I could be so +vulgar as not to believe in a deity. Don't rank me with the crowd of +common folk that try to increase their own importance by insisting that +there's nothing above them. Really, an atheist seems to me as bad as a +man who eats with his knife." + +He changed countenance, but her words left him speechless. He could not +hear her speak in this way without being shocked. He might be without +creed, but his temper was still devout. + +"If you've thrown overboard all your old dogmas," she went on with +unruffled face, "you'd better go to work to get a new set. I've just +heard of some sort of a society got up by women out in Cambridge, where +they deduce the ethnic sources of prophetic inspiration--whatever that +means!--from the 'Arabian Nights' and 'Mother Goose.' You might find +something there to suit you." + +He could not answer her; he could only wonder whether she disapproved +of what he had done, or if she were vexed with him for coming to her. + +"It's possible," she went on mercilessly, a fresh note of mockery in +her voice, "that Berenice might help you. Very often a woman wins +converts where a priest fails. After last night"-- + +He came to his feet with a spring. + +"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I can't stand any more. Do you think that it's +been easy for me to find out the truth about myself; to have to own +that I've been a cheating fool, without honesty enough to know my own +mind? As for Miss Morison"-- + +His voice failed him. He was unnerved; the reaction from his long +vigil, from his interview with Father Frontford, overcame him. The +simple mention of the name of Berenice made him choke, and he stood +there speechless. His cousin rose and came to him softly. Before he +knew what she was doing, she bent forward and kissed his forehead. + +"You poor boy," she said in a voice half laughing, yet so gentle that +he hardly recognized it, "don't take my teasing so much to heart. You +are only finding out like the rest of us that it is impossible not to +be human." + +He could answer only by grasping her hand, ashamed of the weakness +which had betrayed him, and touched deeply by her kindness. + +"Come," Mrs. Staggchase said, moving to the bell, and speaking in her +natural tone. "I have helped you to break your life into bits; I must +try to help you to put the pieces together into something better. You +must stay here for a while, and we'll consider what is to be done next. +Will you tell Patrick how to get your things from the Clergy House? +Take your old room. I'll see you at luncheon." + +And as the servant appeared at one door she withdrew by another. + + + + XXX + + + PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + Othello, ii. 1. + + +Berenice had abundant leisure to reflect upon her attitude toward her +lovers, for Mrs. Frostwinch was soon so seriously ill that it was +evident to all that the end was at hand. Berenice devoted herself to +the invalid, although there was little that she could do. The sick +woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to +have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened +grasp. + +"The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say +I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully +convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end." + +"Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee. "It is too dreadful." + +"It won't make it any less dreadful to be solemn over it," the other +answered. "However, death should be spoken of with respect; even one's +own." + +Berenice longed to know what had taken place between her cousin and +Mrs. Crapps, but she hardly liked to ask. That there had been a +disagreement of some kind, and that Mrs. Frostwinch had lost faith in +the woman, she knew; but beyond this she was in the dark. One +afternoon, however, her cousin explained matters. + +"It is so humiliating, Bee, that I can hardly bear to think of it, the +way things turned out. My conscience will be easier, though, if I tell +you the whole of it. It is so vulgar that it makes me creep. We were at +Jekyll's Island, and she had an ulcerated tooth." + +"I thought she couldn't have such things?" + +"She thought or pretended that she couldn't. I must say that she fought +against it with tremendous pluck; but the face kept swelling, and the +pain got to be more than she could bear. When she gave out she went to +pieces completely. She literally rolled on the floor and howled. I +couldn't go on believing in her after that. She'd actually made herself +ridiculous." + +"But," began Berenice, "I should think"-- + +"If it had been something dangerous, so that I had had to think of her +life," went on her cousin, not heeding, "I could have borne it; but +that common thing! Why, her face looked like a drunken cook's! I can't +tell you the humiliation of it!" + +"But if she could help you, why not herself?" + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled wanly. + +"I've tried to think that out," answered she. "It was always said of +the old witches, you know, that they couldn't help themselves. It is +faith in somebody else that is behind the wonders they do. I've grown +very wise in the last few weeks, Bee. I don't pretend that I understand +all the facts, but I do know pretty well what the facts are. I believed +in Mrs. Crapps, and that belief kept me up. When I couldn't believe in +her, that was the end of it." + +There seemed to Berenice something uncanny and monstrous in this calm +acquiescence. She could not comprehend how her cousin could give up the +struggle for life in this fashion, after having succeeded so long in +holding death at bay. + +"But surely," she protested, "you can't be willing to let everything +depend upon her. You've proved the possibility"-- + +"I've proved the possibility of depending upon somebody else; that's +all." + +"Then find another woman that you can believe in." + +"It is too late. I can't have the faith over again. I should always be +expecting another humiliating downfall of my prophetess." + +She was silent a moment, and then continued:-- + +"Do you know, Bee, it seems to me after all that my experience is like +almost all religion. There are a few men and women who believe in +themselves in that self-poised way that makes it possible for them to +get on with just ethics; and there are those who can take hold of +unseen things; but for the rest of us it's necessary to have some human +being to lean on. I hope I don't shock you. I lie awake in the night a +good deal, and my mind seems clearer than it used to be. All the +religions seem to have a real, tangible human centre, a personality +that human beings can appreciate and believe in. Mrs. Crapps was so +real and so near at hand that I could have faith in her; now that that +is gone there isn't anything left for me. I can't believe in her, and +she has destroyed the Possibility of my believing in anybody else." + +Berenice put out her hand in the growing dusk, caressing the thin +fingers of the sick woman. + +"But--but," she hesitated, "she hasn't destroyed your faith in--in +everything, has she?" + +"No, dear; she hasn't touched my belief in God; but it makes me ashamed +to see how different a thing it is to believe in what we see and touch, +from having a genuine faith in what we do not see. I have a faith in my +soul still; the other was only a faith of the body. Perhaps it had only +to do with the body, and it is not so bad to have lost it." + +"Oh, Cousin Anna," Berenice murmured, tears choking her voice, "I can't +bear to see you getting farther and farther off every day, and to feel +so helpless." + +"There, there, Bee," responded the other with tender cheerfulness, "you +are not to agitate yourself or to excite me. I've lived half a year +more now than the doctors allowed me, and I've enjoyed it too. Besides, +think of the blessedness of not having any pain. Do you know, the night +after Mrs. Crapps had that scene in the hotel, I was in a panic of +terror lest my old agony should come back; but it didn't. Then I said +to myself: 'Of course I couldn't suffer; I'm really dead!' You can't +think what a comfort it was." + +"Oh, don't, don't!" cried Bee. "I can't bear to have you talk like +that." + +"Well, then, we won't. There's something else I want to speak to you +about while I am strong enough. Do you realize that when I am gone +you'll be a rich woman?" + +"I haven't thought about it. I've hated to think." + +"Yes, dear, I understand; but when you are older you'll come to realize +that half of the duty of life is to think of things which one would +rather forget." + +"But it could do no good to think of this." + +"Perhaps not; but I want to ask you something. I know you'll forgive +me. It's about Parker Stanford." + +"You may ask me anything you like, of course, Cousin Anna. As for +Parker Stanford, he's nothing more than the rest of the men I know, +only he's been more polite. We are very good friends." + +"No more?" + +"No more; and we never shall be." + +"But he surely wished to be?" The day had darkened until the room was +lighted only by the flames of the soft coal fire which sputtered in the +grate. The cousins could hardly see each other's faces; but in the dim +light Berenice turned frankly toward Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"That is all over now," responded she. "Of course to anybody else I +shouldn't own that there ever was anything; but whatever there may have +been is ended. He understands that perfectly." + +For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the +firelight glancing on her face and hair. + +"How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without +pause she added: "Is there anybody else?" + +Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, +dropping the hand she held. + +"Who should there be?" she returned. + +Her cousin laughed softly. + +"You are as transparent as glass," she said. "Come, who is it?" + +Berenice hesitated an instant, then threw herself forward, bending over +the hand of her companion until her face was hidden. + +"There isn't really anybody; and besides I've insulted him so that he +never could help hating me. No, there isn't anybody, Cousin Anna; and +there never will be. I know I should despise him if he wasn't angry; +and besides," she added with the air of suddenly recollecting herself, +"I hate him for what he said." + +"That is evident," the other assented smilingly. "I could see at once +that you hated him. But who is it?" + +"Why, there isn't anybody, I tell you. Of course I thought about him +after he saved my life, but"-- + +"Oh," interrupted Mrs. Frostwinch. "Then it is Mr. Wynne. But I +thought"-- + +"He isn't a priest any more," Berenice struck in, replying to the +unspoken doubt as if it had been in her own mind. "I heard yesterday +that he has left the Clergy House for good, and is staying with Mrs. +Staggchase." + +"Have you seen him lately?" + +"He overtook me on the street yesterday." + +Mrs. Frostwinch put out her hand with a loving gesture. + +"Bee," said she tenderly, "I want you to be happy. You've been like a +daughter to me ever since your mother died, and I've thought of you +almost as if you were my own child. If this is the man to make you +happy"-- + +But Bee stooped forward and stopped the words with kisses. + +"I can't talk of him," she said, "and he will never be anything to me. +He is angry, and he has a right to be. He"-- + +The entrance of the nurse interrupted them, and Berenice made haste to +get away before there was opportunity for further question. In her +anxiety to know something more of Mr. Wynne, Mrs. Frostwinch sent for +Mrs. Staggchase, who came in the next day. + +Mrs. Staggchase found her friend weak and frightfully changed. The +high-bred face was haggard, the nostrils thin, while beneath the eyes +were heavy purple shadows. A ghost of the old smile lighted her face, +making it more ghastly yet, like the gleaming of a candle through a +death-mask. The hand extended to the visitor was so transparent that it +might almost have belonged to a spirit. + +"My dear Anna," Mrs. Staggchase exclaimed, "I hadn't an idea"-- + +"That I was so near dying, my dear," interrupted the other. "I am worse +than that, I am dead, really; but it doesn't matter. I want to talk to +you about Bee." + +"About Bee?" echoed the other, seating herself beside the bed. "What +about her?" + +"I should have said that I want to ask you about Mr. Wynne. Do you know +anything about his relations to her?" + +"The only relation that he has is that of a perfectly desperate adorer. +He worships the ground she walks on, but he doesn't cherish anything +that could be decently called hope." + +"Then he does care for her?" + +"My dear Anna, it almost makes me weep for my lost youth to see him. He +has so wrought upon my glands of sentiment that this morning I actually +examined my husband's wardrobe to see if the maid darns his stockings +properly. Fred would be perfectly amazed if he knew how sentimental I +feel. I even thought of sitting up last night to welcome him home from +the club, but about half past one I came to the end of my novel and +felt sleepy, so I gave that up." + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled with the air of one who understands that the +visitor is endeavoring to furnish a diversion from the dull sadness of +the sick chamber. + +"But Bee said he was angry with her." + +"The anger of lovers, my dear, is legitimate fuel for the flame. That's +nothing. She's been amusing herself with him, and if she thinks he +resents it, so much the better for him." + +"But is he"-- + +She hesitated as if not knowing how best to frame her question. + +"He is a handsome creature, as you know if you remember him," the +visitor said, taking up the word. "He is well born, he is well bred, if +a little countrified. He's been shut up with monks and other mouldy +things, and needs a little knocking about in the world; but I am very +fond of him." + +"Then you think"-- + +"I think that whoever gets Bee will get a treasure; but I am not sure +that she is any too good for my cousin. He hasn't much money, unless he +gets a little fortune that ought to have been his, and which he has +some hope of. I mean to give him something myself one of these days, if +he behaves himself; but of course he hasn't any idea of that." + +"Bee will have all the Canton money, and can do as she likes." + +Mrs. Staggchase looked down at the carpet as if studying the pattern. + +"Perhaps," she returned. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"If I know Maurice Wynne, the fact that she has money will make him +very slow to speak. Besides, he has a silly crotchet in his head now. +He thinks that if he tried to marry her it would look as if he had +given up his religion for her." + +"Did he?" + +"Bless you, no. He was simply led into the Clergy House by being fond +of a friend; one of those men that young men and old women fall in love +with. Maurice never belonged there at all. I saw that the first day he +came to stay with me at the beginning of the winter. I was abroad while +he was in college, so I never knew him except most casually before." + +"But if he really cares for her he'll get over those obstacles." + +"If she cares for him, he must be made to." + +"I am convinced that she does," Mrs. Frostwinch said. "I am so glad you +speak well of him. I do so want Bee to be happy." + +There was a long silence in the chamber. The two friends sat wrapped in +thought. They had seen so much of life, they had had so many blessings +of fortune, culture, position, wealth, that there was a grim irony in +their sitting here helpless in the face of coming death. To their +reverie, moreover, the mention of love could not but give color. No +woman has ever come to speak of love entirely unmoved, though her heart +may have been deadened or crushed beyond the power of thrilling or +quickening at any other thought. These two, who had led lives so happy, +so protected, so rich, sat there silent before the possibilities which +lay in the love of a girl; until at last both sighed, whether with +regret or tenderness perhaps they could not themselves have told. +Perhaps both remembered their youthful days; remembered how one had +lost her first love by death and the other parted from hers in anger, +making a marriage which seemed more a matter of affronting the man +discarded than of affection for the man she chose. They knew each +other's history so completely that there could be no disguise between +them. Their eyes met, and for an instant there was a suspicion of +wistfulness in the glance. Then Mrs. Frostwinch shook her head, and +smiled sadly. + +"At least," she said, "I shall be spared the pain of growing old." + +"After all," the other responded, "the bitterness of growing old is to +feel that one has never completely been young." + +The sick woman regarded her with burning eyes. + +"But we have been young, Di," she said eagerly. "Surely we had all that +there was." + +"Anna," Mrs. Staggchase murmured, leaning toward her, "we know each +other too well not to say things that most women are afraid to say. We +both married well, and we have cared for our husbands and been happy. +But we both know that there was deep down a memory"-- + +"No, no, Di," her friend interrupted excitedly, "you shall not make me +think of that! I have forgotten all that; and I am dying comfortably. +You shall not make me think of him! Only, dear Di, I want you to help +Bee to marry the man she loves with her whole heart; that she loves as +we might have loved if"-- + +Mrs. Staggchase kissed her solemnly. + +"I promise, Anna." + +Then she rose, her whole manner changing. + +"Do you know, my dear," she observed, in a tone gayly satirical, "that +I believe that Elsie Wilson is going to be beaten in her bishop +steeplechase?" + +"Do you mean that Father Frontford won't be elected?" + +"I mean just that. However, things are still uncertain. It will be +amusing to see what Elsie will do if she is defeated. She is capable of +setting up a church of her own." + +"There are two or three men with whom I have some influence that will +go over to Mr. Strathmore if I am not here to look after them. I must +write to them to-morrow and get them to promise to hold by our side." + +But that night Mrs. Frostwinch died quietly in her sleep, and the +letters were not written. + + + + XXXI + + + HOW CHANCES MOCK + 2 Henry IV., iii. 1. + + +Maurice had seen Berenice only once since his encounter at the ball. He +had hoped and dreaded to meet her, but for more than a week after his +leaving the Clergy House he had failed. One morning he saw her walking +before him on Beacon Street; and while he instantly said to himself +that he trusted that she would not discover him, he hurried forward to +overtake her. His feet carried him forward even while he told himself +that he did not wish to go. He was beside her in a moment, and as he +spoke she raised those rich, dark eyes with a glance which made him +thrill. + +"Good-morning," he said with his heart beating as absurdly as if the +encounter were of the highest consequence. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wynne," she responded, with a manner entirely +abstract. + +She had started and blushed, he was sure, on perceiving him; but if so +she had instantly recovered her self-possession. He was disconcerted by +the coldness of her manner, and began to wish in complete earnest that +he had not overtaken her. + +"I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, his voice hardening, "but"-- + +"The public street is free to anybody, I suppose," she returned, with +an air of studied politeness. "I don't claim any exclusive right to it." + +"I didn't apologize for being on the street, but for speaking to you." + +"Oh, that," answered Berenice carelessly, although he thought that he +detected a spark of mischief in her eye, "is a thing of so little +consequence that it isn't worth mentioning." + +"I venture to speak to you," he said, ignoring the thrust, "because I +have wanted to beg your pardon for my rudeness when I saw you last." + +She turned upon him quickly, her cheeks aflame. + +"Your rudeness?" she exclaimed. "Your brutality, I think you mean!" + +It was his turn to grow red. + +"My brutality, if you choose. I beg your pardon for whatever offended." + +"It was unpardonable! It was a thing no woman could ever forgive!" + +Maurice turned pale. He stopped where he stood. + +"In that case," he said, bowing with formality, "I have no business to +be speaking to you now." + +He turned and was gone before she could add a word. + +This interview probably made neither of the young persons happy; and +Maurice it left entirely miserable. He was not without a proper pride, +however, and in his present frame of mind was ready to call it to his +aid. He bore a brave outward front. He resolved not to think of his +love; yet he was not without the hardly confessed hope that if he could +find the lost will he might be taking a step in the direction of the +realization of his desires. He tried to forget Berenice in the very +means he was taking to bring himself nearer to her. + +He set out for Montfield one bright February day, amused at himself for +the difference in his attitude toward the world from the mere fact that +he had discarded the ecclesiastical garb. It gave him a fresh and +delightful sensation to be traveling on business in clothing like that +of other men. He had no longer any wish to be separated by his dress, +and thought with contemptuous amusement of the lurking +self-consciousness which had always attached itself in his mind to the +fact that he was in a costume apart. He realized now that he had from +this derived a certain satisfaction, half simple vanity and half the +gratification of his histrionic instinct. He felt as if he had been +like a child pleased to attract attention by a feather stuck in his +cap, or a toy sword girt at his side. Now that the whole experience was +past he could smile at it, but he had small patience with those who +still retained the clerical garb. Men have usually little tolerance for +the fault which they have but newly outgrown; and Maurice thought with +a sort of amazement of his late fellows at the Clergy House, and of +their manifest satisfaction in the dress they wore. It was almost with +a sensation of self-righteousness that he enjoyed the habiliments of +ordinary civilized man. + +As the train sped on, and the scenery became more familiar as he +approached nearer to Montfield, Maurice naturally fell to thinking, in +an irregular, detached fashion, of his youth. Both Wynne's parents had +died in his childhood, and there had been little to keep firm the bonds +of family. Alice Singleton he had known, however, both as a girl and as +the wife of his half brother, but he had known only to dislike and +avoid her. He began now to wonder how she would receive him, and +whether she would allude to the scene at Mrs. Rangely's when he had +broken up her spiritualistic deception. + +The train of thought into which reminiscence had plunged him carried +him over his whole life. He realized for the first time that his +religious experiences had been little more than a reflection of those +of Philip. It was Ashe who had interested him in spiritual things, who +had led him into the church, who had practically determined for him +that he should become a priest. For the first time, and with profound +amazement, Maurice realized how completely his theological life had +been the growth of the mind of Ashe rather than of his own. The thought +brought with it a sense of weakness and self-contempt. + +"Haven't I any strength of character?" he asked himself. "In everything +practical Phil has always relied on me. It was always Phil I cared for, +not the church." + +Imperfectly as he was able to phrase it, Maurice was not in the end +without some reasonably clear conception of the fact that in his life +Philip had represented the feminine element. It was by love for his +friend that he had been led on. Now that his reason was fully awake +this emotional yielding to the thought of another was no longer +possible; now that his heart was filled with a passion for Berenice his +nature no longer responded to the appeal of the feminine in Ashe. + +Maurice was half aware that his was a character sure to be influenced +greatly by affection; but he felt that it would never again be possible +for him so to give up to another the guidance of his life as he now saw +that he had yielded it to his friend. He had learned his weakness, and +the lesson had been enforced too sharply ever to be forgotten. + +He was coming now into the region of his old home. The forests were +beginning faintly to show the approach of spring; the treetops were +dimly warming in color, the branches thickening against the sky. Here +and there Maurice looked down on a brook black with the late rains and +with the floods from the snow-drifts still melting on the distant +hills. Now he caught a far flash of the river where he had skated in +winters almost forgotten, so fast does time move, where he had fished +and bathed in summers so long gone that they seemed to belong to the +life of some other. Yet once more and a distant hill, duskily blue +against the bluer heavens, wakened for him some memory of his boyhood, +seeming to challenge him to renew the old joys and to revel in the +by-gone fervors. + +All these things softened the mood in which Maurice came back to the +old town, and as he walked up the village street, so well remembered +yet so strange, he had a sense of unreality. The very homely +familiarity of it all made it appear the more like a dream. He felt his +heart-beats quicken as he approached the Ashe place, wondering if he +should see Mrs. Ashe. He had always, with all his affection, felt for +Philip's mother a sort of awe, as if she were more than a simple human +creature. He found it difficult to understand that Mrs. Singleton +should be staying with her, so incongruous was the association in his +mind of two such women. With Mrs. Ashe, Alice must at least be at her +best. + +He walked up to the house, passing under the leafless lilac bushes with +a keen remembrance of how they were laden with odors in June. He +wondered if the tansy still grew under the sitting-room window, and if +the lilies-of-the-valley flourished on the north side of the house as +of old. Then he knocked with the quaint old black knocker, and with the +sound came back the present and the thought that he had before him an +interview which might be neither pleasant nor easy. + +Mrs. Singleton herself opened the door. + +"I saw you coming," she greeted him, "and there is nobody at home but +me." + +Maurice tried not to look disappointed. + +"Then Mrs. Ashe is not at home?" + +"No; she is out, and the girl is out. Will you come in? You probably +didn't come to see me." + +"But I did come to see you." + +She led the way into the long, low sitting-room, with its many doors +and its wide fireplace, so familiar that he might have left it +yesterday. + +"I can't imagine what you want of me," Mrs. Singleton said, waving her +hand toward a chair. "The last time I saw you you didn't seem very fond +of me." + +She seated herself by the side of the fire in a great old-fashioned +chair covered with chintz and spreading out wings on either side of her +head. + +"You are still angry, Alice, I see," he rejoined. "Well, I can't help +that. I did what was right. How in the world could you make up your +mind to fool those people so?" + +"They wanted to be fooled; why not oblige them?" + +He regarded her with astonishment. He had expected her to deny that her +deception was deliberate, to claim that the manifestations were real. +Her frank and cynical speech disconcerted him. He had no reply. She +broke into a sneering laugh. + +"There," she said, "you didn't come here to talk about that seance. +What did you come for?" + +"I came to ask you if you still have Aunt Hannah's desk." + +She regarded him keenly. + +"The little traveling desk?" + +"Yes." + +"What if I have?" + +"But have you?" + +"Oh, I don't mind telling you that. I don't see that it can do you any +good to know that I have it. I always carry it round with me. It's so +convenient." + +"Will you sell it to me?" + +"Certainly not. If you didn't want it, I might give it to you; but if +you do you can't have it." + +Maurice began to feel his anger rising. He felt helpless before this +woman, with her innocent, baby face, this woman with the guileless look +of a child and a child's freedom from moral scruples, who faced him +with a smile of pleased malice. It might be unwise to tell his real +errand, but she surely could not do any harm greater than to be +disagreeable. There must be some method, he reflected, of getting at +the thing legally; but what it was he was entirely ignorant; and now +that he had shown a desire for the desk he was confident that Mrs. +Singleton would persist until she had discovered the truth. He could +think of nothing to do but to make a clean breast of the whole matter. +He nerved himself to the task, and told her of the finding of Norah and +of what followed. + +"Have you ever discovered that the desk had a false bottom?" he asked +in conclusion. + +"No, brother Maurice. The spirits hadn't revealed it to me. But then I +never asked them about that." + +There was an air of triumphant glee in her manner, an open and mocking +sneer, which dismayed him. He was sure that he had erred in telling her +his secret; yet he reflected that he could hardly have done otherwise, +and that she surely would not dare to refuse to give up a legal +document so important. + +"Will you let me examine the desk?" + +"I am so happy to oblige you," she returned. "Though whether your story +is true or not must depend, you know, upon the unsupported testimony of +the medium--I mean of the speaker." + +Maurice rose and went toward her, facing her squarely. + +"I understand, Alice," he said, "that you don't love me, and I haven't +come to ask favors. This is a matter of simple honesty. I certainly +don't think you would willfully keep me out of my property." + +"Thank you for drawing the line somewhere. It was so noble of you to +interfere at Mrs. Rangely's! You didn't in the least mind robbing me of +my good name, and them of the comfort of believing it was real. +Besides, I did see things! I swear to you that I did! I am a medium in +spite of whatever you say. I can call up spirits!" + +Her voice rose as she went on, and he feared lest she should work +herself into one of her furies of excitement and temper which he had +seen of old. + +"Why should we go back to that?" he said, as gently as he could. "That +is past, and I only did what I thought was my duty." + +"Oh, you did your duty, did you?" she sneered. + +"Well, I'll do mine now. Stay here, while I go and empty that old desk. +I'll match you in doing my duty!" + +She hurried tumultuously from the room, leaving Maurice in anything but +an enviable frame of mind. He began to walk up and down, assailed by +old memories at every turn, yet so disturbed by Mrs. Singleton's words +and manner that he could not heed the recollections. The minutes +passed, and Alice did not return. It seemed to him that she took a long +time to remove her papers from the desk. Then he smiled to himself in +bitter amusement and impatience. Of course his sister-in-law was trying +to discover the secret of the double bottom. She would probably +persevere until she had gained the precious document of which he had +come in search. She would read it, and then--He broke off in his +reverie with an exclamation of impatience. What a fool he had been to +attempt to deal with this woman alone! He had, it was true, expected to +find Mrs. Ashe, but he should have sent a lawyer. What did he, a puppet +from the Clergy House, know of managing the affairs of life? He felt +that he had failed in his match with Mrs. Singleton; and he had almost +made up his mind to go in search of her, when he heard her returning. + +She came in with her face flushed, her eyes shining, and an air of +triumph which struck dismay to the heart of Maurice. + +"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long," she said, "but I had to +light a fire in the parlor, I was so cold. However, I have something to +show you that will interest you." + +"Is it the will?" he asked eagerly. + +She answered with a laugh, but led the way across the narrow front +entry into the parlor. The pleasant noise of a crackling fire sounded +within, and as he entered the room he saw that the fireplace was filled +with a ruddy blaze. Then he rushed forward with a cry. There on the top +of the blazing logs were the unmistakable remains of the desk, eaten +through and through by tongues of red flame. He seized the tongs, and +dragged the burning mass to the hearth, but even as he did so he saw +that he was too late. + +"It is kind of you to want to save my old desk, Maurice," jeered his +companion; "but I had the misfortune to put the poker through the +bottom of it before I called you, so that I'm afraid it really isn't +worth saving." + +He saw that the wood had indeed been punched through and through, and +that it was reduced almost to a cinder. It was easy to see that the +bottom had been double, and burned flakes of paper were visible among +the remains; whether of the will or not it was obviously impossible now +to discover. He looked at the burned bits of board falling into ashes +and cinders at his feet, realizing that here was an end to all his +dreams of regaining his aunt's fortune; that with this dream ended, +too, his visions of being in a position to offer Berenice--His wrath +blazed up in an uncontrollable force. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried, facing the woman who smiled beside him. +"You are a thief, a shameless, deliberate thief!" + +She stood the image of mirthful, innocent girlhood, her smooth forehead +unclouded, her eyes gleaming as if with the merriment of a child. + +"It is a pretty fire, isn't it, Maurice?" + +Then her whole expression changed. Into her dark, dewy eyes came a look +of rage, visible murder in a glance. + +"You called me a liar, there in Boston," she said hissingly. "I am not +surprised to have you add thief now. I have only done what I chose with +my own property; but I would have been cut into little bits before you +should have had that will through me!" + +He could not trust himself to reply. He felt that if he spoke he might +break out into curses, and he was conscious of an unmanly longing to +strike her, to mar that beautiful, false face, childlike and pure in +every line,--for the expression of rage had melted as quickly as it had +come,--to feel the joy of seeing her limbs slacken and her red lips +grow white. He clinched his hands and turned resolutely away. + +"I'm sure I don't know that there was anything there that you had any +interest in," she pursued lightly. "I tried as long as I dared to get +the bottom open, and I couldn't, so I decided that it wasn't any of my +business. Only when I put the poker through there seemed to be papers +there." + +Maurice could endure no more. He started toward her so fiercely that +she recoiled, a sudden pallor blanching her rosy loveliness. Then he +turned abruptly away again, and got out of the house. + + + + XXXII + + + NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + Romeo and Juliet, ii. 4. + + +Interest in the question who would be bishop increased as Lent waned +and the time for the meeting of the convention approached. The general +public could not be expected to be greatly concerned about a matter so +purely ecclesiastical, but the wide popularity of Mr. Strathmore gave +to the election a character of its own. The question was generally held +to be that of the prevalence of liberal views. Many who cared nothing +about the church were interested in seeing whether new or old ideas +would prevail. The age is one in which there is a keen curiosity to see +what course the church will take. It is partly due, undoubtedly, to the +inherited habit of being concerned in theology; it is perhaps more +largely the result of unconscious desire for a liberalism so great that +it shall justify those who have been so liberal as to lay aside all +religion whatever. + +The papers had entered into the discussion with an alacrity quickened +by the fact that at this especial season there was not much else in the +way of news. Rangely wrote for the "Daily Eagle" a glowing editorial in +which he urged the choice of Strathmore on the ground that the new +bishop should be not the representative of a faction, but of the whole +church, and as far as possible of the people. It insisted that only a +man liberal himself could have breadth to understand and sympathize +with all shades of feeling. Others of the secular press had taken up +the discussion, and Mrs. Wilson declared that the devil was +contributing editorials to the papers in his keen fear that Father +Frontford would be elected. + +Lent wore at last to an end, and the festivities which follow Easter +came in with all their usual gayety. One evening, about a week before +the election, a musicale was given at the house of Mrs. Gore. Mr. and +Mrs. Strathmore were present, the tall figure of the former being +conspicuous in the crowd which after the music surged toward the +supper-room and later eddied through the parlors. Fred Rangely came +upon the clergyman at a moment when he had detached himself from the +admiring women who usually surrounded him, and taken refuge in the +shadow of a deep window. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Strathmore," Rangely said. "Are you making a +retreat? I thought Lent was the time for that." + +The other smiled with that kindly benevolence which was characteristic. + +"Ah, Mr. Rangely," he responded, extending his hand. "I am glad to see +you. Will you share my retirement?" + +"Thank you," Rangely answered, stepping into the recess. "A retreat is +especially grateful to a journalist. We get so tired that even a moment +of respite is welcome." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled more genially than ever. + +"Yes; you journalists are expected to know everything, and it must be +wearing to have to learn all that there is to know." + +"Oh, it's easy enough to learn instead how to appear to know." + +The clergyman regarded him with a quizzical look. + +"Is that the way it is done? I've often wondered at the infallibility +of your guild." + +"A trick, of the trade, I assure you. We have to seem to be infallible +to secure any attention at all, you see; and we soon learn the knack of +it." + +The clergyman, as if unconsciously, drew back a little farther into the +shadow of the heavy draperies veiling the nook in which they stood. + +"I dare say," he observed, as if speaking at random, "that one of your +clever professional writers would be able, for instance, to give the +reader quite an inside view even in church matters." + +Rangely's face changed, and he in turn altered his position by leaning +his elbow against the heavy middle sash of the window. The two men were +thus not only concealed from the passing crowd, but stood with faces +screened from each other by the shadow. + +"Oh, even that might be possible," Rangely returned lightly. + +"There is so much interest in church matters now," the other continued +dispassionately. "I noticed that the 'Churchman' had rather a striking +article two or three weeks ago on a layman's point of view of the +bishop question. Did you see it?" + +"I seldom see the 'Churchman,'" Rangely replied in a voice not wholly +free from constraint. + +"It is a pity you didn't see this, it was so well done. It is true that +it proved me to be all sorts of a heretic; but if I am, of course it +should be known." + +There was a pause of a moment. Outside in the drawing-room rose the +constant babble of speech, unintelligible and confusing. Then above it +Rangely laughed softly. + +"The wisdom of the journalist," he remarked, "is as nothing compared to +that of the clergy. How did you discover that I wrote it?" + +"Discover? Isn't that a word applied to finding things by seeking?" + +"What of that?" + +"I was merely thinking that you give me credit for more leisure and +more curiosity than I possess if you suppose me to have tried to find +out about that article." + +Rangely laughed again. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said with a new resolution in his tone, "will you +pardon me if I am frank? I want to ask you what I can do to help you to +secure the election." + +"Don't think I am given to word-splitting, Mr. Rangely, but I've no +wish to _secure_ it. If the church needs me--but, after all, we need +not quibble. Will you pardon me if I say that your question is rather +remarkable coming from the author of the 'Churchman' paper." + +"Although I wrote the 'Churchman' article, I wrote also the 'Eagle' +editorial," was the reply. "I see things in a different light. The fact +is that I was trapped into writing that stuff for the 'Churchman,' and +now I'm anxious to undo any harm I may have done." + +"I am glad that you do not really think me as bad as that article made +me out," Strathmore said. "There have been some queer things about this +election. Mrs. Gore has a letter that a woman has written which +illustrates how injudicious some of those interested have been." + +"What sort of a letter?" + +"A letter that is amusing in a way. Of course I only mention the thing +confidentially. Very likely, though, Mrs. Gore might be willing to let +you see it if you are interested. It was written to a clergyman in the +western part of the State by Mrs. Wilson." + +"Mrs. Wilson?" + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. Of course you know that she is much interested in +the matter. It isn't a very discreet document. I shall be much relieved +when the whole thing is settled. It causes too much excitement, +especially for us who have been named in connection with the office." + +"It can't be pleasant," Rangely assented. + +"It is not, I assure you. Now it is my duty to be talking to ladies and +helping Mrs. Gore. She told me that she depended on me." + +He moved forward as he spoke, and the two were soon in the company +again. Rangely weltered through the crowd to Mrs. Gore and asked about +the letter. + +"It is a trump card," she said. "I am glad you spoke about it. I was +wondering how it could be used to the best advantage. Mr. Strathmore +talks about its being a private letter, but I have a shrewd suspicion +that he wouldn't mind if somebody else used it. Come in to-morrow about +five, and we'll talk it over." + +Maurice Wynne was naturally not entirely at home in this sort of a +gathering. He had not overcome his shyness and want of familiarity with +social usages, so that he was especially relieved when he found himself +comfortably seated in a corner with Mrs. Herman, to whom he could talk +freely. + +"Isn't there something that can be done for Phil, Mrs. Herman?" he +asked earnestly. "I haven't seen him since I left the Clergy House. I +had to come away without saying good-by to him, and in answer to my +letter he says that Father Frontford advises him not to see me for the +present." + +Mrs. Herman sighed, playing with her fan. + +"Life is hard for a nature like his," answered she. "He is born to be a +martyr. He has the martyr temperament. It's part of our inheritance +from Puritanism, I suppose." + +Maurice smiled, looking up impulsively. + +"I can't see why you lay so much stress on Puritanism," he said. "What +has Puritanism resulted in? Its whole struggle has come to an end in +doubt and agnosticism and flippancy. Intellectual curiosity has taken +the place of spiritual stress; ethical casuistry or theological +amusements seem to me to stand instead of religious conviction." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with an inquiring smile. + +"You make me feel old," she interposed; "it is so long since I went +through that stage. Will you pardon me for saying that you are not +quite a disinterested observer?" + +"It is the eyes newly open that see most clearly," he responded, +throwing back his head with a little laugh. "The Puritan came into the +wilderness to establish a city of God. Time has shown that he dreamed +an impossible dream. The result of that effort has been the +establishment of a religious liberty"-- + +"One might almost say a religious license, I own," she interpolated. + +"A religious liberty or license as you like, but at any rate something +that would have seemed to them appallingly wicked,--a thousand times +worse than anything they fled from into the desert." + +Mrs. Herman was silent a moment while he waited for her answer. Her +eyes grew darker, and the color flushed in her cheeks. + +"It is odd enough for me to be the champion of Puritanism," she said at +length, "and yet it seems to me that after all they did their work +well, and that it was permanent. They left on the land the stress of +sincerity and earnestness. Creeds fall away just as leaves drop from +the trees, but each leaf has helped. Religions decay, but the salvation +of the race must depend upon human steadfastness to conviction." + +"Then I suppose that you think Phil is nearer to the heart of things +than I am." + +"Not in the least. The difference between you is superficial rather +than real so long as you are both true to your convictions." + +"But it seems to me," Maurice objected, "that Phil is looking at truth +as a sort of fetish. He seems to feel that the root of the matter is in +a dogma, and a dogma is only the fossil remains of a truth that is gone +by." + +She laughed appreciatively. + +"Have you caught the fever for making epigrams? I'm afraid there's a +good deal of truth in what you say about Cousin Philip. He can't help +looking at religion as an end rather than a means." + +"Has it ever struck you that he might finish by going over to the +Catholics?" + +"No," she answered, "I confess I'd never thought of it; but I see what +you mean." + +"It will seem to him a moral catastrophe, a sort of ecclesiastical +cataclysm," Maurice continued, "if Father Frontford isn't elected; and +as far as I can judge there isn't much chance of that." + +"No," she assented, "I don't think there is much chance." + +"He said to me one day," added Maurice thoughtfully, "that in the +Catholic Church there never could have been any danger of the election +of a heretic bishop. I am afraid this will decide him." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with a smile, studying him as if she were +reading the working of his mind. + +"You think that a misfortune," she commented. "You feel that it is a +step farther into the darkness." + +"It is to narrow rather than to broaden his horizon, is it not?" + +She played with her fan a moment, smiling to herself in a way which he +did not understand, and looking down as if considering some old memory. +Then she met his glance with a look at once kind and wistful. + +"It isn't of much use to argue the matter, I suppose," were her words. +"It seems to me as if in talking to you I see my old mental self in a +mirror, if you'll pardon me for saying so. When we come out from any +conviction, and most of all from a religious belief, it seems to us a +profound misfortune that any man should still believe what we have +decided is false. By and by I think you will see that the chief point +is that a man shall believe. What he believes doesn't so much matter. +It must be the thing that best suits his temperament." + +"Then to outgrow a dogma is to weaken our power. It certainly weakens +our faith in general." + +"Yes," she assented, "that is the price we must pay for freedom; but if +Philip can still believe, I have long ago passed the place where I +should regret it. Perhaps he is to be envied." + +Maurice shook his head. + +"We may feel like that in some moods," he concluded with a smile, "but +certainly nothing would induce you to change places with him." "Oh, +no," she cried; "certainly not. But that is mere womanly lack of logic!" + + + + XXXIII + + + A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +The disappointment of Maurice at the failure of his effort to secure +his aunt's fortune was perhaps rather more than less keen because the +property had never tangibly been his. The title of the fancy is that of +which men are most tenacious, and the thing which has been held in fee +of the imagination is precisely that which it is most grievous to lose. +Maurice returned to Boston completely overcome by the result of his +expedition, his mind overflowing with chagrin and anger. + +It was not only the money which he had missed, but he had to his +thinking lost also the hope of being in a position to press his suit +with Berenice. However intangible might be his plans for winning her, +they none the less filled his mind. He refused to regard her coldness +as enduring. He had in his thoughts imagined so many tender scenes of +reconciliation in which he magnanimously forgave her for the sharpness +of the repulse of their last meeting or humbly besought pardon for his +own offenses, that he came to feel as if all misunderstanding had +really been done away with. It had been in his mind that if he were but +in a position to meet Berenice on equal terms in regard to fortune all +might be well; and to be deprived of this hope was infinitely bitter. + +Meanwhile he had before him the problem of reshaping his life. It was +necessary that he decide what should take the place of the profession +which he had laid down. Fortunately the decision was not difficult, as +former inclination had practically settled the matter. The definite +shaping of his plans came one day in a talk which he had with his +cousin. + +"It isn't exactly my affair, Maurice," Mrs. Staggchase said, "but I +want to know, and that always makes a thing her affair with a +woman,--what are you going to do with your life now that you have +pulled it out of the mouth of the church?" + +"It is good of you to care to ask," he answered. "I suppose I shall +study law." + +"May I talk with you quite frankly?" she asked. "Fred does me the honor +to say that for a woman I have a reasonably clear head." + +"You may say whatever you like, Cousin Diana. I shall only be grateful." + +"Well, then, in the first place, how much have you to live on?" + +"I've about a thousand dollars a year. What was left of the estate at +mother's death amounts to about that. I wanted to give it all to the +church when I went into the Clergy House." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Father Frontford wouldn't allow it. He said that a continual sacrifice +meant more than an act that stripped me of power to decide, and which +might be regretted." + +"That was a noble temper," Mrs. Staggchase remarked thoughtfully. "A +priest is a strange being. As for you, you say you have never believed, +and yet you would have given up everything you possessed." + +Maurice flushed, and looked a little shamefaced. + +"I never did believe, so far as I can see now; but I thought I did, if +you see the difference. My wanting to give up everything wasn't belief; +it was a sort of instinctive desire to play fair. If I were to do the +thing at all, my impulse was to do it thoroughly. It isn't in my blood +to do a thing half way. I'm afraid the explanation doesn't speak very +well for my common sense; but so far as I can understand myself that's +the way of it." + +"But if you didn't believe what were you there for?" + +"I was there because Phil was. I don't pretend to understand why I, who +led Phil in everything else, who did all sorts of things that he +couldn't and had to decide everything else for him, should have +followed his lead so in religion; but I did. It was part of my caring +for him. It would have hurt him so much if I hadn't, that of course I +had to." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him keenly. He turned away his eyes, thinking +of his friend and of the wide gulf which had opened between them, so +that he but half heard and did not understand the comment she made +softly. + +"The _ewigweibliche_ in masculine shape," she murmured, smiling to +herself. "When the real came, it couldn't hold its power any longer." + +"What?" he asked. + +"Nothing. I was speaking in riddles. To come back to business,--you say +you've decided upon the law." + +"Yes. That was always my choice. I read a good deal of law while I was +in college. It wasn't till I graduated two years ago that I fell into +theology. It's two years wasted." + +"Oh, perhaps, and perhaps not. After all, experience in youth is +generally worth what it costs, little as we think so when we pay the +price. Well, then, you can easily live on your income if you choose. +Mr. Staggchase and I will be glad to have you make this your home, +and"-- + +"But, Cousin Diana," he interrupted in astonishment, "there is +certainly no reason why you should burden yourself with me. Not that I +am not a thousand times obliged to you, but"-- + +"Be as obliged as you like," interrupted she in turn, "only don't be +foolish. Fred and I are not exactly sentimentalists, and we both know +what we wish. He likes to have you to talk with, and when you have +learned to smoke you will find him a very clever and agreeable +companion after dinner. He knows the world, and he'll teach you a great +many things that you'd be slow to find out for yourself. As for me, you +amuse me, let us say. The gods have spared us the bother of children; +but the gifts of the gods are always to be paid for, and we begin to +feel as if there were a sort of loneliness ahead of us with nobody to +be especially interested in. To have somebody younger to care for is a +luxury when you are young yourself, but it's a necessity to age. I +assure you that we shouldn't have you here if we didn't want you, and +that we shall turn you out without scruple when we are tired of you." + +"Very well, then," he responded with a laugh, "I am rejoiced to remain +to be a blessing." + +They looked into the fire a little time as if they were considering +what effect upon the future this new arrangement would have; then Mrs. +Staggchase glanced up with a smile. + +"Just now," she remarked, "before you are plunged in the study of the +law, you may do escort duty for me. I am going to call on Berenice +Morison." + +"On Miss Morison?" + +"Yes. Her grandmother is staying with her. Mr. Frostwinch has gone +abroad, you know, and as the old house belongs to Bee, she is staying +on there." + +"But--but she won't care to see me." + +"Very likely not," assented his cousin coolly, "but she'll endure you +for my sake." + +"I don't like being endured," he retorted, between fun and earnest. +"Besides, she's so much money"-- + +"You are not such a cad as to be afraid of her money, I hope." + +"Not in one way, but don't you see now that she has so much, and I have +lost Aunt Hannah's"-- + +"Really, Maurice," she interrupted brusquely, "you must learn not to +speak your thoughts out like that! I'm not asking you to go to propose +to Bee. You have the theological habit of taking things with too +dreadful seriousness. Come with me for a call, and don't bother about +consequences and possibilities." + +Maurice blushed at his own folly in betraying his secret scruples, but +his cousin spared him any farther teasing, and they went on their way +peacefully. It seemed to him when he entered the stately Frostwinch +house that it had somehow been transformed. Everything was much as it +had been in the lifetime of Mrs. Frostwinch, yet to his fancy all +looked fresher and more cheerful. He smiled to himself, feeling that +the change must simply be the result of his knowledge that this was now +the home of Berenice; yet even so he could not persuade himself that +the alteration was not actual. He felt joyously alert as he followed +Mrs. Staggchase to the library, where Bee was sitting with old Mrs. +Morison. + +He had never been in this apartment before. It was high, and heavily +made, with an open fire on the hearth, and enough books to justify its +name. Berenice came forward to meet them, and Mrs. Morison remained +seated near the fire. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Staggchase," Bee said cordially. "It is +just one of those dreary days when it proves true courage to come out." + +"And true friendship, I hope," the other answered, passing on to Mrs. +Morison. "My dear old friend, I wish I could believe you are as glad to +see me as I am to see you." + +Berenice in the mean time gave her hand to Maurice graciously, but with +a certain grave courtesy which he felt to put them upon a purely +ceremonious footing. + +"It is kind of you to come," she said. "Grandmother will be glad to see +you." + +Maurice tried hard to look unconscious, but he could not help +questioning her with his eyes. She flushed under his eager regard, and +drew back a little. + +"I am very glad of the chance to see--Mrs. Morison," he answered. + +Bee flushed more deeply yet. Then she turned mischievously to Mrs. +Morison. + +"Grandmother," she said, "it seems that Mr. Wynne came to see you and +not me." + +The old lady greeted him kindly. + +"I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wynne," she said. "I hope +that your arm does not trouble you at all." + +"Not at all. I was too well taken care of at Brookfield." + +Mrs. Staggchase laughed, spreading out her hands. + +"There," said she gayly, "you see! He has only been in my hands a few +weeks, but I call that a very pretty speech." + +"He probably has a natural gift for pleasing speeches," Berenice +remarked meaningly. + +Maurice crimsoned, but his education had not proceeded far enough for +him to have any reply. + +"Well, take him away, Bee, and give him tea or gossip. I want to talk +to your grandmother about old friends, and you young people won't +understand." + +"He may have tea if he is tractable," responded Bee. "We are evidently +not appreciated, Mr. Wynne. Will you ring the bell over there, please." + +He did as he was directed, and then followed her to the tea-table at a +little distance from the fire. He was full of a troubled joy, the +mingled delight of being with her and the consciousness that he had +firmly determined in his own mind that he had no right to show her his +feelings. He said to himself that he could bear anything else better +than that she should think of him as a fortune-hunter. Her wealth +loomed between them as a wall which it were dishonorable even to +attempt to scale. His brain was busy phrasing things which he longed to +say to her, words seemed to seethe in his head, yet he found himself +strangely tongue-tied and awkward. When most of all he desired to +appear at his ease, he was most completely uncomfortable and +self-conscious. + +A servant came with the tea, and he was able to cover to some extent +his uneasiness by serving the ladies. When this was done, and he sat +nervously stirring his own cup, he found himself searching his mind in +vain for those things which it would be safe to say. His brain was full +of things which must not be said. He could think only of things which +it was not safe to utter; and his discomfiture increased as he saw Miss +Morison watching him with a half-veiled smile. + +"By the way," she said at length, when the silence was becoming too +marked, "I fulfilled your request." + +"My request?" he echoed, unable to remember that he had made any. + +"Yes. Have you forgotten that you came to ask me"-- + +He put out his hand impulsively. + +"Please don't!" he interrupted. "It is bad enough to remember what an +unmitigated idiot I was without the humiliation of thinking that you +remember it too." + +"I remember," she responded, with a sparkle in her eye, "that you did +not seem to relish the mission on which you were sent. However, I +accepted the intention, and I have promised the men a continuance of +their stipends." Her face grew suddenly grave, and she added: "I can't +joke about it, though. I really did it because Cousin Anna would have +wished it." + +They were silent now because they had come so near a solemn subject +that neither of them cared to speak. The thoughts of Maurice went back +to the day he had come to do the errand of Father Frontford, and his +cheek grew hot. + +"I hope you will believe," he said eagerly, "that I had really no idea +of how very ill your cousin was. She seemed so well when I saw her that +it was all unreal to me. I wish I could tell you how sorry I have been +for you. I have thought of you." + +She raised her eyes to his, and they exchanged a look in which there +was more than sympathy. Maurice felt her glance so deeply that for the +moment he forgot all else. Obstacles no longer existed. He was looking +into the eyes of the woman he loved, and thrilling as if her heart was +questioning his. It seemed to him that her very self was demanding how +deep and how true had been his thought of her in her time of sorrow. He +bent forward, sounding her gaze with his, trying to convey all the +unspoken words which jostled in his brain. Her eyes fell before his +burning look, and her head drooped. The room was darkening with the +coming dusk, and they sat at some distance from the others. He laid his +hand on hers. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She rose as if she had not noted. + +"Don't you think it is time for lights, grandmother?" she said in a +voice so unemotional that it sent a chill to his heart. + +"It is certainly time for us to be going home," Mrs. Staggchase +interposed, rising in her turn. + +And far into the night Maurice Wynne vexed his soul with vain endeavors +to decide what Berenice meant by her treatment of him. + + + + XXXIV + + + WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +The grief which Philip felt over the apostasy of Maurice overshadowed +for a time every other feeling. He sorrowed for his friend, praying and +yearning, searching his heart to discover whether his own influence or +example had helped to bring about this lamentable fall; he turned over +in his mind plans for bringing the wanderer back to the fold; he ceased +to think about the coming election, and thought of his ill-starred love +hardly otherwise than as a possible sin which had helped perhaps to +lead to this catastrophe. + +Affection between two men is much more likely to be mutual than that +between two women. Men are more generally frank in their likes and +dislikes, they are as a rule more accustomed to feel at liberty to be +open and to please themselves in their familiarities; and it seems to +be true that men are more constant in friendship, as women are said to +be more constant in love. Affection between women, moreover, is apt to +be founded upon circumstance, while that between men is more often a +matter of character. + +The fondness of Philip and Maurice for each other was of long standing; +it had arisen out of the mutual needs of their natures, and was part of +their growth. Philip was the one most dependent upon his friend, +however, and now he felt as if he were torn away from his chief +support. He reasoned with himself that he had been letting affection +for his friend come between him and Heaven; he tried to feel that +Providence had interfered to break down his idol; yet to all this he +could not but answer that Maurice had been always a help, and that it +was impossible to believe that Providence would accomplish his good by +the hurt of his benefactor. He did assure himself that his suffering +was the will of a higher power, and as such to be acquiesced in and +improved to his spiritual good. If the voice of his secret heart, that +inner self from which we hide our faces and whose words we so +obstinately refuse to hear, cried out against the cruelty of this +discipline, he but closed his ears more resolutely. To listen would be +to yield to temptation. He would not see Maurice; he hardly permitted +himself to read his friend's letters. He answered these notes by fervid +appeals to the wanderer to return to the fold, to be reconciled with +the church, to take up again the priesthood he had discarded. Hard as +it was, he still strove for what he felt to be the other's lasting good. + +Lent ended, and the gladness of Easter came upon the land; the spring +showed traces of its secret presence by a thousand intangible and +delicate signs in sky, and air, and earth: there was everywhere a stir +and a quickening, a blitheness which belongs to the vernal season only. +Philip felt all these things by the growing sharpness of the contrast +between his mood and that of the world without. His melancholy and +unrest seemed to him to grow every day more intense and unbearable. + +That Father Frontford did not more fully realize Philip's condition was +probably due to the near approach of the election. As the time for the +convention drew near, the supporters of the rival candidates redoubled +their exertions; there was hurrying to and fro, writing of letters and +continued consultation, all of which inevitably distracted the +attention of the Father. He did perceive, however, that Philip was +troubled, and nothing could have been more tender or considerate than +his attitude. He did not talk to Ashe about Maurice, but he contrived +to make his deacon understand that no blame was attached to him for the +apostasy of Wynne. Philip found a new affection for the Father +springing in his heart, so soothing, so winning was the sympathy of the +Superior. + +The days passed on until the convention actually assembled. Philip was +feverishly anxious; yet he persistently assured himself that he had no +doubt in regard to the result. He felt that the end had been +accomplished by the work which had already been done; and the +convention itself seemed to him somewhat unreal and unmeaning. It had +in his mind not much more than the function of announcing a result +which he felt to have been arrived at already in the canvassing of +lists of delegates in which he had taken part at Mrs. Wilson's. Until +the thing was formally announced, however, it was impossible to be at +ease. + +The first day of the convention was mainly one of organization and of +preparation. Business was disposed of and all made ready for the +election of the morrow. Philip went into the convention in the hour of +recreation. He tried to be interested in matters which he assured +himself were of real importance; yet he found his memory dwelling on +Maurice and the times they had talked of this convention. Even his +efforts to fix his thoughts on the election itself could not drive his +friend from his mind. He walked home at last, saying passionately that +he had ceased to care for the church, for its welfare, its fate; that +he had cared only for his own selfish desires and interests. He looked +back upon the convention which he had left, and saw mentally a picture +of men who seemed strange and remote, concerned with matters which he +did not understand, in which he had no interest. He felt completely out +of key with everything; he longed for Maurice with unspeakable pain. He +had rested on Maurice. In every mental crisis he had depended upon +finding his friend at hand, sympathetic, strong, responsive; he had +come to be as one unable to stand alone. It seemed impossible for him +to go on longer without seeing his fellow, his friend, his confidant, +his support. The convention and the Clergy House alike became misty and +accidental in comparison with his own desperate need of Maurice. + +A couple of blocks from the House he was joined by a fellow deacon. + +"I say, Ashe," was the other's greeting, "did you ever know anything so +unfortunate as that Wilson letter?" + +Philip turned upon him an uncomprehending face. + +"What is the Wilson letter?" he inquired absently. + +"What? Don't you know about it? I saw you at the convention." + +"I was there a little while; but there was nothing said about a letter, +that I heard." + +"Oh, there has been nothing said about it in the convention, but they +say it will turn the scale." + +"But what is it?" + +"It's a letter Mrs. Wilson--Mrs. Chauncy Wilson, you know--you must +know who she is?" + +"Yes; I know her." + +"Well, this is a letter that she wrote to a rector in the western part +of the State,--his name was Briggs or Biggs, or something of that kind. +She said that if he didn't vote for Father Frontford she could get him +out of his parish." + +"What!" exclaimed Philip. "She couldn't have written such a thing!" + +"There's a fac-simile of it in the hands of every member of the +convention." + +"But how did it get out?" + +"They say," answered the other, eager to impart his information, "that +a man named Rangely had it printed, and sent it around. I don't know +who he is, but he's a newspaper man, I believe." + +"I know who he is," Philip returned, "but I thought he was a friend of +Mrs. Wilson. I've seen him at her house. How did he get the letter?" + +"I'm sure I don't know; but he had it. He's written a circular to go +with it. He says that that is the way the friends of Father Frontford +are trying to secure the election. There is a great deal of feeling +about it." + +"But will it make much difference?" + +"They say that it will turn the scale. There are a number of men who +were in doubt, and this is likely to be enough to insure Mr. +Strathmore's election." + +"What a disgraceful trick!" Philip cried indignantly. "Father Frontford +isn't responsible for what Mrs. Wilson did. Besides, it doesn't change +the real facts of the case. It doesn't make Father Frontford any the +less the right man." + +"Of course it doesn't," was the reply. "But I've been talking with my +uncle. He's a delegate from Springfield. He says that he's sure it will +get Mr. Strathmore elected." + +The news gave Philip a shock, but it seemed impossible that a trivial, +outside trick like this could alter the conscientious vote of the +candidates. He was uneasy, but he seemed to have lost all vital care +about the election, and even this disconcerting event did not greatly +change his feeling. He reproached himself that he cared so little; yet +his personal misery so absorbed him that his thoughts wandered even +from this new cause for self-reproach. + +After supper that night he was summoned to the Father Superior. + +"I wish you to do an errand for me," Father Frontford said. "I presume +that you have heard of the publication of Mrs. Wilson's letter. It may +do harm, and whatever happens I want her to know that I do not blame +her. She acted unwisely, no doubt; but her intention was good. Besides, +I really became responsible when I trusted so much to her judgment. I +shall be happier if I know that she is not thinking that I feel +disposed to be vexed with her." + +The tone in which this was said was too sincere for Philip to doubt +that the Father uttered his true feeling. He looked into the face of +the other, and was struck by the complete weariness, almost exhaustion, +which marked it. He went on his way haunted by those deep-set eyes, so +full of pain, of fatigue, and, it seemed to Philip, of self-reproach. + +Mrs. Wilson was not at home, so that Philip had only to leave the note. +He turned back, crossing the Public Garden in the soft evening. +Overhead was the mysterious darkness, quivering with stars. The air was +full of suggestions of advancing spring. He felt in his veins an +unreasonable restlessness, a stirring as of sap in the tree, a longing +for that which he could not define. He heard around him gay voices and +laughter, for the night was warm, and people were sitting about on the +benches or strolling along the walks. He began to examine the groups he +passed, looking with a curious eye at the couples sitting side by side +in friendly or in loving companionship. He felt so utterly alone, and +all these about him were mated. The tones of women sounded soft and +sweet in his ear. Stray verses of Canticles began to float through his +mind as wisps of vapor drift across the sky before the fog comes in +from the sea. He repeated the collect for the day, and through it all +he was thinking that it was possible to walk past the house of Mrs. +Fenton. The difference in the time of his reaching the Clergy House +would not be so great as to attract notice; he might see her shadow on +the curtain; it was not probable, of course, but it was possible; in +any case, he should feel near to her. He walked more quickly, and as he +did so he heard the notes of a guitar, and then the sound of a girl +singing. It was only the hard, coarse voice of a street-singer, and the +language was Italian. He did not understand the words, but the music +was seductive, the night of spring, star-lit and fragrant with +intangible odors, quickened his sense. Constantly recurring in the +song, as if set there for his ear, he understood the magic word +"_amore, amore_" strung like beads down the necklace warm on a girl's +bosom. Surely he had a right to be human. All the world had leave to +love. He had given Mrs. Fenton up; she was only a memory; he should +never speak to her again; it could not be wrong simply to walk past her +house. He had lost even his friend; if this poor act were a comfort, it +surely was not sin. "_Amore--amore_," sang the Italian girl over there +in the warm, palpitating night. He had consecrated his love as an +offering on the altar; surely he need not therefore deny it. + +He had gained Beacon Street, and was walking rapidly, his cheeks hot +and flushed, his heart on fire. Far down a neighboring street he heard +the approach of a band of the Salvation Army. They were singing +shrilly, with beating of tambourines and clanging of cymbals, a vulgar, +raucous tune, redolent of animal vigor and of coarse passions, a tune +as unholy as the rites of a pagan festival. Ashe stood still as with +flaring torches they drew nearer. The blare of the brass, the vibrant, +tingling clangor of the cymbals, the high, penetrating voices of the +women, the barbaric rhythm of the air, made him in his sensitive mood +tremble like a tense string. He shivered with excitement, nervous tears +coming into his eyes so thickly that he turned away blinded, and +stumbled against a man who was passing. + +"My good brother," exclaimed a rich, Irish voice, jovial, yet not +without dignity, "you don't see where you are going." + +Philip recognized instantly the tones of the priest whom he had met at +the North End; and without even apologizing he answered with an +overwhelming sense of how true were the words in a figurative sense:-- + +"No, I cannot see." + +The other was evidently impressed by the manner in which the reply was +given, for instead of passing on he stopped and examined Ashe closely. + +"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. + +"Providence has sent you to me, I think," Philip returned. Then he put +his hand on the arm of the stranger, bending forward in his eagerness. +"Where do you live?" he asked. "May I come to see you to-morrow +afternoon? It may be that you can tell me where I am going." + + + + XXXV + + + THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + Merchant of Venice, iii. 2. + + +However much or little the ill-starred letter of Mrs. Wilson may have +had to do with it, the fact was that both houses of the convention +elected Mr. Strathmore by majorities sufficiently large to satisfy even +his friends. The lay delegates were more generally in his favor than +the clergy, which circumstance gave for a time some shadowy hope to the +high-church party that the House of Bishops might refuse to confirm the +election; but whatever consolation was derived from such an expectation +was of short duration. The election was ratified, and almost +immediately preparations were begun for the consecration of the new +bishop. + +Father Frontford remarked to an interviewer at the close of the +convention that "it was not the least happy of the incidents of the +election that Mr. Strathmore had been chosen by a majority so decided, +since it indicated clearly the wishes of the church;" and he used his +influence to prevent any attempt to induce the House of Bishops to +oppose the choice of the convention. As soon as the matter was settled +he called upon Mr. Strathmore and offered his congratulations in person. + +"It is true that I would have prevented your election had I been able," +he said frankly; "but that was entirely a question of church polity. I +hardly need say how complete is my confidence in your sincerity and +your ability." + +"Brother," Mr. Strathmore replied, with that smile whose charm no man +could resist, "I thank you for coming, and I thank you for your +generous words. One thing we may be sure of and be grateful to God for. +The church is certainly too great and too stable to be shaken by the +mistakes of any one man. If we differ sometimes about the best way of +showing it outwardly, we at least are one in wishing the best interests +of religion and of humanity." + +Father Frontford had had some difficulty in soothing Mrs. Wilson after +the election. She declared vehemently that the House of Bishops should +not confirm Mr. Strathmore. + +"I will go to New York myself," she announced. "I know I can manage the +Metropolitan. If he's on our side we can prevent that infidel +Strathmore from getting a majority." + +It is possible that Father Frontford, with all his decision, might have +been unable to prevent some demonstration, but Dr. Wilson quietly +remarked to his wife:-- + +"Elsie, we've had enough of this bishop racket. I'm devilish tired of +the whole thing, and I wish you'd find a new amusement." + +"But, Chauncy," she responded, "think how maddening it is to be beaten! +And as for that Fred Rangely, I could dig out his eyes and pour in hot +lead!" + +Wilson chuckled gleefully. + +"You played your private theatricals just a little prematurely. It was +devilish clever of him to get back at you that way; but that letter has +made newspaper talk enough about you, and you'd better drop church +politics. Isn't it time to get your stud into shape for the summer?" + +Elsie shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know. I hate to give it up while there's a fighting chance. +The campaign has been a lot of fun. However, I suppose you are right. +You have a dreadfully aggravating way of being. Besides, I am pretty +tired of parsons, and horses wear better." + +She therefore managed to secure a visiting English duke with a +characteristically shady reputation, gave the most brilliant dinner of +the season in his honor, and retired to her country place in a blaze of +glory; finding some consolation for all her disappointments in the +purchase of a couple of new racers with pedigrees far longer than that +of the duke. + +Easter came that year almost at its earliest, and it was therefore +found possible to have the consecration of the new bishop in June. To +it were assembled all the dignitaries of the church. Boston for a +couple of days overflowed with men in ecclesiastical garb; and if the +general public was not deeply stirred by the importance of the event, +all those connected with it were full of interest and excitement. + +Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening +her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her +intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country +place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had +been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the +people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high +spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she +said:-- + +"I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week." + +"Off for a week? Where are you going?" + +"Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop +Strathmore." + +"Well," her husband said, laughing, "I like your grit. If you can't +win, you won't show the white feather." + +She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child. + +"I'm going for revenge." + +"Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?" + +"Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any +time. It's better fun than that." + +"Well, let's hear." + +"You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in +Boston." + +"Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her +in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." + +"Oh, no; I'm going to meet her." + +"Marion Delegass, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the +French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons." + +"Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen." + +"Is she to take part?" + +"Don't be flippant. I am to give Mlle. Delegass a luncheon. I've +arranged it by letter. By one of the most curious coincidences in the +world it comes on the very day of the consecration." + +"That is amusing, but I don't see that it's much of a revenge." + +"No?" Elsie responded demurely, casting down her eyes. "I am so sorry +that Mrs. Strathmore can't come." + +"Mrs. Strathmore? You didn't ask her!" + +"Why, of course, Chauncy, I wanted to show that I hadn't any ill +feeling against the family of my bishop." + +"To meet Marion Delegass?" + +"Of course. I thought it would liven Mrs. Strathmore up a little. She +always reminded me of water-gruel with not enough salt in it." + +Dr. Wilson burst into a roar of laughter, leaning back in his chair and +slapping his knee. + +"Marion Delegass! Why she's left more husbands and lovers behind her +than a sailor has wives! Marion Delegass and that prig in petticoats! +Well, Elsie, you do beat the devil!" + +"Am I to understand that you know His Satanic Majesty well enough to +speak with authority?" she laughed. "What do you think now of my +revenge?" + +"I don't exactly see where the revenge comes in. She won't come to the +lunch." + +"Come? Oh, no; thank Heaven, she won't come. She'd be like a death's +head in a punch-bowl. She won't come, but she'll tell that she was +invited. She'll be too furious not to tell; and everybody will know +that I asked her. That's all I care about." + +Wilson laughed again. + +"Well," he said again, "you are the cheekiest and the most amusing +woman in town. You'll shock all your relations, but they must be +getting hardened to that by this time." + +Whether the relatives were on this occasion more or less shocked than +upon others was not a question to which Elsie devoted any especial +thought. She gave her luncheon, and all the world knew that she had +invited Mrs. Strathmore to meet Marion Delegass on the day of the +consecration. Mrs. Strathmore was so enraged that she talked flames and +fury, even going so far as to wonder whether there were not some +possibility of excommunication; so that her tormentor was enchanted +with the success of her revenge. + +The consecration took place on a beautiful June day, and was as +imposing a function in its line as Boston had ever seen. Trinity was +crowded to overflowing, and if the ceremony was less imposing than +would have been the induction of a Catholic bishop, it was impressive +and dignified. The sunlight filtering through the windows of stained +glass splashed fantastic colors over the long surpliced train which +wound through the aisles down to the chancel, singing processionals of +joyous hope; the air was full of the sense of solemn meaning; the organ +pealed; the noble words of the fine old ritual spoke to the hearts of +the hearers, and carried their message of a faith which took hold upon +the unseen. Above all the circumstance, the form, the conventions, the +creeds, rose the spirit of the worshipers, uplifted by the thrilling +realization of the outpouring of the soul of humanity before the +unknown eternal. + +Maurice had accompanied Mrs. Staggchase and Miss Morison to the +ceremony. It had been his impulse not to go, but his cousin urged it, +and it needed little to induce him to go to any place where Berenice +was, even though it were a church. He went with some secret misgiving +lest the service should move him more than he wished; but to his +satisfaction he found that while he felt aesthetic pleasure, he was +inclined to be critical about the doctrine of the ritual. His +satisfaction, he reflected, would have been thought amusing by Mrs. +Staggchase; but it at least assured him that he had not been mistaken +in his mental attitude toward the creed he had discarded. + +The thing which most moved him was the sight of Philip among the +surpliced deacons in the procession. Philip's face seemed to him +thinner and paler than of old; he blamed himself that he had not +disregarded his friend's injunction, and insisted upon seeing him. To +his repeated requests Philip had returned answer that he could not bear +the meeting. Maurice had come at length to feel something almost of +resentment at the wall which this prohibition put between them; but +to-day, seeing the white countenance, he experienced a pang of deep +self-reproach. He reflected how sharply his defection must have weighed +his friend down. He should have tried to comfort him; at least he +should have assured Phil that in spite of whatever might come his +affection would remain unchanged. + +He thought lovingly of the old days when he and Phil were together, and +of the plans they had sometimes made for keeping if possible together +even after they went out into the world to work. He had the impatience +of one who has recently put a doctrine by for the blindness, as it +seemed to him, which kept Phil still in the power of the old +superstition; but with his friend's white face, marked with mental +suffering, there to soften him, he dwelt little on this, and much on +his affection for his friend and fellow. + +As Maurice brooded, watching Philip moving slowly down the aisle, +Berenice bent forward to take a book from the rack, and her face came +between him and his friend. The thought of Philip vanished as a shadow +before a sun-burst. He was conscious only of Berenice, sitting there so +near him, her dark eyes serious with the solemnity of the occasion, her +cheeks tinged with a color so lovely that the lining of a shell or the +petals of a rose were poor things with which to compare it. He forgot +all else, and lost himself in a delicious, troubled dream of what might +be. Surely, surely she must love him! He could not give her up; it was +not possible that he should not some day win her. He fixed on her a +look so ardent that it seemed to compel her glance to meet his. The +flush in her cheek deepened, and he reflected with an exultant thrill +that even in the absorption of a time like this he could reach and move +her spirit. + +The rest of the service was little to Maurice. He heard the music, +listened now and then to the words which were being spoken, thought for +a moment here and there upon the strangeness that these people should +be consecrating Mr. Strathmore and not recognizing in the least that +they were assisting at the breaking down of the church; he gave a +little reflection to his own interview with the new bishop, unable +completely to satisfy himself how far Mr. Strathmore was sincere and +how far simply following out a policy; these and other matters floated +through his mind, but they were mere trifles on the surface. His real +thought was of Berenice, always of Berenice. The fluttered, troubled +look which he had seen when his gaze had compelled hers, a look which +seemed to him full of confession of things unutterable, full almost of +appeal as if she realized that she was betraying a feeling that she +feared to own even to herself, this look of a moment so fleeting clocks +could hardly have measured it, filled him with a wild, unreasoning +bliss. He did not again try to challenge her eyes. He sat in a dream of +happiness; a vague, intangible, ecstatic sense that all was well, that +the universe was in tune, and that all things were but ministers of his +joy. + +When the ceremonial was concluded Mrs. Staggchase went home with +Berenice to lunch with Mrs. Morison. Maurice put them into their +carriage, feeling that he could not let Berenice go out of his sight. +He stood on the curbstone watching the carriage as if it had set out on +a voyage to regions unknown and far; then smiling at himself with a +realization of what he was doing he turned back to go home himself. As +he did so he came face to face with Philip. + + + + XXXVI + + + THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + Measure for Measure, iv. I + + +The mind of Philip Ashe had not become more quiet as time went on, and +the day of the consecration found him hesitating between his old life +and a new one. Ever since the chance encounter with the Irish priest he +had been going almost every afternoon to talk with this new friend, and +one by one he had found his doubts about the supremacy of the Roman +church fading away. Ashe was of a nature which must rely upon another, +and since he was shut off from the companionship of Wynne it was +inevitable that he should lean upon this great, hearty, healthy man, +who with the possibility of adding a son to the church received him so +warmly. Philip's nature, moreover, inclined him strongly toward a +church which exercised absolute authority, and in doctrinal points he +found himself surprisingly at one with his teacher. Nothing held him +back but the force of habit and a natural hesitancy to break away from +the faith which he had professed. Undoubtedly his feeling for Father +Frontford counted for much; but the fact, that in the months which had +preceded the election the Father Superior had been so much absorbed +that intimacy between him and his deacons was impossible, had greatly +lessened Philip's sense of loyalty to him. Very tenderly and wisely the +priest led Ashe on, until he was in very truth a Catholic in all but +name. + +To his ardent, mystical mind, deeply responsive to the ritual of the +older church, the ceremonies of the consecration seemed poor and thin. +He craved symbolism and richly suggestive rites. He had been more than +once in these latter days to the services of the Catholics, and his +imagination came more and more to demand the embodiment in form of the +aspirations of his soul. He tried to stifle the disappointment which +assailed him as the function proceeded, but it was impossible for him +not to realize that the ceremonial of his own faith left him cold and +unsatisfied. He missed the warm emotional excitement of the music, the +incense, the sonorous Latin, the sumptuous robes, and the romantic +associations of the mass. + +He felt keenly, moreover, that the man who was being to-day installed +as the head of the diocese was of tendencies distinctly opposed to his +desires. He mingled with disappointment that Father Frontford had not +been chosen a genuine conviction that Strathmore would use his +influence to carry church forms toward a worship ever simpler and more +bare. He could not wholly smother an almost personal resentment against +Strathmore, and a consciousness that it would be always impossible for +him to regard the newly consecrated bishop with that respect and +veneration due to one holding the office. He reflected that the church +must itself be tending toward a dangerous liberalism if it were +possible for this thing to have come about. He listened dully and +confusedly to the service until the time came when the bishop elect +made his vows. He heard the strong voice of Strathmore, vibrant, +deliberate, penetrating, repeat with slow solemnity the promise of +conformity and obedience to the doctrine and worship of the church. The +words tingled through the mind of Ashe like an electric shock. To his +excited feeling Strathmore was perjuring himself in the name of God, +since it was impossible to feel that the new bishop followed or +intended to follow either. He experienced a wild impulse to spring to +his feet and protest; he wondered if he only of all the persons in this +crowded church recognized the shocking irreligion of that vow. He +reflected that in the Catholic communion it would have been impossible +for popular suffrage to raise to the bishopric a man like this, a +heretic and a perjurer. + +The service went on, and Philip sat in a sort of dull stupor. He could +not think clearly; he was only dreamily conscious of what was going on +about him. The music, the prayers, the solemn words were to him so +remote from his true self that he seemed to hear them through a veil of +distance. He had ceased to have part in this rite; he ceased even to +heed it. + +Like one who is lost in idle musing, one who concerns himself with +trifling thoughts lest he realize too poignantly a bitter actuality, +Philip sat in his place, now and then glancing about the great church. +Changing his position a little, he saw the face of Mrs. Fenton. He +dwelt on it with mingled grief and pain. More and more he became +absorbed in gazing, while love and anguish swelled in his heart. He +forgot where he was; he saw her only; he felt only her presence in all +the throng. His passion seemed to him greater than ever. He did not for +an instant think of her as of one who could or would requite his +affection; or even as one who belonged to his future life. He was +filled with a sense of the completeness of his devotion to her; he felt +that he had loved her more than Heaven itself; but he felt also that he +was bidding her good-by. He had not definitely said to himself that a +change was before him; yet looking at her he felt it. The shadow of an +eternal farewell seemed to be over him. He was benumbed with suffering; +he drank in her face greedily; he seemed to himself to be imprinting +for the last time upon his memory that which was dearer to him than +life, yet which he was to see no more. + +The service ended at last, and once more the long procession of which +he was a part slowly made its way out of the church. Philip found +himself in the vestry in the midst of a crowd of ecclesiastics from +which he extricated himself with all possible speed; and got once more +into the open air. He threaded his way among the groups standing on the +sidewalks chatting and hindering him. Suddenly a man turned close to +him, and Maurice stood before his face. + +"Phil!" he heard the joyful voice of his friend cry. "My dear old Phil, +how glad I am to see you!" + +The sound was like a charm which breaks a spell. For the instant all +else was forgotten in the pleasure of being again with his +heart-fellow. He could have flung his arms about the other's neck and +kissed him, so keen was his delight. The doubts and distractions which +a moment earlier had bewildered and tortured him vanished before +Wynne's greeting as a mist before a brisk and wholesome wind. He seized +the hand held out to him, and clasped it almost convulsively. + +"Maurice!" was all that he could say. + +"I really ought not to recognize you," Maurice said, in a great hearty +voice which sounded to Philip strangely unfamiliar. "Why in the world +have you refused to see me? I assure you I'm not contagious." + +They were close to a group waiting on the sidewalk, and with +instinctive shrinking Ashe led the way down the street. Soon they were +walking in much the old fashion, and Philip left his friend's question +unanswered until they had gone some distance. Then he turned with a +smile not a little wistful. + +"Certainly it was not because I did not long to see you," he said. + +Maurice smiled, but Philip sensitively felt a veiled impatience in his +tone as he replied:-- + +"Oh, Phil, if I could only get the ascetic nonsense out of you!" + +Ashe could not answer. He could not reprove his friend after the +separation--which to him had been so long and so sorrowful, and he had +a secret feeling that they were to be more entirely divided. The pair +walked in silence a moment, and then Wynne spoke. + +"Well, I'll not talk on forbidden subjects; but, surely, Phil, you are +not going to throw me over entirely. I wouldn't drop you, no matter +what happened." + +"I'm not throwing you over," Philip answered with a choking in his +throat. "I would--Oh, Maurice," he broke out, interrupting himself, "it +isn't for want of caring for you, but if I am ever to help you, I must +keep my own faith. I have been so troubled and so--There," he broke off +again, "let us talk of something else." + +He felt that Maurice was studying him carefully. + +"Phil, old fellow, you are hysterically incoherent. What's the matter +with you? It can't be all my going off. Can't you come home with me, +and talk it out?" + +Ashe shook his head. The more he was touched and moved by the affection +of his friend, the more he shrank from him. This tender comradeship +seemed to him the most subtile of temptations. He feared, moreover, +lest he might reveal to Maurice too much of what was in his heart. + +"Not now," he said. "I must go home at once." + +"Then I'll walk along with you," rejoined the other. "I do wish you'd +let me help you. You are evidently all played out physically, and half +an eye could see that you've something on your mind. Is it the bishop?" + +"That has troubled me a good deal," Ashe returned, feeling a relief in +being able to say this truthfully. + +"Well, Phil, if you worry yourself sick over what you can't help, what +strength will you have for the things that you can do? I'm glad it +isn't all my going that has brought you to this, for you look +positively ill. I wish you'd get sick-leave, and go off a while." + +Ashe shook his head again. He felt that if Maurice went on talking to +him he should lose his self-command. He must get away; yet he could not +bear to hurt his friend. He turned toward Maurice and held out his hand. + +"Dear Maurice," he said, "don't be hurt; but I can't talk with you. I +must be alone. I am upset, and not myself. It is not that I don't trust +you, you know; but there are things that a man has to fight out for +himself." + +The other stopped, and regarded him closely. + +"All right, Phil," he said. "I understand. If you've got a fight with +the devil on hand nobody can help you. I only wish I could." + +He wrung the hand of Ashe, and added: + +"Good-by. I'm always fond of you, old fellow; and you know that when +there is a place that I can help there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." + +Ashe tried to answer, but he could not command his voice. He could only +return the warm pressure of Wynne's hand, and then, miserable and +hopeless, go on his way to his conflict with the arch fiend. + +Once in his chamber Ashe fastened the door, drew down the shades, and +lighted the gas. He laid aside his cassock, and loosened his clothing +so that his breast lay bare. He took from a drawer a little crucifix of +iron. This he placed across the chimney of the gas-burner, and watched +it until it was heated. Then he seized it with his fingers, but the +stinging pain made him drop it to the floor. He bared his breast, +wildly calling aloud to heaven, and flung himself down upon the +crucifix, pressing the hot iron to his naked bosom. A fierce shudder +convulsed him; he extended his arms in the form of a cross, and with +closed eyes lay still an instant. A horrible odor filled the room; +great drops of sweat dripped from his forehead; his teeth were set in +his lower lip. For a moment he remained motionless; then in +uncontrollable agony he writhed over upon his back and fainted. + +The return to consciousness was a terrible sensation of misery and +weakness. He was heart-sick and racked in body and mind. Feebly he +rose, and gathered his scattered senses. Then with trembling he got to +his feet. His wound gave him bitter agony, but the bodily pain made him +smile. He took from the same drawer a picture of the Madonna, and knelt +before it with clasped hands. His doubts, his passion, his +self-reproaches, danced like demons before his distracted brain. The +troubled, stormy thoughts of his distraught mind merged insensibly into +prayers. He put aside the clothing and showed to the Virgin Mother his +wounded breast, scarred and bleeding. He looked into her face with +murmured words of contrition, of imploring, of faith. A gracious sense +of her womanly pity, of her heavenly tenderness, stole soothingly over +him. He seemed almost to feel cool hands on his hot forehead; it was as +if in a moment more the heavens might open and grant to him the +beatific vision. There came over him a wave of joy which was beyond +words. The longing of his soul for the woman he loved was merged in the +desire of his heart which yearned toward the blessed Virgin Mother. His +prayers became more glowing, more ecstatic, until in a rapture of +adoration, of bliss, of passion, he fell prostrate before the divine +image, crying out with all his soul:-- + +"Thou ever blessed one! To thee I give myself! 'O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave,' receive me, save me!" + +He had no sense of incongruity to make the phrase unseemly or +ludicrous. It was to him the formal transfer of his deepest allegiance +from an earthly love to a heavenly. He had at last found peace. + + + + XXXVII + + + THIS IS NOT A BOON + Othello, iii. 3. + + +It was Mrs. Wilson who was the immediate means of bringing about an +understanding between Maurice and Berenice. Mrs. Wilson was never so +occupied that she was not able to attend to any new thing which might +turn up, and her interest in the spring races did not prevent her from +having a hand in the affairs of the lovers. While she was in town +attending to the luncheon for Marion Delegass she dined with Mrs. +Staggchase, and Maurice took her down. + +"I understand that you are a renegade," she remarked vivaciously as +soon as they were seated. "I wonder you dare look me in the face." + +"Because you are the church?" he demanded. + +"Certainly not now that that Strathmore is bishop," she retorted, +tossing her head. "However, I always said that you were too good to be +wasted in a cassock." + +"Thank you. What would you say if I made such a reflection on the +clergy?" + +"Oh, I've no patience with the clergy!" she declared. "They bore me to +death. There's that solemn-faced friend of yours, Mr. Ashe--his name +ought to be Ashes!--he actually lectured me on my worldliness! _My_ +worldliness, if you please, and I working myself to a shadow for the +election of Father Frontford!" + +"He has imagination, you see," Maurice suggested, smiling. + +"Now you are sneering, Mr. Wynne. I shall talk to the man on the other +side." + +She was good as her word, and left Maurice to devote himself to the +lady on his right. He had the American adaptability, and a couple of +months had sufficed to make him reasonably at ease at a dinner. The +continuous delight he felt in his freedom, moreover, inspired him with +an inclination to be frank and communicative, so that if he did not +talk like the conventional man of the world, he managed not to sit +silent. His neighbor to-night was Mrs. Thayer Kent, and he chatted +easily with her about the West, where for a couple of years she had +been living on a ranch. Something in Mrs. Kent's talk reminded him of +Berenice, and he sighed inwardly that the latter's mourning prevented +her from going out. As if the thought had been spoken aloud, Mrs. +Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:-- + +"It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since +the Mardi Gras ball?" + +"Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush. +"I saw her yesterday at the consecration." + +"Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for +Marion Delegass." + +"So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do." + +"Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for +deserting me in the middle of the service that night." + +"I had to take care of that girl. She fainted." + +"Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't +care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story +you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there." + +Wynne was too confused to answer this sally, although he wanted to say +something about the cruelty of taking him into the ball-room. His +confusion increased Mrs. Wilson's amusement. + +"I think I should like to be in at the death," she said. "She is coming +down to stay with me next week. Come down and make love to her. I won't +tell about the girl you carried out of church in your arms." + +More and more disconcerted and self-conscious, Maurice could only +stammer that Mrs. Wilson flattered him if she supposed that Miss +Morison would tolerate any love-making on his part. + +"You are adorable when you blush like that," was the reply which he +got. "I have almost a mind to set you to make love to me. However, that +wouldn't be fair. I will take it out in seeing you and her. You must +surely come down." + +Maurice regarded the invitation as merely part of Mrs. Wilson's +badinage, but in due time it was formally repeated by note. He opened +the letter at the breakfast table, and was advised by his cousin to +accept. + +"Mrs. Wilson," she commented, "is like a banjo, more exciting than +refined, but she isn't bad-hearted. She has the old Boston blood and +traditions behind her." + +"They are sometimes rather far behind," interpolated Mr. Staggchase +dryly. "She wasn't a Beauchester, you know. However, she has her +ancestors safe in their graves so that they can't escape her." + +Mrs. Staggchase smiled good-naturedly at the little fling at her own +family pretensions. + +"You are wicked this morning, Fred," was her reply. "Elsie is something +of a sport on the ancestral tree; but she is worth visiting. Berenice +Morison is going down there sometime soon. Perhaps she will be there +with you, Maurice." + +"I thought," Mr. Staggchase observed, "that old Mrs. Morison didn't +approve of Mrs. Wilson." + +"Nobody approves of Elsie," was Mrs. Staggchase's calm reply. "I'm sure +I don't; but after all she is a sort of cousin of Berenice, and she +can't very well refuse to visit her. Really, there is nothing bad about +Elsie. She is startling, and she certainly does things which are bad +form. That's half of it because she married as she did." + +Nothing more was said, and Maurice kept his own counsel in regard to +the fact that he knew that Miss Morison was to be his fellow-guest. He +was full of wild hopes. He reproached himself that he was wrong to +forget that Berenice was rich and he was poor; yet not for all his +reproaches could he keep himself from feeling Mrs. Wilson had not +seemed to see any insurmountable obstacle to his wooing; that she had +appeared rather to be ready to help his suit. He must not, of course, +try to win Berenice; yet he was going to Mrs. Wilson's to meet her, to +be with her, to revel in the delicious pleasure of hoping, of fearing, +of loving. + +The house of the Wilsons at Beverly Farms was on a bluff overlooking +the sea. It was reached by a long avenue winding through pines mingled +with birches and rowan trees; and stood in a clearing where all the day +and all the night the sound of the waves on the cliff answered the +whispering of the wind in the pine-tops. The broad piazzas of the house +looked out over the sea, and gave views of the islands off shore, the +ever-changing water, the beautiful curves of the sea marge, now high +with defiant rocks, and now falling into sandy beaches. A level lawn, +velvety and green, stretched from the house to the edge of the cliff, +with here and there a rustic seat or a century plant stiff and arrogant +in its lonely exile from warmer climes. + +On this piazza Maurice found himself, just before dinner on the evening +of his arrival, walking up and down with Berenice. It was still cool +enough to make the exercise grateful. + +"It is so delightful to have the weather warm enough to be out of doors +without being all bundled up," she said, looking over the sea, cold +green and gray in the declining light. + +"The water doesn't look very warm," Maurice responded, following her +gaze. + +"No, it isn't exactly summer yet," she replied lightly. "Do you know," +she added, turning to meet his eyes, "I can't help thinking how +different this is from the last time we were together away from Boston." + +"When we were at Brookfield?" + +"Yes." + +"It is different; more different to me than you can have any idea of. +Then I was a cog in a machine; now I am my own master." + +They walked to the end of the piazza, turned, and came down again. They +were facing the light now, and her face shone with the pale glow of the +declining day. In her black dress, with a soft shawl thrown about her, +she was dazzling; and Maurice found it difficult not to take her in his +arms then and there. + +"It must have been a strange feeling," she observed thoughtfully, "to +know that you were not master of your own movements, but had to do as +you were told, whether you approved of it or not." + +"Strange," he echoed, a sense of slavery coming over him which was far +stronger than anything he had felt while the bondage lasted, "it was +intolerable!" + +"Yet you endured it?" she returned, regarding him curiously. + +"Yes, I endured it. In the first place, I thought that it was my duty; +and in the second, it was not so hard until I had seen"-- + +"Well, until you had seen?"-- + +"Until I had seen you, I was going to say." + +Berenice flushed, and tossed her head. + +"You have caught a pretty trick of paying compliments, Mr. Wynne." + +"No," he answered with gravity, "I have only the mistaken temerity to +say the truth." + +She regarded him with a mocking light in her deep, velvety eyes. + +"And is it the truth that you have given up your religion because you +have seen me?" + +Maurice wondered afterward how he looked when she sped this shaft, for +he saw her shrink and pale. She even stammered some sort of an apology; +but he did not heed it. Although he was sure that he should sooner or +later have come to the same conclusion whether he had met Berenice or +not, he knew in his secret heart that there was in her words some savor +at least of truth. He felt their bitterness to his heart's core, and +could only stand speechless, reproaching her with his glance. If they +were true it was cruel for her to say them. He regarded her a moment, +and then turned toward the long French window by which they had come +out of the house. Berenice recovered herself instantly, and behaved as +if nothing had occurred to mar the serenity of their talk. + +"Yes," she said in an even voice, "you are right. It is becoming too +cold to stay out here." + +He held open the window for her, and she swept past him with a soft +rustle and a faint breath of perfume. He did not follow, but drew the +window to behind her and continued his promenade alone until he was +summoned to dinner. All his glorious air-castles had fallen in ruins +about his feet, and he rated himself as a fool for having come to +Beverly Farms to meet this girl who evidently flouted him. + +The result of this conversation was to bring Maurice to the resolution +to return to town. All the doubts which had been in his mind arose like +ghosts ill exorcised, more tangible and more insistent than ever. He +realized that he had come here fully persuaded in his secret heart that +Miss Morison must love him, and with the hope of winning some proof of +it. Now he assured himself that she did not care for him and that he +had been a fool to indulge in a dream so absurd. The obstacles which +lay between them presented themselves to him in a dismal array. He +decided that she could have no respect for him, or she could not have +thrown at him the implication that he had apostatized from selfish +motives. With all the awful solemnity with which a man deeply in love +examines trifles, he recalled her looks and words, deciding that he was +to her nothing more than the butt of her light contempt; and secretly +wondering when and where he should see her again, he decided to leave +her forever. + +He announced his determination next morning to his hostess. As he could +not well give the real reason for his decision, and had no experience +in social finesse, he came off badly when asked why he had come to this +sudden decision. He could not equivocate; and when Mrs. Wilson asked +him point-blank if Berenice had been treating him badly, he could only +take refuge in the reply that it was not for him to criticise what Miss +Morison chose to do. He persisted in his resolution to return to +Boston, feeling obstinately that he could not with dignity remain where +he was while Berenice was there. A man of the world would at once have +seen the folly of such a course, but Maurice was not a man of the world. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson said, after she had argued with him a little, "you +have retained the clerical obstinacy, whatever else you've given up. I +am not in the habit of pressing my guests to stay if they are tired of +my society. If you choose to go, of course you will go." + +"Oh, it is not that I am tired of your society," poor Maurice put in +eagerly. + +"If I were a man," his hostess went on, "I never would let a woman see +that I minded how she treated me. You'd soon have her coming down from +her high horse if you showed her that you didn't care." + +Maurice flushed painfully. It was impossible for him to talk to Mrs. +Wilson about his feeling for Berenice. + +"I am afraid that I had better go," he said, with eyes abased. + +She regarded him with a mixture of impatience and amusement struggling +in her face. + +"By all means go," she retorted. "I'll tell Patrick to be at the door +in time to take you to the three o'clock train." + +She swept away rather brusquely, leaving him disconsolate and uneasy. +He felt that he had bungled matters; but before he had time to consider +Berenice appeared, and joined him on the piazza. + +"I am sent by Mrs. Wilson," she announced, "to ask you to stay." + +"You take some pains to clear yourself from the suspicion of having any +interest in the matter." + +"'I am only a messenger,'" she quoted saucily, seating herself on the +rail of the piazza in the sunshine, and looking so piquant that Maurice +felt resolution and resentment oozing out of his mind with fatal +rapidity. + +He flushed at her allusion to his ill-considered interview with her, +but he could not for his life be half so indignant as he wished to be. + +"Apparently an indifferent messenger. You evidently do not care whether +I go or I stay." + +"Why should I?" + +"Why should Mrs. Wilson?" he retorted, not very well knowing what he +was saying. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilson is your hostess. Besides," Bee went on, a delightful +look of mischief coming into her face, "she said that she hated to have +her plans interfered with, and that you were so handsome that she liked +to have you about." + +Maurice flushed with a strangely mixed sensation of pleased vanity and +irritation, and was angry with himself that he could not receive her +jesting unmoved. He bowed stiffly. + +"I am very sorry," he returned, "that Mrs. Wilson should be deprived of +so beautiful an ornament for her place." + +"Then you will go?" Bee demanded, looking at him with mirthful eyes, a +glance which so moved him that he could not face it. + +"I see no reason why I should remain." + +"There certainly can be none if you see none. Well, I want to give you +something of yours before you leave us." + +She drew from the folds of her handkerchief the little grotesque mask +which she had pinned upon her lover's cassock at the Mardi Gras ball. +Maurice flushed hotly at the sight. + +"You are determined, Miss Morison, to spare me no humiliation in your +power." + +"Humiliation?" she echoed. "Why, I was humiliating myself. Seriously, +Mr. Wynne, I have been ashamed of that performance ever since; and I +most sincerely beg your pardon. The humiliation is mine entirely." + +"But where in the world," demanded he, a new thought striking him, "did +you get the thing? You know I threw it on the table." + +"Miss Carstair gave it to Mr. Stanford, and I got it from him." + +Maurice came a step nearer. + +"Why?" he asked, his voice deepening. + +"I--I didn't like to have him keep it," Bee murmured, with downcast +face and lower tone. + +"Why?" he repeated, so much in earnest that his voice was almost +threatening. + +She was for a moment more confused than ever, but rallying she held out +the mask. + +"Oh, that I might tease you with it again!" she laughed. + +He took the absurd trinket in his hand. + +"It is pretty badly dilapidated," he observed. + +"Yes," she said demurely. "I crushed it in the carriage on the way home +from the ball. I--I crumpled it up in my hand." + +"Why?" + +"You keep saying 'why' over and over to me, Mr. Wynne, as if I were on +the witness-stand." + +"Why?" he persisted. + +He had forgotten all the doubts which had beset and hindered him, the +scruples he had had about wooing, and the fears that she did not love +him. He was conscious only that she was there before him and that he +loved her; that her downcast looks seemed to encourage him, so that it +was impossible to rest until he knew what was really in her mind. The +unspoken message which he had somehow intangibly received from her made +him forget everything else. He loved her; he loved her, and a wild hope +was beating in his heart and seething in his brain. He could not turn +back now; he must know. He saw her grow paler as he looked at her, +standing so close that his face was bent down almost over her bent +head. He felt that her secret, nay, the crown of life itself, was +within his grasp if he did not fail now. + +"Why?" he asked still again, hardly conscious that he said it, and yet +determined that he would win an answer at whatever cost. + +She raised her face slowly, shyly; her eyes were shining. + +"Because," she said, hardly above a whisper, "I was determined to +convince myself that I hated you. But then"-- + +Her words faltered, yet he still did not dare to give way to the warm +tide which he felt swelling up from his heart. His voice softened +almost to the tone of hers. + +"But then?" + +The crimson stained her beautiful face, and faded. + +"I think I--I kissed it," she murmured, so low that the words were mere +phantoms of speech. + +He tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat. He sprang +forward, and gathered her into his arms. It is an art which even +deacons may know by nature. + +When the pair came in to luncheon an hour later, Mrs. Wilson looked up +at them, and then without question turned to a servant. + +"You may tell Patrick that we shan't need the carriage for the +station," that sagacious woman said coolly. + +Maurice was both surprised and touched by the gratification which his +engagement gave to his friends. Mrs. Wilson might be expected to take +satisfaction, since any woman is likely to approve of any match which +she may be allowed to have a hand in promoting; the Staggchases were +delighted, and Mrs. Morison received him with a kindness which moved +him more than anything else. Mrs. Morison treated him much as if he +were her son. She spoke wisely to him about his future, and she had a +word of warning on the subject of his attitude toward religion. + +"My dear Maurice," she said, after she had come to call him by that +name, "let me give you a caution. The most fanatical belief is less +evil than dogmatic denial. If you are really the agnostic you claim to +be, your very confession that the truth is too great for human grasp +binds you to respect the unknown." + +"But one cannot respect dogmas," he objected. + +"We were not speaking of dogmas," she responded with sweet and +dignified earnestness, "but of the mystery of life and the great +unknown that incloses it. The great fault and danger of this age is +that it is all for breaking down. It reforms abuses and improves away +old errors; but it seems to forget the need of providing something to +take the place of what it clears away. Men can no more live without a +belief than without air." + +"But it is hard to have patience with what one sees to be false." + +"What one believes to be false, you mean. It isn't easy to have +patience with those who hold to theories that we've laid by; but surely +it is impossible not to respect the spirit in which any honest soul +sincerely believes." + +"Yes," Maurice assented, somewhat doubtfully; "but it is so hard to +have patience with creeds that are entirely outworn." + +The old lady smiled and shook her head. + +"Again I have to say 'which seem to you outworn.' A creed is never +really outworn so long as a single man sincerely believes in it. +However, you may have as little patience as you like with them if you +will only remember that after all the creed itself is nothing, while +the attitude of the mind to truth is everything. If you respect +conviction, that is all I ask." + +Mrs. Staggchase at another time had also an ethical word for him. +Maurice was deeply moved by the fact that Philip had gone into the +Catholic church and entered a monastery at Montreal. Like his friend, +Ashe had left the Clergy House as soon as he had come to the decision +to which his doubts led. He had seen Maurice, and had talked to him +unreservedly of his faith and of his plans. It was idle to attempt to +move him; and it was after bidding the proselyte good-by that Maurice +was talking of him to Mrs. Staggchase, and lamenting what occurred. + +"My dear fellow," she observed in her faintly satirical manner, "I know +that I'm growing old, because whereas my convictions used to be all +right and my actions all wrong, now my actions are right enough, but my +convictions have all evaporated. Mr. Ashe is still young enough to need +convictions, and the more rigid they are the more contented he'll be." + +"But with his training, to turn out in this way," responded Maurice. +"It's amazing. Think of a New England Puritan turned Catholic!" + +"On the contrary, it is the most natural thing in the world. His +Puritan training is what has made him a Catholic." + +Maurice thought a moment in silence. + +"I suppose," he said at length, "that in this age there are only two +things possible for a thinking man. One must go over to Rome and rest +on authority, or choose to use his reason, and be an agnostic." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him with a smile which made him flush a little. + +"'No doubt but ye are the people,'" she quoted, "'wisdom shall die with +you.' Yet I have known persons really of intellectual respectability +who haven't found it necessary to do either." + +He was too wise to answer her. He remembered that it was time to keep +an appointment with Berenice, and he smiled with the air of one too +happy to be ruffled. + +"I suppose," he remarked, as he rose to go, "that if I would give you +the chance you would easily prove that Phil and I both are merely +Puritans more or less disguised!" + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + +***** This file should be named 8522.txt or 8522.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/5/2/8522/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner 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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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89173c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #8522 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8522) diff --git a/old/7prtn10.txt b/old/7prtn10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e60b6b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7prtn10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13961 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Puritans + +Author: Arlo Bates + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8522] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 19, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + The Puritans + + + By + + + Arlo Bates + + + The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. + _All's Well That Ends Well_, iv. 3. + + + + + +"Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her till I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me." + _Persian Religious Hymn. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + II. THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + III. AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + IV. SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + V. VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + VI. HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + VII. THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + VIII. LIKE COVERED FIRE + IX. HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + X. A SYMPATHY OF WOE + XI. IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + XII. THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE + XIII. A NECESSARY EVIL + XIV. HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + XV. HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + XVI. THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + XVII. A BOND OF AIR + XVIII. CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + XIX. 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + XX. IN WAY OF TASTE + XXI. THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + XXII. THE BITTER PAST + XXIII. THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + XXIV. FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + XXV. WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + XXVI. O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + XXVII. UPON A CHURCH BENCH + XXVIII. BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + XXIX. WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + XXX. PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + XXXI. HOW CHANCES MOCK + XXXII. NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + XXXIII. A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + XXXIV. WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + XXXV. THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + XXXVI. THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + XXXVII. THIS IS NOT A BOON + + + + + THE PURITANS + + + + + I + + + AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + Henry VIII., i. 3. + + +"We are all the children of the Puritans," Mrs. Herman said smiling. +"Of course there is an ethical strain in all of us." + +Her cousin, Philip Ashe, who wore the dress of a novice from the Clergy +House of St. Mark, regarded her with a serious and doubtful glance. + +"But there is so much difference between you and me," he began. Then he +hesitated as if not knowing exactly how to finish his sentence. + +"The difference," she responded, "is chiefly a matter of the difference +between action and reaction. You and I come of much the same stock +ethically. My childhood was oppressed by the weight of the Puritan +creed, and the reaction from it has made me what you feel obliged to +call heretic; while you, with a saint for a mother, found even +Puritanism hardly strict enough for you, and have taken to semi- +monasticism. We are both pushed on by the same original impulse: the +stress of Puritanism." + +She had been putting on her gloves as she spoke, and now rose and stood +ready to go out. Philip looked at her with a troubled glance, rising +also. + +"I hardly know," said he slowly, "if it's right for me to go with you. +It would have been more in keeping if I adhered to the rules of the +Clergy House while I am away from it." + +Mrs. Herman smiled with what seemed to him something of the tolerance +one has for the whim of a child. + +"And what would you be doing at the Clergy House at this time of day?" +she asked. "Wouldn't it be recreation hour or something of the sort?" + +He looked down. He never found himself able to be entirely at ease in +answering her questions about the routine of the Clergy House. + +"No," he answered. "The half hour of recreation which follows Nones +would just be ended." + +His cousin laughed confusingly. + +"Well, then," she rejoined, "begin it over again. Tell your confessor +that the woman tempted you, and you did sin. You are not in the Clergy +House just now; and as I have taken the trouble to ask leave to carry +you to Mrs. Gore's this afternoon, more because you wanted to see this +Persian than because I cared about it, it is rather late for +objections." + +Philip raised his eyes to her face only to meet a glance so quizzical +that he hastened to avoid it by going to the hall to don his cloak; and +a few moments later they were walking up Beacon Hill. + +It was one of those gloriously brilliant winter days by which Boston +weather atones in an hour for a week of sullenness. Snow lay in a thin +sheet over the Common, and here and there a bit of ice among the tree- +branches caught the light like a glittering jewel. The streets were +dotted with briskly gliding sleighs, the jingle of whose bells rang out +joyously. The air was full of a vigor which made the blood stir briskly +in the veins. + +Philip had not for years found himself in the street with a woman. +Seldom, indeed, was he abroad with a companion, except as he took the +walk prescribed in the monastic regime with his friend, Maurice Wynne. +For the most part he went his way alone, occupied in pious +contemplation, shutting himself stubbornly in from outward sights and +sounds. Now he was confused and unsettled. Since a fire had a week +earlier scattered the dwellers in the Clergy House, and sent him to the +home of his cousin, he had gone about like one bewildered. The world +into which he was now cast was as unknown to him as if he had passed +the two years spent at St. Mark's in some far island of the sea. To be +in the street with a lady; to be on his way to hear he knew not what +from the lips of a Persian mystic; to have in his mind memory of light +talk and pleasant story; all these things made him feel as if he were +drifting into a strange unknown sea of worldliness. + +Yet his feeling was not entirely one of fear or of reluctance. +Sensitive to the tips of his fingers, he felt the influences of the +day, the sweetness of his cousin's laughter, the beauty of her face. He +was exhilarated by a strange intoxication. He was conscious that more +than one passer looked curiously at them as, he in his cassock and she +in her furs, they walked up Beacon Street. He felt as in boyhood he had +felt when about to embark in some adventure to childhood strange and +daring. + +"It is a beautiful day," he said involuntarily. + +"Yes," Mrs. Herman answered. "It is almost a pity to spend it indoors. +But here we are." + +They had come into Mt. Vernon Street, and now turned in at a fine old +house of gray stone. + +"Is there any discussion at these meetings?" he asked, as they waited +for the door to be opened. + +"Oh, yes; often there is a good deal. You'll have ample opportunity to +protest against the heresies of the heathen." + +"I do not come here to speak," he replied, rather stiffly. "I only come +to get some idea of how the oriental mind works." + +He felt her smile to be that of one amused at him, but he could not see +why she should be. + +"I must give you one caution," she went on, as they entered the house. +"It's the same that the magicians give to those who are present at +their incantations. Be careful not to pronounce sacred words." + +"But don't they use them?" + +"Oh, abundantly; but they know how to use them in a fashion understood +only by the initiated, so that they are harmless." + +They passed up the wide staircase of Mrs. Gore's handsome, if over- +furnished house. They were shown into the drawing-room, where they were +met by the hostess, a tall, superb woman of commanding presence, her +head crowned with masses of snow-white hair. Coming in from the +brilliant winter sunlight, Philip could not at first distinguish +anything clearly. He went mechanically through his presentation to the +hostess and to the Persian who was to address the meeting, and then +sank into a seat. He looked curiously at the Persian, struck by the +picturesque appearance of the long snow-white beard, fine as silk, +which flowed down over the rich robe of the seer. The face was to +Philip an enigma. To understand a foreign face it is necessary to have +learned the physiognomy of the people to which it belongs, as to +comprehend their speech it is necessary to have mastered their +language. As he knew not whether the countenance of the old man +attracted or repelled him more, and could only decide that at least it +had a strange fascination. + +Suddenly Ashe felt his glance called up by a familiar presence, and to +his surprise saw his friend, Maurice Wynne, come into the room, +accompanied by a stately, bright-eyed woman who was warmly greeted by +Mrs. Gore. He wondered at the chance which had brought Maurice here as +well as himself; but the calling of the meeting to order attracted his +thoughts back to the business of the moment. + +The Persian was the latest ethical caprice of Boston. He had come by +the invitation of Mrs. Gore to bring across the ocean the knowledge of +the mystic truths contained in the sacred writings of his country; and +his ministrations were being received with that beautiful seriousness +which is so characteristic of the town. In Boston there are many +persons whose chief object in life seems to be the discovery of novel +forms of spiritual dissipation. The cycle of mystic hymns which the +Persian was expounding to the select circle of devotees assembled at +Mrs. Gore's was full of the most sensual images, under which the +inspired Persian psalmists had concealed the highest truth. Indeed, +Ashe had been told that on one occasion the hostess had been obliged to +stop the reading on the ground that an occidental audience not +accustomed to anything more outspoken than the Song of Solomon, and +unused to the amazing grossness of oriental symbolism, could not listen +to the hymn which he was pouring forth. Fortunately Philip had chanced +upon a day when the text was harmless, and he could hear without +blushing, whether he were spiritually edified or not. + +The Persian had a voice of exquisite softness and flexibility. His +every word was like a caress. There are voices which so move and stir +the hearer that they arouse an emotion which for the moment may +override reason; voices which appeal to the senses like beguiling +music, and which conquer by a persuasive sweetness as irresistible as +it is intangible. The tones of the Persian swayed Ashe so deeply that +the young man felt as if swimming on a billow of melody. Philip +regarded as if fascinated the slender, dusky fingers of the reader as +they handled the splendidly illuminated parchment on which glowed +strange characters of gold, marvelously intertwined with leaf and +flower, and cunning devices in gleaming hues. He looked into the deep, +liquid eyes of the old man, and saw the light in them kindle as the +reading proceeded. He felt the dignity of the presence of the seer, and +the richness of his flowing garment; but all these things were only the +fitting accompaniments to that beautiful voice, flowing on like a topaz +brook in a meadow of daffodils. + +The Persian spoke admirable English, only now and then by a slight +accent betraying his nationality. He made a short address upon the +antiquity of the hymn which he was that day to expound, its authorship, +and its evident inspiration. Then in his wonderful voice he read:-- + + + + THE HYMN OF ISMAT. + + +Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarters where the vintners +dwell, to seek the daughter of an infidel who sells wine. + +At the end of the street, there advanced before me a damsel, with a +fairy's cheeks, who in the manner of a pagan wore her tresses +dishevelled over her shoulders like a sacerdotal thread. I said: "O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave, what +quarter is this, and where is thy mansion?" + +She answered: "Cast thy rosary to the ground; bind on thy shoulder the +thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from +a full goblet." + +"After that come before me that I may whisper a word in thine ear;-- +thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my discourse." + +Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her until I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me. + +At a distance I beheld a company all insane and inebriated, who came +boiling and roaring with ardor from the wine of love. + +Without cymbals or lutes or viols, yet all filled with mirth and +melody; without wine or goblet or flagon, yet all incessantly drinking. + +When the cord of restraint slipped from my hand, I desired to ask her +one question, but she said: "Silence!" + +"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive +precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult, +but without knowledge. This is the banquet-house of infidels, and +within it all are intoxicated; all from the dawn of eternity to the day +of resurrection lost in astonishment." + +"Depart thou from the cloister and take thy way to the tavern; cast off +the cloak of a dervish, and wear the robe of a libertine." + +I obeyed; and if thou desirest the same strain and color as Ismat, +imitate him, and sell this world and the next for one drop of pure +wine! + +The company sat in absorbed silence while the reading went on. Nothing +could be more perfect than the listening of a well-bred Boston +audience, whether it is interested or not. The exquisitely modulated +voice of the Persian flowed on like the tones of a magic flute, and the +women sat as if fascinated by its spell. + +When the reading was finished, and the Persian began to comment upon +the spiritual doctrine embodied in it, Ashe sat so completely absorbed +in reverie that he gave no heed to what was being said. In his ascetic +life at the Clergy House he had been so far removed from the sensuous, +save for that to which the services of the church appealed, that this +enervating and luxurious atmosphere, this gathering to which its quasi- +religious character seemed to lend an excuse, bred in him a species of +intoxication. He sat like a lotus-eater, hearing not so much the words +of the speaker as his musical voice, and half-drowned in the pleasure +of the perfumed air, the rich colors of the room, the Persian's dress, +the illuminated scroll, in the subtile delight of the presence of +women, and all those seductive charms of the sense from which the +church defended him. + +The Persian, Mirza Gholan Rezah, repeated in his flute-like voice: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave;'" and, +hearing the words as in a dream, Philip Ashe looked across the little +circle to see a woman whose beauty smote him so strongly that he drew a +quick breath. To his excited mood it seemed as if the phrase were +intended to describe that beautifully curved brow, brown against the +fair skin, and in his heart he said over the words with a thrill: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!'" Half +unconsciously, and as if he were taken possession of by a will stronger +than his own, he found himself noting the soft curve and flush of a +woman's cheek, the shell-texture of her ear, and the snowy whiteness of +her throat. She sat in the full light of the window behind him, leaning +as she listened against a pedestal of ebony which upheld the bronze +bust of a satyr peering down at her with wrinkled eyes; her throat was +displayed by the backward bend of her head, and showed the whiter by +contrast with the black gown she wore. Philip's breath came more +quickly, and his head seemed to swim. Sensitive to beauty, and starved +by asceticism, he was in a moment completely overcome. + +Suddenly he felt the regard of his friend Maurice resting upon him with +a questioning glance, and it was as if the thought of his heart were +laid bare. Philip made a strong effort, and fixed his look and his +attention upon the speaker, who was deep in oriental mysticism. + +"It is written in the Desatir," Mirza Gholan Rezah was saying, "that +purity is of two kinds, the real and the formal. 'The real consists in +not binding the heart to evil: the formal in cleansing away what +appears evil to the view.' The ultimate spirit, that inner flame from +the treasure-house of flames, is not affected by the outward, by the +apparent. What though the outer man fall into sin? What though he throw +stones at the glass of piety and quaff the wine of sensuality from a +full goblet? The flame within the tabernacle is still pure and +undefined because it is undefilable." + +Ashe looked around the circle in astonishment, wondering if it were +possible that in a Christian civilization these doctrines could be +proclaimed without rebuke. His neighbors sat in attitudes of close +attention; they were evidently listening, but their faces showed no +indignation. On the lips of Wynne Philip fancied he detected a faint +curl of derisive amusement, but nowhere else could he perceive any +display of emotion, unless--He had avoided looking at the lady in +black, feeling that to do so were to play with temptation; but the +attraction was too strong for him, and he glanced at her with a look of +which the swiftness showed how strongly she affected him. It seemed to +him that there was a faint flush of indignation upon her face; and he +cast down his eyes, smitten by the conviction that there was an +intimate sympathy between his feeling and hers. + +"This is the word of enlightenment which the damsel, the +personification of wisdom, whispered into the ear of the seeker," +continued the persuasive voice of the Persian. "It is the heart-truth +of all religion. It is the word which initiates man into the divine +mysteries. 'Thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my +discourse.' Life is affected by many accidents; but none of them +reaches the godhead within. The divine inebriation of spiritual truth +comes with the realization of this fact. The flame within man, which is +above his consciousness, is not to be touched by the acts of the body. +These things which men call sin are not of the slightest feather-weight +to the soul in the innermost tabernacle. It is of no real consequence," +the speaker went on, warming with his theme until his velvety eyes +shone, "what the outer man may do. We waste our efforts in this +childish care about apparent righteousness. The real purity is above +our acts. Let the man do what he pleases; the soul is not thereby +touched or altered." + +Ashe sat upright in his chair, hardly conscious where he was. It seemed +to him monstrous to remain acquiescent and to hear without protest this +juggling with the souls of men. The instinct to save his fellows which +underlies all genuine impulse toward the priesthood was too strong in +him not to respond to the challenge which every word of the Persian +offered. Almost without knowing it, he found himself interrupting the +speaker. + +"If that is the teaching of the Persian scriptures," he said, "it is +impious and wicked. Even were it true that there were a flame from the +Supreme dwelling within us, unmanifested and undeniable, it is +evidently not with this that we have to do in our earthly life. It is +with the soul of which we are conscious, the being which we do know. +This may be lost by defilement. To this the sin of the body is death. +I, I myself, I, the being that is aware of itself, am no less the one +that is morally responsible for what is done in the world by me." + +Led away by his strong feeling, Philip began vehemently; but the +consciousness of the attention of all the company, and of the searching +look of Mirza, made the ardent young man falter. He was a stranger, +unaccustomed to the ways of these folk who had come together to play +with the highest truths as they might play with tennis-balls. He felt a +sudden chill, as if upon his hot enthusiasm had blown an icy blast. + +Yet when he cast a glance around as if in appeal, he saw nothing of +disapproval or of scorn. He had evidently offended nobody by his +outburst. He ventured to look at the unknown in black, and she rewarded +him with a glance so full of sympathy that for an instant he lost the +thread of what the Persian, in tones as soft and unruffled as ever, was +saying in reply to his words. He gathered himself up to hear and to +answer, and there followed a discussion in which a number of those +present joined; a discussion full of cleverness and the adroit handling +of words, yet which left Philip in the confusion of being made to +realize that what to him were vital truths were to those about him +merely so many hypotheses upon which to found argument. There were more +women than men present, and Ashe was amazed at their cleverness and +their shallow reasoning; at the ease and naturalness with which they +played this game of intellectual gymnastics, and at the apparent +failure to pierce to anything like depth. It was evident that while +everything was uttered with an air of the most profound seriousness, it +would not do to be really in earnest. He began to understand what Helen +had meant when she warned him not to pronounce sacred words in this +strange assembly. + +When the meeting broke up, the ladies rose to exchange greetings, to +chat together of engagements in society and such trifles of life. Ashe, +still full of the excitement of what he had done, followed his cousin +out of the drawing-room in silence. As they were descending the wide +staircase, some one behind said:-- + +"Are you going away without speaking to me, Helen?" + +Ashe and Mrs. Herman both turned, and found themselves face to face +with the lady in black, who stood on the broad landing. + +"My dear Edith," Mrs. Herman answered, "I am so little used to this +sort of thing that I didn't know whether it was proper to stop to speak +with one's friends. I thought that we might be expected to go out as if +we'd been in church. I came only to bring my cousin. May I present Mr. +Ashe; Mrs. Fenton." + +"I was so glad that you said what you did this afternoon, Mr. Ashe," +Mrs. Fenton said, extending her hand. "I felt just as you did, and I +was rejoiced that somebody had the courage to protest against that +dreadful paganism." + +Philip was too shy and too enraptured to be able to reply intelligibly, +but as they were borne forward by the tide of departing guests he was +spared the need of answer. At the foot of the stairway he was stopped +again by Maurice Wynne, and presented to Mrs. Staggchase, his friend's +cousin and hostess for the time being; but his whole mind was taken up +by the image of Mrs. Fenton, and in his ears like a refrain rang the +words of the Persian hymn: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the +new moon is a slave!" + + + + II + + + THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + Henry VI., iv. 1. + + +That afternoon at Mrs. Gore's had been no less significant to Maurice +Wynne than to Philip Ashe. His was a less spiritual, less highly +wrought nature, but in the effect which the change from the atmosphere +of the Clergy House to the Persian's lecture had upon him, the +experience of Maurice was much the same. He too was attracted by a +woman. He gave his thoughts up to the woman much more frankly than +would have been possible for his friend. She was young, perhaps twenty, +and exquisite with clear skin and soft, warm coloring. Her wide-open +eyes were as dark and velvety as the broad petals of a pansy with the +dew still on them; her cheeks were tinged with a hue like that which +spreads in a glass of pure water into which has fallen a drop of red +wine; her forehead was low and white, and from it her hair sprang up in +two little arches before it fell waving away over her temples; her lips +were pouting and provokingly suggestive of kisses. The whole face was +of the type which comes so near to the ideal that the least +sentimentality of expression would have spoiled it. Happily the big +eyes and the ripe, red mouth were both suggestive of demure humor. +There was a mirthful air about the dimple which came and went in the +left cheek like Cupid peeping mischievously from the folds of his +mother's robe. A boa of long-haired black fur lay carelessly about her +neck, pushed back so that a touch of red and gold brocade showed where +she had loosened her coat. Maurice noted that she seemed to care as +little for the lecture as he did, and he gave himself up to the delight +of watching her. + +When the company broke up Mrs. Staggchase spoke almost immediately to +the beautiful creature who so charmed him. + +"How do you do, Miss Morison," Mrs. Staggchase said; "I must say that I +am surprised that cousin Anna brought you to a place where the doctrine +is so far removed from mind-cure. My dear Anna," she continued, turning +to a lady whom Wynne knew by name as Mrs. Frostwinch and as an +attendant at the Church of the Nativity, "you are a living miracle. You +know you are dead, and you have no business consorting with the living +in this way." + +"It is those whom you call dead that are really living," Mrs. +Frostwinch retorted smiling. "I brought Berenice so that she might see +the vanity of it all." + +Mrs. Staggchase presented Maurice to the ladies, and after they had +spoken on the stairs with one and another acquaintance, and Maurice had +exchanged a word with his friend Ashe, it chanced that the four left +the house together. Wynne found himself behind with Miss Morison, while +his cousin and Mrs. Frostwinch walked on in advance. He was seized with +a delightful sense of elation at his position, yet so little was he +accustomed to society that he knew not what to say to her. He was +keenly aware that she was glancing askance at his garb, and after a +moment of silence he broke out abruptly in the most naively unconscious +fashion:-- + +"I am a novice at the Clergy House of St. Mark." + +A beautiful color flushed up in Miss Morison's dark cheek; and Wynne +realized how unconventional he had been in replying to a question which +had not been spoken. + +"Is it a Catholic order?" she asked, with an evident effort not to look +confused. + +"It is not Roman," he responded. "We believe that it is catholic." + +"Oh," said she vaguely; and the conversation lapsed. + +They walked a moment in silence, and then Maurice made another effort. + +"Has Mrs. Frostwinch been ill?" he asked. "Mrs. Staggchase spoke of her +as a miracle." + +"Ill!" echoed Miss Morison; "she has been wholly given up by the +physicians. She has some horrible internal trouble; and a consultation +of the best doctors in town decided that she could not live a week. +That was two months ago." + +"But I don't understand," he said in surprise. "What happened?" + +"A miracle," the other replied smiling. "You believe in miracles, of +course." + +"But what sort of a miracle?" + +"Faith-cure." + +"Faith-cure!" repeated he in astonishment. "Do you mean that Mrs. +Frostwinch has been raised from a death-bed by that sort of jugglery?" + +His companion shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't think it would raise you in her estimation if she heard you. +The facts are as I tell you. She dismissed her doctors when they said +they could do nothing for her, and took into her house a mind-cure +woman, a Mrs. Crapps. Some power has put her on her feet. Wouldn't you +do the same thing in her place?" + +Wynne looked bewildered at Mrs. Frostwinch walking before him in a +shimmer of Boston respectability. He had an uneasy feeling that he was +passing from one pitfall to another. He was keenly conscious of the +richness of the voice of the girl by his side, so that he felt that it +was not easy for him to disagree with anything which she said. He let +her remark pass without reply. + +"For my part," she went on frankly, "I don't in the least believe in +the thing as a matter of theory; but practically I have a superstition +about it, because I've seen Cousin Anna. She was helpless, in agony, +dying; and now she is as well as I am. If I were ill"-- + +She broke off with a pretty little gesture as they came within hearing +of the others, who had halted at Mrs. Frostwinch's gate. Wynne said +good-by absently, and went on his way down the hill like a man in a +dream. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, "you have seen one of Boston's ethical +debauches; what do you think of it?" + +"It was confusing," he returned. "I couldn't make out what it was for." + +"For? To amuse us. We are the children of the Puritans, you know, and +have inherited a twist toward the ethical and the supernatural so +strong that we have to have these things served up even in our +amusements." + +"Then I think that it is wicked," Maurice said. + +"Oh, no; we must not be narrow. It isn't wrong to amuse one's self; +and if we play with the religion of the Persians, why is it worse than +to play with the mythologies of the Greeks or Romans? You wouldn't +think it any harm to jest about classical theology." + +Wynne turned toward her with a smile on his strong, handsome face. + +"Why do you try to tangle me up in words?" he asked. + +Mrs. Staggchase did not turn toward him, but looked before with face +entirely unchanged as she replied:-- + +"I am not trying to entangle you in words, but if I were it would be +all part of the play. You are undergoing your period of temptation. I +am the tempter in default of a better. In the old fashion of +temptations it wouldn't do to have the tempter old and plain. Then you +were expected to fall in love; now we deal in snares more subtle." + +Maurice laughed, but somewhat unmirthfully. There was to him something +bewildering and worldly about his cousin; and he had come to feel that +he could never be at all sure where in the end the most harmless +beginning of talk might lead him. + +"What then is the modern way of temptation?" he inquired. + +"It shows how much faith we have in its power," she replied, as they +waited on the corner of Charles Street for a carriage to pass, "that I +don't in the least mind giving you full warning. Did you know the lady +in that carriage, by the way?" + +"It was Mrs. Wilson, wasn't it?" + +"Yes; Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. You have seen her at the Church of the +Nativity, I suppose. She is one phase of the temptation." + +"I don't in the least understand." + +"I didn't in the least suppose that you would. You will in time. My +part of the temptation is to show you all sorts of ethical jugglery, +the spiritual and intellectual gymnastics such as the Bostonians love; +to persuade you that all religion is only a sort of pastime, and that +the particular high-church sort which you especially affect is but one +of a great many entertaining ways of killing time." + +"Cousin Diana!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. + +"I hope that you understand," she continued unmoved. "I shall exhibit a +very pretty collection of fads to you if we see them all." + +"But suppose," he said slowly, "that I refused to go with you?" + +"But you won't," returned she, with that curious smile which always +teased him with its suggestion of irony. "In the first place you +couldn't be so impolite as to refuse me. A woman may always lead a man +into questionable paths if she puts it to his sense of chivalry not to +desert her. In the second, the spirit of the age is a good deal +stronger in you than you realize, and the truth is that you wouldn't be +left behind for anything. In the third, you could hardly be so cowardly +as to run away from the temptation that is to prove whether you were +really born to be a priest." + +"That was decided when I entered the Clergy House." + +"Nonsense; nothing of the sort, my dear boy. The only thing that was +decided then was that you thought you were. Wait and see our ethical +and religious raree-shows. We had the Persian to-day; to-morrow I'm to +take you to a spiritualist sitting at Mrs. Rangely's. She hates to +have me come, so I mustn't miss that. Then there are the mind-cure, +Theosophy, and a dozen other things; not to mention the semi- +irreligions, like Nationalism. You will be as the gods, knowing good +and evil, by the time we are half way round the circle,--though it is +perhaps somewhat doubtful if you know them apart." + +She spoke in her light, railing way, as if the matter were one of the +smallest possible consequence, and yet Wynne grew every moment more and +more uncomfortable. He had never seen his cousin in just this mood, and +could not tell whether she were mocking him or warning him. He seized +upon the first pretext which presented itself to his mind, and +endeavored to change the subject. + +"Who is Mrs. Rangely?" he asked. "A medium?" + +"Oh, bless you, no. She is not so bad as a medium; she is only a New +Yorker. Do you think we'd go to real mediums? Although," she added, +"there are plenty who do go. I think that it is shocking bad form." + +"But you speak as if"-- + +"As if spiritualism were one of the recognized ethical games, that's +all. It is played pretty well at Mrs. Rangely's, I'm told. They say +that the little Mrs. Singleton she's got hold of is very clever." + +"Mrs. Singleton," Maurice repeated, "why, it can't be Alice, brother +John's widow, can it? She married a Singleton for a second husband, and +she claimed to be a medium." + +"Did she really? It will be amusing if you find your relatives in the +business." + +"She wasn't a very close relative. John was only my half-brother, you +know, and he lived but six months after he married her. She is clever +enough and tricky enough to be capable of anything." + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, as they turned in at her door, "if it is +she it will give you an excellent chance to do missionary work." + +They entered the wide, handsome hall, and with an abrupt movement the +hostess turned toward her cousin. + +"I assure you," she said, "that I am in earnest about your temptation. +I want to see what sort of stuff you are made of, and I give you fair +warning. Now go and read your breviary, or whatever it is that you sham +monks read, while I have tea and then rest before I dress." + +Maurice had no reply to offer. He watched in silence as she passed up +the broad stairway, smiling to herself as she went. He followed slowly +a moment later, and seeking his room remained plunged in a reverie at +which the severe walls of the Clergy House might have been startled; a +reverie disquieted, changing, half-fearful; and yet through which with +strange fascination came a longing to see more of the surprising world +into which chance had introduced him, and above all to meet again the +dark, glowing girl with whom he had that afternoon walked. + + + + III + + + AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + Merchant of Venice, v. 2. + + +It was cold and gray next morning when Maurice took his way toward a +Catholic church in the North End. He had been there before for +confession, and had been not a little elated in his secret heart that +he had been able to go through the act of confession and to receive +absolution without betraying the fact that he was not a Romanist. He +had studied the forms of confession, the acts of contrition, and +whatever was necessary to the part, and for some months had gone on in +this singular course. To his Superior at the Clergy House he confessed +the same sins, but Maurice had a feeling that the absolution of the +Roman priest was more effective than that of his own church. He was not +conscious of any intention of becoming a Catholic, but there was a +fascination in playing at being one; and Wynne, who could not +understand how the folk of Boston could play with ethical truths, was +yet able thus to juggle with religion with no misgiving. + +This morning he enjoyed the spiritual intoxication of the confessional +as never before. He half consciously allowed himself to dwell upon the +image of the beautiful Miss Morison to the end that he might the more +effectively pour out his contrition for that sin. He was so eloquent in +the confessional that he admired himself both for his penitence and for +the words in which he set it forth. He floated as it were in a sea of +mingled sensuousness and repentance, and he hoped that the penance +imposed would be heavy enough to show that the priest had been +impressed with the magnitude of the sin of which he had been guilty in +allowing his thoughts, consecrated to the holy life of the priesthood, +to dwell upon a woman. + +It was one of those absurd anomalies of which life is full that while +Maurice sometimes slighted a little the penances imposed by his own +Superior, he had never in the least abated the rigor of any laid upon +him by the Catholic priest. It was perhaps that he felt his honor +concerned in the latter case. This morning the penance was +satisfactorily heavy, and he came out of the church with a buoyant +step, full of a certain boyish elation. He had a fresh and delightful +sense of the reality of religion now that he had actually sinned and +been forgiven. + +Next to being forgiven for a sin there is perhaps nothing more +satisfactory than to repeat the transgression, and if Maurice had not +formulated this fact in theory he was to be acquainted with it in +practice. As he walked along in the now bright forenoon, filled with +the enjoyment of moral cleanness, he suddenly started with the thrill +of delicious temptation. Just before him a lady had come around a +corner, and was walking quietly along, in whom at a glance he +recognized Miss Morison. There came into his cheek, which even his +double penances had not made thin, a flush of pleasure. He quickened +his steps, and in a moment had overtaken her. + +"Good morning," he said, raising his ecclesiastical hat with an air +which savored somewhat of worldliness. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" + +She started at his salutation, but instantly recognized him. + +"Good morning," she responded. "I didn't expect to find anybody I knew +in this part of the town." + +"It isn't one where young ladies as a rule walk for pleasure, I +suppose," Maurice said, falling into step, and walking beside her. + +"I am very sure that I don't," Miss Morison replied with a toss of her +head. "I do it because I was bullied into being a visitor for the +Associated Charities, and I go once a week to tell some poor folk down +here that I am no better than they are. They know that I don't believe +it, and I have my doubts if they even believe it themselves, only they +wouldn't be foolish enough to prevaricate about it. Oh, it's a great +and noble work that I'm engaged in!" + +There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty +head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she +intoxicated him with delight. + +"You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm," said he. + +"Enthusiasm!" she retorted. "Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it, +the people I visit hate it, and there's nobody pleased but the +managers, who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, +and make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am +tired of the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to +try the unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting." + +She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious +that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth. +There was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, +and Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone +amiss. + +"But philanthropy," he began, "is surely"-- + +"Your cousin," she interrupted, "declares that only the eye of +Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what passes for +philanthropy and what is sheer egotism." + +He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked. + +"But what," he asked, "has impressed this view of things upon you this +morning in particular?" + +His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands. + +"Of course I show it," she said; "though you needn't have reminded me +that I have lost my temper." + +"I beg your pardon," began Maurice in confusion, "I"-- + +"Oh, you haven't done anything wrong," she interrupted, "the trouble is +entirely with me. I've been making a fool of myself at the instigation +of the powers that rule over my charitable career, and I don't like the +feeling." + +They walked on a moment without further speech. Maurice said to himself +with a thrill of contrition that he would double the penance laid upon +him, and he endeavored not to be conscious of the thought which +followed that the delight of this companionship was worth the price +which he should thus pay for it. + +"This is what happened," Miss Morison said at length. "I don't quite +know whether to laugh or to cry with vexation. There's a poor widow +who has had all sorts of trials and tribulations. Indeed, she's been a +miracle of ill luck ever since I began to have the honor to assure her +weekly that I'm no better than she is. It may be that the fib isn't +lucky." + +She turned to flash a bright glance into the face of her companion as +she spoke, and he tried to clear away the look of gravity so quickly +that she might not perceive it. + +"Oh," she cried; "now I have shocked you! I'm sorry, but I couldn't +help it." + +"No," he replied, "you didn't really shock me. It only seemed to me a +pity that you should be working with so little heart and under +direction that doesn't seem entirely wise." + +"Wise!" she echoed scornfully. "There's a benevolent gentleman who +insisted upon giving this old woman five dollars. It was all against +the rules of the Associated Charities, for which he said he didn't care +a fig. That's the advantage of being a man! And what do you think the +old thing did? She took the whole of it to buy a bonnet with a red +feather in it! The committee heard of it, though I can't for my life +see how. There are a lot of them that seem to think that benevolence +consists chiefly in prying into the affairs of the poor wretches they +help! And they posted me off to scold her." + +"But why did you go?" + +"They said they would send Miss Spare if I didn't, and in common +humanity I couldn't leave that old creature to the tender mercies of +Miss Spare." + +"What did you say?" + +The face of Miss Morison lighted with mocking amusement. + +"That's the beauty of it," she cried, bursting into a low laugh which +was full of the keenest fun. "I began with the things I'd been told to +say; but the old woman said that all her life long she had wanted a +bonnet with red feathers, but that she had never expected to have one. +When she got this money, she went out to buy clothing, and in a window +she saw this bonnet marked five dollars. She piously remarked that it +seemed providential. She's like the rest of the world in finding what +she likes to be providential." + +"Yes," murmured Maurice, half under his breath; "like my meeting you." + +Miss Morison looked surprised, but she ignored the words, and went on +with her story. + +"She said she concluded she'd rather go without the clothes, and have +the bonnet; and by the time we were through I had weakly gone back on +all the instructions I'd received, and told her she was right. She knew +what she wanted, and I don't blame her for getting it when she could. +I'm sick of seeing the poor treated as if they were semi-idiots that +couldn't think without leave from the Associated Charities." + +The whole tone of the conversation was so much more frank than anything +to which Wynne was accustomed that he felt bewildered. This freedom of +criticism of the powers, this want of reverence for conventionalities, +gave him a strange feeling of lawlessness. He felt as if he had himself +been wonderfully and almost culpably daring in listening. He wondered +that he was not more shocked, being sure that it was his duty to be. +There was about the young man's mental condition a sort of infantile +unsophistication. The New England mind often seems to inherit from +bygone Puritanism a certain repellent quality through which it takes +long for anything savoring of worldliness or worldly wisdom to +penetrate. When once this covering is broken, it may be added, the +result is much the same as in the case of the cracking of other glazes. + +After he had parted from Miss Morison, Maurice walked on in a blissful +state of conscious sinfulness. He understood himself well enough to +know that before him lay repentance, but this did not dampen his +present enjoyment. He had not so far outgrown his New England +conscience as to escape remorse for sin, but he had become so +accustomed to the belief that absolution removed guilt that there was +in his cup of self-reproach little abiding bitterness. + +That afternoon he accompanied Mrs. Staggchase to the house of Mrs. +Rangely with a confused feeling as if he were some one else. His cousin +wore the same delicately satirical air which marked all her intercourse +with him. She carried her head with her accustomed good-humored +haughtiness, and her straight lips were curled into the ghost of a +smile. + +"This is the most stupid humbug of them all," she remarked, as they +neared Mrs. Rangely's house on Marlborough Street. "You'll think the +deception too transparent to be even amusing,--if you don't become a +convert, that is." + +"A convert to spiritualism?" Wynne returned with youthful indignation. +"I'm not likely to fall so low as that. That is one of the things which +are too ridiculous." + +She laughed, with that air of superiority which always nettled him a +little. + +"Don't allow yourself to be one of those narrow persons to whom a thing +is always ridiculous if they don't happen to believe it. You believe +in so many impossible things yourself that you can't afford to take on +airs." + +The tantalizing good nature with which she spoke humiliated Wynne. She +seemed to be playing with him, and he resented her reflection upon his +creed. He was, however, too much under the spell of his cousin to be +really angry, and he was silenced rather than offended. They entered +the house to find several of the persons whom he had seen at Mrs. +Gore's on the day previous; and Wynne was at once charmed and +disquieted by the entrance a moment later of Miss Morison, who came in +looking more beautiful than ever. It gave him a feeling of exultation +to be sharing her life, even in this chance way. + +The preliminaries of the sitting were not elaborate. Mrs. Rangely, the +hostess, impressed it upon her guests that Mrs. Singleton, the medium, +was not a professional, but that she was with them only in the capacity +of one who wished to use her peculiar gifts in the search for truth. + +"She does not understand her powers herself," Mrs. Rangely said; "but +she feels that it is not right to conceal her light." + +Maurice was too unsophisticated to understand why Mrs. Rangely's talk +struck him as not entirely genuine, but he was to some extent +enlightened when his cousin said to him afterward: "Frances Rangely has +the imitation Boston patter at her tongue's end now, but she is too +thoroughly a New Yorker ever to get the spirit of it. She rattles off +the words in a way that is intensely amusing." + +The shutters of the small parlor in which the company was assembled had +been closed and the gas lighted. There were about a dozen guests, and +all had the air of being of some position. While the hostess went to +summon the medium, Maurice asked in a whisper if the master of the +house was present, and was answered that Fred Rangely was too clever to +be mixed up in this sort of thing. Wynne caught a satirical glance +between his cousin and Miss Morison, and more than ever he felt that +the meeting was a farce in which he, vowed to a nobler life, should +have had no part. + +His musings were cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Rangely with the +medium. He recognized Mrs. Singleton at a glance, and was struck as he +had been before by the appealing look of innocence. She was a slender, +almost beautiful woman, with exquisite shell-like complexion, and +delicate features. An entire lack of moral sense frequently gives to a +woman an air of complete candor and purity, and Alice Singleton stood +before the company as the incarnation of sincerity and truth. Her face +was of the rounded, full-lipped, wistful type; the sensuous, selfish +face moulded into the likeness of childlike guilelessness which of all +the multitudinous varieties of the "ever womanly" is the one most +likely to be destructive. + +Had it not been that Maurice was acquainted with her history, he could +hardly have resisted the fascination of this creature, as tender and as +innocent in appearance as a dewy rose; but he was thoroughly aware of +her moral worthlessness. Yet as she stood shrinking on the threshold as +if she were too timid to advance, he could not but feel her +attractiveness and the sweetness of her presence. He watched curiously +as in response to a word from Mrs. Rangely she came hesitatingly +forward, bowed in acknowledgment to a general introduction, and sank +into the chair placed for her in the centre of the circle. She was clad +in black, but a little of her creamy neck was visible between the folds +of lace which set off its fairness. Her arms were bare half way to the +elbows, and her hands were ungloved. Maurice wondered if she would +recognize him; then he reflected that he sat in the shadow, out of the +direct line of her vision, and that it was years since she had seen +him. + +"We will have the gas turned down," Mrs. Rangely said; and at once +turned it, not down, but completely out, leaving the room in absolute +darkness. + +There followed an interval of silence, and Maurice, whose wits were +sharpened by his knowledge of the medium, and who was on the lookout +for trickery, reflected how inevitable it was that this breathless +silence, coupled with the darkness and the expectation of something +mysterious, should bring about the frame of mind which the medium would +desire. The silence lasted so long that he, not wrapt in expectation, +began to grow impatient. He put out his hand timidly in the darkness +and touched the chair in which Miss Morison was sitting, getting +foolish comfort from even such remote communion. He fell into a reverie +in which he felt dimly what life might have been with her always at his +side, had he not been vowed to the stern refusal of all earthly +companionship. + +His reflections were broken by a loud, quivering sigh seeming to come +from the medium, and echoed in different parts of the room. There was +another brief interval of silence, and then the medium began to speak. +Her tone was strained and unnatural, and at first she murmured to +herself. Then her words came more clearly and distinctly. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" she whispered. Then in a voice growing clearer she +went on: "Bright forms! There are three,--no, there are five; oh, the +room is full of them. Oh, how bright they are growing! They shine so +that they almost blind me. Don't you see them?" + +The room rustled like a field of wheat under a breeze. + +"There is one that is clearer than the others," went on the voice of +the medium in the electrical darkness. "She is all shining, but I can +see that her hair is white as snow. She must have been old before she +went into the spirit world. She smiles and leans over the lady in the +armchair. Oh, she is touching you! Don't you feel her dear hands on +your head?" + +Maurice felt the chair against which his fingers rested shaken by a +movement of awe or of impatience. He flushed with indignation. It was +Miss Morison to whom the medium was directing this childish +impertinence. He longed to interfere, and even made so brusque a +movement that Mrs. Staggchase leaned over and whispered to him to +remain quiet. + +"There are many spirits here," the medium went on with increasing +fervor, "but none of them are so clear. She is speaking to you, but you +cannot hear her. She is grieved that you do not understand her. Oh, try +to listen so that you may hear her message with the spiritual ear. She +is so anxious." + +The audience seemed to quiver with excitement. Simply because a woman +whom Maurice knew to be capable of any falsehood sat here in the +darkness and pretended to see visions, these men and women were +apparently carried out of themselves. It seemed to him at once +monstrous and pitifully ridiculous. + +"It must be your grandmother," spoke again the voice of Mrs. Singleton, +now thick with emotion. "Yes, she nods her head. She is so anxious to +reach through your unconsciousness. Wait! she is going to do something. +I think she is going to give you some token. Let me rest a moment, so +that I can help her. She wants to materialize something." + +Heavy silence, but a silence which seemed alive with excitement, once +more prevailed. Maurice began himself to feel something of the +influence pervading the gathering, and was angry with himself for it. +Suddenly a cry from the medium, earnest and full of feeling, broke out +shrilly. + +"Oh, she has something in her hand. Try to assist her. She will succeed +in materializing it fully if we can help her with our wills. I can see +it becoming clearer--clearer--clearer! Now she is smiling. She is +happy. She knows she will succeed. Yes; it is--Oh, what beautiful +roses! They are changing from white to red in her hands. She holds them +up for me to see; she is lifting them up over your head. Now, now she +is going to drop them! Quick! The light!" + +The voice of Mrs. Singleton had risen almost to a scream, and bit the +nerves of the hearers. As she ended Maurice heard the soft sound of +something falling, and felt Miss Morison start violently. The gas was +at once lighted, and there in the lap and at the feet of Berenice, who +regarded them with an expression of mingled disgust and annoyance, lay +scattered a handful of crimson roses. + +The company broke into expressions of admiration, of belief, of awe. +Mrs. Singleton had played to her audience with evident success. Miss +Morison gathered up the flowers without a word, and held them out to +the medium, who lay back wearied in her chair. + +"Don't give them to me," Mrs. Singleton said in a faint voice. "They +were brought for you." + +"How can you bear to give them up?" a woman said. "It must be your +grandmother that brought them." + +"My grandmother was in very good health in Brookfield yesterday," +Berenice responded. "I hardly think that they come from her." + +The tone was so cold that Mrs. Singleton was visibly disconcerted. + +"Of course I don't know the spirit," she said. "But are both your +grandmothers living?" + +"She nodded her head, you know," put in another. + +To this Miss Morison did not even reply; but the awkwardness of the +situation was relieved by Mrs. Rangely, who broke into conventional +phrases of admiration and wonder. + +"Yes, Frances," Mrs. Staggchase observed dryly, "as you say, it +couldn't be believed if one hadn't seen it." + +Her manner was unheeded in the flood of praise and congratulation with +which Mrs. Singleton was being overwhelmed. + +"It is what I've longed for all my life," one lady declared, wiping her +eyes. "I never could have confidence in professional mediums, but this +is so perfectly satisfactory. Oh, I _do_ feel that I owe you so much, +Mrs. Singleton!" + +"Yes, this we have seen with our own eyes," another added. "It is +impossible for the most skeptical to doubt this." + +To this and more Maurice listened in amazement, until he rather +thought aloud than consciously spoke:-- + +"But it all depends upon the unsupported testimony of the medium." + +Mrs. Rangely drew herself up with much dignity. + +"That," she said, "I will be responsible for." + +"It isn't unsupported," chimed in one of the ladies. "Here are the +roses." + +At the sound of Maurice's voice Mrs. Singleton had turned toward him, +and he saw that she recognized him. She looked around with a glance +half terrified, half appealing. + +"It is so kind in you to believe in me," she murmured pathetically. "I +don't ask you to. I only tell you what I see, and"-- + +Maurice rose abruptly and strode forward. + +"Alice," he exclaimed, "what do you mean by this humbug? Don't you see +that they take it seriously? Tell them it's a joke." + +Again Mrs. Singleton looked around as if to see whether she had +support. + +"It is manly of you to attack me," she answered, evidently satisfied +with the result of her survey. "I cannot defend myself." + +"Do you mean to insist?" he demanded, with growing anger. + +"If the roses do not justify what I said," responded she, sinking back +as if exhausted, "it may be that I saw only imaginary shapes." + +A sharp murmur ran around the room. The believers were evidently +rallying indignantly to the support of their sibyl, and cast upon Wynne +glances of bitter reproach. He looked at Mrs. Staggchase, but it was +impossible to judge from her expression whether she approved or +disapproved of what he had done. He was suddenly abashed, and stood +speechless before the rising tide of outraged remonstrance. Then +unexpectedly came from behind him the clear voice of Miss Morison. + +"It is unfortunate that the roses should have been given to me," she +said, "for by an odd chance I saw them bought a couple of hours ago on +Tremont Street." + +There was an instant of hushed amazement, and then the medium fled from +the parlor in hysterics. + + + + IV + + + SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + Measure for Measure, v. 1. + + +"O thou to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + +Philip Ashe colored with self-consciousness as the words came into his +mind. He felt that he had no right to think them, and yet as he looked +across the table at his hostess it seemed almost as if the phrase had +been spoken in his ear by the seductive voice of Mirza Gholan Rezah. He +sighed with contrition, and looked resolutely away, letting his glance +wander about the room in which he was sitting at dinner. He noted the +panels of antique stamped leather, and although he had had little +artistic training, he was pleased by the exquisite combination of rich +colors and dull gold. Some Spanish palace had once known the glories +which now adorned the walls of Mrs. Fenton's dining-room, and even his +uneducated eye could see that care and taste had gone to the decoration +of the apartment. Jars of Moorish pottery, few but choice, and pieces +of fine Algerian armor inlaid with gold were placed skillfully, each +displayed in its full worth and yet all harmonizing and combining in +the general effect. Ashe knew that the husband of Mrs. Fenton had been +an artist of some note, and so strongly was the skill of a master-hand +visible here that suddenly the painter seemed to the sensitive young +deacon alive and real. It was as if for the first time he realized +that the beautiful woman before him might belong to another. By a +quick, unreasonable jealousy of the dead he became conscious of how +keenly dear to him had become the living. + +Ashe had met Mrs. Fenton a number of times during the week which had +intervened since the Persian's lecture at Mrs. Gore's. He had seen her +once or twice at the house of his cousin, with whom Mrs. Fenton was +intimate, and chance had brought about one or two encounters elsewhere. +He had until this moment tried to persuade himself that his admiration +for her was that which he might have for any beautiful woman; but +looking about this room and realizing so completely the husband dead +half a dozen years, he felt his self-deception shrivel and fall to +ashes. With a desperate effort he put the thought from him, and gave +his whole attention to the talk of his companions. + +"Yes, Mr. Herman is in New York," Mrs. Herman was saying. "He has gone +on to see about a commission. They want him to go there to execute it, +but I don't think he will." + +"Doesn't he like New York?" asked Mr. Candish, the rector of the Church +of the Nativity, who was the fourth member of the little company. + +Mrs. Herman and Mrs. Fenton both laughed. + +"You know how Grant feels about New York, Edith," the former said. "If +anything could spoil his temper, it is a day in what he calls the +metropolis of Philistinism." + +"I never heard Mr. Herman say anything so harsh as that about +anything," Candish responded. "Do you feel in that way about it?" + +"The thing which I dislike about the place is its provincialism," she +answered. "It is the most provincial city in America, in the sense that +nothing really exists for it outside of itself. If I think of New York +for ten minutes I have no longer any faith in America." + +"Then I shouldn't think of it, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton. + +"Then you wouldn't go with your husband if he went there to do this +work, I suppose," Mr. Candish observed. + +"I should go with him anywhere that, he thought it best to go. I fear +that you haven't an exalted idea of the devotion of the modern wife, +Mr. Candish." + +Ashe watched with interest the rector, who flushed a little. He knew of +him well, having more than once heard the awkwardness and social +inadaptability of the man urged as reasons of his unfitness to be +placed at the head of the most fashionable church in the city. Philip +saw him glance at the hostess and then cast down his eyes; and wondered +if this were simple diffidence. + +"That is hardly fair," Mr. Candish said, somewhat awkwardly. "The +clergy, not having wives, are poor judges in such a matter." + +"That might be taken as an argument for the marriage of the clergy," +she responded with a smile. + +"How so?" + +"If they had wives they would be better able to sympathize with the +trials and joys of their parishioners." + +"I never thought of that," murmured Mrs. Fenton. + +Mr. Candish flushed all over his homely, freckled face. + +"By the same reasoning you might hold that a clergyman should have +committed all the sins in the decalogue, so that he should have ready +sympathy with all sorts of sinners." + +"I'm not sure that he wouldn't be more useful if he had," Mrs. Herman +answered with a smile; "at least a man who hasn't wanted to commit a +sin must find it hard to sympathize with the wretch that hasn't been +strong enough to resist temptation. Still, I hope that sin and marriage +are not put into the same category." + +"Oh, of course not," Mrs. Fenton interpolated. "Marriage is a +sacrament." + +"It has always seemed to me inconsistent," Mrs. Herman went on, "that +the church should exclude her priests from one of the sacraments." + +Ashe saw a faint cloud pass over the face of the hostess. He was +himself a little shocked; and Candish frowned slightly. + +"The church admits her priests to this sacrament in a higher sense," he +said with some stiffness. + +Helen smiled. + +"Now I have shocked you," was her comment. "I beg your pardon." + +"I can never accustom myself to a familiar way of handling sacred +things," he returned. "It is to me too vital a matter." + +"I am afraid that that is because you are still so young," she +retorted. "It is, if you'll pardon me, the prerogative of youth to find +all views but its own intolerable." + +The manner in which this was said deprived the words of their sting, +but Mrs. Fenton evidently felt that they were getting upon dangerous +ground, and she interposed. + +"We shall ask you to define youth next, Helen," she threw in. + +"Oh, that is easy. Young people are always those of our own age." + +In the laugh that followed this the question of the marriage of the +clergy was allowed to drop; but to all that had been said Philip had +listened with a beating heart. He felt the air about him to be charged +with meanings which he could not divine. He had somehow a suspicion +that the hostess was more interested in this talk than she was willing +to show; and with what in a moment he recognized as consummate and +fatuous egotism, he felt in his heart the shadow of a hope that there +might be some connection between this and her interest in him. Then a +fear followed lest there might be things here hidden which would make +him miserable did he understand. + +"Mrs. Herman insists that she is a Puritan," Mrs. Fenton said a moment +later. "You see how she proves it by the position she takes on all +these questions." + +"Of course I am a Puritan," was the answer. "I was born so. There is +nothing which I believe that wouldn't have seemed to my forefathers +good ground for having me whipped at the cart's tail, but I am Puritan +to the bone." + +"I don't see what you mean," Candish said. + +"I mean that I inherit, like all of us children of the Puritans, the +way of looking at things without regard to consequences, of feeling +devoutly about whatever seems to us true, and of realizing that +individual preferences do not alter the laws of the universe; isn't +that the essence of Puritanism?" + +"Perhaps," he answered; "but are the unbelievers of to-day devout?" + +Ashe looked at his cousin as she paused before answering. He felt that +the question must baffle her. He did not comprehend what was behind her +faint smile. + +"Certainly not all of them," was her reply. "The age isn't greatly +given to reverence. I am a Puritan, however, and I must say what I +think. I believe that there is a hundredfold more devoutness in the +infidelity of New England to-day than in its belief." + +Ashe leaned forward in amazement, half overturning his glass in his +eagerness. + +"Why, that is a contradiction of terms," he exclaimed. + +Mrs. Herman's smile deepened. + +"Not necessarily, Cousin Philip," returned she. + +"It is possible for belief to degenerate into mere conventionality, +while sincere doubters at least must have a realization of the mystery +and the awe which overshadow life." + +Mrs. Fenton put up her hand in a pretty gesture of deprecation. + +"Come," she said, "I don't wish to be despotic, but I can't let Mrs. +Herman lead you into a discussion of that sort. We'll talk of something +else." + +"Am I to bear the blame of it all?" demanded Helen. "That I call +genuinely theological." + +"Worse and worse," the hostess responded. "Now you attack the cloth." + +"It seems to me," observed Mr. Candish, coming out of a brief study in +which he had apparently not heard Mrs. Fenton's last words, "that you +leave out of account the matter of desire. The believer at least longs +to believe, and surely deserves well for that." + +"I don't see why. Certainly he hasn't learned the first word of the +philosophy of life who still confounds what he desires and what he +deserves." + +"Come, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton; "I wouldn't have suspected you of +trying to pose as a belated remnant of the Concord School." + +Ashe easily perceived that the hostess was becoming more and more +uneasy at the course of the discussion. He could see too that Mr. +Candish was growing graver, and his sallow face beginning to flush +through its thin skin. It was evident that Mrs. Fenton saw and +appreciated these signs, and wished to change the subject of +conversation. Philip wondered that she took the matter so gravely, but +cast about in his own mind for the means of helping her. Before he +could think of anything to say his cousin had started a fresh topic. + +"By the way," she asked, "who is to be bishop?" + +Candish shook his head with a grave smile. + +"We should be relieved if we knew," was his answer. + +"There's a great deal being done to defeat Father Frontford," Ashe +added; "but the lay delegates haven't been chosen." + +"The friends of Mr. Strathmore are working very hard," observed Mrs. +Fenton. "It would be a great misfortune if they were to succeed." + +"But I suppose the friends of Father Frontford are at work too?" +returned Helen. + +Ashe thought that he detected a faint trace of satire in her voice, and +he turned toward her with earnest gravity. + +"It is not to be supposed," he answered, "that the friends of the +church are idle at a time of so much importance. Mr. Strathmore is +really little better than a Unitarian; or at least he is so lax that +he gives the world that opinion." + +He felt that this was a reply which must end all inclination to +raillery on her part. He began to feel fresh sympathy with the +disturbance of Mr. Candish earlier in the dinner. The matter now was to +him so vital that he could not talk of it except with the greatest +gravity. He watched Helen closely to discover if she were disposed to +smile at his reply. He could detect no ridicule in her expression, +although she did not seem much impressed with the weight of the charge +he had brought against Mr. Strathmore, the popular candidate for the +bishopric of the diocese, then vacant. + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson is doing a good deal," Mrs. Fenton remarked, +glancing smilingly at Helen. + +"Oh, yes," responded the other. "I remember now that she declined to be +on a committee for the picture-show because, as she said, she had to +run the campaign for the bishop." + +"The expression," Candish began, rather stiffly, "is somewhat"-- + +"It is hers, not mine," Helen replied. "I should not have chosen the +phrase myself." + +"It is singular," Mrs. Fenton said thoughtfully, "how little general +interest there is in this matter of the choice of a bishop." + +"And what there is," Mrs. Herman put in with a faint suspicion of +raillery in her tone, "comes from the fact that Mr. Strathmore is +popular as a radical." + +"It is natural enough that the general public should look at it in that +way," Mr. Candish commented. "Mr. Strathmore has all the elements of +popularity. He is emotional and sympathetic; and religious laxity +presented by such a man is always attractive." + +"The infidelity of the age finds such a man a living excuse," Ashe +said, feeling to the full all that the words implied. + +Mrs. Fenton smiled upon him, but shook her head. + +"That is a somewhat extreme view to take of it, Mr. Ashe. I think it is +rather the personal attraction of the man than anything else." + +The talk drifted away into more secular channels, and Ashe in time +forgot for the moment that he was already almost a priest. Youth was +strong in his blood, and even when a man has vowed to serve heaven by +celibacy the must of desire may ferment still in his veins. A youthful +ascetic has in him equally the making of a saint and a monster; and +until it is decided which he is to be there will be turmoil in his +soul. His newly realized love for Mrs. Fenton threw Ashe into a tumult +of mingled bliss and anguish. The heart of the most simple mortal soars +and exults in the sense that it loves. It may be timid, sad, +despairing, but even the smart of love's denial cannot destroy the joy +of love's existence. Philip felt the sting of his conscience; he looked +upon his passion as no less hopeless than it was opposed to his vows; +he was overshadowed by a half-conscious foresight of the pain which +must arise from it; yet he swam on waves of delight such as even in his +moments of religious ecstasy he had never before known. He felt his +cheeks flush, and when his cousin glanced at him he dropped his eyes in +the fear that they would betray his secret. He dared not look openly at +Mrs. Fenton, yet from time to time he stole glances so slyly that he +seemed almost to deceive himself and to conceal from his conscience the +transgression. + +Yet, too, he struggled. He realized at moments what he was doing, and +his cheek grew pale at the idea that he was juggling with his +conscience and his soul. He tried to attend to the talk, and could only +succeed in listening for the sound of her voice. He kept no more hold +on the conversation than was sufficient to allow him to put in a word +now and then to cover his preoccupation. The instinct of simulation +asserted itself as it springs in a bird which flies away to decoy the +hunter from its nest. He feigned to be interested, to be as usual, but +all his blood was trembling and tumbling with this new delirium; and +all struggles to forget his passion only increased its intensity. + +At moments he was astonished at himself. He could not understand what +had taken possession of him. He even whispered a desperate question to +himself whether it might not be that he had been singled out for a +special temptation of the devil,--a distinction too flattering to be +wholly disagreeable. Then he glanced again at his hostess, fair, sweet, +and to his mind sacred before him, and felt that he had wronged her by +supposing that the arch fiend could make of her a temptation. He had +for a moment a humiliating fear that he might have eaten something that +after the spare diet of the Clergy House had exhilarated him unduly. He +felt that at best he was a poor thing; and he seemed to stand outside +of his bare, empty life, pitying and scorning the futility of an +existence unblessed by the love of this peerless woman. + +The evening went on, and Ashe struggled to conceal the wild commotion +of his mind, feeling it almost a relief to get away, so fearful had he +been of losing control of his tumultuous emotions. It would be bliss to +be alone with his dream. + +As he and Mrs. Herman were going home, Helen said:-- + +"I do wonder"-- + +"What do you wonder?" he asked. + +"Did I say that out loud?" she responded. "I didn't mean to. I was +thinking that I couldn't help wondering whether Edith Fenton will ever +marry Mr. Candish." + +The first thought of Ashe was terror lest his secret had been +discovered; his second was a memory of the way in which he had seen +Mrs. Fenton look at the rector at dinner. He was overwhelmed by a rush +of hot anger against his rival. + +"Mr. Candish!" he echoed. "Why, he is an ordained priest!" + +His own words cut him like a sword. He had himself pronounced the death +sentence of his own hope. It was with difficulty that he suppressed a +groan, and what reply or comment Mrs. Herman made was lost in the +tumult of an inner voice crying in his heart: "O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + + + + V + + + VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + Comedy of Errors, ii. 1. + + +On the morning after the dinner at Mrs. Fenton's, Philip Ashe and +Maurice Wynne met on the steps of Mrs. Chauncy Wilson's. The house was +on the proper side of the Avenue, with a regal front of marble and with +balconies of wrought iron before the wide windows above, one of +especially elaborate workmanship, having once adorned the front of the +palace of the Tuileries. Pillars of verd antique stood on either side +of the doorway, as if it were the portal of a temple. + +"Good morning, Phil," Maurice called out as they met. "Are you bound +for Mrs. Wilson's too?" + +"Yes," was the answer. "I had a note last night." + +"Well," Wynne said gayly, as they mounted the steps, "if the inside of +the house is as splendid as the outside, we two poor duffers will be +out of place enough in it." + +Ashe smiled. + +"You may be a duffer if you like," he retorted, "but I'm not." + +"Here comes somebody," was the reply. "For my part I'm half afraid of +Mrs. Wilson. They say"-- + +But the door began to move on its hinges, and cut short his words. + +Wynne might have concluded his remark in almost any fashion, for there +were few things which had not been said about Mrs. Wilson. Although she +had been born and bred in Boston, one of the most common comments upon +her was that she was "so un-Bostonian." Exactly what the epithet +"Bostonian" might mean would probably have been hard to explain, but it +is seldom difficult to defend a negation; it was at least easy to show +that the lady did not regard the traditions in which she had been +nourished, and that she had a boldness which was as far as possible +from the decorous conventionality to be expected of one in whose veins +ran the blood of the most correctly exclusive old Puritan families. + +There was a general feeling that Mrs. Wilson's marriage was to be held +accountable for many of her eccentricities; although, as Mrs. +Staggchase remarked, if Elsie Dimmont had not been what she was she +would not have chosen Chauncy Wilson. Well-born, wealthy, pretty, and +not without a certain cleverness, Miss Dimmont had had choice of +suitors enough who were all that the most exacting of her relatives +could desire; yet she had disregarded the conviction of the family that +it was her duty to marry to please them, and had chosen to please +herself by selecting a handsome young doctor whom she met at the house +of a cousin in the country. He was of some local eminence in his +profession, it is true, although as time went on he gave less attention +to it; he was handsome, and astute, and amusing; but he was a man +without ancestors or traditions. He seemed born to justify the saying +that nothing subdues the feminine imagination like force; and although +the stormy times which were liberally predicted at the marriage of two +creatures so strong-willed had undoubtedly marked their marital career, +it was in the end impossible not to see that Dr. Wilson had secured and +held command of his household. + +It is impossible for two to live together, however, without mutual +reaction, and Elsie had unquestionably lost something of the fineness +of the breeding which was hers by right of birth. For a time after her +marriage she had been excessively given up to gayety. She had figured +as a leader in the fastest of the "smart set," as society journals +called it. She rode well, owned a stud which could not be matched in +town, and raced for stakes which startled the conservative old city. It +was even affirmed by the more credulous or more scandalous of the +gossips that it was only the stand taken by the managers of the County +Club which prevented her on one occasion from riding as her own jockey; +and short of this there was little she did not do. + +All this, however, was in the early days of the marriage, before Dr. +Wilson had become accustomed to his position as husband of the richest +woman in town and a member of what was to him the sacred aristocracy. +When the time came that he had found his place and entered his veto +upon these wild doings, there was an instant and determined revolt on +the part of his wife. Elsie fought desperately to maintain her position +as head of the family. By way of humiliating her husband she flirted +with an openness which won for her a reputation by no means to be +envied, and she wantonly trampled on his wishes. Given a husband, +however, with an iron will and a fibre not too fine, with a good temper +and yet with a certain ruthlessness in asserting his sway, and there +is little doubt that in the end he will triumph. If a clever, handsome, +good-humored man does not subdue a wild, headstrong wife, it is almost +surely owing to over-delicacy; and Chauncy Wilson was never hampered by +this. Elsie plunged and reared when she felt the curb,--to use a figure +which in those days might have been her own,--but she was by a +judicious application of whip and spur taught that she had found her +master. The result was that she became not only manageable, but +devotedly fond of her husband. No woman was ever mastered and treated +with kindness who did not thereupon love. Dr. Wilson was too good- +natured to be unkind, and for the most part he allowed his wife to have +her way, fully aware that he had but to speak to restrain her; and thus +it came about that the household was on a most peaceful and +satisfactory basis. + +Mrs. Wilson, however, craved excitement, and ethical amusements she +laughed to scorn. She did, it is true, take up high-church piety, which +she treated, as Mrs. Staggchase did not hesitate to say, as a +plaything; but her interest in church matters was chiefly in the line +of politics. She took charge of the affairs of the Church of the +Nativity with a high hand which abashed and disquieted the devout +rector. She liked Mr. Candish, although she did not hesitate to jest at +his unpolished manners and rather unprepossessing person, and it was +inevitable that she should be unable to appreciate his self-denying +devotion. On one or two occasions she had found him to have a will not +inferior to her own; and although she resented whatever balked her +pleasure, she was yet a woman and respected power in a man. + +Mr. Candish was of all men the one least resembling the traditional +pastor of a fashionable church, and had nothing of the caressing manner +dear to the souls of self-pampered penitents. Fashionable women found +little to admire in this man with the air of a bourgeois and the +simplicity of a babe. He had, however, a strong will, and a sure faith +which was not without its effect upon his parishioners. Ladies whose +religion was largely an affair of nerves found comfort in relying upon +his simple and untroubled devotion. They were piqued by being treated +as souls rather than bodies, but this was perhaps one of the secrets of +his influence. Every woman of his flock had unconsciously some secret +conviction that to her was reserved the triumph of subduing this +intractable nature, hitherto unconquered by the fascinations of the +sex. An ugly man may generally be successful with women if he remains +sufficiently indifferent to them. His unattractiveness, suggesting, as +it must, the idea of his having cause to be especially solicitous and +humble, imparts to his attitude in such a case an all-subduing flavor +of mystery. The instinctive belief of the other sex is that he is but +protecting his sensitiveness, and each longs to tear aside the veil of +dissimulation. The rector, it may be added, was an eloquent preacher, +and he intoned the service wonderfully. His voice in speaking was +somewhat harsh, but when he intoned, it melted into a beautiful +baritone, rich, full, and sweet, which, informed by his deep and +earnest feeling, thrilled his hearers with profound emotion. Mrs. +Wilson was proud of the effect which the service at the Nativity always +had, and she took in it the double pleasure of one who claimed a share +in religious enthusiasms and who had something of the glory of a +manager whose tenor succeeds in opera. + +Into the contest over the election of a bishop to fill the place +recently left vacant Mrs. Wilson had thrown herself with characteristic +vigor. There were but two candidates now seriously considered, the Rev. +Rutherford Strathmore and Father Frontford. The former, a popular +preacher of liberal views, was regarded as the more likely to receive +the appointment, but the High Church party contested the point warmly, +supporting the claims of the Father Superior of the Clergy House which +was the home of Maurice Wynne and Philip Ashe. The political side of +the matter was exactly to Mrs. Wilson's taste. A woman has but to be +rich enough and determined enough to be allowed to amuse herself with +the highest concerns of both church and state; and Mrs. Wilson lacked +neither money nor determination. Her vigor at first disconcerted and in +the end outwardly subdued the clergy. If she actually had less +influence than she supposed, she was at least thoroughly entertained, +and that after all was her object. She interviewed influential persons, +she wrote letters, some of them sufficiently ill-judged, she sought +information in regard to the character and circumstances of the clergy +in the diocese, and did everything with the zeal and dash which +characterized whatever she undertook. + +"Have you any idea what Mrs. Wilson wants of us?" Wynne asked of +Philip, as they waited in the luxurious reception-room. + +"I only know that Father Frontford said that we were to put ourselves +under her orders," was the reply. "Of course it is something about the +election." + +Maurice looked at him keenly. + +"Old fellow," he said, "you look pale. What's the matter with you?" + +"I didn't sleep well," Ashe answered with a flush. "I went to Mrs. +Fenton's to dine, and the indulgence wasn't good for me. It's really +nothing." + +Maurice did not reply, but sank into an easy-chair and looked about +him. The room was a charming fancy of the decorator, who claimed to +have taken his inspiration from the American mullein. The ceiling was +of a pale, almost transparent blue, a tint just strong enough to +suggest a sky and yet leave it half doubtful if such a meaning were +intended; the walls were hung with a rough paper matching in hue the +velvety leaves of the plant, here and there touched with +conventionalized figures of the yellow blossoms. This contrast of green +and yellow was softened and united by a clever use of the clear red of +the mullein stamens sparingly used in the figures on the walls, in the +cords of the draperies, and in the trimmings of the velvet furniture. +The decorator had used the same simple tone for walls, furniture, and +curtains; and the effect was delightfully soothing and distinguished. + +Wynne felt somehow out of place in this room which bore the stamp of +wealth and taste so markedly. He smiled to himself a little bitterly, +recalling how alien he was to these things. Descended from a family for +generations established in a New England town, he had in his veins too +good blood to feel abashed at the sight of splendors; but he had in his +life seen little of the world outside of lecture-rooms or the Clergy +House. Born with the appreciation of sensuous delight, with the +instinctive desire for the beautiful and refined, he felt awake within +him at contact with the richness and luxury of the life which he was +now leading tastes which he had before hardly been aware of possessing. +He was being influenced by the joy of worldly life, so subtly +presented that he did not even appreciate the need of guarding against +the danger. + +His reflections were cut short by the entrance of a servant who +conducted the young men to a private sitting-room up-stairs. The halls +through which they passed were hung with superb old tapestry, +interspersed with magnificent pictures. On the broad landing it was +almost as if the visitors came into the presence of a beautiful woman, +lying naked amid bright cushions in an oriental interior. As he dropped +his eyes from the alluring vision, Maurice saw in the corner the name +of the artist. + +"Fenton," he said aloud. "Did he paint that?" + +His companion started, regarding the picture with widening eyes. The +English footman, whom Wynne addressed, turned back to say over his +shoulder:-- + +"Yes, sir; they say it's his best picture, and some says he painted his +best friend's wife that way, with nothing on, sir." + +"It is a wicked picture!" Ashe said with what seemed to Maurice +unnecessary emphasis. + +The footman regarded the speaker over his shoulder with a smile. + +"Oh, that's owin' to your bein' of the cloth, sir," was his comment. +"They don't generally feel to own to likin' it; but they mostly notices +it." + +A superb screen of carved and gilded wood stood before an open door +above. When this was reached, the footman slipped noiselessly behind +it, and they heard their names announced. + +"Show them in," Mrs. Wilson's voice said. + +The lady met them in a wonderful morning gown which seemed to be +chiefly cascades of lace, with bows of carmine ribbon here and there +which brought out the color of the dark eyes and hair of the wearer. +Maurice could hardly have told why he flushed, yet he was conscious of +the feeling that there was something intimate in the costume. To be met +by this beautiful woman, her hand outstretched in greeting, her eyes +shining, her white neck rising out of the foam of laces; to breathe the +air, soft and perfumed, of this room; to be surrounded by this luxury, +these tokens of a life which stinted nothing in the pursuit of +enjoyment; more than all to appreciate by some subtle inner sense the +appealing charm of femininity, the suggestions of domestic intimacies; +all this was to the young deacon to be exposed to influences far more +formidable to the ascetic life than those grosser temptations with +which a stupid fiend assailed St. Anthony. Wynne drew a deep breath, +wondering why he felt so strangely moved and confused; yet +unconsciously steeling himself against owning to his conscience what +was the truth. + +"It is so good of you to come early," Mrs. Wilson said brightly. "I +hope you don't mind coming upstairs. I wanted to talk to you +confidentially, and we might be interrupted. Besides, you see, I am not +dressed to go down." + +The young men murmured something to the effect that they did not in the +least mind coming up. + +"Didn't mind coming up!" she echoed. "Is that the way you answer a lady +who gives you the privilege of her private sitting-room? Come, you must +do better than that. If you can't compliment me on my frock, you might +at least say that you are proud to be here." + +The two deacons stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, abashed at +her raillery. Maurice saw the lips of Ashe harden, and he hastened to +speak lest his companion should say something stern. + +"You should remember, Mrs. Wilson," he said a little timidly, yet not +without a gleam of humor, "that our curriculum at the Clergy House does +not include a course in compliment." + +"It should then," she responded gayly. "How in the world is a clergyman +to get on with the women of his congregation if he can't compliment? +Why, the salvation or the damnation of most women is determined by +compliments." + +The visitors stood speechless. Mrs. Wilson broke into a gleeful laugh. + +"Come," cried she; "now I have shocked you! Pardon me; I should have +remembered--_virginibus puerisque!_ Sit down, and we will come to +business." + +Both the young men flushed at her half-contemptuous, half-jesting +phrase, but they sat down as directed. Mrs. Wilson took her seat +directly in front of them, and proceeded to inspect them with cool +deliberation. + +"I am looking you over," she observed calmly. "I must decide what work +you are fitted for before I can assign anything to you." + +Two young men do not live together so intimately, and care for each +other so tenderly as did the two deacons without coming to know each +other well; and Maurice was so fully aware of the extreme sensitiveness +of Ashe that he involuntarily glanced at his friend to see how he bore +this inspection. He resented the impertinence of the scrutiny far more +on Philip's account than his own. Ashe's pale face had on it the +faintest possible flush, and his always grave manner had become really +solemn; but otherwise he made no sign. Wynne had a certain sense of +humor which helped him through the ordeal, and there was a faint gleam +of a smile in his eye as he confronted the brilliant woman before him; +but he was ill-pleased that his friend should be made uncomfortable. + +"Do you judge by outward appearances," he asked, "or have you power to +read the heart?" + +"Men so seldom have hearts," she retorted, "that it is not worth while +to bother with that branch." Then she added, as if thinking aloud, and +looking Ashe in the face: "You are an enthusiast, and take things with +frightful seriousness. You must see Mrs. Frostwinch. You'll just suit +her." + +Maurice could see his companion shrink under this cool directness, and +he hastened to interpose. + +"But Mrs. Frostwinch," he said, "is absorbed in Christian Science or +something, isn't she?" + +"Oh, dear, yes," Mrs. Wilson answered, toying with the broad crimson +ribbon which served her as a girdle. "There is a horrid woman named +Trapps, or Grapps, or Crapps, or something, that has fastened herself +upon cousin Anna, and is mind-curing her, or Christian-sciencing her, +or fooling her in some way; but Mrs. Frostwinch is too well-bred really +to have any sympathy with anything so vulgar. She takes to it in +desperation; but she really detests the whole thing." + +"But," Ashe began hesitatingly, "does her conscience"-- + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, making a gesture as if sweeping all that sort of +thing aside. + +"I dare say her conscience pricks her, if that's what you mean; but +it's so much easier to endure the sting of conscience than of cancer +that I'm not surprised at her choice." + +"Besides," Maurice put in, "this is all done nowadays under the name of +religion. It isn't as if it were called by the old names of mesmerism +or Indian doctoring." + +"That's true enough," assented she. "At any rate Anna is mixed up with +this woman, who gets a lot of money out of her, and earns it by making +her think that she's better. However, Cousin Anna must be made to see +that it's her duty in this case to use her influence to prevent the +election of a man who would subvert the church if he could." + +"But if you are her cousin," Ashe began, "would it not"-- + +"Be better if I went to see her myself? Not in the least. She entirely +disapproves of my having anything to do with the election. Besides, +nobody can successfully talk religion to a woman but a man." + +Maurice smiled in spite of himself at the air with which this was said, +but he none the less felt that Mrs. Wilson was flippant. + +"What influence has Mrs. Frostwinch?" he asked. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson answered, leaning back to consider, "I don't know +whether to say that she controls three votes in the upper house of the +Convention, or four." + +The two young men regarded her in puzzled silence. + +"There are at least three clergymen in the diocese that are dependent +upon her," Mrs. Wilson explained. "There is Mr. Bobbins: he married her +cousin,--not a near cousin, but near enough so that Anna has half +supported the family, and the family is always increasing. I tell Anna +that they have babies just to work on her compassion. I think it's +wrong to encourage it, myself. Then there is Mr. Maloon; he depends on +Mrs. Frostwinch to support his mission. Then there's Brother Pewtap,-- +did you ever know such a lovely name for a country parson?--he just +lives on her with a family bigger than Mr. Robbins's. He's really a +Strathmore man, but he wouldn't dare to vote against her wishes. She +might manage all those votes. Besides, there's a Mr. Jewett somewhere +near Lenox that she's helped a good deal; but I haven't found out about +him yet." + +She rose as she spoke, and went to a writing-table fitted out with all +the inventions known to man for the decoration of the desk and the +encumbrance of the writer. + +"I have here a list of all the clergy of the diocese," she said, taking +up a book bound in red morocco and silver. "I've marked them down as +far as I've found out about them. It's necessary to be systematic. I've +done just as they do in canvassing a city ward." + +Maurice regarded Mrs. Wilson with ever-increasing amazement, but, too, +not without increasing amusement. He was somewhat shocked by the +business way in which she treated the subject, but his heart was set on +the election of Father Frontford; he was honest in feeling that the +church would be injured by the election of Mr. Strathmore, and he was +too completely a man not to be half-unconsciously willing that for the +accomplishment of an end he desired a woman should do many things which +he would not do himself. The three went over the list together, the +young men giving such information as they possessed, Maurice all the +time strangely divided in his mind between disapprobation of Mrs. +Wilson and admiration. Her breath was on his cheek as she bent over +the book, the perfume of her laces filled faintly the air, now and then +her hand touched his. He was not conscious of the potency of this +feminine atmosphere which enveloped him; he did not so much think +personally of Mrs. Wilson, beautiful and near though she was, as he +felt her presence as a sort of impersonation of woman. He thought of +Miss Morison, and warmed with a nameless thrill, of longing. Then he +recalled the remark of Mrs. Staggchase that he was undergoing his +temptation, and his heart sank. + +"You see," Mrs. Wilson was saying, when he forced his wandering +attention to heed her words, "men are really elected before the +convention. The work must be done now. You two can, of course, do a lot +of things that it wouldn't be good form for a regular clergyman to do. +Of course you wouldn't be able to manage the directing, but there is a +good deal of work that is in your line." + +"Of course we are glad to do what we can," Maurice responded, smiling. + +He glanced at Ashe and saw that his friend's face was stern. + +"I knew you would be," the lady went on. "Mr. Ashe is to see Mrs. +Frostwinch. You can't be too eloquent in telling her the consequences +of Mr. Strathmore's election. If you can get her to write to the men +I've named, she can secure them. It won't be amiss to flatter her a +little; and above all don't abuse the faith-cure business." + +"But if she speaks of it," Ashe returned hesitatingly, "what am I to +do?" + +"Oh, she'll be sure to speak of it; but you must manage to evade. Let +her say, and don't you contradict. She'll say enough, I've no doubt. +Very likely she'll abuse it herself; but don't for goodness' sake make +the mistake of falling in with her. If you do, it'll be fatal." + +"But I know Mrs. Frostwinch so slightly," Philip objected, "that I do +not see"-- + +"Come!" she interrupted; "there is to be none of this. You are under my +orders. I'll give you a letter to Cousin Anna now." + +"But"-- + +"But! But what?" she cried, laughing. "Do you mean that you distrust +your leader so soon? Do I look like a woman to fail?" + +She spread out her arms in a gesture half imploring, half jocose, her +laces fluttering, her ribbons waving, the ringlets about her face +dancing. Her eyes were brimming with mocking light, and however poorly +she might seem to represent ideas theological she certainly did not +personify failure. + +Maurice laughed lightly and glanced at his friend. Ashe did not smile, +but he bowed as if in resignation to the command of a leader. + +"You are to go to Mrs. Frostwinch's this very afternoon," Mrs. Wilson +declared. "It won't do to lose any time. If once her votes get pledged +to the other party, there's an end to that. That's your work. Now you," +she continued, turning to Wynne, "are to go to Springfield and the +western part of the State." + +"The western part of the State?" Maurice ejaculated in astonishment. +"Do you work there too?" + +"Of course we have to cover the whole diocese," she returned +vivaciously. "Did you suppose we left everything but Boston to the +enemy?" + +He could only reply by a stare. He had never in his life encountered +anything like this woman, and he was bewildered by her audacity, her +alertness, her beauty, and the dash with which she carried everything +off. + +"You will go to-morrow," she went on, "and I will send you the list of +the men you have to see. I'm sorry not to go over it with you, but I +have an engagement this morning, and I shall be late now. You are +staying with Mrs. Staggchase, aren't you?" + +"Yes; she is my cousin." + +"So much the better for you. It's a liberal education to have a cousin +as clever as that. Good-by. Thank you both for coming." + +She rang as she spoke, and handed the young men over to the maid who +appeared; the maid in turn handed them over to the footman, and by him +they were seen safely out of the house. As they turned away from the +door, Ashe sighed deeply, while Wynne was smiling to himself. + +"What a--a--what a woman!" Philip said fervently. "She's amazing!" + +"Oh, yes," his friend laughed; "but what do you or I know about women +anyway?" + + + + VI + + + HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + Love's Labour's Lost, i. 1. + + +As Philip Ashe, his eyes cast down in earnest thought, approached Mrs. +Frostwinch's gate that afternoon, he looked up suddenly to find himself +face to face with Mrs. Fenton. She was dressed in dark, heavy cloth, +set down the waist with small antique buckles of dark silver; and +seemed to him the perfection of elegance and beauty. + +"Good morning, Mr. Ashe," she greeted him, smiling. "I did not expect +to find you coming to hear Mrs. Crapps." + +"To hear Mrs. Crapps?" he echoed. "Who is Mrs. Crapps?" + +Mrs. Fenton turned back as she was entering the iron gate which between +stately stone posts shut off the domain of the Frostwinches from the +world, and marked with dignity the line between the dwellers on Mt. +Vernon Street and the rest of the world. + +"Do you mean," asked she, "that you didn't know that Mrs. Crapps, the +mind-cure woman, is to lecture here this afternoon?" + +Ashe drew back. + +"I certainly did not know it," he answered. "I was coming to speak to +Mrs. Frostwinch about the election." + +"It's the last of three lectures," Mrs. Fenton explained. "Mrs. Crapps, +you know, is the woman that has been curing Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Ashe stood hesitatingly silent in the gateway a moment. + +"I should like to see her," he said thoughtfully. "Not from mere +curiosity, but because I cannot understand what gives these persons a +hold over intelligent men and women." + +"The thing that gives her a hold over Mrs. Frostwinch is that she has +raised her up from a bed of sickness. Come in with me, and see her. I +should like to see how she strikes you. You can speak to Mrs. +Frostwinch after the lecture." + +He hesitated a moment, and then followed her, saying to himself with +suspicious emphasis that the fact that the invitation came from her had +nothing to do with his acceptance. He soon found himself seated in the +great dusky drawing-room of the Frostwinch house, an apartment whose +very walls were incrusted with conservative traditions. It was +furnished with richness, but both with much greater simplicity and +greater stiffness than he had seen in any of the houses he had thus far +been in. The chief decoration, one felt, was the air of the place's +having been inhabited by generations of socially immaculate Boston +ancestors. There was a savor of lineage amounting almost to godliness +in the dark, self-contained parlors; and if pedigree were not in this +dwelling imputed for righteousness, it was evidently held in becoming +reverence as the first of virtues. There are certain houses where the +atmosphere is so completely impregnated with the idea of the departed +as to give a certain effect as a spiritual morgue; and in the drawing- +room of Mrs. Frostwinch there was a good deal of this flavor of +defunct, but by no means departed, merit. Grim portraits stared coldly +from the walls, Copleys that would have looked upon a Stuart as +parvenu; the Frostwinch and Canton arms hung over the ends of the +mantel; while the very furniture seemed to condescend to visitors. Ashe +could not have told why the place affected him as overpowering, but he +none the less was conscious of the feeling. The company was apparently +nearly all assembled when he came in, and he sank down into a chair in +a corner, glad to escape observation. + +The speaker of the afternoon was already in her place when he entered, +and he examined her with curiosity. She was a woman who might have been +forty years of age, with a hard, eager, alert face; her forehead was +narrow, her lips thin and straight, her nostrils cut too high. Her eyes +were bold and sharp, dominating her face, and fixing upon the hearers +the look of a bird of prey. Mrs. Crapps's hair was tinged with gray, +and in her whole appearance there was a sharpness which seemed to speak +of one who had battled with the world. Ashe was struck by the +personality of the woman, yet strongly repelled. She was evidently a +creature of abundant vitality, and exultantly dominant of will. The +bold, black eyes sparkled with determination, and he could at once +understand that Mrs. Crapps was one to establish easily an influence +over any nature naturally weak or debilitated by disease. + +Ashe listened with curiosity to the opening of the address. The voice +of the speaker had much of the vivacity of her glance. She spoke with +an air of candor and frankness, and yet Philip found himself +distrusting her from the outset. He said to himself that it was because +he was prejudiced, that he doubted; but he yet felt that her manner +would in any case have begotten repulsion. She had that air of +insistence, of determination to be believed, which belongs to the +speaker who is absorbed rather in the desire to prevail than in the +wish to be true. He felt that her air of conviction was no proof of her +conception of the truth of what she was saying; she protested too much. +He was at first so absorbed in watching the woman that he paid little +heed to her theories; but he soon began to flush with indignation. This +woman, with her bold air and masculine dominance, sat there talking of +herself as a present incarnation of Christ; of Christ as the +incarnation of the human will; of disease as a sin; and of death as a +mere figment of the imagination. The paganism of the Persian as he had +heard it at Mrs. Gore's seemed to him less offensive than this. He +moved uneasily in his seat, his cheeks flushing, and his lips pressed +together. Presently he felt the glance of Mrs. Fenton, who sat near +him, and looking up he encountered her eyes. She seemed to him to show +sympathy with his feeling, but to remind him that this was not the time +or place for protest. He regained instantly his self-control, and +perhaps from that time on thought less of Mrs. Crapps than of his +neighbor. + +The talk of Mrs. Crapps was commonplace enough, and hackneyed enough, +could Ashe but have known it. There was the usual patter about +spiritual and physical freedom, about faith and perfection, "the Deific +principle as a rule of health," a jumble of things medical and things +physical, things profane and things holy mingled in a strange and +unintelligible jargon. By the time that the eager-eyed speaker had +talked for an hour Ashe felt his mind to be in confusion, and he could +not but feel that not a few of the hearers must be in a state of utter +mental bewilderment if the address had impressed at all. + +"The end of the whole matter is," Mrs. Crapps said in closing, "that +mankind has for ages submitted to this cruel superstition of death. We +have bowed ourselves beneath the wheels of this Juggernaut; we have +sent to the dark tomb our best loved friends; we crouch and cower in +awful fear of the time when we shall follow. We hear ever thrilling in +our ears the quivering minor chord of human woe, voice of the burning +heart-pain of the race, launched rudderless upon a troubled sea of woe, +and undrowned even by the throbbing march-beats of the progression of +man down the vista of the ages. And yet there is no death. This fear is +only the terror of children frightened by ghosts of their own +invention. What we dread has no existence save in the fevered and +fancy-fed fear of blinded men. O my hearers, why can we not seize upon +the hem of this truth which the Messiah came to teach! Death is but +sin; and sin has been removed by atonement; the holiness of the soul is +immortal. There is, there can be no death! Receive the glad tidings, +and cry it aloud! There is no death! Let all the earth hear, until +there is none so base, so low, so poor, so ignorant, so sinful that he +shall not be immortal. It is his birthright, for we are all born to +eternal life." + +The voice of Mrs. Crapps took on a more persuasive inflection as she +delivered this peroration; and it was easy to see that she had affected +the nerves if not the minds of her audience. There was a deep hush as +she concluded. She lifted for a moment her sharp black eyes toward +heaven, and then dropped her glance to earth, as if overcome by +feeling, or as if with awe she had caught sight of sacred mysteries +which it was not lawful to look upon. In a moment more she raised her +eyes, and invited any of her hearers to question her about anything +connected with the subject which troubled them. For a breathing time +there was silence, and then a lady asked with a puzzled air:-- + +"But do you Christian Scientists deny"-- + +"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Crapps interrupted, leaning forward with a +deprecatory smile, "but I am not a Christian Scientist." + +"I mean do you Faith Healers"-- + +"That is not our title," Mrs. Crapps said with gentle insistence. + +"Are you called Mind Curers, then?" + +"No," the priestess responded, with an air lofty yet condescending; +"with those forms of error we have no dealing or sympathy. It is true +that those who teach faith-healing, mind-cure, or any sort of religious +rejuvenance, have in part taken our high tenets; but they have in each +case obscured them by errors and follies of their own. We are the +Christian Faith Healed,--not healers, you will observe, because we +believe that all mankind are really healed, and that all that is needed +is that they recognize and acknowledge this precious truth." + +The ladies present looked at one another in some confusion, and Ashe +caught in the eyes of Mrs. Staggchase, who sat half facing him, a gleam +of amusement. This emboldened him to repeat the question which had been +abandoned by its first asker, who had evidently been overwhelmed by the +delicacy of the distinction of sects made by Mrs. Crapps. + +"Do you then," he asked, "deny the existence of death?" + +"Utterly," the seeress returned, bending upon him a bold look as if to +challenge him to differ from what she asserted. "It is as amazing as it +is melancholy that mankind should have submitted to the indignity of +death so long." + +"How can they submit to that which does not exist?" + +"It exists in seeming, but not in reality." + +A murmur ran through the company, and Philip met the eyes of Mrs. +Fenton, who shook her head slightly, as who would say that discussion +was futile. + +"But--but how"--one hearer began falteringly, and then stopped, +evidently too overwhelmed by the astounding nature of the proposition +laid down to be able even to frame a question. + +"Indeed," Mrs. Crapps said, taking up the word, "we may well ask how. +It transcends the incredible that the monstrous delusion of death +should ever have been entertained for an instant. The explanation lies +in sin. Death is but the projection of a sin-burdened conscience upon +the mists of the unknown. Thank God that it has been given to our +generation to tear away the veil from this falsehood, and to recognize +the absolute unreality of the phantom which the ignorance and +superstition of guilty humanity have conjured up." The smooth, +deliberate voice of Mrs. Staggchase broke the silence which this +declaration produced. + +"It is then your idea that death comes entirely from the belief of +mankind?" + +"What we call death undoubtedly has that origin," Mrs. Crapps answered. + +"How then could so extraordinary a delusion have had a beginning?" + +A faint shade crossed the face of the seeress, but it merged instantly +into a smile of patient superiority. + +"That is the question unbelief always asks," she said. "It seems so +difficult to answer, and yet it is really so simple. The idea of death +of course arose from a distorted projection of the condition of sleep +upon the diseased imagination. With sin came the bewilderment of human +reason, and the delusion followed as an inevitable morbid growth." + +"Then the earlier generations of mankind were immortal?" + +"Undoubtedly. We have traces of the fact in all the old mythologies." + +"But what became of them?" + +"Once the idea of death had entered the world," Mrs. Crapps said +impressively, "it spread like the plague until it had infected all +mankind. Even those who had lived for ages to prove it false were not +able to resist the prevalence of the thing they knew to be untrue,--any +more," she added, dropping her eyes, and speaking in a tone sad and +patient, "than we who to-day understand that there is no such thing as +death can resist the overwhelming power of the belief of the masses of +the race. The might of the will of the majority, directed by an +appalling delusion, compels us to submit to that which we yet know to +be an unreality." + +Again there was a hush. The woman was appealing to the most fundamental +facts of human experience and the most poignant emotions of human life, +and boldly denying or confounding both. It seemed to Ashe that the only +possible answer to such talk was an accusation either of madness or +blasphemy. The silence was once more broken by Mrs. Staggchase. + +"But if there is no such thing as death," she observed, with the +faintest touch of irony perceptible in her well-bred voice, "of course +you do not really die; and since you do not share the general delusion +in thinking yourselves to be dead, it would seem to follow that +although you may be dead for the world in general, you are still +immortal for yourselves and each other." + +The black eyes of Mrs. Crapps sparkled, but she controlled herself, and +shook her head with an air of gentle remonstrance. + +"It proves how strong is the hold upon mankind of this delusion," she +said, "that what I tell you appears incredible. The truth is always +incredible, because the blind eyes of humanity can see only half-truths +except by great effort. I have tried to enlighten you, and I can do no +more. It is for you and not for myself that I speak." + +She rose from her chair, which seemed to be the signal for the breaking +up of the assembly, and that her cleverness in securing the last word +was not without its effect was apparent by the murmurs of the company. +In another moment, however, Ashe heard as at Mrs. Gore's the exchange +of greetings and bits of news, the making of appointments for shopping +or theatre-going, and all the trivial chat of daily life. He stood +aside until the crowd should thin, and in the mean time had the +felicity of being near Mrs. Fenton. He began to feel himself almost +overcome by the delight of being so near her, of meeting her clear +glance, frank and sympathetic, of hearing her voice, of noting the +ripples of her hair, the curve of nostril and neck. He was like a boy +in the first budding of passion before reason has softened the +extravagance of his feeling. The talk of the afternoon, his +indignation at the words of Mrs. Crapps, his feeling that he had been +assisting at a sacrament of impiety, were all forgotten as he stood +talking to his neighbor. + +"Come," she said at length, "I must speak to Mrs. Frostwinch before I +go." + +He bent forward to remove a chair which was in her way, and her gloved +hand brushed against his. He covered the spot with his other hand as if +he would preserve the precious touch. + +"I found Mr. Ashe at the door," Mrs. Fenton said to the hostess, "and I +would not let him turn back. I was too much interested in his errand." + +"I am sorry if he needed urging to come in," Mrs. Frostwinch responded +with graceful courtesy; "but what was the errand?" + +"Mrs. Wilson asked me to see you in relation to the election," Ashe +answered. + +"Elsie is having a beautiful time managing this election," commented +Mrs. Frostwinch. "She hasn't been so amused for a long time. She thinks +Father Frontford is a puppet in her hands, while he knows that she is +one in his." + +"I hope," Mrs. Fenton put in, "that you may be able to help Mr. Ashe. I +can answer for it that he is not making the matter one of amusement." + +Ashe could not help flushing. He thanked her with a glance, and turned +again to Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"I do not know or like the electioneering of such affairs," he said +gravely; "but since there is a strong effort being made on the other +side it certainly seems necessary to do whatever can be done fairly." + +A few last visitors who had been chatting among themselves now came +forward to say good-by. Mrs. Fenton also took leave, and Ashe found +himself alone with his hostess and Mrs. Crapps. + +"Mrs. Crapps, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch said. + +It seemed to him that there was in the manner of Mrs. Frostwinch +something of condescension, as if the Faith Healed was a sort of upper +servant. He had himself not outlived the ingenuous period wherein a +youth feels that the preservation of truth in the world depends upon +his not covering his impressions, and he was accordingly extremely cold +in his manner. + +"Ah, a new disciple to our faith, I trust," Mrs. Crapps said, fixing +upon him her keen, bold eyes. + +"I have never even heard of your doctrine until to-day," he answered. + +"But surely it must strike you at once," she responded, with a manner +evidently meant to be insinuating. + +He hesitated. He remembered that he had been expressly warned not to +say anything against the vagaries with which Mrs. Frostwinch was +concerned; but his conscience would not allow him to evade this direct +challenge. + +"It struck me as being blasphemous," he responded with unnecessary +fervor. + +Mrs. Crapps raised her eyes to the ceiling, and uttered a theatrical +sigh. + +"Oh, sacred truth!" she exclaimed. + +"Come, Mrs. Crapps," Mrs. Frostwinch interposed almost sharply, "you +know that Mr. Ashe is right. It is blasphemous, and I feel as if I'd +allowed my house to be used for a sacrifice to false gods. If you will +excuse us, I wish to speak with Mr. Ashe on business. Will you kindly +come to the library, Mr. Ashe." + +As he followed, Philip caught sight in a mirror of the face of Mrs. +Crapps. It wore a singular smile, but whether of anger or contempt he +could not tell. + +"I dare say, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch remarked, as soon as they were +seated in the library, "that it seems strange to you that I have that +woman speak in my parlors. Of course I don't mean to apologize, but I +am sorry that you should hear things that shocked you." + +"Dear madam," he answered, leaning forward in his eagerness, "what I +heard does not matter; but it does seem to me a pity that such things +should be said, and said under your protection." + +He was too much in earnest to be self-conscious, even when she regarded +him in silence a moment before replying. + +"You are perhaps right," she said at length, "although you exaggerate +the influence of such things." + +"I do not pretend to know whether they are influential or not," he +returned simply. "It is only that they do not seem to me to be right. +If they are wrong, they are wrong." + +She smiled and sighed. + +"Life is not so simple as that," was her reply. "The woman has saved my +life. I should have been in my grave months ago but for her. My +physician insists now that I haven't any real right to be out of it. I +cannot refuse to allow her to say the thing that she believes, since +that thing has a certain proof in my very life." + +Philip shook his head. + +"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts +of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston +seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names +and aid"-- + +He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the +fact that he was condemning her. + +"There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented. "I suppose +that the difficulty is that we have ceased to recognize any authority +in matters of belief." + +"But the church!" + +"Yes, there is the church," she said doubtfully, "but to many it has +ceased to be an authority, and modern thought allows so much individual +freedom. Our church has never claimed to be infallible like the +Catholic; and individual freedom of conscience has come pretty +generally to mean freedom from conscience." + +"Then it is a pity that the authority which is exercised in the Roman +church is not exercised in ours." + +"Ah, Mr. Ashe, you reckon without the spirit of the age in which we +live. But tell me what I can do for you in the matter of the election." + +Mrs. Frostwinch was a devout churchwoman in her way, although she was +now in appearance following after strange gods. She readily promised +her aid in favor of Father Frontford. + +"I agree with you, Mr. Ashe," she said, "that everything possible +should be done to stem the tide of laxness which seems advancing +everywhere. The mental reservations of Mr. Strathmore are certainly so +broad that they may cover anything. I know women who go to his church +and simply say the beginning of the creed: 'I believe in God;' and who +do not hesitate in private to explain that by the name God they mean +whatever force it is that moves the universe, whether it is intelligent +or not." + +"How dreadful!" Philip exclaimed. "How can the church endure if this +goes on?" + +They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that +she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her +pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he +had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions. Yet +perhaps more potent still in warming his heart was the remembrance of +the pleasant words which Mrs. Fenton had spoken in his behalf. The +memory colored all his thoughts of elections, of bishops, and of +creeds, as a gleam of rosy light tinges all upon which it falls. + + + + VII + + + THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + Othello, iv. 1. + + +"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing +with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should +she send parlor-car checks too?" + +"It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, +smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it +is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church +now"-- + +"If I don't go as a representative of the church," he responded, as she +paused with a significant smile, "I go as nothing." + +"Oh, I thought that it was Elsie that was sending you. However, it's no +matter. The point is that you are becoming acquainted with the luxuries +of life. You are being tried by the insidious softness of the world." + +He regarded her with some inward irritation. He had a half-defined +conviction that she was mocking him, and that her words were more than +mere badinage. He was not without a suspicion that his cousin was +sometimes histrionic, and that many things which she said were to be +regarded as stage talk. He did not know how far to take her seriously, +and this gave him a feeling at once confused and uncomfortable. To be +played with as if he were not of discernment ripe enough to perceive +her raillery or as if he were not of consequence sufficient to be taken +seriously, offended his vanity; and the man whom the devil cannot +conquer through his vanity is invulnerable. Wynne had no answer now for +the words of Mrs. Staggchase. He contented himself with a glance not +entirely free from resentment, at which she laughed. + +"I wonder, Cousin Maurice," she said, "if you realize how completely +you have changed in the ten days you have been here. It is like +bringing into light a plant that has been sprouting in the dark." + +He did not answer for a moment, trying to find it possible to deny the +charge. + +"The fact that you know me better makes me seem different," he answered +evasively. + +"How much has the fact that you don't know yourself so well to do with +it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, anything you like. I merely suspect that you are not so sure of +your vocation as you were in the Clergy House. Even a deacon is human, +I suppose; and if life is alluring, he can't help feeling it. Are you +still sure that the clergy should be celibate, for instance?" + +He felt her eyes piercing him as if his secret thoughts were open to +her, and he knew that he was flushing to his very hair. He hastened to +answer, not only that he might not think, but that she might not +perceive that he had admitted any doubt to his heart. + +"More than ever," he responded. "It is impossible not to see that a +clergyman who is married must have his thoughts distracted from his +sacred calling." + +Mrs. Staggchase leaned back in her chair and regarded him with the +smile which he found always so puzzling and so disconcerting. + +"You did that very well," she said, "only you shouldn't have put in the +word 'sacred.' That made it all sound conventional. However, you +probably meant it. She is distracting." + +The hot blood leaped into his face so that he knew that it was utterly +impossible to conceal his confusion. + +"I don't know what you mean," he stammered. + +Instantly his conscience reproached him with not speaking the truth. He +responded to his conscience that it was impossible in circumstances +like these to say the whole, and that what he had said was not untrue. +He could not know what his cousin meant by her pronoun, and if the +thought of Miss Morison had come instantly into his mind, it by no +means followed that it was she of whom Mrs. Staggchase was thinking. +Life seemed suddenly more complex than he had ever dreamed it possible; +and before this remark the unsophisticated deacon became so completely +confused that for the instant it was his instinctive wish to be once +more safely within the sheltering walls of the Clergy House, protected +from the temptations and vexations of the world. He was after all of a +nature which did not yield readily, however, and the next thought was +one of defiance. He would not yield up his secret, and he defied the +world to drag it from him. His companion smiled upon him with the +baffling look which her husband called her Mona Lisa expression, and +then she laughed outright. + +"My dear boy," she said, "you are no more a priest than I am; and you +are as transparent as a piece of crystal. Well, I am fond of you, and +I'm glad to have a hand in proving to you that you are not meant for +the priesthood before it's too late." + +"But it hasn't been proved to me," he cried, not without some +sternness. + +"Oh, bless you, it's in train, and that's the same thing. 'Not poppy, +nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the east' could put you to +sleep again in the dream you had in the Clergy House. It will take you +a little longer to find yourself out, but the thing is done +nevertheless." + +As she spoke, a servant came to the door to announce the carriage. Mrs. +Staggchase held out her hand. + +"Good-by," she said, as Maurice rose, and came forward to take it. "I +hope that we shall see you again in a couple of days. I have still a +good deal to show you." + +He had recovered his self-possession a little, and answered her with a +smile:-- + +"You make it so delightful for me here that I am not sure you are not +right in saying that you are my temptation." + +"Oh, I've already given up the office of tempter," she responded +quickly. "I found a rival, and that I never could endure. You'll have +your temptation with you." + +It seemed to Maurice when he came to take his seat in the parlor car +that his cousin was little short of a witch. In the chair next to his +own sat Berenice Morison. She greeted him with a friendly nod and +smile. + +"Mrs. Wilson told me that you were going on this train," she said, +"and she got a chair for you next to mine so that you should take care +of me." + +He bowed rather confusedly, but with his heart full of delight. + +"I shall be glad to do anything I can for you," he answered, vexed that +he had not a better reply at command. + +He saw the dapper young man across the aisle regard him curiously, and +a feeling of dissatisfaction came over him as he reflected upon the +singularity of his garb, and the incongruity between the clerical dress +and the squiring of dames. Religious fervor is nourished by martyrdom, +but it is seldom proof against ridicule. It is not impossible that the +faint shade of amusement which Maurice fancied he detected in the eyes +of the stranger opposite was a more effective cause for discontent with +his calling than any of the influences to which he had been exposed +under the auspices of Mrs. Staggchase. + +He could not help feeling, moreover, that there was a gleam of fun in +the clear dark eyes of Miss Morison. She was so completely at ease, so +entirely mistress of the situation, that Wynne, little accustomed to +the society of women, and secretly a little disconcerted by the +surprise, felt himself at a disadvantage. It touched his vanity that he +should be smiled at by the trimly appointed dandy opposite, and that he +should be in experience and self-possession inferior to the girl beside +him. He began vaguely to wonder what he had been doing all his life; he +reflected that he had not in his old college days been so ill at ease, +and it annoyed him to think that two years in the Clergy House should +have put him so out of touch with the simplest matters of life. He said +to himself scornfully that he was a monk already; and the thought, +which would once have given him satisfaction, was now fraught with +nothing but vexation and self-contempt. He had a subtile inclination to +give himself up to the impulse of the moment. He felt the intoxication +of the presence of Miss Morison, and he yielded to it with frank +unscrupulousness. He resolved that he would repent afterward; yet +instantly demanded of himself if this were really a sin. He was after +all a man, if he had chosen the ecclesiastic calling. If indeed he were +transgressing he told himself half contemptuously that as he did +penance doubly, once that imposed by his own spiritual director and +again that set by the Catholic at the North End, he might be held to +expiate amply the pleasure of this hour. He at least was determined to +forget for the once that he was a priest, and to remember only that he +was a man, and that he loved this beautiful creature beside him. He +noted the curve of her clear cheek and shell-like ear; the sweep of her +eyelashes and the liquid deeps of her dark eyes. He let his glance +follow the line of her neck below the rounded chin, and became suddenly +conscious that he was fascinated by the soft swell of her bosom. The +blood came into his cheeks, and he looked hastily out of the window. + +The train was already clear of the city, and was speeding through the +suburbs, rattling gayly and noisily past the ostentatious stations and +the scattered houses. Maurice felt that his companion was secretly +observing him, although she was apparently looking at the landscape +which slid precipitately past. He wished to say something, and desired +that it should not be clerical in tone. He would fain have spoken, not +as a deacon, but as a man of the world. + +"Are you going to New York?" he asked. + +"I shall not have the pleasure of your company so far," she returned +with a smile. + +"No," he responded naively. "I am going only to Springfield." + +"Ah," she said, smiling again; and too late he realized that she had +meant that she was not going through. + +He was the more vexed with himself because he was sure that his +confusion was so plain that she could not but see it, and that it was +with a kind intention of relieving his embarrassment that she spoke +again. + +"I am going to visit my grandmother in Brookfield." + +He replied by some sort of an unintelligible murmur, and was doubly +angry with himself for being so shy and awkward. He glanced furtively +at the trim young man opposite, and was relieved to find that that +individual was reading and giving no heed. He wondered why he should be +so completely thrown out of his usual self-possession by this girl, so +that when he talked to her, and was most anxious to appear at his best, +he was most surely at his worst. There came whimsically into his head a +thought of the wisdom of training the clergy to the social gifts and +graces, and he remembered the flippant speech of Mrs. Wilson about the +need of their being able to pay compliments. + +"I seem to be specially stupid when I try to talk to you," he said with +boyish frankness. + +Miss Morison looked at him curiously. + +"Am I to take that as a compliment or the reverse?" she asked. + +"It must be a compliment, I suppose, for it shows how much power you +have over me." + +He was reassured by her smile, and felt that this was not so badly +said. + +"The power to make you stupid, I think you intimated." + +"Oh, no," he responded, with more eagerness than the occasion called +for; "I didn't mean that." + +She smiled again, a smile which seemed to him nothing less than +adorable, and yet which teased him a little, although he could not tell +why. She took up the novel which lay in her lap. + +"Have you read this?" she inquired. + +He shook his head. + +"You forget," he answered, "that I am a deacon. At the Clergy House we +do not read novels." + +"How little you must know of life," returned she. + +There was a silence of some moments. The train rushed on, past fields +desolate under patches of snow, and stark, leafless trees; over rivers +dotted with cakes of grimy ice; between banks of frost-gnawed rock. The +landscape in the dim January afternoon was gray and gloomy; and as day +declined everything became more lorn and forbidding. Maurice turned +away from the window, and sighed. + +"How disconsolate the country looks!" said he. "I am country bred, and +I don't know that I ever thought of the sadness of it; but now if I see +the country in winter it makes me sigh for the people who have to live +there all the year round." + +"But they don't notice it any more than you did when you lived in it." + +"Perhaps not; but it seems to me as if they must. At any rate they must +feel the effects of it, whether they are conscious of it or not." + +Miss Morison looked out at the dull, sodden fields and stark trees. + +"I am afraid that you were never a true lover of the country," said she +thoughtfully. "You should know my grandmother. She is almost ninety, +but she is as young as a girl in her teens. She has lived in the finest +cities in the world,--London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and of course our +American cities. Now she is happiest in the country, and can hardly be +persuaded to stay in town. She says that she loves the sound of the +wind and the rain better than the noise of the street-cars." + +"That I can understand," he answered; "but I am interested in men. I +don't like to be away from them. There is something intoxicating in the +presence of masses of human beings, in the mere sense that so many +people are alive about you." + +She looked at him with more interest than he had ever seen in her eyes. + +"But I don't understand," she began hesitatingly, "why"-- + +"Why what?" he asked as she paused. + +"I don't know that I ought to say it, but having begun I may as well +finish. I was going to say that I could not understand how one so +interested in men and so sensitive to humanity could be content to +choose a profession which cuts him off from so much of active life." + +"It was from interest in men, I suppose, that I chose it. I wanted to +reach them, to do something for them. Although," Maurice concluded, +flushing, "I don't think that I realized at that time the feeling of +being carried away by the mere presence of crowds of living beings." + +There was another interval of silence, during which they both looked +out at the cold landscape, blotted and marred by patches of snow tawny +from a recent thaw. + +"I doubt if you have got the whole of it," Miss Morison said +thoughtfully, turning toward him. "Dear old grandmother is as deeply +interested in the human as anybody can be. She always makes me feel +that my life in the midst of folk is very thin and poor as compared to +hers. She has known almost everybody worth knowing. Grandfather was +minister to England and Russia, and she of course was with him. Yet +she's content and happy off here in Brookfield." + +"Perhaps," Wynne returned hesitatingly, "there's something the matter +with the age. I don't suppose that at her time of life she has anything +of this generation's restless"-- + +He broke off abruptly. + +"Well?" his companion said curiously. + +He smiled and sighed. + +"I don't know why I am talking to you so frankly," replied he. "As a +matter of fact I find that I'm more frank with you than I am with +myself. I've always refused to own to myself that there was anything +restless in my feeling toward life; yet here I am saying it to you." + +"One often thinks things out in that way. Hasn't that been your +experience?" + +"Yes," he responded thoughtfully; "although I don't know that I ever +realized it before. I see now that I've often reasoned out things that +bothered me simply by trying to tell them to my friend, Mr. Ashe." + +"Is he your bosom friend and confidant? It is usually supposed to be a +woman in such a case." + +"Oh, no," was his somewhat too eager rejoinder; "I never talked like +this to a woman. I never wanted to before." + +A look which passed over her face seemed to tell him that the talk was +taking a tone more confidential than she liked. He was keyed up to a +pitch of excitement and of sensitiveness; and a thrill of +disappointment pierced him. He became at once silent; and then he +fancied that she glanced at him as if in question why his mood had +changed so suddenly. The train rolled into the station at Worcester, +and he went out to walk a moment on the platform, and to try to collect +his thoughts. He had forgotten now to question his right to be enjoying +the companionship of Miss Morison; he gloated over her friendly looks +and words, thinking of how he might have said this and that, and thus +have appeared to better advantage, and resolving to be more self- +controlled for the remainder of the ride. The open air was refreshing; +and a great sense of joyousness filled him to overflowing. When again +he took his seat in the car he could have laughed from simple pleasure. + +The chat of the latter part of the journey was more easy and +unconstrained than at the beginning. It was not clear to Wynne what the +change was, but he was aware that he was somehow talking less self- +consciously than before. They spoke of one thing and another, and it +teased the young man somewhat that when now and then his companion +mentioned a book he had seldom seen it. The things which he had read of +late years he knew without asking that she would not have seen. Even +the names of current writers of fiction were hardly known to him, and +an allusion to what they had written was beyond him. In spite of a word +which now and again brought out the difference between his world and +hers, however, Maurice thoroughly enjoyed the talk. Now and then he +would reflect in a sort of sub-consciousness that the delight of this +hour was to be dearly paid for with penance and repentance, but this +provoked in him rather the determination at least to enjoy it to the +full while it lasted, than any inclination to deny himself the present +gratification. + +It has been remarked that the ecclesiastical temper is histrionic; and +Wynne was not without a share of this spirit. He would have gone to the +stake for a conviction, and made a beautifully effective death-scene +for the edification of men and angels, not for a moment aware that +there was anything artificial in what he was doing. Now he was not +without a consciousness that he was playing the role of a lover and a +prodigal, sincere in his love and devotion; yet none the less subtly +aware how much more interesting is repentance when there is genuine +human passion to repent, is renunciation when there is real love to +sacrifice; of how much more effective is saintliness set off against a +background of transgression. It was a real if somewhat childish joy to +be able to sin actually yet without going beyond hope; of being +dramatically false to his vows without crossing the line of possible +pardon. + +"We shall be in Brookfield in ten minutes," Miss Morison said, +beginning to look about for her belongings. "We pass the New York +express just here." + +Hardly had she spoken when suddenly and without warning there was an +outburst of shrieks from the whistle of the engine, answered and +blended with that of another. Before Maurice could realize what the +outburst meant, there followed a horrible shock which seemed to +dislocate every joint in his body. Berenice was thrown violently into +his arms, flung as a dead weight, and shrieking as she fell against his +breast. Instinctively he clasped her, and in the terror of the moment +it was for a brief instant no more to him that his embrace enfolded her +than if she had been the veriest stranger. A hideous din of yells, of +crashing wood and rending iron, of shivering glass, of escaping steam, +of indescribable sounds which had no resemblance to anything which he +had ever heard or dreamed of, and which seemed to beat upon his ears +and his brain like blows of bludgeons wielded by the hands of infuriate +giants. The end of the car before him was beaten in; splinters of wood +and fragments of glass flew about him like hail; it was like being +without warning exposed to the fiercest fire of batteries of an +implacable enemy. A woman was dashed at his very feet torn and +bleeding, her face mangled so that he grew sick and faint at the sight; +pinned against the seat opposite, transfixed by a long splinter as with +a javelin, was the dapper young man, horribly writhing and mowing, and +then stark dead in an instant, staring with wide open eyes and +distorted face like a ghastly mask. Moans and shrieks, grindings and +roarings, howlings and babbling cries that were human yet were +piercingly inarticulate filled the air with an inhuman din which drove +him to a frenzy. It seemed as if the world had been torn into +fragments. + +Yet all this was within the space of a second. Indeed, although all +these things happened and he saw and heard them clearly, there was no +pause between the first alarming whistle and the overturning of the +car which now came. He was lifted up; he saw the whole car sway with a +dizzying, sickening motion, and then plunge violently over. Fortunately +it so turned that he and Miss Morison were on the upper side. He fell +across the aisle, striking the chair opposite, but somehow +instinctively managing to protect Berenice from the force of the +concussion. She no longer cried out, but she clung convulsively about +his neck, and as they swayed for the fall he saw in her eyes a look of +wild and desperate appeal. He forgot then everything but her. The +desire to protect and save her, the feeling that he belonged absolutely +to her and that even to the death he would serve her, swallowed up +every other feeling. As they went over a vise-like grip caught his arm, +and amid all the infernal confusion he somehow connected that +despairing clutch with a succession of shrill and piercing shrieks +which rang in his ear, seeming to be close to him. He remembered that +in the chair behind his had been a young girl, and he felt a pity for +her that choked him like a hand at his throat. Then as they went down +he instinctively but vainly tried to shake off the hold, which was as +that of a trap. It was like being in the actual grip of death. + +All sorts of loose articles fell with them from the upturned side of +the car to the other; they were part of a cataract of falling bodies, +involved as in a crushing avalanche. Wynne found himself in this +falling shower crumpled up between two chairs, one of his feet +evidently thrust through a broken window and the other still held by +that convulsive clasp. Miss Morison was half above him, partly +supported by a chair which still held by its fastenings to the floor. +He could not see her face, and his body was so twisted that he could +not move his head with freedom. Berenice was evidently insensible, but +whether stunned from the shock or more seriously hurt he could not +tell. He struggled fiercely to free himself, straining her to his +breast. There were still movements in the car after it had overturned. +It rocked and settled; for some time small articles continued to fall. +He drew the face of the unconscious girl more closely into his bosom to +protect it. As he did so he was aware that his arm was hurt. A burning, +biting pain singled itself out from all the aches of blows and +contusions. He seemed to remember that a long time ago, some hours +nearer the beginning of this catastrophe which had lasted but a moment, +he had felt something rip and tear the flesh; but he had been so +absorbed in the attempt to shield Berenice that he had not heeded. Now +the anguish was so great that it seemed impossible to endure it. He set +his teeth together, determined not to cry out lest she should hear him +and think that he lacked courage. Then it seemed to him that he was +swooning. He struggled against the feeling; and for what seemed to him +an interminable time he wavered between consciousness and +insensibility. It was either growing darker or he was losing the power +to see. He could not distinguish clearly any longer that human hand, +smeared with blood, sticking ludicrously in the air from amid a pile of +bags, coats, and all sorts of things thrown together just where the +position of his head constrained him to look. He had been seeing that +hand for a long time, it seemed to him, and only now that the darkness +had so increased as to cut it off from his sight did he realize what it +was and what it must mean. + +He still retained a consciousness of the face of Berenice, warm against +his bosom, and with each wave of faintness he struggled to keep his +senses that he might protect her. The din of noises seemed far away, +the cries somewhere at a distance ever increasing. The moans that had +seemed to him those of the girl who clutched his arm grew fainter, +until they were lost in the buzz and whirr of a hundred other sounds. +Then the clasp which held him relaxed as suddenly as if a rope had been +cut away. It came into his mind with a wave of horror that the girl who +had held him was dead. The thought that Berenice might be dead also +followed like a flash, and aroused his benumbed senses. He spoke to +her; he tried to move; to release her from her position. He seemed +buried under a mound of debris, and she gave no sign of life. He +exhausted himself in frantic attempts to escape; to get his arms free; +to turn his head far enough to see her face; to thrust back the rubbish +which had fallen against them. The anguish to his arm was so great that +he could not continue; he could do nothing but suffer whatever fate had +in store for him. He tried to pray; but his prayers were broken and +confused ejaculations. + +All at once he distinguished amid the chaos of noises roaring and +singing in his ears something which made his heart stand still; which +pierced to his dulled consciousness like a stab. It was the cry of +"Fire!" He had once seen a servant with her hair in flames, and +instantly arose before him the picture of her shriveling locks and the +terror of her face. He seemed to see the dear head on his bosom--The +thought was more than he could bear, and for the first time he cried +out, shouting for help in a transport of frenzied fear. He was so +absorbed in his thought of Berenice that he had forgotten himself; but +the realization of his own peril revived as a waft of smoke came over +him, choking and bewildering. He was then to die here, stifled or +wrapped in the torture of flame. Then the wild and desperate thought +sprang up that at least if he must die he should die with her on his +bosom, clasped in his arms. He might give himself up to the delirium of +that joy, since there was no more of earth to contaminate it. But the +horror of it! The anguish for her as well as for him! Not by fire! His +thoughts whirled in his brain like sparks caught in a hurricane. He +scarcely knew where he was or what had happened to him. Only he was +acutely aware of the acrid smoke, of how it increased, constantly more +dense and stifling. + +However the mind may for a moment be turned aside from its usual way by +circumstances, habit is quick to reassert itself. The habitual +constrains men even in the midst of events the most startling. The mind +of Wynne had been too long bred in priestly forms not to turn to the +religious view here in the face of death. His conscience cried out that +he might be responsible for the peril and disaster which had come upon +them. With the unconscious egotism of the devotee, he felt that heaven +had been avenging the impiousness of his sin. He had dared to trifle +with his sacred calling, to look back to the loves of the world and of +the flesh, and swift destruction had overtaken him. And Berenice had +been crushed by the divine vengeance which had so deservedly fallen on +him. He groaned in anguish, seeming to see how she had perished through +the blight of his passion. Not by fire, O God! Not by fire! How long +would it be possible to breathe in this stifling reek, heavy with +unspeakable odors? It was his crime that had brought her to this death. +He, a man set apart and consecrated to the work of God, had turned from +heaven to earth, and heaven had smitten with one blow him and the woman +who had been unwittingly his temptation. And she so innocent, so pure, +so sacred! Through his distraught mind rushed a pang of hatred against +the power that could do this. He was willing to suffer for his sin, but +where was the justice of involving her in his ruin? It was because this +was what would hurt him most! It was the work of a devil! Then this +thought seemed to him a new transgression which might lessen the +chances of his being able to save her, and he tried to forget it in +prayer, to atone by penitence. He offered his own life amid whatever +tortures would propitiate the offended deity, but he prayed that she +might be spared. + +All this time--and whether the time were long or short he could not +tell--he had heard continued cries and groans. He had now and then been +dully aware of a change in the noises. Now it would seem as if all else +was swallowed up in the sound of tremendous blows, as if the car were +being struck again and again by a mighty battering-ram. Then a chorus +of shouting went roaring up, as if an army cried. Noise and physical +sensation were too intimately blended to be separated; his brain +struggled in confusion, emerging now and then for a moment of +consecutive thought and sinking back into semi-unconsciousness as a +spent swimmer goes down, fighting wildly for life. He knew that a light +had come into the car. He saw it amid the smoke, and his first thought +was that it was flame. Dulled and half asphyxiated, he said to himself +now almost with indifference that the end had come. Then with a thrill +which for a moment aroused all his energies he recognized that it was +the glow of a lantern. He was aware that rescuers were close above him, +climbing down through the windows over his very head. He cried to them +in a paroxysm of appeal:-- + +"Save her! Save her!" + +Whether he was heeded amid the babble of cries and all the noises which +seemed to swell to drown his voice, he could not tell, but in another +instant he felt that friendly hands had seized Miss Morison, and were +endeavoring to lift her insensible form. He strove to loosen his hold, +but the effort gave him agony so intolerable that he could do nothing. +A thousand points seemed to rend and tear him as he tried to move, and +when a voice somewhere above him shouted: "We'll have to try to lift +them together!" he experienced a strange sort of double consciousness +as if he stood outside of himself and heard others talking of him. He +felt himself grasped under the arms, and the pain of being moved was +too horrible to be endured. He shrieked in mortal agony, and then in a +whirl of dizzying circles seemed to go down in a tide of blackness +sparkling with millions of sharp scintillations. + + + + VIII + + + LIKE COVERED FIRE + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 1. + + +Philip Ashe found himself less and less able either to understand or to +sympathize with the politics of Mrs. Wilson. He believed in the +righteousness of her cause, and was keenly alive to the peril of the +appointment of Mr. Strathmore to the vacant bishopric. It is an +inevitable and necessary condition of enthusiasm that it shall be +narrow; and religious fervor would be impossible to a mind open to +conviction. To accept the possibility of any opposed truth is to be +secretly doubtful of the creed which one holds; and tolerance is of +necessity the child of indifference. Had Ashe been able to perceive +that the church would go on much the same no matter which of the rival +candidates was chosen, it would have been impossible for him to be so +deeply concerned for the success of Father Frontford. As it was he was +as much in earnest as Mrs. Wilson, and thus he felt forced to acquiesce +in the strangeness of her methods of work. He said to himself that he +supposed this electioneering to be a necessity, no matter how +unpleasant; and he added the reflection that in any case it was not in +his power to prevent it. + +Other feelings were, moreover, completely absorbing his mind. Although +he was not yet conscious that anything had come between him and the +church, priesthood in which had been his highest earthly ideal, the +truth was that his passion for Mrs. Fenton waxed steadily. Chance threw +them together. Mrs. Fenton had been appointed to a committee on +charities, and it happened that Ashe was a visitor in the North End in +a region which the committee were making an especial field of labor. He +was called into consultation with her, and sometimes they even went +together to visit some of the poverty-stricken families which evidently +existed chiefly to be subjects for philanthropic manipulation. Day by +day Ashe felt her speak to him more easily and familiarly; and although +their talk was strictly impersonal and unemotional, none the less did +it feed his growing love. + +The nature which does not sometimes try to deceive itself is an +abnormal one; and Ashe was not behind his fellows in devising excuses +for the joy which he found in Mrs. Fenton's presence. He dwelt in his +musings upon her devotion to the church, her good works, her visitings +of the poor and sick. He assured himself with a vehemence too feverish +not to be fallacious that he was instigated only by entirely +disinterested feelings; by the desire to assist in deeds of Christian +helpfulness, and by pleasure in the society of one whose devotion to +godliness was so marked. He argued with himself as eagerly as if he +were struggling to convince another, protesting to his own secret heart +as earnestly as he would have protested to a friend. + +A man seldom really deceives himself, however, save in thinking that he +can deceive himself. There were moments in which his inner self rose up +and laughed him to scorn; moments in which his sin glowed before him in +colors blood-red. He saw himself apostate, false to his vows, drawn +away by his earthly lusts and beguiled. There were nights when he cast +himself upon the ground in an agony of self-abasement, beating his +breast and praying in a passion of remorse; times when by the cruelty +of his self-accusings he involuntarily sought to do penance for the +sweet sin which festered in his bosom. + +Worse than all was the color which was imparted to his passion by the +self-imposed prohibitions which he was violating. The insistence upon +the earthly side of love which is an inevitable accompaniment to the +idea that woman is a temptation, cannot but degrade the relation of the +sexes in the mind of the professed celibate. To keep before the +thoughts the theory that passion is a snare and a pollution is to +render it impossible to love with purity and self-abandonment. Poor +Philip, endowed at birth with a nature of instinctive delicacy, could +not free himself from the taint of his training; yet he shrank as from +hot iron from the blasphemy of connecting any shadow of earthliness +with the woman who had become his ideal. His only resource was to take +refuge in repeating to himself that he did not love Mrs. Fenton; but +even in denying it he felt that he was defending himself from a charge +which was a degradation to her as well as to himself. He fell into that +morbid state of mind where whatever he tried as a remedy made his +disease but the worse; where the idea of love was the more horrible to +him the more it possessed and pervaded his whole being. + +Mrs. Herman was not unobservant of his condition, although she was far +from understanding his state of mind. She felt that there was little +use in forcing his confidence, but she gave him now and then an +opportunity to confide in her, feeling sure that he would be the better +for freeing his heart in speech. + +She was sitting one afternoon alone in the library when Ashe came home +from a missionary expedition. The day was gray and gloomy, and the +early twilight was shutting down already, so that the fire began to +shine with a redder hue. Mrs. Herman was taking her tea alone, and as +it chanced, she was thinking of her cousin. + +"You are just in time for tea," she greeted him. "It is hot still." + +"But I seldom take tea," he answered, seating himself by the fire with +an air of weariness which did not escape her. + +"That is so much more reason that you should take it now. It will have +more effect. I can see that you are tired out. One lump or two?" + +He yielded with a wan smile, and, resuming his seat, sat sipping his +tea in silence for some moments. At length he sighed so heavily that +she asked with a smile:-- + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Is what so bad?" he returned, looking at her in surprise. + +"You sighed as if all life had fallen in ruins about your feet, and I +couldn't help wondering if there were really no joy left to you." + +He smiled rather soberly, and did not at once reply. The fire burned +cheerily on the hearth, noiseless for the most part, but now and then +purring like a cat full of happy content; the shadows showed themselves +more and more boldly in the corners, daring the firelight to chase them +to discover their secrets. The colors of the room were softened into a +dull richness; the dim gilding on the old books which had belonged to +Helen's father, dead since her infancy, caught now and then a gleam +from a tongue of flame which sprang up to peer into the gathering dusk; +the copper tea equipage reflected a red glow, and gave to the picture a +certain suggestion of comfort and cheer. + +"I was thinking how comfortable it is here," Philip said at length. + +"And that made you sigh?" + +"Yes; I'm ashamed to say that it came over me how far away from me all +this is." + +"If it is," she returned slowly, "it is simply because you choose that +it shall be." + +He turned his face toward her as if about to protest; then looked +again into the fire. The conversation seemed ended, until Mrs. Herman +spoke again as if nothing had been said. + +"You have been slumming this afternoon?" + +"I do not like the name, but I suppose I have." + +"It isn't a cheerful day to go poking about alone among the tenement +houses." + +"I was not alone," Ashe answered with a hesitation which she could not +help noting and with a significant softening of voice. "Mrs. Fenton was +with me." + +"Ah!" + +The exclamation was involuntary. In an instant there had flashed upon +Helen's mind a suspicion of the true state of things. The despondency +of her cousin, the reflection upon the comfort of domesticity, +connected themselves in her thought with trifling incidents which had +before come under her observation; and his manner of speaking brought +instantly to her mind the conviction that Ashe was thinking of Mrs. +Fenton with more than the friendliness of acquaintanceship. When Philip +looked up with a question in his eyes, however, she was already on her +guard. + +"The weather is so doleful," she hastened to add, "that I should think +that even philanthropy might lose its power of amusing." + +"Cousin Helen," returned he, with some hesitation, "I do not like to +hear you speak in that way of what is part of my life work." + +She smiled; then sighed and shook her head. + +"My dear Philip," replied she, "I had certainly no intention of +wounding you; and if you'll let me say so, I think you are going out of +your way to find cause of offense. Philanthropy isn't a thing so sacred +that it is not to be spoken of with a smile." + +"No; but"-- + +"But what?" + +He did not answer at once. He put down his empty cup absently, and then +sat staring into the fire as if he were trying there to read the +solution of the riddle of existence. + +"Come," Helen observed, after waiting for a little, "you have something +on your mind. What is it? It will do you good to tell it, even if I'm +not clever enough to help you." + +"I am sure that you could help me," he began eagerly; and then in a +changed voice he added, "if anybody could." + +She left her place behind the tea-table and came nearer to him, sitting +directly before the fire. The light fell on her convincing face and on +her wavy hair. She folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him. + +"Well?" she said. + +"I do not know how to say it," Philip responded slowly. "I am afraid +that you have not much sympathy with my views of life." + +"I probably have more than you realize. It's true that I do not believe +as you do, but we are both Puritans at heart, so that in the end our +theories come to much the same thing." + +He looked up with evident inability to follow her meaning. + +"I don't understand," he said. + +"Very likely I couldn't make myself clear if I tried to explain. +Suppose we give up abstractions and come to the concrete. What is the +especial thing in which you think that my theories are different from +yours?" + +"I do not think," he answered, hesitating more than ever, "that you +have much sympathy with asceticism." + +"None whatever," she declared uncompromisingly. "Nobody could have more +honor for a sacrifice to principle than I have; but I believe that a +sacrifice to an idea is apt to be the outcome of nothing but vanity or +policy." + +"But what is the difference?" + +"Why, an idea is a thing that we believe with the head; don't you know +the way in which we think things out while we secretly feel altogether +different?" + +"I do not think I follow you; but surely self-denial is a sacrifice to +principle." + +"Not necessarily. I'm afraid I may seem to you profane, Philip, but I +must say that it seems to me that asceticism is one of the worst +plague-spots which ever afflicted humanity. The root of it is the pagan +idea of propitiating a cruel deity by self-torture." + +"How can you say so!" he cried. "It is the pure devotion of a man to +the good of his higher nature and to the good of the race." + +"As far as the race goes, vicarious suffering can't be anything, so far +as I see, except an effort to placate an unforgiving deity. As for the +devotion of a man to his higher nature, you will never convince me that +to go against nature and to indulge in morbidness is improving to +anything. But here we are, swamped in a bog of great moral propositions +again. We can't agree about these things, and the thing which we really +want to say will be lost sight of entirely." + +He turned his face away from her again, either troubled by what she had +been saying or unable to find words and confidence to go on with the +confession of his trouble. + +"Is it," Helen inquired, "that you have found that you have yourself a +doubt of the value of asceticism?" + +"No, not that," he answered, dropping his voice; "but--but I begin to +doubt myself." + +She leaned forward in her chair. Some power outside of her own will +seemed to constrain her. + +"Philip," she said, bending over and touching his hand, "has love made +you doubt?" + +The question evidently took him entirely by surprise. She wondered what +impulse had made her speak and how her question would affect him. He +flushed to his forehead, and cast at her a look so full of pathetic +appeal that she felt the tears come into her eyes. It was the look of a +hunted creature which sees no way of escape, yet which has not the fury +of resistance, which pleads its own weakness. She knew that Philip +could not equivocate and that the secret of his heart lay bare before +her. She shrank from what she had done, and a flood of pity and +sympathy filled her mind. + +He gave her no more than a single look, and then buried his face in his +hands. + +"I have betrayed my high calling," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter +suffering. "I have put my hand to the plough and looked back. I am too +weak to be worthy to"-- + +"Stop," she interposed brusquely, although she was deeply touched. "I +can't listen to that sort of talk. It isn't wholesome and it isn't +manly. If you have fallen short of your ideal, your experience is that +of the rest of the race. I suppose the secret of our making any +progress is the power of conceiving things higher than we can reach. It +keeps us trying." + +"But I devoted myself to"-- + +"My dear boy," she interrupted him again, "you are like the rest of us. +You told yourself that you would be above all the passions and emotions +of common humanity, and you are discouraged to find that you're human +after all. That's really the whole of it." + +"But to allow yourself to love"-- + +It was not necessary for her to interrupt him now. He stopped of his +own will, casting down his eyes and blushing like a school-boy. It +seemed to her that it might be better to try raillery. + +"To allow yourself, O wise cousin!" she cried. "Men do not allow or +disallow themselves to love. It's deeper business than that." + +"But I should have had strength not to yield." + +"Is there anything discreditable in loving?" she demanded. + +"There is for a priest." + +"If there were, you are not a priest." + +"In intention I am; and that is the same in the sight of Heaven." + +She could not repress a gesture of impatience. She felt at once an +inward annoyance and a secret admiration. The temper of his mind was +exasperatingly like her own in its tenacity of conviction. He would not +excuse himself by any shifts, no matter how convincing they might seem +to others. The matter must be met fairly and frankly, and she must +reach his deepest feelings if she would move him. She reflected how +best to deal with him, and with her thoughts mingled the question +whether Edith Fenton could return Philip's love. The young man was well +made and sufficiently good-looking, although paled by study and +austerities. He was of good birth and property, and from a worldly +point of view not entirely an unsuitable match for the widow, should +she think of a second husband. He was somewhat younger than Mrs. +Fenton; and Helen was not without the thought that this passion might +be on his part no more than the inevitable result of his coming in +contact with a beautiful woman after having been immured in the +monastic seclusion of the Clergy House; a passion which would pass with +a wider acquaintance with the world. The whole matter perplexed and +troubled her, and yet she earnestly longed to help her cousin. + +"Dear Philip," she said, "I can't tell you how I enter into your +feeling. I don't agree with you, but we are not so far apart in +temperament, if we are in doctrine. I'm afraid that you'll think that +I'm merely tempting you when I say that it seems to me that your +conscientiousness is entirely right, and that your conviction is all +wrong." + +"Of course I know that you do not hold the same faith that I do." + +"But one of your own faith might remind you that your own church +upholds the marriage of the clergy." + +"Yes," he assented with apparent unwillingness, "but my conscience does +not." + +"Do you mean that you find your conscience a better guide than the +church? That seems to put you on my ground, after all." + +"Oh, no, no! Certainly I do not put myself above the authority of the +church." + +"The eagerness with which you disclaim any common ground with me isn't +polite," she retorted, glad of a chance to speak more lightly and +smilingly; "but it's sincere, and that is better." + +"I wasn't trying to disclaim thinking as you do; but to insist that I +do not set myself above the church." + +"Then I repeat that the church sanctions the marriage of the clergy. If +you don't agree, I don't see why you do not really belong in the Roman +Catholic Church." + +There was a long pause, during which she watched her cousin narrowly. +He seemed to be thinking deeply, with eyes intent on the fire. She was +so little prepared for the direction which his thought took that she +was startled when he said at last with a sigh:-- + +"I do sometimes find myself envying the absolute authority with which +the Roman Catholic Church speaks." + +"Authority!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you mean that you wish to +give up your individuality?" + +"No; not that; but it must be of unspeakable comfort in times of mental +doubt to repose on unquestioned and unquestionable authority." + +Helen rose from her place by the fire and walked to the window. She +felt that she was on very delicate ground, and she would gladly have +escaped from the discussion could she have done so without the feeling +of having evaded. She stood a moment looking out into the darkening +street, dusky in the growing January twilight, bleak and dreary. Then +with a sudden movement she went to her husband's desk and took up a +picture of her boy, a beautiful, manly little fellow of three years, of +whom Philip was especially fond. Crossing to her cousin, she put the +picture in his hand, at the same time turning up the electric light +behind him. + +"See," she said, with feminine adroitness. "I don't think I've shown +you this picture of Greyson." + +He looked at it earnestly, and sighed. + +"It is beautiful," said he. "Greyson is a son to be proud of and to +love." + +"Well?" she asked significantly. + +"What do you mean?" returned he. "What has Greyson's picture to do with +what we were talking about?" + +She took the photograph from his hand, extinguished the light, and +walked back toward the desk. The room seemed darker than before now +that the firelight only was left. Suddenly she turned, with an outburst +almost passionate:-- + +"O Philip!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see? My son! Surely if there is +anything in this world that is holy, that is entirely pure and noble, +it is parentage. Do you suppose that all the churches in the world, +with authority or without it, could make Grant and me feel that there +is anything higher for us than to take our little son in our arms and +thank God for him!" + +He did not answer, and she controlled her emotion, smiling at her own +extravagance, while she wiped away a tear. She kissed the picture, and +put it in its place; then she returned to her chair by the fire. + +"I don't expect you to understand my feeling," she said. "You never can +until you have a son of your own. If a little cherub like Grey puts his +baby hands into your eyes and pulls your hair, you'll suddenly discover +that a good many of your old theories have evaporated." + +"But, Cousin Helen," he began hesitatingly, "certainly there is often +sin"-- + +She interrupted him indignantly. + +"There is no sin in faithful, loving, self-respecting marriage," she +insisted. "That is what I am talking about. It is the holiest thing on +earth. Anything may be degraded. I've even heard of a burlesque of the +sacrament. I don't see why I shouldn't speak frankly, Philip. You are +in a state of mind that is morbid and self-tormenting. If you love a +woman, tell her so honestly and clearly; and if she is a good woman and +can love you, go down on your knees, and thank God." + +He leaned his forehead on his hands, as if he were struggling with +himself. The firelight shone on his rich hair, auburn like her own. +Helen watched him anxiously, wondering if she had said too much, and +whether she were taking too great a responsibility in the advice she +gave. Certainly anything must be good that took him out of his +unhealthy mood. + +"Come," she said, rising, and turning on the electric light again. "It +is time for Grant to be at home, and for me to be dressing. We are to +dine at the Bodewin Rangers to-night." + +He put up his hand to arrest her, and said in a tone that wrung her +heart:-- + +"But, Cousin Helen, I cannot speak of love to a woman until I am ready +to give up for her my priestly calling." + +"Until you are willing to give up your unwholesome idea of celibacy and +asceticism, you mean." + +"It would be sacrificing a principle to a passion." + +Helen sighed. + +"I could reason with you," she returned, half-humorously, "but how +shall I get on with all the Puritan ancestors who prevail in you and +me! The thing that I say isn't that you are to give up your notions +about the celibacy of the priesthood in order to marry, but because +they are unwholesome and abnormal. The thing that most closely links +you to humanity is the thing that best fits you to be of use in the +world." + +He regarded her with a glance of painful intensity. + +"But suppose," he suggested, "that the woman I loved could not love me? +Then I should come back to the church, and lay on the altar only a +discarded and worthless sacrifice." + +"Come back to the church!" she echoed. "You don't leave it. If marriage +takes you out of the church, then the sooner such a church is left the +better! Do you realize what you are doing, Philip? Do you remember that +you insult the good name of your mother by the view you take of +marriage? I am sick of all this infamous condemnation of what to me is +holy! If the church cannot rise to a noble and pure conception of it, +the sooner the church is done away with, the better for mankind!" + +"But you wrong the church," he interrupted eagerly. "The church makes +marriage a sacrament; it recognizes its purity; it"-- + +"Then what are you doing," she burst in, "with your exceptions to the +theory of the church? It is you who degrade it--Pardon me, cousin," she +added in a calmer voice, coming to him and laying her fingers lightly +on his shoulder. "I am speaking out of my heart. I have the shame of +knowing that I once failed to realize how high and how noble a thing +marriage is. I am older than you, and I have suffered as I hope you may +never have to suffer; the end of it all is that I have learned that +there is nothing else on earth so blessed as the real love of husband +and wife. Of course," she concluded, as he would have interrupted, "I +talk as a woman, and I cannot decide what you are to do. Only I would +like you to believe that I would help you if I could, and that what I +say of marriage is the thing which seems to me the truest thing on +earth." + +Then without waiting for reply, she went away and left him to his +thoughts. + + + + IX + + + HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + Two Gentlemen of Verona, iv. 2. + + +"Who is Mr. Rangely?" Ashe inquired one morning at breakfast. + +Mrs. Herman looked at her husband as if she expected him to reply, +although the question had been addressed to her. + +"Fred Rangely," Grant Herman answered, "is a writer. He writes for the +magazines and is a newspaper man. He's written one or two novels, and +the first one was pretty successful. He's written plays too." + +Helen smiled. + +"Grant is too good-natured to tell you what you really want to know," +she commented. "Mr. Rangely was once in some sort a friend of his, in +the old days when there was still something like an artistic +brotherhood in Boston, and he can't bear to say things that are not to +his credit. Now I should have answered your question by saying that +Fred Rangely is a warning." + +"A what?" Ashe asked, while Herman sighed. + +"A warning. A dozen years ago he was one of the most promising men +about. He had made a good beginning, he was clever and popular, and +both as a novelist and as a playwright we hoped for great things from +him." + +"And now?" + +"Now he is a failure." + +Herman looked up almost reprovingly. + +"I don't think he would recognize that," he observed. + +"No, he wouldn't; and that's the worst of it. Ten years ago if anybody +had said of Fred Rangely: 'Here's a fellow that has started out to do +good work, but has found that there's more money in sensationalism; +who despises the popular taste and caters to it; who writes things he +doesn't believe for the newspapers and spends the money in running +after society,' he would have pronounced such a fellow a cad. Now he +would say: 'Well, a man must live, you know; and the public will only +pay for what it wants.' It's lamentable." + +"You put it rather worse than it is," her husband responded. "We are +all in the habit of judging men as if their degradation was deliberate, +which as a matter of fact I suppose it never is. Rangely hasn't coolly +accepted the choice between honesty and Philistinism. It's all come +gradually." + +"Like learning to pick pockets," she interpolated. + +"Besides," Herman continued, "we over-estimated in the beginning both +his character and his talent. He found he couldn't do what was expected +of him, and he was weak enough to do then what was most comfortable +instead of what seemed to him highest. It is what nine men out of ten +do." + +"Of course," Helen assented, "but after all it has come about by his +giving in on one thing after another. There was always a good deal that +is attractive about him, but he never showed much moral stamina. He +could never have married as he did if he had possessed fine instincts." + +"And his wife?" Ashe inquired. + +"Oh, he married a New York girl, who"-- + +"There, there," broke in Herman good-naturedly. "It is just as well not +to go into a characterization of Mrs. Rangely. I own that there isn't +much good to be said of her; so it is as well to let her pass." + +"Well, so be it," his wife assented, smiling. "I have only to say," she +added, turning to her cousin, "that when Grant declines to have a woman +discussed it is equivalent to a condemnation more severe"-- + +"Nonsense," protested Herman. "Don't believe her, Ashe. As for Mrs. +Rangely, it's enough to say that she is merely an imitation in most +things, and that she has called out the worst of her husband's nature +instead of the best. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid it's true." + +Mrs. Herman looked at him with a smile which seemed to tease him for +having been betrayed into saying a thing so much more severe than were +his usual judgments. Then with true feminine instinct she brought the +talk back to its most significant point. + +"Why did you ask about his wife?" she inquired of Philip. + +"I--I did not know," he returned, so evidently disconcerted that she +did not press the matter. + +Had Helen been a gossip she might have added that Rangely had acquired +the reputation of being always philandering with some woman or other. +Before his marriage he had been the slave of Mrs. Staggchase, and now, +after devotion to all sorts of society women, he had come to be counted +as one of the train of admirers who offered their devotion at the +shrine of Mrs. Wilson. Where a Frenchwoman prides herself on the +intensity of the devotion of some man not her husband, an American of +the same type glories in the number of slaves that her charms ensnare. +In either case the root of the matter is vanity rather than passion. +The American fashion is at once the more demoralizing and the less +dangerous. Mrs. Wilson in the early days of her married life had tried +to make her husband jealous by allowing the desperate attentions of a +single lover. She never repeated the experiment. The lover went abroad +to recover from the sting of having been made hopelessly ridiculous, +and Mrs. Wilson learned that in marrying she had found a master. +Fortunately she had married for love, and no woman loves a man less for +finding him able to control her. In these days Mrs. Wilson amused +himself by having a troop of admirers, and perhaps prided herself upon +being able to outdo the wiles of the other women of her set in securing +and holding her captives; but she discussed them with her husband with +the utmost frankness, mocking them to their faces if they made a step +across the line which she drew for them. They were kept in a state of +marked but respectful admiration. It was expected of them that they +should pretend to be consumed by a passion as violent as they might +please, but always a passion which was hopeless, which asked for no +reward but to be allowed to continue; which found in mere admission to +her presence joy enough at least to keep it alive. + +It may be that Rangely had more vanity than the rest of Mrs. Wilson's +followers, or it may be that he was more resolute. Certain it is that +he was more presuming than the rest, and that his devotion had not +failed to produce a good deal of talk. Little as Mrs. Herman was +accustomed to pay attention to social gossip, she had not failed to +hear tattle about Elsie Wilson; and while she probably did not much +heed it, she was at heart too conscientious not to feel shame and +irritation. That a woman in the position of Mrs. Wilson should allow +herself to give rise to vulgar gossip moved her to deep disapproval; +while she could not but feel contempt for the man who neglected his own +wife to wait upon the caprices of one whom Helen looked upon as a +heartless and vain creature. + +Behind the question which Ashe had asked about Rangely lay an incident +which had occurred the day previous. He was now called upon to see Mrs. +Wilson frequently in relation to matters connected with the election, +and with that instinct which was inborn she had carelessly exercised +upon him her arts of fascination. There is a certain sort of woman in +whom the mere presence of anything masculine awakens the rage for +conquest. It is as impossible for such women not to exert their +fascinations as it is for a magnet to cease to attract. It is the +destiny of woman to love, and dangerous is she who is inspired only +with the desire to be loved, the woman who instead of loving man loves +love. Elsie was saved from being such a monster by the fact that she +had a husband strong enough to subdue and control her nature; but +nothing could prevent her from trying her wiles on every man she met. + +Philip was too completely unsophisticated to understand, and too much +absorbed by his passion for another woman to respond to the cunning +attractions of Mrs. Wilson; yet it is not impossible that she so far +influenced him as to render him unconsciously jealous of another man. +He had surprised Rangely kissing the hand of that lady with an air of +devotion so warm that the blood of the young deacon rose in resentment +which he supposed to be entirely disapproval. He was in a state of mind +which made him especially sensitive to any suggestion of love; and the +sight of any man caressing the hand of a beautiful woman could not but +set his heart throbbing with disconcerting rapidity. In his world even +the touch of a woman's fingers was almost a forbidden thing, and to +kiss them an act not to be so much as imagined. Philip dared not think, +or to define to himself what significance he attached to this incident. +An unsophisticated man is often suspicious from the simple fact that he +is forced to distrust his judgment. He is unable to estimate the value +of appearances, and in the end often falls the victim of errors which +might seem to arise from malevolence or low-mindedness, when in reality +they are the inevitable fruit of ignorance. + +As Philip stood confronted with Mrs. Wilson after Rangely had left the +room it seemed to him that he read unspeakable things in her glance. +His clerical bias with its unholy blight of asceticism, his ignorance +of the world, made him a victim of a misapprehension which brought the +blood to his cheeks. His hostess looked at him curiously, and then +burst into a laugh. + +"Upon my word," she cried, "I believe you are shocked! You are really +too delicious!" + +He flushed hotter yet, and there came over him a helpless sense of +being alike unable to understand this brilliant creature or to cope +with her. + +"But--but," he stammered, "I--I"-- + +"Well?" she demanded, her eyes dancing. "You what? You saw Mr. Rangely +kiss my hand. You may kiss it too, if you like; though I doubt if you +can do it half so devotedly. He's had a lot of practice with a lot of +hands." + +Ashe stared at her with wide open eyes. + +"But has he a wife?" he asked gravely. + +"Meaning to remind me that I have a husband?" she gayly returned. "Yes; +we are both of us married. To think," she continued, spreading out her +hands and appealing to the universe at large, "that such simplicity +exists! Where have you been all your life? Did you never kiss a lady's +hand--or a lady's lips, for that matter?" + +"I think you forget, Mrs. Wilson," Ashe said with real dignity, "that I +am a priest." + +She regarded him with lifted brows for a moment. Then she moved to a +seat. + +"Come," said she; "sit down and talk to me. Where have you passed your +life? You cannot have been brought up in a monastery, for we don't have +them in our church." + +"It is a great pity," responded Philip, obeying her command, and +seating himself in a large arm-chair near her. + +"Do you really mean it?" was her reply. "Yes, I believe you do! You +were evidently born to be a monk. Oh, how _triste_ it must be to be +made without an appreciation of us!" + +He remained silent, his face more grave than ever. + +"Well," she went on, settling herself comfortably in the corner of her +sofa amid a pile of sumptuous cushions, "tell me something about your +life. It may be that you were designed by fate to introduce a new +order of monks." + +"There is not much to tell," he responded stiffly and almost +mechanically. "I was brought up in the country by a widowed mother. I +went through Harvard and the Divinity School, and since then I have +lived at the Clergy House." + +She regarded him closely. Her glance seemed half mocking, and yet to +search into the very secrets of his heart, as if she were asking him +questions which he would not have dared to ask himself. Her eyes +suggested impossible things; they demanded if he had not known of +forbidden cups which held wine deliriously enticing. He cast down his +glance, no longer able to endure hers, yet not knowing why he was thus +abashed. + +"But don't you know anything of life?" she questioned. "How could you +go through Harvard without seeing something of it? What were your +amusements?" + +"I rowed some, and I walked. The only thing that was a real pleasure +outside of my work was to be with Maurice Wynne. I do not remember that +I ever thought about needing to be amused. Of course I knew a few +fellows. I never knew a great many of the men." + +"And no women?" + +"None except the boarding-house keeper." + +She looked at him rather incredulously. Then she once more threw out +her hands in a gesture of amusement and amazement. + +"Good heavens!" declared she; "there are just two things which might be +done with you. You should be put in a glass case as a unique specimen +of otherwise extinct virtue; or you should be sent to Paris to learn +to be a real man. However, it's not my place to take charge of you, so +that may pass." + +There burned in the cheek of Ashe a spot of crimson which was perhaps +too deep not to betoken something of the nature of earthly indignation. + +"Mrs. Wilson," he said, "I came here to discuss church interests, and +not to be myself the subject of remarks which you certainly would not +think of making to other gentlemen who call on you." + +She clapped her hands. + +"Bravo!" she cried. "There's the making of a man in him. It's a +thousand pities you can't go to Paris and learn the fun of life." + +He rose indignantly. + +"If you wish only to talk lightly of evil things," said he, "I do not +see that it is necessary for me to take up more of your time." + +"Well," she responded, smilingly unmoved, "I'll confess that if there +is one thing for which I am especially grateful to Providence it is for +its having spared me the ennui of having to live in a virtuous world! +But sit down, and I'll talk as if that blessing had not been granted to +us. As for the salutation of Mr. Rangely which so shocked your +reverence, that was part of the campaign. He had just promised to write +an article for the 'Churchman' advocating Father Frontford from the +point of view of a layman; and of course until that is in print it is +necessary to be gracious to him. The trouble with you is that you've +seen so little of life that you exaggerate the most innocent things. +You really are rather insulting to me, if you think of it; but I pardon +it because you don't know what you were doing. I suppose you never +wanted to kiss a woman's hand or to write a sonnet to her eyebrow?" + +Ashe felt the blood rush into his face in so hot a tide that he +involuntarily turned away from his tormentor and walked toward the +door. The question would in any case have been disconcerting, but it +was made doubly so by the word which recalled the phrase from the +Persian hymn which was in his mind so closely associated with Mrs. +Fenton: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" +He had taken but a step, however, before Mrs. Wilson sprang from her +seat, clapping her hands again. She interposed between him and the +door, her face radiant with fun and mischief. + +"Oh, what a blush!" she cried. "Upon my word, there's a woman; there is +a woman even in that icebox you keep for a heart!" + +She burst into a peal of laughter, while he stood confounded and +speechless, trying to look unconscious, and vexatiously aware of how +completely he failed. Mrs. Wilson laid the tips of her slender fingers +on his arm, and peered up into his eyes. + +"I wouldn't have believed it, St. Anthony! Come, make me your mother +confessor, and I'll give you good advice. It's part of my mission to +take charge of the love affairs of the clergy. Only yesterday I spent +half the afternoon trying to find out how deeply Mr. Candish is smitten +with a pretty widow." + +Ashe started in amazement and alarm. The words of Mrs. Herman +connecting the name of Mrs. Fenton with that of Candish flashed into +his mind, and seemed to supply what Mrs. Wilson left unspoken. The +jealous pang which he felt at this confirmation of the interest of +Candish in the woman he loved was doubled by the resentment he felt +that this mocking torment before him should dare even to think of +Edith. Almost without knowing it he broke out excitedly into protest. + +"How dare you meddle with her affairs?" he cried. + +Mrs. Wilson stared at him an instant in amazement, evidently taken +completely aback. Then a light of cunning comprehension flashed into +her sparkling eyes. + +"Ah!" exclaimed she. "You too! Is Mrs. Fenton so irresistible to the +ecclesiastical heart?" + +He confronted her in silence. A wave of misery, of helplessness, of +weakness, swept over him. He had no right even to be Mrs. Fenton's +defender. He was, as Mrs. Wilson intimated, not a real man, but a +priest. The very tone of the whole conversation this morning showed how +far she was from regarding him as one having any part in her world. He +had only injured Mrs. Fenton by his ill-judged outburst, and given this +creature who so delighted in baiting him one more opportunity. Worse +than all else was the fact that he had given her a chance to jest about +the woman whom he loved. The tears rushed to his eyes in the intensity +of his feelings, and the beautiful face before him, with its teasing +brightness and dancing fun, swam in his vision. He hated its laughter, +and he expected fresh mockery for the emotion which he could not help +betraying. To his surprise, however, Mrs. Wilson again laid her hand on +his arm, and her face lost its gayety. + +"You poor boy," she said, with genuine feeling in her tone, "is it so +real as that? I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, if I had known. +What business had you to be meddling with vows and renunciation until +you knew what they meant?" + +She moved back to her seat as she spoke, motioning Ashe to resume his +place. He was too deeply moved to obey her. + +"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will see you to-morrow in regard +to those delegates. I--I am not quite myself." + +"But you shall not go without saying that you forgive me for my +teasing. Really, I am sorry and ashamed. I never intend to hurt you, +but I see that my teasing may be taken more seriously than it is +meant." + +There was real gentleness and pity in her smile, and as she rose to +stand looking into his face with a winning smile of apology he forgot +all his bitterness. + +"The trouble is with me," he said. "I do not understand the world, and +I should keep out of it." + +"Oh, not at all," she retorted briskly. "You should learn how to live +in it." + +A spark of mischief kindled in her glance as she spoke, and she +extended to him the back of her hand. Her smile challenged him, and he +had been won and moved by the sympathy of her voice. The hand, too, was +so beautiful, so slender, so feminine; he had so keen a longing to be +comforted, to be soothed by womanly softness, and to assuage his +loneliness by woman's sympathy, that it seemed impossible to resist the +invitation of those delicate fingers. He took her hand, and raised it +half way to his lips. Then he dropped it abruptly, letting his own arm +swing lifelessly to his side. + +"No," he said bitterly. "I am a priest!" + + + + X + + + A SYMPATHY OF WOE + Titus Andronicus, iii. 1. + + +The first sensation which returning consciousness brought to Berenice +Morison, after the shock of the collision and the feeling that the +whole train had been hurled confusedly into space, was that of coming +into fresher air as if she were emerging from the depths of the sea. +Opening her eyes without comprehending where she was or what had +happened, she found herself on the side of an overturned car. Around +her were dreadful noises, yells, groans, cries, shouts; her nostrils +were filled with the reek of burning stuffs; the light of lanterns and +of torches blinded her eyes; a sense of horror oppressed her; appalling +calamity which she could not understand seemed to have overtaken her; +and she shuddered with terror unspeakable. Her first impulse was to +shriek and to attempt to flee from the fearful things which surrounded +her; but instantly the self-control of returning reason made itself +felt. + +Berenice found herself supported by a couple of men, and it became +clear to her in an instant that she had just been lifted from that pit +below where she could see the glint of flame and the blinding smother +of smoke, and from which came such heartrending cries that she +instinctively tried to cover her ears. In the movement she realized +that beside the hold which her rescuers had of her, she was grasped by +other arms; that she was in the embrace of a man apparently dead. In +the dim light her dazed sense did not recognize him, and she struggled +to release herself from the hold of this corpse. + +"Take him away from me!" she shrieked hysterically in mingled terror +and repulsion. + +"Gently, gently," said one of the men who held her. "He's got killed +tryin' to save yer." + +"If this cut in his arm was in your back," remarked the other, who was +unlocking the hands so strongly clasped behind her, "it'd 'a' been a +finisher." + +Her head reeled, and she nearly swooned again; but somehow she found +herself released, and passed down from the car into the arms of more +men. + +"For God's sake, hurry," one of them said. "It's getting too hot to +stand here." + +A blistering puff of smoke enwrapped her as she went down. She saw a +face blackened and ghastly advance in the flaring light of a lantern. +Hands that seemed to come out of a cloud and a great darkness helped +and sustained her, until she was out of the instant press beside the +burning car. When once she was free and stood upon her feet, she +regained something like self-possession. Her head swam, but she +realized the situation and felt that she was able to help herself. + +"I am not hurt," she said to those who would have assisted her. "Don't +mind me." + +As she spoke, the body of a man was passed out of the smoke close to +her, and she saw that it was Wynne. Instantly she remembered being +flung into his arms, although what followed she could not recall. She +looked at him now with a piercing conviction that he was dead. His +cassock hung about him in rags, his face was smeared with blood and +grime, his arm hung limp and bleeding. The words of the rescuer on the +car-roof came to her, and she saw in the disfigured form of the young +deacon the body of the man who had given his life for hers. Instantly +all her powers rallied to help and if possible to save him. + +"Bring him this way," she said, stepping forward eagerly, her weakness +forgotten. "I'll take care of him." + +She moved out of the smoke without any clear idea where she was going +or what she could do. The hurt man was brought after her, one of the +many that were being carried as dead weights among the confused and +agonized crowd. At a short distance from the track there were hastily +arranged car-cushions, coats, and loose coverings thrown down on a bank +half covered with snow. Here the bearers laid Wynne, hurrying back to +their work with a precipitancy which seemed to Berenice heartless. + +The scene which Berenice took in at a glance was so wild and terrible +that it stamped itself on her brain in a flash. Lanterns were burning +all about, dancing and flitting to and fro like fireflies in a mist. +The eye caught everywhere glimpses by their light of disordered groups, +dim and dreadful as a nightmare. Close about her were the victims +heaped as if from a battlefield, the wounded moaning in pain, the women +wailing over the dying or the dead, each with cruel egotism intent upon +her own, and seizing upon any helper with terrible eagerness of +despair. A hundred feet away, lighted by the flames which were +beginning to thrust quick tongues through the smoke and the darkness, +was a long heap of shapeless wreck, about which dark figures were +swarming like midges about a bonfire. She could distinguish in the +middle of the line the two locomotives silhouetted against the +darkness, standing half on end like two grotesque monsters rearing in +deadly conflict. Every moment the flames became fiercer, and the +hurrying lanterns moved more wildly. + +It was Wynne, however, that claimed her attention. One swift glance +took in the awful picture, and then she sank down on her knees beside +him as he lay, bleeding and insensible, perhaps dead. For a moment she +was ready to cast herself down on the snow in helplessness and in +terror at the horrors of the situation; but the grit of stout Puritan +ancestors was in her fibres, the moral endurance which finds in the +sense of a duty to be done an inspiration that lifts above all +difficulties. Her work was before her; to abandon it impossible. + +The flames of the burning car brightened with appalling rapidity. +Shrieks arose so piercing that they wrung her heart as if with a +physical agony. It was the car from which she and Wynne had been taken +which was now that hell of fire. Its glare lit up the pale and bleeding +face beside her, and she realized that at that minute they might have +been in that awful agony. She began to sob wildly, but she began, too, +to try to bring Wynne back to consciousness. She took snow in her hands +and put it to his forehead; she twisted her handkerchief about his arm +to stop its bleeding. She tried to recall what she had heard at +Emergency Lectures, with a strong determination forcing herself to +remember. Kneeling in the snow, in the light of the burning car, her +heart torn by the cries of the suffering, trembling with excitement, +fear, and the shock she had undergone, sobbing almost hysterically, +she yet constrained herself to do her best, binding up his arm with +strips of her clothing, and trying to bring back his senses. + +A physician came to her without her knowing until he was at her side. +He bent to examine Wynne, and Berenice tried to repress her sobs that +she might talk to him, and take his directions. The life of Wynne might +depend upon her calmness. She caught up more snow, and pressed it to +her own temples. + +"Is he much hurt?" she asked feverishly. + +"It is not dangerous as far as I can judge," the doctor answered +hurriedly. "Get him away from here as soon as you can." + +She looked after him as he hurried on to other patients, and her first +feeling was one of indignation. Then it occurred to her that his going +so soon must mean that her patient was less hurt than she had feared. +But why was Wynne so long insensible? She knelt beside him again, and +as she did so he opened his eyes. + +"Where am I?" he cried feebly. + +He tried to start up, but fell back with a groan. + +"There has been an accident," she said hurriedly. "It's all right now. +You are safe. Are you in much pain?" + +"Are you hurt?" he demanded almost fiercely. + +"No, no; never mind me." + +He struggled again to rise, but fell back with a groan. She put her +hand on his shoulder. + +"Lie still," she commanded authoritatively. "I'll see what can be done. +Lie still while I look about." + +A second car was burning, and the whole place was aglare with yellow +light. The wild groups stood out black against the trodden and dingy +snow, while overhead rolled clouds of sooty smoke. It occurred to +Berenice that the accident had taken place so near Brookfield that many +persons must have come from the town. She seized a respectable-looking +man by the arm, and asked him if he knew of any way in which she could +get an injured friend to Brookfield. He stared at her a moment as if it +was impossible at such a time to receive words in their ordinary +meaning, but when the question had been repeated he answered that there +were some hackmen from town in the crowd. He helped her to find one, +and as Mrs. Morison was well known, Berenice had little further +difficulty. Wynne submitted to being half led, half carried through the +crowd, and when at last with the assistance of the hackman Berenice got +him into the carriage he fainted again. + +Singular and frightful to Berenice was that ride. The terrors through +which she had passed, the shock, mental and physical, which she had +undergone, had almost prostrated her. As soon as she was in the +carriage she broke out into hysterical tears. The fainting of her +companion, however, called her attention from herself, forcing her to +think of him. She supported his head on her shoulder, lifting his +wounded arm on to her lap; and into her heart came that thrill of +interest and compassion which is the instinctive response of a woman to +the appeal of masculine helplessness. A woman's love is apt to be half +maternal, and she who nurses a man is for the time being in place of +his mother. Berenice's thoughts were in a whirl, but pity for the hurt +man at her side was her most conscious feeling. She remembered the +words of her rescuer, and endowed Wynne with the nobility which +belongs to him who risks his life for another. What had happened she +could not tell. She remembered the awful terror of the collision, and +mistily of being hurled into his arms; but after that came a blank +until the moment of her rescue. It was evident that Wynne had in some +way been hurt in protecting her, and the very vagueness of the service +he had rendered made the deed loom larger in her imagination. She felt +his breath warm on her cheek, and suddenly into her dispassionate +musings there came a fresh sense, which made her face grow hot. She was +angry at the absurdity of flushing there in the dark, and asked herself +why the mere breath on her cheek of an insensible and wounded man +should set her to blushing like a self-conscious fool! Then she +remembered how he had held her in his arms, and she grew more self- +conscious still. A jolt made her companion moan, and in a twinkling all +else was forgotten in the anxiety of getting to shelter and aid. + +When the carriage stopped before the house of Mrs. Morison, the old +lady and a servant appeared instantly, rushing out to see what the +arrival meant. Almost before the carriage had come to a stand-still, +Berenice put her head out of the window and called as cheerily as she +could:-- + +"All right, grandmamma." + +She could not keep her voice steady, and she could only try to carry +off her emotion by a laugh which was rather shaky and hysterical. She +could not rise, for Wynne's head was on her shoulder. The carriage door +was torn open, and she felt her grandmother's arms about her in the +darkness. + +"My darling! My darling!" she heard murmured in a sobbing voice. + +"Look out, grandmother," she said, embracing Mrs. Morison with her one +free arm; "I've brought a man with me, and he's hurt. I think he's +fainted." + +There is nothing so efficacious in restraining the outpouring of +emotion as the necessity of attending to practical details. The need of +getting Wynne out of the hack and into the house as speedily and as +safely as possible restored Mrs. Morison to calmness, and although for +the rest of the evening and for many days after she and her +granddaughter had a fashion of rushing into each other's arms in the +most unexpected manner, they now devoted themselves to the unconscious +young deacon. + +Wynne revived again when he was lifted out of the carriage, and when he +had been, with the friendly aid of the driver, got into the house and +given a little brandy, he came once more to his complete if somewhat +shaken senses. He was too weak from the shock and the loss of blood to +resist anything that his friends chose to do to him, and although he +feebly protested against being quartered upon Mrs. Morison, his protest +was not in the least heeded. + +"Say no more about it," Mrs. Morison said, with a quiet smile. "You are +here, and you are to stay here. There is nowhere else for you to go, +even if you don't like our hospitality." + +"That isn't it," he began feebly; "only I've no claim"-- + +"There, that will do," Berenice interposed with decision. "Do you +suppose, grandmother, that it's possible to get anybody to come and see +his arm?" + +"I'm afraid not, dear," was the answer. "Everybody's at the wreck. +I've been cowering down in the corner of the fire for what seemed to me +years since Mehitabel came rushing in with the news; and all the time +I've heard people driving past the house on their way out of town." + +"There ain't a man left," put in Mehitabel, a severe elderly servant, +who had the air of being personally responsible for her mistress, and +of being bound to fulfill her duties faithfully, even if the effort +killed her. "I see Dr. Strong go gallopin' past first, and the other +doctors was all after him; even to that little squinchy electrical +image that's round the corner on Front Street." + +"Electrical image?" repeated Berenice. + +"She means the eclectic physician," explained Mrs. Morison. "I'm sure +that there's no use in sending for the doctors now. Later we will see. +We must manage the best we can. If I hurt you, Mr. Wynne, you must tell +me." + +Berenice looked on, sick with the sight of the blood, while her +grandmother examined the wounded arm. Wynne shrank a little, but +Berenice noted that he bore the pain pluckily. The sleeve was cut to +the shoulder, and his arm laid bare. A jagged cut was revealed reaching +from the wrist to the elbow; a cut so ugly in appearance that the girl +went faint again. + +"There, there, Miss Bee," old Mehitabel said, taking her by the +shoulder. "You've had enough of this sort of thing for one night. +You'll dream gray hairs all over your head if you don't get out." + +But Berenice refused to give up her place. She stood beside Wynne while +her grandmother examined the arm, handing the things that were wanted; +fighting with the faintness that came over her in waves. + +"No, Mehitabel," said she. "I'm made of better stuff than you think." + +In her heart she had a half unconscious feeling that she had been +inclined to hold this man in contempt because of his priestly garb; and +that she owed him this reparation. She did not know what had occurred +in that overturned car; but she looked back to it as to a horror of +great darkness in which Wynne had risked his life for hers. She felt +that she could not do less than to stand by while the wound he had +received in her service was being attended to. It was Wynne himself who +put her away. + +"You are too kind, Miss Morison," he said; "but you are not fit to do +this. I beg that you'll not stay. Your face shows how hard it is for +you." + +The first thought that shot through her mind was one of relief that she +now might properly leave her self-inflicted task; the second was a pang +of self-reproach that she should wish to leave it; the third and +lasting was a sense of pleasure that even in his pain he had not failed +to note her face and divine her feelings. + +"Mr. Wynne is right," Mrs. Morison added decisively. "Mehitabel can +help me, my dear. Go into the other room and let Rosa get you a cup of +tea." + +"It won't be much of a cup of tea," Mehitabel commented grimly. "That +fool of a girl's got it into her head that it's a good time to cry for +her doxy, because he's a brakeman on some other train." + +Berenice smiled at the characteristic crispness and the absurd speech +of the old servant. She remembered Mehitabel from the days when in +pinafores she used to visit here, and when she looked upon the tall, +gaunt woman with an awe which was saved from being terror only by the +fact that she had learned to associate with that abrupt speech an +after gift of crisp cakes. Mehitabel was to her as much a part of the +establishment as were the tall chairs, the lion-headed fire-dogs, or +the silver which had belonged to her grandmother's grandmother. + +Passing into the dining-room Berenice summoned the afflicted Rosa, who +came with face all be-blubbered with tears, and who sniffed audibly as +soon as she caught sight of the visitor. + +"How do you do, Rosa? I wouldn't cry, if I were you," Berenice said. +"Mehitabel says that this wasn't his train." + +"Oh, I know it, Miss," responded Rosa, with more tears; "but I can't +help thinking how dreadful it would be if it was; and me not to know +whether he was dead or alive. It don't seem to me I could ever marry +him, not to be able to tell whether he'd come home any day dead or +alive. I'll have to give him up, Miss; and he's real kind and free- +handed." + +Her tears flowed so freely at the thought of giving up her lover that +they splashed on Berenice's hand as Rosa leaned over to reach for +something on the table. + +"Well, Rosa," Miss Morison remarked, smiling at the absurdity of the +maid, and wiping her hand, "I'm sorry that you feel so bad; but I don't +like to be deluged with tears." + +"Indeed, Miss," Rosa returned penitently, "I didn't mean to cry on you; +but tears come so easy in this world. We're all born crying." + +Berenice laughed in spite of herself. + +"If we are born crying," she said, "that's reason enough for our +smiling when we've outgrown being babies." + +"That's all well enough for you," Rosa retorted with fresh tears. +"You've got your man here all safe if he is hurt a little; and I don't +know"-- + +Berenice broke in with indignant amazement, feeling her face burn. + +"My man!" she exclaimed. "How dare you speak to me like that! Mr. Wynne +is nothing to me. He's only a clergyman that was hurt saving my life." + +She broke off with a laugh somewhat hysterical. Her nerves were not +under control yet. + +"I'm sure I didn't mean," wailed the girl, "to say anything wrong." + +"There, there, Rosa," the other interrupted. "We are both upset. You +shouldn't take so much for granted, or talk to me about 'men.'" + +But in her mind the phrase repeated itself vexatiously: "your man." + + + + XI + + + IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + 1 Henry IV., v. 1. + + +The power of self-torture which the human heart possesses is well-nigh +infinite. When one considers how futile are self-reproaches, self- +examinations, remorses for faults and weaknesses; how vanity puts +itself upon the rack and conscience inflicts envenomed wounds; how self +tortures self until the whole man writhes in anguish, and in the end +nothing is altered by all this pain, one might almost thank the gods +for moral insensibility. Yet New England was founded upon the principle +that this temper of mind develops manlihood; that inward struggles are +the only discipline which can fit a human being for the outward +conquest of life. The Puritans had power to subdue the wilderness, to +overcome whatever obstacles interposed to the founding of a state and +the establishing of the truth as they conceived it, because all these +difficulties were accidents, outward and of comparative insignificance +when set against the real life, which was within. If a heritage of +self-consciousness has come down with the noble gifts which the +forefathers have left to their children, it is at least part of the +price paid for great things. + +To Maurice that night only the pain and misery of his Puritan +inheritance made themselves felt. Through the long hours he lacerated +his heart and soul with repentance, with remorseful self-reproaches, +enduring agony intense enough to be the reward meet for a crime. +Fevered with the loss of blood, racked with the smart of bodily wounds, +bruised and sore from the injuries of the accident, unable to move +without torture in every joint, he yet forgot physical in mental +suffering. + +The weakness and disorder of his body confused and distorted his +thoughts, but it was in any case inevitable that with his training he +should be wrung with bitter self-condemnation. He flushed and thrilled +at the remembrance of the pressure of Berenice against his breast; the +warmth of her breath, the odor of her hair, seemed to come back to him +even out of the tumult and reek of the burning car. He remembered how +it had seemed to him--to him, a priest--sweet to die if he might die +clasping unrebuked this woman in his arms. The blood throbbed in his +temples as he recalled the wild thoughts that had swirled in a mad +throng through his brain in those moments which had seemed like hours; +the blood throbbed, too, in his wounded arm, so that a groan forced +itself through his parched lips. He was constantly throwing himself to +and fro as if to escape from some teasing thought, always to be by the +sharp pang in his wound brought to a sense of his condition. The whole +night passed in an agony of mind and body. + +There were moments, too, when he seemed to stand outside of himself and +judge dispassionately this human creature, wounded, broken, rent in +body and in soul; moments in which he sometimes seemed to smile in +supreme contempt of the wretch so weak, so wavering, so utterly to be +despised; sometimes to protest in angry pity against the unmerited +anguish which had been heaped upon the sufferer. He had instants of +delirious clearness and exaltation in which he felt himself lifted +above the ordinary weaknesses of humanity; to see more clearly, and to +take a view broader than any to which he had ever before attained. It +shocked and startled him to realize that in these intervals which +seemed like inspiration,--intervals in which he felt himself +illuminated with inner light,--he cast from him the ideals which he had +hitherto cherished. As if for the first time seeing clearly, he felt +that men should not be hampered by dogmas which cramp and restrain. A +line he had seen somewhere, and which he had put aside as irreverent +and irreligious, kept repeating itself over and over in his head-- + + "He had crippled his youth with a creed." + + +Life stretched out before him futile and meaningless unless love should +light it, unless he could win Berenice; and he protested feverishly +against any vow that would thwart or restrain him. He had crippled his +youth with a creed unnatural and deforming; it was time for the +manhood within him to shake off its fetters and assert its strength. He +told himself wildly that now for the first time he saw life as it was; +that now first he understood the meaning of existence, and that life +meant nothing without freedom and love. + +The beliefs of years, however, or even those habits which so often pass +for beliefs, are not to be done away with in a night. Even love cannot +completely alter the course of life in a moment. At the last, worn out +with the conflict, but with a supreme effort to regain spiritual calm, +Maurice flung his whole soul into an agony of supplication, as he might +have flung his body at the foot of a cross, and prayed to be delivered +from this too great temptation. He would renounce; he would pluck up by +the roots this passion which had sprung and grown in his heart; at +whatever cost he would tear it up, and be faithful to his high calling. +As a child casts itself upon the bosom of its mother, he cast himself +upon the Divine, and with an ecstatic sense of pardon, of peace, of +perfect joy, he fell asleep at last. + +Maurice awoke in broad daylight, with a confused sense that the world +was falling in fragments about his ears, and that his name was being +shouted by the angel of the last trump. He found that the physician who +could not be had on the previous night had now been brought to his +chamber by Mehitabel. + +"Here's the saw-bones at last," was the characteristically +uncompromising introduction of the woman. + +"Dr. Murray's come to tell you that all Mis' Morison did last night was +wrong, and that probably you'll have to have your arm cut off 'cause of +it." + +Wynne sat up in bed dazed and uncomprehending, but the smile of the +doctor brought him to a sense of where he was. The latter was not in +the least surprised by Mehitabel's manner of speech. + +"If you'd had anything to do with it, Mehitabel," was Dr. Murray's +comment, "I've no doubt the arm would have had to go; but when Mrs. +Morison does a thing, it's another story." + +"Humph!" sniffed she. "You've got some small amount of sense, if it +ain't much. Now, young man, set your teeth together and put out your +tongue--your arm, I mean." + +Maurice smiled, not so much at the humor of the error as at the fact +that it was so evidently intentional on the part of the elderly virgin, +who cunningly glanced at him and at the doctor to discover if the rare +stroke of wit were properly appreciated. + +"Jocose as ever, Mehitabel," observed the doctor, going to work at once +with swift and delicate precision. "You've a nasty cut here, Mr. Wynne; +but you're lucky to get off with nothing worse. It's a good deal to +come through such an accident without a permanent injury." + +"That's true," Maurice responded cheerfully. "I dreamed in the night +that I was all in bits." + +"Plenty of poor fellows were. It was the most terrible smash-up for +years." + +"How is Miss Morison?" Wynne asked, wondering if his voice betrayed the +inward agitation without which he could not pronounce her name. + +"Oh, she's all right. Nervous and shaky, of course; but she's a sound, +wholesome creature, and it won't take her long to recover her tone." + +"Yes; I brought her up," interposed Mehitabel, with grim self- +complacency. "Don't pull that bandage so tight, doctor. You want to +have me running over after you in an hour to come and loosen it." + +"That's it, Mehitabel; teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I come +here, Mr. Wynne, chiefly to learn my profession from her." + +"She seems willing to teach you," Wynne replied, and then, with a +boyish doubt if she might not take offense, he added, "which of course +is very kind of her." + +Mehitabel chuckled in high good-humor. + +"Kind it is and unappreciated it is; and little is the credit he does +to his training. Men are all alike; if they owned half they owe to +women they'd be too ashamed to show their heads in daylight." + +The droll airs of the old woman entertained Wynne so greatly that he +bore with exemplary fortitude the painful attentions of the physician, +the harder to bear because the wound had had time to inflame. The arm +was dressed at last, and the doctor took himself away with a parting +passage of arms with Mehitabel. + +"The thing for you to do, young man," she said, when Dr. Murray had +departed, "is to stay in bed where you are, and that's reason enough +for a man to want to get up." + +"I'm not fond of staying in bed," Maurice responded with a smile; "and +besides that I must get back to Boston." + +She regarded him with an expression of marked disfavor. + +"Humph," said she. "Quarters ain't good enough for you, I suppose." + +"On the contrary, it is I who am not good enough for the quarters." + +Mehitabel went on with her work of arranging the curtains and putting +the room to rights as she answered:-- + +"Well, I dare say you ain't; but what special thing've you done?" + +"Special thing?" Maurice repeated, somewhat confused. "Oh, I see. The +fact is, I don't think I've any right to impose on the hospitality of +Mrs. Morison." + +"Well," assented she again, "I dare say you ain't; but if she's +willing, you ain't no occasion to grumble, 's I see. She ain't a-going +to hear of your starting out hot-foot, 's if she wouldn't keep you. +It'd look bad for the reputation of the family." + +"But," began he, "I"-- + +"Besides," the old woman continued, ignoring his attempt to speak, "you +ain't got much to wear. Them petticoats you come in, which ain't +suitable for any man to wear, without it's the bearded lady in the +circus if she's a man, which I never rightly knew, is so torn to pieces +by the grace of heaven that you can't go in them, and all the rest of +your clothes are all holes and blood." + +"I suppose my clothes were pretty well used up," he replied, divided +between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he should resent the +affront to his clerical garb; "and of course my baggage is nowhere. Can +I get clothing here, or shall I have to send to Boston?" + +"You can't get men's petticoats," Mehitabel retorted uncompromisingly, +"nor none of them Popish things. If it's good, plain God-fearing pants +and such, there ain't no trouble, and the price is reasonable." + +"Plain God-fearing trousers and coat will do," Maurice answered, +bursting into a laugh. "Do you think that you could send for some if I +give you the size?" + +She was evidently pleased at the success of her attempts to be funny, +for her face relaxed, but she set her mouth primly. + +"I'd go myself," was her reply. "I'd trust myself to pick out things, +and it might give the girls ideas to go traipsing round buying pants +and men's fixings." + +When she was gone Maurice lay in a pleasant half-doze, smiling at the +absurd old servant with her labored determination to be thought witty, +and wondering at the caprices of existence. He was interrupted by the +arrival of his breakfast, and after that had been disposed of he +received a visit from Mrs. Morison. She was a fine old lady with snowy +hair, her sweet face wrinkled into a relief-map of the journey of life, +her eyes as bright and sparkling as those of her granddaughter. Wynne +could see the family likeness at a glance, and said to himself that +some day when time had wrinkled her smooth cheeks and whitened her hair +Berenice would be such another beautiful dame. Mrs. Morison brought +with her an air of brisk yet serene individuality, as of the fire which +on a winter evening burns cheerily on the hearth, warming, +invigorating, suggesting wholesome and happy thoughts. She was so +kindly and yet so thoroughly alive to the very tips of her fingers that +her age almost seemed rather a merry disguise like the powdered hair of +a young girl. + +"Good-morning," she greeted him cheerily. "The doctor says that you are +doing well. I hope that you feel so." + +"Thank you," he answered. "I don't seem to have as many joints as I +used to have, but I'm doing famously, thanks to the skillful treatment +I had last night." + +"It was not too skillful, I'm afraid; but Dr. Murray says I did no +harm, and that's really a good deal of a compliment from him." + +"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Maurice said. "It is so +strange to be taken care of"-- + +He broke off suddenly, awkward from shyness and genuine feeling. He +looked up, however, to meet a glance so reassuring that he felt at once +at ease. + +"It is time that it ceased to be strange," she returned. "We must try +before you go to make you more accustomed to being looked after a +little." + +He returned her kind look with a grateful smile. + +"You are too generous," he said. "I must not trespass on your good- +nature. I think that I could manage to get back to Boston to-day if the +trains are running." + +"The trains are running, but that is no reason why you should think of +running too. We mean to mend you before we let you go." + +"But"-- + +"There is no 'but' about it," Mrs. Morison declared, speaking more +seriously. "Berenice and I have settled it, and we are accustomed to +having our own way. You are selfish to wish that we should be left with +all the obligation on our shoulders." + +"Obligation?" repeated he. "How on earth is there any obligation but +mine?" + +"Do you think that there is no obligation in owing to you Bee's life?" + +He stared at her in complete confusion. He made a vain effort to recall +clearly what had happened in the car. He remembered the crash, the din, +the pain, the horrible clutch on his arm, the choking reek of the +smoke, his frantic fear for Berenice, but all these things seemed +blurred in his mind like a landscape obscured by a night-fog. Only one +memory stood out clear and sharp; that was the joy of holding Berenice +clasped in his arms, and of thinking that they would die together. He +felt the blood mount in his cheek at the thought, and he hastened to +speak, lest his hostess should divine what was in his mind. + +"Why do you say that?" he asked. "It was not I that saved her. I was +not even conscious when she was taken out." + +Mrs. Morison smiled, and touched lightly with the tip of her finger +the bandaged arm which lay on the outside of the coverlid. + +"We won't dispute about it," said she. "The proof is here. Let it go, +if you like; but we shall remember." + +"But," protested Maurice, "it wouldn't be honest for me to let you +think that I did anything for Miss Morison. I should have been only too +glad to help her, but I couldn't. I wish what you think could have been +true; but since it isn't, I can't let you think it is." + +Mrs. Morison let the matter drop, but her kind old eyes were brighter +than ever. She contented herself with saying that at least he was to +remain with them, and need not try to escape; then she led the talk to +more indifferent matters. Her hand, worn and thin, the blue veins +relieved under the delicate skin, lay on the white coverlid like a +beautiful carving of ivory. As Maurice looked at it, it brought into +his mind the hand of his mother, as in her last days, when he sat by +her bedside, it had rested in the same fashion. The tears sprang in his +eyes at the memory, half-blinding him. As he tried to brush them away +unseen he caught the sympathetic look of his hostess, and its sweetness +overpowered him still more. Meeting his glance, she leaned forward +tenderly, taking his fingers in her own. + +"What is it?" asked she softly. + +"Your hand," he answered simply. "It looked so like my mother's." + +"Poor boy," she murmured. + +He returned the pressure of her clasp, and then the masculine dislike +for effusiveness asserted itself. + +"I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," he said shamefacedly. "I'm +almost hysterical." + +She glanced at him shrewdly, and smiling, rose. + +"For all that," she returned, "you are to get up. Dr. Murray says that +it will be better, and you would get hopelessly tired of bed before to- +morrow morning. I'll send you something in the way of clothing, and +we'll let you play invalid in a dressing-gown to-day. If Mehitabel can +help you, you've only to ring. I dare say that you can do something +with one hand." + +"One never knows until he tries," Wynne answered. + +Maurice wished to ask for a barber, but could not pluck up courage. +When he was alone he gazed ruefully into the mirror at his stoutly +sprouting black beard, which so little understood the exigencies of the +situation that it persisted in growing as vigorously as ever. + +"If I stay here a couple of days without shaving," he mused, "I shall +simply be hideous. Well, my vanity very likely needs a lesson. What did +Mrs. Morison mean by my saving Miss Morison's life? I certainly could +not have said so when I was unconscious. It must be from something she +herself has said. If I could only remember what did happen after the +car went over!" + +His bath and toilet were difficult and unsatisfactory enough. The linen +with which he was provided, however, smelled sweetly of lavender, and +the odor seemed to bear him away into a pleasant reverie, in which he +was chiefly conscious of the pleasure of being near--of being near, he +assured himself, so delightful and sympathetic an old lady as Mrs. +Morison. A feeling of well-being, of content, saturated him. Behind his +thought of his hostess and his denial to himself that the presence +under the same roof of Berenice was the true source of his happiness, +lay the consciousness that the latter regarded him as her preserver. He +resolutely thrust the thought down deep into his heart, but he could +not forget it. + +Before he was ready to leave his chamber Mehitabel brought him a +telegram from Mrs. Staggchase, to whom he had sent a line announcing +his safety. It was merely a friendly word with an offer to come to him +if he needed her; but it changed the whole current of his thoughts. He +seemed to see the mocking smile of his cousin as she read that he was +staying with the Morisons, and to hear again her words about his period +of temptation. He resolved, however, to put the whole question of the +future out of his mind. Somehow there must be a way to steer safely +between his duty and his inclination. He failed to reflect that he who +decides to compromise between duty and desire has already sacrificed +the former. + +Berenice greeted him on his appearance in the library, whither he +descended rather shakily. She held in her hand a telegram when he +entered under the escort of Mehitabel, and her cheeks were flushed. +Instantly into his mind came the feeling that her color was connected +with the message which the yellow paper brought, and he became jealous +in a flash. There was no possible reason why he should scent a rival in +the mere presence in his lady's hand of a telegram, unless there were +an intangible shade of self-consciousness in her manner. He had come +downstairs eager to see her and to assure himself that she was really +no worse for the accident, but the sight of the paper instantly changed +his mood. In crossing the half-dozen steps from the door to the fire +Maurice shifted from frank eagerness to aggrieved distrust. He said +good-morning as he entered in the tone of a lover; he spoke as he +reached the hearth with the formality of an acquaintance. + +He was too keenly alive to the change in his feelings not to know that +he showed it. He endeavored to hide his perturbation under an +appearance of simple politeness, but he was sure that she watched him +and that she was puzzled. + +"Well," she said, as she arranged a cushion in the big easy-chair +beside the crackling wood fire, "you have the genuine scarred veteran +air." + +"Please don't bother to wait on me, Miss Morison," he answered, trying +to speak naturally, and painfully aware that he did not succeed. "I'm +all right, except for the scratch on my arm." + +"Scratch, indeed," she returned with a smile which almost disarmed him. +"How many stitches did the doctor have to put in?" + +"'Bout enough for a week's mending," interpolated Mehitabel, putting +him into the chair with an air of authority, and preparing to retire. +"There, now stay there till you want to go upstairs again, and then +send for me." + +"Indeed," he protested, laughing, "I am not helpless. You can't make a +baby of me just for a disabled arm." + +"I suppose," Berenice said, "that I ought to be willing to say that I +had rather the wound were in my back, where it would have been but for +you; only as a matter of fact I shouldn't be telling the truth. I am +sorry for you, Mr. Wynne; but I can't help being glad for myself." + +She seemed to be setting herself to win him from his ill-humor, and he +had to look into the fire away from her lips and eyes to prevent +himself from yielding. He fortified his resistance, which he felt to be +weakening, by the reflection that it was his duty not to be carried +away by her charm. He called upon his religious scruples to aid him in +holding to his passion-born jealousy. + +"There," Miss Morison said, when he had been properly ensconced and +Mehitabel had departed, "now it is my duty to entertain you. What shall +I do? My accomplishments are at your service. I can read, without +stopping to spell out any except the very longest words. I can play two +tunes on the mandolin, only that I've forgotten the middle of one and +the other has a run in it that I always have to skip. The piano is too +far off across the hall to be available; so that the little I can do in +that way doesn't count. I can--let me see, I can teach you three +solitaires, or play cribbage, or--I beg your pardon, I forgot." + +"You forgot what?" he asked, so intent upon watching the sunlight +filtering through her hair that he had hardly noticed what she said. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"You don't play cards, perhaps?" she said tentatively. + +"No," he answered. "In the country in my boyhood they weren't held in +high repute, to say the least; and naturally we don't play at the +Clergy House." + +There was a brief interval of silence, during which he watched her, +while she in her turn looked into the fire. When she spoke again it was +in a different tone. + +"I know," said she, "that you must think me frivolous, and that I can't +be anything else; but"-- + +"Oh, no," he interrupted, "I never thought you frivolous." + +She made an impulsive little gesture with one of her hands. + +"Oh, you wouldn't put it in that way, I dare say. You'd call it being +worldly, I suppose; but it comes to much the same thing." + +Wynne could not understand what was the direction of her thoughts, and +he was taken entirely by surprise when she leaned forward impulsively +and took in hers his free hand. + +"At least," she said, quickly and eagerly, "I can't forget that you +saved my life, and I thank you from my heart if I don't know just how +to do it in words." + +He returned the pressure of her fingers, longing to cover them with +kisses. + +"I'm afraid," responded he, "that I've very little claim to glory on +account of anything I did for you. I certainly don't deserve the credit +of having saved you. I only wish I did." + +She laughed gayly, springing up from her seat, and he realized that his +voice had lost all trace of unfriendliness. He told himself recklessly +that he did not care; that if he were a thousand times a priest he +could not but be kindly to Berenice. + +"Come," she laughed, "we have been through a real adventure; and that's +more than happens to most people if they live to be a hundred." +Suddenly she became grave. "I can't bear to think of it, though," she +added. Then she turned toward him, and spoke with seriousness. "At +least, Mr. Wynne, I am not so flighty that I do not thank God for my +escape yesterday." + +"Amen," he responded. + +She walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sunny day. +The fire burned cheerfully on the wide, red hearth, and Maurice looked +into its glowing heart thinking gratefully of his preservation and of +the friendly refuge into which he had been brought. No reverent man can +come face to face with death and escape without some feeling of awe and +of gratitude to the power which has preserved him; and Maurice was +filled with a sense of how great had been the hand which could bring +him through such peril, how kind the protection which had preserved +Berenice unscathed. Humility and tenderness overflowed his heart, and +the inward thanksgiving which his spirit breathed was as sweet and as +unselfish as if a personal passion had never invaded his breast. + +"It seems to me," Berenice remarked from her place by the window, "that +the woods on the hills over there are already beginning to show signs +of spring. There is a sort of delicate change of color in them that +means buds beginning to grow." + +Before he could reply, the door opened, and Mehitabel presented herself +with a card. + +"Oh," said Berenice, as she received it, "already!" + +There seemed to Maurice something of impatience or dismay in her tone. +She excused herself and went out, leaving the old servant with Wynne. +As soon as the door closed, Mehitabel turned upon him at once. + +"Do you know him?" she demanded. + +"Know whom?" + +"This sprig that's come from Boston to see Miss Bee?" + +Maurice looked at her with a sharp sense that he ought not to allow her +to go on, yet with a desire to know more so burning that he could not +refrain. + +"I didn't even know that anybody had come from Boston to see Miss +Morison," he replied; "so that it isn't easy to say whether I know him +or not." + +"His name is Parker Stanford, and he's all the signs of being better'n +his grandfathers and knowing it through and through. He's too fond of +his looks to suit me." + +"I don't know him," Maurice answered, "except that I've heard my +cousin, Mrs. Staggchase, mention his name. He's very rich, I believe, +and a good deal of a leader in society." + +"Humph," sniffed Mehitabel. "He may be a leader in society, but he's as +selfish as a sucking calf!" + +"You seem to know him pretty well," commented Maurice. "I suppose +you've seen him often." + +"Never saw him in my life till this minute. Young man, I'll tell you +this, though. Every woman with any brains knows what a man is the +minute she claps eyes on him; only if he's good-looking, or awful +wicked, or makes love to her, or forty thousand other things, she'll +deny to herself that she knows any bad about him." + +"Then it seems to be much the same thing as if your sex weren't gifted +with such extraordinary insight," Maurice responded, laughing. + +"If women didn't cheat themselves there wouldn't be no marriages," +Mehitabel retorted, grinning, and retired in evident delight over her +success in repartee. + +As for Maurice, he became wonderfully grave the moment he was left +alone. + + + + XII + + + THE ONLY TOUCH OF LOVE + Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii. 7. + + +_To be_ is an irregular verb in all languages, but always regular is +the verb _to love_. There are many sides to the existence of mortals; +but to love is the same for high and low. Any mortal knows little +enough about himself; but a mortal in love knows nothing. Love is a +bewildering and a bedazzling fire, wherewith the eyes of youth are so +blinded that they are able to see clearly neither within nor without. +Often it happens, indeed, that the first intimation the heart has of +the presence of the divine flame is the bewilderment which fills the +mind. + +Berenice had long been contentedly and unenthusiastically convinced +that, she was to marry Parker Stanford. She approved of him; he was +wealthy, well-born, agreeable enough, and apparently very fond of her. +She had not, it is true, become formally engaged to him. When he had +asked her to become his wife she had teasingly asked for time for +deliberation; but this was not because she felt any especial doubt +about ultimately accepting him. She was pleased, maiden-like, to dally, +and shrank from being formally bound. Her pulses had not yet stirred +with the unrest which love awakens. Her vanity had been pleasantly +aroused, and for the rest she was in all the ignorance of those whom +passion has not yet made wise. She regarded marriage rather as an +abstract thing; she was familiar with the idea that it was a matter of +social arrangement and necessity, to be looked upon as a part of life. +She had, it is true, some vaguely sentimental notion that love was a +necessity, and being persuaded that the match before her was a +desirable one, was persuaded also that she was in love with Stanford. +At least she was sure that he was in love with her, and as she liked +him, that answered. To find a man amusing, agreeable, handsome, and +fulfilling the social requirements of a desirable husband seemed to her +unsophisticated mind to love him. She was pleased with her lover; she +was not insensible of the triumph of having won the attentions of one +of the most sought-after men in her set; to pass her life in the well- +ordered establishment which he would provide seemed to her a decorous +and desirable method of fulfilling the destiny of a woman. She was +willing that the event should be postponed indefinitely, it is true; +and the man himself in her considerations of the future was something +of a shadow; a shadow pleasant enough, yet so remote as to count for +nothing intimately important. She was somewhat less sophisticated than +most modern girls, inheriting that New England nature which is slow to +understand emotion and endowed with the power rather of tenacity than +of spontaneity of passion. + +When on the day previous Stanford had come to the train to see Berenice +off, she had been especially gracious. She had been in particularly +good spirits, full of amusement that Mr. Wynne was to be her neighbor +on the train, and that he did not know it. She had chanced to send for +tickets with Mrs. Wilson, the pair had laughingly planned the +arrangement, and Berenice had promised herself some entertainment in +teasing the young cleric on the journey. It pleased her, too, that +Stanford should take the trouble to come to the station, especially as +Kate West, who had tried so hard to secure him despite the fact that +she was ten years his senior, chanced to be meeting a friend and to be +there to see. She allowed herself to smile on her lover with more +warmth than usual, and was a little vexed as well as a little amused by +it afterward. On the train she reflected that if she were to be so +gracious Stanford would press his suit more warmly than she wished; yet +on the other hand it occurred to her that if she were to be engaged to +him, she might as well get it over. Why not marry in the spring and go +abroad? She wished much to go to Bayreuth for the Wagner operas in the +summer, and the aunt with whom she had hoped to travel was not willing +to go. Besides, she really could not afford the trip, and at least +Stanford had plenty of money. The idea of marrying with a thought to +his wealth was distasteful, and she at once said to herself that she +could not do that; but if she were to marry him--As the train rolled on +she had filled in the talk with Wynne with speculations whether it +might not be as well to let Stanford propose once more, and have +matters settled. + +These cogitations, however, she interspersed with reflections that her +traveling companion had a beautiful eye and a finely cut nostril; that +he was on the whole a fine-looking man, handsome and well made, if he +were not disguised in that detestable clerical garb; and that his hands +were distinctly those of a gentleman. She liked the tones of his voice +and the carriage of his head, smiling to herself at the thought that in +the latter there was hardly so much meekness as was to be expected in +one of his profession. She laughed at him almost openly, for to the +young woman of to-day there is apt to be something bordering on the +ludicrous and unmanly in a youth who is preparing to take orders, no +matter how great her respect for the completed clergyman. Berenice felt +something not entirely free from a trace of good-natured contempt for +deacons in the abstract, not dreaming that she might be led to make an +exception in favor of this especial deacon in the concrete. She became +more and more alive to the attractions of Wynne, although up to the +time of the accident she hardly realized the fact. + +From the moment, however, that the rescuer said to her that Maurice had +saved her life, her feeling was changed. She felt that she had failed +to do Wynne justice; that she had allowed his cassock to be the sign of +a lack of manhood; she accused herself of having wronged him. She began +now to exalt him in her thoughts, and to regard him as a hero. She had +long been aware of the effect that she had on him. From the morning +when she had encountered him at the North End, and had met the quick, +troubled glance of his eye, full of doubt and of fire, she had been +conscious that he was not indifferent to her presence. She had not +reasoned about it; but it gave her pleasure. It was a passing breath of +homage, pleasing like a breath from some rose-bed passed in a walk. Up +to the moment, however, when she said to herself that he had risked his +life for her, Berenice had never consciously thought of Maurice as a +lover. When she saw him lying insensible, depending upon her, a new +feeling kindled in her breast. She would not think of it; she shrank +from it, and refused to acknowledge it to herself. Yet for her the +world was altered, and however she might try to hide the fact from her +heart, secretly she felt it fluttering and throbbing deep within her +breast. + +When the telegram came in the morning announcing the visit of Stanford, +her first thought was one of gratification. The act was friendly, and +it gave her a pleasant sense of importance. The reaction came +instantly. The purport of the visit flashed upon her. She remembered +how she had smiled on Stanford yesterday,--Yesterday that now seemed +so far away that she looked back to it over distances of emotion which +made it strangely remote. She felt that she must receive him; but she +found herself seeking for the means of making him understand that what +he hoped was forever impossible. She certainly could never marry him. +She was sure that the thought could never have been seriously in her +mind. The idea of belonging to him, of having no right to think of +another man with tenderness, became all at once too repugnant to be +endured. She would not consider why her attitude was so different from +that of yesterday; she only insisted vehemently in her thought that now +first she really knew her own mind. Her cheek burned at the reflection +that Stanford was probably sure of her consent to be his. It seemed to +give him a claim upon her; to shut the door upon all other +possibilities; to smutch the whiteness of her soul and render her +unworthy of any man whom she might some day come to love. To remember +that in her secret thought she had actually contemplated being +Stanford's wife made her cringe. + +She stood by the window with the telegram in her hands, twisting it to +and fro, wondering what it was possible for her to do. She thought of +excusing herself from her visitor when he should come, but the evasion +seemed to her unworthy, and she was eager to free herself from even the +suspicion of belonging to him. She felt that she could not breathe +freely until she were clear of the faintest shadow of any claim, even +in Stanford's secret thought. She must belong once more to herself. + +It was at this point in her musings that Wynne came into the library. +He was pale and sunken-eyed, and the tinge of his sprouting beard gave +to his face a certain virility which startled her. It imparted a trace +of something perhaps remotely animal and brutal, subtly altering his +whole expression. He became in appearance at once more vigorous and +more human. For the first time Berenice saw a suggestion of the +possibility that this man might be a master; and the strength in man +that makes a woman tremble also makes her thrill. Some inward voice +cried in her ear: "Here is the reason why Parker Stanford is +repugnant!" But she denied the accusation indignantly in her mind, +putting the thought by, and refusing to see in Wynne anything more than +the man to whom she had cause to be grateful. Yet in that part of her +mind where a woman keeps so many things which she declines to confess +to herself that she knows, Berenice from that moment kept the fact that +this man before her had touched her heart. + +She made a strong effort to greet Wynne frankly, and to conceal from +him the feeling which his coming excited. She would have died rather +than show him how glad she was that he had come. She saw the eagerness +of his glance when he entered, and she felt the warmth of his greeting. +She noted the change in his manner, and fancied it arose from his fear +lest he betray himself. She set herself to overcome his reserve; and +when she had succeeded she sprang up with a gay laugh, light-hearted +and full of a delicious, incomprehensible pleasure. She wanted to break +out into singing, so sweet is the delight of new love unrecognized save +as simple joy in living. + +The entrance of Mehitabel with the card of Mr. Stanford brought her +back to earth. + +"Already?" she said, feeling as if she were defrauded that thus her +moment of enjoyment was cut short. + +She could not trust herself for more than a word of excuse to Wynne, +but hurried to her chamber to collect her thoughts and to examine her +toilet before she descended to her visitor. Some inward personality +seemed to be trying properly to frame the speech by which she should +make Stanford understand that it was idle for him to hope longer; while +all the time she was thinking of the man whom she had just left. + +Stanford was holding out his hands to the blaze in the fireplace when +she entered the parlor, for the morning was a sharp one. Berenice saw +with appreciation how satisfactory he was in all his appointments and +in his bearing; how well kept and how well bred. She felt, however, for +the first time that he was perhaps a little too faultlessly attired for +a man, and she glanced at his cleanly shaven cheek with an acute memory +of the stout black stubble on the face she had left behind her, yet +carried still in the eye of her mind. + +"Good-morning," she said, giving the visitor her hand, and making her +manner at once as cordial and as unemotional as possible. "It was too +good of you to come all the way up here in this cold weather, just to +see me." + +He pressed her hand with eagerness, and so meaningly that the color +flushed into her cheeks. His air seemed to her to have in it a +suggestion of intimacy which was irritating beyond endurance. + +"There was nothing good about it," he answered. "I had to assure myself +by actual sight that you were safe; and, besides, it gave me an excuse +for coming, and I was only too glad of that." + +"Sit down," Berenice said, ignoring the compliment. "It really was +frightful; but I came through safe. Grandmother wouldn't let me see the +paper this morning; but I know the details must have been horrible." + +She grew grave as she spoke. She seemed again to see the whole terrible +sight. The wreck, thrusting out tongues of fire, the dead and the dying +strewn about on the snow; Wynne, at her feet, insensible and ghastly in +the uncertain light. She shuddered and drew in her breath. + +"Oh, don't let's talk about it!" she exclaimed. "I can't bear to think +of it, and I feel as if I should never get it out of my head!" + +Stanford was silent a moment, pulling his mustache as if trying to find +the right word. + +"It must have been awful," he said hesitatingly; "and I'll never speak +of it again if you don't wish. Only I must say that it was dreadful to +me too. The thought of how near I came to losing you is more than I can +stand." + +She leaned back in her chair, suddenly chilled, yet moved by the +feeling in his voice. Her conscience reproached her that she had +allowed a false hope to grow up in his mind. She felt as if he were +establishing a claim upon her, and that at any cost she must make him +see things as they were. + +"You are very kind," she responded, trying to keep her tones from being +too cold; "but of course we always feel a shock when any friend has +been through a great danger." + +Her eyes were cast down, but she could divine his regard of disquiet +and surprise. + +"And especially those we love," he added, leaning forward, and +endeavoring to take her hand. + +"Oh, of course, Mr. Stanford," she said hastily. "That is of course +true. Were people in Boston much excited about the accident?" + +She felt herself a hypocrite, yet she could not help this one more +effort to avoid the explanation she dreaded. + +"I suppose so. I don't know. I was so taken up with thinking about you, +that I paid very little attention to anything else." + +"I'm afraid I didn't deserve it. I wasn't thinking of anybody but +myself. It was very good of you." + +"Of course you weren't thinking of anybody," Stanford responded, +pulling his mustache more furiously than ever; "but I was at the club +instead of being in a burning car. I was half crazy at the thought that +my future wife"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice broke in. "You mustn't say such things. I'm not your +future wife!" + +"Forgive me. I know I haven't any right to say that when you haven't +promised; but I can't help thinking of you so, and"-- + +"Oh, please don't!" she cried. + +A wave of humiliation, of repulsion, of terror, swept over her. That +this man had thought of her as his wife seemed almost like an +inexorable bond. She shrank away from him with an impulse too strong +to be controlled. + +"But, Berenice, I"-- + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"I have never promised you!" she declared with hurried vehemence. "I +never will promise you! I can't marry you. If I've made you think so, I +didn't mean to. I didn't know my own mind. I thought--O Mr. Stanford, +if I have deceived you, I beg your pardon. I"-- + +The tears choked and blinded her. She broke off, and put her +handkerchief to her eyes; but when she heard him rise and hurry toward +her, she went on hastily. + +"I've let you go on thinking I'd marry you; I know I have. I thought so +myself; but I've found out that it's all a mistake. I didn't realize +what I was doing. I'm so sorry. I do hope you'll forgive me." + +He regarded her in amazement not unmingled with indignation. + +"You have let me think so," he said. "Now I suppose there's somebody +else." + +"Oh, I shall never marry anybody," she answered quickly. + +"When a girl tells one man she never'll marry," retorted he bitterly, +"there's sure to be another man in her mind." + +She felt herself burn with blushes to her brow; and then in very shame +and anger to grow pale again. Her first impulse was to leave him; but +she controlled herself. He was her guest, he had come all the way from +Boston to assure himself that she was safe, and more than all she was +sorely aware that she had not treated him well. To have injured a man +is to a woman apt to be an excuse for continuing to treat him ill; but +when the opposite occurs she can be very forbearing. + +"There is no other man," she said with dignity. Then she added, more +mildly: "Badly as I may have treated you, I don't think you've quite +the right to say such a thing as that to me." + +"I haven't," he acknowledged contritely. "I beg your pardon; but I +surely have a right to ask what I've done to change you so. You were +not like this yesterday." + +Berenice forced herself to meet his eyes, but she ignored his question. +She sank back into the chair from which she had risen to face him. + +"Come," said she, trying to speak lightly, "I don't see why we need +stand. We are not rehearsing private theatricals. It was very kind of +you to take the trouble to come all the way up here, but you must see +that my nerves are all on edge. The shock has completely upset me." + +"Poor girl!" he said. + +There was a genuine ring in his voice which irritated while it touched +her. She hated to feel that he was really hurt. It made her seem the +more deeply guilty, and she unconsciously desired to discover in him +some excuse for her own shortcomings. + +"Oh, it's over now," she responded. "Let's talk of something else." + +"I'd be glad to," Stanford replied, "but I can't seem to. I want to +know how you escaped. I won't ask you to tell me now, but I keep +thinking about it." + +"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. I remember a tremendous crash, and +being thrown against Mr. Wynne"-- + +"Mr. Wynne?" + +The tone showed Berenice that Stanford did not attach especial +importance to the question, but asked only from a natural curiosity. +Nevertheless she could not keep her voice from, hurrying a little as +she answered:-- + +"Mr. Wynne is a young clergyman who was in the seat next to mine. He's +a cousin of Mrs. Staggchase." + +"Oh, a clergyman," Stanford echoed. + +The tone seemed to her excited mood to be full of intolerable +superiority. + +"He may be a clergyman," she retorted with unnecessary warmth, "but he +is a gentleman and a hero. He saved my life!" + +"Oh, he did!" + +The exclamation stung her beyond endurance. She sprang up with flashing +eyes. + +"Mr. Stanford," she exclaimed, "I don't know what you mean to +insinuate, but you will please to remember that you are speaking of the +man that saved me, and of my grandmother's guest." + +"Your grandmother's guest? Do you mean that he is staying here?" + +"Certainly he is. Why shouldn't he be?" + +The young man rose, and stood looking at her a moment; then he began to +pace up and down, his gaze fixed on the floor. Berenice felt herself +being swept away by tumultuous feelings which she could neither compel +nor understand. Her mind was in confusion, out of which rose most +definitely the desire that Stanford would go and leave her in peace. + +"There is no reason why I should question the right of Mrs. Morison to +choose her own guests," said Stanford at length, pausing, and speaking +with an evident effort to be entirely calm; "and as I know nothing of +this Mr. Wynne, I shouldn't in any case have a right to say anything +about him. You can't wonder, though, that I'm jealous of him for having +had the luck to save your life, or that when I come here and find you +so suddenly different and this man staying in the house and a hero in +your eyes"-- + +"I wish that you wouldn't keep calling Mr. Wynne 'this,'" she +interrupted hastily. "It sounds dreadfully superior. Come," she added, +softening her tone, and pleased at having prevented him from going on, +"there is no need that we should quarrel about him. He is a priest, or +going to be, and he's to take the vows of celibacy, so that it is +absurd for anybody to think of being jealous of him. If I seem +different to-day, it isn't any wonder after what I've been through." + +"I beg your pardon," he said, coming quickly forward and extending his +hand. "I'm awfully selfish. Of course I understand that what you've +been saying isn't to be taken seriously. We stand as we did before. +Only," he added, his voice deepening, "you are to remember that the +danger of losing you has shown me how fond I am of you. Good-by." + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and before she could speak, he was +gone. She stood where he had left her, hearing him leave the house, and +the tears came into her eyes. + +"Oh," she moaned to herself, "I've made it worse than it was before. I +wanted to be honest, and he wouldn't let me!" + +She stood a moment disconsolately, then she shrugged her shoulders as +if to throw off all care. + +"Well," she told herself, "I've given him fair warning. Now it is time +to go and entertain grandmother's guest." + + + + XIII + + + A NECESSARY EVIL + Julius Caesar, ii. 2. + + +While the advocates of Father Frontford were laboring, the friends of +other candidates were not idle. By the middle of January, however, the +contest had practically narrowed itself down to a struggle between the +supporters of the Father and those of the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore. +Other names had been suggested, but in the end it was felt that there +was no doubt that one or the other of these men would succeed to the +vacant bishopric. Even church politicians are human, and most divisions +are sure sooner or later to arouse the vanity of contestants. The +struggle, which begins without consciously personal motives, is apt to +be strongly tempered by the determination not to be beaten. For +thousands who can accomplish the difficult feat of triumphing humbly, +there is hardly one who can submit to defeat generously; and against +the humiliation of failure the human being instinctively strives with +every power. Those who upheld the rival candidates were undoubtedly +convinced that they had the best interests of the church at heart; but +that meant the election--even at some cost!--of their favorite. + +There could be no question that Mr. Strathmore was the more generally +popular candidate. He was a man who appealed strongly to the common +heart, both by his sympathy and by flexibility of character and +temperament which made it impossible for him to be repellantly stern or +austere. He preached the high ideals which are dear to the best thought +of the children of the Puritans; he demanded high purpose and high +life, noble aims and unfailing charity; while he laid little stress on +dogmas, and allowed an elasticity of individual interpretation of +doctrine which made the creed easy of adoption by all who believed +anything. His enemies--for he was by no means so insignificant as to be +without enemies--declared that he carried the doctrine of "mental +reservations" to the extent of rendering the articles of faith mere +empty forms of words; his defenders protested that he was but wisely +conforming in non-essentials to the progressive spirit of the age. +Bitterly attacked by the more conservative members of his own +denomination, he was looked up to by the general public as a great +spiritual leader, and loved with an affection exceedingly rare in this +unpriestly age. Those who urged his elevation had the support of the +body of the laity, and also of the public outside of the church, which +for once was interested in church politics on account of affection and +reverence for the candidate. + +Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely +in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic +assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant +office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was +indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be +made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of +Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a +duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his +ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that +he had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant. +There was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said, +so that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or +meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and +self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but +he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for +the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is +the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the +public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore +was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in +conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself +without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a +smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised. + +Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial +liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art +of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so +that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in +whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute +of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart. +He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young +men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period +when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of +both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the +sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him +that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human +qualities, endears a man to his fellows. + +Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to +represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the +relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of +barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all, +acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the +conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of +interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all +standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can +result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church. +Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a +devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and +conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father +Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if +the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his +popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little +better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic. + +One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in +clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr. +Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to +the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the +windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered +with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony +pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet +draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be +thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of +the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with +one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely +consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome +carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by +Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table, +had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however, +and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr. +Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The +clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall +nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he +carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were +keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed +their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses. +He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too +generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have +seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen +eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was +acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and +sympathy. + +The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously +his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with +inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the +incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of +those men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their +stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was +evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel +pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service +of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would +tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he +handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all +addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his +appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come +on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not +vote for him in the coming election. + +Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even +with no appearance of disapproval. + +"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be +disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that +my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can +conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more +dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am +capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote +against me." + +He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily, +becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for +existing at all. + +"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen. +That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to +Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of +the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself. + +"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on, +turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection +with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the +good of the church must be considered first, as you say." + +Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with +a piteous appeal in his face. + +"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it +seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I +appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you." + +Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently. + +"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were +different"-- + +"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are, +however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you +have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm +glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand." + +"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch +has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, +all under ten." + +The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable +gravity. + +"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested. + +"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs. +Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we +couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs. +Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but +it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us." + +Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it +a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on. + +"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has +something to do with your decision in regard to the election?" + +"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father +Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop. +It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous +that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a +man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church." + +"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented +blandly. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr. +Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my +inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you +that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to +me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was +likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure +you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night +that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained." + +"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but +his eyes still kindly. + +"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice." + +"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course +in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let +the consequences take care of themselves." + +"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I +said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be +decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I +should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand +that I personally wish you all success." + +He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief. + +"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you +wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state +properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken +a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case +there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and +let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally, +you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful." + +When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his +forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, +as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged +his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a +tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room. + +"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready +to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore." + +The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, +with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or +careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils +unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together. + +"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she +can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the +vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so +many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not +allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs. +Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him." + +"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for +him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in +him." + +"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response, +"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a +very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active +part in this matter there are others she can influence." + +"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up +with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring +the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would +have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way." + +"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr. +Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would +be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding +instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual +liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in +opposition to the spirit of the age." + +"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly. + +"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other, +"would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more +religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its +place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent +and deadly peril of the church to-day." + +"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague. + +"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the +deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in +sympathy with the tendencies of the time." + +"You put it admirably," the other murmured. + +Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden +thought behind the words. + +"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone. + +The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, +talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where +they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a +lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her +cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her. + +"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you +said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden +better. I want to thank you with all my heart." + +"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness. +"The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you." + +"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes, +"that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized. +It was like talking to a brother." + +He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet +which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of +reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head. + +"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do +you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?" + +"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car." + +"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently, +"and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from +the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may +want to read at the meeting." + +"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of +opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air +of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character, +"so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents." + +The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further +remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend +a meeting of the Charity Board. + +"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen +whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control." + + + + XIV + + + HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not +to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to +cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by +his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work, +and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is +amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing +excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such +desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that +he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is +impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which +testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning. + +At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been +going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was +to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able +to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been +looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that +there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford +and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing +division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities; +and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out +openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of +the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which +differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board. +The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were +evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed +to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the +meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are +times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of +principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a +time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by +the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs. +Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment +unconscious of being beside her. + +The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour +passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston, +with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles. + +"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air +of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into +discredit with the class which we most wish to reach." + +He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in +his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general +approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred +nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father +Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation. + +"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has +been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there +is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church, +and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand +the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that +there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He +believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the +background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the +sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection +to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am +convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that +they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I +think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too +prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich +to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that +philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators +in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong +to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I +believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that +philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with +treason." + +He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his +companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something +of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That +the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was +an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as +if to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and +incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected +the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to +resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a +keener emphasis. + +"Neither have we escaped the accusation that we use the poor simply as +a means of self-improvement. An old Irish woman in a tumble-down +tenement house once said to me: 'Ye'll have no chance to work out your +salvation doing for me.' I believe that there are many of the poor who +more or less consciously have the same idea. They think that we make +visiting them a sort of penance, and they resent it. I am not sure that +I can find it in my heart to blame them." + +"He is either sacrificing himself completely, or making one of those +bold strokes that are irresistible," Ashe whispered to Mrs. Fenton; and +she nodded assent. + +"What should be," the speaker proceeded, amid a deep hush which showed +the keen interest which his words had aroused, "is that we should dare +to be consistent. As individuals and as churchmen we should exercise +the virtue of charity, but both as individuals and as churchmen we are +bound to see to it that we make our charity effective for the glory of +God and the salvation of men. There is no stronger instrument in our +hands than philanthropy, and not to utilize it for the good of the +church is to be culpably negligent. I believe that charity should be +the instrument of evangelization. The poor will have a reason for our +interest in them. Let them have this. Let them believe, if they will, +that we purchase their spiritual acquiescence by ministering to their +bodily needs. Certainly I believe that we should limit our work to +those who can be spiritually influenced. There are more of these than +we can at present attend to, and I am in favor of boldly and +consistently taking the position that as administrators of the bounties +of the church we feel bound to use them for the advancement of the +church. To aid the corrupt, the evil, the hardened without any attempt +to draw them into the fold and without any pledge that they will be +influenced, is simply to aid the avowed enemies of religion and to +strengthen their hands against righteousness." + +The air of the room was becoming electric. Philip could see the +exchange of glances all around him, some of surprise, some of +consternation, some--or he was deceived--of triumph and scornful +satisfaction. He fancied that he saw Mr. Thurston shoot toward Mr. +Strathmore a flash of gratification, but the face of the latter +remained unmoved and inscrutable. Ashe, full of uneasiness as to the +result of the speech, was greatly excited, but at the same time moved +to profound admiration for its boldness and its consistency. He was in +sympathy with the views expressed, and he was more than ever convinced +that Father Frontford was the only man for the sacred office of bishop. + +"Even our Lord," Father Frontford went on, his thin cheeks burning and +his slender frame swayed by the strength of his emotion, "did not many +works in places where he found unbelief. There was no limit to his +power; there was no limit to his mercy. It was out of love for the +whole of mankind that He refused to benefit individuals who would have +hindered the work He came to do. The example is one which we shall do +well to follow. We have more work than we can do in aiding the faithful +and in building up the church. Let us accept the name of proselyters +which has been contemptuously flung at us, and wear it as our glory. We +are proselyters. We must be proselyters. It is the highest joy and +honor of our lives that we are allowed of heaven to take this work upon +us. God will require it at our hands if we fail in our private +charities, and still more if we fail in the administration of the +revenues of the church to be always ardent, consistent, unwearied +proselyters!" + +There was a good deal of applause when the speaker sat down. The +profound earnestness of the man carried the hearers away, at least for +the moment. Ashe saw Thurston look inquiringly at Strathmore, as if to +ask if the latter was not intending to reply, but Strathmore sat +silent. + +"Don't you suppose Mr. Strathmore means to speak?" Mrs. Fenton +whispered. "He almost always does speak after Father Frontford, and he +has expressed very strong views about the charities." + +"I cannot understand why he doesn't speak," Ashe responded. "It may be +he feels that the meeting is not with him, and does not wish to take +the unpopular side." + +Several men did speak, however, among them Mr. Candish. Their remarks +were in accord with the views expressed by the Father, yet they somehow +lessened the effect of his words. Put into their plain and sometimes +even awkward language his position seemed unpractical and hopelessly +far from daily life; so that even Ashe, warm partisan as he was, could +not but feel his enthusiasm somewhat chilled. Again he intercepted a +glance between Thurston and his superior. Philip sat with the two men +directly in his range of vision, and could not keep his eyes from +watching them. He recognized that there was danger in the keen, crafty +face of the colleague, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed; he wondered in +troubled fashion how far it was possible that Mr. Strathmore was of the +same nature as his assistant. Ashe was confident that Thurston was a +born intriguer, and he instinctively watched for signs of understanding +between Mr. Strathmore and the other. He could detect nothing of the +sort. The Rev. Rutherford Strathmore bore a countenance as beneficent, +as kindly, as guileless as ever; responding to the challenge of his +colleague's eyes by no evidence of understanding or connivance. It was +not until the talkers ceased and there fell a silence which indicated +that the first force of admiration and enthusiasm had spent itself, +that Strathmore rose. + +"No one can possibly disagree with the sentiments which have just been +expressed," he began in his cordial, frank manner. "There is no truth +which we need in these days to keep more constantly before us than the +duty of being always eager for the advancement of the church, and of +employing all means to this end. The question which is of vital +interest is how best to do this. When the caution was given that to the +harmlessness of doves be added the guile of serpents, it might almost +seem as if it was especially intended for our own day and case. There +has certainly never been a time when wisdom was more needed than it is +to-day. The growth of doubt, the overthrow of old traditions, old +beliefs, old forms, in short of all that has been sanctioned by custom +and by time, have gone on in every department of human knowledge and +endeavor. The spirit of the time is restless, progressive, liberal, +even irreverent. The beautiful serenity of the church, its reverent +conservatism, its hallowed enthusiasm, for old ideals, are at variance +with the temper of the century. Since the church is the shrine of truth +it is impossible that it should alter with every shifting of scientific +thought, every alteration in the fashions of human opinion; and we +stand face to face with the trying fact that the age is not in sympathy +with the church." + +He paused, looking down as if in thought. Ashe regarded him closely, +much impressed by the apparent spontaneity and candor with which this +was said. The hearers were closely attentive. "The only thing upon +which we seem to have some possible disagreement," continued Mr. +Strathmore, "is in regard to the best method of meeting this want of +sympathy, this feeling which often seems to amount almost to general +indifference. Is it to arouse all the suspicion and opposition +possible? Is it to seem to justify the charges brought against us of +narrowness, of formalism, of repression, and of obstructing the +progress of the race? It does not seem to me that this is the wisest +course. I agree that it is our duty to forward the interests of the +church, and to make our administration of charity a means to this end. +It is certainly a question whether open and avowed proselyting is the +best means. Religion is no more to be bought with a price than is love. +The person who conforms for a soup-ticket or a blanket has simply added +hypocrisy to his other failings, and has moreover gained for the church +that contempt which men always feel for those they have overreached. +The child that goes to Sunday-school for the Christmas tree and the +summer week has learned a lesson in deception which can never be +blotted out. It is of course proper that these means should be used; +but unless it is understood fully and frankly that they are employed +not as a bribe but as a persuasion, not as a price but as a kindness, +the evil that they do is more than any good that it is possible to +bring about through their means. I do not believe that our charities +should be conducted on the basis of bargain and sale; nor do I believe +that they should be put on a sectarian basis at all." + +He sat down quietly, with an unimpassioned air which seemed to rebuke +the emotional close of the remarks of Father Frontford. Strathmore +could be emotional and impassioned upon occasion, and this deliberate, +matter-of-fact mien affected Ashe as a calculated stroke of policy. +Philip felt that his leader had suffered a defeat; and he was +profoundly moved by the thought. Other speakers took up the question, +but he paid little heed. He was occupied in speculating how the meeting +would affect the chances of the election. When he was walking home with +Mrs. Fenton after the session was over, he was so absorbed that she +rallied him on his absent-mindedness. + +"I was thinking of the discussion," he said. "I am afraid that Father +Frontford injured himself this morning." + +"But how noble it was of him to say what he believed in spite of the +chances," she responded. "I was delighted with Mr. Candish for +seconding him as he did." + +"Yes," Ashe said, a pang of jealousy piercing him at the mention of Mr. +Candish. "It was fine. What I cannot make out," he added, "is whether +Mr. Strathmore is as simple and candid as he looks. He always seems to +speak sincerely and freely, and yet he somehow contrives never to say +anything that might not have been thought out with the most clever +policy." + +"I cannot make out either," returned she. "Mr. Fenton used rather +paradoxically to say that Mr. Strathmore was too frank by half to be +honest." + +She sighed as she spoke, and instantly all thought of bishops and +church matters vanished from the mind of Ashe. He became entirely +absorbed in wondering how warm was Mrs. Fenton's affection for her dead +husband and in hating himself for the thought. + + + + XV + + + HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + Two Gentlemen of Verona, i. I + + +Instead of returning to Boston next morning, Maurice remained at +Brookfield for ten days. Mrs. Morison decided the matter, and it is not +to be supposed that he was entirely unwilling to be constrained. + +He naturally saw much of Berenice, and he passed hours in brooding over +thoughts of her. He was convinced that she was not engaged. She had +spoken of Stanford's visit, and it had seemed to Wynne that she had +conveyed the impression that her relations to the visitor were less +intimate than might at first sight appear. If she were free--the +thought made his heart beat, and he wondered if, had the circumstances +been different, he might himself have won her. He tormented himself +with all her ways and words; the smiles she gave him, the trifling +attentions which were addressed to the guest, but which seemed to have +a touch of something deeper, that might be due to her thinking of him +as her preserver, but which might even go beyond that. There was a +delicious torture in all this reverie, in these continual self- +reproaches which involved the thought of her, the remembrance of how +she had looked, how she had spoken, how she had moved. He became every +day more hopelessly her slave, yet every day insisting more strongly to +himself that he felt nothing more than warm friend. Once for a moment +he tried to believe that his feeling was merely a desire for her +spiritual good, that his attitude was that which it was proper for a +priest to feel toward a beautiful and frivolous worldling; but the +pretense was too ghastly, and he abandoned it with a shudder of +disgust. He had moments, too, when he said to himself frankly, in +defiance or in sorrow as the mood might be, that he loved her; but for +the most part he tried to keep the assumption of simple friendship +between him and bitter thought. + +He found great pleasure in Mrs. Morison. She was to him a revelation of +possibilities of which he had never dreamed. It was a continual +surprise to him to find himself so impressed by the wit, the wisdom, +and the sanity of this fine old lady. He not only felt himself an +ignorant and inexperienced boy beside her, but found himself shrinking +from comparing with her the men whom he had followed as leaders. The +ease of her manner, the completeness of her self-poise, her frank +simplicity, high-bred and winning, delighted him, while the extent of +her mental resources filled him with amazement. + +Mrs. Morison opened to Wynne a new world in her conversation. At first +she gave herself up chiefly to entertaining him, telling him delightful +stories of famous folk she had known, of her life abroad and in +Washington. She was full of charming little tales which she had the art +of relating as if she were not thinking of how she was telling them, +but as if they came to her mind and bubbled into talk spontaneously. +She had a way, too, of putting in unobtrusive observations on character +and events which impressed Maurice. The art of saying things +trenchantly he had found in Mrs. Staggchase, but his cousin had the air +of being aware of her cleverness, while Mrs. Morison said these things +as if they were of the natural and habitual current of her thoughts. +Mrs. Morison said clever things as if she thought them; Mrs. Staggchase +as if she thought of them. + +It did not take the young man long to discover that Mrs. Morison was +not in sympathy with his creed. She was too well-bred to bring the +matter forward, but he could not resist the temptation now and then to +touch upon it. She was of principles at once so broad and so deep that +he found himself as often surprised by her devoutness as he felt it his +duty to be shocked by her liberality. One day when Maurice had made +some allusion to a discussion over the doctrine of predestination which +was agitating the English church, Mrs. Morison said:-- + +"It always seems to me a pity that those who believe in that dreadful +doctrine do not remember that if one were not one of the elect, he +could at least carry through eternity the realization that he was lost +through no fault of his own. God could not take from him that +consolation." + +He was silent in mingled amazement and disapproval; yet he found his +mind following out with obstinate persistence the train of thought +which her words suggested. In this or in many another remark it could +hardly be said that her words convinced him, but they awoke a swarm of +doubts in his mind. He found himself following speculations that were +lawless, wild, dangerous, and intoxicating. However convinced he might +be that the reasoning of Mrs. Morison was fallacious, he did not find +it easy to tell just wherein the fallacy lay. He felt that as a priest +he should be able to refute her, and he was filled with dismay to +discover that he was rather himself falling into the attitude of a +doubter. + +One subject which was constantly in his mind he did not touch upon +until the day before he left Brookfield. He longed to sound Mrs. +Morison on the subject of a celibate priesthood. He was well enough +aware that she would not approve of it, and he was irritated by the +knowledge that he secretly felt that her decision would be founded on +strong common sense. He tried to assure himself that it was her +dangerous laxity of principle that blinded her to the nobility and +sanctity of asceticism; but it was impossible to feel that such was the +case. He was teased by a wish which he would not acknowledge that she +might advance arguments which he could not controvert; though to +himself he said that she would be his temptation in tangible form, and +that he would struggle against it with his whole soul. + +His opportunity came while they were discussing the election of the +bishop. Mrs. Morison was not immediately concerned in the matter, not +being a churchwoman, but she had an intelligent interest in all +questions of the day. + +"I find it hard to understand," Mrs. Morison observed, "how any +churchman can be so blind to the importance of conciliating public +thought and the general feeling as for a moment to think of any other +candidate than Mr. Strathmore. He is so completely in sympathy with the +broadening tendencies of the time." + +"But that means ultimately the destruction of creeds," Maurice +objected, answering rather the implication than her words. + +"I think that perhaps the highest courage men are called upon to show," +she answered, "is that of giving up a theory which has served its use. +The race forces us to do it sooner or later, but the men who are +really great are those who are able to say frankly that their creeds +have done their work, and that the new day must have new ones. You +might almost say that the extent to which a man prefers truth to +himself is to be judged by his willingness to give up a dogma that is +outworn." + +"But you leave no stability to truth." + +"The truth is stable without effort or will of mine," she returned, +smiling; "but surely you would have human appreciation of it advance." + +He felt that there must be an answer to this, but he was not able to +see just what it was, and he shifted the question. + +"But Mr. Strathmore," he said hesitatingly, "is married." + +"Yes," she assented. "'The husband of one wife.'" + +"If you begin to quote Scripture against me," Maurice retorted, +laughing in spite of himself, "I might easily reply to St. Paul by St. +Paul. But letting that pass, it is certainly true that the church has +always held that marriage absorbs a man in earthly things so that he +cannot give the best of his thoughts to his work." + +"When the church sets itself against marriage," Mrs. Morison responded +quietly, "it seems to me to be setting up to know more than the Creator +of the race." + +Maurice colored, although he might not have been able to tell whether +his strongest feeling was horror at this bold language or joy at the +emphasis with which she spoke. + +"Perhaps I should beg your pardon for saying so frankly what I think," +Mrs. Morison continued. "It isn't the way in which one generally talks +to a clergyman; but the subject is one for which I haven't much +patience, and of course I couldn't help seeing that you are in doubt +yourself." + +Maurice started. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I--I in doubt?" + +"I hadn't any intention of forcing your confidence," returned she. "I +am an old woman, and sometimes I find that I don't make allowance +enough for the slowness of you young people in arriving at a knowledge +of self." + +He cast down his eyes. + +"Until this moment," he said, "I have never acknowledged to myself that +I was in doubt. I see what you mean, and it shows that I have been +playing with fire." + +She looked at him questioningly, then turned the subject. + +"Which is perhaps a hint that our fire is going down. Sit still, +please. Every woman likes to tend her own fire." + +"I should have learned that by this time," was his answer. "I lost an +inheritance once by insisting upon fixing a fire." + +"That sounds interesting. Is it proper to ask for the story?" + +"Oh, there isn't much of a story. I had a great-aunt who was worth a +lot of money, and who was eccentric. She was in a way fond of me when I +was a child, and used to have me at the house a good deal. I confess I +didn't like it much. Things went by rule, and the rules were often +pretty queer. One of them was that nobody should presume to touch the +fire if she was in the room. I liked to play with the fire as well as +she did, and when I was a boy just in my teens I used to do it. After +she'd corrected me half a dozen times I got into my foolish pate that +it was my duty to cure her of her whim. So I set to poking the fire +ostentatiously until she lost her temper and ordered me out of the +house. Then she burned up the will in my favor and made a new one, +giving all her money to the church." + +"How unjust," commented Mrs. Morison, "and how human. Did you never +make peace with her?" + +"Yes, but of course I was careful that she should understand that I +didn't do it for the sake of her money. She told my mother that she had +made a new will in my favor, but it never turned up. My aunt's death +was very singular. She was found dead in her bed, and the woman who +lived with her, an old nurse of mine, had disappeared. Of course there +was at once suspicion of foul play, but the doctors pronounced the +death natural, and there was no evidence of theft." + +"Did you never discover the nurse?" + +"Never. We tried, for we thought she might give a clue to the missing +will. She'd been in the family so long that she was a sort of +confidential servant, and knew all Aunt Morse's affairs. She was +devoted to me." + +"The romance may not be ended yet," Mrs. Morison suggested smilingly. +"Who knows but the missing nurse will some day turn up with the missing +will." + +"I'm afraid that after a dozen years there's little enough chance of +it." + +His mind was so racked upon this wretched question of the right of a +priest to marry, that he could not rest until he had drawn from +Berenice also an expression of opinion on the subject. He made Mr. +Strathmore again the excuse for the introduction of the topic. + +"I don't see," he said to her, "how you can think that it's well to +have a married bishop. His wife is sure to be meddling in the affairs +of the diocese." + +She looked at him with a mocking glance. + +"Do you wish to drag me into a discussion of the wisdom of allowing the +clergy to have wives?" she asked cruelly. + +He flushed with confusion, but tried to carry a bold front. + +"Very likely it does come down to the general principle of the thing," +he answered. + +"Well then, the question of the marriage of the clergy doesn't interest +me in the least." + +She looked so pretty and mischievous that he began to lose his head. + +"But it is of the greatest possible interest to me," he returned, with +a manner which gave the words a personal application. + +She flushed in her turn, and tossed her head. + +"That is by no means the same thing," she retorted. + +"But what interests me you might try to consider; just out of charity, +of course." + +"Oh, well, then, since you ask me, this celibacy of the clergy of our +church isn't at all a thing that anybody can take seriously. Everybody +knows that a clergyman may have his vows absolved by the bishop, so +that after all he can marry if he wants to; so that the whole thing +seems"-- + +"Well?" he demanded, as she broke off. "Seems how?" + +"Pardon me. I didn't realize what I was saying." + +"Seems how?" he repeated insistently. + +He challenged her with his eyes, and he could see the spark which +kindled defiantly in hers. She threw back her head saucily. + +"Well, since you insist! I was going to say that it made the whole +thing seem a little like amateur theatricals." + +He became grave instantly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "You do not seem to understand that what +you are speaking of may mean the bitter sacrifice of a man's whole +life. Even a clergyman is human, and may love as strongly, as +completely"-- + +He choked with the emotion he could not control. He realized that he +was telling his passion, and there came to him an overwhelming sense +that he must never tell it save in this indirect manner. He hastened on +lest she should interrupt him. + +"Don't you suppose that a priest may know what it is to worship the +very ground a woman walks on? Don't you suppose he has had his heart +beat till it suffocated him just because her fingers touched his or her +gown brushed him? A man is a man after all, and the dreams that come to +one are much the same as come to another. The difference is that the +priest has to tear his very heart out, and turn his back on all that +other men may find delight in." + +Berenice looked at him with shining eyes, not undimmed, he thought, by +tears. + +"If you really care for her so much," she said softly, "you can give +only a divided heart to your work. It is better to own that to +yourself, isn't it?" + +"For her?" he echoed. + +"Oh, there must be somebody," she returned hastily, her color coming. +"No matter about that." + +"But think of giving up!" he cried, leaning toward her. "Even those who +believe nothing despise a renegade priest." + +"That's of less consequence than that he should ruin his life and +despise himself." + +He held out his uninjured hand impulsively. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She flushed celestial red, and for an instant her eyes responded to the +love in his. Then she sprang to her feet, with a laugh. + +"There!" she cried. "See what dunces we are to get to discussing +theology. I'll never forgive you if you try to inveigle me into another +talk about such subjects. Here is Mehitabel to say that she's ready to +help you with your packing." + + + + XVI + + + THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + Macbeth, iv. 3. + + +"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," Mrs. Wilson said to her husband, +coming into the library one afternoon, "but the fact is that I was +dressing for a comedy." "Gad! you dress for a comedy every day, as +far as that goes." + +She made a mocking courtesy. + +"Well, what is life without comedy?" + +"Oh, nothing but a bore, of course. Is this comedy with some of your +ministerial hangers-on?" + +She sat down by the fire and stretched out her feet upon a hassock. She +was radiant with beauty and mischief, and dressed to perfection. + +"That isn't a respectful way to speak of the clergy." + +"It's as respectful as I feel," he responded, lighting a pipe. "You do +have a nice gang of them round. There's Candish, for instance. He looks +like an advertisement for a misfit tailor, and he's fairly putrid with +philanthropy." + +Elsie gave a quick burst of laughter. Then she pretended to frown. + +"Chauncy," she said, "you have the most abominable way of putting +things that I ever heard. What would you say to the youngsters from the +Clergy House that I have in train? They're perfect lambs, and they +love each other like twins. Have you seen them?" + +"Oh, yes; I've seen them. They seem to have been brought up on +sterilized milk of the gospel, and to have Jordan water for blood." + +"Oh, don't be too sure. You can't tell from a man's looks how red his +blood is, especially if he's a priest. I suppose it's the men that have +to hold themselves in hardest that make the best ministers." + +"I dare say," he answered indifferently. "Priest-craft has always been +clever enough to see that unless the things it called sins were natural +and inevitable its occupation would be gone. However, as long as folks +will follow after them they'd be foolish to give up their trade." + +"Of course," his wife assented laughingly. "You won't get a rise out of +me, my dear boy." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled. + +"You're a devilish humbug," he remarked admiringly; "but you do manage +to get a lot of fun out of it." + +She smoothed her gown a moment, half smiling and half grave. + +"Of course it's of no use to tell you that in spite of all my fun I'm +serious at bottom," she said slowly; "but it's a fact all the same. I +don't take things with doleful solemnity like the old tabbies; but +that's no sign that I'm not just as sincere. It's no matter, though; +you won't believe it. What did you want to see me about?" + +"Oh, it was about those mortgages. I saw Lincoln this morning, and he +has heard from Mrs. Frostwinch. She insists upon paying them off." + +"Then there isn't any truth in the story that that Sampson woman is +circulating that Anna is going to build a spiritual temple or +something. I never believed that Anna could be such an idiot as to give +her money for anything so vulgar." + +"The whole thing is nonsensical on the face of it," was his response. +"Mrs. Frostwinch can't build churches, let alone temples, if there's +any difference." + +"Oh, in these days," Elsie interpolated, "a temple is only a church +_declasse_." + +"She has only a life interest in the property," Wilson went on. +"Berenice Morison is residuary legatee of almost everything, unless +Mrs. Frostwinch has saved up her income." + +The talk ran on business for a few moments, Wilson advising with +shrewdness, and practically deciding the matter for his wife. + +"I suppose," he said, when this was disposed of, "that Mrs. Frostwinch +is too much wrapped up in faith-cure nonsense to take much interest in +your holy war against Strathmore." + +"She isn't so much wrapped up in that stuff as you think. Dear Anna +hasn't any sense of humor, but she's a model of propriety, and she's +constantly shocked at herself for being alive by a treatment so +irregular. She was mortified beyond words when that Crapps woman gave a +treatment to Mrs. Bodewin Ranger's dog." + +"That snarling little black devil that's always under foot at the +Rangers'? Gad! I'd like to give it a treatment!" + +"It got its ear hurt somehow, and Mrs. Crapps pretended to cure it. +Mrs. Ranger was all but in tears over it, she was so grateful. Anna was +entirely disgusted. She told Mrs. Crapps that she hadn't known before +that she was in the hands of a veterinary." + +Dr. Wilson smoked in silence for a moment. The fire of soft coal purred +in the grate, the smoke from his pipe ascended in the warm air. The +thin sunshine of the winter afternoon filtered in through the windows, +and made bright patches on the rugs. + +"By the way," Wilson asked lazily, "how is the campaign going? I +haven't heard anything interesting about it for some time." + +"Oh, things are moving on. The man I sent up to canvass the western +part of the state--one of your sterilized milk-of-the-word babies, you +know,--got smashed up in the accident; but he'll be back in a few days. +Cousin Anna has brought her pensioners into line beautifully. There's +no doubt that we'll carry the convention." + +"What happens after that?" + +"The election has to be ratified by a majority of bishops; but of +course they'll hardly dare to go against the convention, even if they +want to." + +"It would make things much more interesting if they'd do it, and get up +a scandal," commented the doctor. "You'll get bored to death with the +whole thing if something exciting doesn't turn up." + +"I had half a mind to get up a scandal myself with Mr. Strathmore," +Elsie said with a laugh; "but I confess I should be afraid of that she- +dragon of a wife of his." + +"It's devilish interesting to know that you are afraid of anybody." + +"At least," she went on, "I could go to New York and see Bishop +Candace. I can wind him round my finger. I'd tell him what Mrs. +Strathmore said about his Easter sermon last year. With a little +judicious comment that would do a good deal. I never yet saw a man that +couldn't be managed through his vanity." + +"I suppose that explains why I'm as clay in your hands." + +"Oh, you're not a man; you're a monster," she retorted, rising. "Well, +I must go and prepare for my comedy." + +He regarded her with a look of evident admiration; a look not without a +savor of the sense of ownership, and, too, not entirely devoid of good- +natured insolence. + +"You are devilishly well dressed for it," he observed. + +"Thank you," returned Elsie, sweeping him a courtesy again. "The wife +that can win compliments from her own husband has indeed scored a +triumph." + +Dr. Wilson puffed out a cloud of smoke with a characteristic chuckle. + +"I have to admire you to justify my own taste. But you haven't told me +about the comedy." + +She thrust forward one of her pretty slippers. + +"Do you see that?" she demanded. + +"I suppose you expect me to say that I see the prettiest foot in +Boston." + +"Thank you again, but I'm not yet reduced to trying to drag compliments +out of you, Chauncy. I sha'n't do that till the other men fail me. It's +the slipper I wanted you to notice, and these ravishing stockings." + +"If the comedy has stockings in it," he began; but she stopped him. + +"There, no impudence," she said. "Did you ever see anything so +entirely heavenly as those stockings and slippers? I declare I've +wanted ever since I put them on to keep my feet on the table to look +at." + +"You might do worse." + +"Oh, I'm going to." + +"Indeed! It's apparently getting time for me to interfere. What's your +game?" + +"I'm going to squelch that detestable Fred Rangely." + +"How?" + +"My slippers," Elsie said vivaciously, again thrusting one of them +forward, "are ravishing." + +"Gad," her husband returned, regarding her with a look of the utmost +amusement in his topaz-brown eyes, "you have a good deal to say about +them." + +"Do you notice anything particular about my hair?" she asked. + +"It looks as if it might come down." + +"It will come down," she corrected, nodding. Then she glanced at the +clock. "It will come down in about twenty minutes; all tumbling over my +shoulders. I shall be so mortified and surprised!" + +Her husband stretched himself luxuriously back in his chair, regarding +her with laughing eyes. There was an air of perfect understanding +between the two which might have been an effectual enlightenment for +any man who thought of making love to the wife. Elsie went on, telling +off on her slender fingers the points as she made them. + +"In fifteen minutes I shall be standing on the piano in the drawing- +room, straightening a picture. I never can bear a picture crooked, and +I had Jane tip it a little this morning, just to vex me. Fred Rangely +will come in unannounced. Of course I shall be dreadfully confused, +and have to get down. In my maidenly confusion I am almost sure I can't +help showing my slippers, and just a trifle--a very discreet trifle, of +course,--of these beautiful, beautiful stockings. Nothing vulgar, you +know, but"-- + +"But just enough," interpolated Wilson with huge enjoyment. "You +needn't apologize. I don't begrudge the poor devil whatever +satisfaction he can get out of that." + +"And then as he is helping me down, with his heart in a flutter,--it +will flutter, I assure you." + +"You mean his vanity; but it's of no consequence. He'd call it a heart +if he were putting the scene in a novel." + +"With his whichever it is in a flutter, by some provoking accident down +comes my hair and tumbles over his shoulders." + +Wilson regarded her with amused admiration. + +"Five years ago," he observed placidly, "I should have thought you were +telling me half the truth to cover the other half, and were really +having a devilish flirtation with that cad." + +Elsie flushed, and into her gay voice came a strain of seriousness. + +"Five years are five years," she answered. "Don't go to dragging all +that up again, Chauncy." + +His laugh was not untinged with malicious delight, but he put his hand +on hers and patted her fingers. + +"All right, old girl. Bygones are bygones. But what in the world is all +this fooling with Rangely for?" + +"Why, don't you see? The fool is sure to say something so silly that I +can snub him within an inch of his life. I've only been holding off +until he had that thing written for the Churchman. Now I've got that, +I'll settle him." + +"Oh, the gratitude of women!" + +"Why, it isn't that. He needn't be smirking at me the way he does. I +simply won't stand it. Besides, he makes eyes at me wherever I go, just +to advertise the fact that he's silly about me. He's a cad, through and +through. Would you come here as he does if I refused to invite your +wife?" + +Chauncy Wilson laughed again, leaning forward to knock the ashes out of +his pipe. + +"He's a fool, fast enough; and I dare say you're tired of his beastly +spooning; but all the same, the real reason for this circus is that you +want to amuse yourself." + +She drew up her head in mock dignity. + +"Of course," she returned, "if my own husband does not appreciate how I +resent"--She broke off in a burst of laughter. "Nobody ever understood +me but you, Chauncy," she cried. "Good-by. It's time I took the stage." + +She threw him a kiss, and went to the drawing-room. Looking at her +watch, she placed herself behind the curtains of a window which +commanded the avenue. Presently she espied her victim, and with a last +glance around to assure herself that everything was as she wished it to +be, she mounted to the top of the piano. There she hastily tucked the +hem of her skirt between the piano and the wall. The reflection in a +great blue-black Chinese jar showed her when Rangely appeared between +the portieres, so that she was able to step back as if to view the +effect of her work just as he reached the middle of the room. + +"Be careful!" exclaimed he, hurrying forward. "You almost stepped off +backward!" + +She wheeled about quickly. + +"O Mr. Rangely!" she cried. "How did you get into the room without my +knowing? How horrid of you to surprise me like that!" + +"But think how charming it is for me," he responded with an elaborate +air of gallantry. "It is so delightful to see you on a pedestal." + +"Meaning that I am no better than a graven image?" she demanded with a +smile. "If that is the best you can do, I may as well come down." + +She held out her hand for his, and then sat down, displaying one of the +fascinating slippers, and the openwork instep of her silk stocking, +through the meshes of which the pearly skin gleamed evasively. + +"My dress is caught," she said, turning to conceal her face, and +pretending to pull at her skirt. "I hope my slippers haven't damaged +the piano." + +"The piano is harder than my heart if they haven't!" + +She gave a sly twitch at a hairpin. + +"That is very pretty," observed she, giving her head a shake that +brought her hair down in a rolling billow. "Oh, dear! Now my hair has"-- + +Before she could finish he had dropped her fingers, and gathered her +hair in both hands, kissing it again and again. + +"Mr. Rangely!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?" + +For reply he stooped to her foot, and kissed the mesh-clad instep +fervidly. + +"How dare you!" she cried, scrambling down hastily without his +assistance. + +But, alas, even trickery is not always successful in this uncertain +world! The hold of the piano upon the hem of her gown was stronger +than she realized. She tripped and stumbled, half-hung for a second, +and then dropped in an inglorious heap at the feet of the man she +wished to humiliate. + +Elsie was on her feet in a minute. She did not take the hand which +Rangely extended, but drew back, her eyes sparkling with rage. + +"Oh, you find it laughable, do you?" she cried. "A gentleman would at +least have concealed his amusement!" + +He grew suddenly grave, and seemed not a little surprised. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope you were not hurt." + +She looked at him scornfully without replying, and then walked to the +mantel, where there was a small antique mirror of silver. + +"Thank you, not in the least." + +Her tone was no warmer than an arctic night. She gathered her hair, and +began to twist it up. He followed and stood behind her with an air at +once deprecatory and insinuating. + +"I shouldn't think you could see in that thing," he observed. + +She took no notice of his words. + +"If I laughed," continued he, "it was only from nervousness. I was +carried away"-- + +"I observed that you were," she interrupted icily. + +He stood awkwardly a moment, while she finished putting up her hair. +Then, as she turned toward him, he smiled again, holding out his hand. + +"Surely you are not angry with me," he pleaded. "I care more for your +feeling toward me than for anything else in the world." + +"It would amuse Mrs. Rangely to hear you say so, not to mention my +husband." + +He stared at her with the air of a man not sure whether he is awake or +dreaming. + +"What are they to us?" he asked, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. + +"Mrs. Rangely may be nothing to you, but Dr. Wilson is still a good +deal to me, thank you." + +He looked at her again with perplexity in his glance, but with his face +hardening. + +"You surely cannot mean that you have ceased to care for me just for a +second of meaningless laughter?" + +She swept him a scornful courtesy. + +"You do these things better in your novels, Mr. Rangely, which shows +what an advantage it is to have time to think speeches over. I wouldn't +have my hero say a thing like that, if I were you. It would make him +seem like a conceited cad." + +The insolence of her manner was such as no man could bear. Rangely +crimsoned to the temples. He paced across the room, while she coolly +seated herself in a great Venetian chair, and began to play with a +little jade image. He came back to her, and stood a moment as if he +could not find words. + +"Why don't you go?" she asked, looking up at him as if he were a +servant sent upon an errand. + +"Because," he broke out angrily, "when I go I shall not come back; and +I should like to understand this thing." + +She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair, looking him +over from head to foot. + +"Why you quarrel with me is more than I know," he went on. "You've got +tired of me, I suppose, and want to amuse yourself with another man." + +The red flushed in her cheek. + +"If my husband, who you say is nothing to us, were here," she said, "he +would horsewhip you." + +The other laughed savagely. + +"He is not here, however, so you may digest my remark at your leisure." + +Mrs. Wilson rose from her seat with an air of dignity which was really +imposing. + +"Mr. Rangely," she said, "it is not my custom to bandy words, even with +my equals. I have allowed you the freedom of my house because I was +willing to help you in your desire to be useful to Father Frontford. +You have taken advantage of my kindness to insult me. This seems to me +sufficiently to explain the situation." + +He stared at her a moment in evident amazement. Then he burst into +hoarse laughter. + +"My desire to be useful to Father Frontford!" he echoed. "That is the +best yet! You know I cared nothing about your pottering old church +politics except to please you." + +"I see that I was deceived completely," she responded coldly. + +She crossed the room and pressed an ivory button. + +"Deceived!" he sneered. "It would take a clever man to deceive you." + +She looked not at him, but beyond him. He turned, and saw a footman in +the doorway. + +"The gentleman wishes to be shown out, Forrester," said she. + +She held the tips of her fingers to Rangely. + +"Thank you so much for coming," she murmured in her most conventional +manner. + +"The pleasure has been mine," he responded. + +They both bowed, and Rangely followed the footman. + + + + XVII + + + A BOND OF AIR + Troilus and Cressida, i. 3. + + +"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison +in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind +as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days +his home with Mrs. Staggchase. + +There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a +religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment +when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had +been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that +he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield, +moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view +of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him +well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the +swaddling-clothes of infancy. + +On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found +himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a +committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice +sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly +well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more +than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The +young man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the +kindliness of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly. + +"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked +abruptly. + +"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience." + +"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have +felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now." + +The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so +keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm. + +"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are +tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?" + +Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to +go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a +confidence when he had not intended to make one. + +"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that +I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil." + +Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn. + +"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the +mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so +differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you +if I tried." + +"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said. + +"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman +responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going +right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of +advice?" + +"I shall be glad if you will." + +"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore." + +"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise. + +"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church +matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but +he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that +there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice." + +"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"-- + +"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference. +Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll +consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift +of understanding." + +No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind. +Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not +take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort +almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from +Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it +was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked +upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had +been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father +Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior +now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew, +however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts +which for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would +simply be told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and +the young man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he +were to seek aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his +state of mind. + +Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to +Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he +felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the +middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It +was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements +where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice +began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his +head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his +cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he +would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore, +in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows +fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose. +When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his +private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised +to be there. + +The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose +readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which +endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring +look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat +at a loss how to begin. + +"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly. + +"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit +down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire." + +The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated. + +"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in +the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things." + +Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of +the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal +charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that +understanding and sympathy were here. + +"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to +talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy." + +He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then +melt into a smile. + +"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?" + +Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden +gravity broke out earnestly:-- + +"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing +me. I don't even know what I believe." + +"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me +rather than your Superior?" + +Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but +absolute frankness. + +"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the +Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really +followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been +among men, and"-- + +He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him. + +"And among women," he went on bravely; "and--and"-- + +"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which +declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore. + +Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without +need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so +intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not +so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt. + +"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that +Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is +given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman." + +"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems +to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very +tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of +celibacy." + +"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented +involuntarily. + +"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters," +Strathmore suggested with a twinkle. + +"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily, +flushing, and ignoring the thrust. + +"Then what is your trouble?" + +"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing." + +"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change +the mind is the same as to do it?" + +"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take +them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry--if you will +pardon my saying so." + +"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has +already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really +know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your +mind as to the sacredness of marriage,--for the clergy or for anybody +else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to +abandon a position once taken?" + +The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were +spoken. + +"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling +as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I +have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so +strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?" + +"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to +put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young +men accept mediaevalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make +you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the +church?" + +"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded. + +"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have +doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an +inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach." + +Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his +belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was +startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had +declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that +while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth. + +"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to +be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church +teaches." + +"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting +against the age. You have been taught to believe,--if you will pardon +me,--that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of +reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be +received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret +figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if +we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and +infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of +his own conscience and reason." + +"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the +line. The heathen are very likely honest enough." + +"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly +searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there +can be no danger." + +"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself +upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this +is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You +seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme +authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that +authority." + +The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so +winning. + +"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever +mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some +little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase +conveys to you and to me?" + +"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but +practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?" + +"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means +by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would +mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man, +and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church. +You would allow that, of course." + +"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of +it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine." + +"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since +absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon +it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the +search for truth." + +The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters, +though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more +and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe. + +"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted. + +"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?" + +"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told." + +He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to +him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr. +Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes +no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and +sympathy. + +"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with +the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in +an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing +frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men +always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or +not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear +thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who +are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are +thinking." + +"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for +themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in. + +"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church +are?" Strathmore asked significantly. + +Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net +of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely +sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between +the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions +which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the +manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and +unaffected. + +"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a +doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice +felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who +is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it." + +Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your +kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I +haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own +salvation." + +"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne." + +The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered +Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore +grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:-- + +"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness. +Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything +else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God +help you in your search for light." + + + + XVIII + + + CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + As You Like It, i. 2. + + +The afternoon was already darkening into dusk one day late in January +when Philip Ashe stood in the hallway of a squalid tenement house, +looking out into a dingy court. The place was surrounded by tall +buildings which cut off the light and made day shorter than nature had +intended, an effect which was not lessened by the clothes drying +smokily on lines above. In one corner of the court yawned like the +entrance to a cave the mouth of the passageway by which it was entered. +In another stood a dilapidated handcart in which some dweller there was +accustomed to carry abroad his rubbishy wares. The windows were for the +most part curtainless, rising row above row with an aspect of +wretchedness which gave Ashe a sense of discomfort so strong as almost +to be physical. Here and there rags and old hats did duty instead of +glass; some windows were open, framing slatternly women. + +These women were stupidly quiet. Ashe wondered if they would have +talked to each other across the court if he had not been in sight, or +if the gathering dusk silenced them. One of them was smoking a short +black pipe, and once let fall a spark upon the head of another idler a +couple of floors below. The injured woman poured forth a volley of +oaths, and Ashe expected a war of words. Nothing of the sort occurred. +The figure above was so indifferent as hardly to glance down where the +offended harridan was steaming with a fume of curses. + +Philip began to be uneasy. He looked up at the darkening sky, and +backward to the gloom of the stairway behind him. No gas had been +lighted in the building, and he wondered if any ever were. It was +certainly too late for Mrs. Fenton to be poking about in these +dangerous places. They had been doing charity visiting together, and +she had insisted on coming to this one house more before going home. He +had remonstrated, but she had laughed at his fears. + +"I don't believe any of these places are really dangerous," she had +declared. "I've been coming here for years, and nobody ever troubled +me." + +"By daylight it is all very well," he had answered, "but it's a +different thing after dark. I have been here once or twice to see some +sick person in the evening, and it is a rough place." + +"But it isn't after dark," she had persisted, "and it won't be for an +hour." + +She had had her way, but Ashe reflected uneasily that if harm came to +her it would be his fault. He should have insisted upon her going home. +The light was fading fast, and the locality was one of the worst in +town. He wondered why the mere absence of daylight gave wickedness so +much boldness. Men who by day were the veriest cowards seemed to spring +into appalling fearlessness as soon as darkness gave its uncertain +promise of concealment. The thought made him turn, and begin slowly to +walk up the stairs. + +He was not sure what floor she meant to visit. She was going, he knew, +to see a woman whose husband got drunk and beat her. She had told him +about the poor creature as they came along. She was sure Mrs. Murphy +must have known a decent life. She set her down as having been a +housekeeper or upper servant who had foolishly married a rascal. The +woman, Mrs. Fenton had added, was evidently ashamed of her present +condition, and afraid that those who had known her in her better days +should discover her. + +"It is pitiful," Mrs. Fenton had said musingly, "to see how she clings +to her husband. She pulls down her sleeves to cover the bruises, and +tells how good he was to her when they were first married. She says he +doesn't mean to hurt her, but that he's the strongest man in the court, +and doesn't realize what he is doing. She's even proud of his +strength." + +"Strength is apt to impress women," Ashe had answered, not without a +secret sense of humiliation to lack this quality. + +As he walked gropingly up the dark stairway, a man came clumsily after, +and presently stumbled past him. A strong smell of liquor enveloped the +newcomer, and he lurched heavily against Ashe without apology. Philip +heard his uneven steps mounting in the gloom, and followed almost +mechanically. He paused in one of the hallways to listen to a babble of +words in one of the rooms. It was chiefly profanity, but it hardly +seemed to be ill-natured. It was simply a family cursing each other +with well-accustomed vehemence. He grew every instant more and more +uneasy, and thought of knocking at every door until he found his +friend. What right had philanthropy to demand that a beautiful, noble +woman should be exposed to the chances of a nest of ruffianism and +vice? He was indignant at the committee for not delegating such work to +men. Then he remembered that Mrs. Fenton was herself on the committee, +and that it was by her own insistence that she was here. + +"She is capable of any sacrifice to what she believes to be right," he +said to himself; "but she is too good for such work; she is too +delicate, too"-- + +Suddenly a noise arose on the floor above him. A man's voice, thick +with anger or drink, was pouring out a stream of words, half oaths; a +woman was shrilly entreating. Ashe sprang quickly upstairs, and as he +did so he heard Mrs. Fenton scream. The sound was behind a door, and +without stopping to deliberate he tried to open it. The latch yielded, +but he could not open. + +"Let me in!" he cried fiercely. "What is the matter?" + +The voice of a man who was evidently against the door answered him with +blasphemies. A woman within cried to the man to stop, while Mrs. Fenton +called to Ashe for help. Philip set his shoulder against the door and +strained with all his might to force it. He remembered then what Mrs. +Fenton had said about the strength of the husband of her pensioner. + +"Go to the window, and call the police," he shouted. + +"He's holding me!" Mrs. Fenton cried back pantingly. + +Philip strained more desperately, and as he did so he heard the window +within flung open, and the voice of a woman yelling for the police. The +man inside sprang forward with an oath, the door yielded, and Philip +plunged headlong into the room. + +As Philip fell upon his knees, he saw a man seize the woman who from +the window was calling for help, and fling her to the floor. The sound +of her fall, with her wild shriek beaten into a choking gasp by the +force with which she struck, turned his heart sick; but his fear for +Mrs. Fenton kept him up. He scrambled to his feet, and as he did so she +ran toward him. + +"Your cassock is all dust!" she cried hysterically. "Oh, come away!" + +The absurdity of the words made him burst into nervous laughter; yet he +saw that the drunken man was coming, and he instinctively put her +behind him and took some sort of a posture of defense. + +"Save yourself," he cried hastily. "He's killed the woman." + +All this passed with the quickness of thought. There seemed to Philip +hardly the time of a breath between the opening of the door and the +blow which now fell upon the side of his face. Fortunately he partly +evaded it, but he reeled and staggered, feeling the earth shake and the +air full of stinging points of fire. He saw the figure of his assailant +towering between him and the light; he had a glimpse of Mrs. Fenton +rushing to the window to call again for help; he realized with a +horrible shrinking that that hammer-like fist was again striking out +for his face; he was conscious of a sickening impulse to run, a +humiliating and overwhelming sense of his inability to cope with this +brute and of even his ignorance how to try; yet most of all he felt the +determination to defend Edith or to die in the attempt. In a wild and +futile fashion he dashed against his assailant, striking blindly and +furiously, crying with rage and weakness, but throwing all his force +into the fight. He felt crushing blows on his head and chest. Once he +was struck on the side of the throat so that he gasped for breath with +the sensation that he was drowning. Now and then he felt his own fist +strike flesh, and the sensation was to him horrible. He fought blindly, +doggedly, inwardly weeping for the shame and the pity of it, wondering +if there would never be any end, and what would happen to Mrs. Fenton +if he were beaten helpless. Surely if aid were coming it must have +arrived long ago. He had been fighting for hours. He kept striking on, +but he felt his strength failing, and he could have laughed wildly at +the pitiful feebleness of his blows. He was knocked down, and scrambled +up again, amazed that he was not killed or disabled. His one hope lay +in the fact that the man was evidently much the worse for drink, and +often struck as blindly as himself. If he could but occupy the brute's +attention until help came, Mrs. Fenton would be saved. + +Suddenly he was aware that the roaring in his ears was not all from the +ringing in his head, but that heavy steps were sounding from the +stairway. In a moment more screaming women were swarming in, and the +din become intolerable as they scuttled about him, calling out to his +opponent to stop and not to do murder. Men followed, and a couple of +policemen came in their wake. Ashe saw through heavy eyelids the shine +of brass buttons, and felt that the wearers of the uniforms to which +these belonged had seized upon his assailant. He staggered against the +wall, sick, faint, and dizzy. The two policemen were having a severe +struggle to subdue their prisoner, and it seemed to Philip that all the +inhabitants of the neighborhood were crowding in at the narrow door. +The wife lay where she had been dashed to the floor, and Mrs. Fenton +bent over her. + +"Oh, Mr. Ashe," the latter said, coming to him, "you must be terribly +hurt! I think Mrs. Murphy's killed." + +He tried to smile, but his face was swollen and unmanageable. + +"It's no matter about me," he managed with difficulty to say, "if you +are not hurt." + +The realities of life came back. The whirling rush of the swift moments +of the fight seemed already far off. The crowd examined him with frank +curiosity, commenting on him as "the dude that's been scrappin' with +Mike Murphy." He saw some of the women busy over the prostrate form of +Mrs. Murphy, lifting her from the floor to the bed. + +"Well, Mike," one of the policemen said, "I guess this job'll be your +last. You've done it this time." + +The prisoner seemed to have become sober all at once, now that he was +in the hands of the law. He went over to the bed, between his captors, +and examined the injured woman with the air of one accustomed to such +occurrences. + +"Oh, the old woman'll pull round all right," he growled. "She ain't no +flannel-mouth charity chump." + +Without a word Ashe put his hand upon the arm of Mrs. Fenton, and led +her toward the door. The insult cut him more than all that had gone +before. What had passed belonged to a drunken and irrational mood. This +taunt came evidently from deliberate contempt and ingratitude. Philip +had a bewildered sense of being outside of all conditions which he +could understand. This shameless effrontery and brutality seemed to him +rather the distorted fantasy of an evil dream than anything which could +be real. His one thought now was to get his companion away before she +was exposed to fresh insult. + +They were detained a little by the police; but after giving their +addresses were allowed to go. Ashe felt shaky and exhausted, but the +hand of Mrs. Fenton was on his arm, and the need of sustaining her gave +him strength. They got with some difficulty through the crowd and out +of the court, and after walking a block or two were fortunate enough to +find a carriage. + +"Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Fenton said, as they drove up Hanover Street, "I'm +afraid you're terribly hurt; and it is all my fault." + +"No, no," he replied with swollen lips. "The fault was mine. I +shouldn't have let you go into that place." + +"But you did try to stop me; only I was obstinate. Oh, I don't know how +to thank you for coming as you did." + +"But what happened before I came?" + +Mrs. Fenton shuddered. + +"Oh, I don't think I know very clearly. That great drunken man came in, +and asked me for money. Of course I didn't give it to him; and his wife +tried to get him to let me go. Then he struck her on the mouth!" + +"The brute!" Ashe involuntarily cried, clenching his bruised fists. + +"Then he caught me by the waist, and I screamed; and in another minute +I heard you at the door." + +"But it was the woman that called the police." + +"Yes; and when she did that I was fearfully frightened. I knew that if +she called the police against her own husband she must think that he'd +really hurt me." + +Philip leaned back in the carriage, dizzy with the overwhelming sense +of the peril that had beset her,--her! Then, mastered by an +overpowering impulse, he threw himself forward and caught her hands, +covering them with kisses. + +"Oh, my darling!" he gasped. "Oh, thank God you are safe!" + +She dragged her hands away from him, and shrank back. + +"Mr. Ashe!" she cried. "What is the matter with you? What are you +doing?" + +He did not attempt to retain his hold, but drew himself back into the +darkness of his corner of the carriage. A strange calmness followed his +outbreak; a sort of joyous uplifting which made him master of himself +completely. + +"I am sinning," he answered with a riotous sense of delight. "I am +laying up remorse for all my future. I am telling you I love you; that +I love you: I love you! I love you and I have saved you; and I shall +brood over that, and do penance, and brood over it again, and do +penance again, all my life long!" + +"Oh, you are confused, excited, hurt," she cried. "You don't know what +you are saying!" + +"I know only too well what I am saying. I am saying that I"-- + +"Oh, for pity's sake, don't!" she moaned, putting out her hand. + +He caught her wrist, and again kissed her hand passionately. + +"Yes, I know that I ought not to say this now when you have had to bear +so much already; that I ought never to say it; but it is said! It is +said! You'll forget it, but I shall remember it all my life. I shall +remember that you heard me say that I love you!" + +He threw himself back into his corner, and she shrank into hers, while +the carriage went rattling over the pavement. Aching and sore, Philip +yet knew a wild exhilaration, a certain divine madness which was so +intense a delight that it almost made him weep. It was like a religious +ecstasy, recalling to his mind moments in which he had seemed to be +lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits. + +"I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew +near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't +regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that is-- +for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet." + +He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch. + +"Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault +that this happened?" + +"Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I +love you so!" + +"No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love +you! For pity's sake don't say such things!" + +She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his +lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled +his voice as well as he was able. + +"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head. +Forget my impertinence, and"-- + +He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved +him the need of farther effort. + +He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice +which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman. + + + + XIX + + + 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + Othello, i. 3. + + +Poor Ashe got home more dead than alive. His passion had shaken him +like a delirium. He had been swept away by his emotion, and had thrown +to the winds past and future. He felt as the carriage drove away from +Mrs. Fenton's as if he had been swung up and down on some monstrous +wave and dashed, broken and bleeding, on a rough shore. He could not +think; and fortunately for him he was even too benumbed to feel +greatly. + +He reached the Hermans' in a sort of half-stupor, in which +indifference, keen joy, and bitter contrition were strangely mingled. +The contrition, however, seemed somehow to belong to the future; it was +what he must endure when the time should come for repentance; the joy +was a present blessing, tingling in his every fibre. + +He met Mrs. Herman in the hall. She exclaimed when she saw him, and he +stood smiling at her, swaying as if he were intoxicated. + +"What has happened?" she cried. "What have you done to your face?" + +The room and his cousin swam before him in a golden mist. He felt that +he was grinning idiotically, yet he could not stop. He tried to speak, +but his lips seemed too swollen to form words. He put out his hand to +grasp a chair, and perceived that he could not reach it. + +"I--fall!" he managed to ejaculate. + +Mrs. Herman caught him, and supported him to a chair. He felt her arm +around him, and he wondered how he came to be thus embraced. He tried +to grope back into the dusk of his mind to tell what had happened, and +the fiery glow of the moment in which he had kissed the hand of Mrs. +Fenton came back to him. He sat suddenly erect. + +"Cousin Helen," he said, with husky fervor, "I have been a wretch, and +I rejoice in it! I have found out how sweet it is to sin! I am lost, +lost, lost!" + +He buried his face in his hands, almost hysterical. He felt his +cousin's hand on his shoulder. + +"Philip," she said decisively, "you must stop this, and tell me what +has happened." + +"I beg your pardon," he answered, dropping his hands. "Mrs. Fenton was +attacked by a drunken man in the North End, and I fought him. I am +afraid that I am pretty disreputable looking." + +"Yes, you are. I hope that is the worst of it." + +She took him by the arm and led him into the library, where she +established him in an easy-chair by the fire. + +"I'll send for a doctor to look you over," she said, "and meanwhile you +are to take what I give you." + +She left him, and Philip sat looking into the coals. + +"Ah, if the glove had been off!" he murmured half aloud. + +He flushed hotly, and struck his clenched hand against his breast, +rubbing it back and forth until the haircloth within stung and smarted. + +"No, no," he said to himself fiercely. "I will not think about it!" + +Helen came back with a tumbler of something hot and fragrant, which +made his eyes water as he drank. It sent a strange sensation of warmth +through him, and seemed to restore his energy. The doctor, who came in +soon after, found nothing serious the matter. Ashe was temporarily +disfigured, but had luckily escaped without worse injury. He was sent +to bed, and despite his expectation of passing the night in an agony of +remorse, he sank almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. + +When Philip awoke his first sensation was that of stiffness and +soreness,--soreness such as he had felt once when he had slept on the +floor with his arms extended in the form of a cross. The thought of +penance performed gave him a thrill of happiness, but to this instantly +succeeded the remembrance of the events of yesterday, and his brief +satisfaction vanished. + +His face was discolored, and as he set out after breakfast to seek his +spiritual adviser he felt a grim satisfaction in going abroad thus +marked. It was in the nature of a mortification and a penance. He +repeated prayers as he walked, his eyes cast down, his bosom pricked by +haircloth. He felt that he had already begun the expiation of the sin +of yesterday. + +He found Father Frontford at home, but so occupied as to be unable to +listen to him. It would have been impossible for Philip to do as +Maurice had done, and go to a man like Strathmore; and indeed, he had +come to his Father Superior partly because of the sharpness with which +he felt that his offending would be judged. Where Maurice would +question, Philip would submit blindly and with ardent faith. + +"Good-morning," the Father greeted Ashe kindly, holding out his left +hand, while the right held suspended the pen which had already produced +a heap of letters. "I am very glad to see you; but you find me +extremely busy. There are so many things to be thought of just now, and +so many letters to be written." + +"Yes?" Philip responded absently. + +"The election is so near at hand now," the other continued, "that we +cannot leave any stone unturned. I am writing to some of the country +clergy this morning. By the way, I wanted to speak to you about +Montfield." + +Philip wondered at himself for the remoteness which the affairs of the +church had for him, so absorbed had he been in his own experiences. + +"It seems to me," Father Frontford went on with fresh animation, "that +perhaps you can do something there. Can't you go down and talk with Mr. +Wentworth? He's inclined to support Mr. Strathmore. You should be able +to influence him; you are his spiritual son." + +Mr. Wentworth was the rector in Philip's native town, and under him +both Ashe and Wynne had come from Congregationalism into the Church. + +"It is possible," Philip said doubtfully. "Mr. Wentworth is, however, +rather inclined to disagree with me nowadays. He is completely carried +away by Mr. Strathmore." + +A strange look came into the face of the old priest. He laid down his +pen, and pressed together the tips of his white fingers, thin with +fasting and self-denial. + +"Did you not once tell me," he asked, "that Mr. Wentworth has hoped for +years that he might bring your mother also into the fold?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are her only child?" + +"Yes." + +Father Frontford cast down his eyes; then raised them to flash a glance +of vivid intelligence upon Ashe. Then again he looked down. + +"I think that you had better run down and see your mother," he said. +"It is possible that she may be even now leaning toward the truth; and +in any case you might arouse Mr. Wentworth to fresh activity. It is of +much importance that the country clergy should be pledged not to +support Mr. Strathmore in the convention." + +Philip went away confused and baffled. He said to himself that his +feeling was caused solely by his disappointment that he had found no +opportunity to talk with the Father Superior about his own affairs; but +it was impossible for him to put out of his mind the way in which his +mission to Montfield had been spoken of. He was willing to go down and +do what he could to arouse Mr. Wentworth to the gravity of the +situation, but he could neither forget nor endure the hint that he +should make of the hope of his mother's conversion to the church a +bribe. He could not think of this without being moved to blame Father +Frontford; and he set himself to argue his mind into the belief that +there was no harm in the suggestion. He walked along in a reverie as +deep as it was painful, trying to see that the occasion called for the +use of all lawful means, and that it was natural for the Father to +suppose that Mrs. Ashe might be influenced more readily if the rector +yielded to the wishes of her son in voting for Frontford. + +"My dear Ashe, what have you been doing to yourself?" a strong voice +asked him. + +He came with a start to the consciousness of where he was, and that he +had almost run into the Rev. De Lancy Candish. The thought flashed +through his mind that Father Frontford had been too deeply absorbed in +his plans to notice the bruised face of his deacon. + +"How do you do?" he exclaimed impulsively. "Providence has sent you to +me. Can you spare me a little of your time?" + +"Certainly," the other answered, with some appearance of surprise. "I'm +on my way home now." + +They walked in silence toward the home of Mr. Candish, Ashe trying to +frame some form of words by which he could confess the sin of his heart +without betraying Mrs. Fenton. He wondered if Maurice Wynne could have +helped him, and reflected how they had been in the habit of confiding +everything to one another. Now he shrank from opening his heart to his +friend, and was almost seeking out a confidant in the highways and +hedges. + +"You have not told me what sort of an accident you have had," Candish +observed, as he fitted the latch-key into the lock of his door. + +"I was attacked by a man in the North End," Philip answered, obeying +the wave of the hand which invited him to enter. "He had insulted Mrs. +Fenton, and"-- + +"Mrs. Fenton!" echoed Candish. + +The tone made Ashe turn quickly. Into his mind flashed the words of +Helen and of Mrs. Wilson connecting the name of Candish with that of +Mrs. Fenton. In his longing for comfort and advice he had seized upon +the rector of the Nativity without remembering that he was the last +person to whom he should come. + +"Ah," he said, "it was true!" + +Candish did not answer, and they went into the study in silence. The +host sat down in the well-worn chair by his writing-table, while Philip +took a seat facing him. + +"What a foolish thing for me to say," Ashe broke out; then surprised at +the querulousness of his tone he stopped abruptly. + +"Mr. Ashe," Candish said gravely, "if there is anything I can do for +you will you tell me what it is?" + +Philip rose quickly, and took a step towards him, leaning down over the +thin, homely face. + +"I have found you out!" he cried with exultation. "I came to confess my +sin to you, and I find that you love her too!" + +"Don't be hysterical and melodramatic," was the cool response. "Sit +down, and let us talk rationally if we are to talk at all." + +The manner of Candish recalled Philip to himself. He sat down heavily. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "Since that fight I have been half beside +myself. I am like a hysterical girl." + +The other regarded him compassionately. + +"Mr. Ashe," responded he, "there is no good in my pretending that I +didn't understand what you meant just now. You and I are both given to +the priesthood. If we both love a woman"-- + +"I love her," burst in Philip, half defiantly, half remorsefully, "and +I have told her so! I have condemned myself"-- + +"Stop," Candish interrupted. "First you have to think of her." + +Philip stared in silence. It came over him how entirely he had been +thinking of himself, and how little he had considered Mrs. Fenton in +his reflections upon the events of the previous evening. Here was a man +who could love her so well as to think of her first and himself last. + +"But I have given her up," Philip stammered. + +"Was she yours to give up?" + +There was nothing bitter or sneering in the words; they were said +simply and dispassionately. + +"No," Philip answered, dropping his voice; "she was not mine." + +The older man rose and walked to the fire, where he stood looking down +at the flaming coals. + +"After all," he said, "we are pretty much in the same plight. I knew +her when her husband brought her here a bride, the loveliest creature +alive. Arthur Fenton was a clever, selfish, wholly irreligious man; and +I could not help seeing how completely he failed to understand or +appreciate his wife. She was kind to me, and when her trouble came she +turned to me for comfort and sympathy. It is my weakness that I love +her; but she will never know it." + +"And does she love nobody?" demanded Ashe jealously. + +Candish turned upon him a look of rebuke. + +"What right have you or I to ask that question?" he retorted sternly. +"I do penance for loving her, and God is my witness how carefully I +have hidden it. It is not for me to question her right to love if she +please." + +Philip rose, and went to the other, holding out his hand. + +"Mr. Candish," said he earnestly, "you have taught me my lesson. I +have been a weak fool, and worse. I will pray for strength to lay my +passion on the altar and forget it." + +The rector took the extended hand, looking into Philip's eyes with a +glance so wistful, so humble, and so tender that the remembrance went +with Ashe long. + +"And forget it?" he repeated. "I do not know that I could do that!" + +He dropped the hand of Ashe, and shook himself as if he would shake off +the mood which had taken possession of him. + +"Come," he declared resolutely, "this will not do. This is not the sort +of mood that makes men. Let me give you a single piece of advice,--I am +older, you know; don't pity yourself, whatever else you do. In the +first place, that would be equivalent to saying that Providence doesn't +know what is best for you; and in the second, it spoils all one's sense +of values." + +As Ashe that afternoon journeyed down to Montfield, he recalled all the +details of this interview. The more he considered the more he respected +Candish and the less satisfaction he found in his own conduct. Yet +perhaps the human mind cannot cease self-justification at any point +short of annihilation, and Philip still had in his secret thought a +deep feeling that the church should more absolutely settle the question +of the celibacy of its clergy, so that there might be no more doubts. +He honored the attitude of Candish, and he resolved to imitate it. He +who has never shaken hands with the devil, however, can have little +idea how hard it is to loose his grasp; and Philip groaned at the +thought of how far he was even from wishing to put his love out of its +high place in his heart. + +His mind was calmer as he sat that evening talking with his mother. +Mrs. Ashe was a plain, sweet-faced woman, with gray hair brushed +smoothly under her cap of black lace. There was in her pale, faded face +little beauty of feature or coloring; yet the light of her kindly and +delicate spirit shone through. Maurice Wynne had once said that she was +like a sweet-pea,--born with wings, but tethered so that she might not +fly away. Philip, with his exquisite sensitiveness, found an +unspeakable comfort in her presence; a soothing sense of rest and peace +so blissful that it seemed almost wrong. There are even in this worldly +age many women who hide under the covering of uneventful, commonplace +lives existences full of spiritual richness,--women who find in +religion not the mechanical acceptance of form, not a mere superstition +which encrusts an outworn creed, but a vital, uplifting force; a power +which fills their souls with imaginative warmth and fervor. The worth +of an experience is to be estimated by the emotional fire which it +kindles; and to the lives of such women the dull, colorless round of +their daily existence gives no real clue. Theirs is the life of the +spirit, and for them the inner is the only true life. It is when the +sunken eye shines with a glow from deep within; when the thin cheeks +faintly warm with the ghost of a flush and the blue veins swell from +the throbbing of a heart stirred by a spiritual vision, that the +observer gets a hint of the realities of such a life. + +Mrs. Ashe was a type of the saintly woman that the spirit of Puritanism +bred in rural New England. Such women are the living embodiment of the +power which has inspired whatever is best in the nation; the power +which has been a living force amid the worldliness, the materialism, +the crudity that have threatened to overwhelm the people of this yet +young land, so prematurely old. In her face was a look of high +unworldliness that marks the mystic, the inheritance from ancestors +bred in a faith impossible without mysticism in the very fibres of the +race. The heroic self-denial, the persistent belief, the noble fidelity +to the ideal which is the salvation of a nation, shine in such a +countenance, and make real the high deeds of a past generation the +narrowness of whose creeds too often blinds us to-day to the greatness +of their character. + +She smiled a little on hearing the object of her son's visit. + +"I am glad to see you on any terms," she observed, "but I cannot say +that I think your coming very wise." + +"But, mother," he urged, "don't you see that it is a matter of so much +importance that we ought not to neglect any chance?" + +"My dear boy," questioned she, "do you really think that it is of so +much importance who is bishop?" + +"It is of the greatest possible importance," he returned earnestly. "Of +course you don't agree with me as to the importance of forms of +worship, but suppose that it were your own church, and the question +were of having a man put into a place so influential. Wouldn't you be +troubled if one were likely to be chosen who taught what you regarded +as heresy?" + +She smiled on him still, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes. + +"Yes," she said, "I suppose I should; but doesn't it ever occur to you, +Philip, that we are all too much inclined to feel that everything is +going wrong if Providence doesn't work in our way? We can't help, I +suppose, the habit of regarding our plans as somehow essential to the +proper management of the universe." + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"You always had a most effective way of taking down my conceit," he +responded. "I don't mean that it is necessary that Father Frontford +shall be bishop because I want him, but"-- + +"But because you believe in him," his mother interrupted with a little +twinkle in her eye. "Well, we cannot do better than to follow our +convictions, I suppose." + +She ended with a sigh, and Philip knew that it was because into her +mind came the sadness she felt at his defection from the faith of his +fathers. + +"Yes, you trained me from the cradle to do what I thought right without +considering the consequences." + +They fell into more general talk after that; and after the news of the +family and the neighborhood had been pretty well exhausted, Mrs. Ashe +said:-- + +"I have asked Alice Singleton to make me a visit." + +"Alice Singleton! Why, mother, I cannot think of a person I should have +supposed it less likely you would want to stay with you." + +"I'm afraid that I don't want her very much; but she wrote me that she +was very lonely, that she hadn't any plans, and that Boston seemed to +her a very homesick place. Her mother was my nearest friend, you know; +and if Alice needs friendship it's very little for me to do for her." + +"I didn't know she'd been in Boston," Philip commented thoughtfully. +"She never seemed to me honest, mother. I never could be charitable to +her at all." + +The sweet face of his mother took on a curious expression of mingled +amusement and contrition. + +"If I must confess it, Phil," she said, "neither could I; and I'm +afraid that there was more notion of doing penance in my asking her +than of real hospitality. She is after all not to blame for her manner, +and no doubt we do her wrong." + +"If you have come to doing penance, mother, there's no knowing how soon +you will be with me." + +"No, Phil," she answered softly, "do you remember what Monica told her +son? 'Not where he is, shalt thou be, but where thou art he shall be.'" + +He shook his head, sighing. + +"I ought not to have touched on that matter, mother. You know that I am +trying to follow my conscience." + +"Yes, I cling to that. I should be miserable if I did not believe that +your way and my way will come together somewhere, on this side or the +other; and I bid you Godspeed on whatever way you go with prayerful +conviction." + +A sudden impulse leaped up within him, and it was almost as if some +voice not his own spoke through his lips, so little was he conscious of +meaning to ask such a question. + +"Even if the way led to Home?" + +Mrs. Ashe grew paler, but her eyes steadfastly met those of her son. + +"I trust you in the hands of God," she said. + +Late that night Philip woke from a heavy sleep into which fatigue had +plunged him. He reached out his arm, and drew aside the curtain near +his bed, so that he might see the window of his mother's chamber. A +faint light was shining there; and he knew that the beams of the candle +fell on his mother on her knees. + + + + XX + + + IN WAY OF TASTE + Troilus and Cressida, iii. 3. + + +The two deacons were together again in the Clergy House. Maurice +frankly confessed to himself that he did not like it, and he wondered +if Philip were also dissatisfied. It was a question too delicate to +ask, however; and he contented himself with watching his friend to +discover, if possible, whether the stay outside had affected Ashe as it +had him. They returned late in the afternoon, and their greeting was of +the warmest. + +"Dear old boy," Maurice cried, "you don't know how glad I am to get at +you again. Where in the world have you kept yourself?" + +"Just at the last," Philip responded, "I've been down to Montfield." + +"Down home? Have you really? How is everybody? I hope your mother is +well." + +"She is very well, and I do not remember anybody that we know who +isn't. I went down to see Mr. Wentworth, and found that he is already +pledged to Mr. Strathmore." + +"Is he really? How did that happen?" + +"It seems that he is a cousin of that Mrs. Gore where we heard that +heathen, and she is greatly interested in Mr. Strathmore's election. +Mr. Wentworth promised her his vote. How people are carried away by +that man. Mr. Wentworth told me that he looked upon him as the greatest +man in the church to-day." + +"It is strange," Maurice assented absently; "but he is a man of great +personal fascination." + +"To me," Philip retorted, "he is a whited sepulchre. His doctrine of +mental reservation amounts to nothing less than that a priest is at +liberty to believe anything he pleases if he will only conform +outwardly." + +Maurice was secretly much of the same opinion, but they came now to the +dinner table, where silence was the rule. Wynne had a feeling of +dishonesty from the fact that he concealed from his friend that he had +sought an interview with Strathmore, yet he felt that he could not +confess the visit. While they sat at table a brother read aloud, and +the reading chanced to be to-night from the book of Job. The words of +the splendid poem mingled in the mind of Maurice with the most +incongruous and unpriestly thoughts. He chafed at the routine into +which he had fallen as into a pit from which he had once escaped; the +meagre repast seemed to him pitifully poor; and most of all he was +angry with himself that he could not feel joy at his return to the +house which was the symbol of the consecrated work to which he had +given his life. After dinner came an hour and a half of recreation, and +in this he was called to the study of the Father Superior. + +"You returned so late in the day," the Father said with a smile, "that +you will not mind giving up recreation to-night. I wish to speak with +you on a matter of importance." + +Maurice took the seat toward which the other waved his hand. He felt +alien and strange. He recalled the attitude of submission and reverence +with which he had once been accustomed to enter this room, the respect +with which he had heard every word of the Father; and he blamed +himself bitterly that he now took rather a defensive mood, and felt an +instinctive desire to escape. He reflected that he had been poisoned by +the world; yet he could not wholly shut out the consciousness that he +had no genuine desire to be freed from the sweet madness which had +seized him. He tried to put all thought of these matters by, however, +and to give his whole attention to what the priest might say to him. + +"I think that you have met Mrs. Frostwinch," the Father said. + +"I went to her house once," Maurice answered, surprised at the remark, +and feeling his pulse quicken at the remembrance of his first sight of +Berenice. + +"I remember that you mentioned it in confession," was the grave reply. +"Satan sets his snares in the most unlikely places." + +The words seemed almost a reply to Wynne's secret thought. His first +impulse was to resent this open allusion to a sacred confidence +whispered in the confessional. It was like a stab in the back, or a +trick to take unfair advantage; and the matter was made worse by this +allusion to a snare of Satan, which could mean nothing else but +Berenice herself. Maurice flushed hotly, but habit was strong in him, +and he cast down his eyes without reply. + +"Have you heard that Mrs. Frostwinch is on her way home?" Father +Frontford went on. + +"No." + +"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she +is coming home to die." + +"To die?" echoed Maurice. + +He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred, +apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible +that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy +death, and live on simply by her own splendid will. + +"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it +is to us to have her influence in the election?" + +"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that +she is in"--he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time--"our +interests." + +"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three +are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand +behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or +another." + +"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote +unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her +support?" + +"They would not vote unconscientiously," was the dry response, "but +they believe that the support which she gives to them and to their +missions is of more importance than that the man they really prefer +should be chosen." + +"But what can be done?" + +Father Frontford sat leaning back in his chair, his face in shadow, and +the tips of his thin fingers pressed together in his habitual gesture. + +"Perhaps nothing," he answered. + +His voice had dropped into a soft, silky half-tone, insinuating and +persuasive. Maurice began to have an uneasy feeling as if he were being +hypnotized; yet the words of the other came to him with a quality +strangely soothing and attractive. + +"Perhaps," the priest went on after a pause of a second, "perhaps +everything that is necessary." + +It seemed to Maurice that there was something significant in the tone +which the words did not reveal. He looked keenly at the shadowed face, +but without being able clearly to make out its expression. He could see +little but the bright eyes holding and dominating his own. + +"It is for you to do this work," Father Frontford continued; "and it is +wonderful how Providence brings good out of all things. Here is an +opportunity for you not only to expiate your fault, but to serve the +cause of the church." + +Without understanding, Maurice began to tremble with inner dread lest +the name of Berenice should again be brought up between himself and +this pitiless priest. + +"I do not see that there is anything that I can do," he said coldly. + +"On the contrary. Do you chance to know anything about the Canton +estate? I suppose you are not likely to." + +"Nothing whatever. What is the Canton estate?" + +"Mrs. Frostwinch was a Canton. Her father was a brother of old Mrs. +Morison." + +Maurice could not see how all this involved him, but he became more and +more uneasy. + +"The estate of old Mr. Canton," the Father went on in the same smooth +voice, "was, as I have just learned from Mrs. Wilson, left to his +daughter for life and to her children after her. If she died childless +it was to go to Miss Morison." + +"And she is childless?" + +"She is childless. If she is taken away now, the property will all be +in the hands of Miss Morison." + +There was a moment of stillness in which the thought most insistent in +the mind of Maurice was that in this fortune fate had raised another +wall between himself and Berenice. He spoke to escape the reflection. + +"But all this is surely not my concern." + +"It is your concern if it shows you a way in which the votes of those +clergymen may be assured, although Mrs. Frostwinch should not recover." + +"It shows me no way." + +Maurice tried to speak naturally and without evidence of feeling, but +his throat was parched and his heart hot. He hated this inquisition. +The long reverence and admiration which had bound him to the Father +melted to nothing in the twinkling of an eye. Who was this Jesuit that +sat here making of Berenice and her fortune pawns in his game; +involving her in a web of intrigue unworthy of his sacred office; and +forcing his disciple to listen through a knowledge of facts +stammeringly poured out in the confessional? Absence from the Clergy +House and from town, and after that a growing reluctance, had prevented +Maurice from confessing anything beyond his first attraction to Miss +Morison, but he had written to the Father Superior of the accident, and +had mentioned that he was thought to have been of assistance in saving +her. It came to him now that he was being repaid for the accursed +vanity which had led him to make this boast; and he became the more +animated against his director from his anger against himself. + +"Whatever Mrs. Frostwinch has done with the property," Father Frontford +said, "of course Miss Morison may do if she pleases." + +"I should suppose so; but I know nothing about it." + +"Then if Miss Morison will promise to continue the donations of Mrs. +Frostwinch, the position of the beneficiaries will be the same toward +her as toward Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Maurice bent forward quickly, unable longer to maintain an appearance +of calm. + +"Father Frontford," he exclaimed, "you certainly cannot ask this of +Miss Morison! It would be sheer impertinence! I beg your pardon, but I +cannot help saying it. Besides, there is something horribly cold- +blooded in talking about what shall be done with the property of Mrs. +Frostwinch when she is dead. Miss Morison would not listen to anything +of the sort." + +"The circumstances justify what otherwise would be inadmissible. It is +necessary, Mrs. Wilson thinks, to be able to tell those men that their +situation is not changed by the death of Mrs. Frostwinch, which is +almost sure to take place before the convention. You must explain that +to Miss Morison." + +"I!" + +"The obligation which she is under to you," the Father said, ignoring +the exclamation, "will naturally incline her to listen." + +"But I cannot"-- + +"I had thought that it was mine to decide what you could and should +do." + +"But, Father, this is so extraordinary, so impossible, so"-- + +"Miss Morison is to be in Boston in a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson will +let us know when she arrives. I know how strange this looks to you, and +how repugnant it must be. Do you think that it is any less hateful to +me? Do you think that it is easy for me to be working for what is to be +my own personal exaltation if we succeed? I give you my word, Wynne, +that the severest sacrifice that any one can be called on to make in +this matter is that which I make when I take these steps toward putting +myself in office. I am not naturally humble, and it humiliates me to +the very soul; but I do what seems to me to be for the good of the +church, and try to put my personal feeling entirely out of the matter. +It is for you to do the same." + +It was impossible for Maurice to doubt the sincerity with which this +was said. He had no answer to give. + +"Go now, my son," the Father concluded, "and do not forget to thank God +that the weakness of your heart may be turned into a means by which the +church may be served." + +Maurice retired to his room in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was +summoned almost immediately to vespers and complines. The familiar +ritual soothed him, and he was able to join in the chants in much the +old way. His feeling was that he would gladly have had the service last +into the night. He would have liked to go on with this half emotional, +half mechanical devotion, which kept him from thinking, and which put +off the dreaded hour when he must face the proposition which had been +made to him. + +It was the rule of the house that all the inmates should preserve +unbroken silence among themselves from complines until after nones the +next day. Maurice knew therefore that he was free from intrusion of +human companionship, which it seemed to him he could not have borne. +Even the talk of dear old Phil, to a chat with whom he had looked +forward as the one pleasure in coming back to the Clergy House, would +have been intolerable while this nightmarish trouble lay upon him. He +went at once to his chamber, a cell-like room, and sat down to think. +Could he do it? How would Berenice regard this impertinent interference +with her private affairs? How could he go to her and say: "It is +necessary for church politics that you assume to dispose of the +property which now your cousin holds, and over which you have no rights +until she is in her grave." He could see her eyes sparkle with +indignation and contempt, and he grew hot in anticipation. He could not +do it, he thought over and over. It was impossible that in this age of +the world anybody should dream of having such a thing done. If he were +almost a priest, he told himself fiercely, he had not yet ceased to be +a gentleman! + +The stricture which this thought seemed to cast upon the priesthood +made him pause. He had not yet shaken off the dominion of old ideas and +old habits. He apologized to an unseen censor for the apparent +irreverence of his thought. It was not the priesthood, it was--He came +again to a standstill. He was not prepared to own to himself that he +disapproved of the Father Superior. He had vowed obedience, and here he +sat raging against a decree because it sacrificed his personal feelings +to the good of the church. The blame should be upon himself. There was +nothing in all this revolt except his own selfishness and wounded +vanity. He had transgressed by allowing his thoughts to be entangled in +earthly affection, and this misery and wickedness followed inevitably. +The fault was in him entirely; it was his own grievous fault. The +familiar words of the office of confession made him beat his breast, +and fall in prayer before the crucifix which seemed to waver in the +flickering candlelight. He repeated petition after petition. He would +not allow himself to think. It was his to obey, not to question. He +would regain his old tranquillity, his old docility. He would submit +passively. It was his own fault, his most grievous fault. + +The ten o'clock bell rang, calling for the extinguishing of lights. He +sprang from his knees, blew out the candle, threw off his clothes in +the dark, and hurried into his hard and narrow bed. He was resolved not +to think. He said the offices of the day; he repeated psalms; and at +last, in desperate attempt to control his mind and to induce sleep, he +began to multiply large numbers. All the time he was resolutely saying +to himself: "It is my fault; my most grievous fault!" And all the time +some inner self, unsubdued, was persistently replying: "It is not! It +is not! I am right!" + + + + XXI + + + THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +Maurice woke next morning to a deep sadness, as if some bitter calamity +had befallen. In a moment the conversation of the previous evening +rushed to his mind, and his gloom rather deepened than grew less. The +rising-bell had rung, and he rose languidly in the cold, gray twilight. +So long had he tossed restlessly in the night unsleeping that he felt +worn out and miserable, and after the hours which he had necessarily +kept at the house of his cousin half past five seemed hardly to be day. +He shivered with a discouraged disgust as he made his toilet, +endeavoring to forget. + +The routine of the morning followed: meditation, lauds and prayers; +mass; breakfast; prime; then the study hours before luncheon; and so on +to nones. All this time the rule of the house protected him from +speech, but now that the hour for recreation came he was in the midst +of questioning fellow-deacons. They had all so much to tell, however, +of the manner in which they had passed their time during their absence +from the Clergy House that Maurice was able for the most part to listen +instead of speaking. He watched with curiosity to see that they +appeared glad to return to seclusion. They had been troubled by the +sensation of finding themselves out of their accustomed groove, and had +found the world confusing. Most often they seemed to him to have been +oppressed by the need of deciding what they should do, and how they +should meet trifling unforeseen emergencies. + +"It is impossible to be spiritually calm except in seclusion," one of +them said. + +Involuntarily Maurice looked at the speaker, feeling that this must be +mere cant. It struck him as nonsense, yet one glance at the serene, +honest face of the deacon who spoke, with its tender, candid eyes, like +those of a pure girl, was enough to convince him of the entire +sincerity of the words. He sighed, and turned away; as he did so he +caught the eye of Philip, who was watching him with solicitous +attention. Maurice put his hand on the arm of his friend, and led him +away. + +"Why did you look at me that way, Phil?" he asked. "Does it seem to you +that spiritual calm is the best thing in life?" + +Ashe was silent a moment. Maurice noted that he looked thinner than of +old, and reproached himself that he had seen so little of his friend +during their absence from the Clergy House. + +"I was thinking," Philip replied at length, hesitating and dropping his +voice, "that I feared both you and I had discovered that something more +than seclusion is needed to give it, however good it may be." + +Maurice laid his hand on the back of Philip's, grasping it tightly. + +"You too?" was his response. + +They stood in silence for some moments, looking out of a window over +the dingy back yards which formed the prospect from the rear of the +house. Wynne was wondering how it was that for the first time in his +life it was impossible to be frankly confidential with Philip, and how +far it was probable that his friend would be in sympathy with him in +his trouble. He longed for counsel, and the force of old habit pressed +him to tell everything. + +"Phil," he said, "will you go out with me for a walk this afternoon?" + +"Of course," Ashe answered. "Don't we always go together?" + +Wynne laughed, turning to look at his companion as if from afar. + +"I doubt," he observed, "if anything I could tell you directly would +give you so good an idea of how upset I am, and how completely out of +the routine of our life, as the fact that I seem to have forgotten that +there ever were any walks before." + +"I am afraid that I am a good deal out of touch with the life here," +Ashe responded seriously. "I have been troubled, and tempted, and--Oh, +Maurice," he broke off suddenly, "Maynard is right: no spiritual calm +is possible in the world outside!" + +"Even if that were true," returned Maurice, "I don't know that I am +prepared to agree that calm is the best thing in life." + +"It is the highest thing." + +"I don't believe it. It isn't growth." + +The bell for study sounded, and ended their talk. Maurice went to his +work uneasy, perhaps a little irritated. He was disquieted that Philip +should be so monastically out of sympathy, and he was annoyed with +himself for being out of key with his friend. He felt as if he had +returned to his old place in the body without being here at all in the +spirit. He had while at Mrs. Staggchase's looked into many books which +in the Clergy House would never have come in his way; he had more than +once been startled to encounter thoughts which had been in his own +mind, but which he had felt it wrong to entertain. Here they were +stated coolly, dispassionately, with no consciousness, apparently, that +they should not be considered with frankness. He had heard opinions and +ideas which from the standpoint of the religious ascetic were not only +heretical but little short of blasphemous, yet they were evidently the +ordinary current thought of the time. It was impossible that these +things should not affect him; and to-day as he sat in lecture he found +himself trying all that was said by a new standard and involuntarily +taking the position of an objector. He was able to see nothing but +flaws in the logic, faults in the deduction, breaks in the argument. + +"I am come to that state of mind when I should see a seam in the +seamless robe," he groaned in spirit. + +Father Frontford lectured that afternoon on church history. Sometimes +in the long hour Maurice studied the priest, wondering at him, trying +to comprehend the working of his mind. Sometimes he would ask himself +whether it were possible that this man were wholly sincere, whether it +were possible that an intellect so acute could really believe the +things which were the foundation of the teaching of the day; but he +came back always to faith in the complete conviction of the Father. +Maurice, indeed, said to himself that Frontford was quite capable of +taking his spiritual self by the throat and compelling it to believe; +and then the young doubter asked himself if this were the secret of the +faith which showed in every word and look of the speaker. He told +himself that Father Frontford was his Superior, and as such to be +followed, not criticised; he resolved not to think, but endeavored to +give his whole attention to the lecture. Here however he did little +better. The glories of the church upon which the speaker dwelt seemed +to Wynne in his present mood poor and paltry triumphs of dogmatism,--or +even, why not of superstition indeed? He was startled by the sin of his +questioning, yet it seemed impossible to silence the mocking inner +voice. + +"This is one of the incidents," he at last became aware that the Father +was saying to close, "which strikingly illustrate the need of implicit +obedience. If the church were a simple organization of man, if it were +for the accomplishment of worldly ends, if its object were the +aggrandizement of individuals, nothing could be more dangerous than the +establishment in it of what seems like arbitrary power. As it is +directed from above; as its aim is nothing less than the spiritual +uplifting of the race; as, indeed, upon it rests the salvation, under +God, of mankind, the case is different. It is necessary that no energy +be lost; that all the power of the church be used to the best +advantage; that the hand assist the head and the head have complete +control of the hand. Obedience is of all the lessons which you have to +learn perhaps the hardest. It is no less one of the most essential. In +an age which is lacking not only in obedience but even in that +reverence upon which obedience must rest, it is for the true priest to +be an example of reverence and obedience alike. Revere and obey, and +you have done noble service." + +The deacons buzzed together as they left the lecture-room. They were +but boys after all, and some of them light-hearted enough. Maurice +heard one or two of them commenting upon the lecture or upon +indifferent things. A curly-haired young deacon, a Southerner with the +face of a cherub, was laughing lightly to himself. He was the youngest +of them all, and Maurice had for him that liking which one might have +for a pretty kitten. + +"I say, Wynne," he remarked, looking up into the face of the other with +a twinkling eye, "the Dominie gave us a good preachment to-day in +support of his authority. It almost made me resolve to rebel the next +time I was told to do anything." + +"Then I suppose that you don't agree with him," Maurice responded +rather absently. + +"Oh, it isn't that. I do agree with him. I mean to be a bishop myself +some day, and then the doctrine will come in all right. I'll work it. +Down South we understand that sort of thing better than you do up +here." + +"Then what did you object to in the lecture?" + +"I didn't object to anything; only when anybody proves that you ought +not to do a thing isn't it human nature to want to do it, just for the +fun of it?" + +Maurice felt how far from serious was the temper of the boy, and that +it would be utterly unreasonable to expect from him anything like +reverence. "Then how do you expect anybody to hold to the doctrine of +implicit obedience?" he questioned, smiling. + +"Oh, everybody expects to wield the authority sometime," was the light +answer. "Nobody'd hold to it otherwise." + +Maurice instinctively glanced at Ashe. In Philip's pale, enrapt face +was an expression of self-surrender which made Wynne feel how +completely the teaching to which they had just listened must appeal to +the temperament of his friend. + +"To obey for the sake of obeying is precisely what Phil would delight +in," he thought. "How entirely different we are! Yet if it hadn't been +for him I should never have come here. Haven't I strength enough to +follow my own convictions?" + +The hour for walking was four, and a few minutes after the clocks had +struck, Maurice and Philip started out. It was a dull and lowering +afternoon, and the narrow, street was already gloomy with shadows. Half +unconsciously Wynne found himself casting about in his mind for topics +of conversation which should be free from the personal element. Now +that the time for confidences had come, he shrank from words. He +reproached himself, and then half peevishly thought: "I seem nowadays +to do nothing but to find fault with myself for things that I can't +help feeling!" + +"I am glad Father Frontford said what he did today," Ashe remarked +after they had walked in silence for a little. "It was just what I +needed. I've got so in the habit of following my own will since we have +been out in the world that I needed to be reminded that there is +something better." + +Maurice felt a faint irritation that the talk was begun in precisely +the key he would most gladly have avoided, but honesty would not let +him be silent. + +"I am afraid, Phil," he said, "that I'm not entirely in sympathy with +you. I didn't like the lecture. Since we are given will and reason, I +believe that it was intended that we should use them." + +"Of course. If I had no reason, how could I bring myself to give up my +own will to one that I know to be higher?" + +Maurice smiled unhappily. + +"Well," was his answer, "when you begin with a paradox like that it is +evident that I couldn't go on without getting into a discussion darker +than the darkness of Egypt. I'd rather just talk about common everyday +things. Where shall we go?" + +"I want to go to the North End. There is an old woman there that I +thought of visiting. I had trouble with her husband the other day; he +threw her down and hurt her." + +"What sort of trouble?" + +"He struck me, and we had a sort of struggle. He wasn't sober." + +"Were you on the street?" + +"No; in his room. I--I broke in." + +"Broke in?" + +"Yes." Ashe hesitated, and then added: "Mrs. Fenton was there, and he +tried to rob her." + +"Mrs. Fenton? Why didn't you tell me about it? When was it?" + +"The day before I went down home. You weren't here, you know. There was +not much to tell." + +Maurice questioned eagerly, and his friend related briefly what had +happened. + +"Why, Phil, you're a hero!" Wynne exclaimed. "You've quite taken the +wind out of my sails. I counted for something of an adventurer simply +by having been in a smash-up; but you rushed in and had a real +adventure. I never thought of you as a defender of dames." + +The other turned toward him a face contracted with a look of pain. + +"Don't, Maurice," he protested. "I can't joke about it. It was not +anything to be proud of; and nobody knows better than I how far I am +from being a hero." + +"Oh, you're modest, of course. That's like you; but I call it stunning. +Mrs. Fenton must have admired you tremendously." + +"Do you suppose she did?" Philip demanded impetuously. Then his voice +altered. "Oh, she knows me too well!" he added. + +The intense bitterness of his tone gave Maurice a shock. + +"Phil!" cried he. + +His companion apparently understood the thought which lay behind the +exclamation. He dropped his head, and for a little distance they walked +in silence. + +"I may as well tell you," Ashe said in a moment. "It is true, what you +guess. I--I have been thinking of her more than was right. That is one +reason why I am glad to get back to the Clergy House." + +"To give her up?" + +"She was not mine to give up." + +"But do you mean not to try to--Oh, Phil, doesn't it ever come to you +that all this monkish business is a mistake? We were a couple of +foolish boys that didn't know what we were about when we went into it; +and"-- + +Ashe turned and looked at him with eyes full of reproach, and of almost +despairing determination. + +"Is that the way you help me?" he asked. + +Maurice drew a long, deep breath, and set his strong jaw with a resolve +not to abandon so easily the endeavor to bring his friend out of his +trouble. It hardly occurred to him for the moment that it was his own +cause that he was defending. + +"Phil," he persisted, "isn't it possible that after all we may be wrong +in making ourselves wiser than the church by taking vows that are not +required?" + +"Do you suppose that the devil has forgotten to say that to me over and +over again?" was the response. + +"Meaning that I am the old gentleman?" Maurice retorted, trying to be +lightsome. + +"Oh, don't joke. I can't stand it. I've been through so much, and this +is so terrible a thing to bear anyway." + +Wynne seized his rosary with one hand, and struck it across the other +so hard that the corner of the crucifix wounded his finger. + +"Phil, old fellow," he said gravely, "I never felt less like joking. It +cuts me to the quick to see you suffer; and I know how hard you will +take this. I know what it is, for I'm going through the same thing +myself, and I've about made up my mind that we are wrong. I begin to +think that celibacy is only a device that the early church somehow got +into when it was necessary to hold complete authority over the priest, +or when men thought that it was. It belongs to the Middle Ages; not to +the nineteenth century." + +"Then you don't see how marriage would be sure to interfere with a +man's zeal for his work?" + +"But it would certainly bring him into closer sympathy with humanity." + +Ashe shook his head. + +"You don't seem to realize," he said with a certain doggedness which +Wynne had seldom seen in him, "how it must absorb a man, and take +possession of his very reason. Why, see me. I know it is a sin to think +of her, and yet"--He broke off and choked. "Besides," he resumed +presently, "you say yourself that you feel as I do, and that means that +you are not looking at the thing fairly. You are trying to make your +conscience come round to the side of your desires." + +They walked on up the dingy street into which they had come, and for +some time nothing more was said. Maurice recognized that it was idle to +attempt to reply to the charge of his companion. He had made it to +himself and succumbed to it; but now that another stated it, he +instinctively found himself refusing to yield. He repeated to himself +that he was not trying to befool his conscience, but merely acting with +human sanity. + +Presently they came into a dusky court, and crossing it, found +themselves at the door of an ill-smelling tenement house. Here Ashe +turned suddenly, and faced his friend, his face full of strange +excitement. + +"Do you suppose," he said, in a voice which, though low, was full of +feeling, "that I do not know how absorbing a thing it is to give up +life to a woman? Here I am, when she is nothing to me, when I do not +mean ever to see her again, going into this place simply because here +she was half a minute in my arms, because here for two minutes she +looked at me as her preserver. It is sin, and I know it; but it is too +strong for me." + +"But, Phil," Maurice exclaimed in astonishment, "there is surely no +harm in going to see a sick woman." + +The other laughed bitterly. + +"So I told myself, and so I kept saying over and over till the talk +we've had forced me to stop lying to myself. I'm not going to see a +sick woman. I'm going to stand where she stood that day." + +"If you feel that way about it," Maurice said, putting his hand on the +other's arm, "you ought not to go in." + +"I will go in." + +"But obedience, Phil. Think what you were saying about the lecture." + +"Nobody has forbidden me," Ashe responded defiantly. "I will go in. I +had made up my mind before I came. Oh, I shall do penance enough for +it; you need not be afraid of that. I shall suffer enough for it." + +He started up the stairs, and Maurice followed blindly, full of +sympathy and dismay. + + + + XXII + + + THE BITTER PAST + All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3. + + +They found the old woman in bed, attended by a slatternly half-grown +girl, who was reading by the dying light a torn and dirty illustrated +paper. There was little furniture in the chamber; merely the frowsy +bed, a bare table, a single broken chair besides the one in which the +girl was sitting. The floor was bare and dirty; one of the window-panes +was broken and stuffed with a bundle of paper. There were a rusty +stove, a few dishes on the shelf, a kettle and a tin tea-pot. On the +window-sill by the bed were a medicine bottle and a cup. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Murphy?" Ashe asked. "Are you any better to-day?" + +"No better, thank yer riverince. I'll never be better again. My back is +broke, and the pain in me is like purgatory already." + +The slatternly girl laid her paper on her knees, but she neither rose +nor spoke. To Maurice she seemed to have an air of contempt. + +"I am sorry to hear it, Mrs. Murphy," said Ashe. "I thought that I +would drop in and ask after you." + +Maurice involuntarily glanced at him, surprised by the indifference of +the tone. Enlightened by the passionate words which had been spoken +below, he could see that Philip was preoccupied, and gave to the sick +woman no more than the barest semblance of attention. Ashe +mechanically inquired about Mrs. Murphy's wants, his thin cheeks +glowing and his eyes wandering about the room. He was apparently +reacting the scene of the fight, and presently he made a step or two +backward, so that he stood near the middle of the chamber. Here he took +his stand, and seemed to become lost in reverie. + +"Might as well set," remarked the girl, looking toward the unoccupied +chair. + +Maurice made a slight gesture inviting Philip to the seat; but Philip +remained where he was. Wynne realized that his companion must be +standing where he had supported Mrs. Fenton in his arms; and so +touching was the expression of Ashe's face that he felt his throat +contract. He turned away and looked out of the dim window over the +chimney-pots and the irregular roofs. + +"I'm used to falls," the sick woman said. "I've had plenty of 'em. I +left a good home and them as was good to me, to be beat and starved, +and murdered in the end. Women are all like that. If a man asks 'em, +they're always ready to cut their own throats. Sorry was the day for me +I ever left old Miss Hannah." + +Maurice turned toward the bed, his attention suddenly arrested. The +name was that by which his aunt had usually been called, and he seemed +to perceive in the talk of the woman something familiar. The +possibility that this battered old creature might be his nurse came to +him with a shock, so broken, so altered, so degraded was she; and as he +looked at her he rejected the idea as preposterous. + +"But your husband will be punished for his brutality," Ashe remarked +absently. + +He spoke like a man in a dream, as if his whole intent were fixed upon +something so widely apart from the present that he hardly knew what was +passing about him. + +"Who wants him punished?" cried out the sick woman with sudden shrill +vehemence. "That's what you rich folks are always after. Who asked the +lady to come here with her purse in her hand to tempt him when he +wasn't himself to know what he was doing? First you get him into a +scrape, and then you punish him for it! What for do I want Tim shut up +and me left to starve in me bed? If Tim's a little pleasant when he's +had a drop more'n would be handy for a priest, whose business is it but +mine? It's little comfort he gets, poor man; and he only takes what he +can get to keep up his spirits in these poor times, and me sick and +can't do for him." + +"That's what I say too, Mrs. Murphy," the slatternly girl aroused +herself to interpose. "Them as never had no hard times in their lives +is always ready to jump on a poor man when he's down." + +Maurice began to feel as if he were entangled in a strange and uncanny +dream. Philip seemed more and more to retire within himself, and Wynne +felt that he must do something to attract attention from his friend's +conduct. + +"We haven't anything to do with punishment, Mrs. Murphy," he said +soothingly, coming forward as he spoke. "We came only to see if there +is anything we can do to make you more comfortable." + +The old woman answered nothing, but she stared at him with wild eyes. + +"We may be able to make you more easy," he went on cheerfully, "if we +can't fix things for you just as they were at Aunt Hannah's." + +He used the name half unconsciously as the result of the suggestion of +old association and half with an impulse to prove the faint possibility +that this might be Norah Dolen. As he spoke Mrs. Murphy raised herself +on one elbow, stretching out a lean hand convulsively toward him. + +"Master Maurice!" she cried. "Holy Mother of Heaven, is it yourself?" + +He went to her quickly, and took the outstretched hand. + +"Yes, Norah. It is I." + +She gazed at him a moment with haggard eyes, and then a look of deep +tenderness came into the worn old face. + +"Blessed be the saints!" she murmured. "It's me own boy!" + +She drew her hand out of his grasp to stroke his arm and the folds of +his cassock. He sat down by her on the bed, and she fell back upon the +dingy pillow, breaking into hysterical tears. She caught one of his +hands and carried it to her lips, kissing it in a sort of rapture. + +"My own baby," she chuckled. "My Master Maurice so big and fine! I +always said you'd be taller than Master John." + +The allusion to his half-brother, dead nearly a dozen years, seemed to +carry him back into a past so remote that he could hardly remember it. +He smiled at Norah's enthusiasm, more moved by it than he cared to +show. + +"I've had time to grow big since you deserted us, Norah." + +A look of terror came into her face. + +"It wasn't my fault," she gasped, sobbing between her words. "Don't +believe it against me, me darling. I never went to hurt old Miss Hannah +in me life, and the saints knows how she died." + +"I never laid any blame on you," he answered. "I knew you wouldn't hurt +a fly." + +She broke into painful, hysterical laughter. + +"No more I wouldn't. To think it's me own baby boy that I've carried in +me arms, and him a priest!" + +The attendant, who had been watching in stupid and undisguised +curiosity, gave an audible sniff. + +"Oh, he ain't a real priest," she interrupted with brutal candor. +"They're just fakes. They ain't even Catholics." + +A pang of irritation shot through Maurice at the girl's words, but his +sense of humor asserted itself, and helped him to smile at his own +weakness. + +"But, Norah," he said, ignoring the taunt, "I want to know about +yourself. We've often tried to find you," he added, a sudden perception +of the possible importance of this recognition coming into his mind. +"You know we depended on you to tell us a lot of things at the time of +Aunt Hannah's death." + +"He told me you'd be after me," Norah exclaimed with rising excitement. +"He said you'd be laying it to me; but, Master Maurice, by the Mother +of Mercy, I never"-- + +"I know that," he interrupted, to check her excitement; "but why did +you go off in that way?" + +"She told me to go. She ordered me out of the house like a dog, just +because I wouldn't give up Tim when she'd accidentally seen him when +he'd had one drop more than the full of him,--and any poor body might +take a wee drop more'n he meant to take beforehand. She was that hot +in her way when her temper was up, rest her soul,--and that nobody +knows better than yourself,--that the devil himself couldn't hold her +with a pair of red-hot tongs,--saving the presence of your riverinces +for mentioning the Old Gentleman." + +Her momentary discomposure at having mentioned the arch fiend in the +presence of those who were his professional enemies gave Wynne a chance +to interpolate a question. He could easily understand that the violent +excitement of a quarrel with her old servant might account for the +sudden death of his aunt. He perceived in a flash how Norah, terrified +by the newspaper reports which had openly accused her of making way +with her mistress, would without difficulty be induced by her husband +to conceal herself. The matter to him most important, however, had not +yet been touched upon. + +"But what became of her will?" he asked. "You told me she made a new +one." + +"She did that, Master Maurice. Wasn't I night and day telling her she'd +treated you scandalous, and upside down of all reason; and didn't she +send for old Burnham, with the squinchy eyes and the wife that had a +wart on her nose, and have it all writ over." + +"So he said. But what became of it?" + +"Ain't you ever had it?" + +"No; we could never find it." + +"Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy +demanded in much excitement. + +"Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. + +"The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures +on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you +should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while +before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." + +"Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time." + +Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy +clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could +hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to +return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily +ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed +fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the +house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed +in silence. + +As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, +evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye. + +"Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly +fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?" + +"In the house we came out of," Maurice answered. "She's on the fifth +floor, at the front." + +The priest regarded him with some surprise in his look, and something, +too, of uncertainty. + +"You haven't been there, have you?" he asked. + +"Yes; we've just come from her place." + +"Then perhaps she won't want me," the priest remarked. "It'll save me a +good bit of a climb." + +"But we went only as friends," Maurice explained. "She might wish the +consolations of religion." + +"Then you did not"-- + +"We are not of your church," Maurice interrupted, flushing. + +The priest looked at them with a puzzled air. + +"But surely," he said, "you are Catholic. Haven't you been to me at the +confession?" + +Maurice had not at first recognized the priest to whom he had been in +the habit of confessing at St. Eulalia, but he had known him before +this announcement made Philip stare at him with a face of astonishment. + +"Yes," he responded steadily. "I have confessed to you at St. Eulalia, +but I am not of your communion." + +He turned, and walked away quickly, not looking at Phil. He resolved +not to bother his head about this unchancy encounter. It was awkward, +and the fact that he had never confided in Ashe seemed to give to these +visits to St. Eulalia an air almost of under-handedness; but there was +nothing wrong, he told himself, and he would not be vexed at this +moment when he was full of delight at the probability of discovering +the missing will. He was certainly in no danger of becoming a Catholic. +He smiled to think how little likely he was to exchange the too strict +rule of the Clergy House for one which might be more rigid still. The +keen thought now was the remembrance of the wealth which he hoped soon +to possess. + +"Phil, old man," he said joyously, "I believe I shall get Aunt Hannah's +money after all. I always felt that it belonged to me." + +"Yes," Ashe replied, so dully that Maurice turned to him quickly. + +"Come, Phil, don't answer me like that. What are you moping about?" + +There was no answer for a moment. Maurice, full of a fresh vigor born +of the discovery of the afternoon, was yet rebuked by the silence of +his friend. + +"Of course, Phil," he went on, "you know I don't mean anything unkind. +I am no end obliged to you for taking me there this afternoon. When we +go tomorrow"-- + +"I shall never go there again," Ashe interrupted. + +"Nonsense! Why not?" + +"I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go +again." + +A prickling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of +Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life +as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with +the monkish mood. + +"Oh, stuff, Phil!" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake don't be so morbid. +You talk like a mediaeval anchorite." + +Ashe regarded him with a look of pain. + +"It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice." + +"It is I," was the sturdy answer; "and it is I in a sane frame of mind, +old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see +that's the only fault you've committed." + +"Maurice," Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, "have you +thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?" + +The pronoun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his +friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being +forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to +define for himself. + +"Phil," he said determinedly, "I insist that your way of looking at +this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with +you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall +get my property after all." + +"But our lives are devoted to poverty." + +Maurice turned upon his friend, more exasperated than he had ever been +with him before in the whole course of their lives. + +"Look here, Phil," he declared, "if you want to be as mopish as a +mildewed owl yourself, that is no reason why you should try to make me +so too." + +There was no response to this, and in silence they went toward the +Clergy House. Just as they reached the door, Maurice turned quickly and +held out his hand to his friend. Ashe grasped it so hard that it ached; +and Maurice went to his room with a sigh on his lips, while in his +heart he said to himself, "Poor Philip!" + +Maurice went next day to see Mrs. Murphy, and for a number of days +thereafter. Norah was sinking, and clung to him with pathetic +tenderness. He learned not much more about the will. She was sure that +it had been concealed under the false bottom of a little traveling-desk +which he remembered, but beyond that she knew nothing. Maurice wrote to +Mr. Burnham, the family lawyer, and the question now was, what had +become of the desk? The effects of the testator had been sold at +auction, but as they had been largely bought by relatives, Maurice +believed that it would not be difficult to trace the missing document. + +The interest and excitement of this new business so occupied the +thoughts of Maurice that he almost ceased to think of religious +matters. Perhaps there was more danger to his monastic profession in +this indifference than in the most poignant doubt. He went through his +duties at the Clergy House cheerfully because he thought little about +them. They were part of the routine of life, and when the hour for +recreation came he laid all that aside. He even on one occasion wrote a +hurried note to Mr. Burnham in the hour for meditation, and it amazed +him when he thought of it that his conscience did not protest. He +reflected with a certain naive pleasure that it was possible after all +to modify the strict rules of the house without suffering undue +contrition afterward. The discovery might have seemed to Father +Frontford a dangerous one. + + + + XXIII + + + THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + Measure for Measure, iv. 4. + + +So much was Maurice absorbed in his thought of the will and his +inquiries after it that he gave little consideration to the disquieting +plan of Father Frontford for the securing of Miss Morison's cooperation +in the election schemes. Several days having gone by without farther +allusion to the matter, he decided that his remonstrances had been +effective, and was greatly relieved to be freed from a task so +repugnant under any circumstances and made intolerable by his feeling +for Berenice. It was with a most painful shock, therefore, that he one +day received from the Father the information that Miss Morison had +returned to Boston. He met the Father Superior in the hall one morning +after matins, and although it was a silent hour the latter spoke. + +"It is better to see her at once," he added. "Mrs. Frostwinch is very +low, and the sooner the thing is settled the better." + +"But," stammered Maurice, "I"-- + +"I think," the other went on, ignoring the interruption, "that it will +be best for you to call on her this afternoon at exercise hour. She is +likely to be at home then, and it will be rather early for other +visitors." + +Maurice struggled with himself, endeavoring to shake off the influence +which this man always exercised over him. He determined to speak, and +to decline the hateful errand. + +"Father Frontford," he said with an effort, "I cannot undertake this." + +"My son," the other responded with gentle severity, "you forget that +this is a silent hour. Although I may speak to you on affairs +concerning the church, that does not give you the right to answer +irrelevantly." + +"It is not irrelevantly," Maurice protested, feeling his growing +irritation strengthen his resolve. "I"-- + +The voice of the old priest was more stern as he interrupted. + +"You seem to forget entirely your vow of obedience. There is little +merit," he added, his tone softening persuasively, "in service which is +easy and pleasant. It is in the sacrifice of self and our own +inclinations that we gain the conquest of self. Go, my son, and pray to +be forgiven for pride and insubordination. Do you think that you would +be objecting if it were not for the wound to your vanity which this +work inflicts? You may repeat ten _paters_ for having violated the rule +of silence." + +Maurice moved away, feeling that he dared not trust himself to speak +again. To be thus treated like a willful child galled his pride and +quickened all the obstinacy of his nature. + +"The rule of silence!" he said to himself angrily as he went. "Are we +in the Middle Ages?" + +It came to him as a sort of jeer from an outside intelligence that +after all they were trying to ape mediaeval discipline. He had been for +weeks coming to the point where the whole monastic life seemed to him +fantastic and theatrical; and now that his personal liberty was so +sharply assailed, his self-respect so threatened, he was prepared to +see everything in the most unfavorable light. He laughed bitterly in +his mind at the tangle he was in, and contempt for himself and for the +community took hold of his very soul. + +Yet he was not ready to throw off allegiance. The bonds of habit are +strong; the power of old belief is stronger; and strongest of all is +that vanity which holds a man back from the avowal that he has been +mistaken in his most ardent professions. It is one thing to change a +conviction; it is quite another to acknowledge that a belief formerly +upheld with ardor is now outgrown. It is not simply the ignoble shame +of fearing the opinion of others that is involved in such a case, but +that of losing confidence in one's own judgment, of standing convicted +of error in that inner court of consciousness where all disguises are +stripped away and all excuses vain. To see that even the most +passionate conviction may have been mistaken is to feel profound and +disquieting doubt of all that human faith may compass; it is to seem to +be helpless in the midst of baffling and sphinx-like perplexities. +Maurice was already at the point where he could hardly be regarded as +holding his old opinions, but he had not reached that of being ready to +confess that he had been wrong in a matter so vital that error in it +would involve the whole reordering of his life and leave him with no +standards of faith. + +He was, moreover, noble in his impulses, and he had too long been bred +in introspection not to perceive now that he was greatly influenced by +his inclinations. He was too honest not to be aware that there was as +much passion as reason in his revulsion from the monastic life, and +that Berenice Morison's perfections weighed as heavily in the scale as +any shortcomings of theology. He reproached himself stoutly, in +thoroughly monkish fashion, and ended by resolving that obedience was a +duty; that the errand on which he was sent was one which would abase +his sinful pride and must be executed for the benefiting of his +spiritual condition. + +He said this to himself sincerely, yet he was human, and behind all was +the consciousness that in this bad business there was at least the +consolation that he should be face to face with Berenice. If +humiliation was doubly bitter by being wrought through his love, at +least his love might find some scanty comfort in the very means of his +humiliation. + +When the hour for exercise, four in the afternoon, came, Maurice set +out on his mission. He had blushed at himself in the mirror for the +solicitude with which he regarded his image, but he had tried to +believe that this arose only from a disinterested anxiety to appear at +his best in behalf of the object which he was sent to accomplish. + +Miss Morison was living with Mrs. Frostwinch, and as Maurice walked +buoyantly along, forgetting his errand and only remembering that he was +to see her, he recalled how on the day when they had first met he had +walked home with her from Mrs. Gore's. He recalled the pretty, willful +turn of her head and the saucy side-glance of her eyes, the proud curve +of her neck, the color on her cheeks delicate as the first peach- +blossom in spring. That he had no right thus to be thinking of a woman +perhaps added a certain piquancy to his thought; but he quieted his +conscience with the reflection that he was in the path of duty, and of +a duty, moreover, which was likely to prove sufficiently hard and +humiliating. + +Miss Morison was at home, and would see Mr. Wynne. + +The high reception room in which he waited for her had a gloomy +formality, a sort of petrified respectability, most discouraging. On +the wall was a large painting, evidently a copy from some famous +original, although Maurice did not know what. The picture represented a +painter with a model in the dress of a nun. The artist was evidently +engaged in painting a saint for some convent, a beautiful sister had +been chosen as his model, and he was improving the opportunity to make +love to her. Her reluctant and remorseful yielding was evident in every +line of her figure as she allowed the painter to steal his arm around +her waist and bend his lips toward hers. Wynne looked at the picture +with vague disquiet. Here was the struggle of the natural human impulse +against the constraint of ascetic vows; the irresistible yielding to +nature and to the call of a passion interwoven with the very fibres of +humanity. The sombre Boston parlor vanished, and he seemed to be in +some old-world nunnery with the unknown lovers. He felt all their +guilty bliss and their scalding remorse. He sighed so deeply that the +soft laugh behind him seemed almost an echo. Turning quickly, he found +Berenice watching him with a teasing smile on her lips. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," she said, holding out her hand, +"but you were so absorbed in Filippo and his Lucretia that you paid no +attention to me." + +"I beg your pardon," he responded, taking her hand cordially. "I was +looking at the picture and wondering what it represented." + +"It is that reprobate Filippo Lippi and Lucretia Buti, the nun that he +ran away with. Why it pleased the fancy of my grandfather, I'm sure I +can't imagine. Sit down, please. It is a long time since I have seen +you, and now that Lent is coming, I suppose that you will be lost to +the world altogether." + +He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted +him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild +geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then +without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at +the Lucretia. Berenice laughed frankly. + +"Are you comparing us?" she asked gayly. "Or are you trying to decide +what I would have done in her case? I can tell you that." + +"What would you have done?" + +"Done? I would have run away from him and the convent both! Do you +think I was made to be cooped up in a nunnery if I could escape?" + +"No," he answered with fervor, "you were certainly not made for that." + +"That is an unclerical answer from a monk." + +"I am not a monk." + +She put her head a little on one side with delicious coquetry. + +"Would it be rude to ask what you are, then?" + +He regarded her a moment, and then with explosive vehemence he broke +out:-- + +"I am a deacon who has not taken the vows, and I am a man who loves you +with his whole soul!" + +She paled, and then flushed to her temples. She cast her eyes down, and +seemed to be struggling for self-control. He did not offer to touch +her, although his throat contracted with the intensity of his effort to +maintain his outward calm. Then she looked up with a smile light and +cold. + +"We are not called upon to play Filippo and Lucretia in reversed +parts," she said. "I am not trying to tempt you away from your calling. +Wouldn't it be better to talk about the weather?" + +He was unable to answer her, but sat staring with hot eyes into her +face, feeling its beauty like a pain. + +"It has been very cold for the season during the past week," she went +on. + +"Miss Morison," he retorted hotly, "I had no right to say that, but you +needn't insult me. It is cruel enough as it is." + +Her face softened a little, but she ignored his words. + +"Tell me," she remarked, as if more personal subjects had not come into +the conversation, "what are the chances of the election? I hear so many +things said that I have ceased to have any clear ideas on the subject +at all." + +Maurice sat upright, throwing back his shoulders. This girl should not +get the better of him. He lifted his head, his nostrils distending. + +"It is too soon to speak with certainty," he responded; "but it is in +regard to that that I came--that I was sent to see you this afternoon. +We are under vows of obedience at the Clergy House." + +He said this defiantly, fancying he saw in her face a smile at the idea +of his servitude. + +"You will regard what I say as the words of a messenger." + +"All?" she interrupted. + +He flushed with confusion, but he was determined that he would not +again lose control of himself. + +"All that I _shall_ say," he responded. "What I have said is to be +forgotten." + +"By me or by you?" she asked, dimpling into a smile so provoking that +he had to look away from her or he should have given in. + +"By you," was his reply; but he could not help adding under his breath: +"If you wish to forget it." + +She laughed outright. + +"I will consider the matter. But this errand from the powers that be at +the Clergy House; I am curious about that." + +"You will remember," he urged, his face falling, "that it is only a +message for which I have no responsibility." + +"Certainly; although you would of course bring no message of which you +didn't approve." + +"I am not asked whether I approve or disapprove. It is the decision of +the Father Superior that it should be said; and that is the whole of +it." + +"Well," she inquired, as he paused, unable to go on, "after this +tremendous preamble, what is it?" + +It seemed to Maurice that he could not say it; but he cleared his +throat, and forced himself to look her in the face. + +"It has to do with your inheritance of the--your inheritance through +Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"My inheritance? What do you mean?" she demanded, suddenly becoming +grave. + +As briefly as possible he explained to her the errand which had been +given to him. He could see indignation gathering in her look. + +"But who has told Father Frontford that Mrs. Frostwinch is so ill?" she +broke out at last. "Cousin Anna is not so well since she came from the +South, but that is all. It is shameful to be speculating on her death +and disposing of her property as if she were buried already! I wonder +at you!" + +Wynne smiled bitterly. + +"I have already said that I had nothing whatever to do with the +matter," he answered. + +"You had no right to come to me with such a message. It puts me in the +position of waiting for her death! Oh, it's an insult! It's an insult +to me and to Cousin Anna! What will she think?" + +"She will think nothing," he said, roused by a sense of her injustice, +"because she will never know." + +"Why will she not?" + +"Because if it is cruel for me to say a thing which harms nobody except +me for bringing the message, it would be a thousand times more cruel +for you to tell your cousin that her death was counted on." + +He rose as he spoke, and stood looking down on her with the full +purpose of constraining her to his will. She sprang up in her turn. + +"Very well; I will not tell her. You may say to Father Frontford from +me that it will be time enough for him to undertake the disposal of my +property when it is mine. I thank him for his officiousness!" + +"You are unjust to Father Frontford. I have made his wish seem +offensive by the way I have put it, I suppose. At any rate, he is +simply seeking the good of the church." + +"And to have himself made bishop." + +"He would vote to-morrow for any man that he thought would do better +than he can do. He would support Mr. Strathmore himself if he believed +it well for the church. I do not find myself in sympathy with +everything that he does, but I know him, and of one thing I am sure: he +would be burned alive in slow fires to advance the good of the church." + +She looked at him curiously. Then she turned away in seeming +carelessness, and began to arrange some pink roses which stood in a big +vase on a table near at hand. + +"Good-by," he said. "I am sorry to have offended you." + +"Must you go?" responded she with a society manner which cut him to the +quick. "Let me give you a rose." + +She broke one off, and handed it to him. He took it awkwardly, wholly +at a loss to understand her. + +"They are lovely, aren't they?" she said. "Mr. Stanford sent them to me +this morning." + +He looked at her until her eyes fell. Then he laid the rose on the +table near the hand which had given it to him, and without further +speech went out. + + + + XXIV + + + FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + Richard II., ii. 2. + + +Although Ashe had said that he should not go again to the poverty- +stricken dwelling of Mrs. Murphy, he found himself a few days later +beside her bed. Word had been brought to him that she was dying, and +that she begged to see him before her death. There was no resisting a +call like this, and on a gloomy afternoon he had gone down to the dingy +court, torn by memories and worn with inward struggles. + +He found the old woman almost speechless with weakness. The room was +more comfortable, and he knew that Maurice had been at work. The +slatternly girl was in attendance, and there was also the pleasant- +faced priest whom Philip and Maurice had encountered in the court. The +priest had come with an acolyte to administer the last rites, and the +woman had made her confession. So intent, however, was Mrs. Murphy upon +the purpose for which she had summoned Ashe that she cried out to him +as he entered, and apparently for the moment forgot all else. + +Ashe looked at the priest in apology, but the latter said kindly:-- + +"Let her speak to you, and then she will be done with things of this +earth." + +It was the safety of her husband for which the poor creature was +concerned. It was on her mind that Ashe and Mrs. Fenton could save him +from punishment if they chose. She pleaded piteously with Philip to +have the prisoner set free. + +"He'll be all alone of me," she moaned. "That'll be more punishment +than you're thinking, your riverince. He'll come out of jail sober, and +he'll remember how he had me to do for him night and day these long +years. He'll not be liking that, your riverince; and he'll be uneasy to +think maybe he had some small thing to do with it himself. Not that I +say he did," she added hastily. "His little fun wouldn't be the cause +of harm to me as is used to his ways, but maybe he'll be after thinking +so. It's the fever I have, from poor living, and maybe from being so +long without Tim and worrying the heart out of my body for him, and he +there in jail. Only if you'll promise to let him go, you and the sweet +lady that very likely didn't know his pleasant ways when he had a drop +too much, you'd make it easier dying without him." + +She gasped out her words as if every syllable were an effort, her eyes +appealing with a wildness which touched his heart. The girl went to the +bed and leaned over, taking in hers the thin, withered hand. + +"There, there, Mrs. Murphy," she said, "of course the gentleman'll do +it. He couldn't have the heart to resist your dying prayer." + +"I am ready to do all I can, Mrs. Murphy," Philip stammered, struggling +with his conscience to promise as much as he could; "and I'll see Mrs. +Fenton. I'm sure she won't wish to have anything done that you would +not like." + +The sick woman burst into weak tears, stammering half inarticulate +blessings. + +"I don't know," Philip began, feeling that it was not honest to give +her the impression that he could set her husband free, "how much"-- + +The priest crossed to him and laid a hand quickly on his shoulder. + +"Whist!" he said in Philip's ear. "There's no need of troubling her +with that. You'll do what you can, and the rest's with heaven that is +good to the poor." + +Mrs. Murphy had not heard or heeded what Ashe said, and still mumbled +her thanks while the Father prepared to administer the viaticum. The +acolyte and the girl looked at Ashe as if expecting him to withdraw. + +"May I remain?" Philip asked, looking at the priest with deep feeling. + +The other regarded him benignly. + +"Remain, my brother; and may the Holy Virgin bless the sacrament to +your soul as well as to hers." + +Ashe could not have told why he had yielded to the impulse to stay. He +had for months been coming more and more to feel that the church of +Rome was his true refuge, yet he hardly now dared confess this to +himself. He had been deeply affected by the discovery that Maurice had +been to confession at St. Eulalia, and he longed himself to follow the +example of his friend. To Ashe, however, it seemed like trifling with +sacred things, and he could not do it. Now as he knelt on the unclean +and uneven floor of that sordid chamber he experienced a peace and a +security such as he had never before known. He was moved almost to +tears; yet he would not yield. + +"It is not Rome," he insisted to himself. "It is the simple faith of +these poor souls. That is beautiful and holy. It would be easy for me +to think that I was becoming a Catholic." + +He left as soon as the rite was concluded, but the memory of it +remained. + +He saw Mrs. Fenton on the afternoon following. He had not been alone +with her since his mad declaration of love. He wished now to meet her +calmly, yet the moment he entered her house his heart quickened its +beating. He was no longer a priest bent on an errand of mercy; he was +an ardent lover, acutely conscious that he was in the rooms through +which she passed day by day, that in a moment he should see her, hear +her voice, perhaps touch her hand. He was shown into the library where +she was sitting, and she rose to greet him frankly and simply. + +"She was not touched by what happened in the carriage," Philip said to +himself, with the woeful wisdom of love, "or she could not so +completely ignore it." + +"How do you do, Mr. Ashe?" she said with perfect calmness. "You are +just in time for a cup of tea. I am having mine early, because I came +in a little chilled." + +He was too confused with the joy of her presence to decline. + +"I have come on an errand which is not over pleasant," he remarked, +watching her handling the cups, "and I am afraid that it is useless +too." + +"Does that mean that it is something you wish me to do but think I'm +too hard-hearted or selfish to agree to?" + +"It is not a question of willingness so much as of power. Mrs. Murphy +is dying,--very likely by this time she is not living,--and she begs us +to save her husband from being punished." + +"But how could that be done?" + +"I doubt if it could be done; but I promised her that I would speak to +you. I suppose that if we did not give evidence there would not be much +that could be told; but I hardly think that we have the right not to." + +Mrs. Fenton thoughtfully regarded the fire a moment; then seemed to be +recalled to the present by the active boiling of the little silver +teakettle. + +"I'm afraid women would drive justice out of the world if they had +their way," she said with a smile. + +He smiled in reply, full of delight in her mere presence. They talked +the matter over, arriving at some sort of a compromise between their +sympathy for the dying woman and their feeling that a man like Murphy +should be dealt with by the law. They came for the moment to seem to be +on the old footing of simple friendliness, while she made the tea and +they discussed the situation. + +"One lump or two?" Mrs. Fenton asked, pausing with tongs suspended over +the sugar. + +"Two," answered he. "I am afraid I am self-indulgent in my tea, but +then I very seldom take it." + +"So small an indulgence," she said, handing him his cup, "does not seem +to me to indicate any great moral laxity." + +"It is the principle of the thing," Philip returned, smiling because +she smiled. + +Mrs. Fenton shook her head. + +"Come," she said, "this is a good time for me to say something that has +been in my mind for a long time. You may think that it isn't my affair, +but I can't help saying that it seems to me you have allowed yourself +to get into a frame of mind that is rather--well, that isn't entirely +healthy. I hope you don't think me too presuming." + +"You could not be," was his reply; "but I do not understand what you +mean." + +She had grown graver, and leaned back in her chair with downcast eyes. + +"I hardly know how to say it," she began slowly, "but you seem to me to +be feeling rather morbidly about the virtue of personal discomfort. If +you will pardon me, I can't think that you really believe it to be any +merit in the sight of heaven that a man should make himself needlessly +uncomfortable." + +"But if the mortification of the flesh helps us to"-- + +She put up her hand and interrupted him. + +"I am a good churchwoman, but I am not able to believe in scoring off +the sins of the soul by abusing the body. The old monks scourging +themselves and the Hindus swinging by hooks in their backs seem to me +both pathetically mistaken, and both to be moved by the same feelings." + +"Then you do not believe in asceticism at all?" + +"Mr. Fenton used to say that asceticism was the most insolent insult to +Heaven that human vanity ever invented." + +"But if we are to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts," +Ashe broke out, his inner excitement bursting forth through his +calmness, "if we are to give way to the joys of this life, if--Do you +not see, Mrs. Fenton, that this covers so much? It goes down into the +depths of a man's heart. It comes almost at once, for instance, to the +question of the marriage of priests." + +She flushed, and her manner grew perceptibly colder. + +"That is naturally not a subject that I care to go into," she said; +"but I have no scruple against saying that I do not believe in a +celibate priesthood. In our church and our time, it is out of place." + +"But it is the supreme test whether a man is willing to give up all his +earthly joy for the service of Heaven." + +She frowned slightly, and he realized how significant his manner must +have been. + +"The marriage of the clergy is not a subject that it seems to me +necessary for us to discuss," she said. + +"Mrs. Fenton," Philip said, "I have given you too good a right to be +offended with me once, but I must say something that I fear may offend +you again. It is not about myself. It is about a better man." + +She looked at him in evident surprise and disquiet. + +"I asked what you think of the marriage of the clergy," he went on, +"because it seems to me right to tell you that Mr. Candish loves you." + +She flushed to her temples, starting impulsively in her seat. + +"Mr. Ashe," she said vehemently, "what right have you to talk to me of +such subjects at all?" + +"None," he answered, "none at all,--unless--None that you would +recognize; but I wish to atone for the wrong I did in speaking to you, +and to say what he would never say. If it were possible that you cared +for him, I should perhaps help you both." + +"You forget, I think, that I have been married." + +"I do not forget anything," Philip returned desperately. "It is only +that he is a good man, a noble man, a man that would never have fallen +under his weakness as I did, and if you cared for him, he is too fine +to be allowed to suffer. He loved you long before I ever saw you." + +"He has never given me any sign of it." + +Her flushed cheeks and something in the way in which she said this +seemed to him to indicate that she did love Candish. He had been moved +by the most sincere desire to sacrifice his own will and happiness to +the well-being of the woman he loved, and if it were that she loved his +rival he had been ready to forget everything but that. Now by a quick +revulsion it seemed to him that he could not endure the success of this +man whose cause he had been pleading. + +"Ah!" he cried, bending toward her, "you love him!" + +She rose indignantly to her feet. + +"Your impertinence is amazing!" she exclaimed. "It is time that +somebody told you the truth. It is hard for me to say unkind things to +one who has saved my life, but you ought to know how you appear. You +have got yourself into a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind and body; +and unless you get out of it you will ruin your whole career. Does it +seem to you that a man who has so little control over himself is a fit +leader for others? Can't you see that you have brooded over this +question of celibacy until you are completely morbid? Find some +wholesome, right-minded woman, Mr. Ashe; love her and marry her, and be +done with all this wretched, unwholesome mawkishness. As for me, when I +married once, I married for life. My son will never be given a second +father." + +He had risen also, and his self-possession had returned to him. + +"I have annoyed you," he said with a new dignity. "You are perhaps +right in saying that I am morbid, but in what I said to-day I was +trying to put self entirely out of the question. There is only one +thing more that I want to say; and that is that it is not fair to judge +our order by me. I know only too well how natural it is that you +should think all the men at the Clergy House weak and despicable like +me; but that is not so. They are sincere, self-forgetful fellows. You +have seen my friend Wynne. He, for instance, is as manly and fine and +honest as any man alive." + +"I do not misjudge them or you, Mr. Ashe. I only feel that in these +past weeks you have not been yourself. We will forget it all, and I +hope that you will forgive me if I have hurt you." + +"I have nothing to forgive. It is you who must do that. Good-by." + +He went away with the remembrance of her beautiful eyes looking in pity +into his, and once more the phrase of the Persian came into his mind +like a refrain: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a +slave!" + + + + XXV + + + WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + Comedy of Errors, i. I + + +Maurice soon heard from his lawyer that the missing desk had passed +into the hands of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Singleton, and that that lady +was staying at Montfield as the guest of Mrs. Ashe. He determined to go +down himself, feeling unwilling to trust business so important to any +other. In order to leave the Clergy House, it was necessary to have +permission from the Father Superior, and on Monday of Shrove week Wynne +requested what the deacons jestingly called among themselves a +dispensation. He did not think it honest to conceal the reason for his +wishing leave of absence, and briefly related the story of his finding +his old nurse and of her revelation. + +"Poor old Norah is dead," he concluded, "but I had her affidavit taken, +and if the will can be found there should be no difficulty in +establishing it. The other witnesses are alive." They were sitting in +the Father's study, a room severely plain in its furnishings, like all +the apartments in the Clergy House. The table by which the Superior sat +was covered with papers and letters, the signs of the large +correspondence which Wynne knew Frontford to keep up with members of +his order in England and this country. The furniture was stiff and +uncompromising, the windows covered only by plain shades, while the +bookshelves took an austere air from the dull leather of the bindings +of their tall, formal volumes. Father Frontford leaned back in his +uncushioned chair and pressed together his thin finger-tips in the +gesture which was habitual with him, regarding the young man with keen +eyes. + +"This property, if I understand you rightly, is now in the possession +of the church?" + +"It was given by the will that was found to the church and to missions. +Some of it went to the founding of a home for invalid priests. My aunt +was the one of my relatives who was a churchwoman." + +"And if you succeed in finding and establishing this new will, you mean +to divert the money to your own use?" + +"If the will is valid, is not the money mine?" + +The Father looked at him a moment before he answered. Then he sighed. + +"My son," he asked, "would you have put that question six months ago?" + +Maurice flushed, but he did not wish to show that he understood. + +"Why not?" he demanded. + +"There was not then in your heart a wish to wrest property from the +church that you might enjoy it yourself." + +"I haven't any wish now to take from the church anything which is not +mine already." + +"By divine right or by human?" the Father inquired with cold +inflexibility. + +Maurice began to be irritated. He felt that he was being treated with +too high a hand. + +"Have I no rights as a man?" demanded he warmly. + +The other sighed once more, and a look of genuine pain came into his +face. + +"My son," he said with a gentleness which touched Maurice in spite of +himself, "when you gave yourself to the church, did you keep back part +of the price? Was not your gift all you were and all you might +possess?" + +Maurice was silent. He could not for shame answer, that he did not then +know that he had so much to give, and he realized too that this would +then have made no difference. He felt as if he were now being held to a +pledge which he had never meant to make, yet he could not see what +reply there was to the words of the Superior. He cast down his eyes, +but he said in his heart that he would not yield his claim; that the +demand was unjust. + +"I have for some time," Father Frontford went on, "in fact ever since +your return, seen with pain that your heart is no longer single to the +good of the church. An earthly passion has eaten into your soul. Your +confessions are evidently attempts to satisfy your own conscience by +telling as little as possible of the doubts which you have been +harboring in your heart. Now there is given you an opportunity to see +for yourself, without the possibility of disguise, what your true +feeling is. The question now is whether you are seeking your own will +or the good of religion. Will you fail us and yourself?" + +Maurice was touched by the tone in which this was said. While he had +been growing to be less and less in sympathy with Father Frontford and +with the ideals which the brotherhood represented, he had never for an +instant ceased to believe in the sincerity of the Superior. He might +think him narrow, mistaken, even at times so blinded by desire for the +success of the brotherhood as to become almost Jesuitical in method; +but he felt that the Father lived faithful to his belief, ready, if the +cause required, to sacrifice himself utterly. He could not but be moved +by the appeal which the priest made, and by the genuine feeling which +rang through every word. + +"Father," he said, raising his eyes to the face of the other, "I cannot +deny that I am less satisfied about our faith than I used to be. I can +see now that I perhaps have not been entirely frank in confession, +though I hadn't recognized it before. I cannot go into a discussion of +my doubts now. I am not in a mood to talk with you when we must look at +so many things from different points of view. I haven't hidden from you +anything that has happened, and you could not be persuaded that all the +change in me has not come from the fact that I--has not come from my +feeling toward--my feeling about marriage. This is not true. Everything +has changed; and while I may be wrong, I have been trying to act +conscientiously. I feel that it is right for me to follow up this +matter of my aunt's will; and if I cannot make you share my feeling, I +can only say that I don't wish to do anything that seems to me wrong." + +The other smiled sadly. + +"What does that mean in plainer words?" asked he. "It means that you do +not wish to do wrong because whatever you desire will seem to you +right." + +"You are unjust!" Maurice retorted, flushing. + +The face of the Father grew stern. "Since when did the rule of the +order allow you to use such language to your superiors? If you are not +thinking of evading your vows, you do evade them daily; and the +throwing them off can be nothing but an affair of time." + +Maurice felt that he could not endure this longer without breaking out +into words which he should afterward repent. He rose at once. + +"Will you permit me to retire?" he said. "I shall be glad of your +answer to my request for leave of absence, but I cannot go on with this +conversation." + +The other stretched out his hand with a gesture infinitely tender. + +"My son!" he entreated. "Do not stray into the wilderness!" + +Maurice looked at the outstretched hand. His eyes moistened, but he +could not yield. He felt tenderness for Father Frontford, but he was +more and more at war with the Father Superior. For an instant they +remained thus, and then the thin hand dropped. + +"You are then still resolute in asking leave?" the Father said, in his +coldest voice. + +"It seems to me my duty to see that if possible the last wishes of my +aunt be carried out." + +"Is that your only motive?" + +Maurice flushed hotly, but he looked the other boldly in the face. + +"I must allow you to impute to me any motive you please. The point is +whether I am to have your permission." + +"Under the circumstances I do not feel justified in granting it. We +will speak of the matter again, when you have examined your heart more +carefully." + +Maurice bowed and left the room in silence, his spirit hot within him. +That he should be denied had not entered his mind. He was now confused +by the conflict in his thoughts. To disobey would be equivalent to +nothing less than a defiance of the authority of the Father Superior. +To assert his right to decide this matter could only mean a resolve to +break away from the brotherhood altogether. He was hardly prepared for +a step so extreme; yet he could not but ask himself whether he were +willing to accept the conditions involved in remaining. He realized for +the first time what the vow of obedience meant. He had received the +slight sacrifices involved thus far in his novitiate as right and +proper; simple things which had marked his willingness to yield to the +authority which by his own choice was above him. Now he said to himself +that to continue this life was to become a mere puppet; to give up +independence and manhood itself. + +On the other hand, he had not been bred in theological subtilties +without having come to see that the act cannot be judged without the +motive, and he had been more nearly touched by the words of Father +Frontford than he would have been willing to confess. He knew that he +had been hiding from his confessor the extent to which a longing for +the world had taken possession of him; that there was in this wish to +secure the will and through it the property an eagerness to be +independent of control and to take his place in the world as a man +among men. The thought that the money was now in the hands of the +church to which he had pledged himself tormented him. There came into +his mind the question what he would do with the wealth if he obtained +it. He had vowed himself to poverty, at least in his intention. If he +had this fortune and became a priest, he would be pledged to endow the +church with all his worldly goods. + +He faced his inner self with sudden defiance, as if he had thrown off a +disguise cunningly but weakly worn. He confessed with frankness that he +had secretly desired this money that he might be in a position to gain +Berenice. He pleaded with himself that he did not mean to abandon the +priesthood; that he had simply discovered that he had not a vocation +for the existence he had contemplated. He tried to see some way in +which he might gain the end he desired without giving up the faith he +professed; and in the end he succeeded only in getting his mind into a +confusion so great that it seemed impossible to think of anything +clearly. + +He had an errand at Mrs. Wilson's on Shrove Tuesday, and she invited +him to accompany her to midnight service at the Church of the Nativity. +When he repeated the request to Father Frontford, he was given +permission to go. + +"It is an unusual, and even an extraordinary request," the Superior +said; "but Mrs. Wilson is so deeply interested in the welfare of the +brotherhood that it is better to make a concession. What time are you +to meet her?" + +"She is to send her carriage for me at half past eleven. She was so +sure that you would not object that she told me not to send any word." + +"It is not well to have her treat so great a departure from rules as a +matter of course," the Father answered gravely. "I will send her a note +which will show her this. You have permission not to retire at the +usual hour." + +The carnival season was celebrated at the Clergy House with a meal +better than usual, and with some gayety on the part of the young +deacons. The light-hearted Southerner improved to the full the +permission to talk at dinner, and chatted away with a volubility which +seemed to Maurice to indicate a nature too buoyant or too shallow to be +deeply stirred. Father Frontford was absent, and there was nothing to +throw a shadow of restraint over the feast, the other priests being +almost as boyish as the deacons. + +"Here's Wynne," the Southerner said laughing, "is as glum as if he were +Lent incarnate, come six hours too soon. You must have a good deal on +your conscience to be so solemn." + +Maurice smiled, trying to shake off his depression. + +"It isn't always what is on one's conscience," he retorted, "so much as +how tender the conscience is." + +"Good! He has you there, Ballentyne," one of the deacons cried. + +"Oh, not at all. If a conscience is tender, it must be because it is +harrowed up. Now Wynne has probably vexed his so that it is habitually +sore." + +Maurice was out of the mood of the company, but he tried to answer with +a light word. The jesting seemed to him trifling; and his companions, +compared to the men he had seen during his stay with Mrs. Staggchase, +appeared like boys chattering at boarding-school. He wondered where +they had been for their absence; then he remembered that they had all +told him, and that he had forgotten. He had had no real interest in +them after all, he reflected; and at the thought he reproached himself +with egotism and a lack of brotherliness. He glanced at Ashe, and was +struck by the paleness of his friend. His look was perhaps followed by +Ballentyne, for the latter commented on the downcast aspect of Philip. + +"Ashe," the young man said, "looks ten times more doleful than Wynne. +What have you fellows been doing? One would think that you had been +eating the bitterest of all the apples of Sodom." + +"They have been in the gay world," another rejoined. + +"Then they might be set up as a warning against it," was the retort. + +Laughter that one cannot share is more nauseous than sweets to the +sick; and this harmless trifling was intolerable to Maurice. He got +away from it as soon as it was possible, and passed the heavy hours in +his chamber, waiting for the coming of the carriage. He tried at first +to read and then to pray; but in the end he abandoned himself to bitter +reverie. + +He did not attempt to reason, he merely gave way to gloomy retrospect, +without sequence or order. Seen in the light of his experiences during +the past weeks, his life looked poor, and dull, and misdirected. It was +little comfort to assert that he had at least been true to ideals high, +no matter how mistaken. + +"It is not what one does," he thought, "but the intention with which he +does it. Only that does not excuse one for being stupid, and raw, and +ignorant. When a man is a weakling and a fool, he always takes refuge +in the excuse that he is at least fine in his intentions. Bah! No +wonder she laughed at me! I have shut myself up with ideas as mouldy as +a mediaeval skeleton, and when I come to daylight all that I can say is +that I meant well. I suppose an idiot means well from his point of +view!" + +He looked about for something which should divert him from thoughts so +tormenting. His eye fell upon his Bible, and he took it up half +mechanically. On the title page was written the name of his aunt, to +whom it had once belonged. The name brought back the interview with +Father Frontford, and the refusal of his request for leave of absence. + +"Nothing belongs to me," he said to himself. "I am a thing, a sort of +thing like a numbered prisoner. How could she care for a chattel, a +creature without even identity! I will go down to Montfield. I am not +yet so completely out of the world that I can't have a word in the +disposition of my own property." + +He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep was +impossible. He only thought the more hotly and wildly. The hours +stretched on and on interminably before he heard the bell ring, and +knew that the carriage had come. Rising hastily, he adjusted his +cassock and his tumbled hair, and went down. + +"Perhaps I may find peace at the mass," he sighed with a great +wistfulness. + +The fresh, cool air of night was grateful, and as he was driven along +the quiet streets, a new hopefulness came to him. He had supposed that +he was to be taken to Mrs. Wilson's, and when the carriage stopped was +surprised to find himself before a large building which he did not +recognize. + +"But I was to meet Mrs. Wilson," he said doubtfully to the footman who +opened the carriage door. + +"Mrs. Wilson is here, sir," was the answer. "She said to carry you +here. James is inside to tell you what to do." + +A footman was indeed within, waiting for him. + +"Mrs. Wilson says will you please come to her, sir," the man said, and +led the way upstairs. + +The sound of gay music, growing louder as he advanced, filled Wynne's +ears. He began to feel disquieted, and once half halted. + +"Are you sure there is no mistake?" he asked. + +"Oh, no mistake at all, sir," his guide answered. "Mrs. Wilson has +arranged everything. Leave your hat and cloak here, sir, if you +please." + +Maurice mechanically did as requested, but as he threw off his outer +garment the opening of a door let in a burst of music which seemed so +close at hand that he was startled. He was in what was evidently a +coat-room, the attendant of which regarded him with open curiosity; and +he realized suddenly that he must be near a ball-room. + +"Where am I?" he demanded. + +"It's the ball, sir, that they has to end the season before Lent. It's +Lent to-morrow, sir, as I thought you'd know." + +Maurice stared at him in amazement and anger. + +"There is a mistake," he said. "Give me my cloak." + +"Indeed, sir," the man said, holding back the garment he had taken, +"Mrs. Wilson said, sir, that I was to say that she particular wanted +you to come fetch her in the ball-room, sir; and I was to bring you +without fail." + +"You may send her word that I am here." + +"Please, sir," the man returned, in a voice which struck Maurice as +absurdly pleading, "she was very particular, and it's no hurt to go in, +sir. She'll blame me, sir." + +Maurice looked at him, and laughed at the solemnity of the man's homely +face. A spirit of recklessness leaped up within him. He said to himself +that at least Mrs. Wilson should not think that he dared not come. + +"Very well," he said. "Show me the way." + +"Thank you, sir," the servant said, as if he had received a great +favor. "It's not easy to bear blame that don't belong to you." + +He opened a door into an anteroom thronged with people laughing and +chatting. The sound of the music was clear and loud, with the voices +striking through its cadences. Across this he led Wynne, to the wide +door of a ball-room flooded with light and full of moving figures. + + + + XXVI + + + O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + Hamlet, i. 5. + + +The brilliant glare of lights, the strident sound of dance-music, the +enlivening sense of a living, vivaciously stirring company of gayly +dressed merrymakers, assailed Maurice as he followed his guide across +the anteroom. At the door of the ball-room he was for a moment hindered +by a group of men who were lounging and chatting there. All his senses +were keenly alert, and he perhaps unconsciously listened to hear if +there were any comment on his appearance in such a place. He had not +realized what he was coming into, and now that it was too late for him +to withdraw without sacrificing his pride, he saw how incongruous his +presence really was. Almost instantly he caught a name. + +"By Jove!" one of the men said. "Isn't the Wilson in great form to- +night! That diamond on her toe must be worth a fortune." + +"She saves the price in the materials of her gowns," another responded +lightly. "I never saw her with quite so little on." + +"No material is allowed to go to waist there," put in a third. + +"She has two straps and a rosebud," yet another voice laughed; "and +nothing else above the belt but diamonds." + +"Her very smile is decollete" some one commented. "This is one of her +nights. When I see Mrs. Wilson with that expression, I am prepared for +anything." + +Maurice felt his cheeks burn at this light talk. It seemed to him +ribald, and he was outraged that the name of a woman should be bandied +about so carelessly. He raised his head and set his square jaw +defiantly; then began to push his way through the group, keenly +conscious of the stare which greeted him. + +"Hallo! What the devil's that?" he heard behind him. + +"The skeleton at the feast," responded one voice. + +"Oh, it's some devilish trick of Mrs. Wilson's, of course," put in +another. + +All this Maurice heard with an outraged sense that there was no attempt +to prevent him from hearing. He might have been a servant or a piece of +furniture for any restraint these men put upon their speech. He was +troubled with the fear of what absurdity Mrs. Wilson might intend. Now +that he was here, however, he would go on. The natural obstinacy of his +temper asserted itself, and if there was little pious meekness in his +spirit at that moment, there was plenty of grit. + +The ball-room was garlanded with wreaths of laurel stuck thickly with +red roses; women in white and in bright-hued gowns, with fair shoulders +and arms, were floating about in the embraces of men; the music set +everything to a rhythmic pulse, and gaily quickened the blood in the +veins of the young deacon as he looked. The throbbing of the violins +made him quiver with an excitement joyous and bewildering. He was +dazzled by the bright, moving figures, the shining colors, the +sparkling of gems, the lovely faces, the alluring creamy necks and +arms; a sweet intoxication began to creep over him, despite the +defiance of his feelings toward the men he had passed in the doorway. +Half blinded by the glare, dazed and fascinated by the sights, the +sounds, the perfumes, he followed the footman down the hall. + +He was obliged to skirt the room, even then hardly evading the dancers. +His progress was necessarily slow. The footman so continually paused to +apologize for having brushed against some lady in his anxiety to avoid +a whirling pair of dancers, that it began to seem to Maurice that they +should never reach Mrs. Wilson. He cast his eyes to the floor, +resolved not to look at the worldly sights around him. Country bred and +trained in the asceticism of the Clergy House, he could not see these +women without blushing; and more than ever he wondered that he had been +so blindly obedient as to allow himself to be brought to such a place. + +He heard a man clap his hands. He looked up to see a flock of dancers +hurrying to the upper end of the room. Among them, with a shock so +violent that his heart seemed to stand still, he recognized Berenice +Morison. He saw her go to a table and pick up something; then she and +her companions turned and came glancing and gleaming down the hall like +a flock of pigeons which fly and shine in the sun. Fair, flushed +softly, more beautiful than all the rest in his eyes, Berenice came on, +her hair curling about her forehead, her eyes shining with laughter and +pleasure. She was dressed in white, and at one shoulder, crushed +against her bare, creamy neck, was a bunch of crimson roses. Maurice +trembled at the sight of her beauty; he reddened at the consciousness +of her dress; over him came some inexplicable sense of fear. + +Suddenly he perceived that she had caught sight of him. He could see +the look of amazement rise in her face, give place to one of amusement, +then change instantly into sparkling mischievousness. He moved on +toward her, abashed, bewildered, feeling as if he were running a +gauntlet. He could not withdraw his gaze from her, as she came quickly +onward, dimpling, smiling, her face overflowing with saucy fun, her +glance holding his. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Wynne," she said lightly, coming up to him. "This is +an unexpected pleasure." + +"Good-evening," Maurice responded, hardly able to drag the words out of +his parched throat. + +"Of course you came for the german," Miss Morison went on, more +mockingly than before. "I am so glad that I happen to have a favor for +you." + +She leaned forward, swaying toward him her white shoulders, dazzling +him with the hint of the swell of her bosom, bewildering him with the +perfume of her dark hair, the alluring feminine presence which brought +the hot blood to his face. Before he guessed her intention, she had +pinned to his cassock a grotesque little dangling mask which swung from +a bright ribbon. + +"There," she commented, drawing back as if critically to observe. "The +effect is novel, but striking." + +A burst of amusement, light and blinding as the spray from a whirlpool, +went up from the women around. The music, the voices, the laughter, +seemed to Maurice so many insults flung at him in idle contempt. He +looked around him with a bitter anger which could almost have smitten +these laughing women on their red mouths. Then he turned back to +Berenice. He saw that she shrank before the wrath of his look; he felt +with a thrill that he had at least power to make her fear him. He bent +toward her full of rage made the wilder by the impulse to catch her in +his arms and cover her beautiful neck with kisses. + +"Shameless!" he hissed into her ear. + +He saw her turn pale and then flush burning red; but he hastened on +after the footman without waiting for more. Presently he reached the +head of the hall, where Mrs. Wilson stood laughing and talking with +several men. Her dress was of alternate stripes of crimson silk and +tissue of gold, and since it had excited comment from the loungers at +the door, it is small wonder that to the unsophisticated deacon, almost +convent bred, it appeared no less than horribly indecent. He cast down +his eyes; but his glance fell upon the foot which just then she thrust +laughingly forward, evidently in answer to some remark from Stanford, +who stood at her right hand. Upon the toe of her exquisite little shoe +sparkled a great diamond like a fountain of flame. + +"It gives light to my steps," she laughed. + +"The service is worthy of it," Stanford returned with a half-mocking +bow. + +"Thank you," Mrs. Wilson retorted, sweeping him a satirical courtesy. +"If you say such nice things to me, what must you say to Berenice!" + +It seemed to Maurice that the devil was exerting all his infernal +ingenuity that night to have him tormented at every turn. He came +forward hastily, eager to stop the talk. + +"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?" + +The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice +could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence. + +"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to +penance and confession." + +"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men +said, "that there's no necessity of going so early." + +"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected, +Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you +only mean to be?" + +Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind +the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets +of all sorts of fantastic devices. + +"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What +sort of a favor ought I to give you?" + +"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of +the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be +too surprised to put it down." + +"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs. Staggchase. +"That is all very well for her, but how is it for her victims?" + +"Oh, the honor of being her victim is compensation enough for them." + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, and shook her head, twinkling with diamonds which +dazzled the eyes of the young deacon. + +"You are all worldly," she retorted. "Brother Martin and I are too +unsophisticated to understand you." + +Maurice winced at the name. He felt that he must be a picture of +confusion. To stand here among these sumptuously dressed women, to +endure the glances which he knew were watching him from all parts of +the room, to be pricked with this monkish title by a woman who was +making of him and of the whole incident a sport and a spectacle, stung +him to the quick. He thought of Berenice, and he cast at Mrs. +Staggchase a look of defiance, lifting his head proudly in assertion of +his hurt dignity. + +"I am at your service, Mrs. Wilson," he said with cold sternness. + +"Well, we will go then. Unless, that is, you are dancing, Mr. Wynne. I +see that you have a favor." + +He glanced down at the grotesque little mask, dangling by its red +ribbon. With unbroken gravity he detached and laid it upon the table in +silence. He would have given much to hide it in his pocket, since it +came from Berenice; but even as he put it down a bevy of girls swept up +for favors, and one of them bore it away. + +"He has abandoned his opportunity," Mrs. Staggchase observed. "The +favor goes to Mr. Stanford." + +The girl who had taken up the mask was indeed pinning it to the coat of +that gentleman, with whom she quickly danced away. Maurice felt his +heart grow hot, but he looked at his cousin with face hard and +determined. + +"It was never mine," he said, "except by the chance of a +misunderstanding." + +A maid now came forward with a black domino, which Mrs. Wilson slipped +into gracefully, drawing up her glittering draperies. The big diamond +on the toe of her slipper glowed fantastically, peeping from beneath +the penitential robe. + +"Hallo," Dr. Wilson exclaimed, coming up at this moment, "what's in the +wind now? Is this turning into a masquerade?" + +"Your wife is about to retire from the world," Mrs. Hubbard answered, +laughing. + +"With a man," Mrs. Staggchase added, her eyes shining on her cousin. + +Wynne stabbed her with a glance of indignation. + +"No, with a priest," corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about +her face. + +"Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself," Dr. +Wilson observed jovially. "Well, good-night." + +Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on +her bosom. + +"My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent +in ten minutes." + +She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down +the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it +seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole +gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs. +Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for +her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around +grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he assured +himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred +things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs. +Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door. + +"He looks as if he belonged to the church militant," he heard one of +the men say as he passed out. + +"Even the church militant is nothing against a woman," another +replied, catching the eye of Mrs. Wilson, and laughing. + +In the vestibule stood a footman bearing Maurice's cloak, and a maid +with fur over-shoes and an ermine-lined wrap for Mrs. Wilson. Maurice +said not a word except to reply in monosyllables to the questions of +his companion, and almost in silence they drove to the Church of the +Nativity. + + + + XXVII + + + UPON A CHURCH BENCH + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 3. + + +The music of the Church of the Nativity was most elaborate, the very +French millinery of sacred music. The selection of a new singer was +debated with a zeal which spoke volumes for the interest in the service +of the sanctuary, and the money expended in this part of the worship +would have supported two or three poorer congregations. The church, +moreover, was appointed with a richness beautiful to see. The vestments +might have moved the envy of high Roman prelates, and the altar plate +shone in gold and precious stones. + +It was no wonder, then, that a midnight service at the Nativity +attracted a crowd. Mrs. Wilson and Wynne had to force a path between +ranks of curious sight-seers in order to make their way to the guarded +pew of the former, which was well up the main aisle. It came to Maurice +suddenly that in his angry mood he was pushing against these worshipers +rudely, and that he was venting upon them a fury which had rather +increased than diminished in his ride to the church. He was seething +with anger; anger against Mrs. Wilson for having put him in a ludicrous +position, at Berenice for her mockery, at Mrs. Staggchase for her +satire, and at all the frivolous fools who had stood around, grinning +to see him made ridiculous. His hurt vanity throbbed with an ache +intolerable, and as he forced his way between the crowding spectators +he felt a certain ugly joy in thrusting them aside. + +He was recalled to self-control by the expression in the face of a girl +whom he pressed back to give Mrs. Wilson passage. She turned to him +with a look of surprise and pain, and to his excited fancy her hair in +the half shadow was like that of Berenice. + +"You hurt me!" she exclaimed. + +"I beg your pardon," he answered with instant compunction. "I did not +mean to. Come with me." + +He yielded to the sudden impulse, and then reflected as they passed +down the aisle that he had no right to bring a stranger into Mrs. +Wilson's pew. Having invited her, however, it was impossible to +retract, and he showed her into the slip after Mrs. Wilson. As the +latter turned to sit down, she became aware of the stranger. She +paused, and looked at her with haughty surprise. + +"I beg pardon," she said, "this is a private pew." + +The girl flushed, looking inquiringly at Maurice. His masculine nature +resented the insolence of the glance with which Mrs. Wilson had swept +the stranger, and he came instantly to the rescue. + +"I invited her," he said, leaning forward, speaking with a +determination at which his hostess raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, very well then," Mrs. Wilson murmured. + +She sank into her seat, and inclined her head on the rail before her. +As Maurice did the same there shot through his mind a wonder at the +change there must be in the mental attitude of the woman who spoke with +haughtiness almost insulting to the stranger, and the penitent who bent +to ask pity and forgiveness from heaven. He tried to fix his thoughts +on his own prayer, but the words ran on as mechanically as might water +flow over a stone. The serious danger of a ritualistic religion must +always be that the mere repetition of words shall come to answer for an +act of worship; and to-night Maurice might have exclaimed with King +Claudius:-- + + "My words fly up; my thoughts remain below." + +The service went on with its deep, appealing prayers for pardon, for +help, for uplifting, and Maurice followed it only half consciously. It +was as if he were drugged, so that only now and then a phrase +penetrated to his real consciousness,--words which in their instant and +particular application were so poignant that he could not avoid their +force. + +"'From all inordinate and sinful affections,'" repeated the rich voice +of Mr. Candish, thrilling the church from floor to vaulted, roof, "'and +from the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil.'" + +"'Good Lord, deliver us!'" swelled the response of the congregation; +and on the lips of the deacon the words were almost a groan. + +He lost himself then in a flood of bitter repentance and prayer, hardly +realizing where he was or what was passing around him. The music +swelled and eddied; there was a genuine "Kyrie," wherein a single +voice, a rich contralto, wailed and implored in a passion of +supplication until the whole congregation quivered with the fervor of +the music. Maurice felt himself swayed and lifted upon the rising tide +of emotion. He lost his anger, he swam in billows of celestial delight; +a blessed peace soothed his troubled soul; he knew again some of the +old-time ecstasy. Yet in all this religious fervor there was some +subtle consciousness that it was unreal. He was not able so completely +to give himself up to it as to fail to watch its growth, its progress, +its intensity; he was vexed that he should trap himself, as it were, +glorying in the susceptibility to religious influences which such +excitement showed. He had even a whimsical, momentary irritation that +the part of his mind which was acting the devotee could not do it so +well that his other consciousness could not detect the unreality of it +all. Then he struggled to forget everything in the service; to steep +himself in the spiritual intoxication of the hour. + +The girl whom he had introduced into the pew dropped her prayer-book. +He turned, startled by the sound, and saw her sway toward him. He +realized that the crowd, the heat, the excitement, the odor of incense +with which the air was heavy, had overcome her, and that she was +fainting. He rose instantly, and, lifting her, assisted her into the +aisle. She was half in his arms as he led her down the nave, and her +hair, the hair which had seemed to him like that of Berenice, brushed +now and again against his shoulder. He recalled the wreck, when +Berenice had been in his arms, and his religious mood vanished as if it +had never been. His cheek flushed; he thrilled with anger at himself. +He had been playing a part here in the church. He had never for an +instant wished to be set free from his bondage to Berenice,--Berenice +who had to-night mocked him and his profession in the eyes of all the +world. + +The way to the door seemed interminable. He was eager to get rid of +this stranger and escape. Fortunately the party to which the fainting +girl belonged were at hand to take charge of her; and presently +Maurice had made his way out of the church. He hardly gave a thought to +Mrs. Wilson. She was abundantly able to take care of herself, he +reflected with angry amusement; or, if not, the very pavement would +spring up with troops of men to assist her. She was the sort of woman +whose mere presence creates cavaliers, even in the most unlikely +places. + +The cool outer air seemed to wake him from a bad dream. He walked +hastily through the quiet streets toward the Clergy House, full of +disordered thoughts, wondering whether the ball were yet over, or if +Berenice were still dancing in the arms of other men. The blood flushed +into his cheeks at the thought. He hated furiously the partner against +whose shoulder her white, bare arm might be resting. He looked back +with ever growing anger to the scene at the dance, tingling with shame +at the humiliation, at the thought of standing before the women who had +laughed when Berenice had fastened upon his breast the tawdry trinket +which seemed chosen purposely to mock him. He wished that he had kept +the toy, that he might now throw it down into the mire and tread on it. +Yet grotesque and insulting as the thing had been, he was conscious +that if the little mask were still in his possession he should not have +been able to trample on it, but should have taken it to his lips +instead. He remembered that now Stanford wore it. He looked up to the +shining stars and felt the overwhelming presence of night like a child; +his helplessness, his misery, his hopelessness swept over him in bitter +waves. + +Late as it was when he reached his room he did not at once undress. He +sat down heavily, staring with hot eyes at the crucifix opposite. From +black and unknown depths of his heart welled up rage against life and +its perplexities. He threw upon his faith the blame of his suffering. +What was this religion which made of all human joys, of all human +instincts only devilish devices for the torture of the very soul? Why +should the world be filled only with temptations, with humiliations, +with desires which burned into the very heart yet which must be denied? +Was any future bliss worth the struggle? He realized with a shudder +that he might be arraigning the Maker of the world; then he assured +himself that he was but raging against those who misunderstood and +misinterpreted the purposes of life. + +He flung himself down on his knees before the crucifix in a quick +reaction of mood, extending his hands and trying to pray; but he found +himself repeating over and over: "For Thine is the kingdom and the +power and the glory." He felt with the whole strength of his soul the +force of the words. This deity to whom he knelt might in a breath +change all his agony; might out of overflowing power and dominion and +splendor spill but one unnoted drop, yet flood all his tortured being +with richest happiness. The contrast between his weakness, his +helplessness, his insignificance, and the superabundant resources of +the Infinite crushed him. He was transported with aching pity for +himself and for all poor mortals. He repeated, no longer in entreaty +but with passionate reproach: "For _Thine_ is the kingdom and the power +and the glory." It seemed an insult to the clemency of Heaven to call +so piteously when it were a thing lighter than the puffing away of a +flake of swan's down for One with all power to help and to comfort. If +he were in the hands of a God to whom belonged the universe, why this +agony of doubt? Then he cried out to himself that this was the +temptation of the devil. He cast himself upon the ground, beating his +breast and moaning wildly: "Mea culpa! Mea culpa!" With quick +histrionic perception he was affected by the intensity and the +effectiveness of his penitence, and redoubled his fervor. + +Then in a flash came over him the sickening realization that this +devotion was a sham; that it was hysteria, simple pretense. He ceased +to writhe on the floor. It was like coming to consciousness in a +humiliating situation. He blushed at his folly, and rose hastily from +before the crucifix. + +"I have been acting private theatricals," he muttered scornfully; "and +for what audience?" + +He threw himself again into his chair, burying his face in his hands. +He plunged into a reverie so deep and so self-searching that it could +have been fathomed by no plummet. + +"I do not believe," he said at last aloud, raising his face as if to +address the crucifix. "I have never believed. I have simply bejuggled +myself. I have been a contemptible lie in the sight of men, not even +knowing enough to be honest to myself." + +He was silent a moment, a smile of bitter contempt curling his lip. + +"I have not even been a man," he added. + +Then he rose with a spring to his feet, and looked about him, +stretching out his arms as if to embrace all the world. + +"But now," he exclaimed with gladness bursting through every syllable, +"at last I am free!" + + + + XXVIII + + + BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + Love's Labor's Lost, ii. 1. + + +When Maurice Wynne's bitter word stung her, Berenice Morison stood for +a second too overwhelmed to speak or move. She felt the blood mount to +her temples, and she could see reflected in the eyes of acquaintances +around a mingled curiosity and amusement. Wynne passed on, and she +shrank into her seat, which fortunately was near. + +"Who in the world is that, and what did he say to you when you gave him +that favor?" exclaimed her neighbor. "I don't see how you dared to do +it!" + +A gentleman took the speaker away, so that Berenice was spared the +necessity of answering. She watched Wynne advance to the group of which +Mrs. Wilson was the centre, and she understood well enough that his +being here was some contrivance of the latter's. She was angry with +Wynne and humiliated by the insult that he had flung at her, yet she +had room in her heart for rage against the woman who had brought him +there. She looked at Mrs. Wilson laughing and jesting, she watched the +comedy proceed as the black domino covered the white shoulders and the +gown of gold and crimson, yet most of all was she conscious of how +straight and strong Maurice stood among the gay group which surrounded +him. The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his +look, seemed to her most manly and noble. She felt that he had by his +bearing mastered the absurd circumstances in which he was placed; she +smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own +thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice +saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She +watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed +figures passing like shadows among the dancers. When they had +disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of +regret, anger, and confusion. + +"Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that +before?" queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. "She +gets more amazing every day." + +"She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that +everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad +taste it is." + +"Oh, she amuses folks," Mr. Van Sandt said. "Nobody takes her +seriously." + +"It is time that they did," answered Berenice rather sharply. "Such a +performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were +her accomplices." + +"Oh, you take it too seriously; besides, I thought that you helped it +on a bit." + +Berenice was silenced, but she was none the happier for that. She was +vexed with herself for having any feeling about the incident; but the +word of Wynne came afresh into her mind, and brought the blood anew to +her cheek. She said to herself that she hoped that she should meet him +soon again, that she might wither him with a glance of burning +contempt, ever after to ignore him. + +"You think I wouldn't do it," she sneered to some inner doubt; "but I +would!" + +She was interrupted by a partner, and went whirling down the bright +hall to the tingling measures of a new waltz; yet all the while she was +thinking of the moment she had stood face to face with Maurice. She +scoffed at herself for giving so much weight to a thing so trifling; +she made a strong effort to appear gay, only the more keenly to realize +that at heart she was miserable. + +Mrs. Staggchase, on her way out of the hall a little later, stopped and +spoke to her. + +"Come, Bee, it is time for you to go home. You don't seem to profit by +the godly example of Elsie Wilson at all." + +"Heaven forbid that I should take her as my exemplar!" Berenice flung +back with unnecessary fervor. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase observed good-humoredly, "there are things in +which it is conceivable that you might find a better model. By the way, +what did Cousin Maurice say to you when you gave him that german favor? +Of course I haven't any right to ask, but you see I am interested in +bringing the boy up properly." + +Berenice flushed with confusion and vexation. + +"It was something no gentleman would have said!" + +"Ah," the other returned with perfect calmness, "that is the danger of +doing an unladylike thing. It is so apt to provoke an ungentlemanly +return. Men, you know, my dear, haven't the fine instincts that we +have. However, I'm sorry that Maurice didn't behave better than you +did. Good-night, dear." + +Mrs. Staggchase had hardly gone when Parker Stanford came up with a +favor. + +"I am tired, Mr. Stanford," Berenice said. "Thank you, but you had +better ask some one else." + +"I'd rather sit it out with you," he answered. + +"Nonsense; one doesn't sit out turns in the german." + +"They do if they wish." + +"Well, instead of sitting it out," she said, rising, "let us go and get +a cup of bouillon. I feel the need of something to hold me up." + +"Here is your favor," remarked Stanford, as they passed down the hall. + +It was an absurd Japanese monster, with eyes goggling out of its head. + +"How horrible!" cried Berenice. "It looks exactly like old Christopher +Plant when he is talking about his last invention in sauces. Don't you +know the way in which he sticks out his eyes, and says: 'It is the +greatest misfortune in nature that the nerves of taste do not extend +all the way down to the stomach!'" + +Stanford laughed gleefully. + +"Jove, I don't know but he's right. Think of tasting a cocktail all the +way down to the stomach!" + +"Or a quinine pill!" returned she with a grimace. "Thank you, no. +Things are bad enough as they are." + +At the door of the supper-room they encountered Dr. Wilson, with a bud +on his arm. + +"Well, Miss Morison," he exclaimed, with his usual jovial brusqueness, +"I thought that my wife was the cheekiest woman in Boston, but you ran +her hard to-night." + +"Oh, even if I surpassed her," Berenice retorted in sudden anger, yet +forcing herself to speak laughingly, "she is entirely safe to leave the +reputation of the family in the hands of her husband." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled with perfect good-nature. + +"Oh, we men are not in it with the women," laughed he. + +He passed on with his companion, and Berenice, with feminine +perversity, avenged herself upon the girl he was escorting. + +"How stout Miss Harding is," she commented. "It is such a pity for a +bud." + +"But she is pretty," Stanford returned. + +"Oh, yes, in a way. She has the face of an overripe cherub." + +He laughed and led her to a seat. + +"Take your picture of Mr. Plant," said he, "and I will get you the +bouillon." + +"No, I can't have anything so hideous. Give me one of yours instead. +I'll have that little fat monk." + +"All that I have is at your service," he responded with seriousness +sounding through the mock gravity, as he unpinned the little mask and +put it into her hand. + +"Thank you, but I don't ask your all. I hope that you didn't value this +especially." + +"Not that I remember. I haven't an idea who gave it to me." + +"You don't seem to value a gift on account of the giver." + +"That depends," returned he. "Now there are some givers whose favors I +cherish most carefully." + +He took from his breast-pocket a little Greek flag of silk, neatly +folded. Berenice flushed, recognizing a favor which she had given him +early in the evening. + +"Now this," he said, "I put away next to my heart, you observe." + +"The giver would be flattered," Berenice observed. "Was it Clare +Tophaven?" + +He looked at her, laughing; then seemed to reflect. + +"I don't know that it is right to tell you," he returned; "but if you +won't mention it, I'll confide to you that it must have been Miss +Tophaven. Sweet girl." + +"Very. Are congratulations in order?" Berenice inquired. + +She was pleased that the talk had taken this bantering tone, and +secretly determined to keep it away from dangerous seriousness. + +"Somewhat premature, I should say," Stanford replied. "You see she has +no suspicion of my devotion, and her engagement to Fred Springer is to +come out next week." + +The bit of gossip served Berenice well. She had heard it already, but +it was easy to feign surprise, and to chat lightly about the match, as +if she had not a thought beyond it in her mind. To her amazement and +disconcerting Stanford cut through the light talk to demand with sudden +gravity:-- + +"And when may our engagement be announced, Berenice?" + +She regarded him with startled eyes, but she held herself well in hand, +managing to use the same jesting tone in which she had been speaking. + +"Certainly not before it exists," was her answer. + +He leaned toward her eagerly. The room was almost deserted, and they +sat in the shelter of a great palm, so that she felt herself to be +alone with him. + +"Don't try to put me off," he pleaded. "I am in earnest." + +She rose quickly, setting her cup down in the tub of the palm. + +"Come," she said, "you forget that I am dancing the german with Mr. Van +Sandt. He will have no idea what has become of me." + +Stanford stood before her, barring her way. + +"Hang Van Sandt! You should be dancing with me, only I had to do the +polite to this everlasting English girl. I wish she was in Australia. I +wonder why in the world an English girl is never able to learn to +dance." + +"That I cannot answer. Perhaps their feet are too big; but you must go +back to her all the same, whether she can dance or not." + +"Not until you answer me. You know you are keeping me on hot coals, +Berenice. You know I love you." + +She flushed, drew back, grew pale. + +"I have answered you already," she replied, hurriedly but firmly. "Why +must you make me say it again? I don't love you, and that is reason +enough why you shouldn't care for me." + +"It isn't any reason at all. I should be fond of you anyway. Why, even +if you made a guy of me before everybody as you did to-night of that +clerical thing"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice interrupted, her color rising and her eyes shining. "I +will not have you speak of Mr. Wynne in that way. What I did was bad +enough." + +"Berenice," demanded Stanford, regarding her keenly, "do you mean to +marry _him_?" + +"You have no right to ask me whom I mean to marry! I am not going to +marry you, at least!" + +"A clergyman. A man in petticoats! Well, I must say"-- + +She drew herself up to her full height, looking at him with anger and +excitement in her heart so great that they seemed to choke her. + +"Do you see this?" she asked, holding up the little mask dangling from +her finger. "I fastened this to his cassock to-night. I insulted him in +the sight of everybody. Does that look as if"-- + +"Is that the same mask?" broke in Stanford. "You begged it of me +afterward!" + +She could not command her voice to reply. Shame, grief, indignation, +struggled in her heart; yet her strongest conscious feeling was a +determination that the tears in her eyes should not fall. She slipped +past him, and moved toward the ball-room. With a quick step he gained +her side. + +"I beg your pardon," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you. +You used to be nice to me, but lately"-- + +She mastered herself by a strong effort. She was fully aware that there +were too many curious eyes about her to make any demonstration safe. + +"Let me take your arm," she answered. "Folks are watching. We need not +make a spectacle of ourselves. I haven't meant to treat you badly. A +girl never knows how a man is going to take things, and I only meant to +be pleasant. As soon as you began to show that you were in earnest"-- + +She was so conscious that her words were not entirely frank that she +instinctively hesitated. + +"I have always been in earnest," interpolated he. + +"But you will get over it," murmured she, desperately. + +They had come to a group of palms, where they paused to let a bevy of +dancers pass. + +"Do you really mean," Stanford asked, in a hard voice, "that there is +really no hope for me?" + +"There is no hope that I shall ever feel differently about this." + +"Then I shall certainly get over it," returned he with a touch of anger +in his voice. "I don't propose to go through life wearing the willow +for anybody." + +She raised to his her eyes shining with shy but irresistible light. + +"Ah," she half whispered, "that is the difference. I know he wouldn't +get over it." + +"He!" + +The monosyllable brought to her an overwhelming sense of the confession +which her words had carried. She pressed the arm upon which her finger- +tips rested. + +"I have trusted you," she whispered hurriedly. "Be generous. Ah, Mr. +Van Sandt," she went on aloud, "I hope you didn't think I had deserted +you. Mr. Stanford found me incapable of dancing, and had to revive me +with bouillon." + + + + XXIX + + + WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + Hamlet, i. 2. + + +Strangely enough the thought which most strongly impressed Maurice +Wynne on the morning following the Mardi Gras ball was the simplicity +of life. He had heard in the early dawn the bell for rising; he had +started up, then upon his elbow realized that he had freed himself from +its tyranny. He had slidden back into his warm place, smiling to +himself, and fallen into a sleep as quiet as that of a child. About +eight he was roused by a brother sent to see if he was ill, his absence +from early mass having been noted. Maurice sent the messenger away with +the explanation that having been out to the midnight service he had +slept late; then, being left alone, he made his toilet with +deliberation. He seemed to himself a new man. There appeared to be no +longer any difficulty in life. He reflected that one had but to follow +common sense, to live sincerely up to what commended itself to his +reason, and existence became wonderfully simplified. He no longer +experienced any of the confusing doubts and perplexities which had of +late made him so thoroughly miserable. + +He hesitated to don again the dress of a deacon, but he reflected that +to do otherwise would be to expose himself to the curiosity and comment +of his fellows. With a smile and a sigh he put on for the last time the +cassock, recalling the contemptuous terms in which at the time of the +accident Mehitabel Durgin had referred to the garment. He wondered at +himself for ever finding it possible to appear before the eyes of men +in such a dress, and blushed to think how incongruous the clerical +livery must have looked in the ballroom. + +Breakfast was already half over when he appeared, and the reading of +Lamentations was accompanying the frugal meal. He sank into his seat in +silence, casting his eyes down upon his plate lest they should betray +the joy he felt. He knew that he could have no talk with Philip until +after nones, and he was not willing to leave the house without bidding +his friend good-by. While he went on with his breakfast he was busy +planning what he would do when he had left the routine of the Clergy +House behind him. He determined to go to Mrs. Staggchase for advice, +and to ask her to direct him to some quiet boarding-place where he +might reorganize his scheme of life. + +In the study hour which followed breakfast Wynne went boldly to the +room of Father Frontford, and knocked at the door. When he heard the +voice of the Father Superior bidding him enter he was for the first +time seized with an unpleasant doubt. The long habit of obedience half +asserted itself, so that for an instant he was almost minded to turn +back. With a smile of self-scorn he shook off the feeling, and opened +the door. + +The Father looked up in evident surprise at sight of the deacon who +came unsummoned at such an hour. He was alone, a fact which Maurice +noted with satisfaction. + + "Good morning, Wynne," he said. "Did you wish to see me?" + +"Yes, sir," Maurice answered, closing the door, and standing before it. +"I came to tell you that I have decided to leave the Clergy House." + +The abruptness of the communication evidently startled the Superior. +Wynne watched him as he laid down his pen, the lines about his thin +lips growing tense. + +"Sit down," he said gravely. + +Maurice obeyed unwillingly. He would have been glad to retreat at once, +his errand being done; but he knew this to be of course impossible. He +sat down facing the other, meeting with steadfast eyes the searching +look fastened upon him. + +"Since when," Father Frontford asked, "have you held this +determination?" + +"Since last night." + +"Is it founded upon any especial circumstance connected with your going +with Mrs. Wilson to midnight service?" + +Maurice looked down for a moment in thought, then he met the eyes of +the other frankly. + +"Father," he said, "I don't think that I could tell you all that has +led to this decision if I would; and I do not see that it would be wise +for us to go into the matter in any case. It seems to me that the fact +that I have decided, and decided absolutely, is enough." + +The face before him grew a shade sterner. + +"You seem to forget that you are speaking to your Superior." + +"Perhaps," the young man returned with calmness, "it is you who forget +that I have ended that relation." + +Father Frontford's face darkened. + +"I do not recognize that you have authority to end it." + +Maurice tried to repress the irritation which he could not but feel; +and forced himself to speak as civilly as before. + +"Will you pardon me," he said; "I do not wish that our last talk should +be bitter. I owe you much, and I shall never cease to respect the +unselfishness with which you have tried to help me. That I cannot +follow your path does not blind me to the fact that you have worked so +untiringly to make the way plain and attractive to me." + +He was not without a secret feeling that he was speaking with some +magnanimity, yet he was entirely sincere. He realized with thorough +respect, even at the moment of breaking away, how complete was the +devotion of the Father. There was in his mind, too, some satisfaction +at the tone he had unconsciously adopted. It flattered him to find that +he should be almost patronizing his Superior. + +Father Frontford regarded Maurice with a look in which were mingled +surprise, disapprobation, and regret. As the two sat holding each +other's eyes, the face of the older man changed and softened. Into it +came a smile of high and spiritual beauty, of nobility and +unworldliness, of tenderness most touching. All that was most winning +in the character of the man was embodied in the look which he fixed +upon his recreant disciple, a look pleading and wistful, yet full of +dignity and strength. He leaned forward, laying the tips of his thin +fingers almost caressingly on the arm of the other. + +"My son," he said, "it is not what I have done that you remember; it is +what I represent. The truth and sweetness of religion is what has +touched you. I am only the representative; and no one knows better how +unworthy I am to be so looked on. If the grace of divine love seems to +you good shining through me, think what it is in itself. Oh, my son," +he went on, the tears coming into his eyes, "I have loved you, and I +love you more now that I see you tempted and bewildered. Turn back to +the bosom of the church before it is too late." + +Maurice sat silent with look downcast. His firmness was not shaken; he +had no inclination to reconsider his decision, but he was deeply moved +by the emotion of the other. He could not bear to meet pleading so +affectionate with a cold negative. + +"It is for yourself that I appeal to you," the priest went on. "It is +for the good of your own soul, and for your happiness in this world and +the world to come. Think of your mission. Think how men need you; of +the sin and the error that cry out to Heaven, and of how few there are +to do the Lord's work. You have been confused by the temptations of the +world, and in all of us there is a selfish spirit that may lead us to +do in a moment of madness what we shall repent with tears of blood all +our lives." + +Still Maurice could not answer; and the Father, bending still nearer, +taking one of the young man's hands in both his own, still pleaded. + +"You have said that you felt my interest in you. Do not give me the +bitterness of feeling that I am a careless shepherd who has lost a lamb +to the wolves. If you have gone astray it must be in part my fault; it +must be my negligence. Oh, my son, don't force me to stand guilty +before God to answer for your lost soul." + +It seemed to Maurice that he was being swept away by the simple power +of the emotion of Frontford. He felt the tears in his eyes, and almost +without his volition his hand responded to the pressure of the hand +that clasped it. He made a strong effort to call back his will. + +"Father," he responded, "we must each stand or fall alone. It is not +your fault that I can't see things as you do, or that I can't any +longer remain here. I am changed. If I stayed, it would be against my +convictions." + +"Ah," was the eager reply, "but you could submit your convictions to +the church." + +Maurice drew back. + +"I am a man, to think for myself. I must be honest with my reason. The +church cannot take for me the place of honesty and conviction." + +The Father Superior dropped the hand he held. + +"Then you insist on putting your own will and your own wisdom above +that of the church?" + +"I must do the thing that seems to me right." + +The priest's face hardened. It was as if over the surface of a pool a +film of ice formed. He sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again +it was in a voice so hard and cold that the young man started. + +"When do you leave?" the Father Superior asked. + +"I meant to wait until after nones so as to say good-by to Philip." + +"I prefer that you should go at once." + +"You mean that you prefer that I should not see him?" Maurice demanded +quickly. + +"I merely said that I prefer that you should go at once," was the cold +reply. + +Maurice rose briskly. His impulse was to retort sharply, but he held +himself in check. + +"Very well," he answered. "I shall take it as a favor if you will let +Philip know that I did not willingly leave him without a word. It would +hurt him to think that." + +"The wounds of earth," the Father Superior said gravely, "are the joys +of heaven." + +Maurice stood an instant with a keen desire to reply, to break down +this icy statue of religion; then he drew back. + +"I will not trouble you longer," he said. "Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Wynne," the other responded with the manner of one +addressing a stranger. + +Maurice went to his chamber thoroughly aroused and excited. The +restraint which he had put on himself during the talk with Father +Frontford brought now its reaction. He rehearsed in his mind the +telling and caustic things which he might have said, then laughed at +himself for his unnecessary fervor. He packed his belongings, and, +leaving them to be called for, set out for the house of his cousin. To +go out from the Clergy House seemed to him like the ending of a life. + +Mrs. Staggchase was fortunately at home. It seemed to Maurice that her +keen eyes took in the whole story from his secular dress. He blushed as +she gave him her hand. + +"Well, my dear boy," she observed, "you have come to luncheon, I +suppose, because the fare at the Clergy House is so poor in Lent. Sit +down, and give me an account of your doings last night. I trust that +you saw Mrs. Wilson safe home." + +"I left her in the church." + +"Ah! And what did you do then?" + +"I went home and fought it out with myself. You were right in saying +that things were not concluded when I became a deacon. I have given up +the whole thing." + +"What do you mean by the whole thing?" + +"I mean," he returned earnestly, "that I found out that I was acting a +part. That I didn't believe even the first principles of the religion I +was getting ready to teach. I have broken down in the temptation, +Cousin Diana." + +She looked at him closely. The buoyancy of his morning mood was gone, +and it was hard for him to endure her searching look. It came over him +that he was an apostate; one who had abandoned all that he had vowed to +uphold; his vanity smarted at the thought that she must think him weak +and unstable as water. + +"I am only what I was," he went on. "The difference is that I have +discovered what you probably saw all the time, that I don't believe the +things I have been taught. I am as free from the old creeds as you are. +I don't even pretend to know that there is a God." + +"My dear boy," she responded, shrugging her shoulders, "you run into +extremes like a schoolgirl. I beg you won't talk as if I could be so +vulgar as not to believe in a deity. Don't rank me with the crowd of +common folk that try to increase their own importance by insisting that +there's nothing above them. Really, an atheist seems to me as bad as a +man who eats with his knife." + +He changed countenance, but her words left him speechless. He could not +hear her speak in this way without being shocked. He might be without +creed, but his temper was still devout. + +"If you've thrown overboard all your old dogmas," she went on with +unruffled face, "you'd better go to work to get a new set. I've just +heard of some sort of a society got up by women out in Cambridge, where +they deduce the ethnic sources of prophetic inspiration--whatever that +means!--from the 'Arabian Nights' and 'Mother Goose.' You might find +something there to suit you." + +He could not answer her; he could only wonder whether she disapproved +of what he had done, or if she were vexed with him for coming to her. + +"It's possible," she went on mercilessly, a fresh note of mockery in +her voice, "that Berenice might help you. Very often a woman wins +converts where a priest fails. After last night"-- + +He came to his feet with a spring. + +"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I can't stand any more. Do you think that it's +been easy for me to find out the truth about myself; to have to own +that I've been a cheating fool, without honesty enough to know my own +mind? As for Miss Morison"-- + +His voice failed him. He was unnerved; the reaction from his long +vigil, from his interview with Father Frontford, overcame him. The +simple mention of the name of Berenice made him choke, and he stood +there speechless. His cousin rose and came to him softly. Before he +knew what she was doing, she bent forward and kissed his forehead. + +"You poor boy," she said in a voice half laughing, yet so gentle that +he hardly recognized it, "don't take my teasing so much to heart. You +are only finding out like the rest of us that it is impossible not to +be human." + +He could answer only by grasping her hand, ashamed of the weakness +which had betrayed him, and touched deeply by her kindness. + +"Come," Mrs. Staggchase said, moving to the bell, and speaking in her +natural tone. "I have helped you to break your life into bits; I must +try to help you to put the pieces together into something better. You +must stay here for a while, and we'll consider what is to be done next. +Will you tell Patrick how to get your things from the Clergy House? +Take your old room. I'll see you at luncheon." + +And as the servant appeared at one door she withdrew by another. + + + + XXX + + + PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + Othello, ii. 1. + + +Berenice had abundant leisure to reflect upon her attitude toward her +lovers, for Mrs. Frostwinch was soon so seriously ill that it was +evident to all that the end was at hand. Berenice devoted herself to +the invalid, although there was little that she could do. The sick +woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to +have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened +grasp. + +"The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say +I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully +convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end." + +"Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee. "It is too +dreadful." + +"It won't make it any less dreadful to be solemn over it," the other +answered. "However, death should be spoken of with respect; even one's +own." + +Berenice longed to know what had taken place between her cousin and +Mrs. Crapps, but she hardly liked to ask. That there had been a +disagreement of some kind, and that Mrs. Frostwinch had lost faith in +the woman, she knew; but beyond this she was in the dark. One +afternoon, however, her cousin explained matters. + +"It is so humiliating, Bee, that I can hardly bear to think of it, the +way things turned out. My conscience will be easier, though, if I tell +you the whole of it. It is so vulgar that it makes me creep. We were at +Jekyll's Island, and she had an ulcerated tooth." + +"I thought she couldn't have such things?" + +"She thought or pretended that she couldn't. I must say that she fought +against it with tremendous pluck; but the face kept swelling, and the +pain got to be more than she could bear. When she gave out she went to +pieces completely. She literally rolled on the floor and howled. I +couldn't go on believing in her after that. She'd actually made herself +ridiculous." + +"But," began Berenice, "I should think"-- + +"If it had been something dangerous, so that I had had to think of her +life," went on her cousin, not heeding, "I could have borne it; but +that common thing! Why, her face looked like a drunken cook's! I can't +tell you the humiliation of it!" + +"But if she could help you, why not herself?" + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled wanly. + +"I've tried to think that out," answered she. "It was always said of +the old witches, you know, that they couldn't help themselves. It is +faith in somebody else that is behind the wonders they do. I've grown +very wise in the last few weeks, Bee. I don't pretend that I understand +all the facts, but I do know pretty well what the facts are. I believed +in Mrs. Crapps, and that belief kept me up. When I couldn't believe in +her, that was the end of it." + +There seemed to Berenice something uncanny and monstrous in this calm +acquiescence. She could not comprehend how her cousin could give up the +struggle for life in this fashion, after having succeeded so long in +holding death at bay. + +"But surely," she protested, "you can't be willing to let everything +depend upon her. You've proved the possibility"-- + +"I've proved the possibility of depending upon somebody else; that's +all." + +"Then find another woman that you can believe in." + +"It is too late. I can't have the faith over again. I should always be +expecting another humiliating downfall of my prophetess." + +She was silent a moment, and then continued:-- + +"Do you know, Bee, it seems to me after all that my experience is like +almost all religion. There are a few men and women who believe in +themselves in that self-poised way that makes it possible for them to +get on with just ethics; and there are those who can take hold of +unseen things; but for the rest of us it's necessary to have some human +being to lean on. I hope I don't shock you. I lie awake in the night a +good deal, and my mind seems clearer than it used to be. All the +religions seem to have a real, tangible human centre, a personality +that human beings can appreciate and believe in. Mrs. Crapps was so +real and so near at hand that I could have faith in her; now that that +is gone there isn't anything left for me. I can't believe in her, and +she has destroyed the Possibility of my believing in anybody else." + +Berenice put out her hand in the growing dusk, caressing the thin +fingers of the sick woman. + +"But--but," she hesitated, "she hasn't destroyed your faith in--in +everything, has she?" + +"No, dear; she hasn't touched my belief in God; but it makes me +ashamed to see how different a thing it is to believe in what we see +and touch, from having a genuine faith in what we do not see. I have a +faith in my soul still; the other was only a faith of the body. Perhaps +it had only to do with the body, and it is not so bad to have lost it." + +"Oh, Cousin Anna," Berenice murmured, tears choking her voice, "I can't +bear to see you getting farther and farther off every day, and to feel +so helpless." + +"There, there, Bee," responded the other with tender cheerfulness, "you +are not to agitate yourself or to excite me. I've lived half a year +more now than the doctors allowed me, and I've enjoyed it too. Besides, +think of the blessedness of not having any pain. Do you know, the night +after Mrs. Crapps had that scene in the hotel, I was in a panic of +terror lest my old agony should come back; but it didn't. Then I said +to myself: 'Of course I couldn't suffer; I'm really dead!' You can't +think what a comfort it was." + +"Oh, don't, don't!" cried Bee. "I can't bear to have you talk like +that." + +"Well, then, we won't. There's something else I want to speak to you +about while I am strong enough. Do you realize that when I am gone +you'll be a rich woman?" + +"I haven't thought about it. I've hated to think." + +"Yes, dear, I understand; but when you are older you'll come to realize +that half of the duty of life is to think of things which one would +rather forget." + +"But it could do no good to think of this." + +"Perhaps not; but I want to ask you something. I know you'll forgive +me. It's about Parker Stanford." + +"You may ask me anything you like, of course, Cousin Anna. As for +Parker Stanford, he's nothing more than the rest of the men I know, +only he's been more polite. We are very good friends." + +"No more?" + +"No more; and we never shall be." + +"But he surely wished to be?" The day had darkened until the room was +lighted only by the flames of the soft coal fire which sputtered in the +grate. The cousins could hardly see each other's faces; but in the dim +light Berenice turned frankly toward Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"That is all over now," responded she. "Of course to anybody else I +shouldn't own that there ever was anything; but whatever there may have +been is ended. He understands that perfectly." + +For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the +firelight glancing on her face and hair. + +"How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without +pause she added: "Is there anybody else?" + +Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, +dropping the hand she held. + +"Who should there be?" she returned. + +Her cousin laughed softly. + +"You are as transparent as glass," she said. "Come, who is it?" + +Berenice hesitated an instant, then threw herself forward, bending over +the hand of her companion until her face was hidden. + +"There isn't really anybody; and besides I've insulted him so that he +never could help hating me. No, there isn't anybody, Cousin Anna; and +there never will be. I know I should despise him if he wasn't angry; +and besides," she added with the air of suddenly recollecting herself, +"I hate him for what he said." + +"That is evident," the other assented smilingly. "I could see at once +that you hated him. But who is it?" + +"Why, there isn't anybody, I tell you. Of course I thought about him +after he saved my life, but"-- + +"Oh," interrupted Mrs. Frostwinch. "Then it is Mr. Wynne. But I +thought"-- + +"He isn't a priest any more," Berenice struck in, replying to the +unspoken doubt as if it had been in her own mind. "I heard yesterday +that he has left the Clergy House for good, and is staying with Mrs. +Staggchase." + +"Have you seen him lately?" + +"He overtook me on the street yesterday." + +Mrs. Frostwinch put out her hand with a loving gesture. + +"Bee," said she tenderly, "I want you to be happy. You've been like a +daughter to me ever since your mother died, and I've thought of you +almost as if you were my own child. If this is the man to make you +happy"-- + +But Bee stooped forward and stopped the words with kisses. + +"I can't talk of him," she said, "and he will never be anything to me. +He is angry, and he has a right to be. He"-- + +The entrance of the nurse interrupted them, and Berenice made haste to +get away before there was opportunity for further question. In her +anxiety to know something more of Mr. Wynne, Mrs. Frostwinch sent for +Mrs. Staggchase, who came in the next day. + +Mrs. Staggchase found her friend weak and frightfully changed. The +high-bred face was haggard, the nostrils thin, while beneath the eyes +were heavy purple shadows. A ghost of the old smile lighted her face, +making it more ghastly yet, like the gleaming of a candle through a +death-mask. The hand extended to the visitor was so transparent that it +might almost have belonged to a spirit. + +"My dear Anna," Mrs. Staggchase exclaimed, "I hadn't an idea"-- + +"That I was so near dying, my dear," interrupted the other. "I am worse +than that, I am dead, really; but it doesn't matter. I want to talk to +you about Bee." + +"About Bee?" echoed the other, seating herself beside the bed. "What +about her?" + +"I should have said that I want to ask you about Mr. Wynne. Do you know +anything about his relations to her?" + +"The only relation that he has is that of a perfectly desperate adorer. +He worships the ground she walks on, but he doesn't cherish anything +that could be decently called hope." + +"Then he does care for her?" + +"My dear Anna, it almost makes me weep for my lost youth to see him. He +has so wrought upon my glands of sentiment that this morning I actually +examined my husband's wardrobe to see if the maid darns his stockings +properly. Fred would be perfectly amazed if he knew how sentimental I +feel. I even thought of sitting up last night to welcome him home from +the club, but about half past one I came to the end of my novel and +felt sleepy, so I gave that up." + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled with the air of one who understands that the +visitor is endeavoring to furnish a diversion from the dull sadness of +the sick chamber. + +"But Bee said he was angry with her." + +"The anger of lovers, my dear, is legitimate fuel for the flame. That's +nothing. She's been amusing herself with him, and if she thinks he +resents it, so much the better for him." + +"But is he"-- + +She hesitated as if not knowing how best to frame her question. + +"He is a handsome creature, as you know if you remember him," the +visitor said, taking up the word. "He is well born, he is well bred, if +a little countrified. He's been shut up with monks and other mouldy +things, and needs a little knocking about in the world; but I am very +fond of him." + +"Then you think"-- + +"I think that whoever gets Bee will get a treasure; but I am not sure +that she is any too good for my cousin. He hasn't much money, unless he +gets a little fortune that ought to have been his, and which he has +some hope of. I mean to give him something myself one of these days, if +he behaves himself; but of course he hasn't any idea of that." + +"Bee will have all the Canton money, and can do as she likes." + +Mrs. Staggchase looked down at the carpet as if studying the pattern. + +"Perhaps," she returned. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"If I know Maurice Wynne, the fact that she has money will make him +very slow to speak. Besides, he has a silly crotchet in his head now. +He thinks that if he tried to marry her it would look as if he had +given up his religion for her." + +"Did he?" + +"Bless you, no. He was simply led into the Clergy House by being fond +of a friend; one of those men that young men and old women fall in love +with. Maurice never belonged there at all. I saw that the first day he +came to stay with me at the beginning of the winter. I was abroad while +he was in college, so I never knew him except most casually before." + +"But if he really cares for her he'll get over those obstacles." + +"If she cares for him, he must be made to." + +"I am convinced that she does," Mrs. Frostwinch said. "I am so glad you +speak well of him. I do so want Bee to be happy." + +There was a long silence in the chamber. The two friends sat wrapped in +thought. They had seen so much of life, they had had so many blessings +of fortune, culture, position, wealth, that there was a grim irony in +their sitting here helpless in the face of coming death. To their +reverie, moreover, the mention of love could not but give color. No +woman has ever come to speak of love entirely unmoved, though her heart +may have been deadened or crushed beyond the power of thrilling or +quickening at any other thought. These two, who had led lives so happy, +so protected, so rich, sat there silent before the possibilities which +lay in the love of a girl; until at last both sighed, whether with +regret or tenderness perhaps they could not themselves have told. +Perhaps both remembered their youthful days; remembered how one had +lost her first love by death and the other parted from hers in anger, +making a marriage which seemed more a matter of affronting the man +discarded than of affection for the man she chose. They knew each +other's history so completely that there could be no disguise between +them. Their eyes met, and for an instant there was a suspicion of +wistfulness in the glance. Then Mrs. Frostwinch shook her head, and +smiled sadly. + +"At least," she said, "I shall be spared the pain of growing old." + +"After all," the other responded, "the bitterness of growing old is to +feel that one has never completely been young." + +The sick woman regarded her with burning eyes. + +"But we have been young, Di," she said eagerly. "Surely we had all that +there was." + +"Anna," Mrs. Staggchase murmured, leaning toward her, "we know each +other too well not to say things that most women are afraid to say. We +both married well, and we have cared for our husbands and been happy. +But we both know that there was deep down a memory"-- + +"No, no, Di," her friend interrupted excitedly, "you shall not make me +think of that! I have forgotten all that; and I am dying comfortably. +You shall not make me think of him! Only, dear Di, I want you to help +Bee to marry the man she loves with her whole heart; that she loves as +we might have loved if"-- + +Mrs. Staggchase kissed her solemnly. + +"I promise, Anna." + +Then she rose, her whole manner changing. + +"Do you know, my dear," she observed, in a tone gayly satirical, "that +I believe that Elsie Wilson is going to be beaten in her bishop +steeplechase?" + +"Do you mean that Father Frontford won't be elected?" + +"I mean just that. However, things are still uncertain. It will be +amusing to see what Elsie will do if she is defeated. She is capable of +setting up a church of her own." + +"There are two or three men with whom I have some influence that will +go over to Mr. Strathmore if I am not here to look after them. I must +write to them to-morrow and get them to promise to hold by our side." + +But that night Mrs. Frostwinch died quietly in her sleep, and the +letters were not written. + + + + XXXI + + + HOW CHANCES MOCK + 2 Henry IV., iii. 1. + + +Maurice had seen Berenice only once since his encounter at the ball. He +had hoped and dreaded to meet her, but for more than a week after his +leaving the Clergy House he had failed. One morning he saw her walking +before him on Beacon Street; and while he instantly said to himself +that he trusted that she would not discover him, he hurried forward to +overtake her. His feet carried him forward even while he told himself +that he did not wish to go. He was beside her in a moment, and as he +spoke she raised those rich, dark eyes with a glance which made him +thrill. + +"Good-morning," he said with his heart beating as absurdly as if the +encounter were of the highest consequence. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wynne," she responded, with a manner entirely +abstract. + +She had started and blushed, he was sure, on perceiving him; but if so +she had instantly recovered her self-possession. He was disconcerted by +the coldness of her manner, and began to wish in complete earnest that +he had not overtaken her. + +"I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, his voice hardening, "but"-- + +"The public street is free to anybody, I suppose," she returned, with +an air of studied politeness. "I don't claim any exclusive right to +it." + +"I didn't apologize for being on the street, but for speaking to you." + +"Oh, that," answered Berenice carelessly, although he thought that he +detected a spark of mischief in her eye, "is a thing of so little +consequence that it isn't worth mentioning." + +"I venture to speak to you," he said, ignoring the thrust, "because I +have wanted to beg your pardon for my rudeness when I saw you last." + +She turned upon him quickly, her cheeks aflame. + +"Your rudeness?" she exclaimed. "Your brutality, I think you mean!" + +It was his turn to grow red. + +"My brutality, if you choose. I beg your pardon for whatever offended." + +"It was unpardonable! It was a thing no woman could ever forgive!" + +Maurice turned pale. He stopped where he stood. + +"In that case," he said, bowing with formality, "I have no business to +be speaking to you now." + +He turned and was gone before she could add a word. + +This interview probably made neither of the young persons happy; and +Maurice it left entirely miserable. He was not without a proper pride, +however, and in his present frame of mind was ready to call it to his +aid. He bore a brave outward front. He resolved not to think of his +love; yet he was not without the hardly confessed hope that if he could +find the lost will he might be taking a step in the direction of the +realization of his desires. He tried to forget Berenice in the very +means he was taking to bring himself nearer to her. + +He set out for Montfield one bright February day, amused at himself +for the difference in his attitude toward the world from the mere fact +that he had discarded the ecclesiastical garb. It gave him a fresh and +delightful sensation to be traveling on business in clothing like that +of other men. He had no longer any wish to be separated by his dress, +and thought with contemptuous amusement of the lurking self- +consciousness which had always attached itself in his mind to the fact +that he was in a costume apart. He realized now that he had from this +derived a certain satisfaction, half simple vanity and half the +gratification of his histrionic instinct. He felt as if he had been +like a child pleased to attract attention by a feather stuck in his +cap, or a toy sword girt at his side. Now that the whole experience was +past he could smile at it, but he had small patience with those who +still retained the clerical garb. Men have usually little tolerance for +the fault which they have but newly outgrown; and Maurice thought with +a sort of amazement of his late fellows at the Clergy House, and of +their manifest satisfaction in the dress they wore. It was almost with +a sensation of self-righteousness that he enjoyed the habiliments of +ordinary civilized man. + +As the train sped on, and the scenery became more familiar as he +approached nearer to Montfield, Maurice naturally fell to thinking, in +an irregular, detached fashion, of his youth. Both Wynne's parents had +died in his childhood, and there had been little to keep firm the bonds +of family. Alice Singleton he had known, however, both as a girl and as +the wife of his half brother, but he had known only to dislike and +avoid her. He began now to wonder how she would receive him, and +whether she would allude to the scene at Mrs. Rangely's when he had +broken up her spiritualistic deception. + +The train of thought into which reminiscence had plunged him carried +him over his whole life. He realized for the first time that his +religious experiences had been little more than a reflection of those +of Philip. It was Ashe who had interested him in spiritual things, who +had led him into the church, who had practically determined for him +that he should become a priest. For the first time, and with profound +amazement, Maurice realized how completely his theological life had +been the growth of the mind of Ashe rather than of his own. The thought +brought with it a sense of weakness and self-contempt. + +"Haven't I any strength of character?" he asked himself. "In everything +practical Phil has always relied on me. It was always Phil I cared for, +not the church." + +Imperfectly as he was able to phrase it, Maurice was not in the end +without some reasonably clear conception of the fact that in his life +Philip had represented the feminine element. It was by love for his +friend that he had been led on. Now that his reason was fully awake +this emotional yielding to the thought of another was no longer +possible; now that his heart was filled with a passion for Berenice his +nature no longer responded to the appeal of the feminine in Ashe. + +Maurice was half aware that his was a character sure to be influenced +greatly by affection; but he felt that it would never again be possible +for him so to give up to another the guidance of his life as he now saw +that he had yielded it to his friend. He had learned his weakness, and +the lesson had been enforced too sharply ever to be forgotten. + +He was coming now into the region of his old home. The forests were +beginning faintly to show the approach of spring; the treetops were +dimly warming in color, the branches thickening against the sky. Here +and there Maurice looked down on a brook black with the late rains and +with the floods from the snow-drifts still melting on the distant +hills. Now he caught a far flash of the river where he had skated in +winters almost forgotten, so fast does time move, where he had fished +and bathed in summers so long gone that they seemed to belong to the +life of some other. Yet once more and a distant hill, duskily blue +against the bluer heavens, wakened for him some memory of his boyhood, +seeming to challenge him to renew the old joys and to revel in the by- +gone fervors. + +All these things softened the mood in which Maurice came back to the +old town, and as he walked up the village street, so well remembered +yet so strange, he had a sense of unreality. The very homely +familiarity of it all made it appear the more like a dream. He felt his +heart-beats quicken as he approached the Ashe place, wondering if he +should see Mrs. Ashe. He had always, with all his affection, felt for +Philip's mother a sort of awe, as if she were more than a simple human +creature. He found it difficult to understand that Mrs. Singleton +should be staying with her, so incongruous was the association in his +mind of two such women. With Mrs. Ashe, Alice must at least be at her +best. + +He walked up to the house, passing under the leafless lilac bushes with +a keen remembrance of how they were laden with odors in June. He +wondered if the tansy still grew under the sitting-room window, and if +the lilies-of-the-valley flourished on the north side of the house as +of old. Then he knocked with the quaint old black knocker, and with the +sound came back the present and the thought that he had before him an +interview which might be neither pleasant nor easy. + +Mrs. Singleton herself opened the door. + +"I saw you coming," she greeted him, "and there is nobody at home but +me." + +Maurice tried not to look disappointed. + +"Then Mrs. Ashe is not at home?" + +"No; she is out, and the girl is out. Will you come in? You probably +didn't come to see me." + +"But I did come to see you." + +She led the way into the long, low sitting-room, with its many doors +and its wide fireplace, so familiar that he might have left it +yesterday. + +"I can't imagine what you want of me," Mrs. Singleton said, waving her +hand toward a chair. "The last time I saw you you didn't seem very fond +of me." + +She seated herself by the side of the fire in a great old-fashioned +chair covered with chintz and spreading out wings on either side of her +head. + +"You are still angry, Alice, I see," he rejoined. "Well, I can't help +that. I did what was right. How in the world could you make up your +mind to fool those people so?" + +"They wanted to be fooled; why not oblige them?" + +He regarded her with astonishment. He had expected her to deny that her +deception was deliberate, to claim that the manifestations were real. +Her frank and cynical speech disconcerted him. He had no reply. She +broke into a sneering laugh. + +"There," she said, "you didn't come here to talk about that seance. +What did you come for?" + +"I came to ask you if you still have Aunt Hannah's desk." + +She regarded him keenly. + +"The little traveling desk?" + +"Yes." + +"What if I have?" + +"But have you?" + +"Oh, I don't mind telling you that. I don't see that it can do you any +good to know that I have it. I always carry it round with me. It's so +convenient." + +"Will you sell it to me?" + +"Certainly not. If you didn't want it, I might give it to you; but if +you do you can't have it." + +Maurice began to feel his anger rising. He felt helpless before this +woman, with her innocent, baby face, this woman with the guileless look +of a child and a child's freedom from moral scruples, who faced him +with a smile of pleased malice. It might be unwise to tell his real +errand, but she surely could not do any harm greater than to be +disagreeable. There must be some method, he reflected, of getting at +the thing legally; but what it was he was entirely ignorant; and now +that he had shown a desire for the desk he was confident that Mrs. +Singleton would persist until she had discovered the truth. He could +think of nothing to do but to make a clean breast of the whole matter. +He nerved himself to the task, and told her of the finding of Norah and +of what followed. + +"Have you ever discovered that the desk had a false bottom?" he asked +in conclusion. + +"No, brother Maurice. The spirits hadn't revealed it to me. But then I +never asked them about that." + +There was an air of triumphant glee in her manner, an open and mocking +sneer, which dismayed him. He was sure that he had erred in telling her +his secret; yet he reflected that he could hardly have done otherwise, +and that she surely would not dare to refuse to give up a legal +document so important. + +"Will you let me examine the desk?" + +"I am so happy to oblige you," she returned. "Though whether your story +is true or not must depend, you know, upon the unsupported testimony of +the medium--I mean of the speaker." + +Maurice rose and went toward her, facing her squarely. + +"I understand, Alice," he said, "that you don't love me, and I haven't +come to ask favors. This is a matter of simple honesty. I certainly +don't think you would willfully keep me out of my property." + +"Thank you for drawing the line somewhere. It was so noble of you to +interfere at Mrs. Rangely's! You didn't in the least mind robbing me of +my good name, and them of the comfort of believing it was real. +Besides, I did see things! I swear to you that I did! I am a medium in +spite of whatever you say. I can call up spirits!" + +Her voice rose as she went on, and he feared lest she should work +herself into one of her furies of excitement and temper which he had +seen of old. + +"Why should we go back to that?" he said, as gently as he could. "That +is past, and I only did what I thought was my duty." + +"Oh, you did your duty, did you?" she sneered. + +"Well, I'll do mine now. Stay here, while I go and empty that old desk. +I'll match you in doing my duty!" + +She hurried tumultuously from the room, leaving Maurice in anything but +an enviable frame of mind. He began to walk up and down, assailed by +old memories at every turn, yet so disturbed by Mrs. Singleton's words +and manner that he could not heed the recollections. The minutes +passed, and Alice did not return. It seemed to him that she took a long +time to remove her papers from the desk. Then he smiled to himself in +bitter amusement and impatience. Of course his sister-in-law was trying +to discover the secret of the double bottom. She would probably +persevere until she had gained the precious document of which he had +come in search. She would read it, and then--He broke off in his +reverie with an exclamation of impatience. What a fool he had been to +attempt to deal with this woman alone! He had, it was true, expected to +find Mrs. Ashe, but he should have sent a lawyer. What did he, a puppet +from the Clergy House, know of managing the affairs of life? He felt +that he had failed in his match with Mrs. Singleton; and he had almost +made up his mind to go in search of her, when he heard her returning. + +She came in with her face flushed, her eyes shining, and an air of +triumph which struck dismay to the heart of Maurice. + +"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long," she said, "but I had to +light a fire in the parlor, I was so cold. However, I have something to +show you that will interest you." + +"Is it the will?" he asked eagerly. + +She answered with a laugh, but led the way across the narrow front +entry into the parlor. The pleasant noise of a crackling fire sounded +within, and as he entered the room he saw that the fireplace was filled +with a ruddy blaze. Then he rushed forward with a cry. There on the top +of the blazing logs were the unmistakable remains of the desk, eaten +through and through by tongues of red flame. He seized the tongs, and +dragged the burning mass to the hearth, but even as he did so he saw +that he was too late. + +"It is kind of you to want to save my old desk, Maurice," jeered his +companion; "but I had the misfortune to put the poker through the +bottom of it before I called you, so that I'm afraid it really isn't +worth saving." + +He saw that the wood had indeed been punched through and through, and +that it was reduced almost to a cinder. It was easy to see that the +bottom had been double, and burned flakes of paper were visible among +the remains; whether of the will or not it was obviously impossible now +to discover. He looked at the burned bits of board falling into ashes +and cinders at his feet, realizing that here was an end to all his +dreams of regaining his aunt's fortune; that with this dream ended, +too, his visions of being in a position to offer Berenice--His wrath +blazed up in an uncontrollable force. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried, facing the woman who smiled beside him. +"You are a thief, a shameless, deliberate thief!" + +She stood the image of mirthful, innocent girlhood, her smooth forehead +unclouded, her eyes gleaming as if with the merriment of a child. + +"It is a pretty fire, isn't it, Maurice?" + +Then her whole expression changed. Into her dark, dewy eyes came a look +of rage, visible murder in a glance. + +"You called me a liar, there in Boston," she said hissingly. "I am not +surprised to have you add thief now. I have only done what I chose with +my own property; but I would have been cut into little bits before you +should have had that will through me!" + +He could not trust himself to reply. He felt that if he spoke he might +break out into curses, and he was conscious of an unmanly longing to +strike her, to mar that beautiful, false face, childlike and pure in +every line,--for the expression of rage had melted as quickly as it had +come,--to feel the joy of seeing her limbs slacken and her red lips +grow white. He clinched his hands and turned resolutely away. + +"I'm sure I don't know that there was anything there that you had any +interest in," she pursued lightly. "I tried as long as I dared to get +the bottom open, and I couldn't, so I decided that it wasn't any of my +business. Only when I put the poker through there seemed to be papers +there." + +Maurice could endure no more. He started toward her so fiercely that +she recoiled, a sudden pallor blanching her rosy loveliness. Then he +turned abruptly away again, and got out of the house. + + + + XXXII + + + NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + Romeo and Juliet, ii. 4. + + +Interest in the question who would be bishop increased as Lent waned +and the time for the meeting of the convention approached. The general +public could not be expected to be greatly concerned about a matter so +purely ecclesiastical, but the wide popularity of Mr. Strathmore gave +to the election a character of its own. The question was generally held +to be that of the prevalence of liberal views. Many who cared nothing +about the church were interested in seeing whether new or old ideas +would prevail. The age is one in which there is a keen curiosity to see +what course the church will take. It is partly due, undoubtedly, to the +inherited habit of being concerned in theology; it is perhaps more +largely the result of unconscious desire for a liberalism so great that +it shall justify those who have been so liberal as to lay aside all +religion whatever. + +The papers had entered into the discussion with an alacrity quickened +by the fact that at this especial season there was not much else in the +way of news. Rangely wrote for the "Daily Eagle" a glowing editorial in +which he urged the choice of Strathmore on the ground that the new +bishop should be not the representative of a faction, but of the whole +church, and as far as possible of the people. It insisted that only a +man liberal himself could have breadth to understand and sympathize +with all shades of feeling. Others of the secular press had taken up +the discussion, and Mrs. Wilson declared that the devil was +contributing editorials to the papers in his keen fear that Father +Frontford would be elected. + +Lent wore at last to an end, and the festivities which follow Easter +came in with all their usual gayety. One evening, about a week before +the election, a musicale was given at the house of Mrs. Gore. Mr. and +Mrs. Strathmore were present, the tall figure of the former being +conspicuous in the crowd which after the music surged toward the +supper-room and later eddied through the parlors. Fred Rangely came +upon the clergyman at a moment when he had detached himself from the +admiring women who usually surrounded him, and taken refuge in the +shadow of a deep window. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Strathmore," Rangely said. "Are you making a +retreat? I thought Lent was the time for that." + +The other smiled with that kindly benevolence which was characteristic. + +"Ah, Mr. Rangely," he responded, extending his hand. "I am glad to see +you. Will you share my retirement?" + +"Thank you," Rangely answered, stepping into the recess. "A retreat is +especially grateful to a journalist. We get so tired that even a moment +of respite is welcome." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled more genially than ever. + +"Yes; you journalists are expected to know everything, and it must be +wearing to have to learn all that there is to know." + +"Oh, it's easy enough to learn instead how to appear to know." + +The clergyman regarded him with a quizzical look. + +"Is that the way it is done? I've often wondered at the infallibility +of your guild." + +"A trick, of the trade, I assure you. We have to seem to be infallible +to secure any attention at all, you see; and we soon learn the knack of +it." + +The clergyman, as if unconsciously, drew back a little farther into the +shadow of the heavy draperies veiling the nook in which they stood. + +"I dare say," he observed, as if speaking at random, "that one of your +clever professional writers would be able, for instance, to give the +reader quite an inside view even in church matters." + +Rangely's face changed, and he in turn altered his position by leaning +his elbow against the heavy middle sash of the window. The two men were +thus not only concealed from the passing crowd, but stood with faces +screened from each other by the shadow. + +"Oh, even that might be possible," Rangely returned lightly. + +"There is so much interest in church matters now," the other continued +dispassionately. "I noticed that the 'Churchman' had rather a striking +article two or three weeks ago on a layman's point of view of the +bishop question. Did you see it?" + +"I seldom see the 'Churchman,'" Rangely replied in a voice not wholly +free from constraint. + +"It is a pity you didn't see this, it was so well done. It is true that +it proved me to be all sorts of a heretic; but if I am, of course it +should be known." + +There was a pause of a moment. Outside in the drawing-room rose the +constant babble of speech, unintelligible and confusing. Then above it +Rangely laughed softly. + +"The wisdom of the journalist," he remarked, "is as nothing compared to +that of the clergy. How did you discover that I wrote it?" + +"Discover? Isn't that a word applied to finding things by seeking?" + +"What of that?" + +"I was merely thinking that you give me credit for more leisure and +more curiosity than I possess if you suppose me to have tried to find +out about that article." + +Rangely laughed again. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said with a new resolution in his tone, "will you +pardon me if I am frank? I want to ask you what I can do to help you to +secure the election." + +"Don't think I am given to word-splitting, Mr. Rangely, but I've no +wish to _secure_ it. If the church needs me--but, after all, we need +not quibble. Will you pardon me if I say that your question is rather +remarkable coming from the author of the 'Churchman' paper." + +"Although I wrote the 'Churchman' article, I wrote also the 'Eagle' +editorial," was the reply. "I see things in a different light. The fact +is that I was trapped into writing that stuff for the 'Churchman,' and +now I'm anxious to undo any harm I may have done." + +"I am glad that you do not really think me as bad as that article made +me out," Strathmore said. "There have been some queer things about this +election. Mrs. Gore has a letter that a woman has written which +illustrates how injudicious some of those interested have been." + +"What sort of a letter?" + +"A letter that is amusing in a way. Of course I only mention the thing +confidentially. Very likely, though, Mrs. Gore might be willing to let +you see it if you are interested. It was written to a clergyman in the +western part of the State by Mrs. Wilson." + +"Mrs. Wilson?" + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. Of course you know that she is much interested in +the matter. It isn't a very discreet document. I shall be much relieved +when the whole thing is settled. It causes too much excitement, +especially for us who have been named in connection with the office." + +"It can't be pleasant," Rangely assented. + +"It is not, I assure you. Now it is my duty to be talking to ladies and +helping Mrs. Gore. She told me that she depended on me." + +He moved forward as he spoke, and the two were soon in the company +again. Rangely weltered through the crowd to Mrs. Gore and asked about +the letter. + +"It is a trump card," she said. "I am glad you spoke about it. I was +wondering how it could be used to the best advantage. Mr. Strathmore +talks about its being a private letter, but I have a shrewd suspicion +that he wouldn't mind if somebody else used it. Come in to-morrow about +five, and we'll talk it over." + +Maurice Wynne was naturally not entirely at home in this sort of a +gathering. He had not overcome his shyness and want of familiarity with +social usages, so that he was especially relieved when he found himself +comfortably seated in a corner with Mrs. Herman, to whom he could talk +freely. + +"Isn't there something that can be done for Phil, Mrs. Herman?" he +asked earnestly. "I haven't seen him since I left the Clergy House. I +had to come away without saying good-by to him, and in answer to my +letter he says that Father Frontford advises him not to see me for the +present." + +Mrs. Herman sighed, playing with her fan. + +"Life is hard for a nature like his," answered she. "He is born to be a +martyr. He has the martyr temperament. It's part of our inheritance +from Puritanism, I suppose." + +Maurice smiled, looking up impulsively. + +"I can't see why you lay so much stress on Puritanism," he said. "What +has Puritanism resulted in? Its whole struggle has come to an end in +doubt and agnosticism and flippancy. Intellectual curiosity has taken +the place of spiritual stress; ethical casuistry or theological +amusements seem to me to stand instead of religious conviction." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with an inquiring smile. + +"You make me feel old," she interposed; "it is so long since I went +through that stage. Will you pardon me for saying that you are not +quite a disinterested observer?" + +"It is the eyes newly open that see most clearly," he responded, +throwing back his head with a little laugh. "The Puritan came into the +wilderness to establish a city of God. Time has shown that he dreamed +an impossible dream. The result of that effort has been the +establishment of a religious liberty"-- + +"One might almost say a religious license, I own," she interpolated. + +"A religious liberty or license as you like, but at any rate something +that would have seemed to them appallingly wicked,--a thousand times +worse than anything they fled from into the desert." + +Mrs. Herman was silent a moment while he waited for her answer. Her +eyes grew darker, and the color flushed in her cheeks. + +"It is odd enough for me to be the champion of Puritanism," she said at +length, "and yet it seems to me that after all they did their work +well, and that it was permanent. They left on the land the stress of +sincerity and earnestness. Creeds fall away just as leaves drop from +the trees, but each leaf has helped. Religions decay, but the salvation +of the race must depend upon human steadfastness to conviction." + +"Then I suppose that you think Phil is nearer to the heart of things +than I am." + +"Not in the least. The difference between you is superficial rather +than real so long as you are both true to your convictions." + +"But it seems to me," Maurice objected, "that Phil is looking at truth +as a sort of fetish. He seems to feel that the root of the matter is in +a dogma, and a dogma is only the fossil remains of a truth that is gone +by." + +She laughed appreciatively. + +"Have you caught the fever for making epigrams? I'm afraid there's a +good deal of truth in what you say about Cousin Philip. He can't help +looking at religion as an end rather than a means." + +"Has it ever struck you that he might finish by going over to the +Catholics?" + +"No," she answered, "I confess I'd never thought of it; but I see what +you mean." + +"It will seem to him a moral catastrophe, a sort of ecclesiastical +cataclysm," Maurice continued, "if Father Frontford isn't elected; and +as far as I can judge there isn't much chance of that." + +"No," she assented, "I don't think there is much chance." + +"He said to me one day," added Maurice thoughtfully, "that in the +Catholic Church there never could have been any danger of the election +of a heretic bishop. I am afraid this will decide him." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with a smile, studying him as if she were +reading the working of his mind. + +"You think that a misfortune," she commented. "You feel that it is a +step farther into the darkness." + +"It is to narrow rather than to broaden his horizon, is it not?" + +She played with her fan a moment, smiling to herself in a way which he +did not understand, and looking down as if considering some old memory. +Then she met his glance with a look at once kind and wistful. + +"It isn't of much use to argue the matter, I suppose," were her words. +"It seems to me as if in talking to you I see my old mental self in a +mirror, if you'll pardon me for saying so. When we come out from any +conviction, and most of all from a religious belief, it seems to us a +profound misfortune that any man should still believe what we have +decided is false. By and by I think you will see that the chief point +is that a man shall believe. What he believes doesn't so much matter. +It must be the thing that best suits his temperament." + +"Then to outgrow a dogma is to weaken our power. It certainly weakens +our faith in general." + +"Yes," she assented, "that is the price we must pay for freedom; but if +Philip can still believe, I have long ago passed the place where I +should regret it. Perhaps he is to be envied." + +Maurice shook his head. + +"We may feel like that in some moods," he concluded with a smile, "but +certainly nothing would induce you to change places with him." "Oh, +no," she cried; "certainly not. But that is mere womanly lack of +logic!" + + + + XXXIII + + + A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +The disappointment of Maurice at the failure of his effort to secure +his aunt's fortune was perhaps rather more than less keen because the +property had never tangibly been his. The title of the fancy is that of +which men are most tenacious, and the thing which has been held in fee +of the imagination is precisely that which it is most grievous to lose. +Maurice returned to Boston completely overcome by the result of his +expedition, his mind overflowing with chagrin and anger. + +It was not only the money which he had missed, but he had to his +thinking lost also the hope of being in a position to press his suit +with Berenice. However intangible might be his plans for winning her, +they none the less filled his mind. He refused to regard her coldness +as enduring. He had in his thoughts imagined so many tender scenes of +reconciliation in which he magnanimously forgave her for the sharpness +of the repulse of their last meeting or humbly besought pardon for his +own offenses, that he came to feel as if all misunderstanding had +really been done away with. It had been in his mind that if he were but +in a position to meet Berenice on equal terms in regard to fortune all +might be well; and to be deprived of this hope was infinitely bitter. + +Meanwhile he had before him the problem of reshaping his life. It was +necessary that he decide what should take the place of the profession +which he had laid down. Fortunately the decision was not difficult, as +former inclination had practically settled the matter. The definite +shaping of his plans came one day in a talk which he had with his +cousin. + +"It isn't exactly my affair, Maurice," Mrs. Staggchase said, "but I +want to know, and that always makes a thing her affair with a woman,-- +what are you going to do with your life now that you have pulled it out +of the mouth of the church?" + +"It is good of you to care to ask," he answered. "I suppose I shall +study law." + +"May I talk with you quite frankly?" she asked. "Fred does me the honor +to say that for a woman I have a reasonably clear head." + +"You may say whatever you like, Cousin Diana. I shall only be +grateful." + +"Well, then, in the first place, how much have you to live on?" + +"I've about a thousand dollars a year. What was left of the estate at +mother's death amounts to about that. I wanted to give it all to the +church when I went into the Clergy House." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Father Frontford wouldn't allow it. He said that a continual sacrifice +meant more than an act that stripped me of power to decide, and which +might be regretted." + +"That was a noble temper," Mrs. Staggchase remarked thoughtfully. "A +priest is a strange being. As for you, you say you have never believed, +and yet you would have given up everything you possessed." + +Maurice flushed, and looked a little shamefaced. + +"I never did believe, so far as I can see now; but I thought I did, if +you see the difference. My wanting to give up everything wasn't belief; +it was a sort of instinctive desire to play fair. If I were to do the +thing at all, my impulse was to do it thoroughly. It isn't in my blood +to do a thing half way. I'm afraid the explanation doesn't speak very +well for my common sense; but so far as I can understand myself that's +the way of it." + +"But if you didn't believe what were you there for?" + +"I was there because Phil was. I don't pretend to understand why I, who +led Phil in everything else, who did all sorts of things that he +couldn't and had to decide everything else for him, should have +followed his lead so in religion; but I did. It was part of my caring +for him. It would have hurt him so much if I hadn't, that of course I +had to." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him keenly. He turned away his eyes, thinking +of his friend and of the wide gulf which had opened between them, so +that he but half heard and did not understand the comment she made +softly. + +"The _ewigweibliche_ in masculine shape," she murmured, smiling to +herself. "When the real came, it couldn't hold its power any longer." + +"What?" he asked. + +"Nothing. I was speaking in riddles. To come back to business,--you say +you've decided upon the law." + +"Yes. That was always my choice. I read a good deal of law while I was +in college. It wasn't till I graduated two years ago that I fell into +theology. It's two years wasted." + +"Oh, perhaps, and perhaps not. After all, experience in youth is +generally worth what it costs, little as we think so when we pay the +price. Well, then, you can easily live on your income if you choose. +Mr. Staggchase and I will be glad to have you make this your home, +and"-- + +"But, Cousin Diana," he interrupted in astonishment, "there is +certainly no reason why you should burden yourself with me. Not that I +am not a thousand times obliged to you, but"-- + +"Be as obliged as you like," interrupted she in turn, "only don't be +foolish. Fred and I are not exactly sentimentalists, and we both know +what we wish. He likes to have you to talk with, and when you have +learned to smoke you will find him a very clever and agreeable +companion after dinner. He knows the world, and he'll teach you a great +many things that you'd be slow to find out for yourself. As for me, you +amuse me, let us say. The gods have spared us the bother of children; +but the gifts of the gods are always to be paid for, and we begin to +feel as if there were a sort of loneliness ahead of us with nobody to +be especially interested in. To have somebody younger to care for is a +luxury when you are young yourself, but it's a necessity to age. I +assure you that we shouldn't have you here if we didn't want you, and +that we shall turn you out without scruple when we are tired of you." + +"Very well, then," he responded with a laugh, "I am rejoiced to remain +to be a blessing." + +They looked into the fire a little time as if they were considering +what effect upon the future this new arrangement would have; then Mrs. +Staggchase glanced up with a smile. + +"Just now," she remarked, "before you are plunged in the study of the +law, you may do escort duty for me. I am going to call on Berenice +Morison." + +"On Miss Morison?" + +"Yes. Her grandmother is staying with her. Mr. Frostwinch has gone +abroad, you know, and as the old house belongs to Bee, she is staying +on there." + +"But--but she won't care to see me." + +"Very likely not," assented his cousin coolly, "but she'll endure you +for my sake." + +"I don't like being endured," he retorted, between fun and earnest. +"Besides, she's so much money"-- + +"You are not such a cad as to be afraid of her money, I hope." + +"Not in one way, but don't you see now that she has so much, and I have +lost Aunt Hannah's"-- + +"Really, Maurice," she interrupted brusquely, "you must learn not to +speak your thoughts out like that! I'm not asking you to go to propose +to Bee. You have the theological habit of taking things with too +dreadful seriousness. Come with me for a call, and don't bother about +consequences and possibilities." + +Maurice blushed at his own folly in betraying his secret scruples, but +his cousin spared him any farther teasing, and they went on their way +peacefully. It seemed to him when he entered the stately Frostwinch +house that it had somehow been transformed. Everything was much as it +had been in the lifetime of Mrs. Frostwinch, yet to his fancy all +looked fresher and more cheerful. He smiled to himself, feeling that +the change must simply be the result of his knowledge that this was now +the home of Berenice; yet even so he could not persuade himself that +the alteration was not actual. He felt joyously alert as he followed +Mrs. Staggchase to the library, where Bee was sitting with old Mrs. +Morison. + +He had never been in this apartment before. It was high, and heavily +made, with an open fire on the hearth, and enough books to justify its +name. Berenice came forward to meet them, and Mrs. Morison remained +seated near the fire. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Staggchase," Bee said cordially. "It is +just one of those dreary days when it proves true courage to come out." + +"And true friendship, I hope," the other answered, passing on to Mrs. +Morison. "My dear old friend, I wish I could believe you are as glad to +see me as I am to see you." + +Berenice in the mean time gave her hand to Maurice graciously, but with +a certain grave courtesy which he felt to put them upon a purely +ceremonious footing. + +"It is kind of you to come," she said. "Grandmother will be glad to see +you." + +Maurice tried hard to look unconscious, but he could not help +questioning her with his eyes. She flushed under his eager regard, and +drew back a little. + +"I am very glad of the chance to see--Mrs. Morison," he answered. + +Bee flushed more deeply yet. Then she turned mischievously to Mrs. +Morison. + +"Grandmother," she said, "it seems that Mr. Wynne came to see you and +not me." + +The old lady greeted him kindly. + +"I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wynne," she said. "I hope +that your arm does not trouble you at all." + +"Not at all. I was too well taken care of at Brookfield." + +Mrs. Staggchase laughed, spreading out her hands. + +"There," said she gayly, "you see! He has only been in my hands a few +weeks, but I call that a very pretty speech." + +"He probably has a natural gift for pleasing speeches," Berenice +remarked meaningly. + +Maurice crimsoned, but his education had not proceeded far enough for +him to have any reply. + +"Well, take him away, Bee, and give him tea or gossip. I want to talk +to your grandmother about old friends, and you young people won't +understand." + +"He may have tea if he is tractable," responded Bee. "We are evidently +not appreciated, Mr. Wynne. Will you ring the bell over there, please." + +He did as he was directed, and then followed her to the tea-table at a +little distance from the fire. He was full of a troubled joy, the +mingled delight of being with her and the consciousness that he had +firmly determined in his own mind that he had no right to show her his +feelings. He said to himself that he could bear anything else better +than that she should think of him as a fortune-hunter. Her wealth +loomed between them as a wall which it were dishonorable even to +attempt to scale. His brain was busy phrasing things which he longed to +say to her, words seemed to seethe in his head, yet he found himself +strangely tongue-tied and awkward. When most of all he desired to +appear at his ease, he was most completely uncomfortable and self- +conscious. + +A servant came with the tea, and he was able to cover to some extent +his uneasiness by serving the ladies. When this was done, and he sat +nervously stirring his own cup, he found himself searching his mind in +vain for those things which it would be safe to say. His brain was full +of things which must not be said. He could think only of things which +it was not safe to utter; and his discomfiture increased as he saw Miss +Morison watching him with a half-veiled smile. + +"By the way," she said at length, when the silence was becoming too +marked, "I fulfilled your request." + +"My request?" he echoed, unable to remember that he had made any. + +"Yes. Have you forgotten that you came to ask me"-- + +He put out his hand impulsively. + +"Please don't!" he interrupted. "It is bad enough to remember what an +unmitigated idiot I was without the humiliation of thinking that you +remember it too." + +"I remember," she responded, with a sparkle in her eye, "that you did +not seem to relish the mission on which you were sent. However, I +accepted the intention, and I have promised the men a continuance of +their stipends." Her face grew suddenly grave, and she added: "I can't +joke about it, though. I really did it because Cousin Anna would have +wished it." + +They were silent now because they had come so near a solemn subject +that neither of them cared to speak. The thoughts of Maurice went back +to the day he had come to do the errand of Father Frontford, and his +cheek grew hot. + +"I hope you will believe," he said eagerly, "that I had really no idea +of how very ill your cousin was. She seemed so well when I saw her that +it was all unreal to me. I wish I could tell you how sorry I have been +for you. I have thought of you." + +She raised her eyes to his, and they exchanged a look in which there +was more than sympathy. Maurice felt her glance so deeply that for the +moment he forgot all else. Obstacles no longer existed. He was looking +into the eyes of the woman he loved, and thrilling as if her heart was +questioning his. It seemed to him that her very self was demanding how +deep and how true had been his thought of her in her time of sorrow. He +bent forward, sounding her gaze with his, trying to convey all the +unspoken words which jostled in his brain. Her eyes fell before his +burning look, and her head drooped. The room was darkening with the +coming dusk, and they sat at some distance from the others. He laid his +hand on hers. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She rose as if she had not noted. + +"Don't you think it is time for lights, grandmother?" she said in a +voice so unemotional that it sent a chill to his heart. + +"It is certainly time for us to be going home," Mrs. Staggchase +interposed, rising in her turn. + +And far into the night Maurice Wynne vexed his soul with vain endeavors +to decide what Berenice meant by her treatment of him. + + + + XXXIV + + + WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +The grief which Philip felt over the apostasy of Maurice overshadowed +for a time every other feeling. He sorrowed for his friend, praying and +yearning, searching his heart to discover whether his own influence or +example had helped to bring about this lamentable fall; he turned over +in his mind plans for bringing the wanderer back to the fold; he ceased +to think about the coming election, and thought of his ill-starred love +hardly otherwise than as a possible sin which had helped perhaps to +lead to this catastrophe. + +Affection between two men is much more likely to be mutual than that +between two women. Men are more generally frank in their likes and +dislikes, they are as a rule more accustomed to feel at liberty to be +open and to please themselves in their familiarities; and it seems to +be true that men are more constant in friendship, as women are said to +be more constant in love. Affection between women, moreover, is apt to +be founded upon circumstance, while that between men is more often a +matter of character. + +The fondness of Philip and Maurice for each other was of long standing; +it had arisen out of the mutual needs of their natures, and was part of +their growth. Philip was the one most dependent upon his friend, +however, and now he felt as if he were torn away from his chief +support. He reasoned with himself that he had been letting affection +for his friend come between him and Heaven; he tried to feel that +Providence had interfered to break down his idol; yet to all this he +could not but answer that Maurice had been always a help, and that it +was impossible to believe that Providence would accomplish his good by +the hurt of his benefactor. He did assure himself that his suffering +was the will of a higher power, and as such to be acquiesced in and +improved to his spiritual good. If the voice of his secret heart, that +inner self from which we hide our faces and whose words we so +obstinately refuse to hear, cried out against the cruelty of this +discipline, he but closed his ears more resolutely. To listen would be +to yield to temptation. He would not see Maurice; he hardly permitted +himself to read his friend's letters. He answered these notes by fervid +appeals to the wanderer to return to the fold, to be reconciled with +the church, to take up again the priesthood he had discarded. Hard as +it was, he still strove for what he felt to be the other's lasting +good. + +Lent ended, and the gladness of Easter came upon the land; the spring +showed traces of its secret presence by a thousand intangible and +delicate signs in sky, and air, and earth: there was everywhere a stir +and a quickening, a blitheness which belongs to the vernal season only. +Philip felt all these things by the growing sharpness of the contrast +between his mood and that of the world without. His melancholy and +unrest seemed to him to grow every day more intense and unbearable. + +That Father Frontford did not more fully realize Philip's condition was +probably due to the near approach of the election. As the time for the +convention drew near, the supporters of the rival candidates redoubled +their exertions; there was hurrying to and fro, writing of letters and +continued consultation, all of which inevitably distracted the +attention of the Father. He did perceive, however, that Philip was +troubled, and nothing could have been more tender or considerate than +his attitude. He did not talk to Ashe about Maurice, but he contrived +to make his deacon understand that no blame was attached to him for the +apostasy of Wynne. Philip found a new affection for the Father +springing in his heart, so soothing, so winning was the sympathy of the +Superior. + +The days passed on until the convention actually assembled. Philip was +feverishly anxious; yet he persistently assured himself that he had no +doubt in regard to the result. He felt that the end had been +accomplished by the work which had already been done; and the +convention itself seemed to him somewhat unreal and unmeaning. It had +in his mind not much more than the function of announcing a result +which he felt to have been arrived at already in the canvassing of +lists of delegates in which he had taken part at Mrs. Wilson's. Until +the thing was formally announced, however, it was impossible to be at +ease. + +The first day of the convention was mainly one of organization and of +preparation. Business was disposed of and all made ready for the +election of the morrow. Philip went into the convention in the hour of +recreation. He tried to be interested in matters which he assured +himself were of real importance; yet he found his memory dwelling on +Maurice and the times they had talked of this convention. Even his +efforts to fix his thoughts on the election itself could not drive his +friend from his mind. He walked home at last, saying passionately that +he had ceased to care for the church, for its welfare, its fate; that +he had cared only for his own selfish desires and interests. He looked +back upon the convention which he had left, and saw mentally a picture +of men who seemed strange and remote, concerned with matters which he +did not understand, in which he had no interest. He felt completely out +of key with everything; he longed for Maurice with unspeakable pain. +He had rested on Maurice. In every mental crisis he had depended upon +finding his friend at hand, sympathetic, strong, responsive; he had +come to be as one unable to stand alone. It seemed impossible for him +to go on longer without seeing his fellow, his friend, his confidant, +his support. The convention and the Clergy House alike became misty and +accidental in comparison with his own desperate need of Maurice. + +A couple of blocks from the House he was joined by a fellow deacon. + +"I say, Ashe," was the other's greeting, "did you ever know anything so +unfortunate as that Wilson letter?" + +Philip turned upon him an uncomprehending face. + +"What is the Wilson letter?" he inquired absently. + +"What? Don't you know about it? I saw you at the convention." + +"I was there a little while; but there was nothing said about a letter, +that I heard." + +"Oh, there has been nothing said about it in the convention, but they +say it will turn the scale." + +"But what is it?" + +"It's a letter Mrs. Wilson--Mrs. Chauncy Wilson, you know--you must +know who she is?" + +"Yes; I know her." + +"Well, this is a letter that she wrote to a rector in the western part +of the State,--his name was Briggs or Biggs, or something of that kind. +She said that if he didn't vote for Father Frontford she could get him +out of his parish." + +"What!" exclaimed Philip. "She couldn't have written such a thing!" + +"There's a fac-simile of it in the hands of every member of the +convention." + +"But how did it get out?" + +"They say," answered the other, eager to impart his information, "that +a man named Rangely had it printed, and sent it around. I don't know +who he is, but he's a newspaper man, I believe." + +"I know who he is," Philip returned, "but I thought he was a friend of +Mrs. Wilson. I've seen him at her house. How did he get the letter?" + +"I'm sure I don't know; but he had it. He's written a circular to go +with it. He says that that is the way the friends of Father Frontford +are trying to secure the election. There is a great deal of feeling +about it." + +"But will it make much difference?" + +"They say that it will turn the scale. There are a number of men who +were in doubt, and this is likely to be enough to insure Mr. +Strathmore's election." + +"What a disgraceful trick!" Philip cried indignantly. "Father Frontford +isn't responsible for what Mrs. Wilson did. Besides, it doesn't change +the real facts of the case. It doesn't make Father Frontford any the +less the right man." + +"Of course it doesn't," was the reply. "But I've been talking with my +uncle. He's a delegate from Springfield. He says that he's sure it will +get Mr. Strathmore elected." + +The news gave Philip a shock, but it seemed impossible that a trivial, +outside trick like this could alter the conscientious vote of the +candidates. He was uneasy, but he seemed to have lost all vital care +about the election, and even this disconcerting event did not greatly +change his feeling. He reproached himself that he cared so little; yet +his personal misery so absorbed him that his thoughts wandered even +from this new cause for self-reproach. + +After supper that night he was summoned to the Father Superior. + +"I wish you to do an errand for me," Father Frontford said. "I presume +that you have heard of the publication of Mrs. Wilson's letter. It may +do harm, and whatever happens I want her to know that I do not blame +her. She acted unwisely, no doubt; but her intention was good. Besides, +I really became responsible when I trusted so much to her judgment. I +shall be happier if I know that she is not thinking that I feel +disposed to be vexed with her." + +The tone in which this was said was too sincere for Philip to doubt +that the Father uttered his true feeling. He looked into the face of +the other, and was struck by the complete weariness, almost exhaustion, +which marked it. He went on his way haunted by those deep-set eyes, so +full of pain, of fatigue, and, it seemed to Philip, of self-reproach. + +Mrs. Wilson was not at home, so that Philip had only to leave the note. +He turned back, crossing the Public Garden in the soft evening. +Overhead was the mysterious darkness, quivering with stars. The air +was full of suggestions of advancing spring. He felt in his veins an +unreasonable restlessness, a stirring as of sap in the tree, a longing +for that which he could not define. He heard around him gay voices and +laughter, for the night was warm, and people were sitting about on the +benches or strolling along the walks. He began to examine the groups he +passed, looking with a curious eye at the couples sitting side by side +in friendly or in loving companionship. He felt so utterly alone, and +all these about him were mated. The tones of women sounded soft and +sweet in his ear. Stray verses of Canticles began to float through his +mind as wisps of vapor drift across the sky before the fog comes in +from the sea. He repeated the collect for the day, and through it all +he was thinking that it was possible to walk past the house of Mrs. +Fenton. The difference in the time of his reaching the Clergy House +would not be so great as to attract notice; he might see her shadow on +the curtain; it was not probable, of course, but it was possible; in +any case, he should feel near to her. He walked more quickly, and as he +did so he heard the notes of a guitar, and then the sound of a girl +singing. It was only the hard, coarse voice of a street-singer, and the +language was Italian. He did not understand the words, but the music +was seductive, the night of spring, star-lit and fragrant with +intangible odors, quickened his sense. Constantly recurring in the +song, as if set there for his ear, he understood the magic word +"_amore, amore_" strung like beads down the necklace warm on a girl's +bosom. Surely he had a right to be human. All the world had leave to +love. He had given Mrs. Fenton up; she was only a memory; he should +never speak to her again; it could not be wrong simply to walk past her +house. He had lost even his friend; if this poor act were a comfort, it +surely was not sin. "_Amore--amore_," sang the Italian girl over there +in the warm, palpitating night. He had consecrated his love as an +offering on the altar; surely he need not therefore deny it. + +He had gained Beacon Street, and was walking rapidly, his cheeks hot +and flushed, his heart on fire. Far down a neighboring street he heard +the approach of a band of the Salvation Army. They were singing +shrilly, with beating of tambourines and clanging of cymbals, a vulgar, +raucous tune, redolent of animal vigor and of coarse passions, a tune +as unholy as the rites of a pagan festival. Ashe stood still as with +flaring torches they drew nearer. The blare of the brass, the vibrant, +tingling clangor of the cymbals, the high, penetrating voices of the +women, the barbaric rhythm of the air, made him in his sensitive mood +tremble like a tense string. He shivered with excitement, nervous tears +coming into his eyes so thickly that he turned away blinded, and +stumbled against a man who was passing. + +"My good brother," exclaimed a rich, Irish voice, jovial, yet not +without dignity, "you don't see where you are going." + +Philip recognized instantly the tones of the priest whom he had met at +the North End; and without even apologizing he answered with an +overwhelming sense of how true were the words in a figurative sense:-- + +"No, I cannot see." + +The other was evidently impressed by the manner in which the reply was +given, for instead of passing on he stopped and examined Ashe closely. + +"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. + +"Providence has sent you to me, I think," Philip returned. Then he put +his hand on the arm of the stranger, bending forward in his eagerness. +"Where do you live?" he asked. "May I come to see you to-morrow +afternoon? It may be that you can tell me where I am going." + + + + XXXV + + + THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + Merchant of Venice, iii. 2. + + +However much or little the ill-starred letter of Mrs. Wilson may have +had to do with it, the fact was that both houses of the convention +elected Mr. Strathmore by majorities sufficiently large to satisfy even +his friends. The lay delegates were more generally in his favor than +the clergy, which circumstance gave for a time some shadowy hope to the +high-church party that the House of Bishops might refuse to confirm the +election; but whatever consolation was derived from such an expectation +was of short duration. The election was ratified, and almost +immediately preparations were begun for the consecration of the new +bishop. + +Father Frontford remarked to an interviewer at the close of the +convention that "it was not the least happy of the incidents of the +election that Mr. Strathmore had been chosen by a majority so decided, +since it indicated clearly the wishes of the church;" and he used his +influence to prevent any attempt to induce the House of Bishops to +oppose the choice of the convention. As soon as the matter was settled +he called upon Mr. Strathmore and offered his congratulations in +person. + +"It is true that I would have prevented your election had I been able," +he said frankly; "but that was entirely a question of church polity. I +hardly need say how complete is my confidence in your sincerity and +your ability." + +"Brother," Mr. Strathmore replied, with that smile whose charm no man +could resist, "I thank you for coming, and I thank you for your +generous words. One thing we may be sure of and be grateful to God for. +The church is certainly too great and too stable to be shaken by the +mistakes of any one man. If we differ sometimes about the best way of +showing it outwardly, we at least are one in wishing the best interests +of religion and of humanity." + +Father Frontford had had some difficulty in soothing Mrs. Wilson after +the election. She declared vehemently that the House of Bishops should +not confirm Mr. Strathmore. + +"I will go to New York myself," she announced. "I know I can manage the +Metropolitan. If he's on our side we can prevent that infidel +Strathmore from getting a majority." + +It is possible that Father Frontford, with all his decision, might have +been unable to prevent some demonstration, but Dr. Wilson quietly +remarked to his wife:-- + +"Elsie, we've had enough of this bishop racket. I'm devilish tired of +the whole thing, and I wish you'd find a new amusement." + +"But, Chauncy," she responded, "think how maddening it is to be beaten! +And as for that Fred Rangely, I could dig out his eyes and pour in hot +lead!" + +Wilson chuckled gleefully. + +"You played your private theatricals just a little prematurely. It was +devilish clever of him to get back at you that way; but that letter has +made newspaper talk enough about you, and you'd better drop church +politics. Isn't it time to get your stud into shape for the summer?" + +Elsie shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know. I hate to give it up while there's a fighting chance. +The campaign has been a lot of fun. However, I suppose you are right. +You have a dreadfully aggravating way of being. Besides, I am pretty +tired of parsons, and horses wear better." + +She therefore managed to secure a visiting English duke with a +characteristically shady reputation, gave the most brilliant dinner of +the season in his honor, and retired to her country place in a blaze of +glory; finding some consolation for all her disappointments in the +purchase of a couple of new racers with pedigrees far longer than that +of the duke. + +Easter came that year almost at its earliest, and it was therefore +found possible to have the consecration of the new bishop in June. To +it were assembled all the dignitaries of the church. Boston for a +couple of days overflowed with men in ecclesiastical garb; and if the +general public was not deeply stirred by the importance of the event, +all those connected with it were full of interest and excitement. + +Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening +her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her +intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country +place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had +been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the +people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high +spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she +said:-- + +"I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week." + +"Off for a week? Where are you going?" + +"Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop +Strathmore." + +"Well," her husband said, laughing, "I like your grit. If you can't +win, you won't show the white feather." + +She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child. + +"I'm going for revenge." + +"Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?" + +"Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any +time. It's better fun than that." + +"Well, let's hear." + +"You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in +Boston." + +"Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her +in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." + +"Oh, no; I'm going to meet her." + +"Marion Delegass, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the +French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons." + +"Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen." + +"Is she to take part?" + +"Don't be flippant. I am to give Mlle. Delegass a luncheon. I've +arranged it by letter. By one of the most curious coincidences in the +world it comes on the very day of the consecration." + +"That is amusing, but I don't see that it's much of a revenge." + +"No?" Elsie responded demurely, casting down her eyes. "I am so sorry +that Mrs. Strathmore can't come." + +"Mrs. Strathmore? You didn't ask her!" + +"Why, of course, Chauncy, I wanted to show that I hadn't any ill +feeling against the family of my bishop." + +"To meet Marion Delegass?" + +"Of course. I thought it would liven Mrs. Strathmore up a little. She +always reminded me of water-gruel with not enough salt in it." + +Dr. Wilson burst into a roar of laughter, leaning back in his chair and +slapping his knee. + +"Marion Delegass! Why she's left more husbands and lovers behind her +than a sailor has wives! Marion Delegass and that prig in petticoats! +Well, Elsie, you do beat the devil!" + +"Am I to understand that you know His Satanic Majesty well enough to +speak with authority?" she laughed. "What do you think now of my +revenge?" + +"I don't exactly see where the revenge comes in. She won't come to the +lunch." + +"Come? Oh, no; thank Heaven, she won't come. She'd be like a death's +head in a punch-bowl. She won't come, but she'll tell that she was +invited. She'll be too furious not to tell; and everybody will know +that I asked her. That's all I care about." + +Wilson laughed again. + +"Well," he said again, "you are the cheekiest and the most amusing +woman in town. You'll shock all your relations, but they must be +getting hardened to that by this time." + +Whether the relatives were on this occasion more or less shocked than +upon others was not a question to which Elsie devoted any especial +thought. She gave her luncheon, and all the world knew that she had +invited Mrs. Strathmore to meet Marion Delegass on the day of the +consecration. Mrs. Strathmore was so enraged that she talked flames and +fury, even going so far as to wonder whether there were not some +possibility of excommunication; so that her tormentor was enchanted +with the success of her revenge. + +The consecration took place on a beautiful June day, and was as +imposing a function in its line as Boston had ever seen. Trinity was +crowded to overflowing, and if the ceremony was less imposing than +would have been the induction of a Catholic bishop, it was impressive +and dignified. The sunlight filtering through the windows of stained +glass splashed fantastic colors over the long surpliced train which +wound through the aisles down to the chancel, singing processionals of +joyous hope; the air was full of the sense of solemn meaning; the organ +pealed; the noble words of the fine old ritual spoke to the hearts of +the hearers, and carried their message of a faith which took hold upon +the unseen. Above all the circumstance, the form, the conventions, the +creeds, rose the spirit of the worshipers, uplifted by the thrilling +realization of the outpouring of the soul of humanity before the +unknown eternal. + +Maurice had accompanied Mrs. Staggchase and Miss Morison to the +ceremony. It had been his impulse not to go, but his cousin urged it, +and it needed little to induce him to go to any place where Berenice +was, even though it were a church. He went with some secret misgiving +lest the service should move him more than he wished; but to his +satisfaction he found that while he felt aesthetic pleasure, he was +inclined to be critical about the doctrine of the ritual. His +satisfaction, he reflected, would have been thought amusing by Mrs. +Staggchase; but it at least assured him that he had not been mistaken +in his mental attitude toward the creed he had discarded. + +The thing which most moved him was the sight of Philip among the +surpliced deacons in the procession. Philip's face seemed to him +thinner and paler than of old; he blamed himself that he had not +disregarded his friend's injunction, and insisted upon seeing him. To +his repeated requests Philip had returned answer that he could not bear +the meeting. Maurice had come at length to feel something almost of +resentment at the wall which this prohibition put between them; but to- +day, seeing the white countenance, he experienced a pang of deep self- +reproach. He reflected how sharply his defection must have weighed his +friend down. He should have tried to comfort him; at least he should +have assured Phil that in spite of whatever might come his affection +would remain unchanged. + +He thought lovingly of the old days when he and Phil were together, and +of the plans they had sometimes made for keeping if possible together +even after they went out into the world to work. He had the impatience +of one who has recently put a doctrine by for the blindness, as it +seemed to him, which kept Phil still in the power of the old +superstition; but with his friend's white face, marked with mental +suffering, there to soften him, he dwelt little on this, and much on +his affection for his friend and fellow. + +As Maurice brooded, watching Philip moving slowly down the aisle, +Berenice bent forward to take a book from the rack, and her face came +between him and his friend. The thought of Philip vanished as a shadow +before a sun-burst. He was conscious only of Berenice, sitting there so +near him, her dark eyes serious with the solemnity of the occasion, her +cheeks tinged with a color so lovely that the lining of a shell or the +petals of a rose were poor things with which to compare it. He forgot +all else, and lost himself in a delicious, troubled dream of what might +be. Surely, surely she must love him! He could not give her up; it was +not possible that he should not some day win her. He fixed on her a +look so ardent that it seemed to compel her glance to meet his. The +flush in her cheek deepened, and he reflected with an exultant thrill +that even in the absorption of a time like this he could reach and move +her spirit. + +The rest of the service was little to Maurice. He heard the music, +listened now and then to the words which were being spoken, thought for +a moment here and there upon the strangeness that these people should +be consecrating Mr. Strathmore and not recognizing in the least that +they were assisting at the breaking down of the church; he gave a +little reflection to his own interview with the new bishop, unable +completely to satisfy himself how far Mr. Strathmore was sincere and +how far simply following out a policy; these and other matters floated +through his mind, but they were mere trifles on the surface. His real +thought was of Berenice, always of Berenice. The fluttered, troubled +look which he had seen when his gaze had compelled hers, a look which +seemed to him full of confession of things unutterable, full almost of +appeal as if she realized that she was betraying a feeling that she +feared to own even to herself, this look of a moment so fleeting +clocks could hardly have measured it, filled him with a wild, +unreasoning bliss. He did not again try to challenge her eyes. He sat +in a dream of happiness; a vague, intangible, ecstatic sense that all +was well, that the universe was in tune, and that all things were but +ministers of his joy. + +When the ceremonial was concluded Mrs. Staggchase went home with +Berenice to lunch with Mrs. Morison. Maurice put them into their +carriage, feeling that he could not let Berenice go out of his sight. +He stood on the curbstone watching the carriage as if it had set out on +a voyage to regions unknown and far; then smiling at himself with a +realization of what he was doing he turned back to go home himself. As +he did so he came face to face with Philip. + + + + XXXVI + + + THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + Measure for Measure, iv. I + + +The mind of Philip Ashe had not become more quiet as time went on, and +the day of the consecration found him hesitating between his old life +and a new one. Ever since the chance encounter with the Irish priest he +had been going almost every afternoon to talk with this new friend, and +one by one he had found his doubts about the supremacy of the Roman +church fading away. Ashe was of a nature which must rely upon another, +and since he was shut off from the companionship of Wynne it was +inevitable that he should lean upon this great, hearty, healthy man, +who with the possibility of adding a son to the church received him so +warmly. Philip's nature, moreover, inclined him strongly toward a +church which exercised absolute authority, and in doctrinal points he +found himself surprisingly at one with his teacher. Nothing held him +back but the force of habit and a natural hesitancy to break away from +the faith which he had professed. Undoubtedly his feeling for Father +Frontford counted for much; but the fact, that in the months which had +preceded the election the Father Superior had been so much absorbed +that intimacy between him and his deacons was impossible, had greatly +lessened Philip's sense of loyalty to him. Very tenderly and wisely the +priest led Ashe on, until he was in very truth a Catholic in all but +name. + +To his ardent, mystical mind, deeply responsive to the ritual of the +older church, the ceremonies of the consecration seemed poor and thin. +He craved symbolism and richly suggestive rites. He had been more than +once in these latter days to the services of the Catholics, and his +imagination came more and more to demand the embodiment in form of the +aspirations of his soul. He tried to stifle the disappointment which +assailed him as the function proceeded, but it was impossible for him +not to realize that the ceremonial of his own faith left him cold and +unsatisfied. He missed the warm emotional excitement of the music, the +incense, the sonorous Latin, the sumptuous robes, and the romantic +associations of the mass. + +He felt keenly, moreover, that the man who was being to-day installed +as the head of the diocese was of tendencies distinctly opposed to his +desires. He mingled with disappointment that Father Frontford had not +been chosen a genuine conviction that Strathmore would use his +influence to carry church forms toward a worship ever simpler and more +bare. He could not wholly smother an almost personal resentment against +Strathmore, and a consciousness that it would be always impossible for +him to regard the newly consecrated bishop with that respect and +veneration due to one holding the office. He reflected that the church +must itself be tending toward a dangerous liberalism if it were +possible for this thing to have come about. He listened dully and +confusedly to the service until the time came when the bishop elect +made his vows. He heard the strong voice of Strathmore, vibrant, +deliberate, penetrating, repeat with slow solemnity the promise of +conformity and obedience to the doctrine and worship of the church. The +words tingled through the mind of Ashe like an electric shock. To his +excited feeling Strathmore was perjuring himself in the name of God, +since it was impossible to feel that the new bishop followed or +intended to follow either. He experienced a wild impulse to spring to +his feet and protest; he wondered if he only of all the persons in this +crowded church recognized the shocking irreligion of that vow. He +reflected that in the Catholic communion it would have been impossible +for popular suffrage to raise to the bishopric a man like this, a +heretic and a perjurer. + +The service went on, and Philip sat in a sort of dull stupor. He could +not think clearly; he was only dreamily conscious of what was going on +about him. The music, the prayers, the solemn words were to him so +remote from his true self that he seemed to hear them through a veil of +distance. He had ceased to have part in this rite; he ceased even to +heed it. + +Like one who is lost in idle musing, one who concerns himself with +trifling thoughts lest he realize too poignantly a bitter actuality, +Philip sat in his place, now and then glancing about the great church. +Changing his position a little, he saw the face of Mrs. Fenton. He +dwelt on it with mingled grief and pain. More and more he became +absorbed in gazing, while love and anguish swelled in his heart. He +forgot where he was; he saw her only; he felt only her presence in all +the throng. His passion seemed to him greater than ever. He did not for +an instant think of her as of one who could or would requite his +affection; or even as one who belonged to his future life. He was +filled with a sense of the completeness of his devotion to her; he felt +that he had loved her more than Heaven itself; but he felt also that he +was bidding her good-by. He had not definitely said to himself that a +change was before him; yet looking at her he felt it. The shadow of an +eternal farewell seemed to be over him. He was benumbed with suffering; +he drank in her face greedily; he seemed to himself to be imprinting +for the last time upon his memory that which was dearer to him than +life, yet which he was to see no more. + +The service ended at last, and once more the long procession of which +he was a part slowly made its way out of the church. Philip found +himself in the vestry in the midst of a crowd of ecclesiastics from +which he extricated himself with all possible speed; and got once more +into the open air. He threaded his way among the groups standing on the +sidewalks chatting and hindering him. Suddenly a man turned close to +him, and Maurice stood before his face. + +"Phil!" he heard the joyful voice of his friend cry. "My dear old Phil, +how glad I am to see you!" + +The sound was like a charm which breaks a spell. For the instant all +else was forgotten in the pleasure of being again with his heart- +fellow. He could have flung his arms about the other's neck and kissed +him, so keen was his delight. The doubts and distractions which a +moment earlier had bewildered and tortured him vanished before Wynne's +greeting as a mist before a brisk and wholesome wind. He seized the +hand held out to him, and clasped it almost convulsively. + +"Maurice!" was all that he could say. + +"I really ought not to recognize you," Maurice said, in a great hearty +voice which sounded to Philip strangely unfamiliar. "Why in the world +have you refused to see me? I assure you I'm not contagious." + +They were close to a group waiting on the sidewalk, and with +instinctive shrinking Ashe led the way down the street. Soon they were +walking in much the old fashion, and Philip left his friend's question +unanswered until they had gone some distance. Then he turned with a +smile not a little wistful. + +"Certainly it was not because I did not long to see you," he said. + +Maurice smiled, but Philip sensitively felt a veiled impatience in his +tone as he replied:-- + +"Oh, Phil, if I could only get the ascetic nonsense out of you!" + +Ashe could not answer. He could not reprove his friend after the +separation--which to him had been so long and so sorrowful, and he had +a secret feeling that they were to be more entirely divided. The pair +walked in silence a moment, and then Wynne spoke. + +"Well, I'll not talk on forbidden subjects; but, surely, Phil, you are +not going to throw me over entirely. I wouldn't drop you, no matter +what happened." + +"I'm not throwing you over," Philip answered with a choking in his +throat. "I would--Oh, Maurice," he broke out, interrupting himself, "it +isn't for want of caring for you, but if I am ever to help you, I must +keep my own faith. I have been so troubled and so--There," he broke off +again, "let us talk of something else." + +He felt that Maurice was studying him carefully. + +"Phil, old fellow, you are hysterically incoherent. What's the matter +with you? It can't be all my going off. Can't you come home with me, +and talk it out?" + +Ashe shook his head. The more he was touched and moved by the affection +of his friend, the more he shrank from him. This tender comradeship +seemed to him the most subtile of temptations. He feared, moreover, +lest he might reveal to Maurice too much of what was in his heart. + +"Not now," he said. "I must go home at once." + +"Then I'll walk along with you," rejoined the other. "I do wish you'd +let me help you. You are evidently all played out physically, and half +an eye could see that you've something on your mind. Is it the bishop?" + +"That has troubled me a good deal," Ashe returned, feeling a relief in +being able to say this truthfully. + +"Well, Phil, if you worry yourself sick over what you can't help, what +strength will you have for the things that you can do? I'm glad it +isn't all my going that has brought you to this, for you look +positively ill. I wish you'd get sick-leave, and go off a while." + +Ashe shook his head again. He felt that if Maurice went on talking to +him he should lose his self-command. He must get away; yet he could not +bear to hurt his friend. He turned toward Maurice and held out his +hand. + +"Dear Maurice," he said, "don't be hurt; but I can't talk with you. I +must be alone. I am upset, and not myself. It is not that I don't trust +you, you know; but there are things that a man has to fight out for +himself." + +The other stopped, and regarded him closely. + +"All right, Phil," he said. "I understand. If you've got a fight with +the devil on hand nobody can help you. I only wish I could." + +He wrung the hand of Ashe, and added: + +"Good-by. I'm always fond of you, old fellow; and you know that when +there is a place that I can help there's nothing I wouldn't do for +you." + +Ashe tried to answer, but he could not command his voice. He could only +return the warm pressure of Wynne's hand, and then, miserable and +hopeless, go on his way to his conflict with the arch fiend. + +Once in his chamber Ashe fastened the door, drew down the shades, and +lighted the gas. He laid aside his cassock, and loosened his clothing +so that his breast lay bare. He took from a drawer a little crucifix of +iron. This he placed across the chimney of the gas-burner, and watched +it until it was heated. Then he seized it with his fingers, but the +stinging pain made him drop it to the floor. He bared his breast, +wildly calling aloud to heaven, and flung himself down upon the +crucifix, pressing the hot iron to his naked bosom. A fierce shudder +convulsed him; he extended his arms in the form of a cross, and with +closed eyes lay still an instant. A horrible odor filled the room; +great drops of sweat dripped from his forehead; his teeth were set in +his lower lip. For a moment he remained motionless; then in +uncontrollable agony he writhed over upon his back and fainted. + +The return to consciousness was a terrible sensation of misery and +weakness. He was heart-sick and racked in body and mind. Feebly he +rose, and gathered his scattered senses. Then with trembling he got to +his feet. His wound gave him bitter agony, but the bodily pain made him +smile. He took from the same drawer a picture of the Madonna, and knelt +before it with clasped hands. His doubts, his passion, his self- +reproaches, danced like demons before his distracted brain. The +troubled, stormy thoughts of his distraught mind merged insensibly +into prayers. He put aside the clothing and showed to the Virgin Mother +his wounded breast, scarred and bleeding. He looked into her face with +murmured words of contrition, of imploring, of faith. A gracious sense +of her womanly pity, of her heavenly tenderness, stole soothingly over +him. He seemed almost to feel cool hands on his hot forehead; it was as +if in a moment more the heavens might open and grant to him the +beatific vision. There came over him a wave of joy which was beyond +words. The longing of his soul for the woman he loved was merged in the +desire of his heart which yearned toward the blessed Virgin Mother. His +prayers became more glowing, more ecstatic, until in a rapture of +adoration, of bliss, of passion, he fell prostrate before the divine +image, crying out with all his soul:-- + +"Thou ever blessed one! To thee I give myself! 'O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave,' receive me, save me!" + +He had no sense of incongruity to make the phrase unseemly or +ludicrous. It was to him the formal transfer of his deepest allegiance +from an earthly love to a heavenly. He had at last found peace. + + + + XXXVII + + + THIS IS NOT A BOON + Othello, iii. 3. + + +It was Mrs. Wilson who was the immediate means of bringing about an +understanding between Maurice and Berenice. Mrs. Wilson was never so +occupied that she was not able to attend to any new thing which might +turn up, and her interest in the spring races did not prevent her from +having a hand in the affairs of the lovers. While she was in town +attending to the luncheon for Marion Delegass she dined with Mrs. +Staggchase, and Maurice took her down. + +"I understand that you are a renegade," she remarked vivaciously as +soon as they were seated. "I wonder you dare look me in the face." + +"Because you are the church?" he demanded. + +"Certainly not now that that Strathmore is bishop," she retorted, +tossing her head. "However, I always said that you were too good to be +wasted in a cassock." + +"Thank you. What would you say if I made such a reflection on the +clergy?" + +"Oh, I've no patience with the clergy!" she declared. "They bore me to +death. There's that solemn-faced friend of yours, Mr. Ashe--his name +ought to be Ashes!--he actually lectured me on my worldliness! _My_ +worldliness, if you please, and I working myself to a shadow for the +election of Father Frontford!" + +"He has imagination, you see," Maurice suggested, smiling. + +"Now you are sneering, Mr. Wynne. I shall talk to the man on the other +side." + +She was good as her word, and left Maurice to devote himself to the +lady on his right. He had the American adaptability, and a couple of +months had sufficed to make him reasonably at ease at a dinner. The +continuous delight he felt in his freedom, moreover, inspired him with +an inclination to be frank and communicative, so that if he did not +talk like the conventional man of the world, he managed not to sit +silent. His neighbor to-night was Mrs. Thayer Kent, and he chatted +easily with her about the West, where for a couple of years she had +been living on a ranch. Something in Mrs. Kent's talk reminded him of +Berenice, and he sighed inwardly that the latter's mourning prevented +her from going out. As if the thought had been spoken aloud, Mrs. +Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:-- + +"It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since +the Mardi Gras ball?" + +"Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush. +"I saw her yesterday at the consecration." + +"Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for +Marion Delegass." + +"So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do." + +"Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for +deserting me in the middle of the service that night." + +"I had to take care of that girl. She fainted." + +"Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't +care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story +you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there." + +Wynne was too confused to answer this sally, although he wanted to say +something about the cruelty of taking him into the ball-room. His +confusion increased Mrs. Wilson's amusement. + +"I think I should like to be in at the death," she said. "She is coming +down to stay with me next week. Come down and make love to her. I won't +tell about the girl you carried out of church in your arms." + +More and more disconcerted and self-conscious, Maurice could only +stammer that Mrs. Wilson flattered him if she supposed that Miss +Morison would tolerate any love-making on his part. + +"You are adorable when you blush like that," was the reply which he +got. "I have almost a mind to set you to make love to me. However, that +wouldn't be fair. I will take it out in seeing you and her. You must +surely come down." + +Maurice regarded the invitation as merely part of Mrs. Wilson's +badinage, but in due time it was formally repeated by note. He opened +the letter at the breakfast table, and was advised by his cousin to +accept. + +"Mrs. Wilson," she commented, "is like a banjo, more exciting than +refined, but she isn't bad-hearted. She has the old Boston blood and +traditions behind her." + +"They are sometimes rather far behind," interpolated Mr. Staggchase +dryly. "She wasn't a Beauchester, you know. However, she has her +ancestors safe in their graves so that they can't escape her." + +Mrs. Staggchase smiled good-naturedly at the little fling at her own +family pretensions. + +"You are wicked this morning, Fred," was her reply. "Elsie is something +of a sport on the ancestral tree; but she is worth visiting. Berenice +Morison is going down there sometime soon. Perhaps she will be there +with you, Maurice." + +"I thought," Mr. Staggchase observed, "that old Mrs. Morison didn't +approve of Mrs. Wilson." + +"Nobody approves of Elsie," was Mrs. Staggchase's calm reply. "I'm sure +I don't; but after all she is a sort of cousin of Berenice, and she +can't very well refuse to visit her. Really, there is nothing bad about +Elsie. She is startling, and she certainly does things which are bad +form. That's half of it because she married as she did." + +Nothing more was said, and Maurice kept his own counsel in regard to +the fact that he knew that Miss Morison was to be his fellow-guest. He +was full of wild hopes. He reproached himself that he was wrong to +forget that Berenice was rich and he was poor; yet not for all his +reproaches could he keep himself from feeling Mrs. Wilson had not +seemed to see any insurmountable obstacle to his wooing; that she had +appeared rather to be ready to help his suit. He must not, of course, +try to win Berenice; yet he was going to Mrs. Wilson's to meet her, to +be with her, to revel in the delicious pleasure of hoping, of fearing, +of loving. + +The house of the Wilsons at Beverly Farms was on a bluff overlooking +the sea. It was reached by a long avenue winding through pines mingled +with birches and rowan trees; and stood in a clearing where all the day +and all the night the sound of the waves on the cliff answered the +whispering of the wind in the pine-tops. The broad piazzas of the house +looked out over the sea, and gave views of the islands off shore, the +ever-changing water, the beautiful curves of the sea marge, now high +with defiant rocks, and now falling into sandy beaches. A level lawn, +velvety and green, stretched from the house to the edge of the cliff, +with here and there a rustic seat or a century plant stiff and arrogant +in its lonely exile from warmer climes. + +On this piazza Maurice found himself, just before dinner on the evening +of his arrival, walking up and down with Berenice. It was still cool +enough to make the exercise grateful. + +"It is so delightful to have the weather warm enough to be out of doors +without being all bundled up," she said, looking over the sea, cold +green and gray in the declining light. + +"The water doesn't look very warm," Maurice responded, following her +gaze. + +"No, it isn't exactly summer yet," she replied lightly. "Do you know," +she added, turning to meet his eyes, "I can't help thinking how +different this is from the last time we were together away from +Boston." + +"When we were at Brookfield?" + +"Yes." + +"It is different; more different to me than you can have any idea of. +Then I was a cog in a machine; now I am my own master." + +They walked to the end of the piazza, turned, and came down again. They +were facing the light now, and her face shone with the pale glow of the +declining day. In her black dress, with a soft shawl thrown about her, +she was dazzling; and Maurice found it difficult not to take her in his +arms then and there. + +"It must have been a strange feeling," she observed thoughtfully, "to +know that you were not master of your own movements, but had to do as +you were told, whether you approved of it or not." + +"Strange," he echoed, a sense of slavery coming over him which was far +stronger than anything he had felt while the bondage lasted, "it was +intolerable!" + +"Yet you endured it?" she returned, regarding him curiously. + +"Yes, I endured it. In the first place, I thought that it was my duty; +and in the second, it was not so hard until I had seen"-- + +"Well, until you had seen?"-- + +"Until I had seen you, I was going to say." + +Berenice flushed, and tossed her head. + +"You have caught a pretty trick of paying compliments, Mr. Wynne." + +"No," he answered with gravity, "I have only the mistaken temerity to +say the truth." + +She regarded him with a mocking light in her deep, velvety eyes. + +"And is it the truth that you have given up your religion because you +have seen me?" + +Maurice wondered afterward how he looked when she sped this shaft, for +he saw her shrink and pale. She even stammered some sort of an apology; +but he did not heed it. Although he was sure that he should sooner or +later have come to the same conclusion whether he had met Berenice or +not, he knew in his secret heart that there was in her words some savor +at least of truth. He felt their bitterness to his heart's core, and +could only stand speechless, reproaching her with his glance. If they +were true it was cruel for her to say them. He regarded her a moment, +and then turned toward the long French window by which they had come +out of the house. Berenice recovered herself instantly, and behaved as +if nothing had occurred to mar the serenity of their talk. + +"Yes," she said in an even voice, "you are right. It is becoming too +cold to stay out here." + +He held open the window for her, and she swept past him with a soft +rustle and a faint breath of perfume. He did not follow, but drew the +window to behind her and continued his promenade alone until he was +summoned to dinner. All his glorious air-castles had fallen in ruins +about his feet, and he rated himself as a fool for having come to +Beverly Farms to meet this girl who evidently flouted him. + +The result of this conversation was to bring Maurice to the resolution +to return to town. All the doubts which had been in his mind arose like +ghosts ill exorcised, more tangible and more insistent than ever. He +realized that he had come here fully persuaded in his secret heart that +Miss Morison must love him, and with the hope of winning some proof of +it. Now he assured himself that she did not care for him and that he +had been a fool to indulge in a dream so absurd. The obstacles which +lay between them presented themselves to him in a dismal array. He +decided that she could have no respect for him, or she could not have +thrown at him the implication that he had apostatized from selfish +motives. With all the awful solemnity with which a man deeply in love +examines trifles, he recalled her looks and words, deciding that he was +to her nothing more than the butt of her light contempt; and secretly +wondering when and where he should see her again, he decided to leave +her forever. + +He announced his determination next morning to his hostess. As he could +not well give the real reason for his decision, and had no experience +in social finesse, he came off badly when asked why he had come to this +sudden decision. He could not equivocate; and when Mrs. Wilson asked +him point-blank if Berenice had been treating him badly, he could only +take refuge in the reply that it was not for him to criticise what Miss +Morison chose to do. He persisted in his resolution to return to +Boston, feeling obstinately that he could not with dignity remain where +he was while Berenice was there. A man of the world would at once have +seen the folly of such a course, but Maurice was not a man of the +world. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson said, after she had argued with him a little, "you +have retained the clerical obstinacy, whatever else you've given up. I +am not in the habit of pressing my guests to stay if they are tired of +my society. If you choose to go, of course you will go." + +"Oh, it is not that I am tired of your society," poor Maurice put in +eagerly. + +"If I were a man," his hostess went on, "I never would let a woman see +that I minded how she treated me. You'd soon have her coming down from +her high horse if you showed her that you didn't care." + +Maurice flushed painfully. It was impossible for him to talk to Mrs. +Wilson about his feeling for Berenice. + +"I am afraid that I had better go," he said, with eyes abased. + +She regarded him with a mixture of impatience and amusement struggling +in her face. + +"By all means go," she retorted. "I'll tell Patrick to be at the door +in time to take you to the three o'clock train." + +She swept away rather brusquely, leaving him disconsolate and uneasy. +He felt that he had bungled matters; but before he had time to consider +Berenice appeared, and joined him on the piazza. + +"I am sent by Mrs. Wilson," she announced, "to ask you to stay." + +"You take some pains to clear yourself from the suspicion of having any +interest in the matter." + +"'I am only a messenger,'" she quoted saucily, seating herself on the +rail of the piazza in the sunshine, and looking so piquant that Maurice +felt resolution and resentment oozing out of his mind with fatal +rapidity. + +He flushed at her allusion to his ill-considered interview with her, +but he could not for his life be half so indignant as he wished to be. + +"Apparently an indifferent messenger. You evidently do not care whether +I go or I stay." + +"Why should I?" + +"Why should Mrs. Wilson?" he retorted, not very well knowing what he +was saying. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilson is your hostess. Besides," Bee went on, a delightful +look of mischief coming into her face, "she said that she hated to have +her plans interfered with, and that you were so handsome that she liked +to have you about." + +Maurice flushed with a strangely mixed sensation of pleased vanity and +irritation, and was angry with himself that he could not receive her +jesting unmoved. He bowed stiffly. + +"I am very sorry," he returned, "that Mrs. Wilson should be deprived of +so beautiful an ornament for her place." + +"Then you will go?" Bee demanded, looking at him with mirthful eyes, a +glance which so moved him that he could not face it. + +"I see no reason why I should remain." + +"There certainly can be none if you see none. Well, I want to give you +something of yours before you leave us." + +She drew from the folds of her handkerchief the little grotesque mask +which she had pinned upon her lover's cassock at the Mardi Gras ball. +Maurice flushed hotly at the sight. + +"You are determined, Miss Morison, to spare me no humiliation in your +power." + +"Humiliation?" she echoed. "Why, I was humiliating myself. Seriously, +Mr. Wynne, I have been ashamed of that performance ever since; and I +most sincerely beg your pardon. The humiliation is mine entirely." + +"But where in the world," demanded he, a new thought striking him, "did +you get the thing? You know I threw it on the table." + +"Miss Carstair gave it to Mr. Stanford, and I got it from him." + +Maurice came a step nearer. + +"Why?" he asked, his voice deepening. + +"I--I didn't like to have him keep it," Bee murmured, with downcast +face and lower tone. + +"Why?" he repeated, so much in earnest that his voice was almost +threatening. + +She was for a moment more confused than ever, but rallying she held out +the mask. + +"Oh, that I might tease you with it again!" she laughed. + +He took the absurd trinket in his hand. + +"It is pretty badly dilapidated," he observed. + +"Yes," she said demurely. "I crushed it in the carriage on the way home +from the ball. I--I crumpled it up in my hand." + +"Why?" + +"You keep saying 'why' over and over to me, Mr. Wynne, as if I were on +the witness-stand." + +"Why?" he persisted. + +He had forgotten all the doubts which had beset and hindered him, the +scruples he had had about wooing, and the fears that she did not love +him. He was conscious only that she was there before him and that he +loved her; that her downcast looks seemed to encourage him, so that it +was impossible to rest until he knew what was really in her mind. The +unspoken message which he had somehow intangibly received from her made +him forget everything else. He loved her; he loved her, and a wild hope +was beating in his heart and seething in his brain. He could not turn +back now; he must know. He saw her grow paler as he looked at her, +standing so close that his face was bent down almost over her bent +head. He felt that her secret, nay, the crown of life itself, was +within his grasp if he did not fail now. + +"Why?" he asked still again, hardly conscious that he said it, and yet +determined that he would win an answer at whatever cost. + +She raised her face slowly, shyly; her eyes were shining. + +"Because," she said, hardly above a whisper, "I was determined to +convince myself that I hated you. But then"-- + +Her words faltered, yet he still did not dare to give way to the warm +tide which he felt swelling up from his heart. His voice softened +almost to the tone of hers. + +"But then?" + +The crimson stained her beautiful face, and faded. + +"I think I--I kissed it," she murmured, so low that the words were mere +phantoms of speech. + +He tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat. He sprang +forward, and gathered her into his arms. It is an art which even +deacons may know by nature. + +When the pair came in to luncheon an hour later, Mrs. Wilson looked up +at them, and then without question turned to a servant. + +"You may tell Patrick that we shan't need the carriage for the +station," that sagacious woman said coolly. + +Maurice was both surprised and touched by the gratification which his +engagement gave to his friends. Mrs. Wilson might be expected to take +satisfaction, since any woman is likely to approve of any match which +she may be allowed to have a hand in promoting; the Staggchases were +delighted, and Mrs. Morison received him with a kindness which moved +him more than anything else. Mrs. Morison treated him much as if he +were her son. She spoke wisely to him about his future, and she had a +word of warning on the subject of his attitude toward religion. + +"My dear Maurice," she said, after she had come to call him by that +name, "let me give you a caution. The most fanatical belief is less +evil than dogmatic denial. If you are really the agnostic you claim to +be, your very confession that the truth is too great for human grasp +binds you to respect the unknown." + +"But one cannot respect dogmas," he objected. + +"We were not speaking of dogmas," she responded with sweet and +dignified earnestness, "but of the mystery of life and the great +unknown that incloses it. The great fault and danger of this age is +that it is all for breaking down. It reforms abuses and improves away +old errors; but it seems to forget the need of providing something to +take the place of what it clears away. Men can no more live without a +belief than without air." + +"But it is hard to have patience with what one sees to be false." + +"What one believes to be false, you mean. It isn't easy to have +patience with those who hold to theories that we've laid by; but surely +it is impossible not to respect the spirit in which any honest soul +sincerely believes." + +"Yes," Maurice assented, somewhat doubtfully; "but it is so hard to +have patience with creeds that are entirely outworn." + +The old lady smiled and shook her head. + +"Again I have to say 'which seem to you outworn.' A creed is never +really outworn so long as a single man sincerely believes in it. +However, you may have as little patience as you like with them if you +will only remember that after all the creed itself is nothing, while +the attitude of the mind to truth is everything. If you respect +conviction, that is all I ask." + +Mrs. Staggchase at another time had also an ethical word for him. +Maurice was deeply moved by the fact that Philip had gone into the +Catholic church and entered a monastery at Montreal. Like his friend, +Ashe had left the Clergy House as soon as he had come to the decision +to which his doubts led. He had seen Maurice, and had talked to him +unreservedly of his faith and of his plans. It was idle to attempt to +move him; and it was after bidding the proselyte good-by that Maurice +was talking of him to Mrs. Staggchase, and lamenting what occurred. + +"My dear fellow," she observed in her faintly satirical manner, "I know +that I'm growing old, because whereas my convictions used to be all +right and my actions all wrong, now my actions are right enough, but my +convictions have all evaporated. Mr. Ashe is still young enough to need +convictions, and the more rigid they are the more contented he'll be." + +"But with his training, to turn out in this way," responded Maurice. +"It's amazing. Think of a New England Puritan turned Catholic!" + +"On the contrary, it is the most natural thing in the world. His +Puritan training is what has made him a Catholic." + +Maurice thought a moment in silence. + +"I suppose," he said at length, "that in this age there are only two +things possible for a thinking man. One must go over to Rome and rest +on authority, or choose to use his reason, and be an agnostic." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him with a smile which made him flush a +little. + +"'No doubt but ye are the people,'" she quoted, "'wisdom shall die with +you.' Yet I have known persons really of intellectual respectability +who haven't found it necessary to do either." + +He was too wise to answer her. He remembered that it was time to keep +an appointment with Berenice, and he smiled with the air of one too +happy to be ruffled. + +"I suppose," he remarked, as he rose to go, "that if I would give you +the chance you would easily prove that Phil and I both are merely +Puritans more or less disguised!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + +This file should be named 7prtn10.txt or 7prtn10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7prtn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7prtn10a.txt + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Puritans + +Author: Arlo Bates + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8522] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 19, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + The Puritans + + + By + + + Arlo Bates + + + The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. + _All's Well That Ends Well_, iv. 3. + + + + + +"Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her till I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me." + _Persian Religious Hymn. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + II. THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + III. AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + IV. SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + V. VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + VI. HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + VII. THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + VIII. LIKE COVERED FIRE + IX. HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + X. A SYMPATHY OF WOE + XI. IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + XII. THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE + XIII. A NECESSARY EVIL + XIV. HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + XV. HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + XVI. THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + XVII. A BOND OF AIR + XVIII. CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + XIX. 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + XX. IN WAY OF TASTE + XXI. THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + XXII. THE BITTER PAST + XXIII. THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + XXIV. FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + XXV. WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + XXVI. O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + XXVII. UPON A CHURCH BENCH + XXVIII. BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + XXIX. WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + XXX. PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + XXXI. HOW CHANCES MOCK + XXXII. NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + XXXIII. A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + XXXIV. WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + XXXV. THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + XXXVI. THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + XXXVII. THIS IS NOT A BOON + + + + + THE PURITANS + + + + + I + + + AFTER SUCH A PAGAN CUT + Henry VIII., i. 3. + + +"We are all the children of the Puritans," Mrs. Herman said smiling. +"Of course there is an ethical strain in all of us." + +Her cousin, Philip Ashe, who wore the dress of a novice from the Clergy +House of St. Mark, regarded her with a serious and doubtful glance. + +"But there is so much difference between you and me," he began. Then he +hesitated as if not knowing exactly how to finish his sentence. + +"The difference," she responded, "is chiefly a matter of the difference +between action and reaction. You and I come of much the same stock +ethically. My childhood was oppressed by the weight of the Puritan +creed, and the reaction from it has made me what you feel obliged to +call heretic; while you, with a saint for a mother, found even +Puritanism hardly strict enough for you, and have taken to semi- +monasticism. We are both pushed on by the same original impulse: the +stress of Puritanism." + +She had been putting on her gloves as she spoke, and now rose and stood +ready to go out. Philip looked at her with a troubled glance, rising +also. + +"I hardly know," said he slowly, "if it's right for me to go with you. +It would have been more in keeping if I adhered to the rules of the +Clergy House while I am away from it." + +Mrs. Herman smiled with what seemed to him something of the tolerance +one has for the whim of a child. + +"And what would you be doing at the Clergy House at this time of day?" +she asked. "Wouldn't it be recreation hour or something of the sort?" + +He looked down. He never found himself able to be entirely at ease in +answering her questions about the routine of the Clergy House. + +"No," he answered. "The half hour of recreation which follows Nones +would just be ended." + +His cousin laughed confusingly. + +"Well, then," she rejoined, "begin it over again. Tell your confessor +that the woman tempted you, and you did sin. You are not in the Clergy +House just now; and as I have taken the trouble to ask leave to carry +you to Mrs. Gore's this afternoon, more because you wanted to see this +Persian than because I cared about it, it is rather late for +objections." + +Philip raised his eyes to her face only to meet a glance so quizzical +that he hastened to avoid it by going to the hall to don his cloak; and +a few moments later they were walking up Beacon Hill. + +It was one of those gloriously brilliant winter days by which Boston +weather atones in an hour for a week of sullenness. Snow lay in a thin +sheet over the Common, and here and there a bit of ice among the tree- +branches caught the light like a glittering jewel. The streets were +dotted with briskly gliding sleighs, the jingle of whose bells rang out +joyously. The air was full of a vigor which made the blood stir briskly +in the veins. + +Philip had not for years found himself in the street with a woman. +Seldom, indeed, was he abroad with a companion, except as he took the +walk prescribed in the monastic regime with his friend, Maurice Wynne. +For the most part he went his way alone, occupied in pious +contemplation, shutting himself stubbornly in from outward sights and +sounds. Now he was confused and unsettled. Since a fire had a week +earlier scattered the dwellers in the Clergy House, and sent him to the +home of his cousin, he had gone about like one bewildered. The world +into which he was now cast was as unknown to him as if he had passed +the two years spent at St. Mark's in some far island of the sea. To be +in the street with a lady; to be on his way to hear he knew not what +from the lips of a Persian mystic; to have in his mind memory of light +talk and pleasant story; all these things made him feel as if he were +drifting into a strange unknown sea of worldliness. + +Yet his feeling was not entirely one of fear or of reluctance. +Sensitive to the tips of his fingers, he felt the influences of the +day, the sweetness of his cousin's laughter, the beauty of her face. He +was exhilarated by a strange intoxication. He was conscious that more +than one passer looked curiously at them as, he in his cassock and she +in her furs, they walked up Beacon Street. He felt as in boyhood he had +felt when about to embark in some adventure to childhood strange and +daring. + +"It is a beautiful day," he said involuntarily. + +"Yes," Mrs. Herman answered. "It is almost a pity to spend it indoors. +But here we are." + +They had come into Mt. Vernon Street, and now turned in at a fine old +house of gray stone. + +"Is there any discussion at these meetings?" he asked, as they waited +for the door to be opened. + +"Oh, yes; often there is a good deal. You'll have ample opportunity to +protest against the heresies of the heathen." + +"I do not come here to speak," he replied, rather stiffly. "I only come +to get some idea of how the oriental mind works." + +He felt her smile to be that of one amused at him, but he could not see +why she should be. + +"I must give you one caution," she went on, as they entered the house. +"It's the same that the magicians give to those who are present at +their incantations. Be careful not to pronounce sacred words." + +"But don't they use them?" + +"Oh, abundantly; but they know how to use them in a fashion understood +only by the initiated, so that they are harmless." + +They passed up the wide staircase of Mrs. Gore's handsome, if over- +furnished house. They were shown into the drawing-room, where they were +met by the hostess, a tall, superb woman of commanding presence, her +head crowned with masses of snow-white hair. Coming in from the +brilliant winter sunlight, Philip could not at first distinguish +anything clearly. He went mechanically through his presentation to the +hostess and to the Persian who was to address the meeting, and then +sank into a seat. He looked curiously at the Persian, struck by the +picturesque appearance of the long snow-white beard, fine as silk, +which flowed down over the rich robe of the seer. The face was to +Philip an enigma. To understand a foreign face it is necessary to have +learned the physiognomy of the people to which it belongs, as to +comprehend their speech it is necessary to have mastered their +language. As he knew not whether the countenance of the old man +attracted or repelled him more, and could only decide that at least it +had a strange fascination. + +Suddenly Ashe felt his glance called up by a familiar presence, and to +his surprise saw his friend, Maurice Wynne, come into the room, +accompanied by a stately, bright-eyed woman who was warmly greeted by +Mrs. Gore. He wondered at the chance which had brought Maurice here as +well as himself; but the calling of the meeting to order attracted his +thoughts back to the business of the moment. + +The Persian was the latest ethical caprice of Boston. He had come by +the invitation of Mrs. Gore to bring across the ocean the knowledge of +the mystic truths contained in the sacred writings of his country; and +his ministrations were being received with that beautiful seriousness +which is so characteristic of the town. In Boston there are many +persons whose chief object in life seems to be the discovery of novel +forms of spiritual dissipation. The cycle of mystic hymns which the +Persian was expounding to the select circle of devotees assembled at +Mrs. Gore's was full of the most sensual images, under which the +inspired Persian psalmists had concealed the highest truth. Indeed, +Ashe had been told that on one occasion the hostess had been obliged to +stop the reading on the ground that an occidental audience not +accustomed to anything more outspoken than the Song of Solomon, and +unused to the amazing grossness of oriental symbolism, could not listen +to the hymn which he was pouring forth. Fortunately Philip had chanced +upon a day when the text was harmless, and he could hear without +blushing, whether he were spiritually edified or not. + +The Persian had a voice of exquisite softness and flexibility. His +every word was like a caress. There are voices which so move and stir +the hearer that they arouse an emotion which for the moment may +override reason; voices which appeal to the senses like beguiling +music, and which conquer by a persuasive sweetness as irresistible as +it is intangible. The tones of the Persian swayed Ashe so deeply that +the young man felt as if swimming on a billow of melody. Philip +regarded as if fascinated the slender, dusky fingers of the reader as +they handled the splendidly illuminated parchment on which glowed +strange characters of gold, marvelously intertwined with leaf and +flower, and cunning devices in gleaming hues. He looked into the deep, +liquid eyes of the old man, and saw the light in them kindle as the +reading proceeded. He felt the dignity of the presence of the seer, and +the richness of his flowing garment; but all these things were only the +fitting accompaniments to that beautiful voice, flowing on like a topaz +brook in a meadow of daffodils. + +The Persian spoke admirable English, only now and then by a slight +accent betraying his nationality. He made a short address upon the +antiquity of the hymn which he was that day to expound, its authorship, +and its evident inspiration. Then in his wonderful voice he read:-- + + + + THE HYMN OF ISMAT. + + +Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarters where the vintners +dwell, to seek the daughter of an infidel who sells wine. + +At the end of the street, there advanced before me a damsel, with a +fairy's cheeks, who in the manner of a pagan wore her tresses +dishevelled over her shoulders like a sacerdotal thread. I said: "O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave, what +quarter is this, and where is thy mansion?" + +She answered: "Cast thy rosary to the ground; bind on thy shoulder the +thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from +a full goblet." + +"After that come before me that I may whisper a word in thine ear;-- +thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my discourse." + +Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her until I came +to a place in which religion and reason forsook me. + +At a distance I beheld a company all insane and inebriated, who came +boiling and roaring with ardor from the wine of love. + +Without cymbals or lutes or viols, yet all filled with mirth and +melody; without wine or goblet or flagon, yet all incessantly drinking. + +When the cord of restraint slipped from my hand, I desired to ask her +one question, but she said: "Silence!" + +"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive +precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult, +but without knowledge. This is the banquet-house of infidels, and +within it all are intoxicated; all from the dawn of eternity to the day +of resurrection lost in astonishment." + +"Depart thou from the cloister and take thy way to the tavern; cast off +the cloak of a dervish, and wear the robe of a libertine." + +I obeyed; and if thou desirest the same strain and color as Ismat, +imitate him, and sell this world and the next for one drop of pure +wine! + +The company sat in absorbed silence while the reading went on. Nothing +could be more perfect than the listening of a well-bred Boston +audience, whether it is interested or not. The exquisitely modulated +voice of the Persian flowed on like the tones of a magic flute, and the +women sat as if fascinated by its spell. + +When the reading was finished, and the Persian began to comment upon +the spiritual doctrine embodied in it, Ashe sat so completely absorbed +in reverie that he gave no heed to what was being said. In his ascetic +life at the Clergy House he had been so far removed from the sensuous, +save for that to which the services of the church appealed, that this +enervating and luxurious atmosphere, this gathering to which its quasi- +religious character seemed to lend an excuse, bred in him a species of +intoxication. He sat like a lotus-eater, hearing not so much the words +of the speaker as his musical voice, and half-drowned in the pleasure +of the perfumed air, the rich colors of the room, the Persian's dress, +the illuminated scroll, in the subtile delight of the presence of +women, and all those seductive charms of the sense from which the +church defended him. + +The Persian, Mirza Gholân Rezâh, repeated in his flute-like voice: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave;'" and, +hearing the words as in a dream, Philip Ashe looked across the little +circle to see a woman whose beauty smote him so strongly that he drew a +quick breath. To his excited mood it seemed as if the phrase were +intended to describe that beautifully curved brow, brown against the +fair skin, and in his heart he said over the words with a thrill: "'O +thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!'" Half +unconsciously, and as if he were taken possession of by a will stronger +than his own, he found himself noting the soft curve and flush of a +woman's cheek, the shell-texture of her ear, and the snowy whiteness of +her throat. She sat in the full light of the window behind him, leaning +as she listened against a pedestal of ebony which upheld the bronze +bust of a satyr peering down at her with wrinkled eyes; her throat was +displayed by the backward bend of her head, and showed the whiter by +contrast with the black gown she wore. Philip's breath came more +quickly, and his head seemed to swim. Sensitive to beauty, and starved +by asceticism, he was in a moment completely overcome. + +Suddenly he felt the regard of his friend Maurice resting upon him with +a questioning glance, and it was as if the thought of his heart were +laid bare. Philip made a strong effort, and fixed his look and his +attention upon the speaker, who was deep in oriental mysticism. + +"It is written in the Desâtir," Mirza Gholân Rezâh was saying, "that +purity is of two kinds, the real and the formal. 'The real consists in +not binding the heart to evil: the formal in cleansing away what +appears evil to the view.' The ultimate spirit, that inner flame from +the treasure-house of flames, is not affected by the outward, by the +apparent. What though the outer man fall into sin? What though he throw +stones at the glass of piety and quaff the wine of sensuality from a +full goblet? The flame within the tabernacle is still pure and +undefined because it is undefilable." + +Ashe looked around the circle in astonishment, wondering if it were +possible that in a Christian civilization these doctrines could be +proclaimed without rebuke. His neighbors sat in attitudes of close +attention; they were evidently listening, but their faces showed no +indignation. On the lips of Wynne Philip fancied he detected a faint +curl of derisive amusement, but nowhere else could he perceive any +display of emotion, unless--He had avoided looking at the lady in +black, feeling that to do so were to play with temptation; but the +attraction was too strong for him, and he glanced at her with a look of +which the swiftness showed how strongly she affected him. It seemed to +him that there was a faint flush of indignation upon her face; and he +cast down his eyes, smitten by the conviction that there was an +intimate sympathy between his feeling and hers. + +"This is the word of enlightenment which the damsel, the +personification of wisdom, whispered into the ear of the seeker," +continued the persuasive voice of the Persian. "It is the heart-truth +of all religion. It is the word which initiates man into the divine +mysteries. 'Thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my +discourse.' Life is affected by many accidents; but none of them +reaches the godhead within. The divine inebriation of spiritual truth +comes with the realization of this fact. The flame within man, which is +above his consciousness, is not to be touched by the acts of the body. +These things which men call sin are not of the slightest feather-weight +to the soul in the innermost tabernacle. It is of no real consequence," +the speaker went on, warming with his theme until his velvety eyes +shone, "what the outer man may do. We waste our efforts in this +childish care about apparent righteousness. The real purity is above +our acts. Let the man do what he pleases; the soul is not thereby +touched or altered." + +Ashe sat upright in his chair, hardly conscious where he was. It seemed +to him monstrous to remain acquiescent and to hear without protest this +juggling with the souls of men. The instinct to save his fellows which +underlies all genuine impulse toward the priesthood was too strong in +him not to respond to the challenge which every word of the Persian +offered. Almost without knowing it, he found himself interrupting the +speaker. + +"If that is the teaching of the Persian scriptures," he said, "it is +impious and wicked. Even were it true that there were a flame from the +Supreme dwelling within us, unmanifested and undeniable, it is +evidently not with this that we have to do in our earthly life. It is +with the soul of which we are conscious, the being which we do know. +This may be lost by defilement. To this the sin of the body is death. +I, I myself, I, the being that is aware of itself, am no less the one +that is morally responsible for what is done in the world by me." + +Led away by his strong feeling, Philip began vehemently; but the +consciousness of the attention of all the company, and of the searching +look of Mirza, made the ardent young man falter. He was a stranger, +unaccustomed to the ways of these folk who had come together to play +with the highest truths as they might play with tennis-balls. He felt a +sudden chill, as if upon his hot enthusiasm had blown an icy blast. + +Yet when he cast a glance around as if in appeal, he saw nothing of +disapproval or of scorn. He had evidently offended nobody by his +outburst. He ventured to look at the unknown in black, and she rewarded +him with a glance so full of sympathy that for an instant he lost the +thread of what the Persian, in tones as soft and unruffled as ever, was +saying in reply to his words. He gathered himself up to hear and to +answer, and there followed a discussion in which a number of those +present joined; a discussion full of cleverness and the adroit handling +of words, yet which left Philip in the confusion of being made to +realize that what to him were vital truths were to those about him +merely so many hypotheses upon which to found argument. There were more +women than men present, and Ashe was amazed at their cleverness and +their shallow reasoning; at the ease and naturalness with which they +played this game of intellectual gymnastics, and at the apparent +failure to pierce to anything like depth. It was evident that while +everything was uttered with an air of the most profound seriousness, it +would not do to be really in earnest. He began to understand what Helen +had meant when she warned him not to pronounce sacred words in this +strange assembly. + +When the meeting broke up, the ladies rose to exchange greetings, to +chat together of engagements in society and such trifles of life. Ashe, +still full of the excitement of what he had done, followed his cousin +out of the drawing-room in silence. As they were descending the wide +staircase, some one behind said:-- + +"Are you going away without speaking to me, Helen?" + +Ashe and Mrs. Herman both turned, and found themselves face to face +with the lady in black, who stood on the broad landing. + +"My dear Edith," Mrs. Herman answered, "I am so little used to this +sort of thing that I didn't know whether it was proper to stop to speak +with one's friends. I thought that we might be expected to go out as if +we'd been in church. I came only to bring my cousin. May I present Mr. +Ashe; Mrs. Fenton." + +"I was so glad that you said what you did this afternoon, Mr. Ashe," +Mrs. Fenton said, extending her hand. "I felt just as you did, and I +was rejoiced that somebody had the courage to protest against that +dreadful paganism." + +Philip was too shy and too enraptured to be able to reply intelligibly, +but as they were borne forward by the tide of departing guests he was +spared the need of answer. At the foot of the stairway he was stopped +again by Maurice Wynne, and presented to Mrs. Staggchase, his friend's +cousin and hostess for the time being; but his whole mind was taken up +by the image of Mrs. Fenton, and in his ears like a refrain rang the +words of the Persian hymn: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the +new moon is a slave!" + + + + II + + + THERE BEGINS CONFUSION + Henry VI., iv. 1. + + +That afternoon at Mrs. Gore's had been no less significant to Maurice +Wynne than to Philip Ashe. His was a less spiritual, less highly +wrought nature, but in the effect which the change from the atmosphere +of the Clergy House to the Persian's lecture had upon him, the +experience of Maurice was much the same. He too was attracted by a +woman. He gave his thoughts up to the woman much more frankly than +would have been possible for his friend. She was young, perhaps twenty, +and exquisite with clear skin and soft, warm coloring. Her wide-open +eyes were as dark and velvety as the broad petals of a pansy with the +dew still on them; her cheeks were tinged with a hue like that which +spreads in a glass of pure water into which has fallen a drop of red +wine; her forehead was low and white, and from it her hair sprang up in +two little arches before it fell waving away over her temples; her lips +were pouting and provokingly suggestive of kisses. The whole face was +of the type which comes so near to the ideal that the least +sentimentality of expression would have spoiled it. Happily the big +eyes and the ripe, red mouth were both suggestive of demure humor. +There was a mirthful air about the dimple which came and went in the +left cheek like Cupid peeping mischievously from the folds of his +mother's robe. A boa of long-haired black fur lay carelessly about her +neck, pushed back so that a touch of red and gold brocade showed where +she had loosened her coat. Maurice noted that she seemed to care as +little for the lecture as he did, and he gave himself up to the delight +of watching her. + +When the company broke up Mrs. Staggchase spoke almost immediately to +the beautiful creature who so charmed him. + +"How do you do, Miss Morison," Mrs. Staggchase said; "I must say that I +am surprised that cousin Anna brought you to a place where the doctrine +is so far removed from mind-cure. My dear Anna," she continued, turning +to a lady whom Wynne knew by name as Mrs. Frostwinch and as an +attendant at the Church of the Nativity, "you are a living miracle. You +know you are dead, and you have no business consorting with the living +in this way." + +"It is those whom you call dead that are really living," Mrs. +Frostwinch retorted smiling. "I brought Berenice so that she might see +the vanity of it all." + +Mrs. Staggchase presented Maurice to the ladies, and after they had +spoken on the stairs with one and another acquaintance, and Maurice had +exchanged a word with his friend Ashe, it chanced that the four left +the house together. Wynne found himself behind with Miss Morison, while +his cousin and Mrs. Frostwinch walked on in advance. He was seized with +a delightful sense of elation at his position, yet so little was he +accustomed to society that he knew not what to say to her. He was +keenly aware that she was glancing askance at his garb, and after a +moment of silence he broke out abruptly in the most naively unconscious +fashion:-- + +"I am a novice at the Clergy House of St. Mark." + +A beautiful color flushed up in Miss Morison's dark cheek; and Wynne +realized how unconventional he had been in replying to a question which +had not been spoken. + +"Is it a Catholic order?" she asked, with an evident effort not to look +confused. + +"It is not Roman," he responded. "We believe that it is catholic." + +"Oh," said she vaguely; and the conversation lapsed. + +They walked a moment in silence, and then Maurice made another effort. + +"Has Mrs. Frostwinch been ill?" he asked. "Mrs. Staggchase spoke of her +as a miracle." + +"Ill!" echoed Miss Morison; "she has been wholly given up by the +physicians. She has some horrible internal trouble; and a consultation +of the best doctors in town decided that she could not live a week. +That was two months ago." + +"But I don't understand," he said in surprise. "What happened?" + +"A miracle," the other replied smiling. "You believe in miracles, of +course." + +"But what sort of a miracle?" + +"Faith-cure." + +"Faith-cure!" repeated he in astonishment. "Do you mean that Mrs. +Frostwinch has been raised from a death-bed by that sort of jugglery?" + +His companion shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't think it would raise you in her estimation if she heard you. +The facts are as I tell you. She dismissed her doctors when they said +they could do nothing for her, and took into her house a mind-cure +woman, a Mrs. Crapps. Some power has put her on her feet. Wouldn't you +do the same thing in her place?" + +Wynne looked bewildered at Mrs. Frostwinch walking before him in a +shimmer of Boston respectability. He had an uneasy feeling that he was +passing from one pitfall to another. He was keenly conscious of the +richness of the voice of the girl by his side, so that he felt that it +was not easy for him to disagree with anything which she said. He let +her remark pass without reply. + +"For my part," she went on frankly, "I don't in the least believe in +the thing as a matter of theory; but practically I have a superstition +about it, because I've seen Cousin Anna. She was helpless, in agony, +dying; and now she is as well as I am. If I were ill"-- + +She broke off with a pretty little gesture as they came within hearing +of the others, who had halted at Mrs. Frostwinch's gate. Wynne said +good-by absently, and went on his way down the hill like a man in a +dream. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, "you have seen one of Boston's ethical +debauches; what do you think of it?" + +"It was confusing," he returned. "I couldn't make out what it was for." + +"For? To amuse us. We are the children of the Puritans, you know, and +have inherited a twist toward the ethical and the supernatural so +strong that we have to have these things served up even in our +amusements." + +"Then I think that it is wicked," Maurice said. + +"Oh, no; we must not be narrow. It isn't wrong to amuse one's self; +and if we play with the religion of the Persians, why is it worse than +to play with the mythologies of the Greeks or Romans? You wouldn't +think it any harm to jest about classical theology." + +Wynne turned toward her with a smile on his strong, handsome face. + +"Why do you try to tangle me up in words?" he asked. + +Mrs. Staggchase did not turn toward him, but looked before with face +entirely unchanged as she replied:-- + +"I am not trying to entangle you in words, but if I were it would be +all part of the play. You are undergoing your period of temptation. I +am the tempter in default of a better. In the old fashion of +temptations it wouldn't do to have the tempter old and plain. Then you +were expected to fall in love; now we deal in snares more subtle." + +Maurice laughed, but somewhat unmirthfully. There was to him something +bewildering and worldly about his cousin; and he had come to feel that +he could never be at all sure where in the end the most harmless +beginning of talk might lead him. + +"What then is the modern way of temptation?" he inquired. + +"It shows how much faith we have in its power," she replied, as they +waited on the corner of Charles Street for a carriage to pass, "that I +don't in the least mind giving you full warning. Did you know the lady +in that carriage, by the way?" + +"It was Mrs. Wilson, wasn't it?" + +"Yes; Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. You have seen her at the Church of the +Nativity, I suppose. She is one phase of the temptation." + +"I don't in the least understand." + +"I didn't in the least suppose that you would. You will in time. My +part of the temptation is to show you all sorts of ethical jugglery, +the spiritual and intellectual gymnastics such as the Bostonians love; +to persuade you that all religion is only a sort of pastime, and that +the particular high-church sort which you especially affect is but one +of a great many entertaining ways of killing time." + +"Cousin Diana!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. + +"I hope that you understand," she continued unmoved. "I shall exhibit a +very pretty collection of fads to you if we see them all." + +"But suppose," he said slowly, "that I refused to go with you?" + +"But you won't," returned she, with that curious smile which always +teased him with its suggestion of irony. "In the first place you +couldn't be so impolite as to refuse me. A woman may always lead a man +into questionable paths if she puts it to his sense of chivalry not to +desert her. In the second, the spirit of the age is a good deal +stronger in you than you realize, and the truth is that you wouldn't be +left behind for anything. In the third, you could hardly be so cowardly +as to run away from the temptation that is to prove whether you were +really born to be a priest." + +"That was decided when I entered the Clergy House." + +"Nonsense; nothing of the sort, my dear boy. The only thing that was +decided then was that you thought you were. Wait and see our ethical +and religious raree-shows. We had the Persian to-day; to-morrow I'm to +take you to a spiritualist sitting at Mrs. Rangely's. She hates to +have me come, so I mustn't miss that. Then there are the mind-cure, +Theosophy, and a dozen other things; not to mention the semi- +irreligions, like Nationalism. You will be as the gods, knowing good +and evil, by the time we are half way round the circle,--though it is +perhaps somewhat doubtful if you know them apart." + +She spoke in her light, railing way, as if the matter were one of the +smallest possible consequence, and yet Wynne grew every moment more and +more uncomfortable. He had never seen his cousin in just this mood, and +could not tell whether she were mocking him or warning him. He seized +upon the first pretext which presented itself to his mind, and +endeavored to change the subject. + +"Who is Mrs. Rangely?" he asked. "A medium?" + +"Oh, bless you, no. She is not so bad as a medium; she is only a New +Yorker. Do you think we'd go to real mediums? Although," she added, +"there are plenty who do go. I think that it is shocking bad form." + +"But you speak as if"-- + +"As if spiritualism were one of the recognized ethical games, that's +all. It is played pretty well at Mrs. Rangely's, I'm told. They say +that the little Mrs. Singleton she's got hold of is very clever." + +"Mrs. Singleton," Maurice repeated, "why, it can't be Alice, brother +John's widow, can it? She married a Singleton for a second husband, and +she claimed to be a medium." + +"Did she really? It will be amusing if you find your relatives in the +business." + +"She wasn't a very close relative. John was only my half-brother, you +know, and he lived but six months after he married her. She is clever +enough and tricky enough to be capable of anything." + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase said, as they turned in at her door, "if it is +she it will give you an excellent chance to do missionary work." + +They entered the wide, handsome hall, and with an abrupt movement the +hostess turned toward her cousin. + +"I assure you," she said, "that I am in earnest about your temptation. +I want to see what sort of stuff you are made of, and I give you fair +warning. Now go and read your breviary, or whatever it is that you sham +monks read, while I have tea and then rest before I dress." + +Maurice had no reply to offer. He watched in silence as she passed up +the broad stairway, smiling to herself as she went. He followed slowly +a moment later, and seeking his room remained plunged in a reverie at +which the severe walls of the Clergy House might have been startled; a +reverie disquieted, changing, half-fearful; and yet through which with +strange fascination came a longing to see more of the surprising world +into which chance had introduced him, and above all to meet again the +dark, glowing girl with whom he had that afternoon walked. + + + + III + + + AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND + Merchant of Venice, v. 2. + + +It was cold and gray next morning when Maurice took his way toward a +Catholic church in the North End. He had been there before for +confession, and had been not a little elated in his secret heart that +he had been able to go through the act of confession and to receive +absolution without betraying the fact that he was not a Romanist. He +had studied the forms of confession, the acts of contrition, and +whatever was necessary to the part, and for some months had gone on in +this singular course. To his Superior at the Clergy House he confessed +the same sins, but Maurice had a feeling that the absolution of the +Roman priest was more effective than that of his own church. He was not +conscious of any intention of becoming a Catholic, but there was a +fascination in playing at being one; and Wynne, who could not +understand how the folk of Boston could play with ethical truths, was +yet able thus to juggle with religion with no misgiving. + +This morning he enjoyed the spiritual intoxication of the confessional +as never before. He half consciously allowed himself to dwell upon the +image of the beautiful Miss Morison to the end that he might the more +effectively pour out his contrition for that sin. He was so eloquent in +the confessional that he admired himself both for his penitence and for +the words in which he set it forth. He floated as it were in a sea of +mingled sensuousness and repentance, and he hoped that the penance +imposed would be heavy enough to show that the priest had been +impressed with the magnitude of the sin of which he had been guilty in +allowing his thoughts, consecrated to the holy life of the priesthood, +to dwell upon a woman. + +It was one of those absurd anomalies of which life is full that while +Maurice sometimes slighted a little the penances imposed by his own +Superior, he had never in the least abated the rigor of any laid upon +him by the Catholic priest. It was perhaps that he felt his honor +concerned in the latter case. This morning the penance was +satisfactorily heavy, and he came out of the church with a buoyant +step, full of a certain boyish elation. He had a fresh and delightful +sense of the reality of religion now that he had actually sinned and +been forgiven. + +Next to being forgiven for a sin there is perhaps nothing more +satisfactory than to repeat the transgression, and if Maurice had not +formulated this fact in theory he was to be acquainted with it in +practice. As he walked along in the now bright forenoon, filled with +the enjoyment of moral cleanness, he suddenly started with the thrill +of delicious temptation. Just before him a lady had come around a +corner, and was walking quietly along, in whom at a glance he +recognized Miss Morison. There came into his cheek, which even his +double penances had not made thin, a flush of pleasure. He quickened +his steps, and in a moment had overtaken her. + +"Good morning," he said, raising his ecclesiastical hat with an air +which savored somewhat of worldliness. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" + +She started at his salutation, but instantly recognized him. + +"Good morning," she responded. "I didn't expect to find anybody I knew +in this part of the town." + +"It isn't one where young ladies as a rule walk for pleasure, I +suppose," Maurice said, falling into step, and walking beside her. + +"I am very sure that I don't," Miss Morison replied with a toss of her +head. "I do it because I was bullied into being a visitor for the +Associated Charities, and I go once a week to tell some poor folk down +here that I am no better than they are. They know that I don't believe +it, and I have my doubts if they even believe it themselves, only they +wouldn't be foolish enough to prevaricate about it. Oh, it's a great +and noble work that I'm engaged in!" + +There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty +head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she +intoxicated him with delight. + +"You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm," said he. + +"Enthusiasm!" she retorted. "Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it, +the people I visit hate it, and there's nobody pleased but the +managers, who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, +and make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am +tired of the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to +try the unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting." + +She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious +that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth. +There was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, +and Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone +amiss. + +"But philanthropy," he began, "is surely"-- + +"Your cousin," she interrupted, "declares that only the eye of +Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what passes for +philanthropy and what is sheer egotism." + +He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked. + +"But what," he asked, "has impressed this view of things upon you this +morning in particular?" + +His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands. + +"Of course I show it," she said; "though you needn't have reminded me +that I have lost my temper." + +"I beg your pardon," began Maurice in confusion, "I"-- + +"Oh, you haven't done anything wrong," she interrupted, "the trouble is +entirely with me. I've been making a fool of myself at the instigation +of the powers that rule over my charitable career, and I don't like the +feeling." + +They walked on a moment without further speech. Maurice said to himself +with a thrill of contrition that he would double the penance laid upon +him, and he endeavored not to be conscious of the thought which +followed that the delight of this companionship was worth the price +which he should thus pay for it. + +"This is what happened," Miss Morison said at length. "I don't quite +know whether to laugh or to cry with vexation. There's a poor widow +who has had all sorts of trials and tribulations. Indeed, she's been a +miracle of ill luck ever since I began to have the honor to assure her +weekly that I'm no better than she is. It may be that the fib isn't +lucky." + +She turned to flash a bright glance into the face of her companion as +she spoke, and he tried to clear away the look of gravity so quickly +that she might not perceive it. + +"Oh," she cried; "now I have shocked you! I'm sorry, but I couldn't +help it." + +"No," he replied, "you didn't really shock me. It only seemed to me a +pity that you should be working with so little heart and under +direction that doesn't seem entirely wise." + +"Wise!" she echoed scornfully. "There's a benevolent gentleman who +insisted upon giving this old woman five dollars. It was all against +the rules of the Associated Charities, for which he said he didn't care +a fig. That's the advantage of being a man! And what do you think the +old thing did? She took the whole of it to buy a bonnet with a red +feather in it! The committee heard of it, though I can't for my life +see how. There are a lot of them that seem to think that benevolence +consists chiefly in prying into the affairs of the poor wretches they +help! And they posted me off to scold her." + +"But why did you go?" + +"They said they would send Miss Spare if I didn't, and in common +humanity I couldn't leave that old creature to the tender mercies of +Miss Spare." + +"What did you say?" + +The face of Miss Morison lighted with mocking amusement. + +"That's the beauty of it," she cried, bursting into a low laugh which +was full of the keenest fun. "I began with the things I'd been told to +say; but the old woman said that all her life long she had wanted a +bonnet with red feathers, but that she had never expected to have one. +When she got this money, she went out to buy clothing, and in a window +she saw this bonnet marked five dollars. She piously remarked that it +seemed providential. She's like the rest of the world in finding what +she likes to be providential." + +"Yes," murmured Maurice, half under his breath; "like my meeting you." + +Miss Morison looked surprised, but she ignored the words, and went on +with her story. + +"She said she concluded she'd rather go without the clothes, and have +the bonnet; and by the time we were through I had weakly gone back on +all the instructions I'd received, and told her she was right. She knew +what she wanted, and I don't blame her for getting it when she could. +I'm sick of seeing the poor treated as if they were semi-idiots that +couldn't think without leave from the Associated Charities." + +The whole tone of the conversation was so much more frank than anything +to which Wynne was accustomed that he felt bewildered. This freedom of +criticism of the powers, this want of reverence for conventionalities, +gave him a strange feeling of lawlessness. He felt as if he had himself +been wonderfully and almost culpably daring in listening. He wondered +that he was not more shocked, being sure that it was his duty to be. +There was about the young man's mental condition a sort of infantile +unsophistication. The New England mind often seems to inherit from +bygone Puritanism a certain repellent quality through which it takes +long for anything savoring of worldliness or worldly wisdom to +penetrate. When once this covering is broken, it may be added, the +result is much the same as in the case of the cracking of other glazes. + +After he had parted from Miss Morison, Maurice walked on in a blissful +state of conscious sinfulness. He understood himself well enough to +know that before him lay repentance, but this did not dampen his +present enjoyment. He had not so far outgrown his New England +conscience as to escape remorse for sin, but he had become so +accustomed to the belief that absolution removed guilt that there was +in his cup of self-reproach little abiding bitterness. + +That afternoon he accompanied Mrs. Staggchase to the house of Mrs. +Rangely with a confused feeling as if he were some one else. His cousin +wore the same delicately satirical air which marked all her intercourse +with him. She carried her head with her accustomed good-humored +haughtiness, and her straight lips were curled into the ghost of a +smile. + +"This is the most stupid humbug of them all," she remarked, as they +neared Mrs. Rangely's house on Marlborough Street. "You'll think the +deception too transparent to be even amusing,--if you don't become a +convert, that is." + +"A convert to spiritualism?" Wynne returned with youthful indignation. +"I'm not likely to fall so low as that. That is one of the things which +are too ridiculous." + +She laughed, with that air of superiority which always nettled him a +little. + +"Don't allow yourself to be one of those narrow persons to whom a thing +is always ridiculous if they don't happen to believe it. You believe +in so many impossible things yourself that you can't afford to take on +airs." + +The tantalizing good nature with which she spoke humiliated Wynne. She +seemed to be playing with him, and he resented her reflection upon his +creed. He was, however, too much under the spell of his cousin to be +really angry, and he was silenced rather than offended. They entered +the house to find several of the persons whom he had seen at Mrs. +Gore's on the day previous; and Wynne was at once charmed and +disquieted by the entrance a moment later of Miss Morison, who came in +looking more beautiful than ever. It gave him a feeling of exultation +to be sharing her life, even in this chance way. + +The preliminaries of the sitting were not elaborate. Mrs. Rangely, the +hostess, impressed it upon her guests that Mrs. Singleton, the medium, +was not a professional, but that she was with them only in the capacity +of one who wished to use her peculiar gifts in the search for truth. + +"She does not understand her powers herself," Mrs. Rangely said; "but +she feels that it is not right to conceal her light." + +Maurice was too unsophisticated to understand why Mrs. Rangely's talk +struck him as not entirely genuine, but he was to some extent +enlightened when his cousin said to him afterward: "Frances Rangely has +the imitation Boston patter at her tongue's end now, but she is too +thoroughly a New Yorker ever to get the spirit of it. She rattles off +the words in a way that is intensely amusing." + +The shutters of the small parlor in which the company was assembled had +been closed and the gas lighted. There were about a dozen guests, and +all had the air of being of some position. While the hostess went to +summon the medium, Maurice asked in a whisper if the master of the +house was present, and was answered that Fred Rangely was too clever to +be mixed up in this sort of thing. Wynne caught a satirical glance +between his cousin and Miss Morison, and more than ever he felt that +the meeting was a farce in which he, vowed to a nobler life, should +have had no part. + +His musings were cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Rangely with the +medium. He recognized Mrs. Singleton at a glance, and was struck as he +had been before by the appealing look of innocence. She was a slender, +almost beautiful woman, with exquisite shell-like complexion, and +delicate features. An entire lack of moral sense frequently gives to a +woman an air of complete candor and purity, and Alice Singleton stood +before the company as the incarnation of sincerity and truth. Her face +was of the rounded, full-lipped, wistful type; the sensuous, selfish +face moulded into the likeness of childlike guilelessness which of all +the multitudinous varieties of the "ever womanly" is the one most +likely to be destructive. + +Had it not been that Maurice was acquainted with her history, he could +hardly have resisted the fascination of this creature, as tender and as +innocent in appearance as a dewy rose; but he was thoroughly aware of +her moral worthlessness. Yet as she stood shrinking on the threshold as +if she were too timid to advance, he could not but feel her +attractiveness and the sweetness of her presence. He watched curiously +as in response to a word from Mrs. Rangely she came hesitatingly +forward, bowed in acknowledgment to a general introduction, and sank +into the chair placed for her in the centre of the circle. She was clad +in black, but a little of her creamy neck was visible between the folds +of lace which set off its fairness. Her arms were bare half way to the +elbows, and her hands were ungloved. Maurice wondered if she would +recognize him; then he reflected that he sat in the shadow, out of the +direct line of her vision, and that it was years since she had seen +him. + +"We will have the gas turned down," Mrs. Rangely said; and at once +turned it, not down, but completely out, leaving the room in absolute +darkness. + +There followed an interval of silence, and Maurice, whose wits were +sharpened by his knowledge of the medium, and who was on the lookout +for trickery, reflected how inevitable it was that this breathless +silence, coupled with the darkness and the expectation of something +mysterious, should bring about the frame of mind which the medium would +desire. The silence lasted so long that he, not wrapt in expectation, +began to grow impatient. He put out his hand timidly in the darkness +and touched the chair in which Miss Morison was sitting, getting +foolish comfort from even such remote communion. He fell into a reverie +in which he felt dimly what life might have been with her always at his +side, had he not been vowed to the stern refusal of all earthly +companionship. + +His reflections were broken by a loud, quivering sigh seeming to come +from the medium, and echoed in different parts of the room. There was +another brief interval of silence, and then the medium began to speak. +Her tone was strained and unnatural, and at first she murmured to +herself. Then her words came more clearly and distinctly. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" she whispered. Then in a voice growing clearer she +went on: "Bright forms! There are three,--no, there are five; oh, the +room is full of them. Oh, how bright they are growing! They shine so +that they almost blind me. Don't you see them?" + +The room rustled like a field of wheat under a breeze. + +"There is one that is clearer than the others," went on the voice of +the medium in the electrical darkness. "She is all shining, but I can +see that her hair is white as snow. She must have been old before she +went into the spirit world. She smiles and leans over the lady in the +armchair. Oh, she is touching you! Don't you feel her dear hands on +your head?" + +Maurice felt the chair against which his fingers rested shaken by a +movement of awe or of impatience. He flushed with indignation. It was +Miss Morison to whom the medium was directing this childish +impertinence. He longed to interfere, and even made so brusque a +movement that Mrs. Staggchase leaned over and whispered to him to +remain quiet. + +"There are many spirits here," the medium went on with increasing +fervor, "but none of them are so clear. She is speaking to you, but you +cannot hear her. She is grieved that you do not understand her. Oh, try +to listen so that you may hear her message with the spiritual ear. She +is so anxious." + +The audience seemed to quiver with excitement. Simply because a woman +whom Maurice knew to be capable of any falsehood sat here in the +darkness and pretended to see visions, these men and women were +apparently carried out of themselves. It seemed to him at once +monstrous and pitifully ridiculous. + +"It must be your grandmother," spoke again the voice of Mrs. Singleton, +now thick with emotion. "Yes, she nods her head. She is so anxious to +reach through your unconsciousness. Wait! she is going to do something. +I think she is going to give you some token. Let me rest a moment, so +that I can help her. She wants to materialize something." + +Heavy silence, but a silence which seemed alive with excitement, once +more prevailed. Maurice began himself to feel something of the +influence pervading the gathering, and was angry with himself for it. +Suddenly a cry from the medium, earnest and full of feeling, broke out +shrilly. + +"Oh, she has something in her hand. Try to assist her. She will succeed +in materializing it fully if we can help her with our wills. I can see +it becoming clearer--clearer--clearer! Now she is smiling. She is +happy. She knows she will succeed. Yes; it is--Oh, what beautiful +roses! They are changing from white to red in her hands. She holds them +up for me to see; she is lifting them up over your head. Now, now she +is going to drop them! Quick! The light!" + +The voice of Mrs. Singleton had risen almost to a scream, and bit the +nerves of the hearers. As she ended Maurice heard the soft sound of +something falling, and felt Miss Morison start violently. The gas was +at once lighted, and there in the lap and at the feet of Berenice, who +regarded them with an expression of mingled disgust and annoyance, lay +scattered a handful of crimson roses. + +The company broke into expressions of admiration, of belief, of awe. +Mrs. Singleton had played to her audience with evident success. Miss +Morison gathered up the flowers without a word, and held them out to +the medium, who lay back wearied in her chair. + +"Don't give them to me," Mrs. Singleton said in a faint voice. "They +were brought for you." + +"How can you bear to give them up?" a woman said. "It must be your +grandmother that brought them." + +"My grandmother was in very good health in Brookfield yesterday," +Berenice responded. "I hardly think that they come from her." + +The tone was so cold that Mrs. Singleton was visibly disconcerted. + +"Of course I don't know the spirit," she said. "But are both your +grandmothers living?" + +"She nodded her head, you know," put in another. + +To this Miss Morison did not even reply; but the awkwardness of the +situation was relieved by Mrs. Rangely, who broke into conventional +phrases of admiration and wonder. + +"Yes, Frances," Mrs. Staggchase observed dryly, "as you say, it +couldn't be believed if one hadn't seen it." + +Her manner was unheeded in the flood of praise and congratulation with +which Mrs. Singleton was being overwhelmed. + +"It is what I've longed for all my life," one lady declared, wiping her +eyes. "I never could have confidence in professional mediums, but this +is so perfectly satisfactory. Oh, I _do_ feel that I owe you so much, +Mrs. Singleton!" + +"Yes, this we have seen with our own eyes," another added. "It is +impossible for the most skeptical to doubt this." + +To this and more Maurice listened in amazement, until he rather +thought aloud than consciously spoke:-- + +"But it all depends upon the unsupported testimony of the medium." + +Mrs. Rangely drew herself up with much dignity. + +"That," she said, "I will be responsible for." + +"It isn't unsupported," chimed in one of the ladies. "Here are the +roses." + +At the sound of Maurice's voice Mrs. Singleton had turned toward him, +and he saw that she recognized him. She looked around with a glance +half terrified, half appealing. + +"It is so kind in you to believe in me," she murmured pathetically. "I +don't ask you to. I only tell you what I see, and"-- + +Maurice rose abruptly and strode forward. + +"Alice," he exclaimed, "what do you mean by this humbug? Don't you see +that they take it seriously? Tell them it's a joke." + +Again Mrs. Singleton looked around as if to see whether she had +support. + +"It is manly of you to attack me," she answered, evidently satisfied +with the result of her survey. "I cannot defend myself." + +"Do you mean to insist?" he demanded, with growing anger. + +"If the roses do not justify what I said," responded she, sinking back +as if exhausted, "it may be that I saw only imaginary shapes." + +A sharp murmur ran around the room. The believers were evidently +rallying indignantly to the support of their sibyl, and cast upon Wynne +glances of bitter reproach. He looked at Mrs. Staggchase, but it was +impossible to judge from her expression whether she approved or +disapproved of what he had done. He was suddenly abashed, and stood +speechless before the rising tide of outraged remonstrance. Then +unexpectedly came from behind him the clear voice of Miss Morison. + +"It is unfortunate that the roses should have been given to me," she +said, "for by an odd chance I saw them bought a couple of hours ago on +Tremont Street." + +There was an instant of hushed amazement, and then the medium fled from +the parlor in hysterics. + + + + IV + + + SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE + Measure for Measure, v. 1. + + +"O thou to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + +Philip Ashe colored with self-consciousness as the words came into his +mind. He felt that he had no right to think them, and yet as he looked +across the table at his hostess it seemed almost as if the phrase had +been spoken in his ear by the seductive voice of Mirza Gholân Rezâh. He +sighed with contrition, and looked resolutely away, letting his glance +wander about the room in which he was sitting at dinner. He noted the +panels of antique stamped leather, and although he had had little +artistic training, he was pleased by the exquisite combination of rich +colors and dull gold. Some Spanish palace had once known the glories +which now adorned the walls of Mrs. Fenton's dining-room, and even his +uneducated eye could see that care and taste had gone to the decoration +of the apartment. Jars of Moorish pottery, few but choice, and pieces +of fine Algerian armor inlaid with gold were placed skillfully, each +displayed in its full worth and yet all harmonizing and combining in +the general effect. Ashe knew that the husband of Mrs. Fenton had been +an artist of some note, and so strongly was the skill of a master-hand +visible here that suddenly the painter seemed to the sensitive young +deacon alive and real. It was as if for the first time he realized +that the beautiful woman before him might belong to another. By a +quick, unreasonable jealousy of the dead he became conscious of how +keenly dear to him had become the living. + +Ashe had met Mrs. Fenton a number of times during the week which had +intervened since the Persian's lecture at Mrs. Gore's. He had seen her +once or twice at the house of his cousin, with whom Mrs. Fenton was +intimate, and chance had brought about one or two encounters elsewhere. +He had until this moment tried to persuade himself that his admiration +for her was that which he might have for any beautiful woman; but +looking about this room and realizing so completely the husband dead +half a dozen years, he felt his self-deception shrivel and fall to +ashes. With a desperate effort he put the thought from him, and gave +his whole attention to the talk of his companions. + +"Yes, Mr. Herman is in New York," Mrs. Herman was saying. "He has gone +on to see about a commission. They want him to go there to execute it, +but I don't think he will." + +"Doesn't he like New York?" asked Mr. Candish, the rector of the Church +of the Nativity, who was the fourth member of the little company. + +Mrs. Herman and Mrs. Fenton both laughed. + +"You know how Grant feels about New York, Edith," the former said. "If +anything could spoil his temper, it is a day in what he calls the +metropolis of Philistinism." + +"I never heard Mr. Herman say anything so harsh as that about +anything," Candish responded. "Do you feel in that way about it?" + +"The thing which I dislike about the place is its provincialism," she +answered. "It is the most provincial city in America, in the sense that +nothing really exists for it outside of itself. If I think of New York +for ten minutes I have no longer any faith in America." + +"Then I shouldn't think of it, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton. + +"Then you wouldn't go with your husband if he went there to do this +work, I suppose," Mr. Candish observed. + +"I should go with him anywhere that, he thought it best to go. I fear +that you haven't an exalted idea of the devotion of the modern wife, +Mr. Candish." + +Ashe watched with interest the rector, who flushed a little. He knew of +him well, having more than once heard the awkwardness and social +inadaptability of the man urged as reasons of his unfitness to be +placed at the head of the most fashionable church in the city. Philip +saw him glance at the hostess and then cast down his eyes; and wondered +if this were simple diffidence. + +"That is hardly fair," Mr. Candish said, somewhat awkwardly. "The +clergy, not having wives, are poor judges in such a matter." + +"That might be taken as an argument for the marriage of the clergy," +she responded with a smile. + +"How so?" + +"If they had wives they would be better able to sympathize with the +trials and joys of their parishioners." + +"I never thought of that," murmured Mrs. Fenton. + +Mr. Candish flushed all over his homely, freckled face. + +"By the same reasoning you might hold that a clergyman should have +committed all the sins in the decalogue, so that he should have ready +sympathy with all sorts of sinners." + +"I'm not sure that he wouldn't be more useful if he had," Mrs. Herman +answered with a smile; "at least a man who hasn't wanted to commit a +sin must find it hard to sympathize with the wretch that hasn't been +strong enough to resist temptation. Still, I hope that sin and marriage +are not put into the same category." + +"Oh, of course not," Mrs. Fenton interpolated. "Marriage is a +sacrament." + +"It has always seemed to me inconsistent," Mrs. Herman went on, "that +the church should exclude her priests from one of the sacraments." + +Ashe saw a faint cloud pass over the face of the hostess. He was +himself a little shocked; and Candish frowned slightly. + +"The church admits her priests to this sacrament in a higher sense," he +said with some stiffness. + +Helen smiled. + +"Now I have shocked you," was her comment. "I beg your pardon." + +"I can never accustom myself to a familiar way of handling sacred +things," he returned. "It is to me too vital a matter." + +"I am afraid that that is because you are still so young," she +retorted. "It is, if you'll pardon me, the prerogative of youth to find +all views but its own intolerable." + +The manner in which this was said deprived the words of their sting, +but Mrs. Fenton evidently felt that they were getting upon dangerous +ground, and she interposed. + +"We shall ask you to define youth next, Helen," she threw in. + +"Oh, that is easy. Young people are always those of our own age." + +In the laugh that followed this the question of the marriage of the +clergy was allowed to drop; but to all that had been said Philip had +listened with a beating heart. He felt the air about him to be charged +with meanings which he could not divine. He had somehow a suspicion +that the hostess was more interested in this talk than she was willing +to show; and with what in a moment he recognized as consummate and +fatuous egotism, he felt in his heart the shadow of a hope that there +might be some connection between this and her interest in him. Then a +fear followed lest there might be things here hidden which would make +him miserable did he understand. + +"Mrs. Herman insists that she is a Puritan," Mrs. Fenton said a moment +later. "You see how she proves it by the position she takes on all +these questions." + +"Of course I am a Puritan," was the answer. "I was born so. There is +nothing which I believe that wouldn't have seemed to my forefathers +good ground for having me whipped at the cart's tail, but I am Puritan +to the bone." + +"I don't see what you mean," Candish said. + +"I mean that I inherit, like all of us children of the Puritans, the +way of looking at things without regard to consequences, of feeling +devoutly about whatever seems to us true, and of realizing that +individual preferences do not alter the laws of the universe; isn't +that the essence of Puritanism?" + +"Perhaps," he answered; "but are the unbelievers of to-day devout?" + +Ashe looked at his cousin as she paused before answering. He felt that +the question must baffle her. He did not comprehend what was behind her +faint smile. + +"Certainly not all of them," was her reply. "The age isn't greatly +given to reverence. I am a Puritan, however, and I must say what I +think. I believe that there is a hundredfold more devoutness in the +infidelity of New England to-day than in its belief." + +Ashe leaned forward in amazement, half overturning his glass in his +eagerness. + +"Why, that is a contradiction of terms," he exclaimed. + +Mrs. Herman's smile deepened. + +"Not necessarily, Cousin Philip," returned she. + +"It is possible for belief to degenerate into mere conventionality, +while sincere doubters at least must have a realization of the mystery +and the awe which overshadow life." + +Mrs. Fenton put up her hand in a pretty gesture of deprecation. + +"Come," she said, "I don't wish to be despotic, but I can't let Mrs. +Herman lead you into a discussion of that sort. We'll talk of something +else." + +"Am I to bear the blame of it all?" demanded Helen. "That I call +genuinely theological." + +"Worse and worse," the hostess responded. "Now you attack the cloth." + +"It seems to me," observed Mr. Candish, coming out of a brief study in +which he had apparently not heard Mrs. Fenton's last words, "that you +leave out of account the matter of desire. The believer at least longs +to believe, and surely deserves well for that." + +"I don't see why. Certainly he hasn't learned the first word of the +philosophy of life who still confounds what he desires and what he +deserves." + +"Come, Helen," put in Mrs. Fenton; "I wouldn't have suspected you of +trying to pose as a belated remnant of the Concord School." + +Ashe easily perceived that the hostess was becoming more and more +uneasy at the course of the discussion. He could see too that Mr. +Candish was growing graver, and his sallow face beginning to flush +through its thin skin. It was evident that Mrs. Fenton saw and +appreciated these signs, and wished to change the subject of +conversation. Philip wondered that she took the matter so gravely, but +cast about in his own mind for the means of helping her. Before he +could think of anything to say his cousin had started a fresh topic. + +"By the way," she asked, "who is to be bishop?" + +Candish shook his head with a grave smile. + +"We should be relieved if we knew," was his answer. + +"There's a great deal being done to defeat Father Frontford," Ashe +added; "but the lay delegates haven't been chosen." + +"The friends of Mr. Strathmore are working very hard," observed Mrs. +Fenton. "It would be a great misfortune if they were to succeed." + +"But I suppose the friends of Father Frontford are at work too?" +returned Helen. + +Ashe thought that he detected a faint trace of satire in her voice, and +he turned toward her with earnest gravity. + +"It is not to be supposed," he answered, "that the friends of the +church are idle at a time of so much importance. Mr. Strathmore is +really little better than a Unitarian; or at least he is so lax that +he gives the world that opinion." + +He felt that this was a reply which must end all inclination to +raillery on her part. He began to feel fresh sympathy with the +disturbance of Mr. Candish earlier in the dinner. The matter now was to +him so vital that he could not talk of it except with the greatest +gravity. He watched Helen closely to discover if she were disposed to +smile at his reply. He could detect no ridicule in her expression, +although she did not seem much impressed with the weight of the charge +he had brought against Mr. Strathmore, the popular candidate for the +bishopric of the diocese, then vacant. + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson is doing a good deal," Mrs. Fenton remarked, +glancing smilingly at Helen. + +"Oh, yes," responded the other. "I remember now that she declined to be +on a committee for the picture-show because, as she said, she had to +run the campaign for the bishop." + +"The expression," Candish began, rather stiffly, "is somewhat"-- + +"It is hers, not mine," Helen replied. "I should not have chosen the +phrase myself." + +"It is singular," Mrs. Fenton said thoughtfully, "how little general +interest there is in this matter of the choice of a bishop." + +"And what there is," Mrs. Herman put in with a faint suspicion of +raillery in her tone, "comes from the fact that Mr. Strathmore is +popular as a radical." + +"It is natural enough that the general public should look at it in that +way," Mr. Candish commented. "Mr. Strathmore has all the elements of +popularity. He is emotional and sympathetic; and religious laxity +presented by such a man is always attractive." + +"The infidelity of the age finds such a man a living excuse," Ashe +said, feeling to the full all that the words implied. + +Mrs. Fenton smiled upon him, but shook her head. + +"That is a somewhat extreme view to take of it, Mr. Ashe. I think it is +rather the personal attraction of the man than anything else." + +The talk drifted away into more secular channels, and Ashe in time +forgot for the moment that he was already almost a priest. Youth was +strong in his blood, and even when a man has vowed to serve heaven by +celibacy the must of desire may ferment still in his veins. A youthful +ascetic has in him equally the making of a saint and a monster; and +until it is decided which he is to be there will be turmoil in his +soul. His newly realized love for Mrs. Fenton threw Ashe into a tumult +of mingled bliss and anguish. The heart of the most simple mortal soars +and exults in the sense that it loves. It may be timid, sad, +despairing, but even the smart of love's denial cannot destroy the joy +of love's existence. Philip felt the sting of his conscience; he looked +upon his passion as no less hopeless than it was opposed to his vows; +he was overshadowed by a half-conscious foresight of the pain which +must arise from it; yet he swam on waves of delight such as even in his +moments of religious ecstasy he had never before known. He felt his +cheeks flush, and when his cousin glanced at him he dropped his eyes in +the fear that they would betray his secret. He dared not look openly at +Mrs. Fenton, yet from time to time he stole glances so slyly that he +seemed almost to deceive himself and to conceal from his conscience the +transgression. + +Yet, too, he struggled. He realized at moments what he was doing, and +his cheek grew pale at the idea that he was juggling with his +conscience and his soul. He tried to attend to the talk, and could only +succeed in listening for the sound of her voice. He kept no more hold +on the conversation than was sufficient to allow him to put in a word +now and then to cover his preoccupation. The instinct of simulation +asserted itself as it springs in a bird which flies away to decoy the +hunter from its nest. He feigned to be interested, to be as usual, but +all his blood was trembling and tumbling with this new delirium; and +all struggles to forget his passion only increased its intensity. + +At moments he was astonished at himself. He could not understand what +had taken possession of him. He even whispered a desperate question to +himself whether it might not be that he had been singled out for a +special temptation of the devil,--a distinction too flattering to be +wholly disagreeable. Then he glanced again at his hostess, fair, sweet, +and to his mind sacred before him, and felt that he had wronged her by +supposing that the arch fiend could make of her a temptation. He had +for a moment a humiliating fear that he might have eaten something that +after the spare diet of the Clergy House had exhilarated him unduly. He +felt that at best he was a poor thing; and he seemed to stand outside +of his bare, empty life, pitying and scorning the futility of an +existence unblessed by the love of this peerless woman. + +The evening went on, and Ashe struggled to conceal the wild commotion +of his mind, feeling it almost a relief to get away, so fearful had he +been of losing control of his tumultuous emotions. It would be bliss to +be alone with his dream. + +As he and Mrs. Herman were going home, Helen said:-- + +"I do wonder"-- + +"What do you wonder?" he asked. + +"Did I say that out loud?" she responded. "I didn't mean to. I was +thinking that I couldn't help wondering whether Edith Fenton will ever +marry Mr. Candish." + +The first thought of Ashe was terror lest his secret had been +discovered; his second was a memory of the way in which he had seen +Mrs. Fenton look at the rector at dinner. He was overwhelmed by a rush +of hot anger against his rival. + +"Mr. Candish!" he echoed. "Why, he is an ordained priest!" + +His own words cut him like a sword. He had himself pronounced the death +sentence of his own hope. It was with difficulty that he suppressed a +groan, and what reply or comment Mrs. Herman made was lost in the +tumult of an inner voice crying in his heart: "O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" + + + + V + + + VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE + Comedy of Errors, ii. 1. + + +On the morning after the dinner at Mrs. Fenton's, Philip Ashe and +Maurice Wynne met on the steps of Mrs. Chauncy Wilson's. The house was +on the proper side of the Avenue, with a regal front of marble and with +balconies of wrought iron before the wide windows above, one of +especially elaborate workmanship, having once adorned the front of the +palace of the Tuileries. Pillars of verd antique stood on either side +of the doorway, as if it were the portal of a temple. + +"Good morning, Phil," Maurice called out as they met. "Are you bound +for Mrs. Wilson's too?" + +"Yes," was the answer. "I had a note last night." + +"Well," Wynne said gayly, as they mounted the steps, "if the inside of +the house is as splendid as the outside, we two poor duffers will be +out of place enough in it." + +Ashe smiled. + +"You may be a duffer if you like," he retorted, "but I'm not." + +"Here comes somebody," was the reply. "For my part I'm half afraid of +Mrs. Wilson. They say"-- + +But the door began to move on its hinges, and cut short his words. + +Wynne might have concluded his remark in almost any fashion, for there +were few things which had not been said about Mrs. Wilson. Although she +had been born and bred in Boston, one of the most common comments upon +her was that she was "so un-Bostonian." Exactly what the epithet +"Bostonian" might mean would probably have been hard to explain, but it +is seldom difficult to defend a negation; it was at least easy to show +that the lady did not regard the traditions in which she had been +nourished, and that she had a boldness which was as far as possible +from the decorous conventionality to be expected of one in whose veins +ran the blood of the most correctly exclusive old Puritan families. + +There was a general feeling that Mrs. Wilson's marriage was to be held +accountable for many of her eccentricities; although, as Mrs. +Staggchase remarked, if Elsie Dimmont had not been what she was she +would not have chosen Chauncy Wilson. Well-born, wealthy, pretty, and +not without a certain cleverness, Miss Dimmont had had choice of +suitors enough who were all that the most exacting of her relatives +could desire; yet she had disregarded the conviction of the family that +it was her duty to marry to please them, and had chosen to please +herself by selecting a handsome young doctor whom she met at the house +of a cousin in the country. He was of some local eminence in his +profession, it is true, although as time went on he gave less attention +to it; he was handsome, and astute, and amusing; but he was a man +without ancestors or traditions. He seemed born to justify the saying +that nothing subdues the feminine imagination like force; and although +the stormy times which were liberally predicted at the marriage of two +creatures so strong-willed had undoubtedly marked their marital career, +it was in the end impossible not to see that Dr. Wilson had secured and +held command of his household. + +It is impossible for two to live together, however, without mutual +reaction, and Elsie had unquestionably lost something of the fineness +of the breeding which was hers by right of birth. For a time after her +marriage she had been excessively given up to gayety. She had figured +as a leader in the fastest of the "smart set," as society journals +called it. She rode well, owned a stud which could not be matched in +town, and raced for stakes which startled the conservative old city. It +was even affirmed by the more credulous or more scandalous of the +gossips that it was only the stand taken by the managers of the County +Club which prevented her on one occasion from riding as her own jockey; +and short of this there was little she did not do. + +All this, however, was in the early days of the marriage, before Dr. +Wilson had become accustomed to his position as husband of the richest +woman in town and a member of what was to him the sacred aristocracy. +When the time came that he had found his place and entered his veto +upon these wild doings, there was an instant and determined revolt on +the part of his wife. Elsie fought desperately to maintain her position +as head of the family. By way of humiliating her husband she flirted +with an openness which won for her a reputation by no means to be +envied, and she wantonly trampled on his wishes. Given a husband, +however, with an iron will and a fibre not too fine, with a good temper +and yet with a certain ruthlessness in asserting his sway, and there +is little doubt that in the end he will triumph. If a clever, handsome, +good-humored man does not subdue a wild, headstrong wife, it is almost +surely owing to over-delicacy; and Chauncy Wilson was never hampered by +this. Elsie plunged and reared when she felt the curb,--to use a figure +which in those days might have been her own,--but she was by a +judicious application of whip and spur taught that she had found her +master. The result was that she became not only manageable, but +devotedly fond of her husband. No woman was ever mastered and treated +with kindness who did not thereupon love. Dr. Wilson was too good- +natured to be unkind, and for the most part he allowed his wife to have +her way, fully aware that he had but to speak to restrain her; and thus +it came about that the household was on a most peaceful and +satisfactory basis. + +Mrs. Wilson, however, craved excitement, and ethical amusements she +laughed to scorn. She did, it is true, take up high-church piety, which +she treated, as Mrs. Staggchase did not hesitate to say, as a +plaything; but her interest in church matters was chiefly in the line +of politics. She took charge of the affairs of the Church of the +Nativity with a high hand which abashed and disquieted the devout +rector. She liked Mr. Candish, although she did not hesitate to jest at +his unpolished manners and rather unprepossessing person, and it was +inevitable that she should be unable to appreciate his self-denying +devotion. On one or two occasions she had found him to have a will not +inferior to her own; and although she resented whatever balked her +pleasure, she was yet a woman and respected power in a man. + +Mr. Candish was of all men the one least resembling the traditional +pastor of a fashionable church, and had nothing of the caressing manner +dear to the souls of self-pampered penitents. Fashionable women found +little to admire in this man with the air of a bourgeois and the +simplicity of a babe. He had, however, a strong will, and a sure faith +which was not without its effect upon his parishioners. Ladies whose +religion was largely an affair of nerves found comfort in relying upon +his simple and untroubled devotion. They were piqued by being treated +as souls rather than bodies, but this was perhaps one of the secrets of +his influence. Every woman of his flock had unconsciously some secret +conviction that to her was reserved the triumph of subduing this +intractable nature, hitherto unconquered by the fascinations of the +sex. An ugly man may generally be successful with women if he remains +sufficiently indifferent to them. His unattractiveness, suggesting, as +it must, the idea of his having cause to be especially solicitous and +humble, imparts to his attitude in such a case an all-subduing flavor +of mystery. The instinctive belief of the other sex is that he is but +protecting his sensitiveness, and each longs to tear aside the veil of +dissimulation. The rector, it may be added, was an eloquent preacher, +and he intoned the service wonderfully. His voice in speaking was +somewhat harsh, but when he intoned, it melted into a beautiful +baritone, rich, full, and sweet, which, informed by his deep and +earnest feeling, thrilled his hearers with profound emotion. Mrs. +Wilson was proud of the effect which the service at the Nativity always +had, and she took in it the double pleasure of one who claimed a share +in religious enthusiasms and who had something of the glory of a +manager whose tenor succeeds in opera. + +Into the contest over the election of a bishop to fill the place +recently left vacant Mrs. Wilson had thrown herself with characteristic +vigor. There were but two candidates now seriously considered, the Rev. +Rutherford Strathmore and Father Frontford. The former, a popular +preacher of liberal views, was regarded as the more likely to receive +the appointment, but the High Church party contested the point warmly, +supporting the claims of the Father Superior of the Clergy House which +was the home of Maurice Wynne and Philip Ashe. The political side of +the matter was exactly to Mrs. Wilson's taste. A woman has but to be +rich enough and determined enough to be allowed to amuse herself with +the highest concerns of both church and state; and Mrs. Wilson lacked +neither money nor determination. Her vigor at first disconcerted and in +the end outwardly subdued the clergy. If she actually had less +influence than she supposed, she was at least thoroughly entertained, +and that after all was her object. She interviewed influential persons, +she wrote letters, some of them sufficiently ill-judged, she sought +information in regard to the character and circumstances of the clergy +in the diocese, and did everything with the zeal and dash which +characterized whatever she undertook. + +"Have you any idea what Mrs. Wilson wants of us?" Wynne asked of +Philip, as they waited in the luxurious reception-room. + +"I only know that Father Frontford said that we were to put ourselves +under her orders," was the reply. "Of course it is something about the +election." + +Maurice looked at him keenly. + +"Old fellow," he said, "you look pale. What's the matter with you?" + +"I didn't sleep well," Ashe answered with a flush. "I went to Mrs. +Fenton's to dine, and the indulgence wasn't good for me. It's really +nothing." + +Maurice did not reply, but sank into an easy-chair and looked about +him. The room was a charming fancy of the decorator, who claimed to +have taken his inspiration from the American mullein. The ceiling was +of a pale, almost transparent blue, a tint just strong enough to +suggest a sky and yet leave it half doubtful if such a meaning were +intended; the walls were hung with a rough paper matching in hue the +velvety leaves of the plant, here and there touched with +conventionalized figures of the yellow blossoms. This contrast of green +and yellow was softened and united by a clever use of the clear red of +the mullein stamens sparingly used in the figures on the walls, in the +cords of the draperies, and in the trimmings of the velvet furniture. +The decorator had used the same simple tone for walls, furniture, and +curtains; and the effect was delightfully soothing and distinguished. + +Wynne felt somehow out of place in this room which bore the stamp of +wealth and taste so markedly. He smiled to himself a little bitterly, +recalling how alien he was to these things. Descended from a family for +generations established in a New England town, he had in his veins too +good blood to feel abashed at the sight of splendors; but he had in his +life seen little of the world outside of lecture-rooms or the Clergy +House. Born with the appreciation of sensuous delight, with the +instinctive desire for the beautiful and refined, he felt awake within +him at contact with the richness and luxury of the life which he was +now leading tastes which he had before hardly been aware of possessing. +He was being influenced by the joy of worldly life, so subtly +presented that he did not even appreciate the need of guarding against +the danger. + +His reflections were cut short by the entrance of a servant who +conducted the young men to a private sitting-room up-stairs. The halls +through which they passed were hung with superb old tapestry, +interspersed with magnificent pictures. On the broad landing it was +almost as if the visitors came into the presence of a beautiful woman, +lying naked amid bright cushions in an oriental interior. As he dropped +his eyes from the alluring vision, Maurice saw in the corner the name +of the artist. + +"Fenton," he said aloud. "Did he paint that?" + +His companion started, regarding the picture with widening eyes. The +English footman, whom Wynne addressed, turned back to say over his +shoulder:-- + +"Yes, sir; they say it's his best picture, and some says he painted his +best friend's wife that way, with nothing on, sir." + +"It is a wicked picture!" Ashe said with what seemed to Maurice +unnecessary emphasis. + +The footman regarded the speaker over his shoulder with a smile. + +"Oh, that's owin' to your bein' of the cloth, sir," was his comment. +"They don't generally feel to own to likin' it; but they mostly notices +it." + +A superb screen of carved and gilded wood stood before an open door +above. When this was reached, the footman slipped noiselessly behind +it, and they heard their names announced. + +"Show them in," Mrs. Wilson's voice said. + +The lady met them in a wonderful morning gown which seemed to be +chiefly cascades of lace, with bows of carmine ribbon here and there +which brought out the color of the dark eyes and hair of the wearer. +Maurice could hardly have told why he flushed, yet he was conscious of +the feeling that there was something intimate in the costume. To be met +by this beautiful woman, her hand outstretched in greeting, her eyes +shining, her white neck rising out of the foam of laces; to breathe the +air, soft and perfumed, of this room; to be surrounded by this luxury, +these tokens of a life which stinted nothing in the pursuit of +enjoyment; more than all to appreciate by some subtle inner sense the +appealing charm of femininity, the suggestions of domestic intimacies; +all this was to the young deacon to be exposed to influences far more +formidable to the ascetic life than those grosser temptations with +which a stupid fiend assailed St. Anthony. Wynne drew a deep breath, +wondering why he felt so strangely moved and confused; yet +unconsciously steeling himself against owning to his conscience what +was the truth. + +"It is so good of you to come early," Mrs. Wilson said brightly. "I +hope you don't mind coming upstairs. I wanted to talk to you +confidentially, and we might be interrupted. Besides, you see, I am not +dressed to go down." + +The young men murmured something to the effect that they did not in the +least mind coming up. + +"Didn't mind coming up!" she echoed. "Is that the way you answer a lady +who gives you the privilege of her private sitting-room? Come, you must +do better than that. If you can't compliment me on my frock, you might +at least say that you are proud to be here." + +The two deacons stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, abashed at +her raillery. Maurice saw the lips of Ashe harden, and he hastened to +speak lest his companion should say something stern. + +"You should remember, Mrs. Wilson," he said a little timidly, yet not +without a gleam of humor, "that our curriculum at the Clergy House does +not include a course in compliment." + +"It should then," she responded gayly. "How in the world is a clergyman +to get on with the women of his congregation if he can't compliment? +Why, the salvation or the damnation of most women is determined by +compliments." + +The visitors stood speechless. Mrs. Wilson broke into a gleeful laugh. + +"Come," cried she; "now I have shocked you! Pardon me; I should have +remembered--_virginibus puerisque!_ Sit down, and we will come to +business." + +Both the young men flushed at her half-contemptuous, half-jesting +phrase, but they sat down as directed. Mrs. Wilson took her seat +directly in front of them, and proceeded to inspect them with cool +deliberation. + +"I am looking you over," she observed calmly. "I must decide what work +you are fitted for before I can assign anything to you." + +Two young men do not live together so intimately, and care for each +other so tenderly as did the two deacons without coming to know each +other well; and Maurice was so fully aware of the extreme sensitiveness +of Ashe that he involuntarily glanced at his friend to see how he bore +this inspection. He resented the impertinence of the scrutiny far more +on Philip's account than his own. Ashe's pale face had on it the +faintest possible flush, and his always grave manner had become really +solemn; but otherwise he made no sign. Wynne had a certain sense of +humor which helped him through the ordeal, and there was a faint gleam +of a smile in his eye as he confronted the brilliant woman before him; +but he was ill-pleased that his friend should be made uncomfortable. + +"Do you judge by outward appearances," he asked, "or have you power to +read the heart?" + +"Men so seldom have hearts," she retorted, "that it is not worth while +to bother with that branch." Then she added, as if thinking aloud, and +looking Ashe in the face: "You are an enthusiast, and take things with +frightful seriousness. You must see Mrs. Frostwinch. You'll just suit +her." + +Maurice could see his companion shrink under this cool directness, and +he hastened to interpose. + +"But Mrs. Frostwinch," he said, "is absorbed in Christian Science or +something, isn't she?" + +"Oh, dear, yes," Mrs. Wilson answered, toying with the broad crimson +ribbon which served her as a girdle. "There is a horrid woman named +Trapps, or Grapps, or Crapps, or something, that has fastened herself +upon cousin Anna, and is mind-curing her, or Christian-sciencing her, +or fooling her in some way; but Mrs. Frostwinch is too well-bred really +to have any sympathy with anything so vulgar. She takes to it in +desperation; but she really detests the whole thing." + +"But," Ashe began hesitatingly, "does her conscience"-- + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, making a gesture as if sweeping all that sort of +thing aside. + +"I dare say her conscience pricks her, if that's what you mean; but +it's so much easier to endure the sting of conscience than of cancer +that I'm not surprised at her choice." + +"Besides," Maurice put in, "this is all done nowadays under the name of +religion. It isn't as if it were called by the old names of mesmerism +or Indian doctoring." + +"That's true enough," assented she. "At any rate Anna is mixed up with +this woman, who gets a lot of money out of her, and earns it by making +her think that she's better. However, Cousin Anna must be made to see +that it's her duty in this case to use her influence to prevent the +election of a man who would subvert the church if he could." + +"But if you are her cousin," Ashe began, "would it not"-- + +"Be better if I went to see her myself? Not in the least. She entirely +disapproves of my having anything to do with the election. Besides, +nobody can successfully talk religion to a woman but a man." + +Maurice smiled in spite of himself at the air with which this was said, +but he none the less felt that Mrs. Wilson was flippant. + +"What influence has Mrs. Frostwinch?" he asked. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson answered, leaning back to consider, "I don't know +whether to say that she controls three votes in the upper house of the +Convention, or four." + +The two young men regarded her in puzzled silence. + +"There are at least three clergymen in the diocese that are dependent +upon her," Mrs. Wilson explained. "There is Mr. Bobbins: he married her +cousin,--not a near cousin, but near enough so that Anna has half +supported the family, and the family is always increasing. I tell Anna +that they have babies just to work on her compassion. I think it's +wrong to encourage it, myself. Then there is Mr. Maloon; he depends on +Mrs. Frostwinch to support his mission. Then there's Brother Pewtap,-- +did you ever know such a lovely name for a country parson?--he just +lives on her with a family bigger than Mr. Robbins's. He's really a +Strathmore man, but he wouldn't dare to vote against her wishes. She +might manage all those votes. Besides, there's a Mr. Jewett somewhere +near Lenox that she's helped a good deal; but I haven't found out about +him yet." + +She rose as she spoke, and went to a writing-table fitted out with all +the inventions known to man for the decoration of the desk and the +encumbrance of the writer. + +"I have here a list of all the clergy of the diocese," she said, taking +up a book bound in red morocco and silver. "I've marked them down as +far as I've found out about them. It's necessary to be systematic. I've +done just as they do in canvassing a city ward." + +Maurice regarded Mrs. Wilson with ever-increasing amazement, but, too, +not without increasing amusement. He was somewhat shocked by the +business way in which she treated the subject, but his heart was set on +the election of Father Frontford; he was honest in feeling that the +church would be injured by the election of Mr. Strathmore, and he was +too completely a man not to be half-unconsciously willing that for the +accomplishment of an end he desired a woman should do many things which +he would not do himself. The three went over the list together, the +young men giving such information as they possessed, Maurice all the +time strangely divided in his mind between disapprobation of Mrs. +Wilson and admiration. Her breath was on his cheek as she bent over +the book, the perfume of her laces filled faintly the air, now and then +her hand touched his. He was not conscious of the potency of this +feminine atmosphere which enveloped him; he did not so much think +personally of Mrs. Wilson, beautiful and near though she was, as he +felt her presence as a sort of impersonation of woman. He thought of +Miss Morison, and warmed with a nameless thrill, of longing. Then he +recalled the remark of Mrs. Staggchase that he was undergoing his +temptation, and his heart sank. + +"You see," Mrs. Wilson was saying, when he forced his wandering +attention to heed her words, "men are really elected before the +convention. The work must be done now. You two can, of course, do a lot +of things that it wouldn't be good form for a regular clergyman to do. +Of course you wouldn't be able to manage the directing, but there is a +good deal of work that is in your line." + +"Of course we are glad to do what we can," Maurice responded, smiling. + +He glanced at Ashe and saw that his friend's face was stern. + +"I knew you would be," the lady went on. "Mr. Ashe is to see Mrs. +Frostwinch. You can't be too eloquent in telling her the consequences +of Mr. Strathmore's election. If you can get her to write to the men +I've named, she can secure them. It won't be amiss to flatter her a +little; and above all don't abuse the faith-cure business." + +"But if she speaks of it," Ashe returned hesitatingly, "what am I to +do?" + +"Oh, she'll be sure to speak of it; but you must manage to evade. Let +her say, and don't you contradict. She'll say enough, I've no doubt. +Very likely she'll abuse it herself; but don't for goodness' sake make +the mistake of falling in with her. If you do, it'll be fatal." + +"But I know Mrs. Frostwinch so slightly," Philip objected, "that I do +not see"-- + +"Come!" she interrupted; "there is to be none of this. You are under my +orders. I'll give you a letter to Cousin Anna now." + +"But"-- + +"But! But what?" she cried, laughing. "Do you mean that you distrust +your leader so soon? Do I look like a woman to fail?" + +She spread out her arms in a gesture half imploring, half jocose, her +laces fluttering, her ribbons waving, the ringlets about her face +dancing. Her eyes were brimming with mocking light, and however poorly +she might seem to represent ideas theological she certainly did not +personify failure. + +Maurice laughed lightly and glanced at his friend. Ashe did not smile, +but he bowed as if in resignation to the command of a leader. + +"You are to go to Mrs. Frostwinch's this very afternoon," Mrs. Wilson +declared. "It won't do to lose any time. If once her votes get pledged +to the other party, there's an end to that. That's your work. Now you," +she continued, turning to Wynne, "are to go to Springfield and the +western part of the State." + +"The western part of the State?" Maurice ejaculated in astonishment. +"Do you work there too?" + +"Of course we have to cover the whole diocese," she returned +vivaciously. "Did you suppose we left everything but Boston to the +enemy?" + +He could only reply by a stare. He had never in his life encountered +anything like this woman, and he was bewildered by her audacity, her +alertness, her beauty, and the dash with which she carried everything +off. + +"You will go to-morrow," she went on, "and I will send you the list of +the men you have to see. I'm sorry not to go over it with you, but I +have an engagement this morning, and I shall be late now. You are +staying with Mrs. Staggchase, aren't you?" + +"Yes; she is my cousin." + +"So much the better for you. It's a liberal education to have a cousin +as clever as that. Good-by. Thank you both for coming." + +She rang as she spoke, and handed the young men over to the maid who +appeared; the maid in turn handed them over to the footman, and by him +they were seen safely out of the house. As they turned away from the +door, Ashe sighed deeply, while Wynne was smiling to himself. + +"What a--a--what a woman!" Philip said fervently. "She's amazing!" + +"Oh, yes," his friend laughed; "but what do you or I know about women +anyway?" + + + + VI + + + HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY + Love's Labour's Lost, i. 1. + + +As Philip Ashe, his eyes cast down in earnest thought, approached Mrs. +Frostwinch's gate that afternoon, he looked up suddenly to find himself +face to face with Mrs. Fenton. She was dressed in dark, heavy cloth, +set down the waist with small antique buckles of dark silver; and +seemed to him the perfection of elegance and beauty. + +"Good morning, Mr. Ashe," she greeted him, smiling. "I did not expect +to find you coming to hear Mrs. Crapps." + +"To hear Mrs. Crapps?" he echoed. "Who is Mrs. Crapps?" + +Mrs. Fenton turned back as she was entering the iron gate which between +stately stone posts shut off the domain of the Frostwinches from the +world, and marked with dignity the line between the dwellers on Mt. +Vernon Street and the rest of the world. + +"Do you mean," asked she, "that you didn't know that Mrs. Crapps, the +mind-cure woman, is to lecture here this afternoon?" + +Ashe drew back. + +"I certainly did not know it," he answered. "I was coming to speak to +Mrs. Frostwinch about the election." + +"It's the last of three lectures," Mrs. Fenton explained. "Mrs. Crapps, +you know, is the woman that has been curing Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Ashe stood hesitatingly silent in the gateway a moment. + +"I should like to see her," he said thoughtfully. "Not from mere +curiosity, but because I cannot understand what gives these persons a +hold over intelligent men and women." + +"The thing that gives her a hold over Mrs. Frostwinch is that she has +raised her up from a bed of sickness. Come in with me, and see her. I +should like to see how she strikes you. You can speak to Mrs. +Frostwinch after the lecture." + +He hesitated a moment, and then followed her, saying to himself with +suspicious emphasis that the fact that the invitation came from her had +nothing to do with his acceptance. He soon found himself seated in the +great dusky drawing-room of the Frostwinch house, an apartment whose +very walls were incrusted with conservative traditions. It was +furnished with richness, but both with much greater simplicity and +greater stiffness than he had seen in any of the houses he had thus far +been in. The chief decoration, one felt, was the air of the place's +having been inhabited by generations of socially immaculate Boston +ancestors. There was a savor of lineage amounting almost to godliness +in the dark, self-contained parlors; and if pedigree were not in this +dwelling imputed for righteousness, it was evidently held in becoming +reverence as the first of virtues. There are certain houses where the +atmosphere is so completely impregnated with the idea of the departed +as to give a certain effect as a spiritual morgue; and in the drawing- +room of Mrs. Frostwinch there was a good deal of this flavor of +defunct, but by no means departed, merit. Grim portraits stared coldly +from the walls, Copleys that would have looked upon a Stuart as +parvenu; the Frostwinch and Canton arms hung over the ends of the +mantel; while the very furniture seemed to condescend to visitors. Ashe +could not have told why the place affected him as overpowering, but he +none the less was conscious of the feeling. The company was apparently +nearly all assembled when he came in, and he sank down into a chair in +a corner, glad to escape observation. + +The speaker of the afternoon was already in her place when he entered, +and he examined her with curiosity. She was a woman who might have been +forty years of age, with a hard, eager, alert face; her forehead was +narrow, her lips thin and straight, her nostrils cut too high. Her eyes +were bold and sharp, dominating her face, and fixing upon the hearers +the look of a bird of prey. Mrs. Crapps's hair was tinged with gray, +and in her whole appearance there was a sharpness which seemed to speak +of one who had battled with the world. Ashe was struck by the +personality of the woman, yet strongly repelled. She was evidently a +creature of abundant vitality, and exultantly dominant of will. The +bold, black eyes sparkled with determination, and he could at once +understand that Mrs. Crapps was one to establish easily an influence +over any nature naturally weak or debilitated by disease. + +Ashe listened with curiosity to the opening of the address. The voice +of the speaker had much of the vivacity of her glance. She spoke with +an air of candor and frankness, and yet Philip found himself +distrusting her from the outset. He said to himself that it was because +he was prejudiced, that he doubted; but he yet felt that her manner +would in any case have begotten repulsion. She had that air of +insistence, of determination to be believed, which belongs to the +speaker who is absorbed rather in the desire to prevail than in the +wish to be true. He felt that her air of conviction was no proof of her +conception of the truth of what she was saying; she protested too much. +He was at first so absorbed in watching the woman that he paid little +heed to her theories; but he soon began to flush with indignation. This +woman, with her bold air and masculine dominance, sat there talking of +herself as a present incarnation of Christ; of Christ as the +incarnation of the human will; of disease as a sin; and of death as a +mere figment of the imagination. The paganism of the Persian as he had +heard it at Mrs. Gore's seemed to him less offensive than this. He +moved uneasily in his seat, his cheeks flushing, and his lips pressed +together. Presently he felt the glance of Mrs. Fenton, who sat near +him, and looking up he encountered her eyes. She seemed to him to show +sympathy with his feeling, but to remind him that this was not the time +or place for protest. He regained instantly his self-control, and +perhaps from that time on thought less of Mrs. Crapps than of his +neighbor. + +The talk of Mrs. Crapps was commonplace enough, and hackneyed enough, +could Ashe but have known it. There was the usual patter about +spiritual and physical freedom, about faith and perfection, "the Deific +principle as a rule of health," a jumble of things medical and things +physical, things profane and things holy mingled in a strange and +unintelligible jargon. By the time that the eager-eyed speaker had +talked for an hour Ashe felt his mind to be in confusion, and he could +not but feel that not a few of the hearers must be in a state of utter +mental bewilderment if the address had impressed at all. + +"The end of the whole matter is," Mrs. Crapps said in closing, "that +mankind has for ages submitted to this cruel superstition of death. We +have bowed ourselves beneath the wheels of this Juggernaut; we have +sent to the dark tomb our best loved friends; we crouch and cower in +awful fear of the time when we shall follow. We hear ever thrilling in +our ears the quivering minor chord of human woe, voice of the burning +heart-pain of the race, launched rudderless upon a troubled sea of woe, +and undrowned even by the throbbing march-beats of the progression of +man down the vista of the ages. And yet there is no death. This fear is +only the terror of children frightened by ghosts of their own +invention. What we dread has no existence save in the fevered and +fancy-fed fear of blinded men. O my hearers, why can we not seize upon +the hem of this truth which the Messiah came to teach! Death is but +sin; and sin has been removed by atonement; the holiness of the soul is +immortal. There is, there can be no death! Receive the glad tidings, +and cry it aloud! There is no death! Let all the earth hear, until +there is none so base, so low, so poor, so ignorant, so sinful that he +shall not be immortal. It is his birthright, for we are all born to +eternal life." + +The voice of Mrs. Crapps took on a more persuasive inflection as she +delivered this peroration; and it was easy to see that she had affected +the nerves if not the minds of her audience. There was a deep hush as +she concluded. She lifted for a moment her sharp black eyes toward +heaven, and then dropped her glance to earth, as if overcome by +feeling, or as if with awe she had caught sight of sacred mysteries +which it was not lawful to look upon. In a moment more she raised her +eyes, and invited any of her hearers to question her about anything +connected with the subject which troubled them. For a breathing time +there was silence, and then a lady asked with a puzzled air:-- + +"But do you Christian Scientists deny"-- + +"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Crapps interrupted, leaning forward with a +deprecatory smile, "but I am not a Christian Scientist." + +"I mean do you Faith Healers"-- + +"That is not our title," Mrs. Crapps said with gentle insistence. + +"Are you called Mind Curers, then?" + +"No," the priestess responded, with an air lofty yet condescending; +"with those forms of error we have no dealing or sympathy. It is true +that those who teach faith-healing, mind-cure, or any sort of religious +rejuvenance, have in part taken our high tenets; but they have in each +case obscured them by errors and follies of their own. We are the +Christian Faith Healed,--not healers, you will observe, because we +believe that all mankind are really healed, and that all that is needed +is that they recognize and acknowledge this precious truth." + +The ladies present looked at one another in some confusion, and Ashe +caught in the eyes of Mrs. Staggchase, who sat half facing him, a gleam +of amusement. This emboldened him to repeat the question which had been +abandoned by its first asker, who had evidently been overwhelmed by the +delicacy of the distinction of sects made by Mrs. Crapps. + +"Do you then," he asked, "deny the existence of death?" + +"Utterly," the seeress returned, bending upon him a bold look as if to +challenge him to differ from what she asserted. "It is as amazing as it +is melancholy that mankind should have submitted to the indignity of +death so long." + +"How can they submit to that which does not exist?" + +"It exists in seeming, but not in reality." + +A murmur ran through the company, and Philip met the eyes of Mrs. +Fenton, who shook her head slightly, as who would say that discussion +was futile. + +"But--but how"--one hearer began falteringly, and then stopped, +evidently too overwhelmed by the astounding nature of the proposition +laid down to be able even to frame a question. + +"Indeed," Mrs. Crapps said, taking up the word, "we may well ask how. +It transcends the incredible that the monstrous delusion of death +should ever have been entertained for an instant. The explanation lies +in sin. Death is but the projection of a sin-burdened conscience upon +the mists of the unknown. Thank God that it has been given to our +generation to tear away the veil from this falsehood, and to recognize +the absolute unreality of the phantom which the ignorance and +superstition of guilty humanity have conjured up." The smooth, +deliberate voice of Mrs. Staggchase broke the silence which this +declaration produced. + +"It is then your idea that death comes entirely from the belief of +mankind?" + +"What we call death undoubtedly has that origin," Mrs. Crapps answered. + +"How then could so extraordinary a delusion have had a beginning?" + +A faint shade crossed the face of the seeress, but it merged instantly +into a smile of patient superiority. + +"That is the question unbelief always asks," she said. "It seems so +difficult to answer, and yet it is really so simple. The idea of death +of course arose from a distorted projection of the condition of sleep +upon the diseased imagination. With sin came the bewilderment of human +reason, and the delusion followed as an inevitable morbid growth." + +"Then the earlier generations of mankind were immortal?" + +"Undoubtedly. We have traces of the fact in all the old mythologies." + +"But what became of them?" + +"Once the idea of death had entered the world," Mrs. Crapps said +impressively, "it spread like the plague until it had infected all +mankind. Even those who had lived for ages to prove it false were not +able to resist the prevalence of the thing they knew to be untrue,--any +more," she added, dropping her eyes, and speaking in a tone sad and +patient, "than we who to-day understand that there is no such thing as +death can resist the overwhelming power of the belief of the masses of +the race. The might of the will of the majority, directed by an +appalling delusion, compels us to submit to that which we yet know to +be an unreality." + +Again there was a hush. The woman was appealing to the most fundamental +facts of human experience and the most poignant emotions of human life, +and boldly denying or confounding both. It seemed to Ashe that the only +possible answer to such talk was an accusation either of madness or +blasphemy. The silence was once more broken by Mrs. Staggchase. + +"But if there is no such thing as death," she observed, with the +faintest touch of irony perceptible in her well-bred voice, "of course +you do not really die; and since you do not share the general delusion +in thinking yourselves to be dead, it would seem to follow that +although you may be dead for the world in general, you are still +immortal for yourselves and each other." + +The black eyes of Mrs. Crapps sparkled, but she controlled herself, and +shook her head with an air of gentle remonstrance. + +"It proves how strong is the hold upon mankind of this delusion," she +said, "that what I tell you appears incredible. The truth is always +incredible, because the blind eyes of humanity can see only half-truths +except by great effort. I have tried to enlighten you, and I can do no +more. It is for you and not for myself that I speak." + +She rose from her chair, which seemed to be the signal for the breaking +up of the assembly, and that her cleverness in securing the last word +was not without its effect was apparent by the murmurs of the company. +In another moment, however, Ashe heard as at Mrs. Gore's the exchange +of greetings and bits of news, the making of appointments for shopping +or theatre-going, and all the trivial chat of daily life. He stood +aside until the crowd should thin, and in the mean time had the +felicity of being near Mrs. Fenton. He began to feel himself almost +overcome by the delight of being so near her, of meeting her clear +glance, frank and sympathetic, of hearing her voice, of noting the +ripples of her hair, the curve of nostril and neck. He was like a boy +in the first budding of passion before reason has softened the +extravagance of his feeling. The talk of the afternoon, his +indignation at the words of Mrs. Crapps, his feeling that he had been +assisting at a sacrament of impiety, were all forgotten as he stood +talking to his neighbor. + +"Come," she said at length, "I must speak to Mrs. Frostwinch before I +go." + +He bent forward to remove a chair which was in her way, and her gloved +hand brushed against his. He covered the spot with his other hand as if +he would preserve the precious touch. + +"I found Mr. Ashe at the door," Mrs. Fenton said to the hostess, "and I +would not let him turn back. I was too much interested in his errand." + +"I am sorry if he needed urging to come in," Mrs. Frostwinch responded +with graceful courtesy; "but what was the errand?" + +"Mrs. Wilson asked me to see you in relation to the election," Ashe +answered. + +"Elsie is having a beautiful time managing this election," commented +Mrs. Frostwinch. "She hasn't been so amused for a long time. She thinks +Father Frontford is a puppet in her hands, while he knows that she is +one in his." + +"I hope," Mrs. Fenton put in, "that you may be able to help Mr. Ashe. I +can answer for it that he is not making the matter one of amusement." + +Ashe could not help flushing. He thanked her with a glance, and turned +again to Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"I do not know or like the electioneering of such affairs," he said +gravely; "but since there is a strong effort being made on the other +side it certainly seems necessary to do whatever can be done fairly." + +A few last visitors who had been chatting among themselves now came +forward to say good-by. Mrs. Fenton also took leave, and Ashe found +himself alone with his hostess and Mrs. Crapps. + +"Mrs. Crapps, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch said. + +It seemed to him that there was in the manner of Mrs. Frostwinch +something of condescension, as if the Faith Healed was a sort of upper +servant. He had himself not outlived the ingenuous period wherein a +youth feels that the preservation of truth in the world depends upon +his not covering his impressions, and he was accordingly extremely cold +in his manner. + +"Ah, a new disciple to our faith, I trust," Mrs. Crapps said, fixing +upon him her keen, bold eyes. + +"I have never even heard of your doctrine until to-day," he answered. + +"But surely it must strike you at once," she responded, with a manner +evidently meant to be insinuating. + +He hesitated. He remembered that he had been expressly warned not to +say anything against the vagaries with which Mrs. Frostwinch was +concerned; but his conscience would not allow him to evade this direct +challenge. + +"It struck me as being blasphemous," he responded with unnecessary +fervor. + +Mrs. Crapps raised her eyes to the ceiling, and uttered a theatrical +sigh. + +"Oh, sacred truth!" she exclaimed. + +"Come, Mrs. Crapps," Mrs. Frostwinch interposed almost sharply, "you +know that Mr. Ashe is right. It is blasphemous, and I feel as if I'd +allowed my house to be used for a sacrifice to false gods. If you will +excuse us, I wish to speak with Mr. Ashe on business. Will you kindly +come to the library, Mr. Ashe." + +As he followed, Philip caught sight in a mirror of the face of Mrs. +Crapps. It wore a singular smile, but whether of anger or contempt he +could not tell. + +"I dare say, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch remarked, as soon as they were +seated in the library, "that it seems strange to you that I have that +woman speak in my parlors. Of course I don't mean to apologize, but I +am sorry that you should hear things that shocked you." + +"Dear madam," he answered, leaning forward in his eagerness, "what I +heard does not matter; but it does seem to me a pity that such things +should be said, and said under your protection." + +He was too much in earnest to be self-conscious, even when she regarded +him in silence a moment before replying. + +"You are perhaps right," she said at length, "although you exaggerate +the influence of such things." + +"I do not pretend to know whether they are influential or not," he +returned simply. "It is only that they do not seem to me to be right. +If they are wrong, they are wrong." + +She smiled and sighed. + +"Life is not so simple as that," was her reply. "The woman has saved my +life. I should have been in my grave months ago but for her. My +physician insists now that I haven't any real right to be out of it. I +cannot refuse to allow her to say the thing that she believes, since +that thing has a certain proof in my very life." + +Philip shook his head. + +"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts +of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston +seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names +and aid"-- + +He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the +fact that he was condemning her. + +"There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented. "I suppose +that the difficulty is that we have ceased to recognize any authority +in matters of belief." + +"But the church!" + +"Yes, there is the church," she said doubtfully, "but to many it has +ceased to be an authority, and modern thought allows so much individual +freedom. Our church has never claimed to be infallible like the +Catholic; and individual freedom of conscience has come pretty +generally to mean freedom from conscience." + +"Then it is a pity that the authority which is exercised in the Roman +church is not exercised in ours." + +"Ah, Mr. Ashe, you reckon without the spirit of the age in which we +live. But tell me what I can do for you in the matter of the election." + +Mrs. Frostwinch was a devout churchwoman in her way, although she was +now in appearance following after strange gods. She readily promised +her aid in favor of Father Frontford. + +"I agree with you, Mr. Ashe," she said, "that everything possible +should be done to stem the tide of laxness which seems advancing +everywhere. The mental reservations of Mr. Strathmore are certainly so +broad that they may cover anything. I know women who go to his church +and simply say the beginning of the creed: 'I believe in God;' and who +do not hesitate in private to explain that by the name God they mean +whatever force it is that moves the universe, whether it is intelligent +or not." + +"How dreadful!" Philip exclaimed. "How can the church endure if this +goes on?" + +They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that +she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her +pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he +had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions. Yet +perhaps more potent still in warming his heart was the remembrance of +the pleasant words which Mrs. Fenton had spoken in his behalf. The +memory colored all his thoughts of elections, of bishops, and of +creeds, as a gleam of rosy light tinges all upon which it falls. + + + + VII + + + THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT + Othello, iv. 1. + + +"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing +with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should +she send parlor-car checks too?" + +"It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, +smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it +is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church +now"-- + +"If I don't go as a representative of the church," he responded, as she +paused with a significant smile, "I go as nothing." + +"Oh, I thought that it was Elsie that was sending you. However, it's no +matter. The point is that you are becoming acquainted with the luxuries +of life. You are being tried by the insidious softness of the world." + +He regarded her with some inward irritation. He had a half-defined +conviction that she was mocking him, and that her words were more than +mere badinage. He was not without a suspicion that his cousin was +sometimes histrionic, and that many things which she said were to be +regarded as stage talk. He did not know how far to take her seriously, +and this gave him a feeling at once confused and uncomfortable. To be +played with as if he were not of discernment ripe enough to perceive +her raillery or as if he were not of consequence sufficient to be taken +seriously, offended his vanity; and the man whom the devil cannot +conquer through his vanity is invulnerable. Wynne had no answer now for +the words of Mrs. Staggchase. He contented himself with a glance not +entirely free from resentment, at which she laughed. + +"I wonder, Cousin Maurice," she said, "if you realize how completely +you have changed in the ten days you have been here. It is like +bringing into light a plant that has been sprouting in the dark." + +He did not answer for a moment, trying to find it possible to deny the +charge. + +"The fact that you know me better makes me seem different," he answered +evasively. + +"How much has the fact that you don't know yourself so well to do with +it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, anything you like. I merely suspect that you are not so sure of +your vocation as you were in the Clergy House. Even a deacon is human, +I suppose; and if life is alluring, he can't help feeling it. Are you +still sure that the clergy should be celibate, for instance?" + +He felt her eyes piercing him as if his secret thoughts were open to +her, and he knew that he was flushing to his very hair. He hastened to +answer, not only that he might not think, but that she might not +perceive that he had admitted any doubt to his heart. + +"More than ever," he responded. "It is impossible not to see that a +clergyman who is married must have his thoughts distracted from his +sacred calling." + +Mrs. Staggchase leaned back in her chair and regarded him with the +smile which he found always so puzzling and so disconcerting. + +"You did that very well," she said, "only you shouldn't have put in the +word 'sacred.' That made it all sound conventional. However, you +probably meant it. She is distracting." + +The hot blood leaped into his face so that he knew that it was utterly +impossible to conceal his confusion. + +"I don't know what you mean," he stammered. + +Instantly his conscience reproached him with not speaking the truth. He +responded to his conscience that it was impossible in circumstances +like these to say the whole, and that what he had said was not untrue. +He could not know what his cousin meant by her pronoun, and if the +thought of Miss Morison had come instantly into his mind, it by no +means followed that it was she of whom Mrs. Staggchase was thinking. +Life seemed suddenly more complex than he had ever dreamed it possible; +and before this remark the unsophisticated deacon became so completely +confused that for the instant it was his instinctive wish to be once +more safely within the sheltering walls of the Clergy House, protected +from the temptations and vexations of the world. He was after all of a +nature which did not yield readily, however, and the next thought was +one of defiance. He would not yield up his secret, and he defied the +world to drag it from him. His companion smiled upon him with the +baffling look which her husband called her Mona Lisa expression, and +then she laughed outright. + +"My dear boy," she said, "you are no more a priest than I am; and you +are as transparent as a piece of crystal. Well, I am fond of you, and +I'm glad to have a hand in proving to you that you are not meant for +the priesthood before it's too late." + +"But it hasn't been proved to me," he cried, not without some +sternness. + +"Oh, bless you, it's in train, and that's the same thing. 'Not poppy, +nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the east' could put you to +sleep again in the dream you had in the Clergy House. It will take you +a little longer to find yourself out, but the thing is done +nevertheless." + +As she spoke, a servant came to the door to announce the carriage. Mrs. +Staggchase held out her hand. + +"Good-by," she said, as Maurice rose, and came forward to take it. "I +hope that we shall see you again in a couple of days. I have still a +good deal to show you." + +He had recovered his self-possession a little, and answered her with a +smile:-- + +"You make it so delightful for me here that I am not sure you are not +right in saying that you are my temptation." + +"Oh, I've already given up the office of tempter," she responded +quickly. "I found a rival, and that I never could endure. You'll have +your temptation with you." + +It seemed to Maurice when he came to take his seat in the parlor car +that his cousin was little short of a witch. In the chair next to his +own sat Berenice Morison. She greeted him with a friendly nod and +smile. + +"Mrs. Wilson told me that you were going on this train," she said, +"and she got a chair for you next to mine so that you should take care +of me." + +He bowed rather confusedly, but with his heart full of delight. + +"I shall be glad to do anything I can for you," he answered, vexed that +he had not a better reply at command. + +He saw the dapper young man across the aisle regard him curiously, and +a feeling of dissatisfaction came over him as he reflected upon the +singularity of his garb, and the incongruity between the clerical dress +and the squiring of dames. Religious fervor is nourished by martyrdom, +but it is seldom proof against ridicule. It is not impossible that the +faint shade of amusement which Maurice fancied he detected in the eyes +of the stranger opposite was a more effective cause for discontent with +his calling than any of the influences to which he had been exposed +under the auspices of Mrs. Staggchase. + +He could not help feeling, moreover, that there was a gleam of fun in +the clear dark eyes of Miss Morison. She was so completely at ease, so +entirely mistress of the situation, that Wynne, little accustomed to +the society of women, and secretly a little disconcerted by the +surprise, felt himself at a disadvantage. It touched his vanity that he +should be smiled at by the trimly appointed dandy opposite, and that he +should be in experience and self-possession inferior to the girl beside +him. He began vaguely to wonder what he had been doing all his life; he +reflected that he had not in his old college days been so ill at ease, +and it annoyed him to think that two years in the Clergy House should +have put him so out of touch with the simplest matters of life. He said +to himself scornfully that he was a monk already; and the thought, +which would once have given him satisfaction, was now fraught with +nothing but vexation and self-contempt. He had a subtile inclination to +give himself up to the impulse of the moment. He felt the intoxication +of the presence of Miss Morison, and he yielded to it with frank +unscrupulousness. He resolved that he would repent afterward; yet +instantly demanded of himself if this were really a sin. He was after +all a man, if he had chosen the ecclesiastic calling. If indeed he were +transgressing he told himself half contemptuously that as he did +penance doubly, once that imposed by his own spiritual director and +again that set by the Catholic at the North End, he might be held to +expiate amply the pleasure of this hour. He at least was determined to +forget for the once that he was a priest, and to remember only that he +was a man, and that he loved this beautiful creature beside him. He +noted the curve of her clear cheek and shell-like ear; the sweep of her +eyelashes and the liquid deeps of her dark eyes. He let his glance +follow the line of her neck below the rounded chin, and became suddenly +conscious that he was fascinated by the soft swell of her bosom. The +blood came into his cheeks, and he looked hastily out of the window. + +The train was already clear of the city, and was speeding through the +suburbs, rattling gayly and noisily past the ostentatious stations and +the scattered houses. Maurice felt that his companion was secretly +observing him, although she was apparently looking at the landscape +which slid precipitately past. He wished to say something, and desired +that it should not be clerical in tone. He would fain have spoken, not +as a deacon, but as a man of the world. + +"Are you going to New York?" he asked. + +"I shall not have the pleasure of your company so far," she returned +with a smile. + +"No," he responded naively. "I am going only to Springfield." + +"Ah," she said, smiling again; and too late he realized that she had +meant that she was not going through. + +He was the more vexed with himself because he was sure that his +confusion was so plain that she could not but see it, and that it was +with a kind intention of relieving his embarrassment that she spoke +again. + +"I am going to visit my grandmother in Brookfield." + +He replied by some sort of an unintelligible murmur, and was doubly +angry with himself for being so shy and awkward. He glanced furtively +at the trim young man opposite, and was relieved to find that that +individual was reading and giving no heed. He wondered why he should be +so completely thrown out of his usual self-possession by this girl, so +that when he talked to her, and was most anxious to appear at his best, +he was most surely at his worst. There came whimsically into his head a +thought of the wisdom of training the clergy to the social gifts and +graces, and he remembered the flippant speech of Mrs. Wilson about the +need of their being able to pay compliments. + +"I seem to be specially stupid when I try to talk to you," he said with +boyish frankness. + +Miss Morison looked at him curiously. + +"Am I to take that as a compliment or the reverse?" she asked. + +"It must be a compliment, I suppose, for it shows how much power you +have over me." + +He was reassured by her smile, and felt that this was not so badly +said. + +"The power to make you stupid, I think you intimated." + +"Oh, no," he responded, with more eagerness than the occasion called +for; "I didn't mean that." + +She smiled again, a smile which seemed to him nothing less than +adorable, and yet which teased him a little, although he could not tell +why. She took up the novel which lay in her lap. + +"Have you read this?" she inquired. + +He shook his head. + +"You forget," he answered, "that I am a deacon. At the Clergy House we +do not read novels." + +"How little you must know of life," returned she. + +There was a silence of some moments. The train rushed on, past fields +desolate under patches of snow, and stark, leafless trees; over rivers +dotted with cakes of grimy ice; between banks of frost-gnawed rock. The +landscape in the dim January afternoon was gray and gloomy; and as day +declined everything became more lorn and forbidding. Maurice turned +away from the window, and sighed. + +"How disconsolate the country looks!" said he. "I am country bred, and +I don't know that I ever thought of the sadness of it; but now if I see +the country in winter it makes me sigh for the people who have to live +there all the year round." + +"But they don't notice it any more than you did when you lived in it." + +"Perhaps not; but it seems to me as if they must. At any rate they must +feel the effects of it, whether they are conscious of it or not." + +Miss Morison looked out at the dull, sodden fields and stark trees. + +"I am afraid that you were never a true lover of the country," said she +thoughtfully. "You should know my grandmother. She is almost ninety, +but she is as young as a girl in her teens. She has lived in the finest +cities in the world,--London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and of course our +American cities. Now she is happiest in the country, and can hardly be +persuaded to stay in town. She says that she loves the sound of the +wind and the rain better than the noise of the street-cars." + +"That I can understand," he answered; "but I am interested in men. I +don't like to be away from them. There is something intoxicating in the +presence of masses of human beings, in the mere sense that so many +people are alive about you." + +She looked at him with more interest than he had ever seen in her eyes. + +"But I don't understand," she began hesitatingly, "why"-- + +"Why what?" he asked as she paused. + +"I don't know that I ought to say it, but having begun I may as well +finish. I was going to say that I could not understand how one so +interested in men and so sensitive to humanity could be content to +choose a profession which cuts him off from so much of active life." + +"It was from interest in men, I suppose, that I chose it. I wanted to +reach them, to do something for them. Although," Maurice concluded, +flushing, "I don't think that I realized at that time the feeling of +being carried away by the mere presence of crowds of living beings." + +There was another interval of silence, during which they both looked +out at the cold landscape, blotted and marred by patches of snow tawny +from a recent thaw. + +"I doubt if you have got the whole of it," Miss Morison said +thoughtfully, turning toward him. "Dear old grandmother is as deeply +interested in the human as anybody can be. She always makes me feel +that my life in the midst of folk is very thin and poor as compared to +hers. She has known almost everybody worth knowing. Grandfather was +minister to England and Russia, and she of course was with him. Yet +she's content and happy off here in Brookfield." + +"Perhaps," Wynne returned hesitatingly, "there's something the matter +with the age. I don't suppose that at her time of life she has anything +of this generation's restless"-- + +He broke off abruptly. + +"Well?" his companion said curiously. + +He smiled and sighed. + +"I don't know why I am talking to you so frankly," replied he. "As a +matter of fact I find that I'm more frank with you than I am with +myself. I've always refused to own to myself that there was anything +restless in my feeling toward life; yet here I am saying it to you." + +"One often thinks things out in that way. Hasn't that been your +experience?" + +"Yes," he responded thoughtfully; "although I don't know that I ever +realized it before. I see now that I've often reasoned out things that +bothered me simply by trying to tell them to my friend, Mr. Ashe." + +"Is he your bosom friend and confidant? It is usually supposed to be a +woman in such a case." + +"Oh, no," was his somewhat too eager rejoinder; "I never talked like +this to a woman. I never wanted to before." + +A look which passed over her face seemed to tell him that the talk was +taking a tone more confidential than she liked. He was keyed up to a +pitch of excitement and of sensitiveness; and a thrill of +disappointment pierced him. He became at once silent; and then he +fancied that she glanced at him as if in question why his mood had +changed so suddenly. The train rolled into the station at Worcester, +and he went out to walk a moment on the platform, and to try to collect +his thoughts. He had forgotten now to question his right to be enjoying +the companionship of Miss Morison; he gloated over her friendly looks +and words, thinking of how he might have said this and that, and thus +have appeared to better advantage, and resolving to be more self- +controlled for the remainder of the ride. The open air was refreshing; +and a great sense of joyousness filled him to overflowing. When again +he took his seat in the car he could have laughed from simple pleasure. + +The chat of the latter part of the journey was more easy and +unconstrained than at the beginning. It was not clear to Wynne what the +change was, but he was aware that he was somehow talking less self- +consciously than before. They spoke of one thing and another, and it +teased the young man somewhat that when now and then his companion +mentioned a book he had seldom seen it. The things which he had read of +late years he knew without asking that she would not have seen. Even +the names of current writers of fiction were hardly known to him, and +an allusion to what they had written was beyond him. In spite of a word +which now and again brought out the difference between his world and +hers, however, Maurice thoroughly enjoyed the talk. Now and then he +would reflect in a sort of sub-consciousness that the delight of this +hour was to be dearly paid for with penance and repentance, but this +provoked in him rather the determination at least to enjoy it to the +full while it lasted, than any inclination to deny himself the present +gratification. + +It has been remarked that the ecclesiastical temper is histrionic; and +Wynne was not without a share of this spirit. He would have gone to the +stake for a conviction, and made a beautifully effective death-scene +for the edification of men and angels, not for a moment aware that +there was anything artificial in what he was doing. Now he was not +without a consciousness that he was playing the role of a lover and a +prodigal, sincere in his love and devotion; yet none the less subtly +aware how much more interesting is repentance when there is genuine +human passion to repent, is renunciation when there is real love to +sacrifice; of how much more effective is saintliness set off against a +background of transgression. It was a real if somewhat childish joy to +be able to sin actually yet without going beyond hope; of being +dramatically false to his vows without crossing the line of possible +pardon. + +"We shall be in Brookfield in ten minutes," Miss Morison said, +beginning to look about for her belongings. "We pass the New York +express just here." + +Hardly had she spoken when suddenly and without warning there was an +outburst of shrieks from the whistle of the engine, answered and +blended with that of another. Before Maurice could realize what the +outburst meant, there followed a horrible shock which seemed to +dislocate every joint in his body. Berenice was thrown violently into +his arms, flung as a dead weight, and shrieking as she fell against his +breast. Instinctively he clasped her, and in the terror of the moment +it was for a brief instant no more to him that his embrace enfolded her +than if she had been the veriest stranger. A hideous din of yells, of +crashing wood and rending iron, of shivering glass, of escaping steam, +of indescribable sounds which had no resemblance to anything which he +had ever heard or dreamed of, and which seemed to beat upon his ears +and his brain like blows of bludgeons wielded by the hands of infuriate +giants. The end of the car before him was beaten in; splinters of wood +and fragments of glass flew about him like hail; it was like being +without warning exposed to the fiercest fire of batteries of an +implacable enemy. A woman was dashed at his very feet torn and +bleeding, her face mangled so that he grew sick and faint at the sight; +pinned against the seat opposite, transfixed by a long splinter as with +a javelin, was the dapper young man, horribly writhing and mowing, and +then stark dead in an instant, staring with wide open eyes and +distorted face like a ghastly mask. Moans and shrieks, grindings and +roarings, howlings and babbling cries that were human yet were +piercingly inarticulate filled the air with an inhuman din which drove +him to a frenzy. It seemed as if the world had been torn into +fragments. + +Yet all this was within the space of a second. Indeed, although all +these things happened and he saw and heard them clearly, there was no +pause between the first alarming whistle and the overturning of the +car which now came. He was lifted up; he saw the whole car sway with a +dizzying, sickening motion, and then plunge violently over. Fortunately +it so turned that he and Miss Morison were on the upper side. He fell +across the aisle, striking the chair opposite, but somehow +instinctively managing to protect Berenice from the force of the +concussion. She no longer cried out, but she clung convulsively about +his neck, and as they swayed for the fall he saw in her eyes a look of +wild and desperate appeal. He forgot then everything but her. The +desire to protect and save her, the feeling that he belonged absolutely +to her and that even to the death he would serve her, swallowed up +every other feeling. As they went over a vise-like grip caught his arm, +and amid all the infernal confusion he somehow connected that +despairing clutch with a succession of shrill and piercing shrieks +which rang in his ear, seeming to be close to him. He remembered that +in the chair behind his had been a young girl, and he felt a pity for +her that choked him like a hand at his throat. Then as they went down +he instinctively but vainly tried to shake off the hold, which was as +that of a trap. It was like being in the actual grip of death. + +All sorts of loose articles fell with them from the upturned side of +the car to the other; they were part of a cataract of falling bodies, +involved as in a crushing avalanche. Wynne found himself in this +falling shower crumpled up between two chairs, one of his feet +evidently thrust through a broken window and the other still held by +that convulsive clasp. Miss Morison was half above him, partly +supported by a chair which still held by its fastenings to the floor. +He could not see her face, and his body was so twisted that he could +not move his head with freedom. Berenice was evidently insensible, but +whether stunned from the shock or more seriously hurt he could not +tell. He struggled fiercely to free himself, straining her to his +breast. There were still movements in the car after it had overturned. +It rocked and settled; for some time small articles continued to fall. +He drew the face of the unconscious girl more closely into his bosom to +protect it. As he did so he was aware that his arm was hurt. A burning, +biting pain singled itself out from all the aches of blows and +contusions. He seemed to remember that a long time ago, some hours +nearer the beginning of this catastrophe which had lasted but a moment, +he had felt something rip and tear the flesh; but he had been so +absorbed in the attempt to shield Berenice that he had not heeded. Now +the anguish was so great that it seemed impossible to endure it. He set +his teeth together, determined not to cry out lest she should hear him +and think that he lacked courage. Then it seemed to him that he was +swooning. He struggled against the feeling; and for what seemed to him +an interminable time he wavered between consciousness and +insensibility. It was either growing darker or he was losing the power +to see. He could not distinguish clearly any longer that human hand, +smeared with blood, sticking ludicrously in the air from amid a pile of +bags, coats, and all sorts of things thrown together just where the +position of his head constrained him to look. He had been seeing that +hand for a long time, it seemed to him, and only now that the darkness +had so increased as to cut it off from his sight did he realize what it +was and what it must mean. + +He still retained a consciousness of the face of Berenice, warm against +his bosom, and with each wave of faintness he struggled to keep his +senses that he might protect her. The din of noises seemed far away, +the cries somewhere at a distance ever increasing. The moans that had +seemed to him those of the girl who clutched his arm grew fainter, +until they were lost in the buzz and whirr of a hundred other sounds. +Then the clasp which held him relaxed as suddenly as if a rope had been +cut away. It came into his mind with a wave of horror that the girl who +had held him was dead. The thought that Berenice might be dead also +followed like a flash, and aroused his benumbed senses. He spoke to +her; he tried to move; to release her from her position. He seemed +buried under a mound of debris, and she gave no sign of life. He +exhausted himself in frantic attempts to escape; to get his arms free; +to turn his head far enough to see her face; to thrust back the rubbish +which had fallen against them. The anguish to his arm was so great that +he could not continue; he could do nothing but suffer whatever fate had +in store for him. He tried to pray; but his prayers were broken and +confused ejaculations. + +All at once he distinguished amid the chaos of noises roaring and +singing in his ears something which made his heart stand still; which +pierced to his dulled consciousness like a stab. It was the cry of +"Fire!" He had once seen a servant with her hair in flames, and +instantly arose before him the picture of her shriveling locks and the +terror of her face. He seemed to see the dear head on his bosom--The +thought was more than he could bear, and for the first time he cried +out, shouting for help in a transport of frenzied fear. He was so +absorbed in his thought of Berenice that he had forgotten himself; but +the realization of his own peril revived as a waft of smoke came over +him, choking and bewildering. He was then to die here, stifled or +wrapped in the torture of flame. Then the wild and desperate thought +sprang up that at least if he must die he should die with her on his +bosom, clasped in his arms. He might give himself up to the delirium of +that joy, since there was no more of earth to contaminate it. But the +horror of it! The anguish for her as well as for him! Not by fire! His +thoughts whirled in his brain like sparks caught in a hurricane. He +scarcely knew where he was or what had happened to him. Only he was +acutely aware of the acrid smoke, of how it increased, constantly more +dense and stifling. + +However the mind may for a moment be turned aside from its usual way by +circumstances, habit is quick to reassert itself. The habitual +constrains men even in the midst of events the most startling. The mind +of Wynne had been too long bred in priestly forms not to turn to the +religious view here in the face of death. His conscience cried out that +he might be responsible for the peril and disaster which had come upon +them. With the unconscious egotism of the devotee, he felt that heaven +had been avenging the impiousness of his sin. He had dared to trifle +with his sacred calling, to look back to the loves of the world and of +the flesh, and swift destruction had overtaken him. And Berenice had +been crushed by the divine vengeance which had so deservedly fallen on +him. He groaned in anguish, seeming to see how she had perished through +the blight of his passion. Not by fire, O God! Not by fire! How long +would it be possible to breathe in this stifling reek, heavy with +unspeakable odors? It was his crime that had brought her to this death. +He, a man set apart and consecrated to the work of God, had turned from +heaven to earth, and heaven had smitten with one blow him and the woman +who had been unwittingly his temptation. And she so innocent, so pure, +so sacred! Through his distraught mind rushed a pang of hatred against +the power that could do this. He was willing to suffer for his sin, but +where was the justice of involving her in his ruin? It was because this +was what would hurt him most! It was the work of a devil! Then this +thought seemed to him a new transgression which might lessen the +chances of his being able to save her, and he tried to forget it in +prayer, to atone by penitence. He offered his own life amid whatever +tortures would propitiate the offended deity, but he prayed that she +might be spared. + +All this time--and whether the time were long or short he could not +tell--he had heard continued cries and groans. He had now and then been +dully aware of a change in the noises. Now it would seem as if all else +was swallowed up in the sound of tremendous blows, as if the car were +being struck again and again by a mighty battering-ram. Then a chorus +of shouting went roaring up, as if an army cried. Noise and physical +sensation were too intimately blended to be separated; his brain +struggled in confusion, emerging now and then for a moment of +consecutive thought and sinking back into semi-unconsciousness as a +spent swimmer goes down, fighting wildly for life. He knew that a light +had come into the car. He saw it amid the smoke, and his first thought +was that it was flame. Dulled and half asphyxiated, he said to himself +now almost with indifference that the end had come. Then with a thrill +which for a moment aroused all his energies he recognized that it was +the glow of a lantern. He was aware that rescuers were close above him, +climbing down through the windows over his very head. He cried to them +in a paroxysm of appeal:-- + +"Save her! Save her!" + +Whether he was heeded amid the babble of cries and all the noises which +seemed to swell to drown his voice, he could not tell, but in another +instant he felt that friendly hands had seized Miss Morison, and were +endeavoring to lift her insensible form. He strove to loosen his hold, +but the effort gave him agony so intolerable that he could do nothing. +A thousand points seemed to rend and tear him as he tried to move, and +when a voice somewhere above him shouted: "We'll have to try to lift +them together!" he experienced a strange sort of double consciousness +as if he stood outside of himself and heard others talking of him. He +felt himself grasped under the arms, and the pain of being moved was +too horrible to be endured. He shrieked in mortal agony, and then in a +whirl of dizzying circles seemed to go down in a tide of blackness +sparkling with millions of sharp scintillations. + + + + VIII + + + LIKE COVERED FIRE + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 1. + + +Philip Ashe found himself less and less able either to understand or to +sympathize with the politics of Mrs. Wilson. He believed in the +righteousness of her cause, and was keenly alive to the peril of the +appointment of Mr. Strathmore to the vacant bishopric. It is an +inevitable and necessary condition of enthusiasm that it shall be +narrow; and religious fervor would be impossible to a mind open to +conviction. To accept the possibility of any opposed truth is to be +secretly doubtful of the creed which one holds; and tolerance is of +necessity the child of indifference. Had Ashe been able to perceive +that the church would go on much the same no matter which of the rival +candidates was chosen, it would have been impossible for him to be so +deeply concerned for the success of Father Frontford. As it was he was +as much in earnest as Mrs. Wilson, and thus he felt forced to acquiesce +in the strangeness of her methods of work. He said to himself that he +supposed this electioneering to be a necessity, no matter how +unpleasant; and he added the reflection that in any case it was not in +his power to prevent it. + +Other feelings were, moreover, completely absorbing his mind. Although +he was not yet conscious that anything had come between him and the +church, priesthood in which had been his highest earthly ideal, the +truth was that his passion for Mrs. Fenton waxed steadily. Chance threw +them together. Mrs. Fenton had been appointed to a committee on +charities, and it happened that Ashe was a visitor in the North End in +a region which the committee were making an especial field of labor. He +was called into consultation with her, and sometimes they even went +together to visit some of the poverty-stricken families which evidently +existed chiefly to be subjects for philanthropic manipulation. Day by +day Ashe felt her speak to him more easily and familiarly; and although +their talk was strictly impersonal and unemotional, none the less did +it feed his growing love. + +The nature which does not sometimes try to deceive itself is an +abnormal one; and Ashe was not behind his fellows in devising excuses +for the joy which he found in Mrs. Fenton's presence. He dwelt in his +musings upon her devotion to the church, her good works, her visitings +of the poor and sick. He assured himself with a vehemence too feverish +not to be fallacious that he was instigated only by entirely +disinterested feelings; by the desire to assist in deeds of Christian +helpfulness, and by pleasure in the society of one whose devotion to +godliness was so marked. He argued with himself as eagerly as if he +were struggling to convince another, protesting to his own secret heart +as earnestly as he would have protested to a friend. + +A man seldom really deceives himself, however, save in thinking that he +can deceive himself. There were moments in which his inner self rose up +and laughed him to scorn; moments in which his sin glowed before him in +colors blood-red. He saw himself apostate, false to his vows, drawn +away by his earthly lusts and beguiled. There were nights when he cast +himself upon the ground in an agony of self-abasement, beating his +breast and praying in a passion of remorse; times when by the cruelty +of his self-accusings he involuntarily sought to do penance for the +sweet sin which festered in his bosom. + +Worse than all was the color which was imparted to his passion by the +self-imposed prohibitions which he was violating. The insistence upon +the earthly side of love which is an inevitable accompaniment to the +idea that woman is a temptation, cannot but degrade the relation of the +sexes in the mind of the professed celibate. To keep before the +thoughts the theory that passion is a snare and a pollution is to +render it impossible to love with purity and self-abandonment. Poor +Philip, endowed at birth with a nature of instinctive delicacy, could +not free himself from the taint of his training; yet he shrank as from +hot iron from the blasphemy of connecting any shadow of earthliness +with the woman who had become his ideal. His only resource was to take +refuge in repeating to himself that he did not love Mrs. Fenton; but +even in denying it he felt that he was defending himself from a charge +which was a degradation to her as well as to himself. He fell into that +morbid state of mind where whatever he tried as a remedy made his +disease but the worse; where the idea of love was the more horrible to +him the more it possessed and pervaded his whole being. + +Mrs. Herman was not unobservant of his condition, although she was far +from understanding his state of mind. She felt that there was little +use in forcing his confidence, but she gave him now and then an +opportunity to confide in her, feeling sure that he would be the better +for freeing his heart in speech. + +She was sitting one afternoon alone in the library when Ashe came home +from a missionary expedition. The day was gray and gloomy, and the +early twilight was shutting down already, so that the fire began to +shine with a redder hue. Mrs. Herman was taking her tea alone, and as +it chanced, she was thinking of her cousin. + +"You are just in time for tea," she greeted him. "It is hot still." + +"But I seldom take tea," he answered, seating himself by the fire with +an air of weariness which did not escape her. + +"That is so much more reason that you should take it now. It will have +more effect. I can see that you are tired out. One lump or two?" + +He yielded with a wan smile, and, resuming his seat, sat sipping his +tea in silence for some moments. At length he sighed so heavily that +she asked with a smile:-- + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Is what so bad?" he returned, looking at her in surprise. + +"You sighed as if all life had fallen in ruins about your feet, and I +couldn't help wondering if there were really no joy left to you." + +He smiled rather soberly, and did not at once reply. The fire burned +cheerily on the hearth, noiseless for the most part, but now and then +purring like a cat full of happy content; the shadows showed themselves +more and more boldly in the corners, daring the firelight to chase them +to discover their secrets. The colors of the room were softened into a +dull richness; the dim gilding on the old books which had belonged to +Helen's father, dead since her infancy, caught now and then a gleam +from a tongue of flame which sprang up to peer into the gathering dusk; +the copper tea equipage reflected a red glow, and gave to the picture a +certain suggestion of comfort and cheer. + +"I was thinking how comfortable it is here," Philip said at length. + +"And that made you sigh?" + +"Yes; I'm ashamed to say that it came over me how far away from me all +this is." + +"If it is," she returned slowly, "it is simply because you choose that +it shall be." + +He turned his face toward her as if about to protest; then looked +again into the fire. The conversation seemed ended, until Mrs. Herman +spoke again as if nothing had been said. + +"You have been slumming this afternoon?" + +"I do not like the name, but I suppose I have." + +"It isn't a cheerful day to go poking about alone among the tenement +houses." + +"I was not alone," Ashe answered with a hesitation which she could not +help noting and with a significant softening of voice. "Mrs. Fenton was +with me." + +"Ah!" + +The exclamation was involuntary. In an instant there had flashed upon +Helen's mind a suspicion of the true state of things. The despondency +of her cousin, the reflection upon the comfort of domesticity, +connected themselves in her thought with trifling incidents which had +before come under her observation; and his manner of speaking brought +instantly to her mind the conviction that Ashe was thinking of Mrs. +Fenton with more than the friendliness of acquaintanceship. When Philip +looked up with a question in his eyes, however, she was already on her +guard. + +"The weather is so doleful," she hastened to add, "that I should think +that even philanthropy might lose its power of amusing." + +"Cousin Helen," returned he, with some hesitation, "I do not like to +hear you speak in that way of what is part of my life work." + +She smiled; then sighed and shook her head. + +"My dear Philip," replied she, "I had certainly no intention of +wounding you; and if you'll let me say so, I think you are going out of +your way to find cause of offense. Philanthropy isn't a thing so sacred +that it is not to be spoken of with a smile." + +"No; but"-- + +"But what?" + +He did not answer at once. He put down his empty cup absently, and then +sat staring into the fire as if he were trying there to read the +solution of the riddle of existence. + +"Come," Helen observed, after waiting for a little, "you have something +on your mind. What is it? It will do you good to tell it, even if I'm +not clever enough to help you." + +"I am sure that you could help me," he began eagerly; and then in a +changed voice he added, "if anybody could." + +She left her place behind the tea-table and came nearer to him, sitting +directly before the fire. The light fell on her convincing face and on +her wavy hair. She folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him. + +"Well?" she said. + +"I do not know how to say it," Philip responded slowly. "I am afraid +that you have not much sympathy with my views of life." + +"I probably have more than you realize. It's true that I do not believe +as you do, but we are both Puritans at heart, so that in the end our +theories come to much the same thing." + +He looked up with evident inability to follow her meaning. + +"I don't understand," he said. + +"Very likely I couldn't make myself clear if I tried to explain. +Suppose we give up abstractions and come to the concrete. What is the +especial thing in which you think that my theories are different from +yours?" + +"I do not think," he answered, hesitating more than ever, "that you +have much sympathy with asceticism." + +"None whatever," she declared uncompromisingly. "Nobody could have more +honor for a sacrifice to principle than I have; but I believe that a +sacrifice to an idea is apt to be the outcome of nothing but vanity or +policy." + +"But what is the difference?" + +"Why, an idea is a thing that we believe with the head; don't you know +the way in which we think things out while we secretly feel altogether +different?" + +"I do not think I follow you; but surely self-denial is a sacrifice to +principle." + +"Not necessarily. I'm afraid I may seem to you profane, Philip, but I +must say that it seems to me that asceticism is one of the worst +plague-spots which ever afflicted humanity. The root of it is the pagan +idea of propitiating a cruel deity by self-torture." + +"How can you say so!" he cried. "It is the pure devotion of a man to +the good of his higher nature and to the good of the race." + +"As far as the race goes, vicarious suffering can't be anything, so far +as I see, except an effort to placate an unforgiving deity. As for the +devotion of a man to his higher nature, you will never convince me that +to go against nature and to indulge in morbidness is improving to +anything. But here we are, swamped in a bog of great moral propositions +again. We can't agree about these things, and the thing which we really +want to say will be lost sight of entirely." + +He turned his face away from her again, either troubled by what she had +been saying or unable to find words and confidence to go on with the +confession of his trouble. + +"Is it," Helen inquired, "that you have found that you have yourself a +doubt of the value of asceticism?" + +"No, not that," he answered, dropping his voice; "but--but I begin to +doubt myself." + +She leaned forward in her chair. Some power outside of her own will +seemed to constrain her. + +"Philip," she said, bending over and touching his hand, "has love made +you doubt?" + +The question evidently took him entirely by surprise. She wondered what +impulse had made her speak and how her question would affect him. He +flushed to his forehead, and cast at her a look so full of pathetic +appeal that she felt the tears come into her eyes. It was the look of a +hunted creature which sees no way of escape, yet which has not the fury +of resistance, which pleads its own weakness. She knew that Philip +could not equivocate and that the secret of his heart lay bare before +her. She shrank from what she had done, and a flood of pity and +sympathy filled her mind. + +He gave her no more than a single look, and then buried his face in his +hands. + +"I have betrayed my high calling," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter +suffering. "I have put my hand to the plough and looked back. I am too +weak to be worthy to"-- + +"Stop," she interposed brusquely, although she was deeply touched. "I +can't listen to that sort of talk. It isn't wholesome and it isn't +manly. If you have fallen short of your ideal, your experience is that +of the rest of the race. I suppose the secret of our making any +progress is the power of conceiving things higher than we can reach. It +keeps us trying." + +"But I devoted myself to"-- + +"My dear boy," she interrupted him again, "you are like the rest of us. +You told yourself that you would be above all the passions and emotions +of common humanity, and you are discouraged to find that you're human +after all. That's really the whole of it." + +"But to allow yourself to love"-- + +It was not necessary for her to interrupt him now. He stopped of his +own will, casting down his eyes and blushing like a school-boy. It +seemed to her that it might be better to try raillery. + +"To allow yourself, O wise cousin!" she cried. "Men do not allow or +disallow themselves to love. It's deeper business than that." + +"But I should have had strength not to yield." + +"Is there anything discreditable in loving?" she demanded. + +"There is for a priest." + +"If there were, you are not a priest." + +"In intention I am; and that is the same in the sight of Heaven." + +She could not repress a gesture of impatience. She felt at once an +inward annoyance and a secret admiration. The temper of his mind was +exasperatingly like her own in its tenacity of conviction. He would not +excuse himself by any shifts, no matter how convincing they might seem +to others. The matter must be met fairly and frankly, and she must +reach his deepest feelings if she would move him. She reflected how +best to deal with him, and with her thoughts mingled the question +whether Edith Fenton could return Philip's love. The young man was well +made and sufficiently good-looking, although paled by study and +austerities. He was of good birth and property, and from a worldly +point of view not entirely an unsuitable match for the widow, should +she think of a second husband. He was somewhat younger than Mrs. +Fenton; and Helen was not without the thought that this passion might +be on his part no more than the inevitable result of his coming in +contact with a beautiful woman after having been immured in the +monastic seclusion of the Clergy House; a passion which would pass with +a wider acquaintance with the world. The whole matter perplexed and +troubled her, and yet she earnestly longed to help her cousin. + +"Dear Philip," she said, "I can't tell you how I enter into your +feeling. I don't agree with you, but we are not so far apart in +temperament, if we are in doctrine. I'm afraid that you'll think that +I'm merely tempting you when I say that it seems to me that your +conscientiousness is entirely right, and that your conviction is all +wrong." + +"Of course I know that you do not hold the same faith that I do." + +"But one of your own faith might remind you that your own church +upholds the marriage of the clergy." + +"Yes," he assented with apparent unwillingness, "but my conscience does +not." + +"Do you mean that you find your conscience a better guide than the +church? That seems to put you on my ground, after all." + +"Oh, no, no! Certainly I do not put myself above the authority of the +church." + +"The eagerness with which you disclaim any common ground with me isn't +polite," she retorted, glad of a chance to speak more lightly and +smilingly; "but it's sincere, and that is better." + +"I wasn't trying to disclaim thinking as you do; but to insist that I +do not set myself above the church." + +"Then I repeat that the church sanctions the marriage of the clergy. If +you don't agree, I don't see why you do not really belong in the Roman +Catholic Church." + +There was a long pause, during which she watched her cousin narrowly. +He seemed to be thinking deeply, with eyes intent on the fire. She was +so little prepared for the direction which his thought took that she +was startled when he said at last with a sigh:-- + +"I do sometimes find myself envying the absolute authority with which +the Roman Catholic Church speaks." + +"Authority!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you mean that you wish to +give up your individuality?" + +"No; not that; but it must be of unspeakable comfort in times of mental +doubt to repose on unquestioned and unquestionable authority." + +Helen rose from her place by the fire and walked to the window. She +felt that she was on very delicate ground, and she would gladly have +escaped from the discussion could she have done so without the feeling +of having evaded. She stood a moment looking out into the darkening +street, dusky in the growing January twilight, bleak and dreary. Then +with a sudden movement she went to her husband's desk and took up a +picture of her boy, a beautiful, manly little fellow of three years, of +whom Philip was especially fond. Crossing to her cousin, she put the +picture in his hand, at the same time turning up the electric light +behind him. + +"See," she said, with feminine adroitness. "I don't think I've shown +you this picture of Greyson." + +He looked at it earnestly, and sighed. + +"It is beautiful," said he. "Greyson is a son to be proud of and to +love." + +"Well?" she asked significantly. + +"What do you mean?" returned he. "What has Greyson's picture to do with +what we were talking about?" + +She took the photograph from his hand, extinguished the light, and +walked back toward the desk. The room seemed darker than before now +that the firelight only was left. Suddenly she turned, with an outburst +almost passionate:-- + +"O Philip!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see? My son! Surely if there is +anything in this world that is holy, that is entirely pure and noble, +it is parentage. Do you suppose that all the churches in the world, +with authority or without it, could make Grant and me feel that there +is anything higher for us than to take our little son in our arms and +thank God for him!" + +He did not answer, and she controlled her emotion, smiling at her own +extravagance, while she wiped away a tear. She kissed the picture, and +put it in its place; then she returned to her chair by the fire. + +"I don't expect you to understand my feeling," she said. "You never can +until you have a son of your own. If a little cherub like Grey puts his +baby hands into your eyes and pulls your hair, you'll suddenly discover +that a good many of your old theories have evaporated." + +"But, Cousin Helen," he began hesitatingly, "certainly there is often +sin"-- + +She interrupted him indignantly. + +"There is no sin in faithful, loving, self-respecting marriage," she +insisted. "That is what I am talking about. It is the holiest thing on +earth. Anything may be degraded. I've even heard of a burlesque of the +sacrament. I don't see why I shouldn't speak frankly, Philip. You are +in a state of mind that is morbid and self-tormenting. If you love a +woman, tell her so honestly and clearly; and if she is a good woman and +can love you, go down on your knees, and thank God." + +He leaned his forehead on his hands, as if he were struggling with +himself. The firelight shone on his rich hair, auburn like her own. +Helen watched him anxiously, wondering if she had said too much, and +whether she were taking too great a responsibility in the advice she +gave. Certainly anything must be good that took him out of his +unhealthy mood. + +"Come," she said, rising, and turning on the electric light again. "It +is time for Grant to be at home, and for me to be dressing. We are to +dine at the Bodewin Rangers to-night." + +He put up his hand to arrest her, and said in a tone that wrung her +heart:-- + +"But, Cousin Helen, I cannot speak of love to a woman until I am ready +to give up for her my priestly calling." + +"Until you are willing to give up your unwholesome idea of celibacy and +asceticism, you mean." + +"It would be sacrificing a principle to a passion." + +Helen sighed. + +"I could reason with you," she returned, half-humorously, "but how +shall I get on with all the Puritan ancestors who prevail in you and +me! The thing that I say isn't that you are to give up your notions +about the celibacy of the priesthood in order to marry, but because +they are unwholesome and abnormal. The thing that most closely links +you to humanity is the thing that best fits you to be of use in the +world." + +He regarded her with a glance of painful intensity. + +"But suppose," he suggested, "that the woman I loved could not love me? +Then I should come back to the church, and lay on the altar only a +discarded and worthless sacrifice." + +"Come back to the church!" she echoed. "You don't leave it. If marriage +takes you out of the church, then the sooner such a church is left the +better! Do you realize what you are doing, Philip? Do you remember that +you insult the good name of your mother by the view you take of +marriage? I am sick of all this infamous condemnation of what to me is +holy! If the church cannot rise to a noble and pure conception of it, +the sooner the church is done away with, the better for mankind!" + +"But you wrong the church," he interrupted eagerly. "The church makes +marriage a sacrament; it recognizes its purity; it"-- + +"Then what are you doing," she burst in, "with your exceptions to the +theory of the church? It is you who degrade it--Pardon me, cousin," she +added in a calmer voice, coming to him and laying her fingers lightly +on his shoulder. "I am speaking out of my heart. I have the shame of +knowing that I once failed to realize how high and how noble a thing +marriage is. I am older than you, and I have suffered as I hope you may +never have to suffer; the end of it all is that I have learned that +there is nothing else on earth so blessed as the real love of husband +and wife. Of course," she concluded, as he would have interrupted, "I +talk as a woman, and I cannot decide what you are to do. Only I would +like you to believe that I would help you if I could, and that what I +say of marriage is the thing which seems to me the truest thing on +earth." + +Then without waiting for reply, she went away and left him to his +thoughts. + + + + IX + + + HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH + Two Gentlemen of Verona, iv. 2. + + +"Who is Mr. Rangely?" Ashe inquired one morning at breakfast. + +Mrs. Herman looked at her husband as if she expected him to reply, +although the question had been addressed to her. + +"Fred Rangely," Grant Herman answered, "is a writer. He writes for the +magazines and is a newspaper man. He's written one or two novels, and +the first one was pretty successful. He's written plays too." + +Helen smiled. + +"Grant is too good-natured to tell you what you really want to know," +she commented. "Mr. Rangely was once in some sort a friend of his, in +the old days when there was still something like an artistic +brotherhood in Boston, and he can't bear to say things that are not to +his credit. Now I should have answered your question by saying that +Fred Rangely is a warning." + +"A what?" Ashe asked, while Herman sighed. + +"A warning. A dozen years ago he was one of the most promising men +about. He had made a good beginning, he was clever and popular, and +both as a novelist and as a playwright we hoped for great things from +him." + +"And now?" + +"Now he is a failure." + +Herman looked up almost reprovingly. + +"I don't think he would recognize that," he observed. + +"No, he wouldn't; and that's the worst of it. Ten years ago if anybody +had said of Fred Rangely: 'Here's a fellow that has started out to do +good work, but has found that there's more money in sensationalism; +who despises the popular taste and caters to it; who writes things he +doesn't believe for the newspapers and spends the money in running +after society,' he would have pronounced such a fellow a cad. Now he +would say: 'Well, a man must live, you know; and the public will only +pay for what it wants.' It's lamentable." + +"You put it rather worse than it is," her husband responded. "We are +all in the habit of judging men as if their degradation was deliberate, +which as a matter of fact I suppose it never is. Rangely hasn't coolly +accepted the choice between honesty and Philistinism. It's all come +gradually." + +"Like learning to pick pockets," she interpolated. + +"Besides," Herman continued, "we over-estimated in the beginning both +his character and his talent. He found he couldn't do what was expected +of him, and he was weak enough to do then what was most comfortable +instead of what seemed to him highest. It is what nine men out of ten +do." + +"Of course," Helen assented, "but after all it has come about by his +giving in on one thing after another. There was always a good deal that +is attractive about him, but he never showed much moral stamina. He +could never have married as he did if he had possessed fine instincts." + +"And his wife?" Ashe inquired. + +"Oh, he married a New York girl, who"-- + +"There, there," broke in Herman good-naturedly. "It is just as well not +to go into a characterization of Mrs. Rangely. I own that there isn't +much good to be said of her; so it is as well to let her pass." + +"Well, so be it," his wife assented, smiling. "I have only to say," she +added, turning to her cousin, "that when Grant declines to have a woman +discussed it is equivalent to a condemnation more severe"-- + +"Nonsense," protested Herman. "Don't believe her, Ashe. As for Mrs. +Rangely, it's enough to say that she is merely an imitation in most +things, and that she has called out the worst of her husband's nature +instead of the best. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid it's true." + +Mrs. Herman looked at him with a smile which seemed to tease him for +having been betrayed into saying a thing so much more severe than were +his usual judgments. Then with true feminine instinct she brought the +talk back to its most significant point. + +"Why did you ask about his wife?" she inquired of Philip. + +"I--I did not know," he returned, so evidently disconcerted that she +did not press the matter. + +Had Helen been a gossip she might have added that Rangely had acquired +the reputation of being always philandering with some woman or other. +Before his marriage he had been the slave of Mrs. Staggchase, and now, +after devotion to all sorts of society women, he had come to be counted +as one of the train of admirers who offered their devotion at the +shrine of Mrs. Wilson. Where a Frenchwoman prides herself on the +intensity of the devotion of some man not her husband, an American of +the same type glories in the number of slaves that her charms ensnare. +In either case the root of the matter is vanity rather than passion. +The American fashion is at once the more demoralizing and the less +dangerous. Mrs. Wilson in the early days of her married life had tried +to make her husband jealous by allowing the desperate attentions of a +single lover. She never repeated the experiment. The lover went abroad +to recover from the sting of having been made hopelessly ridiculous, +and Mrs. Wilson learned that in marrying she had found a master. +Fortunately she had married for love, and no woman loves a man less for +finding him able to control her. In these days Mrs. Wilson amused +himself by having a troop of admirers, and perhaps prided herself upon +being able to outdo the wiles of the other women of her set in securing +and holding her captives; but she discussed them with her husband with +the utmost frankness, mocking them to their faces if they made a step +across the line which she drew for them. They were kept in a state of +marked but respectful admiration. It was expected of them that they +should pretend to be consumed by a passion as violent as they might +please, but always a passion which was hopeless, which asked for no +reward but to be allowed to continue; which found in mere admission to +her presence joy enough at least to keep it alive. + +It may be that Rangely had more vanity than the rest of Mrs. Wilson's +followers, or it may be that he was more resolute. Certain it is that +he was more presuming than the rest, and that his devotion had not +failed to produce a good deal of talk. Little as Mrs. Herman was +accustomed to pay attention to social gossip, she had not failed to +hear tattle about Elsie Wilson; and while she probably did not much +heed it, she was at heart too conscientious not to feel shame and +irritation. That a woman in the position of Mrs. Wilson should allow +herself to give rise to vulgar gossip moved her to deep disapproval; +while she could not but feel contempt for the man who neglected his own +wife to wait upon the caprices of one whom Helen looked upon as a +heartless and vain creature. + +Behind the question which Ashe had asked about Rangely lay an incident +which had occurred the day previous. He was now called upon to see Mrs. +Wilson frequently in relation to matters connected with the election, +and with that instinct which was inborn she had carelessly exercised +upon him her arts of fascination. There is a certain sort of woman in +whom the mere presence of anything masculine awakens the rage for +conquest. It is as impossible for such women not to exert their +fascinations as it is for a magnet to cease to attract. It is the +destiny of woman to love, and dangerous is she who is inspired only +with the desire to be loved, the woman who instead of loving man loves +love. Elsie was saved from being such a monster by the fact that she +had a husband strong enough to subdue and control her nature; but +nothing could prevent her from trying her wiles on every man she met. + +Philip was too completely unsophisticated to understand, and too much +absorbed by his passion for another woman to respond to the cunning +attractions of Mrs. Wilson; yet it is not impossible that she so far +influenced him as to render him unconsciously jealous of another man. +He had surprised Rangely kissing the hand of that lady with an air of +devotion so warm that the blood of the young deacon rose in resentment +which he supposed to be entirely disapproval. He was in a state of mind +which made him especially sensitive to any suggestion of love; and the +sight of any man caressing the hand of a beautiful woman could not but +set his heart throbbing with disconcerting rapidity. In his world even +the touch of a woman's fingers was almost a forbidden thing, and to +kiss them an act not to be so much as imagined. Philip dared not think, +or to define to himself what significance he attached to this incident. +An unsophisticated man is often suspicious from the simple fact that he +is forced to distrust his judgment. He is unable to estimate the value +of appearances, and in the end often falls the victim of errors which +might seem to arise from malevolence or low-mindedness, when in reality +they are the inevitable fruit of ignorance. + +As Philip stood confronted with Mrs. Wilson after Rangely had left the +room it seemed to him that he read unspeakable things in her glance. +His clerical bias with its unholy blight of asceticism, his ignorance +of the world, made him a victim of a misapprehension which brought the +blood to his cheeks. His hostess looked at him curiously, and then +burst into a laugh. + +"Upon my word," she cried, "I believe you are shocked! You are really +too delicious!" + +He flushed hotter yet, and there came over him a helpless sense of +being alike unable to understand this brilliant creature or to cope +with her. + +"But--but," he stammered, "I--I"-- + +"Well?" she demanded, her eyes dancing. "You what? You saw Mr. Rangely +kiss my hand. You may kiss it too, if you like; though I doubt if you +can do it half so devotedly. He's had a lot of practice with a lot of +hands." + +Ashe stared at her with wide open eyes. + +"But has he a wife?" he asked gravely. + +"Meaning to remind me that I have a husband?" she gayly returned. "Yes; +we are both of us married. To think," she continued, spreading out her +hands and appealing to the universe at large, "that such simplicity +exists! Where have you been all your life? Did you never kiss a lady's +hand--or a lady's lips, for that matter?" + +"I think you forget, Mrs. Wilson," Ashe said with real dignity, "that I +am a priest." + +She regarded him with lifted brows for a moment. Then she moved to a +seat. + +"Come," said she; "sit down and talk to me. Where have you passed your +life? You cannot have been brought up in a monastery, for we don't have +them in our church." + +"It is a great pity," responded Philip, obeying her command, and +seating himself in a large arm-chair near her. + +"Do you really mean it?" was her reply. "Yes, I believe you do! You +were evidently born to be a monk. Oh, how _triste_ it must be to be +made without an appreciation of us!" + +He remained silent, his face more grave than ever. + +"Well," she went on, settling herself comfortably in the corner of her +sofa amid a pile of sumptuous cushions, "tell me something about your +life. It may be that you were designed by fate to introduce a new +order of monks." + +"There is not much to tell," he responded stiffly and almost +mechanically. "I was brought up in the country by a widowed mother. I +went through Harvard and the Divinity School, and since then I have +lived at the Clergy House." + +She regarded him closely. Her glance seemed half mocking, and yet to +search into the very secrets of his heart, as if she were asking him +questions which he would not have dared to ask himself. Her eyes +suggested impossible things; they demanded if he had not known of +forbidden cups which held wine deliriously enticing. He cast down his +glance, no longer able to endure hers, yet not knowing why he was thus +abashed. + +"But don't you know anything of life?" she questioned. "How could you +go through Harvard without seeing something of it? What were your +amusements?" + +"I rowed some, and I walked. The only thing that was a real pleasure +outside of my work was to be with Maurice Wynne. I do not remember that +I ever thought about needing to be amused. Of course I knew a few +fellows. I never knew a great many of the men." + +"And no women?" + +"None except the boarding-house keeper." + +She looked at him rather incredulously. Then she once more threw out +her hands in a gesture of amusement and amazement. + +"Good heavens!" declared she; "there are just two things which might be +done with you. You should be put in a glass case as a unique specimen +of otherwise extinct virtue; or you should be sent to Paris to learn +to be a real man. However, it's not my place to take charge of you, so +that may pass." + +There burned in the cheek of Ashe a spot of crimson which was perhaps +too deep not to betoken something of the nature of earthly indignation. + +"Mrs. Wilson," he said, "I came here to discuss church interests, and +not to be myself the subject of remarks which you certainly would not +think of making to other gentlemen who call on you." + +She clapped her hands. + +"Bravo!" she cried. "There's the making of a man in him. It's a +thousand pities you can't go to Paris and learn the fun of life." + +He rose indignantly. + +"If you wish only to talk lightly of evil things," said he, "I do not +see that it is necessary for me to take up more of your time." + +"Well," she responded, smilingly unmoved, "I'll confess that if there +is one thing for which I am especially grateful to Providence it is for +its having spared me the ennui of having to live in a virtuous world! +But sit down, and I'll talk as if that blessing had not been granted to +us. As for the salutation of Mr. Rangely which so shocked your +reverence, that was part of the campaign. He had just promised to write +an article for the 'Churchman' advocating Father Frontford from the +point of view of a layman; and of course until that is in print it is +necessary to be gracious to him. The trouble with you is that you've +seen so little of life that you exaggerate the most innocent things. +You really are rather insulting to me, if you think of it; but I pardon +it because you don't know what you were doing. I suppose you never +wanted to kiss a woman's hand or to write a sonnet to her eyebrow?" + +Ashe felt the blood rush into his face in so hot a tide that he +involuntarily turned away from his tormentor and walked toward the +door. The question would in any case have been disconcerting, but it +was made doubly so by the word which recalled the phrase from the +Persian hymn which was in his mind so closely associated with Mrs. +Fenton: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" +He had taken but a step, however, before Mrs. Wilson sprang from her +seat, clapping her hands again. She interposed between him and the +door, her face radiant with fun and mischief. + +"Oh, what a blush!" she cried. "Upon my word, there's a woman; there is +a woman even in that icebox you keep for a heart!" + +She burst into a peal of laughter, while he stood confounded and +speechless, trying to look unconscious, and vexatiously aware of how +completely he failed. Mrs. Wilson laid the tips of her slender fingers +on his arm, and peered up into his eyes. + +"I wouldn't have believed it, St. Anthony! Come, make me your mother +confessor, and I'll give you good advice. It's part of my mission to +take charge of the love affairs of the clergy. Only yesterday I spent +half the afternoon trying to find out how deeply Mr. Candish is smitten +with a pretty widow." + +Ashe started in amazement and alarm. The words of Mrs. Herman +connecting the name of Mrs. Fenton with that of Candish flashed into +his mind, and seemed to supply what Mrs. Wilson left unspoken. The +jealous pang which he felt at this confirmation of the interest of +Candish in the woman he loved was doubled by the resentment he felt +that this mocking torment before him should dare even to think of +Edith. Almost without knowing it he broke out excitedly into protest. + +"How dare you meddle with her affairs?" he cried. + +Mrs. Wilson stared at him an instant in amazement, evidently taken +completely aback. Then a light of cunning comprehension flashed into +her sparkling eyes. + +"Ah!" exclaimed she. "You too! Is Mrs. Fenton so irresistible to the +ecclesiastical heart?" + +He confronted her in silence. A wave of misery, of helplessness, of +weakness, swept over him. He had no right even to be Mrs. Fenton's +defender. He was, as Mrs. Wilson intimated, not a real man, but a +priest. The very tone of the whole conversation this morning showed how +far she was from regarding him as one having any part in her world. He +had only injured Mrs. Fenton by his ill-judged outburst, and given this +creature who so delighted in baiting him one more opportunity. Worse +than all else was the fact that he had given her a chance to jest about +the woman whom he loved. The tears rushed to his eyes in the intensity +of his feelings, and the beautiful face before him, with its teasing +brightness and dancing fun, swam in his vision. He hated its laughter, +and he expected fresh mockery for the emotion which he could not help +betraying. To his surprise, however, Mrs. Wilson again laid her hand on +his arm, and her face lost its gayety. + +"You poor boy," she said, with genuine feeling in her tone, "is it so +real as that? I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, if I had known. +What business had you to be meddling with vows and renunciation until +you knew what they meant?" + +She moved back to her seat as she spoke, motioning Ashe to resume his +place. He was too deeply moved to obey her. + +"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will see you to-morrow in regard +to those delegates. I--I am not quite myself." + +"But you shall not go without saying that you forgive me for my +teasing. Really, I am sorry and ashamed. I never intend to hurt you, +but I see that my teasing may be taken more seriously than it is +meant." + +There was real gentleness and pity in her smile, and as she rose to +stand looking into his face with a winning smile of apology he forgot +all his bitterness. + +"The trouble is with me," he said. "I do not understand the world, and +I should keep out of it." + +"Oh, not at all," she retorted briskly. "You should learn how to live +in it." + +A spark of mischief kindled in her glance as she spoke, and she +extended to him the back of her hand. Her smile challenged him, and he +had been won and moved by the sympathy of her voice. The hand, too, was +so beautiful, so slender, so feminine; he had so keen a longing to be +comforted, to be soothed by womanly softness, and to assuage his +loneliness by woman's sympathy, that it seemed impossible to resist the +invitation of those delicate fingers. He took her hand, and raised it +half way to his lips. Then he dropped it abruptly, letting his own arm +swing lifelessly to his side. + +"No," he said bitterly. "I am a priest!" + + + + X + + + A SYMPATHY OF WOE + Titus Andronicus, iii. 1. + + +The first sensation which returning consciousness brought to Berenice +Morison, after the shock of the collision and the feeling that the +whole train had been hurled confusedly into space, was that of coming +into fresher air as if she were emerging from the depths of the sea. +Opening her eyes without comprehending where she was or what had +happened, she found herself on the side of an overturned car. Around +her were dreadful noises, yells, groans, cries, shouts; her nostrils +were filled with the reek of burning stuffs; the light of lanterns and +of torches blinded her eyes; a sense of horror oppressed her; appalling +calamity which she could not understand seemed to have overtaken her; +and she shuddered with terror unspeakable. Her first impulse was to +shriek and to attempt to flee from the fearful things which surrounded +her; but instantly the self-control of returning reason made itself +felt. + +Berenice found herself supported by a couple of men, and it became +clear to her in an instant that she had just been lifted from that pit +below where she could see the glint of flame and the blinding smother +of smoke, and from which came such heartrending cries that she +instinctively tried to cover her ears. In the movement she realized +that beside the hold which her rescuers had of her, she was grasped by +other arms; that she was in the embrace of a man apparently dead. In +the dim light her dazed sense did not recognize him, and she struggled +to release herself from the hold of this corpse. + +"Take him away from me!" she shrieked hysterically in mingled terror +and repulsion. + +"Gently, gently," said one of the men who held her. "He's got killed +tryin' to save yer." + +"If this cut in his arm was in your back," remarked the other, who was +unlocking the hands so strongly clasped behind her, "it'd 'a' been a +finisher." + +Her head reeled, and she nearly swooned again; but somehow she found +herself released, and passed down from the car into the arms of more +men. + +"For God's sake, hurry," one of them said. "It's getting too hot to +stand here." + +A blistering puff of smoke enwrapped her as she went down. She saw a +face blackened and ghastly advance in the flaring light of a lantern. +Hands that seemed to come out of a cloud and a great darkness helped +and sustained her, until she was out of the instant press beside the +burning car. When once she was free and stood upon her feet, she +regained something like self-possession. Her head swam, but she +realized the situation and felt that she was able to help herself. + +"I am not hurt," she said to those who would have assisted her. "Don't +mind me." + +As she spoke, the body of a man was passed out of the smoke close to +her, and she saw that it was Wynne. Instantly she remembered being +flung into his arms, although what followed she could not recall. She +looked at him now with a piercing conviction that he was dead. His +cassock hung about him in rags, his face was smeared with blood and +grime, his arm hung limp and bleeding. The words of the rescuer on the +car-roof came to her, and she saw in the disfigured form of the young +deacon the body of the man who had given his life for hers. Instantly +all her powers rallied to help and if possible to save him. + +"Bring him this way," she said, stepping forward eagerly, her weakness +forgotten. "I'll take care of him." + +She moved out of the smoke without any clear idea where she was going +or what she could do. The hurt man was brought after her, one of the +many that were being carried as dead weights among the confused and +agonized crowd. At a short distance from the track there were hastily +arranged car-cushions, coats, and loose coverings thrown down on a bank +half covered with snow. Here the bearers laid Wynne, hurrying back to +their work with a precipitancy which seemed to Berenice heartless. + +The scene which Berenice took in at a glance was so wild and terrible +that it stamped itself on her brain in a flash. Lanterns were burning +all about, dancing and flitting to and fro like fireflies in a mist. +The eye caught everywhere glimpses by their light of disordered groups, +dim and dreadful as a nightmare. Close about her were the victims +heaped as if from a battlefield, the wounded moaning in pain, the women +wailing over the dying or the dead, each with cruel egotism intent upon +her own, and seizing upon any helper with terrible eagerness of +despair. A hundred feet away, lighted by the flames which were +beginning to thrust quick tongues through the smoke and the darkness, +was a long heap of shapeless wreck, about which dark figures were +swarming like midges about a bonfire. She could distinguish in the +middle of the line the two locomotives silhouetted against the +darkness, standing half on end like two grotesque monsters rearing in +deadly conflict. Every moment the flames became fiercer, and the +hurrying lanterns moved more wildly. + +It was Wynne, however, that claimed her attention. One swift glance +took in the awful picture, and then she sank down on her knees beside +him as he lay, bleeding and insensible, perhaps dead. For a moment she +was ready to cast herself down on the snow in helplessness and in +terror at the horrors of the situation; but the grit of stout Puritan +ancestors was in her fibres, the moral endurance which finds in the +sense of a duty to be done an inspiration that lifts above all +difficulties. Her work was before her; to abandon it impossible. + +The flames of the burning car brightened with appalling rapidity. +Shrieks arose so piercing that they wrung her heart as if with a +physical agony. It was the car from which she and Wynne had been taken +which was now that hell of fire. Its glare lit up the pale and bleeding +face beside her, and she realized that at that minute they might have +been in that awful agony. She began to sob wildly, but she began, too, +to try to bring Wynne back to consciousness. She took snow in her hands +and put it to his forehead; she twisted her handkerchief about his arm +to stop its bleeding. She tried to recall what she had heard at +Emergency Lectures, with a strong determination forcing herself to +remember. Kneeling in the snow, in the light of the burning car, her +heart torn by the cries of the suffering, trembling with excitement, +fear, and the shock she had undergone, sobbing almost hysterically, +she yet constrained herself to do her best, binding up his arm with +strips of her clothing, and trying to bring back his senses. + +A physician came to her without her knowing until he was at her side. +He bent to examine Wynne, and Berenice tried to repress her sobs that +she might talk to him, and take his directions. The life of Wynne might +depend upon her calmness. She caught up more snow, and pressed it to +her own temples. + +"Is he much hurt?" she asked feverishly. + +"It is not dangerous as far as I can judge," the doctor answered +hurriedly. "Get him away from here as soon as you can." + +She looked after him as he hurried on to other patients, and her first +feeling was one of indignation. Then it occurred to her that his going +so soon must mean that her patient was less hurt than she had feared. +But why was Wynne so long insensible? She knelt beside him again, and +as she did so he opened his eyes. + +"Where am I?" he cried feebly. + +He tried to start up, but fell back with a groan. + +"There has been an accident," she said hurriedly. "It's all right now. +You are safe. Are you in much pain?" + +"Are you hurt?" he demanded almost fiercely. + +"No, no; never mind me." + +He struggled again to rise, but fell back with a groan. She put her +hand on his shoulder. + +"Lie still," she commanded authoritatively. "I'll see what can be done. +Lie still while I look about." + +A second car was burning, and the whole place was aglare with yellow +light. The wild groups stood out black against the trodden and dingy +snow, while overhead rolled clouds of sooty smoke. It occurred to +Berenice that the accident had taken place so near Brookfield that many +persons must have come from the town. She seized a respectable-looking +man by the arm, and asked him if he knew of any way in which she could +get an injured friend to Brookfield. He stared at her a moment as if it +was impossible at such a time to receive words in their ordinary +meaning, but when the question had been repeated he answered that there +were some hackmen from town in the crowd. He helped her to find one, +and as Mrs. Morison was well known, Berenice had little further +difficulty. Wynne submitted to being half led, half carried through the +crowd, and when at last with the assistance of the hackman Berenice got +him into the carriage he fainted again. + +Singular and frightful to Berenice was that ride. The terrors through +which she had passed, the shock, mental and physical, which she had +undergone, had almost prostrated her. As soon as she was in the +carriage she broke out into hysterical tears. The fainting of her +companion, however, called her attention from herself, forcing her to +think of him. She supported his head on her shoulder, lifting his +wounded arm on to her lap; and into her heart came that thrill of +interest and compassion which is the instinctive response of a woman to +the appeal of masculine helplessness. A woman's love is apt to be half +maternal, and she who nurses a man is for the time being in place of +his mother. Berenice's thoughts were in a whirl, but pity for the hurt +man at her side was her most conscious feeling. She remembered the +words of her rescuer, and endowed Wynne with the nobility which +belongs to him who risks his life for another. What had happened she +could not tell. She remembered the awful terror of the collision, and +mistily of being hurled into his arms; but after that came a blank +until the moment of her rescue. It was evident that Wynne had in some +way been hurt in protecting her, and the very vagueness of the service +he had rendered made the deed loom larger in her imagination. She felt +his breath warm on her cheek, and suddenly into her dispassionate +musings there came a fresh sense, which made her face grow hot. She was +angry at the absurdity of flushing there in the dark, and asked herself +why the mere breath on her cheek of an insensible and wounded man +should set her to blushing like a self-conscious fool! Then she +remembered how he had held her in his arms, and she grew more self- +conscious still. A jolt made her companion moan, and in a twinkling all +else was forgotten in the anxiety of getting to shelter and aid. + +When the carriage stopped before the house of Mrs. Morison, the old +lady and a servant appeared instantly, rushing out to see what the +arrival meant. Almost before the carriage had come to a stand-still, +Berenice put her head out of the window and called as cheerily as she +could:-- + +"All right, grandmamma." + +She could not keep her voice steady, and she could only try to carry +off her emotion by a laugh which was rather shaky and hysterical. She +could not rise, for Wynne's head was on her shoulder. The carriage door +was torn open, and she felt her grandmother's arms about her in the +darkness. + +"My darling! My darling!" she heard murmured in a sobbing voice. + +"Look out, grandmother," she said, embracing Mrs. Morison with her one +free arm; "I've brought a man with me, and he's hurt. I think he's +fainted." + +There is nothing so efficacious in restraining the outpouring of +emotion as the necessity of attending to practical details. The need of +getting Wynne out of the hack and into the house as speedily and as +safely as possible restored Mrs. Morison to calmness, and although for +the rest of the evening and for many days after she and her +granddaughter had a fashion of rushing into each other's arms in the +most unexpected manner, they now devoted themselves to the unconscious +young deacon. + +Wynne revived again when he was lifted out of the carriage, and when he +had been, with the friendly aid of the driver, got into the house and +given a little brandy, he came once more to his complete if somewhat +shaken senses. He was too weak from the shock and the loss of blood to +resist anything that his friends chose to do to him, and although he +feebly protested against being quartered upon Mrs. Morison, his protest +was not in the least heeded. + +"Say no more about it," Mrs. Morison said, with a quiet smile. "You are +here, and you are to stay here. There is nowhere else for you to go, +even if you don't like our hospitality." + +"That isn't it," he began feebly; "only I've no claim"-- + +"There, that will do," Berenice interposed with decision. "Do you +suppose, grandmother, that it's possible to get anybody to come and see +his arm?" + +"I'm afraid not, dear," was the answer. "Everybody's at the wreck. +I've been cowering down in the corner of the fire for what seemed to me +years since Mehitabel came rushing in with the news; and all the time +I've heard people driving past the house on their way out of town." + +"There ain't a man left," put in Mehitabel, a severe elderly servant, +who had the air of being personally responsible for her mistress, and +of being bound to fulfill her duties faithfully, even if the effort +killed her. "I see Dr. Strong go gallopin' past first, and the other +doctors was all after him; even to that little squinchy electrical +image that's round the corner on Front Street." + +"Electrical image?" repeated Berenice. + +"She means the eclectic physician," explained Mrs. Morison. "I'm sure +that there's no use in sending for the doctors now. Later we will see. +We must manage the best we can. If I hurt you, Mr. Wynne, you must tell +me." + +Berenice looked on, sick with the sight of the blood, while her +grandmother examined the wounded arm. Wynne shrank a little, but +Berenice noted that he bore the pain pluckily. The sleeve was cut to +the shoulder, and his arm laid bare. A jagged cut was revealed reaching +from the wrist to the elbow; a cut so ugly in appearance that the girl +went faint again. + +"There, there, Miss Bee," old Mehitabel said, taking her by the +shoulder. "You've had enough of this sort of thing for one night. +You'll dream gray hairs all over your head if you don't get out." + +But Berenice refused to give up her place. She stood beside Wynne while +her grandmother examined the arm, handing the things that were wanted; +fighting with the faintness that came over her in waves. + +"No, Mehitabel," said she. "I'm made of better stuff than you think." + +In her heart she had a half unconscious feeling that she had been +inclined to hold this man in contempt because of his priestly garb; and +that she owed him this reparation. She did not know what had occurred +in that overturned car; but she looked back to it as to a horror of +great darkness in which Wynne had risked his life for hers. She felt +that she could not do less than to stand by while the wound he had +received in her service was being attended to. It was Wynne himself who +put her away. + +"You are too kind, Miss Morison," he said; "but you are not fit to do +this. I beg that you'll not stay. Your face shows how hard it is for +you." + +The first thought that shot through her mind was one of relief that she +now might properly leave her self-inflicted task; the second was a pang +of self-reproach that she should wish to leave it; the third and +lasting was a sense of pleasure that even in his pain he had not failed +to note her face and divine her feelings. + +"Mr. Wynne is right," Mrs. Morison added decisively. "Mehitabel can +help me, my dear. Go into the other room and let Rosa get you a cup of +tea." + +"It won't be much of a cup of tea," Mehitabel commented grimly. "That +fool of a girl's got it into her head that it's a good time to cry for +her doxy, because he's a brakeman on some other train." + +Berenice smiled at the characteristic crispness and the absurd speech +of the old servant. She remembered Mehitabel from the days when in +pinafores she used to visit here, and when she looked upon the tall, +gaunt woman with an awe which was saved from being terror only by the +fact that she had learned to associate with that abrupt speech an +after gift of crisp cakes. Mehitabel was to her as much a part of the +establishment as were the tall chairs, the lion-headed fire-dogs, or +the silver which had belonged to her grandmother's grandmother. + +Passing into the dining-room Berenice summoned the afflicted Rosa, who +came with face all be-blubbered with tears, and who sniffed audibly as +soon as she caught sight of the visitor. + +"How do you do, Rosa? I wouldn't cry, if I were you," Berenice said. +"Mehitabel says that this wasn't his train." + +"Oh, I know it, Miss," responded Rosa, with more tears; "but I can't +help thinking how dreadful it would be if it was; and me not to know +whether he was dead or alive. It don't seem to me I could ever marry +him, not to be able to tell whether he'd come home any day dead or +alive. I'll have to give him up, Miss; and he's real kind and free- +handed." + +Her tears flowed so freely at the thought of giving up her lover that +they splashed on Berenice's hand as Rosa leaned over to reach for +something on the table. + +"Well, Rosa," Miss Morison remarked, smiling at the absurdity of the +maid, and wiping her hand, "I'm sorry that you feel so bad; but I don't +like to be deluged with tears." + +"Indeed, Miss," Rosa returned penitently, "I didn't mean to cry on you; +but tears come so easy in this world. We're all born crying." + +Berenice laughed in spite of herself. + +"If we are born crying," she said, "that's reason enough for our +smiling when we've outgrown being babies." + +"That's all well enough for you," Rosa retorted with fresh tears. +"You've got your man here all safe if he is hurt a little; and I don't +know"-- + +Berenice broke in with indignant amazement, feeling her face burn. + +"My man!" she exclaimed. "How dare you speak to me like that! Mr. Wynne +is nothing to me. He's only a clergyman that was hurt saving my life." + +She broke off with a laugh somewhat hysterical. Her nerves were not +under control yet. + +"I'm sure I didn't mean," wailed the girl, "to say anything wrong." + +"There, there, Rosa," the other interrupted. "We are both upset. You +shouldn't take so much for granted, or talk to me about 'men.'" + +But in her mind the phrase repeated itself vexatiously: "your man." + + + + XI + + + IN PLACE AND IN ACCOUNT NOTHING + 1 Henry IV., v. 1. + + +The power of self-torture which the human heart possesses is well-nigh +infinite. When one considers how futile are self-reproaches, self- +examinations, remorses for faults and weaknesses; how vanity puts +itself upon the rack and conscience inflicts envenomed wounds; how self +tortures self until the whole man writhes in anguish, and in the end +nothing is altered by all this pain, one might almost thank the gods +for moral insensibility. Yet New England was founded upon the principle +that this temper of mind develops manlihood; that inward struggles are +the only discipline which can fit a human being for the outward +conquest of life. The Puritans had power to subdue the wilderness, to +overcome whatever obstacles interposed to the founding of a state and +the establishing of the truth as they conceived it, because all these +difficulties were accidents, outward and of comparative insignificance +when set against the real life, which was within. If a heritage of +self-consciousness has come down with the noble gifts which the +forefathers have left to their children, it is at least part of the +price paid for great things. + +To Maurice that night only the pain and misery of his Puritan +inheritance made themselves felt. Through the long hours he lacerated +his heart and soul with repentance, with remorseful self-reproaches, +enduring agony intense enough to be the reward meet for a crime. +Fevered with the loss of blood, racked with the smart of bodily wounds, +bruised and sore from the injuries of the accident, unable to move +without torture in every joint, he yet forgot physical in mental +suffering. + +The weakness and disorder of his body confused and distorted his +thoughts, but it was in any case inevitable that with his training he +should be wrung with bitter self-condemnation. He flushed and thrilled +at the remembrance of the pressure of Berenice against his breast; the +warmth of her breath, the odor of her hair, seemed to come back to him +even out of the tumult and reek of the burning car. He remembered how +it had seemed to him--to him, a priest--sweet to die if he might die +clasping unrebuked this woman in his arms. The blood throbbed in his +temples as he recalled the wild thoughts that had swirled in a mad +throng through his brain in those moments which had seemed like hours; +the blood throbbed, too, in his wounded arm, so that a groan forced +itself through his parched lips. He was constantly throwing himself to +and fro as if to escape from some teasing thought, always to be by the +sharp pang in his wound brought to a sense of his condition. The whole +night passed in an agony of mind and body. + +There were moments, too, when he seemed to stand outside of himself and +judge dispassionately this human creature, wounded, broken, rent in +body and in soul; moments in which he sometimes seemed to smile in +supreme contempt of the wretch so weak, so wavering, so utterly to be +despised; sometimes to protest in angry pity against the unmerited +anguish which had been heaped upon the sufferer. He had instants of +delirious clearness and exaltation in which he felt himself lifted +above the ordinary weaknesses of humanity; to see more clearly, and to +take a view broader than any to which he had ever before attained. It +shocked and startled him to realize that in these intervals which +seemed like inspiration,--intervals in which he felt himself +illuminated with inner light,--he cast from him the ideals which he had +hitherto cherished. As if for the first time seeing clearly, he felt +that men should not be hampered by dogmas which cramp and restrain. A +line he had seen somewhere, and which he had put aside as irreverent +and irreligious, kept repeating itself over and over in his head-- + + "He had crippled his youth with a creed." + + +Life stretched out before him futile and meaningless unless love should +light it, unless he could win Berenice; and he protested feverishly +against any vow that would thwart or restrain him. He had crippled his +youth with a creed unnatural and deforming; it was time for the +manhood within him to shake off its fetters and assert its strength. He +told himself wildly that now for the first time he saw life as it was; +that now first he understood the meaning of existence, and that life +meant nothing without freedom and love. + +The beliefs of years, however, or even those habits which so often pass +for beliefs, are not to be done away with in a night. Even love cannot +completely alter the course of life in a moment. At the last, worn out +with the conflict, but with a supreme effort to regain spiritual calm, +Maurice flung his whole soul into an agony of supplication, as he might +have flung his body at the foot of a cross, and prayed to be delivered +from this too great temptation. He would renounce; he would pluck up by +the roots this passion which had sprung and grown in his heart; at +whatever cost he would tear it up, and be faithful to his high calling. +As a child casts itself upon the bosom of its mother, he cast himself +upon the Divine, and with an ecstatic sense of pardon, of peace, of +perfect joy, he fell asleep at last. + +Maurice awoke in broad daylight, with a confused sense that the world +was falling in fragments about his ears, and that his name was being +shouted by the angel of the last trump. He found that the physician who +could not be had on the previous night had now been brought to his +chamber by Mehitabel. + +"Here's the saw-bones at last," was the characteristically +uncompromising introduction of the woman. + +"Dr. Murray's come to tell you that all Mis' Morison did last night was +wrong, and that probably you'll have to have your arm cut off 'cause of +it." + +Wynne sat up in bed dazed and uncomprehending, but the smile of the +doctor brought him to a sense of where he was. The latter was not in +the least surprised by Mehitabel's manner of speech. + +"If you'd had anything to do with it, Mehitabel," was Dr. Murray's +comment, "I've no doubt the arm would have had to go; but when Mrs. +Morison does a thing, it's another story." + +"Humph!" sniffed she. "You've got some small amount of sense, if it +ain't much. Now, young man, set your teeth together and put out your +tongue--your arm, I mean." + +Maurice smiled, not so much at the humor of the error as at the fact +that it was so evidently intentional on the part of the elderly virgin, +who cunningly glanced at him and at the doctor to discover if the rare +stroke of wit were properly appreciated. + +"Jocose as ever, Mehitabel," observed the doctor, going to work at once +with swift and delicate precision. "You've a nasty cut here, Mr. Wynne; +but you're lucky to get off with nothing worse. It's a good deal to +come through such an accident without a permanent injury." + +"That's true," Maurice responded cheerfully. "I dreamed in the night +that I was all in bits." + +"Plenty of poor fellows were. It was the most terrible smash-up for +years." + +"How is Miss Morison?" Wynne asked, wondering if his voice betrayed the +inward agitation without which he could not pronounce her name. + +"Oh, she's all right. Nervous and shaky, of course; but she's a sound, +wholesome creature, and it won't take her long to recover her tone." + +"Yes; I brought her up," interposed Mehitabel, with grim self- +complacency. "Don't pull that bandage so tight, doctor. You want to +have me running over after you in an hour to come and loosen it." + +"That's it, Mehitabel; teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I come +here, Mr. Wynne, chiefly to learn my profession from her." + +"She seems willing to teach you," Wynne replied, and then, with a +boyish doubt if she might not take offense, he added, "which of course +is very kind of her." + +Mehitabel chuckled in high good-humor. + +"Kind it is and unappreciated it is; and little is the credit he does +to his training. Men are all alike; if they owned half they owe to +women they'd be too ashamed to show their heads in daylight." + +The droll airs of the old woman entertained Wynne so greatly that he +bore with exemplary fortitude the painful attentions of the physician, +the harder to bear because the wound had had time to inflame. The arm +was dressed at last, and the doctor took himself away with a parting +passage of arms with Mehitabel. + +"The thing for you to do, young man," she said, when Dr. Murray had +departed, "is to stay in bed where you are, and that's reason enough +for a man to want to get up." + +"I'm not fond of staying in bed," Maurice responded with a smile; "and +besides that I must get back to Boston." + +She regarded him with an expression of marked disfavor. + +"Humph," said she. "Quarters ain't good enough for you, I suppose." + +"On the contrary, it is I who am not good enough for the quarters." + +Mehitabel went on with her work of arranging the curtains and putting +the room to rights as she answered:-- + +"Well, I dare say you ain't; but what special thing've you done?" + +"Special thing?" Maurice repeated, somewhat confused. "Oh, I see. The +fact is, I don't think I've any right to impose on the hospitality of +Mrs. Morison." + +"Well," assented she again, "I dare say you ain't; but if she's +willing, you ain't no occasion to grumble, 's I see. She ain't a-going +to hear of your starting out hot-foot, 's if she wouldn't keep you. +It'd look bad for the reputation of the family." + +"But," began he, "I"-- + +"Besides," the old woman continued, ignoring his attempt to speak, "you +ain't got much to wear. Them petticoats you come in, which ain't +suitable for any man to wear, without it's the bearded lady in the +circus if she's a man, which I never rightly knew, is so torn to pieces +by the grace of heaven that you can't go in them, and all the rest of +your clothes are all holes and blood." + +"I suppose my clothes were pretty well used up," he replied, divided +between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he should resent the +affront to his clerical garb; "and of course my baggage is nowhere. Can +I get clothing here, or shall I have to send to Boston?" + +"You can't get men's petticoats," Mehitabel retorted uncompromisingly, +"nor none of them Popish things. If it's good, plain God-fearing pants +and such, there ain't no trouble, and the price is reasonable." + +"Plain God-fearing trousers and coat will do," Maurice answered, +bursting into a laugh. "Do you think that you could send for some if I +give you the size?" + +She was evidently pleased at the success of her attempts to be funny, +for her face relaxed, but she set her mouth primly. + +"I'd go myself," was her reply. "I'd trust myself to pick out things, +and it might give the girls ideas to go traipsing round buying pants +and men's fixings." + +When she was gone Maurice lay in a pleasant half-doze, smiling at the +absurd old servant with her labored determination to be thought witty, +and wondering at the caprices of existence. He was interrupted by the +arrival of his breakfast, and after that had been disposed of he +received a visit from Mrs. Morison. She was a fine old lady with snowy +hair, her sweet face wrinkled into a relief-map of the journey of life, +her eyes as bright and sparkling as those of her granddaughter. Wynne +could see the family likeness at a glance, and said to himself that +some day when time had wrinkled her smooth cheeks and whitened her hair +Berenice would be such another beautiful dame. Mrs. Morison brought +with her an air of brisk yet serene individuality, as of the fire which +on a winter evening burns cheerily on the hearth, warming, +invigorating, suggesting wholesome and happy thoughts. She was so +kindly and yet so thoroughly alive to the very tips of her fingers that +her age almost seemed rather a merry disguise like the powdered hair of +a young girl. + +"Good-morning," she greeted him cheerily. "The doctor says that you are +doing well. I hope that you feel so." + +"Thank you," he answered. "I don't seem to have as many joints as I +used to have, but I'm doing famously, thanks to the skillful treatment +I had last night." + +"It was not too skillful, I'm afraid; but Dr. Murray says I did no +harm, and that's really a good deal of a compliment from him." + +"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Maurice said. "It is so +strange to be taken care of"-- + +He broke off suddenly, awkward from shyness and genuine feeling. He +looked up, however, to meet a glance so reassuring that he felt at once +at ease. + +"It is time that it ceased to be strange," she returned. "We must try +before you go to make you more accustomed to being looked after a +little." + +He returned her kind look with a grateful smile. + +"You are too generous," he said. "I must not trespass on your good- +nature. I think that I could manage to get back to Boston to-day if the +trains are running." + +"The trains are running, but that is no reason why you should think of +running too. We mean to mend you before we let you go." + +"But"-- + +"There is no 'but' about it," Mrs. Morison declared, speaking more +seriously. "Berenice and I have settled it, and we are accustomed to +having our own way. You are selfish to wish that we should be left with +all the obligation on our shoulders." + +"Obligation?" repeated he. "How on earth is there any obligation but +mine?" + +"Do you think that there is no obligation in owing to you Bee's life?" + +He stared at her in complete confusion. He made a vain effort to recall +clearly what had happened in the car. He remembered the crash, the din, +the pain, the horrible clutch on his arm, the choking reek of the +smoke, his frantic fear for Berenice, but all these things seemed +blurred in his mind like a landscape obscured by a night-fog. Only one +memory stood out clear and sharp; that was the joy of holding Berenice +clasped in his arms, and of thinking that they would die together. He +felt the blood mount in his cheek at the thought, and he hastened to +speak, lest his hostess should divine what was in his mind. + +"Why do you say that?" he asked. "It was not I that saved her. I was +not even conscious when she was taken out." + +Mrs. Morison smiled, and touched lightly with the tip of her finger +the bandaged arm which lay on the outside of the coverlid. + +"We won't dispute about it," said she. "The proof is here. Let it go, +if you like; but we shall remember." + +"But," protested Maurice, "it wouldn't be honest for me to let you +think that I did anything for Miss Morison. I should have been only too +glad to help her, but I couldn't. I wish what you think could have been +true; but since it isn't, I can't let you think it is." + +Mrs. Morison let the matter drop, but her kind old eyes were brighter +than ever. She contented herself with saying that at least he was to +remain with them, and need not try to escape; then she led the talk to +more indifferent matters. Her hand, worn and thin, the blue veins +relieved under the delicate skin, lay on the white coverlid like a +beautiful carving of ivory. As Maurice looked at it, it brought into +his mind the hand of his mother, as in her last days, when he sat by +her bedside, it had rested in the same fashion. The tears sprang in his +eyes at the memory, half-blinding him. As he tried to brush them away +unseen he caught the sympathetic look of his hostess, and its sweetness +overpowered him still more. Meeting his glance, she leaned forward +tenderly, taking his fingers in her own. + +"What is it?" asked she softly. + +"Your hand," he answered simply. "It looked so like my mother's." + +"Poor boy," she murmured. + +He returned the pressure of her clasp, and then the masculine dislike +for effusiveness asserted itself. + +"I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," he said shamefacedly. "I'm +almost hysterical." + +She glanced at him shrewdly, and smiling, rose. + +"For all that," she returned, "you are to get up. Dr. Murray says that +it will be better, and you would get hopelessly tired of bed before to- +morrow morning. I'll send you something in the way of clothing, and +we'll let you play invalid in a dressing-gown to-day. If Mehitabel can +help you, you've only to ring. I dare say that you can do something +with one hand." + +"One never knows until he tries," Wynne answered. + +Maurice wished to ask for a barber, but could not pluck up courage. +When he was alone he gazed ruefully into the mirror at his stoutly +sprouting black beard, which so little understood the exigencies of the +situation that it persisted in growing as vigorously as ever. + +"If I stay here a couple of days without shaving," he mused, "I shall +simply be hideous. Well, my vanity very likely needs a lesson. What did +Mrs. Morison mean by my saving Miss Morison's life? I certainly could +not have said so when I was unconscious. It must be from something she +herself has said. If I could only remember what did happen after the +car went over!" + +His bath and toilet were difficult and unsatisfactory enough. The linen +with which he was provided, however, smelled sweetly of lavender, and +the odor seemed to bear him away into a pleasant reverie, in which he +was chiefly conscious of the pleasure of being near--of being near, he +assured himself, so delightful and sympathetic an old lady as Mrs. +Morison. A feeling of well-being, of content, saturated him. Behind his +thought of his hostess and his denial to himself that the presence +under the same roof of Berenice was the true source of his happiness, +lay the consciousness that the latter regarded him as her preserver. He +resolutely thrust the thought down deep into his heart, but he could +not forget it. + +Before he was ready to leave his chamber Mehitabel brought him a +telegram from Mrs. Staggchase, to whom he had sent a line announcing +his safety. It was merely a friendly word with an offer to come to him +if he needed her; but it changed the whole current of his thoughts. He +seemed to see the mocking smile of his cousin as she read that he was +staying with the Morisons, and to hear again her words about his period +of temptation. He resolved, however, to put the whole question of the +future out of his mind. Somehow there must be a way to steer safely +between his duty and his inclination. He failed to reflect that he who +decides to compromise between duty and desire has already sacrificed +the former. + +Berenice greeted him on his appearance in the library, whither he +descended rather shakily. She held in her hand a telegram when he +entered under the escort of Mehitabel, and her cheeks were flushed. +Instantly into his mind came the feeling that her color was connected +with the message which the yellow paper brought, and he became jealous +in a flash. There was no possible reason why he should scent a rival in +the mere presence in his lady's hand of a telegram, unless there were +an intangible shade of self-consciousness in her manner. He had come +downstairs eager to see her and to assure himself that she was really +no worse for the accident, but the sight of the paper instantly changed +his mood. In crossing the half-dozen steps from the door to the fire +Maurice shifted from frank eagerness to aggrieved distrust. He said +good-morning as he entered in the tone of a lover; he spoke as he +reached the hearth with the formality of an acquaintance. + +He was too keenly alive to the change in his feelings not to know that +he showed it. He endeavored to hide his perturbation under an +appearance of simple politeness, but he was sure that she watched him +and that she was puzzled. + +"Well," she said, as she arranged a cushion in the big easy-chair +beside the crackling wood fire, "you have the genuine scarred veteran +air." + +"Please don't bother to wait on me, Miss Morison," he answered, trying +to speak naturally, and painfully aware that he did not succeed. "I'm +all right, except for the scratch on my arm." + +"Scratch, indeed," she returned with a smile which almost disarmed him. +"How many stitches did the doctor have to put in?" + +"'Bout enough for a week's mending," interpolated Mehitabel, putting +him into the chair with an air of authority, and preparing to retire. +"There, now stay there till you want to go upstairs again, and then +send for me." + +"Indeed," he protested, laughing, "I am not helpless. You can't make a +baby of me just for a disabled arm." + +"I suppose," Berenice said, "that I ought to be willing to say that I +had rather the wound were in my back, where it would have been but for +you; only as a matter of fact I shouldn't be telling the truth. I am +sorry for you, Mr. Wynne; but I can't help being glad for myself." + +She seemed to be setting herself to win him from his ill-humor, and he +had to look into the fire away from her lips and eyes to prevent +himself from yielding. He fortified his resistance, which he felt to be +weakening, by the reflection that it was his duty not to be carried +away by her charm. He called upon his religious scruples to aid him in +holding to his passion-born jealousy. + +"There," Miss Morison said, when he had been properly ensconced and +Mehitabel had departed, "now it is my duty to entertain you. What shall +I do? My accomplishments are at your service. I can read, without +stopping to spell out any except the very longest words. I can play two +tunes on the mandolin, only that I've forgotten the middle of one and +the other has a run in it that I always have to skip. The piano is too +far off across the hall to be available; so that the little I can do in +that way doesn't count. I can--let me see, I can teach you three +solitaires, or play cribbage, or--I beg your pardon, I forgot." + +"You forgot what?" he asked, so intent upon watching the sunlight +filtering through her hair that he had hardly noticed what she said. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"You don't play cards, perhaps?" she said tentatively. + +"No," he answered. "In the country in my boyhood they weren't held in +high repute, to say the least; and naturally we don't play at the +Clergy House." + +There was a brief interval of silence, during which he watched her, +while she in her turn looked into the fire. When she spoke again it was +in a different tone. + +"I know," said she, "that you must think me frivolous, and that I can't +be anything else; but"-- + +"Oh, no," he interrupted, "I never thought you frivolous." + +She made an impulsive little gesture with one of her hands. + +"Oh, you wouldn't put it in that way, I dare say. You'd call it being +worldly, I suppose; but it comes to much the same thing." + +Wynne could not understand what was the direction of her thoughts, and +he was taken entirely by surprise when she leaned forward impulsively +and took in hers his free hand. + +"At least," she said, quickly and eagerly, "I can't forget that you +saved my life, and I thank you from my heart if I don't know just how +to do it in words." + +He returned the pressure of her fingers, longing to cover them with +kisses. + +"I'm afraid," responded he, "that I've very little claim to glory on +account of anything I did for you. I certainly don't deserve the credit +of having saved you. I only wish I did." + +She laughed gayly, springing up from her seat, and he realized that his +voice had lost all trace of unfriendliness. He told himself recklessly +that he did not care; that if he were a thousand times a priest he +could not but be kindly to Berenice. + +"Come," she laughed, "we have been through a real adventure; and that's +more than happens to most people if they live to be a hundred." +Suddenly she became grave. "I can't bear to think of it, though," she +added. Then she turned toward him, and spoke with seriousness. "At +least, Mr. Wynne, I am not so flighty that I do not thank God for my +escape yesterday." + +"Amen," he responded. + +She walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sunny day. +The fire burned cheerfully on the wide, red hearth, and Maurice looked +into its glowing heart thinking gratefully of his preservation and of +the friendly refuge into which he had been brought. No reverent man can +come face to face with death and escape without some feeling of awe and +of gratitude to the power which has preserved him; and Maurice was +filled with a sense of how great had been the hand which could bring +him through such peril, how kind the protection which had preserved +Berenice unscathed. Humility and tenderness overflowed his heart, and +the inward thanksgiving which his spirit breathed was as sweet and as +unselfish as if a personal passion had never invaded his breast. + +"It seems to me," Berenice remarked from her place by the window, "that +the woods on the hills over there are already beginning to show signs +of spring. There is a sort of delicate change of color in them that +means buds beginning to grow." + +Before he could reply, the door opened, and Mehitabel presented herself +with a card. + +"Oh," said Berenice, as she received it, "already!" + +There seemed to Maurice something of impatience or dismay in her tone. +She excused herself and went out, leaving the old servant with Wynne. +As soon as the door closed, Mehitabel turned upon him at once. + +"Do you know him?" she demanded. + +"Know whom?" + +"This sprig that's come from Boston to see Miss Bee?" + +Maurice looked at her with a sharp sense that he ought not to allow her +to go on, yet with a desire to know more so burning that he could not +refrain. + +"I didn't even know that anybody had come from Boston to see Miss +Morison," he replied; "so that it isn't easy to say whether I know him +or not." + +"His name is Parker Stanford, and he's all the signs of being better'n +his grandfathers and knowing it through and through. He's too fond of +his looks to suit me." + +"I don't know him," Maurice answered, "except that I've heard my +cousin, Mrs. Staggchase, mention his name. He's very rich, I believe, +and a good deal of a leader in society." + +"Humph," sniffed Mehitabel. "He may be a leader in society, but he's as +selfish as a sucking calf!" + +"You seem to know him pretty well," commented Maurice. "I suppose +you've seen him often." + +"Never saw him in my life till this minute. Young man, I'll tell you +this, though. Every woman with any brains knows what a man is the +minute she claps eyes on him; only if he's good-looking, or awful +wicked, or makes love to her, or forty thousand other things, she'll +deny to herself that she knows any bad about him." + +"Then it seems to be much the same thing as if your sex weren't gifted +with such extraordinary insight," Maurice responded, laughing. + +"If women didn't cheat themselves there wouldn't be no marriages," +Mehitabel retorted, grinning, and retired in evident delight over her +success in repartee. + +As for Maurice, he became wonderfully grave the moment he was left +alone. + + + + XII + + + THE ONLY TOUCH OF LOVE + Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii. 7. + + +_To be_ is an irregular verb in all languages, but always regular is +the verb _to love_. There are many sides to the existence of mortals; +but to love is the same for high and low. Any mortal knows little +enough about himself; but a mortal in love knows nothing. Love is a +bewildering and a bedazzling fire, wherewith the eyes of youth are so +blinded that they are able to see clearly neither within nor without. +Often it happens, indeed, that the first intimation the heart has of +the presence of the divine flame is the bewilderment which fills the +mind. + +Berenice had long been contentedly and unenthusiastically convinced +that, she was to marry Parker Stanford. She approved of him; he was +wealthy, well-born, agreeable enough, and apparently very fond of her. +She had not, it is true, become formally engaged to him. When he had +asked her to become his wife she had teasingly asked for time for +deliberation; but this was not because she felt any especial doubt +about ultimately accepting him. She was pleased, maiden-like, to dally, +and shrank from being formally bound. Her pulses had not yet stirred +with the unrest which love awakens. Her vanity had been pleasantly +aroused, and for the rest she was in all the ignorance of those whom +passion has not yet made wise. She regarded marriage rather as an +abstract thing; she was familiar with the idea that it was a matter of +social arrangement and necessity, to be looked upon as a part of life. +She had, it is true, some vaguely sentimental notion that love was a +necessity, and being persuaded that the match before her was a +desirable one, was persuaded also that she was in love with Stanford. +At least she was sure that he was in love with her, and as she liked +him, that answered. To find a man amusing, agreeable, handsome, and +fulfilling the social requirements of a desirable husband seemed to her +unsophisticated mind to love him. She was pleased with her lover; she +was not insensible of the triumph of having won the attentions of one +of the most sought-after men in her set; to pass her life in the well- +ordered establishment which he would provide seemed to her a decorous +and desirable method of fulfilling the destiny of a woman. She was +willing that the event should be postponed indefinitely, it is true; +and the man himself in her considerations of the future was something +of a shadow; a shadow pleasant enough, yet so remote as to count for +nothing intimately important. She was somewhat less sophisticated than +most modern girls, inheriting that New England nature which is slow to +understand emotion and endowed with the power rather of tenacity than +of spontaneity of passion. + +When on the day previous Stanford had come to the train to see Berenice +off, she had been especially gracious. She had been in particularly +good spirits, full of amusement that Mr. Wynne was to be her neighbor +on the train, and that he did not know it. She had chanced to send for +tickets with Mrs. Wilson, the pair had laughingly planned the +arrangement, and Berenice had promised herself some entertainment in +teasing the young cleric on the journey. It pleased her, too, that +Stanford should take the trouble to come to the station, especially as +Kate West, who had tried so hard to secure him despite the fact that +she was ten years his senior, chanced to be meeting a friend and to be +there to see. She allowed herself to smile on her lover with more +warmth than usual, and was a little vexed as well as a little amused by +it afterward. On the train she reflected that if she were to be so +gracious Stanford would press his suit more warmly than she wished; yet +on the other hand it occurred to her that if she were to be engaged to +him, she might as well get it over. Why not marry in the spring and go +abroad? She wished much to go to Bayreuth for the Wagner operas in the +summer, and the aunt with whom she had hoped to travel was not willing +to go. Besides, she really could not afford the trip, and at least +Stanford had plenty of money. The idea of marrying with a thought to +his wealth was distasteful, and she at once said to herself that she +could not do that; but if she were to marry him--As the train rolled on +she had filled in the talk with Wynne with speculations whether it +might not be as well to let Stanford propose once more, and have +matters settled. + +These cogitations, however, she interspersed with reflections that her +traveling companion had a beautiful eye and a finely cut nostril; that +he was on the whole a fine-looking man, handsome and well made, if he +were not disguised in that detestable clerical garb; and that his hands +were distinctly those of a gentleman. She liked the tones of his voice +and the carriage of his head, smiling to herself at the thought that in +the latter there was hardly so much meekness as was to be expected in +one of his profession. She laughed at him almost openly, for to the +young woman of to-day there is apt to be something bordering on the +ludicrous and unmanly in a youth who is preparing to take orders, no +matter how great her respect for the completed clergyman. Berenice felt +something not entirely free from a trace of good-natured contempt for +deacons in the abstract, not dreaming that she might be led to make an +exception in favor of this especial deacon in the concrete. She became +more and more alive to the attractions of Wynne, although up to the +time of the accident she hardly realized the fact. + +From the moment, however, that the rescuer said to her that Maurice had +saved her life, her feeling was changed. She felt that she had failed +to do Wynne justice; that she had allowed his cassock to be the sign of +a lack of manhood; she accused herself of having wronged him. She began +now to exalt him in her thoughts, and to regard him as a hero. She had +long been aware of the effect that she had on him. From the morning +when she had encountered him at the North End, and had met the quick, +troubled glance of his eye, full of doubt and of fire, she had been +conscious that he was not indifferent to her presence. She had not +reasoned about it; but it gave her pleasure. It was a passing breath of +homage, pleasing like a breath from some rose-bed passed in a walk. Up +to the moment, however, when she said to herself that he had risked his +life for her, Berenice had never consciously thought of Maurice as a +lover. When she saw him lying insensible, depending upon her, a new +feeling kindled in her breast. She would not think of it; she shrank +from it, and refused to acknowledge it to herself. Yet for her the +world was altered, and however she might try to hide the fact from her +heart, secretly she felt it fluttering and throbbing deep within her +breast. + +When the telegram came in the morning announcing the visit of Stanford, +her first thought was one of gratification. The act was friendly, and +it gave her a pleasant sense of importance. The reaction came +instantly. The purport of the visit flashed upon her. She remembered +how she had smiled on Stanford yesterday,--Yesterday that now seemed +so far away that she looked back to it over distances of emotion which +made it strangely remote. She felt that she must receive him; but she +found herself seeking for the means of making him understand that what +he hoped was forever impossible. She certainly could never marry him. +She was sure that the thought could never have been seriously in her +mind. The idea of belonging to him, of having no right to think of +another man with tenderness, became all at once too repugnant to be +endured. She would not consider why her attitude was so different from +that of yesterday; she only insisted vehemently in her thought that now +first she really knew her own mind. Her cheek burned at the reflection +that Stanford was probably sure of her consent to be his. It seemed to +give him a claim upon her; to shut the door upon all other +possibilities; to smutch the whiteness of her soul and render her +unworthy of any man whom she might some day come to love. To remember +that in her secret thought she had actually contemplated being +Stanford's wife made her cringe. + +She stood by the window with the telegram in her hands, twisting it to +and fro, wondering what it was possible for her to do. She thought of +excusing herself from her visitor when he should come, but the evasion +seemed to her unworthy, and she was eager to free herself from even the +suspicion of belonging to him. She felt that she could not breathe +freely until she were clear of the faintest shadow of any claim, even +in Stanford's secret thought. She must belong once more to herself. + +It was at this point in her musings that Wynne came into the library. +He was pale and sunken-eyed, and the tinge of his sprouting beard gave +to his face a certain virility which startled her. It imparted a trace +of something perhaps remotely animal and brutal, subtly altering his +whole expression. He became in appearance at once more vigorous and +more human. For the first time Berenice saw a suggestion of the +possibility that this man might be a master; and the strength in man +that makes a woman tremble also makes her thrill. Some inward voice +cried in her ear: "Here is the reason why Parker Stanford is +repugnant!" But she denied the accusation indignantly in her mind, +putting the thought by, and refusing to see in Wynne anything more than +the man to whom she had cause to be grateful. Yet in that part of her +mind where a woman keeps so many things which she declines to confess +to herself that she knows, Berenice from that moment kept the fact that +this man before her had touched her heart. + +She made a strong effort to greet Wynne frankly, and to conceal from +him the feeling which his coming excited. She would have died rather +than show him how glad she was that he had come. She saw the eagerness +of his glance when he entered, and she felt the warmth of his greeting. +She noted the change in his manner, and fancied it arose from his fear +lest he betray himself. She set herself to overcome his reserve; and +when she had succeeded she sprang up with a gay laugh, light-hearted +and full of a delicious, incomprehensible pleasure. She wanted to break +out into singing, so sweet is the delight of new love unrecognized save +as simple joy in living. + +The entrance of Mehitabel with the card of Mr. Stanford brought her +back to earth. + +"Already?" she said, feeling as if she were defrauded that thus her +moment of enjoyment was cut short. + +She could not trust herself for more than a word of excuse to Wynne, +but hurried to her chamber to collect her thoughts and to examine her +toilet before she descended to her visitor. Some inward personality +seemed to be trying properly to frame the speech by which she should +make Stanford understand that it was idle for him to hope longer; while +all the time she was thinking of the man whom she had just left. + +Stanford was holding out his hands to the blaze in the fireplace when +she entered the parlor, for the morning was a sharp one. Berenice saw +with appreciation how satisfactory he was in all his appointments and +in his bearing; how well kept and how well bred. She felt, however, for +the first time that he was perhaps a little too faultlessly attired for +a man, and she glanced at his cleanly shaven cheek with an acute memory +of the stout black stubble on the face she had left behind her, yet +carried still in the eye of her mind. + +"Good-morning," she said, giving the visitor her hand, and making her +manner at once as cordial and as unemotional as possible. "It was too +good of you to come all the way up here in this cold weather, just to +see me." + +He pressed her hand with eagerness, and so meaningly that the color +flushed into her cheeks. His air seemed to her to have in it a +suggestion of intimacy which was irritating beyond endurance. + +"There was nothing good about it," he answered. "I had to assure myself +by actual sight that you were safe; and, besides, it gave me an excuse +for coming, and I was only too glad of that." + +"Sit down," Berenice said, ignoring the compliment. "It really was +frightful; but I came through safe. Grandmother wouldn't let me see the +paper this morning; but I know the details must have been horrible." + +She grew grave as she spoke. She seemed again to see the whole terrible +sight. The wreck, thrusting out tongues of fire, the dead and the dying +strewn about on the snow; Wynne, at her feet, insensible and ghastly in +the uncertain light. She shuddered and drew in her breath. + +"Oh, don't let's talk about it!" she exclaimed. "I can't bear to think +of it, and I feel as if I should never get it out of my head!" + +Stanford was silent a moment, pulling his mustache as if trying to find +the right word. + +"It must have been awful," he said hesitatingly; "and I'll never speak +of it again if you don't wish. Only I must say that it was dreadful to +me too. The thought of how near I came to losing you is more than I can +stand." + +She leaned back in her chair, suddenly chilled, yet moved by the +feeling in his voice. Her conscience reproached her that she had +allowed a false hope to grow up in his mind. She felt as if he were +establishing a claim upon her, and that at any cost she must make him +see things as they were. + +"You are very kind," she responded, trying to keep her tones from being +too cold; "but of course we always feel a shock when any friend has +been through a great danger." + +Her eyes were cast down, but she could divine his regard of disquiet +and surprise. + +"And especially those we love," he added, leaning forward, and +endeavoring to take her hand. + +"Oh, of course, Mr. Stanford," she said hastily. "That is of course +true. Were people in Boston much excited about the accident?" + +She felt herself a hypocrite, yet she could not help this one more +effort to avoid the explanation she dreaded. + +"I suppose so. I don't know. I was so taken up with thinking about you, +that I paid very little attention to anything else." + +"I'm afraid I didn't deserve it. I wasn't thinking of anybody but +myself. It was very good of you." + +"Of course you weren't thinking of anybody," Stanford responded, +pulling his mustache more furiously than ever; "but I was at the club +instead of being in a burning car. I was half crazy at the thought that +my future wife"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice broke in. "You mustn't say such things. I'm not your +future wife!" + +"Forgive me. I know I haven't any right to say that when you haven't +promised; but I can't help thinking of you so, and"-- + +"Oh, please don't!" she cried. + +A wave of humiliation, of repulsion, of terror, swept over her. That +this man had thought of her as his wife seemed almost like an +inexorable bond. She shrank away from him with an impulse too strong +to be controlled. + +"But, Berenice, I"-- + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"I have never promised you!" she declared with hurried vehemence. "I +never will promise you! I can't marry you. If I've made you think so, I +didn't mean to. I didn't know my own mind. I thought--O Mr. Stanford, +if I have deceived you, I beg your pardon. I"-- + +The tears choked and blinded her. She broke off, and put her +handkerchief to her eyes; but when she heard him rise and hurry toward +her, she went on hastily. + +"I've let you go on thinking I'd marry you; I know I have. I thought so +myself; but I've found out that it's all a mistake. I didn't realize +what I was doing. I'm so sorry. I do hope you'll forgive me." + +He regarded her in amazement not unmingled with indignation. + +"You have let me think so," he said. "Now I suppose there's somebody +else." + +"Oh, I shall never marry anybody," she answered quickly. + +"When a girl tells one man she never'll marry," retorted he bitterly, +"there's sure to be another man in her mind." + +She felt herself burn with blushes to her brow; and then in very shame +and anger to grow pale again. Her first impulse was to leave him; but +she controlled herself. He was her guest, he had come all the way from +Boston to assure himself that she was safe, and more than all she was +sorely aware that she had not treated him well. To have injured a man +is to a woman apt to be an excuse for continuing to treat him ill; but +when the opposite occurs she can be very forbearing. + +"There is no other man," she said with dignity. Then she added, more +mildly: "Badly as I may have treated you, I don't think you've quite +the right to say such a thing as that to me." + +"I haven't," he acknowledged contritely. "I beg your pardon; but I +surely have a right to ask what I've done to change you so. You were +not like this yesterday." + +Berenice forced herself to meet his eyes, but she ignored his question. +She sank back into the chair from which she had risen to face him. + +"Come," said she, trying to speak lightly, "I don't see why we need +stand. We are not rehearsing private theatricals. It was very kind of +you to take the trouble to come all the way up here, but you must see +that my nerves are all on edge. The shock has completely upset me." + +"Poor girl!" he said. + +There was a genuine ring in his voice which irritated while it touched +her. She hated to feel that he was really hurt. It made her seem the +more deeply guilty, and she unconsciously desired to discover in him +some excuse for her own shortcomings. + +"Oh, it's over now," she responded. "Let's talk of something else." + +"I'd be glad to," Stanford replied, "but I can't seem to. I want to +know how you escaped. I won't ask you to tell me now, but I keep +thinking about it." + +"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. I remember a tremendous crash, and +being thrown against Mr. Wynne"-- + +"Mr. Wynne?" + +The tone showed Berenice that Stanford did not attach especial +importance to the question, but asked only from a natural curiosity. +Nevertheless she could not keep her voice from, hurrying a little as +she answered:-- + +"Mr. Wynne is a young clergyman who was in the seat next to mine. He's +a cousin of Mrs. Staggchase." + +"Oh, a clergyman," Stanford echoed. + +The tone seemed to her excited mood to be full of intolerable +superiority. + +"He may be a clergyman," she retorted with unnecessary warmth, "but he +is a gentleman and a hero. He saved my life!" + +"Oh, he did!" + +The exclamation stung her beyond endurance. She sprang up with flashing +eyes. + +"Mr. Stanford," she exclaimed, "I don't know what you mean to +insinuate, but you will please to remember that you are speaking of the +man that saved me, and of my grandmother's guest." + +"Your grandmother's guest? Do you mean that he is staying here?" + +"Certainly he is. Why shouldn't he be?" + +The young man rose, and stood looking at her a moment; then he began to +pace up and down, his gaze fixed on the floor. Berenice felt herself +being swept away by tumultuous feelings which she could neither compel +nor understand. Her mind was in confusion, out of which rose most +definitely the desire that Stanford would go and leave her in peace. + +"There is no reason why I should question the right of Mrs. Morison to +choose her own guests," said Stanford at length, pausing, and speaking +with an evident effort to be entirely calm; "and as I know nothing of +this Mr. Wynne, I shouldn't in any case have a right to say anything +about him. You can't wonder, though, that I'm jealous of him for having +had the luck to save your life, or that when I come here and find you +so suddenly different and this man staying in the house and a hero in +your eyes"-- + +"I wish that you wouldn't keep calling Mr. Wynne 'this,'" she +interrupted hastily. "It sounds dreadfully superior. Come," she added, +softening her tone, and pleased at having prevented him from going on, +"there is no need that we should quarrel about him. He is a priest, or +going to be, and he's to take the vows of celibacy, so that it is +absurd for anybody to think of being jealous of him. If I seem +different to-day, it isn't any wonder after what I've been through." + +"I beg your pardon," he said, coming quickly forward and extending his +hand. "I'm awfully selfish. Of course I understand that what you've +been saying isn't to be taken seriously. We stand as we did before. +Only," he added, his voice deepening, "you are to remember that the +danger of losing you has shown me how fond I am of you. Good-by." + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and before she could speak, he was +gone. She stood where he had left her, hearing him leave the house, and +the tears came into her eyes. + +"Oh," she moaned to herself, "I've made it worse than it was before. I +wanted to be honest, and he wouldn't let me!" + +She stood a moment disconsolately, then she shrugged her shoulders as +if to throw off all care. + +"Well," she told herself, "I've given him fair warning. Now it is time +to go and entertain grandmother's guest." + + + + XIII + + + A NECESSARY EVIL + Julius Caesar, ii. 2. + + +While the advocates of Father Frontford were laboring, the friends of +other candidates were not idle. By the middle of January, however, the +contest had practically narrowed itself down to a struggle between the +supporters of the Father and those of the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore. +Other names had been suggested, but in the end it was felt that there +was no doubt that one or the other of these men would succeed to the +vacant bishopric. Even church politicians are human, and most divisions +are sure sooner or later to arouse the vanity of contestants. The +struggle, which begins without consciously personal motives, is apt to +be strongly tempered by the determination not to be beaten. For +thousands who can accomplish the difficult feat of triumphing humbly, +there is hardly one who can submit to defeat generously; and against +the humiliation of failure the human being instinctively strives with +every power. Those who upheld the rival candidates were undoubtedly +convinced that they had the best interests of the church at heart; but +that meant the election--even at some cost!--of their favorite. + +There could be no question that Mr. Strathmore was the more generally +popular candidate. He was a man who appealed strongly to the common +heart, both by his sympathy and by flexibility of character and +temperament which made it impossible for him to be repellantly stern or +austere. He preached the high ideals which are dear to the best thought +of the children of the Puritans; he demanded high purpose and high +life, noble aims and unfailing charity; while he laid little stress on +dogmas, and allowed an elasticity of individual interpretation of +doctrine which made the creed easy of adoption by all who believed +anything. His enemies--for he was by no means so insignificant as to be +without enemies--declared that he carried the doctrine of "mental +reservations" to the extent of rendering the articles of faith mere +empty forms of words; his defenders protested that he was but wisely +conforming in non-essentials to the progressive spirit of the age. +Bitterly attacked by the more conservative members of his own +denomination, he was looked up to by the general public as a great +spiritual leader, and loved with an affection exceedingly rare in this +unpriestly age. Those who urged his elevation had the support of the +body of the laity, and also of the public outside of the church, which +for once was interested in church politics on account of affection and +reverence for the candidate. + +Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely +in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic +assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant +office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was +indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be +made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of +Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a +duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his +ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that +he had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant. +There was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said, +so that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or +meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and +self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but +he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for +the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is +the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the +public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore +was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in +conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself +without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a +smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised. + +Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial +liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art +of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so +that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in +whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute +of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart. +He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young +men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period +when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of +both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the +sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him +that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human +qualities, endears a man to his fellows. + +Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to +represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the +relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of +barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all, +acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the +conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of +interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all +standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can +result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church. +Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a +devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and +conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father +Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if +the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his +popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little +better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic. + +One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in +clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr. +Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to +the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the +windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered +with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony +pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet +draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be +thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of +the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with +one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely +consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome +carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by +Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table, +had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however, +and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr. +Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The +clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall +nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he +carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were +keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed +their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses. +He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too +generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have +seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen +eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was +acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and +sympathy. + +The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously +his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with +inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the +incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of +those men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their +stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was +evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel +pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service +of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would +tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he +handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all +addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his +appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come +on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not +vote for him in the coming election. + +Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even +with no appearance of disapproval. + +"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be +disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that +my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can +conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more +dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am +capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote +against me." + +He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily, +becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for +existing at all. + +"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen. +That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to +Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of +the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself. + +"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on, +turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection +with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the +good of the church must be considered first, as you say." + +Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with +a piteous appeal in his face. + +"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it +seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I +appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you." + +Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently. + +"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were +different"-- + +"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are, +however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you +have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm +glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand." + +"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch +has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, +all under ten." + +The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable +gravity. + +"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested. + +"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs. +Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we +couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs. +Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but +it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us." + +Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it +a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on. + +"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has +something to do with your decision in regard to the election?" + +"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father +Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop. +It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous +that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a +man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church." + +"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented +blandly. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr. +Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my +inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you +that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to +me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was +likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure +you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night +that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained." + +"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but +his eyes still kindly. + +"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice." + +"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course +in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let +the consequences take care of themselves." + +"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I +said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be +decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I +should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand +that I personally wish you all success." + +He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief. + +"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you +wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state +properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken +a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case +there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and +let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally, +you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful." + +When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his +forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, +as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged +his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a +tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room. + +"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready +to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore." + +The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, +with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or +careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils +unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together. + +"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she +can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the +vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so +many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not +allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs. +Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him." + +"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for +him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in +him." + +"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response, +"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a +very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active +part in this matter there are others she can influence." + +"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up +with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring +the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would +have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way." + +"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr. +Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would +be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding +instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual +liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in +opposition to the spirit of the age." + +"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly. + +"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other, +"would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more +religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its +place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent +and deadly peril of the church to-day." + +"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague. + +"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the +deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in +sympathy with the tendencies of the time." + +"You put it admirably," the other murmured. + +Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden +thought behind the words. + +"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone. + +The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, +talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where +they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a +lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her +cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her. + +"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you +said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden +better. I want to thank you with all my heart." + +"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness. +"The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you." + +"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes, +"that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized. +It was like talking to a brother." + +He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet +which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of +reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head. + +"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do +you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?" + +"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car." + +"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently, +"and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from +the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may +want to read at the meeting." + +"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of +opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air +of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character, +"so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents." + +The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further +remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend +a meeting of the Charity Board. + +"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen +whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control." + + + + XIV + + + HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not +to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to +cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by +his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work, +and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is +amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing +excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such +desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that +he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is +impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which +testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning. + +At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been +going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was +to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able +to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been +looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that +there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford +and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing +division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities; +and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out +openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of +the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which +differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board. +The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were +evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed +to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the +meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are +times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of +principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a +time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by +the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs. +Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment +unconscious of being beside her. + +The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour +passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston, +with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles. + +"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air +of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into +discredit with the class which we most wish to reach." + +He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in +his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general +approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred +nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father +Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation. + +"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has +been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there +is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church, +and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand +the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that +there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He +believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the +background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the +sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection +to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am +convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that +they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I +think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too +prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich +to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that +philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators +in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong +to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I +believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that +philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with +treason." + +He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his +companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something +of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That +the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was +an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as +if to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and +incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected +the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to +resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a +keener emphasis. + +"Neither have we escaped the accusation that we use the poor simply as +a means of self-improvement. An old Irish woman in a tumble-down +tenement house once said to me: 'Ye'll have no chance to work out your +salvation doing for me.' I believe that there are many of the poor who +more or less consciously have the same idea. They think that we make +visiting them a sort of penance, and they resent it. I am not sure that +I can find it in my heart to blame them." + +"He is either sacrificing himself completely, or making one of those +bold strokes that are irresistible," Ashe whispered to Mrs. Fenton; and +she nodded assent. + +"What should be," the speaker proceeded, amid a deep hush which showed +the keen interest which his words had aroused, "is that we should dare +to be consistent. As individuals and as churchmen we should exercise +the virtue of charity, but both as individuals and as churchmen we are +bound to see to it that we make our charity effective for the glory of +God and the salvation of men. There is no stronger instrument in our +hands than philanthropy, and not to utilize it for the good of the +church is to be culpably negligent. I believe that charity should be +the instrument of evangelization. The poor will have a reason for our +interest in them. Let them have this. Let them believe, if they will, +that we purchase their spiritual acquiescence by ministering to their +bodily needs. Certainly I believe that we should limit our work to +those who can be spiritually influenced. There are more of these than +we can at present attend to, and I am in favor of boldly and +consistently taking the position that as administrators of the bounties +of the church we feel bound to use them for the advancement of the +church. To aid the corrupt, the evil, the hardened without any attempt +to draw them into the fold and without any pledge that they will be +influenced, is simply to aid the avowed enemies of religion and to +strengthen their hands against righteousness." + +The air of the room was becoming electric. Philip could see the +exchange of glances all around him, some of surprise, some of +consternation, some--or he was deceived--of triumph and scornful +satisfaction. He fancied that he saw Mr. Thurston shoot toward Mr. +Strathmore a flash of gratification, but the face of the latter +remained unmoved and inscrutable. Ashe, full of uneasiness as to the +result of the speech, was greatly excited, but at the same time moved +to profound admiration for its boldness and its consistency. He was in +sympathy with the views expressed, and he was more than ever convinced +that Father Frontford was the only man for the sacred office of bishop. + +"Even our Lord," Father Frontford went on, his thin cheeks burning and +his slender frame swayed by the strength of his emotion, "did not many +works in places where he found unbelief. There was no limit to his +power; there was no limit to his mercy. It was out of love for the +whole of mankind that He refused to benefit individuals who would have +hindered the work He came to do. The example is one which we shall do +well to follow. We have more work than we can do in aiding the faithful +and in building up the church. Let us accept the name of proselyters +which has been contemptuously flung at us, and wear it as our glory. We +are proselyters. We must be proselyters. It is the highest joy and +honor of our lives that we are allowed of heaven to take this work upon +us. God will require it at our hands if we fail in our private +charities, and still more if we fail in the administration of the +revenues of the church to be always ardent, consistent, unwearied +proselyters!" + +There was a good deal of applause when the speaker sat down. The +profound earnestness of the man carried the hearers away, at least for +the moment. Ashe saw Thurston look inquiringly at Strathmore, as if to +ask if the latter was not intending to reply, but Strathmore sat +silent. + +"Don't you suppose Mr. Strathmore means to speak?" Mrs. Fenton +whispered. "He almost always does speak after Father Frontford, and he +has expressed very strong views about the charities." + +"I cannot understand why he doesn't speak," Ashe responded. "It may be +he feels that the meeting is not with him, and does not wish to take +the unpopular side." + +Several men did speak, however, among them Mr. Candish. Their remarks +were in accord with the views expressed by the Father, yet they somehow +lessened the effect of his words. Put into their plain and sometimes +even awkward language his position seemed unpractical and hopelessly +far from daily life; so that even Ashe, warm partisan as he was, could +not but feel his enthusiasm somewhat chilled. Again he intercepted a +glance between Thurston and his superior. Philip sat with the two men +directly in his range of vision, and could not keep his eyes from +watching them. He recognized that there was danger in the keen, crafty +face of the colleague, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed; he wondered in +troubled fashion how far it was possible that Mr. Strathmore was of the +same nature as his assistant. Ashe was confident that Thurston was a +born intriguer, and he instinctively watched for signs of understanding +between Mr. Strathmore and the other. He could detect nothing of the +sort. The Rev. Rutherford Strathmore bore a countenance as beneficent, +as kindly, as guileless as ever; responding to the challenge of his +colleague's eyes by no evidence of understanding or connivance. It was +not until the talkers ceased and there fell a silence which indicated +that the first force of admiration and enthusiasm had spent itself, +that Strathmore rose. + +"No one can possibly disagree with the sentiments which have just been +expressed," he began in his cordial, frank manner. "There is no truth +which we need in these days to keep more constantly before us than the +duty of being always eager for the advancement of the church, and of +employing all means to this end. The question which is of vital +interest is how best to do this. When the caution was given that to the +harmlessness of doves be added the guile of serpents, it might almost +seem as if it was especially intended for our own day and case. There +has certainly never been a time when wisdom was more needed than it is +to-day. The growth of doubt, the overthrow of old traditions, old +beliefs, old forms, in short of all that has been sanctioned by custom +and by time, have gone on in every department of human knowledge and +endeavor. The spirit of the time is restless, progressive, liberal, +even irreverent. The beautiful serenity of the church, its reverent +conservatism, its hallowed enthusiasm, for old ideals, are at variance +with the temper of the century. Since the church is the shrine of truth +it is impossible that it should alter with every shifting of scientific +thought, every alteration in the fashions of human opinion; and we +stand face to face with the trying fact that the age is not in sympathy +with the church." + +He paused, looking down as if in thought. Ashe regarded him closely, +much impressed by the apparent spontaneity and candor with which this +was said. The hearers were closely attentive. "The only thing upon +which we seem to have some possible disagreement," continued Mr. +Strathmore, "is in regard to the best method of meeting this want of +sympathy, this feeling which often seems to amount almost to general +indifference. Is it to arouse all the suspicion and opposition +possible? Is it to seem to justify the charges brought against us of +narrowness, of formalism, of repression, and of obstructing the +progress of the race? It does not seem to me that this is the wisest +course. I agree that it is our duty to forward the interests of the +church, and to make our administration of charity a means to this end. +It is certainly a question whether open and avowed proselyting is the +best means. Religion is no more to be bought with a price than is love. +The person who conforms for a soup-ticket or a blanket has simply added +hypocrisy to his other failings, and has moreover gained for the church +that contempt which men always feel for those they have overreached. +The child that goes to Sunday-school for the Christmas tree and the +summer week has learned a lesson in deception which can never be +blotted out. It is of course proper that these means should be used; +but unless it is understood fully and frankly that they are employed +not as a bribe but as a persuasion, not as a price but as a kindness, +the evil that they do is more than any good that it is possible to +bring about through their means. I do not believe that our charities +should be conducted on the basis of bargain and sale; nor do I believe +that they should be put on a sectarian basis at all." + +He sat down quietly, with an unimpassioned air which seemed to rebuke +the emotional close of the remarks of Father Frontford. Strathmore +could be emotional and impassioned upon occasion, and this deliberate, +matter-of-fact mien affected Ashe as a calculated stroke of policy. +Philip felt that his leader had suffered a defeat; and he was +profoundly moved by the thought. Other speakers took up the question, +but he paid little heed. He was occupied in speculating how the meeting +would affect the chances of the election. When he was walking home with +Mrs. Fenton after the session was over, he was so absorbed that she +rallied him on his absent-mindedness. + +"I was thinking of the discussion," he said. "I am afraid that Father +Frontford injured himself this morning." + +"But how noble it was of him to say what he believed in spite of the +chances," she responded. "I was delighted with Mr. Candish for +seconding him as he did." + +"Yes," Ashe said, a pang of jealousy piercing him at the mention of Mr. +Candish. "It was fine. What I cannot make out," he added, "is whether +Mr. Strathmore is as simple and candid as he looks. He always seems to +speak sincerely and freely, and yet he somehow contrives never to say +anything that might not have been thought out with the most clever +policy." + +"I cannot make out either," returned she. "Mr. Fenton used rather +paradoxically to say that Mr. Strathmore was too frank by half to be +honest." + +She sighed as she spoke, and instantly all thought of bishops and +church matters vanished from the mind of Ashe. He became entirely +absorbed in wondering how warm was Mrs. Fenton's affection for her dead +husband and in hating himself for the thought. + + + + XV + + + HEARTSICK WITH THOUGHT + Two Gentlemen of Verona, i. I + + +Instead of returning to Boston next morning, Maurice remained at +Brookfield for ten days. Mrs. Morison decided the matter, and it is not +to be supposed that he was entirely unwilling to be constrained. + +He naturally saw much of Berenice, and he passed hours in brooding over +thoughts of her. He was convinced that she was not engaged. She had +spoken of Stanford's visit, and it had seemed to Wynne that she had +conveyed the impression that her relations to the visitor were less +intimate than might at first sight appear. If she were free--the +thought made his heart beat, and he wondered if, had the circumstances +been different, he might himself have won her. He tormented himself +with all her ways and words; the smiles she gave him, the trifling +attentions which were addressed to the guest, but which seemed to have +a touch of something deeper, that might be due to her thinking of him +as her preserver, but which might even go beyond that. There was a +delicious torture in all this reverie, in these continual self- +reproaches which involved the thought of her, the remembrance of how +she had looked, how she had spoken, how she had moved. He became every +day more hopelessly her slave, yet every day insisting more strongly to +himself that he felt nothing more than warm friend. Once for a moment +he tried to believe that his feeling was merely a desire for her +spiritual good, that his attitude was that which it was proper for a +priest to feel toward a beautiful and frivolous worldling; but the +pretense was too ghastly, and he abandoned it with a shudder of +disgust. He had moments, too, when he said to himself frankly, in +defiance or in sorrow as the mood might be, that he loved her; but for +the most part he tried to keep the assumption of simple friendship +between him and bitter thought. + +He found great pleasure in Mrs. Morison. She was to him a revelation of +possibilities of which he had never dreamed. It was a continual +surprise to him to find himself so impressed by the wit, the wisdom, +and the sanity of this fine old lady. He not only felt himself an +ignorant and inexperienced boy beside her, but found himself shrinking +from comparing with her the men whom he had followed as leaders. The +ease of her manner, the completeness of her self-poise, her frank +simplicity, high-bred and winning, delighted him, while the extent of +her mental resources filled him with amazement. + +Mrs. Morison opened to Wynne a new world in her conversation. At first +she gave herself up chiefly to entertaining him, telling him delightful +stories of famous folk she had known, of her life abroad and in +Washington. She was full of charming little tales which she had the art +of relating as if she were not thinking of how she was telling them, +but as if they came to her mind and bubbled into talk spontaneously. +She had a way, too, of putting in unobtrusive observations on character +and events which impressed Maurice. The art of saying things +trenchantly he had found in Mrs. Staggchase, but his cousin had the air +of being aware of her cleverness, while Mrs. Morison said these things +as if they were of the natural and habitual current of her thoughts. +Mrs. Morison said clever things as if she thought them; Mrs. Staggchase +as if she thought of them. + +It did not take the young man long to discover that Mrs. Morison was +not in sympathy with his creed. She was too well-bred to bring the +matter forward, but he could not resist the temptation now and then to +touch upon it. She was of principles at once so broad and so deep that +he found himself as often surprised by her devoutness as he felt it his +duty to be shocked by her liberality. One day when Maurice had made +some allusion to a discussion over the doctrine of predestination which +was agitating the English church, Mrs. Morison said:-- + +"It always seems to me a pity that those who believe in that dreadful +doctrine do not remember that if one were not one of the elect, he +could at least carry through eternity the realization that he was lost +through no fault of his own. God could not take from him that +consolation." + +He was silent in mingled amazement and disapproval; yet he found his +mind following out with obstinate persistence the train of thought +which her words suggested. In this or in many another remark it could +hardly be said that her words convinced him, but they awoke a swarm of +doubts in his mind. He found himself following speculations that were +lawless, wild, dangerous, and intoxicating. However convinced he might +be that the reasoning of Mrs. Morison was fallacious, he did not find +it easy to tell just wherein the fallacy lay. He felt that as a priest +he should be able to refute her, and he was filled with dismay to +discover that he was rather himself falling into the attitude of a +doubter. + +One subject which was constantly in his mind he did not touch upon +until the day before he left Brookfield. He longed to sound Mrs. +Morison on the subject of a celibate priesthood. He was well enough +aware that she would not approve of it, and he was irritated by the +knowledge that he secretly felt that her decision would be founded on +strong common sense. He tried to assure himself that it was her +dangerous laxity of principle that blinded her to the nobility and +sanctity of asceticism; but it was impossible to feel that such was the +case. He was teased by a wish which he would not acknowledge that she +might advance arguments which he could not controvert; though to +himself he said that she would be his temptation in tangible form, and +that he would struggle against it with his whole soul. + +His opportunity came while they were discussing the election of the +bishop. Mrs. Morison was not immediately concerned in the matter, not +being a churchwoman, but she had an intelligent interest in all +questions of the day. + +"I find it hard to understand," Mrs. Morison observed, "how any +churchman can be so blind to the importance of conciliating public +thought and the general feeling as for a moment to think of any other +candidate than Mr. Strathmore. He is so completely in sympathy with the +broadening tendencies of the time." + +"But that means ultimately the destruction of creeds," Maurice +objected, answering rather the implication than her words. + +"I think that perhaps the highest courage men are called upon to show," +she answered, "is that of giving up a theory which has served its use. +The race forces us to do it sooner or later, but the men who are +really great are those who are able to say frankly that their creeds +have done their work, and that the new day must have new ones. You +might almost say that the extent to which a man prefers truth to +himself is to be judged by his willingness to give up a dogma that is +outworn." + +"But you leave no stability to truth." + +"The truth is stable without effort or will of mine," she returned, +smiling; "but surely you would have human appreciation of it advance." + +He felt that there must be an answer to this, but he was not able to +see just what it was, and he shifted the question. + +"But Mr. Strathmore," he said hesitatingly, "is married." + +"Yes," she assented. "'The husband of one wife.'" + +"If you begin to quote Scripture against me," Maurice retorted, +laughing in spite of himself, "I might easily reply to St. Paul by St. +Paul. But letting that pass, it is certainly true that the church has +always held that marriage absorbs a man in earthly things so that he +cannot give the best of his thoughts to his work." + +"When the church sets itself against marriage," Mrs. Morison responded +quietly, "it seems to me to be setting up to know more than the Creator +of the race." + +Maurice colored, although he might not have been able to tell whether +his strongest feeling was horror at this bold language or joy at the +emphasis with which she spoke. + +"Perhaps I should beg your pardon for saying so frankly what I think," +Mrs. Morison continued. "It isn't the way in which one generally talks +to a clergyman; but the subject is one for which I haven't much +patience, and of course I couldn't help seeing that you are in doubt +yourself." + +Maurice started. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I--I in doubt?" + +"I hadn't any intention of forcing your confidence," returned she. "I +am an old woman, and sometimes I find that I don't make allowance +enough for the slowness of you young people in arriving at a knowledge +of self." + +He cast down his eyes. + +"Until this moment," he said, "I have never acknowledged to myself that +I was in doubt. I see what you mean, and it shows that I have been +playing with fire." + +She looked at him questioningly, then turned the subject. + +"Which is perhaps a hint that our fire is going down. Sit still, +please. Every woman likes to tend her own fire." + +"I should have learned that by this time," was his answer. "I lost an +inheritance once by insisting upon fixing a fire." + +"That sounds interesting. Is it proper to ask for the story?" + +"Oh, there isn't much of a story. I had a great-aunt who was worth a +lot of money, and who was eccentric. She was in a way fond of me when I +was a child, and used to have me at the house a good deal. I confess I +didn't like it much. Things went by rule, and the rules were often +pretty queer. One of them was that nobody should presume to touch the +fire if she was in the room. I liked to play with the fire as well as +she did, and when I was a boy just in my teens I used to do it. After +she'd corrected me half a dozen times I got into my foolish pate that +it was my duty to cure her of her whim. So I set to poking the fire +ostentatiously until she lost her temper and ordered me out of the +house. Then she burned up the will in my favor and made a new one, +giving all her money to the church." + +"How unjust," commented Mrs. Morison, "and how human. Did you never +make peace with her?" + +"Yes, but of course I was careful that she should understand that I +didn't do it for the sake of her money. She told my mother that she had +made a new will in my favor, but it never turned up. My aunt's death +was very singular. She was found dead in her bed, and the woman who +lived with her, an old nurse of mine, had disappeared. Of course there +was at once suspicion of foul play, but the doctors pronounced the +death natural, and there was no evidence of theft." + +"Did you never discover the nurse?" + +"Never. We tried, for we thought she might give a clue to the missing +will. She'd been in the family so long that she was a sort of +confidential servant, and knew all Aunt Morse's affairs. She was +devoted to me." + +"The romance may not be ended yet," Mrs. Morison suggested smilingly. +"Who knows but the missing nurse will some day turn up with the missing +will." + +"I'm afraid that after a dozen years there's little enough chance of +it." + +His mind was so racked upon this wretched question of the right of a +priest to marry, that he could not rest until he had drawn from +Berenice also an expression of opinion on the subject. He made Mr. +Strathmore again the excuse for the introduction of the topic. + +"I don't see," he said to her, "how you can think that it's well to +have a married bishop. His wife is sure to be meddling in the affairs +of the diocese." + +She looked at him with a mocking glance. + +"Do you wish to drag me into a discussion of the wisdom of allowing the +clergy to have wives?" she asked cruelly. + +He flushed with confusion, but tried to carry a bold front. + +"Very likely it does come down to the general principle of the thing," +he answered. + +"Well then, the question of the marriage of the clergy doesn't interest +me in the least." + +She looked so pretty and mischievous that he began to lose his head. + +"But it is of the greatest possible interest to me," he returned, with +a manner which gave the words a personal application. + +She flushed in her turn, and tossed her head. + +"That is by no means the same thing," she retorted. + +"But what interests me you might try to consider; just out of charity, +of course." + +"Oh, well, then, since you ask me, this celibacy of the clergy of our +church isn't at all a thing that anybody can take seriously. Everybody +knows that a clergyman may have his vows absolved by the bishop, so +that after all he can marry if he wants to; so that the whole thing +seems"-- + +"Well?" he demanded, as she broke off. "Seems how?" + +"Pardon me. I didn't realize what I was saying." + +"Seems how?" he repeated insistently. + +He challenged her with his eyes, and he could see the spark which +kindled defiantly in hers. She threw back her head saucily. + +"Well, since you insist! I was going to say that it made the whole +thing seem a little like amateur theatricals." + +He became grave instantly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "You do not seem to understand that what +you are speaking of may mean the bitter sacrifice of a man's whole +life. Even a clergyman is human, and may love as strongly, as +completely"-- + +He choked with the emotion he could not control. He realized that he +was telling his passion, and there came to him an overwhelming sense +that he must never tell it save in this indirect manner. He hastened on +lest she should interrupt him. + +"Don't you suppose that a priest may know what it is to worship the +very ground a woman walks on? Don't you suppose he has had his heart +beat till it suffocated him just because her fingers touched his or her +gown brushed him? A man is a man after all, and the dreams that come to +one are much the same as come to another. The difference is that the +priest has to tear his very heart out, and turn his back on all that +other men may find delight in." + +Berenice looked at him with shining eyes, not undimmed, he thought, by +tears. + +"If you really care for her so much," she said softly, "you can give +only a divided heart to your work. It is better to own that to +yourself, isn't it?" + +"For her?" he echoed. + +"Oh, there must be somebody," she returned hastily, her color coming. +"No matter about that." + +"But think of giving up!" he cried, leaning toward her. "Even those who +believe nothing despise a renegade priest." + +"That's of less consequence than that he should ruin his life and +despise himself." + +He held out his uninjured hand impulsively. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She flushed celestial red, and for an instant her eyes responded to the +love in his. Then she sprang to her feet, with a laugh. + +"There!" she cried. "See what dunces we are to get to discussing +theology. I'll never forgive you if you try to inveigle me into another +talk about such subjects. Here is Mehitabel to say that she's ready to +help you with your packing." + + + + XVI + + + THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART + Macbeth, iv. 3. + + +"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," Mrs. Wilson said to her husband, +coming into the library one afternoon, "but the fact is that I was +dressing for a comedy." "Gad! you dress for a comedy every day, as +far as that goes." + +She made a mocking courtesy. + +"Well, what is life without comedy?" + +"Oh, nothing but a bore, of course. Is this comedy with some of your +ministerial hangers-on?" + +She sat down by the fire and stretched out her feet upon a hassock. She +was radiant with beauty and mischief, and dressed to perfection. + +"That isn't a respectful way to speak of the clergy." + +"It's as respectful as I feel," he responded, lighting a pipe. "You do +have a nice gang of them round. There's Candish, for instance. He looks +like an advertisement for a misfit tailor, and he's fairly putrid with +philanthropy." + +Elsie gave a quick burst of laughter. Then she pretended to frown. + +"Chauncy," she said, "you have the most abominable way of putting +things that I ever heard. What would you say to the youngsters from the +Clergy House that I have in train? They're perfect lambs, and they +love each other like twins. Have you seen them?" + +"Oh, yes; I've seen them. They seem to have been brought up on +sterilized milk of the gospel, and to have Jordan water for blood." + +"Oh, don't be too sure. You can't tell from a man's looks how red his +blood is, especially if he's a priest. I suppose it's the men that have +to hold themselves in hardest that make the best ministers." + +"I dare say," he answered indifferently. "Priest-craft has always been +clever enough to see that unless the things it called sins were natural +and inevitable its occupation would be gone. However, as long as folks +will follow after them they'd be foolish to give up their trade." + +"Of course," his wife assented laughingly. "You won't get a rise out of +me, my dear boy." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled. + +"You're a devilish humbug," he remarked admiringly; "but you do manage +to get a lot of fun out of it." + +She smoothed her gown a moment, half smiling and half grave. + +"Of course it's of no use to tell you that in spite of all my fun I'm +serious at bottom," she said slowly; "but it's a fact all the same. I +don't take things with doleful solemnity like the old tabbies; but +that's no sign that I'm not just as sincere. It's no matter, though; +you won't believe it. What did you want to see me about?" + +"Oh, it was about those mortgages. I saw Lincoln this morning, and he +has heard from Mrs. Frostwinch. She insists upon paying them off." + +"Then there isn't any truth in the story that that Sampson woman is +circulating that Anna is going to build a spiritual temple or +something. I never believed that Anna could be such an idiot as to give +her money for anything so vulgar." + +"The whole thing is nonsensical on the face of it," was his response. +"Mrs. Frostwinch can't build churches, let alone temples, if there's +any difference." + +"Oh, in these days," Elsie interpolated, "a temple is only a church +_déclassé_." + +"She has only a life interest in the property," Wilson went on. +"Berenice Morison is residuary legatee of almost everything, unless +Mrs. Frostwinch has saved up her income." + +The talk ran on business for a few moments, Wilson advising with +shrewdness, and practically deciding the matter for his wife. + +"I suppose," he said, when this was disposed of, "that Mrs. Frostwinch +is too much wrapped up in faith-cure nonsense to take much interest in +your holy war against Strathmore." + +"She isn't so much wrapped up in that stuff as you think. Dear Anna +hasn't any sense of humor, but she's a model of propriety, and she's +constantly shocked at herself for being alive by a treatment so +irregular. She was mortified beyond words when that Crapps woman gave a +treatment to Mrs. Bodewin Ranger's dog." + +"That snarling little black devil that's always under foot at the +Rangers'? Gad! I'd like to give it a treatment!" + +"It got its ear hurt somehow, and Mrs. Crapps pretended to cure it. +Mrs. Ranger was all but in tears over it, she was so grateful. Anna was +entirely disgusted. She told Mrs. Crapps that she hadn't known before +that she was in the hands of a veterinary." + +Dr. Wilson smoked in silence for a moment. The fire of soft coal purred +in the grate, the smoke from his pipe ascended in the warm air. The +thin sunshine of the winter afternoon filtered in through the windows, +and made bright patches on the rugs. + +"By the way," Wilson asked lazily, "how is the campaign going? I +haven't heard anything interesting about it for some time." + +"Oh, things are moving on. The man I sent up to canvass the western +part of the state--one of your sterilized milk-of-the-word babies, you +know,--got smashed up in the accident; but he'll be back in a few days. +Cousin Anna has brought her pensioners into line beautifully. There's +no doubt that we'll carry the convention." + +"What happens after that?" + +"The election has to be ratified by a majority of bishops; but of +course they'll hardly dare to go against the convention, even if they +want to." + +"It would make things much more interesting if they'd do it, and get up +a scandal," commented the doctor. "You'll get bored to death with the +whole thing if something exciting doesn't turn up." + +"I had half a mind to get up a scandal myself with Mr. Strathmore," +Elsie said with a laugh; "but I confess I should be afraid of that she- +dragon of a wife of his." + +"It's devilish interesting to know that you are afraid of anybody." + +"At least," she went on, "I could go to New York and see Bishop +Candace. I can wind him round my finger. I'd tell him what Mrs. +Strathmore said about his Easter sermon last year. With a little +judicious comment that would do a good deal. I never yet saw a man that +couldn't be managed through his vanity." + +"I suppose that explains why I'm as clay in your hands." + +"Oh, you're not a man; you're a monster," she retorted, rising. "Well, +I must go and prepare for my comedy." + +He regarded her with a look of evident admiration; a look not without a +savor of the sense of ownership, and, too, not entirely devoid of good- +natured insolence. + +"You are devilishly well dressed for it," he observed. + +"Thank you," returned Elsie, sweeping him a courtesy again. "The wife +that can win compliments from her own husband has indeed scored a +triumph." + +Dr. Wilson puffed out a cloud of smoke with a characteristic chuckle. + +"I have to admire you to justify my own taste. But you haven't told me +about the comedy." + +She thrust forward one of her pretty slippers. + +"Do you see that?" she demanded. + +"I suppose you expect me to say that I see the prettiest foot in +Boston." + +"Thank you again, but I'm not yet reduced to trying to drag compliments +out of you, Chauncy. I sha'n't do that till the other men fail me. It's +the slipper I wanted you to notice, and these ravishing stockings." + +"If the comedy has stockings in it," he began; but she stopped him. + +"There, no impudence," she said. "Did you ever see anything so +entirely heavenly as those stockings and slippers? I declare I've +wanted ever since I put them on to keep my feet on the table to look +at." + +"You might do worse." + +"Oh, I'm going to." + +"Indeed! It's apparently getting time for me to interfere. What's your +game?" + +"I'm going to squelch that detestable Fred Rangely." + +"How?" + +"My slippers," Elsie said vivaciously, again thrusting one of them +forward, "are ravishing." + +"Gad," her husband returned, regarding her with a look of the utmost +amusement in his topaz-brown eyes, "you have a good deal to say about +them." + +"Do you notice anything particular about my hair?" she asked. + +"It looks as if it might come down." + +"It will come down," she corrected, nodding. Then she glanced at the +clock. "It will come down in about twenty minutes; all tumbling over my +shoulders. I shall be so mortified and surprised!" + +Her husband stretched himself luxuriously back in his chair, regarding +her with laughing eyes. There was an air of perfect understanding +between the two which might have been an effectual enlightenment for +any man who thought of making love to the wife. Elsie went on, telling +off on her slender fingers the points as she made them. + +"In fifteen minutes I shall be standing on the piano in the drawing- +room, straightening a picture. I never can bear a picture crooked, and +I had Jane tip it a little this morning, just to vex me. Fred Rangely +will come in unannounced. Of course I shall be dreadfully confused, +and have to get down. In my maidenly confusion I am almost sure I can't +help showing my slippers, and just a trifle--a very discreet trifle, of +course,--of these beautiful, beautiful stockings. Nothing vulgar, you +know, but"-- + +"But just enough," interpolated Wilson with huge enjoyment. "You +needn't apologize. I don't begrudge the poor devil whatever +satisfaction he can get out of that." + +"And then as he is helping me down, with his heart in a flutter,--it +will flutter, I assure you." + +"You mean his vanity; but it's of no consequence. He'd call it a heart +if he were putting the scene in a novel." + +"With his whichever it is in a flutter, by some provoking accident down +comes my hair and tumbles over his shoulders." + +Wilson regarded her with amused admiration. + +"Five years ago," he observed placidly, "I should have thought you were +telling me half the truth to cover the other half, and were really +having a devilish flirtation with that cad." + +Elsie flushed, and into her gay voice came a strain of seriousness. + +"Five years are five years," she answered. "Don't go to dragging all +that up again, Chauncy." + +His laugh was not untinged with malicious delight, but he put his hand +on hers and patted her fingers. + +"All right, old girl. Bygones are bygones. But what in the world is all +this fooling with Rangely for?" + +"Why, don't you see? The fool is sure to say something so silly that I +can snub him within an inch of his life. I've only been holding off +until he had that thing written for the Churchman. Now I've got that, +I'll settle him." + +"Oh, the gratitude of women!" + +"Why, it isn't that. He needn't be smirking at me the way he does. I +simply won't stand it. Besides, he makes eyes at me wherever I go, just +to advertise the fact that he's silly about me. He's a cad, through and +through. Would you come here as he does if I refused to invite your +wife?" + +Chauncy Wilson laughed again, leaning forward to knock the ashes out of +his pipe. + +"He's a fool, fast enough; and I dare say you're tired of his beastly +spooning; but all the same, the real reason for this circus is that you +want to amuse yourself." + +She drew up her head in mock dignity. + +"Of course," she returned, "if my own husband does not appreciate how I +resent"--She broke off in a burst of laughter. "Nobody ever understood +me but you, Chauncy," she cried. "Good-by. It's time I took the stage." + +She threw him a kiss, and went to the drawing-room. Looking at her +watch, she placed herself behind the curtains of a window which +commanded the avenue. Presently she espied her victim, and with a last +glance around to assure herself that everything was as she wished it to +be, she mounted to the top of the piano. There she hastily tucked the +hem of her skirt between the piano and the wall. The reflection in a +great blue-black Chinese jar showed her when Rangely appeared between +the portičres, so that she was able to step back as if to view the +effect of her work just as he reached the middle of the room. + +"Be careful!" exclaimed he, hurrying forward. "You almost stepped off +backward!" + +She wheeled about quickly. + +"O Mr. Rangely!" she cried. "How did you get into the room without my +knowing? How horrid of you to surprise me like that!" + +"But think how charming it is for me," he responded with an elaborate +air of gallantry. "It is so delightful to see you on a pedestal." + +"Meaning that I am no better than a graven image?" she demanded with a +smile. "If that is the best you can do, I may as well come down." + +She held out her hand for his, and then sat down, displaying one of the +fascinating slippers, and the openwork instep of her silk stocking, +through the meshes of which the pearly skin gleamed evasively. + +"My dress is caught," she said, turning to conceal her face, and +pretending to pull at her skirt. "I hope my slippers haven't damaged +the piano." + +"The piano is harder than my heart if they haven't!" + +She gave a sly twitch at a hairpin. + +"That is very pretty," observed she, giving her head a shake that +brought her hair down in a rolling billow. "Oh, dear! Now my hair has"-- + +Before she could finish he had dropped her fingers, and gathered her +hair in both hands, kissing it again and again. + +"Mr. Rangely!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?" + +For reply he stooped to her foot, and kissed the mesh-clad instep +fervidly. + +"How dare you!" she cried, scrambling down hastily without his +assistance. + +But, alas, even trickery is not always successful in this uncertain +world! The hold of the piano upon the hem of her gown was stronger +than she realized. She tripped and stumbled, half-hung for a second, +and then dropped in an inglorious heap at the feet of the man she +wished to humiliate. + +Elsie was on her feet in a minute. She did not take the hand which +Rangely extended, but drew back, her eyes sparkling with rage. + +"Oh, you find it laughable, do you?" she cried. "A gentleman would at +least have concealed his amusement!" + +He grew suddenly grave, and seemed not a little surprised. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope you were not hurt." + +She looked at him scornfully without replying, and then walked to the +mantel, where there was a small antique mirror of silver. + +"Thank you, not in the least." + +Her tone was no warmer than an arctic night. She gathered her hair, and +began to twist it up. He followed and stood behind her with an air at +once deprecatory and insinuating. + +"I shouldn't think you could see in that thing," he observed. + +She took no notice of his words. + +"If I laughed," continued he, "it was only from nervousness. I was +carried away"-- + +"I observed that you were," she interrupted icily. + +He stood awkwardly a moment, while she finished putting up her hair. +Then, as she turned toward him, he smiled again, holding out his hand. + +"Surely you are not angry with me," he pleaded. "I care more for your +feeling toward me than for anything else in the world." + +"It would amuse Mrs. Rangely to hear you say so, not to mention my +husband." + +He stared at her with the air of a man not sure whether he is awake or +dreaming. + +"What are they to us?" he asked, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. + +"Mrs. Rangely may be nothing to you, but Dr. Wilson is still a good +deal to me, thank you." + +He looked at her again with perplexity in his glance, but with his face +hardening. + +"You surely cannot mean that you have ceased to care for me just for a +second of meaningless laughter?" + +She swept him a scornful courtesy. + +"You do these things better in your novels, Mr. Rangely, which shows +what an advantage it is to have time to think speeches over. I wouldn't +have my hero say a thing like that, if I were you. It would make him +seem like a conceited cad." + +The insolence of her manner was such as no man could bear. Rangely +crimsoned to the temples. He paced across the room, while she coolly +seated herself in a great Venetian chair, and began to play with a +little jade image. He came back to her, and stood a moment as if he +could not find words. + +"Why don't you go?" she asked, looking up at him as if he were a +servant sent upon an errand. + +"Because," he broke out angrily, "when I go I shall not come back; and +I should like to understand this thing." + +She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair, looking him +over from head to foot. + +"Why you quarrel with me is more than I know," he went on. "You've got +tired of me, I suppose, and want to amuse yourself with another man." + +The red flushed in her cheek. + +"If my husband, who you say is nothing to us, were here," she said, "he +would horsewhip you." + +The other laughed savagely. + +"He is not here, however, so you may digest my remark at your leisure." + +Mrs. Wilson rose from her seat with an air of dignity which was really +imposing. + +"Mr. Rangely," she said, "it is not my custom to bandy words, even with +my equals. I have allowed you the freedom of my house because I was +willing to help you in your desire to be useful to Father Frontford. +You have taken advantage of my kindness to insult me. This seems to me +sufficiently to explain the situation." + +He stared at her a moment in evident amazement. Then he burst into +hoarse laughter. + +"My desire to be useful to Father Frontford!" he echoed. "That is the +best yet! You know I cared nothing about your pottering old church +politics except to please you." + +"I see that I was deceived completely," she responded coldly. + +She crossed the room and pressed an ivory button. + +"Deceived!" he sneered. "It would take a clever man to deceive you." + +She looked not at him, but beyond him. He turned, and saw a footman in +the doorway. + +"The gentleman wishes to be shown out, Forrester," said she. + +She held the tips of her fingers to Rangely. + +"Thank you so much for coming," she murmured in her most conventional +manner. + +"The pleasure has been mine," he responded. + +They both bowed, and Rangely followed the footman. + + + + XVII + + + A BOND OF AIR + Troilus and Cressida, i. 3. + + +"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison +in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind +as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days +his home with Mrs. Staggchase. + +There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a +religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment +when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had +been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that +he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield, +moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view +of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him +well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the +swaddling-clothes of infancy. + +On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found +himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a +committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice +sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly +well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more +than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The +young man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the +kindliness of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly. + +"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked +abruptly. + +"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience." + +"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have +felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now." + +The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so +keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm. + +"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are +tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?" + +Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to +go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a +confidence when he had not intended to make one. + +"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that +I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil." + +Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn. + +"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the +mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so +differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you +if I tried." + +"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said. + +"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman +responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going +right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of +advice?" + +"I shall be glad if you will." + +"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore." + +"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise. + +"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church +matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but +he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that +there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice." + +"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"-- + +"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference. +Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll +consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift +of understanding." + +No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind. +Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not +take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort +almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from +Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it +was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked +upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had +been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father +Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior +now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew, +however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts +which for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would +simply be told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and +the young man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he +were to seek aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his +state of mind. + +Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to +Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he +felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the +middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It +was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements +where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice +began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his +head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his +cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he +would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore, +in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows +fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose. +When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his +private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised +to be there. + +The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose +readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which +endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring +look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat +at a loss how to begin. + +"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly. + +"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit +down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire." + +The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated. + +"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in +the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things." + +Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of +the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal +charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that +understanding and sympathy were here. + +"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to +talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy." + +He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then +melt into a smile. + +"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?" + +Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden +gravity broke out earnestly:-- + +"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing +me. I don't even know what I believe." + +"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me +rather than your Superior?" + +Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but +absolute frankness. + +"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the +Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really +followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been +among men, and"-- + +He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him. + +"And among women," he went on bravely; "and--and"-- + +"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which +declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore. + +Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without +need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so +intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not +so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt. + +"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that +Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is +given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman." + +"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems +to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very +tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of +celibacy." + +"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented +involuntarily. + +"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters," +Strathmore suggested with a twinkle. + +"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily, +flushing, and ignoring the thrust. + +"Then what is your trouble?" + +"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing." + +"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change +the mind is the same as to do it?" + +"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take +them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry--if you will +pardon my saying so." + +"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has +already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really +know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your +mind as to the sacredness of marriage,--for the clergy or for anybody +else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to +abandon a position once taken?" + +The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were +spoken. + +"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling +as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I +have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so +strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?" + +"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to +put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young +men accept medićvalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make +you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the +church?" + +"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded. + +"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have +doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an +inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach." + +Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his +belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was +startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had +declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that +while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth. + +"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to +be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church +teaches." + +"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting +against the age. You have been taught to believe,--if you will pardon +me,--that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of +reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be +received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret +figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if +we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and +infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of +his own conscience and reason." + +"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the +line. The heathen are very likely honest enough." + +"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly +searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there +can be no danger." + +"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself +upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this +is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You +seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme +authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that +authority." + +The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so +winning. + +"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever +mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some +little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase +conveys to you and to me?" + +"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but +practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?" + +"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means +by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would +mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man, +and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church. +You would allow that, of course." + +"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of +it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine." + +"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since +absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon +it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the +search for truth." + +The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters, +though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more +and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe. + +"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted. + +"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?" + +"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told." + +He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to +him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr. +Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes +no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and +sympathy. + +"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with +the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in +an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing +frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men +always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or +not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear +thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who +are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are +thinking." + +"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for +themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in. + +"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church +are?" Strathmore asked significantly. + +Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net +of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely +sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between +the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions +which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the +manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and +unaffected. + +"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a +doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice +felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who +is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it." + +Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your +kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I +haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own +salvation." + +"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne." + +The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered +Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore +grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:-- + +"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness. +Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything +else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God +help you in your search for light." + + + + XVIII + + + CRUEL PROOF OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH + As You Like It, i. 2. + + +The afternoon was already darkening into dusk one day late in January +when Philip Ashe stood in the hallway of a squalid tenement house, +looking out into a dingy court. The place was surrounded by tall +buildings which cut off the light and made day shorter than nature had +intended, an effect which was not lessened by the clothes drying +smokily on lines above. In one corner of the court yawned like the +entrance to a cave the mouth of the passageway by which it was entered. +In another stood a dilapidated handcart in which some dweller there was +accustomed to carry abroad his rubbishy wares. The windows were for the +most part curtainless, rising row above row with an aspect of +wretchedness which gave Ashe a sense of discomfort so strong as almost +to be physical. Here and there rags and old hats did duty instead of +glass; some windows were open, framing slatternly women. + +These women were stupidly quiet. Ashe wondered if they would have +talked to each other across the court if he had not been in sight, or +if the gathering dusk silenced them. One of them was smoking a short +black pipe, and once let fall a spark upon the head of another idler a +couple of floors below. The injured woman poured forth a volley of +oaths, and Ashe expected a war of words. Nothing of the sort occurred. +The figure above was so indifferent as hardly to glance down where the +offended harridan was steaming with a fume of curses. + +Philip began to be uneasy. He looked up at the darkening sky, and +backward to the gloom of the stairway behind him. No gas had been +lighted in the building, and he wondered if any ever were. It was +certainly too late for Mrs. Fenton to be poking about in these +dangerous places. They had been doing charity visiting together, and +she had insisted on coming to this one house more before going home. He +had remonstrated, but she had laughed at his fears. + +"I don't believe any of these places are really dangerous," she had +declared. "I've been coming here for years, and nobody ever troubled +me." + +"By daylight it is all very well," he had answered, "but it's a +different thing after dark. I have been here once or twice to see some +sick person in the evening, and it is a rough place." + +"But it isn't after dark," she had persisted, "and it won't be for an +hour." + +She had had her way, but Ashe reflected uneasily that if harm came to +her it would be his fault. He should have insisted upon her going home. +The light was fading fast, and the locality was one of the worst in +town. He wondered why the mere absence of daylight gave wickedness so +much boldness. Men who by day were the veriest cowards seemed to spring +into appalling fearlessness as soon as darkness gave its uncertain +promise of concealment. The thought made him turn, and begin slowly to +walk up the stairs. + +He was not sure what floor she meant to visit. She was going, he knew, +to see a woman whose husband got drunk and beat her. She had told him +about the poor creature as they came along. She was sure Mrs. Murphy +must have known a decent life. She set her down as having been a +housekeeper or upper servant who had foolishly married a rascal. The +woman, Mrs. Fenton had added, was evidently ashamed of her present +condition, and afraid that those who had known her in her better days +should discover her. + +"It is pitiful," Mrs. Fenton had said musingly, "to see how she clings +to her husband. She pulls down her sleeves to cover the bruises, and +tells how good he was to her when they were first married. She says he +doesn't mean to hurt her, but that he's the strongest man in the court, +and doesn't realize what he is doing. She's even proud of his +strength." + +"Strength is apt to impress women," Ashe had answered, not without a +secret sense of humiliation to lack this quality. + +As he walked gropingly up the dark stairway, a man came clumsily after, +and presently stumbled past him. A strong smell of liquor enveloped the +newcomer, and he lurched heavily against Ashe without apology. Philip +heard his uneven steps mounting in the gloom, and followed almost +mechanically. He paused in one of the hallways to listen to a babble of +words in one of the rooms. It was chiefly profanity, but it hardly +seemed to be ill-natured. It was simply a family cursing each other +with well-accustomed vehemence. He grew every instant more and more +uneasy, and thought of knocking at every door until he found his +friend. What right had philanthropy to demand that a beautiful, noble +woman should be exposed to the chances of a nest of ruffianism and +vice? He was indignant at the committee for not delegating such work to +men. Then he remembered that Mrs. Fenton was herself on the committee, +and that it was by her own insistence that she was here. + +"She is capable of any sacrifice to what she believes to be right," he +said to himself; "but she is too good for such work; she is too +delicate, too"-- + +Suddenly a noise arose on the floor above him. A man's voice, thick +with anger or drink, was pouring out a stream of words, half oaths; a +woman was shrilly entreating. Ashe sprang quickly upstairs, and as he +did so he heard Mrs. Fenton scream. The sound was behind a door, and +without stopping to deliberate he tried to open it. The latch yielded, +but he could not open. + +"Let me in!" he cried fiercely. "What is the matter?" + +The voice of a man who was evidently against the door answered him with +blasphemies. A woman within cried to the man to stop, while Mrs. Fenton +called to Ashe for help. Philip set his shoulder against the door and +strained with all his might to force it. He remembered then what Mrs. +Fenton had said about the strength of the husband of her pensioner. + +"Go to the window, and call the police," he shouted. + +"He's holding me!" Mrs. Fenton cried back pantingly. + +Philip strained more desperately, and as he did so he heard the window +within flung open, and the voice of a woman yelling for the police. The +man inside sprang forward with an oath, the door yielded, and Philip +plunged headlong into the room. + +As Philip fell upon his knees, he saw a man seize the woman who from +the window was calling for help, and fling her to the floor. The sound +of her fall, with her wild shriek beaten into a choking gasp by the +force with which she struck, turned his heart sick; but his fear for +Mrs. Fenton kept him up. He scrambled to his feet, and as he did so she +ran toward him. + +"Your cassock is all dust!" she cried hysterically. "Oh, come away!" + +The absurdity of the words made him burst into nervous laughter; yet he +saw that the drunken man was coming, and he instinctively put her +behind him and took some sort of a posture of defense. + +"Save yourself," he cried hastily. "He's killed the woman." + +All this passed with the quickness of thought. There seemed to Philip +hardly the time of a breath between the opening of the door and the +blow which now fell upon the side of his face. Fortunately he partly +evaded it, but he reeled and staggered, feeling the earth shake and the +air full of stinging points of fire. He saw the figure of his assailant +towering between him and the light; he had a glimpse of Mrs. Fenton +rushing to the window to call again for help; he realized with a +horrible shrinking that that hammer-like fist was again striking out +for his face; he was conscious of a sickening impulse to run, a +humiliating and overwhelming sense of his inability to cope with this +brute and of even his ignorance how to try; yet most of all he felt the +determination to defend Edith or to die in the attempt. In a wild and +futile fashion he dashed against his assailant, striking blindly and +furiously, crying with rage and weakness, but throwing all his force +into the fight. He felt crushing blows on his head and chest. Once he +was struck on the side of the throat so that he gasped for breath with +the sensation that he was drowning. Now and then he felt his own fist +strike flesh, and the sensation was to him horrible. He fought blindly, +doggedly, inwardly weeping for the shame and the pity of it, wondering +if there would never be any end, and what would happen to Mrs. Fenton +if he were beaten helpless. Surely if aid were coming it must have +arrived long ago. He had been fighting for hours. He kept striking on, +but he felt his strength failing, and he could have laughed wildly at +the pitiful feebleness of his blows. He was knocked down, and scrambled +up again, amazed that he was not killed or disabled. His one hope lay +in the fact that the man was evidently much the worse for drink, and +often struck as blindly as himself. If he could but occupy the brute's +attention until help came, Mrs. Fenton would be saved. + +Suddenly he was aware that the roaring in his ears was not all from the +ringing in his head, but that heavy steps were sounding from the +stairway. In a moment more screaming women were swarming in, and the +din become intolerable as they scuttled about him, calling out to his +opponent to stop and not to do murder. Men followed, and a couple of +policemen came in their wake. Ashe saw through heavy eyelids the shine +of brass buttons, and felt that the wearers of the uniforms to which +these belonged had seized upon his assailant. He staggered against the +wall, sick, faint, and dizzy. The two policemen were having a severe +struggle to subdue their prisoner, and it seemed to Philip that all the +inhabitants of the neighborhood were crowding in at the narrow door. +The wife lay where she had been dashed to the floor, and Mrs. Fenton +bent over her. + +"Oh, Mr. Ashe," the latter said, coming to him, "you must be terribly +hurt! I think Mrs. Murphy's killed." + +He tried to smile, but his face was swollen and unmanageable. + +"It's no matter about me," he managed with difficulty to say, "if you +are not hurt." + +The realities of life came back. The whirling rush of the swift moments +of the fight seemed already far off. The crowd examined him with frank +curiosity, commenting on him as "the dude that's been scrappin' with +Mike Murphy." He saw some of the women busy over the prostrate form of +Mrs. Murphy, lifting her from the floor to the bed. + +"Well, Mike," one of the policemen said, "I guess this job'll be your +last. You've done it this time." + +The prisoner seemed to have become sober all at once, now that he was +in the hands of the law. He went over to the bed, between his captors, +and examined the injured woman with the air of one accustomed to such +occurrences. + +"Oh, the old woman'll pull round all right," he growled. "She ain't no +flannel-mouth charity chump." + +Without a word Ashe put his hand upon the arm of Mrs. Fenton, and led +her toward the door. The insult cut him more than all that had gone +before. What had passed belonged to a drunken and irrational mood. This +taunt came evidently from deliberate contempt and ingratitude. Philip +had a bewildered sense of being outside of all conditions which he +could understand. This shameless effrontery and brutality seemed to him +rather the distorted fantasy of an evil dream than anything which could +be real. His one thought now was to get his companion away before she +was exposed to fresh insult. + +They were detained a little by the police; but after giving their +addresses were allowed to go. Ashe felt shaky and exhausted, but the +hand of Mrs. Fenton was on his arm, and the need of sustaining her gave +him strength. They got with some difficulty through the crowd and out +of the court, and after walking a block or two were fortunate enough to +find a carriage. + +"Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Fenton said, as they drove up Hanover Street, "I'm +afraid you're terribly hurt; and it is all my fault." + +"No, no," he replied with swollen lips. "The fault was mine. I +shouldn't have let you go into that place." + +"But you did try to stop me; only I was obstinate. Oh, I don't know how +to thank you for coming as you did." + +"But what happened before I came?" + +Mrs. Fenton shuddered. + +"Oh, I don't think I know very clearly. That great drunken man came in, +and asked me for money. Of course I didn't give it to him; and his wife +tried to get him to let me go. Then he struck her on the mouth!" + +"The brute!" Ashe involuntarily cried, clenching his bruised fists. + +"Then he caught me by the waist, and I screamed; and in another minute +I heard you at the door." + +"But it was the woman that called the police." + +"Yes; and when she did that I was fearfully frightened. I knew that if +she called the police against her own husband she must think that he'd +really hurt me." + +Philip leaned back in the carriage, dizzy with the overwhelming sense +of the peril that had beset her,--her! Then, mastered by an +overpowering impulse, he threw himself forward and caught her hands, +covering them with kisses. + +"Oh, my darling!" he gasped. "Oh, thank God you are safe!" + +She dragged her hands away from him, and shrank back. + +"Mr. Ashe!" she cried. "What is the matter with you? What are you +doing?" + +He did not attempt to retain his hold, but drew himself back into the +darkness of his corner of the carriage. A strange calmness followed his +outbreak; a sort of joyous uplifting which made him master of himself +completely. + +"I am sinning," he answered with a riotous sense of delight. "I am +laying up remorse for all my future. I am telling you I love you; that +I love you: I love you! I love you and I have saved you; and I shall +brood over that, and do penance, and brood over it again, and do +penance again, all my life long!" + +"Oh, you are confused, excited, hurt," she cried. "You don't know what +you are saying!" + +"I know only too well what I am saying. I am saying that I"-- + +"Oh, for pity's sake, don't!" she moaned, putting out her hand. + +He caught her wrist, and again kissed her hand passionately. + +"Yes, I know that I ought not to say this now when you have had to bear +so much already; that I ought never to say it; but it is said! It is +said! You'll forget it, but I shall remember it all my life. I shall +remember that you heard me say that I love you!" + +He threw himself back into his corner, and she shrank into hers, while +the carriage went rattling over the pavement. Aching and sore, Philip +yet knew a wild exhilaration, a certain divine madness which was so +intense a delight that it almost made him weep. It was like a religious +ecstasy, recalling to his mind moments in which he had seemed to be +lifted almost to trance-like communion with holy spirits. + +"I ought to ask you to forgive me, Mrs. Fenton," he said as they drew +near her house, "but I cannot. I did not mean to do this; but I can't +regret it. I am sorry for you; I am sorry--I shall be sorry, that is-- +for the sin of it; but the sin is sweet." + +He wondered at his own voice, so even yet so high in pitch. + +"Oh, what shall I do?" Mrs. Fenton cried sobbingly. "Is it my fault +that this happened?" + +"Oh, nothing can be your fault. It is all mine! But you must love me, I +love you so!" + +"No, no," she exclaimed vehemently. "I don't love you! I cannot love +you! For pity's sake don't say such things!" + +She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs. Philip set his +lips together, smiling bitterly at the pain it gave him. He controlled +his voice as well as he was able. + +"I beg you will forgive me," said he. "I have been out of my head. +Forget my impertinence, and"-- + +He could not finish, but the stopping of the carriage at her door saved +him the need of farther effort. + +He assisted her to alight, rang the bell, and said goodnight in a voice +which he was sure did not betray him to the coachman. + + + + XIX + + + 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL + Othello, i. 3. + + +Poor Ashe got home more dead than alive. His passion had shaken him +like a delirium. He had been swept away by his emotion, and had thrown +to the winds past and future. He felt as the carriage drove away from +Mrs. Fenton's as if he had been swung up and down on some monstrous +wave and dashed, broken and bleeding, on a rough shore. He could not +think; and fortunately for him he was even too benumbed to feel +greatly. + +He reached the Hermans' in a sort of half-stupor, in which +indifference, keen joy, and bitter contrition were strangely mingled. +The contrition, however, seemed somehow to belong to the future; it was +what he must endure when the time should come for repentance; the joy +was a present blessing, tingling in his every fibre. + +He met Mrs. Herman in the hall. She exclaimed when she saw him, and he +stood smiling at her, swaying as if he were intoxicated. + +"What has happened?" she cried. "What have you done to your face?" + +The room and his cousin swam before him in a golden mist. He felt that +he was grinning idiotically, yet he could not stop. He tried to speak, +but his lips seemed too swollen to form words. He put out his hand to +grasp a chair, and perceived that he could not reach it. + +"I--fall!" he managed to ejaculate. + +Mrs. Herman caught him, and supported him to a chair. He felt her arm +around him, and he wondered how he came to be thus embraced. He tried +to grope back into the dusk of his mind to tell what had happened, and +the fiery glow of the moment in which he had kissed the hand of Mrs. +Fenton came back to him. He sat suddenly erect. + +"Cousin Helen," he said, with husky fervor, "I have been a wretch, and +I rejoice in it! I have found out how sweet it is to sin! I am lost, +lost, lost!" + +He buried his face in his hands, almost hysterical. He felt his +cousin's hand on his shoulder. + +"Philip," she said decisively, "you must stop this, and tell me what +has happened." + +"I beg your pardon," he answered, dropping his hands. "Mrs. Fenton was +attacked by a drunken man in the North End, and I fought him. I am +afraid that I am pretty disreputable looking." + +"Yes, you are. I hope that is the worst of it." + +She took him by the arm and led him into the library, where she +established him in an easy-chair by the fire. + +"I'll send for a doctor to look you over," she said, "and meanwhile you +are to take what I give you." + +She left him, and Philip sat looking into the coals. + +"Ah, if the glove had been off!" he murmured half aloud. + +He flushed hotly, and struck his clenched hand against his breast, +rubbing it back and forth until the haircloth within stung and smarted. + +"No, no," he said to himself fiercely. "I will not think about it!" + +Helen came back with a tumbler of something hot and fragrant, which +made his eyes water as he drank. It sent a strange sensation of warmth +through him, and seemed to restore his energy. The doctor, who came in +soon after, found nothing serious the matter. Ashe was temporarily +disfigured, but had luckily escaped without worse injury. He was sent +to bed, and despite his expectation of passing the night in an agony of +remorse, he sank almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. + +When Philip awoke his first sensation was that of stiffness and +soreness,--soreness such as he had felt once when he had slept on the +floor with his arms extended in the form of a cross. The thought of +penance performed gave him a thrill of happiness, but to this instantly +succeeded the remembrance of the events of yesterday, and his brief +satisfaction vanished. + +His face was discolored, and as he set out after breakfast to seek his +spiritual adviser he felt a grim satisfaction in going abroad thus +marked. It was in the nature of a mortification and a penance. He +repeated prayers as he walked, his eyes cast down, his bosom pricked by +haircloth. He felt that he had already begun the expiation of the sin +of yesterday. + +He found Father Frontford at home, but so occupied as to be unable to +listen to him. It would have been impossible for Philip to do as +Maurice had done, and go to a man like Strathmore; and indeed, he had +come to his Father Superior partly because of the sharpness with which +he felt that his offending would be judged. Where Maurice would +question, Philip would submit blindly and with ardent faith. + +"Good-morning," the Father greeted Ashe kindly, holding out his left +hand, while the right held suspended the pen which had already produced +a heap of letters. "I am very glad to see you; but you find me +extremely busy. There are so many things to be thought of just now, and +so many letters to be written." + +"Yes?" Philip responded absently. + +"The election is so near at hand now," the other continued, "that we +cannot leave any stone unturned. I am writing to some of the country +clergy this morning. By the way, I wanted to speak to you about +Montfield." + +Philip wondered at himself for the remoteness which the affairs of the +church had for him, so absorbed had he been in his own experiences. + +"It seems to me," Father Frontford went on with fresh animation, "that +perhaps you can do something there. Can't you go down and talk with Mr. +Wentworth? He's inclined to support Mr. Strathmore. You should be able +to influence him; you are his spiritual son." + +Mr. Wentworth was the rector in Philip's native town, and under him +both Ashe and Wynne had come from Congregationalism into the Church. + +"It is possible," Philip said doubtfully. "Mr. Wentworth is, however, +rather inclined to disagree with me nowadays. He is completely carried +away by Mr. Strathmore." + +A strange look came into the face of the old priest. He laid down his +pen, and pressed together the tips of his white fingers, thin with +fasting and self-denial. + +"Did you not once tell me," he asked, "that Mr. Wentworth has hoped for +years that he might bring your mother also into the fold?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are her only child?" + +"Yes." + +Father Frontford cast down his eyes; then raised them to flash a glance +of vivid intelligence upon Ashe. Then again he looked down. + +"I think that you had better run down and see your mother," he said. +"It is possible that she may be even now leaning toward the truth; and +in any case you might arouse Mr. Wentworth to fresh activity. It is of +much importance that the country clergy should be pledged not to +support Mr. Strathmore in the convention." + +Philip went away confused and baffled. He said to himself that his +feeling was caused solely by his disappointment that he had found no +opportunity to talk with the Father Superior about his own affairs; but +it was impossible for him to put out of his mind the way in which his +mission to Montfield had been spoken of. He was willing to go down and +do what he could to arouse Mr. Wentworth to the gravity of the +situation, but he could neither forget nor endure the hint that he +should make of the hope of his mother's conversion to the church a +bribe. He could not think of this without being moved to blame Father +Frontford; and he set himself to argue his mind into the belief that +there was no harm in the suggestion. He walked along in a reverie as +deep as it was painful, trying to see that the occasion called for the +use of all lawful means, and that it was natural for the Father to +suppose that Mrs. Ashe might be influenced more readily if the rector +yielded to the wishes of her son in voting for Frontford. + +"My dear Ashe, what have you been doing to yourself?" a strong voice +asked him. + +He came with a start to the consciousness of where he was, and that he +had almost run into the Rev. De Lancy Candish. The thought flashed +through his mind that Father Frontford had been too deeply absorbed in +his plans to notice the bruised face of his deacon. + +"How do you do?" he exclaimed impulsively. "Providence has sent you to +me. Can you spare me a little of your time?" + +"Certainly," the other answered, with some appearance of surprise. "I'm +on my way home now." + +They walked in silence toward the home of Mr. Candish, Ashe trying to +frame some form of words by which he could confess the sin of his heart +without betraying Mrs. Fenton. He wondered if Maurice Wynne could have +helped him, and reflected how they had been in the habit of confiding +everything to one another. Now he shrank from opening his heart to his +friend, and was almost seeking out a confidant in the highways and +hedges. + +"You have not told me what sort of an accident you have had," Candish +observed, as he fitted the latch-key into the lock of his door. + +"I was attacked by a man in the North End," Philip answered, obeying +the wave of the hand which invited him to enter. "He had insulted Mrs. +Fenton, and"-- + +"Mrs. Fenton!" echoed Candish. + +The tone made Ashe turn quickly. Into his mind flashed the words of +Helen and of Mrs. Wilson connecting the name of Candish with that of +Mrs. Fenton. In his longing for comfort and advice he had seized upon +the rector of the Nativity without remembering that he was the last +person to whom he should come. + +"Ah," he said, "it was true!" + +Candish did not answer, and they went into the study in silence. The +host sat down in the well-worn chair by his writing-table, while Philip +took a seat facing him. + +"What a foolish thing for me to say," Ashe broke out; then surprised at +the querulousness of his tone he stopped abruptly. + +"Mr. Ashe," Candish said gravely, "if there is anything I can do for +you will you tell me what it is?" + +Philip rose quickly, and took a step towards him, leaning down over the +thin, homely face. + +"I have found you out!" he cried with exultation. "I came to confess my +sin to you, and I find that you love her too!" + +"Don't be hysterical and melodramatic," was the cool response. "Sit +down, and let us talk rationally if we are to talk at all." + +The manner of Candish recalled Philip to himself. He sat down heavily. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "Since that fight I have been half beside +myself. I am like a hysterical girl." + +The other regarded him compassionately. + +"Mr. Ashe," responded he, "there is no good in my pretending that I +didn't understand what you meant just now. You and I are both given to +the priesthood. If we both love a woman"-- + +"I love her," burst in Philip, half defiantly, half remorsefully, "and +I have told her so! I have condemned myself"-- + +"Stop," Candish interrupted. "First you have to think of her." + +Philip stared in silence. It came over him how entirely he had been +thinking of himself, and how little he had considered Mrs. Fenton in +his reflections upon the events of the previous evening. Here was a man +who could love her so well as to think of her first and himself last. + +"But I have given her up," Philip stammered. + +"Was she yours to give up?" + +There was nothing bitter or sneering in the words; they were said +simply and dispassionately. + +"No," Philip answered, dropping his voice; "she was not mine." + +The older man rose and walked to the fire, where he stood looking down +at the flaming coals. + +"After all," he said, "we are pretty much in the same plight. I knew +her when her husband brought her here a bride, the loveliest creature +alive. Arthur Fenton was a clever, selfish, wholly irreligious man; and +I could not help seeing how completely he failed to understand or +appreciate his wife. She was kind to me, and when her trouble came she +turned to me for comfort and sympathy. It is my weakness that I love +her; but she will never know it." + +"And does she love nobody?" demanded Ashe jealously. + +Candish turned upon him a look of rebuke. + +"What right have you or I to ask that question?" he retorted sternly. +"I do penance for loving her, and God is my witness how carefully I +have hidden it. It is not for me to question her right to love if she +please." + +Philip rose, and went to the other, holding out his hand. + +"Mr. Candish," said he earnestly, "you have taught me my lesson. I +have been a weak fool, and worse. I will pray for strength to lay my +passion on the altar and forget it." + +The rector took the extended hand, looking into Philip's eyes with a +glance so wistful, so humble, and so tender that the remembrance went +with Ashe long. + +"And forget it?" he repeated. "I do not know that I could do that!" + +He dropped the hand of Ashe, and shook himself as if he would shake off +the mood which had taken possession of him. + +"Come," he declared resolutely, "this will not do. This is not the sort +of mood that makes men. Let me give you a single piece of advice,--I am +older, you know; don't pity yourself, whatever else you do. In the +first place, that would be equivalent to saying that Providence doesn't +know what is best for you; and in the second, it spoils all one's sense +of values." + +As Ashe that afternoon journeyed down to Montfield, he recalled all the +details of this interview. The more he considered the more he respected +Candish and the less satisfaction he found in his own conduct. Yet +perhaps the human mind cannot cease self-justification at any point +short of annihilation, and Philip still had in his secret thought a +deep feeling that the church should more absolutely settle the question +of the celibacy of its clergy, so that there might be no more doubts. +He honored the attitude of Candish, and he resolved to imitate it. He +who has never shaken hands with the devil, however, can have little +idea how hard it is to loose his grasp; and Philip groaned at the +thought of how far he was even from wishing to put his love out of its +high place in his heart. + +His mind was calmer as he sat that evening talking with his mother. +Mrs. Ashe was a plain, sweet-faced woman, with gray hair brushed +smoothly under her cap of black lace. There was in her pale, faded face +little beauty of feature or coloring; yet the light of her kindly and +delicate spirit shone through. Maurice Wynne had once said that she was +like a sweet-pea,--born with wings, but tethered so that she might not +fly away. Philip, with his exquisite sensitiveness, found an +unspeakable comfort in her presence; a soothing sense of rest and peace +so blissful that it seemed almost wrong. There are even in this worldly +age many women who hide under the covering of uneventful, commonplace +lives existences full of spiritual richness,--women who find in +religion not the mechanical acceptance of form, not a mere superstition +which encrusts an outworn creed, but a vital, uplifting force; a power +which fills their souls with imaginative warmth and fervor. The worth +of an experience is to be estimated by the emotional fire which it +kindles; and to the lives of such women the dull, colorless round of +their daily existence gives no real clue. Theirs is the life of the +spirit, and for them the inner is the only true life. It is when the +sunken eye shines with a glow from deep within; when the thin cheeks +faintly warm with the ghost of a flush and the blue veins swell from +the throbbing of a heart stirred by a spiritual vision, that the +observer gets a hint of the realities of such a life. + +Mrs. Ashe was a type of the saintly woman that the spirit of Puritanism +bred in rural New England. Such women are the living embodiment of the +power which has inspired whatever is best in the nation; the power +which has been a living force amid the worldliness, the materialism, +the crudity that have threatened to overwhelm the people of this yet +young land, so prematurely old. In her face was a look of high +unworldliness that marks the mystic, the inheritance from ancestors +bred in a faith impossible without mysticism in the very fibres of the +race. The heroic self-denial, the persistent belief, the noble fidelity +to the ideal which is the salvation of a nation, shine in such a +countenance, and make real the high deeds of a past generation the +narrowness of whose creeds too often blinds us to-day to the greatness +of their character. + +She smiled a little on hearing the object of her son's visit. + +"I am glad to see you on any terms," she observed, "but I cannot say +that I think your coming very wise." + +"But, mother," he urged, "don't you see that it is a matter of so much +importance that we ought not to neglect any chance?" + +"My dear boy," questioned she, "do you really think that it is of so +much importance who is bishop?" + +"It is of the greatest possible importance," he returned earnestly. "Of +course you don't agree with me as to the importance of forms of +worship, but suppose that it were your own church, and the question +were of having a man put into a place so influential. Wouldn't you be +troubled if one were likely to be chosen who taught what you regarded +as heresy?" + +She smiled on him still, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes. + +"Yes," she said, "I suppose I should; but doesn't it ever occur to you, +Philip, that we are all too much inclined to feel that everything is +going wrong if Providence doesn't work in our way? We can't help, I +suppose, the habit of regarding our plans as somehow essential to the +proper management of the universe." + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"You always had a most effective way of taking down my conceit," he +responded. "I don't mean that it is necessary that Father Frontford +shall be bishop because I want him, but"-- + +"But because you believe in him," his mother interrupted with a little +twinkle in her eye. "Well, we cannot do better than to follow our +convictions, I suppose." + +She ended with a sigh, and Philip knew that it was because into her +mind came the sadness she felt at his defection from the faith of his +fathers. + +"Yes, you trained me from the cradle to do what I thought right without +considering the consequences." + +They fell into more general talk after that; and after the news of the +family and the neighborhood had been pretty well exhausted, Mrs. Ashe +said:-- + +"I have asked Alice Singleton to make me a visit." + +"Alice Singleton! Why, mother, I cannot think of a person I should have +supposed it less likely you would want to stay with you." + +"I'm afraid that I don't want her very much; but she wrote me that she +was very lonely, that she hadn't any plans, and that Boston seemed to +her a very homesick place. Her mother was my nearest friend, you know; +and if Alice needs friendship it's very little for me to do for her." + +"I didn't know she'd been in Boston," Philip commented thoughtfully. +"She never seemed to me honest, mother. I never could be charitable to +her at all." + +The sweet face of his mother took on a curious expression of mingled +amusement and contrition. + +"If I must confess it, Phil," she said, "neither could I; and I'm +afraid that there was more notion of doing penance in my asking her +than of real hospitality. She is after all not to blame for her manner, +and no doubt we do her wrong." + +"If you have come to doing penance, mother, there's no knowing how soon +you will be with me." + +"No, Phil," she answered softly, "do you remember what Monica told her +son? 'Not where he is, shalt thou be, but where thou art he shall be.'" + +He shook his head, sighing. + +"I ought not to have touched on that matter, mother. You know that I am +trying to follow my conscience." + +"Yes, I cling to that. I should be miserable if I did not believe that +your way and my way will come together somewhere, on this side or the +other; and I bid you Godspeed on whatever way you go with prayerful +conviction." + +A sudden impulse leaped up within him, and it was almost as if some +voice not his own spoke through his lips, so little was he conscious of +meaning to ask such a question. + +"Even if the way led to Home?" + +Mrs. Ashe grew paler, but her eyes steadfastly met those of her son. + +"I trust you in the hands of God," she said. + +Late that night Philip woke from a heavy sleep into which fatigue had +plunged him. He reached out his arm, and drew aside the curtain near +his bed, so that he might see the window of his mother's chamber. A +faint light was shining there; and he knew that the beams of the candle +fell on his mother on her knees. + + + + XX + + + IN WAY OF TASTE + Troilus and Cressida, iii. 3. + + +The two deacons were together again in the Clergy House. Maurice +frankly confessed to himself that he did not like it, and he wondered +if Philip were also dissatisfied. It was a question too delicate to +ask, however; and he contented himself with watching his friend to +discover, if possible, whether the stay outside had affected Ashe as it +had him. They returned late in the afternoon, and their greeting was of +the warmest. + +"Dear old boy," Maurice cried, "you don't know how glad I am to get at +you again. Where in the world have you kept yourself?" + +"Just at the last," Philip responded, "I've been down to Montfield." + +"Down home? Have you really? How is everybody? I hope your mother is +well." + +"She is very well, and I do not remember anybody that we know who +isn't. I went down to see Mr. Wentworth, and found that he is already +pledged to Mr. Strathmore." + +"Is he really? How did that happen?" + +"It seems that he is a cousin of that Mrs. Gore where we heard that +heathen, and she is greatly interested in Mr. Strathmore's election. +Mr. Wentworth promised her his vote. How people are carried away by +that man. Mr. Wentworth told me that he looked upon him as the greatest +man in the church to-day." + +"It is strange," Maurice assented absently; "but he is a man of great +personal fascination." + +"To me," Philip retorted, "he is a whited sepulchre. His doctrine of +mental reservation amounts to nothing less than that a priest is at +liberty to believe anything he pleases if he will only conform +outwardly." + +Maurice was secretly much of the same opinion, but they came now to the +dinner table, where silence was the rule. Wynne had a feeling of +dishonesty from the fact that he concealed from his friend that he had +sought an interview with Strathmore, yet he felt that he could not +confess the visit. While they sat at table a brother read aloud, and +the reading chanced to be to-night from the book of Job. The words of +the splendid poem mingled in the mind of Maurice with the most +incongruous and unpriestly thoughts. He chafed at the routine into +which he had fallen as into a pit from which he had once escaped; the +meagre repast seemed to him pitifully poor; and most of all he was +angry with himself that he could not feel joy at his return to the +house which was the symbol of the consecrated work to which he had +given his life. After dinner came an hour and a half of recreation, and +in this he was called to the study of the Father Superior. + +"You returned so late in the day," the Father said with a smile, "that +you will not mind giving up recreation to-night. I wish to speak with +you on a matter of importance." + +Maurice took the seat toward which the other waved his hand. He felt +alien and strange. He recalled the attitude of submission and reverence +with which he had once been accustomed to enter this room, the respect +with which he had heard every word of the Father; and he blamed +himself bitterly that he now took rather a defensive mood, and felt an +instinctive desire to escape. He reflected that he had been poisoned by +the world; yet he could not wholly shut out the consciousness that he +had no genuine desire to be freed from the sweet madness which had +seized him. He tried to put all thought of these matters by, however, +and to give his whole attention to what the priest might say to him. + +"I think that you have met Mrs. Frostwinch," the Father said. + +"I went to her house once," Maurice answered, surprised at the remark, +and feeling his pulse quicken at the remembrance of his first sight of +Berenice. + +"I remember that you mentioned it in confession," was the grave reply. +"Satan sets his snares in the most unlikely places." + +The words seemed almost a reply to Wynne's secret thought. His first +impulse was to resent this open allusion to a sacred confidence +whispered in the confessional. It was like a stab in the back, or a +trick to take unfair advantage; and the matter was made worse by this +allusion to a snare of Satan, which could mean nothing else but +Berenice herself. Maurice flushed hotly, but habit was strong in him, +and he cast down his eyes without reply. + +"Have you heard that Mrs. Frostwinch is on her way home?" Father +Frontford went on. + +"No." + +"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she +is coming home to die." + +"To die?" echoed Maurice. + +He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred, +apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible +that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy +death, and live on simply by her own splendid will. + +"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it +is to us to have her influence in the election?" + +"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that +she is in"--he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time--"our +interests." + +"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three +are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand +behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or +another." + +"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote +unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her +support?" + +"They would not vote unconscientiously," was the dry response, "but +they believe that the support which she gives to them and to their +missions is of more importance than that the man they really prefer +should be chosen." + +"But what can be done?" + +Father Frontford sat leaning back in his chair, his face in shadow, and +the tips of his thin fingers pressed together in his habitual gesture. + +"Perhaps nothing," he answered. + +His voice had dropped into a soft, silky half-tone, insinuating and +persuasive. Maurice began to have an uneasy feeling as if he were being +hypnotized; yet the words of the other came to him with a quality +strangely soothing and attractive. + +"Perhaps," the priest went on after a pause of a second, "perhaps +everything that is necessary." + +It seemed to Maurice that there was something significant in the tone +which the words did not reveal. He looked keenly at the shadowed face, +but without being able clearly to make out its expression. He could see +little but the bright eyes holding and dominating his own. + +"It is for you to do this work," Father Frontford continued; "and it is +wonderful how Providence brings good out of all things. Here is an +opportunity for you not only to expiate your fault, but to serve the +cause of the church." + +Without understanding, Maurice began to tremble with inner dread lest +the name of Berenice should again be brought up between himself and +this pitiless priest. + +"I do not see that there is anything that I can do," he said coldly. + +"On the contrary. Do you chance to know anything about the Canton +estate? I suppose you are not likely to." + +"Nothing whatever. What is the Canton estate?" + +"Mrs. Frostwinch was a Canton. Her father was a brother of old Mrs. +Morison." + +Maurice could not see how all this involved him, but he became more and +more uneasy. + +"The estate of old Mr. Canton," the Father went on in the same smooth +voice, "was, as I have just learned from Mrs. Wilson, left to his +daughter for life and to her children after her. If she died childless +it was to go to Miss Morison." + +"And she is childless?" + +"She is childless. If she is taken away now, the property will all be +in the hands of Miss Morison." + +There was a moment of stillness in which the thought most insistent in +the mind of Maurice was that in this fortune fate had raised another +wall between himself and Berenice. He spoke to escape the reflection. + +"But all this is surely not my concern." + +"It is your concern if it shows you a way in which the votes of those +clergymen may be assured, although Mrs. Frostwinch should not recover." + +"It shows me no way." + +Maurice tried to speak naturally and without evidence of feeling, but +his throat was parched and his heart hot. He hated this inquisition. +The long reverence and admiration which had bound him to the Father +melted to nothing in the twinkling of an eye. Who was this Jesuit that +sat here making of Berenice and her fortune pawns in his game; +involving her in a web of intrigue unworthy of his sacred office; and +forcing his disciple to listen through a knowledge of facts +stammeringly poured out in the confessional? Absence from the Clergy +House and from town, and after that a growing reluctance, had prevented +Maurice from confessing anything beyond his first attraction to Miss +Morison, but he had written to the Father Superior of the accident, and +had mentioned that he was thought to have been of assistance in saving +her. It came to him now that he was being repaid for the accursed +vanity which had led him to make this boast; and he became the more +animated against his director from his anger against himself. + +"Whatever Mrs. Frostwinch has done with the property," Father Frontford +said, "of course Miss Morison may do if she pleases." + +"I should suppose so; but I know nothing about it." + +"Then if Miss Morison will promise to continue the donations of Mrs. +Frostwinch, the position of the beneficiaries will be the same toward +her as toward Mrs. Frostwinch." + +Maurice bent forward quickly, unable longer to maintain an appearance +of calm. + +"Father Frontford," he exclaimed, "you certainly cannot ask this of +Miss Morison! It would be sheer impertinence! I beg your pardon, but I +cannot help saying it. Besides, there is something horribly cold- +blooded in talking about what shall be done with the property of Mrs. +Frostwinch when she is dead. Miss Morison would not listen to anything +of the sort." + +"The circumstances justify what otherwise would be inadmissible. It is +necessary, Mrs. Wilson thinks, to be able to tell those men that their +situation is not changed by the death of Mrs. Frostwinch, which is +almost sure to take place before the convention. You must explain that +to Miss Morison." + +"I!" + +"The obligation which she is under to you," the Father said, ignoring +the exclamation, "will naturally incline her to listen." + +"But I cannot"-- + +"I had thought that it was mine to decide what you could and should +do." + +"But, Father, this is so extraordinary, so impossible, so"-- + +"Miss Morison is to be in Boston in a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson will +let us know when she arrives. I know how strange this looks to you, and +how repugnant it must be. Do you think that it is any less hateful to +me? Do you think that it is easy for me to be working for what is to be +my own personal exaltation if we succeed? I give you my word, Wynne, +that the severest sacrifice that any one can be called on to make in +this matter is that which I make when I take these steps toward putting +myself in office. I am not naturally humble, and it humiliates me to +the very soul; but I do what seems to me to be for the good of the +church, and try to put my personal feeling entirely out of the matter. +It is for you to do the same." + +It was impossible for Maurice to doubt the sincerity with which this +was said. He had no answer to give. + +"Go now, my son," the Father concluded, "and do not forget to thank God +that the weakness of your heart may be turned into a means by which the +church may be served." + +Maurice retired to his room in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was +summoned almost immediately to vespers and complines. The familiar +ritual soothed him, and he was able to join in the chants in much the +old way. His feeling was that he would gladly have had the service last +into the night. He would have liked to go on with this half emotional, +half mechanical devotion, which kept him from thinking, and which put +off the dreaded hour when he must face the proposition which had been +made to him. + +It was the rule of the house that all the inmates should preserve +unbroken silence among themselves from complines until after nones the +next day. Maurice knew therefore that he was free from intrusion of +human companionship, which it seemed to him he could not have borne. +Even the talk of dear old Phil, to a chat with whom he had looked +forward as the one pleasure in coming back to the Clergy House, would +have been intolerable while this nightmarish trouble lay upon him. He +went at once to his chamber, a cell-like room, and sat down to think. +Could he do it? How would Berenice regard this impertinent interference +with her private affairs? How could he go to her and say: "It is +necessary for church politics that you assume to dispose of the +property which now your cousin holds, and over which you have no rights +until she is in her grave." He could see her eyes sparkle with +indignation and contempt, and he grew hot in anticipation. He could not +do it, he thought over and over. It was impossible that in this age of +the world anybody should dream of having such a thing done. If he were +almost a priest, he told himself fiercely, he had not yet ceased to be +a gentleman! + +The stricture which this thought seemed to cast upon the priesthood +made him pause. He had not yet shaken off the dominion of old ideas and +old habits. He apologized to an unseen censor for the apparent +irreverence of his thought. It was not the priesthood, it was--He came +again to a standstill. He was not prepared to own to himself that he +disapproved of the Father Superior. He had vowed obedience, and here he +sat raging against a decree because it sacrificed his personal feelings +to the good of the church. The blame should be upon himself. There was +nothing in all this revolt except his own selfishness and wounded +vanity. He had transgressed by allowing his thoughts to be entangled in +earthly affection, and this misery and wickedness followed inevitably. +The fault was in him entirely; it was his own grievous fault. The +familiar words of the office of confession made him beat his breast, +and fall in prayer before the crucifix which seemed to waver in the +flickering candlelight. He repeated petition after petition. He would +not allow himself to think. It was his to obey, not to question. He +would regain his old tranquillity, his old docility. He would submit +passively. It was his own fault, his most grievous fault. + +The ten o'clock bell rang, calling for the extinguishing of lights. He +sprang from his knees, blew out the candle, threw off his clothes in +the dark, and hurried into his hard and narrow bed. He was resolved not +to think. He said the offices of the day; he repeated psalms; and at +last, in desperate attempt to control his mind and to induce sleep, he +began to multiply large numbers. All the time he was resolutely saying +to himself: "It is my fault; my most grievous fault!" And all the time +some inner self, unsubdued, was persistently replying: "It is not! It +is not! I am right!" + + + + XXI + + + THIS "WOULD" CHANGES + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +Maurice woke next morning to a deep sadness, as if some bitter calamity +had befallen. In a moment the conversation of the previous evening +rushed to his mind, and his gloom rather deepened than grew less. The +rising-bell had rung, and he rose languidly in the cold, gray twilight. +So long had he tossed restlessly in the night unsleeping that he felt +worn out and miserable, and after the hours which he had necessarily +kept at the house of his cousin half past five seemed hardly to be day. +He shivered with a discouraged disgust as he made his toilet, +endeavoring to forget. + +The routine of the morning followed: meditation, lauds and prayers; +mass; breakfast; prime; then the study hours before luncheon; and so on +to nones. All this time the rule of the house protected him from +speech, but now that the hour for recreation came he was in the midst +of questioning fellow-deacons. They had all so much to tell, however, +of the manner in which they had passed their time during their absence +from the Clergy House that Maurice was able for the most part to listen +instead of speaking. He watched with curiosity to see that they +appeared glad to return to seclusion. They had been troubled by the +sensation of finding themselves out of their accustomed groove, and had +found the world confusing. Most often they seemed to him to have been +oppressed by the need of deciding what they should do, and how they +should meet trifling unforeseen emergencies. + +"It is impossible to be spiritually calm except in seclusion," one of +them said. + +Involuntarily Maurice looked at the speaker, feeling that this must be +mere cant. It struck him as nonsense, yet one glance at the serene, +honest face of the deacon who spoke, with its tender, candid eyes, like +those of a pure girl, was enough to convince him of the entire +sincerity of the words. He sighed, and turned away; as he did so he +caught the eye of Philip, who was watching him with solicitous +attention. Maurice put his hand on the arm of his friend, and led him +away. + +"Why did you look at me that way, Phil?" he asked. "Does it seem to you +that spiritual calm is the best thing in life?" + +Ashe was silent a moment. Maurice noted that he looked thinner than of +old, and reproached himself that he had seen so little of his friend +during their absence from the Clergy House. + +"I was thinking," Philip replied at length, hesitating and dropping his +voice, "that I feared both you and I had discovered that something more +than seclusion is needed to give it, however good it may be." + +Maurice laid his hand on the back of Philip's, grasping it tightly. + +"You too?" was his response. + +They stood in silence for some moments, looking out of a window over +the dingy back yards which formed the prospect from the rear of the +house. Wynne was wondering how it was that for the first time in his +life it was impossible to be frankly confidential with Philip, and how +far it was probable that his friend would be in sympathy with him in +his trouble. He longed for counsel, and the force of old habit pressed +him to tell everything. + +"Phil," he said, "will you go out with me for a walk this afternoon?" + +"Of course," Ashe answered. "Don't we always go together?" + +Wynne laughed, turning to look at his companion as if from afar. + +"I doubt," he observed, "if anything I could tell you directly would +give you so good an idea of how upset I am, and how completely out of +the routine of our life, as the fact that I seem to have forgotten that +there ever were any walks before." + +"I am afraid that I am a good deal out of touch with the life here," +Ashe responded seriously. "I have been troubled, and tempted, and--Oh, +Maurice," he broke off suddenly, "Maynard is right: no spiritual calm +is possible in the world outside!" + +"Even if that were true," returned Maurice, "I don't know that I am +prepared to agree that calm is the best thing in life." + +"It is the highest thing." + +"I don't believe it. It isn't growth." + +The bell for study sounded, and ended their talk. Maurice went to his +work uneasy, perhaps a little irritated. He was disquieted that Philip +should be so monastically out of sympathy, and he was annoyed with +himself for being out of key with his friend. He felt as if he had +returned to his old place in the body without being here at all in the +spirit. He had while at Mrs. Staggchase's looked into many books which +in the Clergy House would never have come in his way; he had more than +once been startled to encounter thoughts which had been in his own +mind, but which he had felt it wrong to entertain. Here they were +stated coolly, dispassionately, with no consciousness, apparently, that +they should not be considered with frankness. He had heard opinions and +ideas which from the standpoint of the religious ascetic were not only +heretical but little short of blasphemous, yet they were evidently the +ordinary current thought of the time. It was impossible that these +things should not affect him; and to-day as he sat in lecture he found +himself trying all that was said by a new standard and involuntarily +taking the position of an objector. He was able to see nothing but +flaws in the logic, faults in the deduction, breaks in the argument. + +"I am come to that state of mind when I should see a seam in the +seamless robe," he groaned in spirit. + +Father Frontford lectured that afternoon on church history. Sometimes +in the long hour Maurice studied the priest, wondering at him, trying +to comprehend the working of his mind. Sometimes he would ask himself +whether it were possible that this man were wholly sincere, whether it +were possible that an intellect so acute could really believe the +things which were the foundation of the teaching of the day; but he +came back always to faith in the complete conviction of the Father. +Maurice, indeed, said to himself that Frontford was quite capable of +taking his spiritual self by the throat and compelling it to believe; +and then the young doubter asked himself if this were the secret of the +faith which showed in every word and look of the speaker. He told +himself that Father Frontford was his Superior, and as such to be +followed, not criticised; he resolved not to think, but endeavored to +give his whole attention to the lecture. Here however he did little +better. The glories of the church upon which the speaker dwelt seemed +to Wynne in his present mood poor and paltry triumphs of dogmatism,--or +even, why not of superstition indeed? He was startled by the sin of his +questioning, yet it seemed impossible to silence the mocking inner +voice. + +"This is one of the incidents," he at last became aware that the Father +was saying to close, "which strikingly illustrate the need of implicit +obedience. If the church were a simple organization of man, if it were +for the accomplishment of worldly ends, if its object were the +aggrandizement of individuals, nothing could be more dangerous than the +establishment in it of what seems like arbitrary power. As it is +directed from above; as its aim is nothing less than the spiritual +uplifting of the race; as, indeed, upon it rests the salvation, under +God, of mankind, the case is different. It is necessary that no energy +be lost; that all the power of the church be used to the best +advantage; that the hand assist the head and the head have complete +control of the hand. Obedience is of all the lessons which you have to +learn perhaps the hardest. It is no less one of the most essential. In +an age which is lacking not only in obedience but even in that +reverence upon which obedience must rest, it is for the true priest to +be an example of reverence and obedience alike. Revere and obey, and +you have done noble service." + +The deacons buzzed together as they left the lecture-room. They were +but boys after all, and some of them light-hearted enough. Maurice +heard one or two of them commenting upon the lecture or upon +indifferent things. A curly-haired young deacon, a Southerner with the +face of a cherub, was laughing lightly to himself. He was the youngest +of them all, and Maurice had for him that liking which one might have +for a pretty kitten. + +"I say, Wynne," he remarked, looking up into the face of the other with +a twinkling eye, "the Dominie gave us a good preachment to-day in +support of his authority. It almost made me resolve to rebel the next +time I was told to do anything." + +"Then I suppose that you don't agree with him," Maurice responded +rather absently. + +"Oh, it isn't that. I do agree with him. I mean to be a bishop myself +some day, and then the doctrine will come in all right. I'll work it. +Down South we understand that sort of thing better than you do up +here." + +"Then what did you object to in the lecture?" + +"I didn't object to anything; only when anybody proves that you ought +not to do a thing isn't it human nature to want to do it, just for the +fun of it?" + +Maurice felt how far from serious was the temper of the boy, and that +it would be utterly unreasonable to expect from him anything like +reverence. "Then how do you expect anybody to hold to the doctrine of +implicit obedience?" he questioned, smiling. + +"Oh, everybody expects to wield the authority sometime," was the light +answer. "Nobody'd hold to it otherwise." + +Maurice instinctively glanced at Ashe. In Philip's pale, enrapt face +was an expression of self-surrender which made Wynne feel how +completely the teaching to which they had just listened must appeal to +the temperament of his friend. + +"To obey for the sake of obeying is precisely what Phil would delight +in," he thought. "How entirely different we are! Yet if it hadn't been +for him I should never have come here. Haven't I strength enough to +follow my own convictions?" + +The hour for walking was four, and a few minutes after the clocks had +struck, Maurice and Philip started out. It was a dull and lowering +afternoon, and the narrow, street was already gloomy with shadows. Half +unconsciously Wynne found himself casting about in his mind for topics +of conversation which should be free from the personal element. Now +that the time for confidences had come, he shrank from words. He +reproached himself, and then half peevishly thought: "I seem nowadays +to do nothing but to find fault with myself for things that I can't +help feeling!" + +"I am glad Father Frontford said what he did today," Ashe remarked +after they had walked in silence for a little. "It was just what I +needed. I've got so in the habit of following my own will since we have +been out in the world that I needed to be reminded that there is +something better." + +Maurice felt a faint irritation that the talk was begun in precisely +the key he would most gladly have avoided, but honesty would not let +him be silent. + +"I am afraid, Phil," he said, "that I'm not entirely in sympathy with +you. I didn't like the lecture. Since we are given will and reason, I +believe that it was intended that we should use them." + +"Of course. If I had no reason, how could I bring myself to give up my +own will to one that I know to be higher?" + +Maurice smiled unhappily. + +"Well," was his answer, "when you begin with a paradox like that it is +evident that I couldn't go on without getting into a discussion darker +than the darkness of Egypt. I'd rather just talk about common everyday +things. Where shall we go?" + +"I want to go to the North End. There is an old woman there that I +thought of visiting. I had trouble with her husband the other day; he +threw her down and hurt her." + +"What sort of trouble?" + +"He struck me, and we had a sort of struggle. He wasn't sober." + +"Were you on the street?" + +"No; in his room. I--I broke in." + +"Broke in?" + +"Yes." Ashe hesitated, and then added: "Mrs. Fenton was there, and he +tried to rob her." + +"Mrs. Fenton? Why didn't you tell me about it? When was it?" + +"The day before I went down home. You weren't here, you know. There was +not much to tell." + +Maurice questioned eagerly, and his friend related briefly what had +happened. + +"Why, Phil, you're a hero!" Wynne exclaimed. "You've quite taken the +wind out of my sails. I counted for something of an adventurer simply +by having been in a smash-up; but you rushed in and had a real +adventure. I never thought of you as a defender of dames." + +The other turned toward him a face contracted with a look of pain. + +"Don't, Maurice," he protested. "I can't joke about it. It was not +anything to be proud of; and nobody knows better than I how far I am +from being a hero." + +"Oh, you're modest, of course. That's like you; but I call it stunning. +Mrs. Fenton must have admired you tremendously." + +"Do you suppose she did?" Philip demanded impetuously. Then his voice +altered. "Oh, she knows me too well!" he added. + +The intense bitterness of his tone gave Maurice a shock. + +"Phil!" cried he. + +His companion apparently understood the thought which lay behind the +exclamation. He dropped his head, and for a little distance they walked +in silence. + +"I may as well tell you," Ashe said in a moment. "It is true, what you +guess. I--I have been thinking of her more than was right. That is one +reason why I am glad to get back to the Clergy House." + +"To give her up?" + +"She was not mine to give up." + +"But do you mean not to try to--Oh, Phil, doesn't it ever come to you +that all this monkish business is a mistake? We were a couple of +foolish boys that didn't know what we were about when we went into it; +and"-- + +Ashe turned and looked at him with eyes full of reproach, and of almost +despairing determination. + +"Is that the way you help me?" he asked. + +Maurice drew a long, deep breath, and set his strong jaw with a resolve +not to abandon so easily the endeavor to bring his friend out of his +trouble. It hardly occurred to him for the moment that it was his own +cause that he was defending. + +"Phil," he persisted, "isn't it possible that after all we may be wrong +in making ourselves wiser than the church by taking vows that are not +required?" + +"Do you suppose that the devil has forgotten to say that to me over and +over again?" was the response. + +"Meaning that I am the old gentleman?" Maurice retorted, trying to be +lightsome. + +"Oh, don't joke. I can't stand it. I've been through so much, and this +is so terrible a thing to bear anyway." + +Wynne seized his rosary with one hand, and struck it across the other +so hard that the corner of the crucifix wounded his finger. + +"Phil, old fellow," he said gravely, "I never felt less like joking. It +cuts me to the quick to see you suffer; and I know how hard you will +take this. I know what it is, for I'm going through the same thing +myself, and I've about made up my mind that we are wrong. I begin to +think that celibacy is only a device that the early church somehow got +into when it was necessary to hold complete authority over the priest, +or when men thought that it was. It belongs to the Middle Ages; not to +the nineteenth century." + +"Then you don't see how marriage would be sure to interfere with a +man's zeal for his work?" + +"But it would certainly bring him into closer sympathy with humanity." + +Ashe shook his head. + +"You don't seem to realize," he said with a certain doggedness which +Wynne had seldom seen in him, "how it must absorb a man, and take +possession of his very reason. Why, see me. I know it is a sin to think +of her, and yet"--He broke off and choked. "Besides," he resumed +presently, "you say yourself that you feel as I do, and that means that +you are not looking at the thing fairly. You are trying to make your +conscience come round to the side of your desires." + +They walked on up the dingy street into which they had come, and for +some time nothing more was said. Maurice recognized that it was idle to +attempt to reply to the charge of his companion. He had made it to +himself and succumbed to it; but now that another stated it, he +instinctively found himself refusing to yield. He repeated to himself +that he was not trying to befool his conscience, but merely acting with +human sanity. + +Presently they came into a dusky court, and crossing it, found +themselves at the door of an ill-smelling tenement house. Here Ashe +turned suddenly, and faced his friend, his face full of strange +excitement. + +"Do you suppose," he said, in a voice which, though low, was full of +feeling, "that I do not know how absorbing a thing it is to give up +life to a woman? Here I am, when she is nothing to me, when I do not +mean ever to see her again, going into this place simply because here +she was half a minute in my arms, because here for two minutes she +looked at me as her preserver. It is sin, and I know it; but it is too +strong for me." + +"But, Phil," Maurice exclaimed in astonishment, "there is surely no +harm in going to see a sick woman." + +The other laughed bitterly. + +"So I told myself, and so I kept saying over and over till the talk +we've had forced me to stop lying to myself. I'm not going to see a +sick woman. I'm going to stand where she stood that day." + +"If you feel that way about it," Maurice said, putting his hand on the +other's arm, "you ought not to go in." + +"I will go in." + +"But obedience, Phil. Think what you were saying about the lecture." + +"Nobody has forbidden me," Ashe responded defiantly. "I will go in. I +had made up my mind before I came. Oh, I shall do penance enough for +it; you need not be afraid of that. I shall suffer enough for it." + +He started up the stairs, and Maurice followed blindly, full of +sympathy and dismay. + + + + XXII + + + THE BITTER PAST + All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3. + + +They found the old woman in bed, attended by a slatternly half-grown +girl, who was reading by the dying light a torn and dirty illustrated +paper. There was little furniture in the chamber; merely the frowsy +bed, a bare table, a single broken chair besides the one in which the +girl was sitting. The floor was bare and dirty; one of the window-panes +was broken and stuffed with a bundle of paper. There were a rusty +stove, a few dishes on the shelf, a kettle and a tin tea-pot. On the +window-sill by the bed were a medicine bottle and a cup. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Murphy?" Ashe asked. "Are you any better to-day?" + +"No better, thank yer riverince. I'll never be better again. My back is +broke, and the pain in me is like purgatory already." + +The slatternly girl laid her paper on her knees, but she neither rose +nor spoke. To Maurice she seemed to have an air of contempt. + +"I am sorry to hear it, Mrs. Murphy," said Ashe. "I thought that I +would drop in and ask after you." + +Maurice involuntarily glanced at him, surprised by the indifference of +the tone. Enlightened by the passionate words which had been spoken +below, he could see that Philip was preoccupied, and gave to the sick +woman no more than the barest semblance of attention. Ashe +mechanically inquired about Mrs. Murphy's wants, his thin cheeks +glowing and his eyes wandering about the room. He was apparently +reacting the scene of the fight, and presently he made a step or two +backward, so that he stood near the middle of the chamber. Here he took +his stand, and seemed to become lost in reverie. + +"Might as well set," remarked the girl, looking toward the unoccupied +chair. + +Maurice made a slight gesture inviting Philip to the seat; but Philip +remained where he was. Wynne realized that his companion must be +standing where he had supported Mrs. Fenton in his arms; and so +touching was the expression of Ashe's face that he felt his throat +contract. He turned away and looked out of the dim window over the +chimney-pots and the irregular roofs. + +"I'm used to falls," the sick woman said. "I've had plenty of 'em. I +left a good home and them as was good to me, to be beat and starved, +and murdered in the end. Women are all like that. If a man asks 'em, +they're always ready to cut their own throats. Sorry was the day for me +I ever left old Miss Hannah." + +Maurice turned toward the bed, his attention suddenly arrested. The +name was that by which his aunt had usually been called, and he seemed +to perceive in the talk of the woman something familiar. The +possibility that this battered old creature might be his nurse came to +him with a shock, so broken, so altered, so degraded was she; and as he +looked at her he rejected the idea as preposterous. + +"But your husband will be punished for his brutality," Ashe remarked +absently. + +He spoke like a man in a dream, as if his whole intent were fixed upon +something so widely apart from the present that he hardly knew what was +passing about him. + +"Who wants him punished?" cried out the sick woman with sudden shrill +vehemence. "That's what you rich folks are always after. Who asked the +lady to come here with her purse in her hand to tempt him when he +wasn't himself to know what he was doing? First you get him into a +scrape, and then you punish him for it! What for do I want Tim shut up +and me left to starve in me bed? If Tim's a little pleasant when he's +had a drop more'n would be handy for a priest, whose business is it but +mine? It's little comfort he gets, poor man; and he only takes what he +can get to keep up his spirits in these poor times, and me sick and +can't do for him." + +"That's what I say too, Mrs. Murphy," the slatternly girl aroused +herself to interpose. "Them as never had no hard times in their lives +is always ready to jump on a poor man when he's down." + +Maurice began to feel as if he were entangled in a strange and uncanny +dream. Philip seemed more and more to retire within himself, and Wynne +felt that he must do something to attract attention from his friend's +conduct. + +"We haven't anything to do with punishment, Mrs. Murphy," he said +soothingly, coming forward as he spoke. "We came only to see if there +is anything we can do to make you more comfortable." + +The old woman answered nothing, but she stared at him with wild eyes. + +"We may be able to make you more easy," he went on cheerfully, "if we +can't fix things for you just as they were at Aunt Hannah's." + +He used the name half unconsciously as the result of the suggestion of +old association and half with an impulse to prove the faint possibility +that this might be Norah Dolen. As he spoke Mrs. Murphy raised herself +on one elbow, stretching out a lean hand convulsively toward him. + +"Master Maurice!" she cried. "Holy Mother of Heaven, is it yourself?" + +He went to her quickly, and took the outstretched hand. + +"Yes, Norah. It is I." + +She gazed at him a moment with haggard eyes, and then a look of deep +tenderness came into the worn old face. + +"Blessed be the saints!" she murmured. "It's me own boy!" + +She drew her hand out of his grasp to stroke his arm and the folds of +his cassock. He sat down by her on the bed, and she fell back upon the +dingy pillow, breaking into hysterical tears. She caught one of his +hands and carried it to her lips, kissing it in a sort of rapture. + +"My own baby," she chuckled. "My Master Maurice so big and fine! I +always said you'd be taller than Master John." + +The allusion to his half-brother, dead nearly a dozen years, seemed to +carry him back into a past so remote that he could hardly remember it. +He smiled at Norah's enthusiasm, more moved by it than he cared to +show. + +"I've had time to grow big since you deserted us, Norah." + +A look of terror came into her face. + +"It wasn't my fault," she gasped, sobbing between her words. "Don't +believe it against me, me darling. I never went to hurt old Miss Hannah +in me life, and the saints knows how she died." + +"I never laid any blame on you," he answered. "I knew you wouldn't hurt +a fly." + +She broke into painful, hysterical laughter. + +"No more I wouldn't. To think it's me own baby boy that I've carried in +me arms, and him a priest!" + +The attendant, who had been watching in stupid and undisguised +curiosity, gave an audible sniff. + +"Oh, he ain't a real priest," she interrupted with brutal candor. +"They're just fakes. They ain't even Catholics." + +A pang of irritation shot through Maurice at the girl's words, but his +sense of humor asserted itself, and helped him to smile at his own +weakness. + +"But, Norah," he said, ignoring the taunt, "I want to know about +yourself. We've often tried to find you," he added, a sudden perception +of the possible importance of this recognition coming into his mind. +"You know we depended on you to tell us a lot of things at the time of +Aunt Hannah's death." + +"He told me you'd be after me," Norah exclaimed with rising excitement. +"He said you'd be laying it to me; but, Master Maurice, by the Mother +of Mercy, I never"-- + +"I know that," he interrupted, to check her excitement; "but why did +you go off in that way?" + +"She told me to go. She ordered me out of the house like a dog, just +because I wouldn't give up Tim when she'd accidentally seen him when +he'd had one drop more than the full of him,--and any poor body might +take a wee drop more'n he meant to take beforehand. She was that hot +in her way when her temper was up, rest her soul,--and that nobody +knows better than yourself,--that the devil himself couldn't hold her +with a pair of red-hot tongs,--saving the presence of your riverinces +for mentioning the Old Gentleman." + +Her momentary discomposure at having mentioned the arch fiend in the +presence of those who were his professional enemies gave Wynne a chance +to interpolate a question. He could easily understand that the violent +excitement of a quarrel with her old servant might account for the +sudden death of his aunt. He perceived in a flash how Norah, terrified +by the newspaper reports which had openly accused her of making way +with her mistress, would without difficulty be induced by her husband +to conceal herself. The matter to him most important, however, had not +yet been touched upon. + +"But what became of her will?" he asked. "You told me she made a new +one." + +"She did that, Master Maurice. Wasn't I night and day telling her she'd +treated you scandalous, and upside down of all reason; and didn't she +send for old Burnham, with the squinchy eyes and the wife that had a +wart on her nose, and have it all writ over." + +"So he said. But what became of it?" + +"Ain't you ever had it?" + +"No; we could never find it." + +"Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy +demanded in much excitement. + +"Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated. + +"The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures +on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you +should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while +before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in." + +"Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time." + +Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy +clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could +hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to +return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily +ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed +fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the +house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed +in silence. + +As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, +evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye. + +"Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly +fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?" + +"In the house we came out of," Maurice answered. "She's on the fifth +floor, at the front." + +The priest regarded him with some surprise in his look, and something, +too, of uncertainty. + +"You haven't been there, have you?" he asked. + +"Yes; we've just come from her place." + +"Then perhaps she won't want me," the priest remarked. "It'll save me a +good bit of a climb." + +"But we went only as friends," Maurice explained. "She might wish the +consolations of religion." + +"Then you did not"-- + +"We are not of your church," Maurice interrupted, flushing. + +The priest looked at them with a puzzled air. + +"But surely," he said, "you are Catholic. Haven't you been to me at the +confession?" + +Maurice had not at first recognized the priest to whom he had been in +the habit of confessing at St. Eulalia, but he had known him before +this announcement made Philip stare at him with a face of astonishment. + +"Yes," he responded steadily. "I have confessed to you at St. Eulalia, +but I am not of your communion." + +He turned, and walked away quickly, not looking at Phil. He resolved +not to bother his head about this unchancy encounter. It was awkward, +and the fact that he had never confided in Ashe seemed to give to these +visits to St. Eulalia an air almost of under-handedness; but there was +nothing wrong, he told himself, and he would not be vexed at this +moment when he was full of delight at the probability of discovering +the missing will. He was certainly in no danger of becoming a Catholic. +He smiled to think how little likely he was to exchange the too strict +rule of the Clergy House for one which might be more rigid still. The +keen thought now was the remembrance of the wealth which he hoped soon +to possess. + +"Phil, old man," he said joyously, "I believe I shall get Aunt Hannah's +money after all. I always felt that it belonged to me." + +"Yes," Ashe replied, so dully that Maurice turned to him quickly. + +"Come, Phil, don't answer me like that. What are you moping about?" + +There was no answer for a moment. Maurice, full of a fresh vigor born +of the discovery of the afternoon, was yet rebuked by the silence of +his friend. + +"Of course, Phil," he went on, "you know I don't mean anything unkind. +I am no end obliged to you for taking me there this afternoon. When we +go tomorrow"-- + +"I shall never go there again," Ashe interrupted. + +"Nonsense! Why not?" + +"I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go +again." + +A prickling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of +Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life +as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with +the monkish mood. + +"Oh, stuff, Phil!" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake don't be so morbid. +You talk like a medićval anchorite." + +Ashe regarded him with a look of pain. + +"It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice." + +"It is I," was the sturdy answer; "and it is I in a sane frame of mind, +old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see +that's the only fault you've committed." + +"Maurice," Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, "have you +thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?" + +The pronoun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his +friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being +forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to +define for himself. + +"Phil," he said determinedly, "I insist that your way of looking at +this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with +you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall +get my property after all." + +"But our lives are devoted to poverty." + +Maurice turned upon his friend, more exasperated than he had ever been +with him before in the whole course of their lives. + +"Look here, Phil," he declared, "if you want to be as mopish as a +mildewed owl yourself, that is no reason why you should try to make me +so too." + +There was no response to this, and in silence they went toward the +Clergy House. Just as they reached the door, Maurice turned quickly and +held out his hand to his friend. Ashe grasped it so hard that it ached; +and Maurice went to his room with a sigh on his lips, while in his +heart he said to himself, "Poor Philip!" + +Maurice went next day to see Mrs. Murphy, and for a number of days +thereafter. Norah was sinking, and clung to him with pathetic +tenderness. He learned not much more about the will. She was sure that +it had been concealed under the false bottom of a little traveling-desk +which he remembered, but beyond that she knew nothing. Maurice wrote to +Mr. Burnham, the family lawyer, and the question now was, what had +become of the desk? The effects of the testator had been sold at +auction, but as they had been largely bought by relatives, Maurice +believed that it would not be difficult to trace the missing document. + +The interest and excitement of this new business so occupied the +thoughts of Maurice that he almost ceased to think of religious +matters. Perhaps there was more danger to his monastic profession in +this indifference than in the most poignant doubt. He went through his +duties at the Clergy House cheerfully because he thought little about +them. They were part of the routine of life, and when the hour for +recreation came he laid all that aside. He even on one occasion wrote a +hurried note to Mr. Burnham in the hour for meditation, and it amazed +him when he thought of it that his conscience did not protest. He +reflected with a certain naive pleasure that it was possible after all +to modify the strict rules of the house without suffering undue +contrition afterward. The discovery might have seemed to Father +Frontford a dangerous one. + + + + XXIII + + + THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME + Measure for Measure, iv. 4. + + +So much was Maurice absorbed in his thought of the will and his +inquiries after it that he gave little consideration to the disquieting +plan of Father Frontford for the securing of Miss Morison's cooperation +in the election schemes. Several days having gone by without farther +allusion to the matter, he decided that his remonstrances had been +effective, and was greatly relieved to be freed from a task so +repugnant under any circumstances and made intolerable by his feeling +for Berenice. It was with a most painful shock, therefore, that he one +day received from the Father the information that Miss Morison had +returned to Boston. He met the Father Superior in the hall one morning +after matins, and although it was a silent hour the latter spoke. + +"It is better to see her at once," he added. "Mrs. Frostwinch is very +low, and the sooner the thing is settled the better." + +"But," stammered Maurice, "I"-- + +"I think," the other went on, ignoring the interruption, "that it will +be best for you to call on her this afternoon at exercise hour. She is +likely to be at home then, and it will be rather early for other +visitors." + +Maurice struggled with himself, endeavoring to shake off the influence +which this man always exercised over him. He determined to speak, and +to decline the hateful errand. + +"Father Frontford," he said with an effort, "I cannot undertake this." + +"My son," the other responded with gentle severity, "you forget that +this is a silent hour. Although I may speak to you on affairs +concerning the church, that does not give you the right to answer +irrelevantly." + +"It is not irrelevantly," Maurice protested, feeling his growing +irritation strengthen his resolve. "I"-- + +The voice of the old priest was more stern as he interrupted. + +"You seem to forget entirely your vow of obedience. There is little +merit," he added, his tone softening persuasively, "in service which is +easy and pleasant. It is in the sacrifice of self and our own +inclinations that we gain the conquest of self. Go, my son, and pray to +be forgiven for pride and insubordination. Do you think that you would +be objecting if it were not for the wound to your vanity which this +work inflicts? You may repeat ten _paters_ for having violated the rule +of silence." + +Maurice moved away, feeling that he dared not trust himself to speak +again. To be thus treated like a willful child galled his pride and +quickened all the obstinacy of his nature. + +"The rule of silence!" he said to himself angrily as he went. "Are we +in the Middle Ages?" + +It came to him as a sort of jeer from an outside intelligence that +after all they were trying to ape mediaeval discipline. He had been for +weeks coming to the point where the whole monastic life seemed to him +fantastic and theatrical; and now that his personal liberty was so +sharply assailed, his self-respect so threatened, he was prepared to +see everything in the most unfavorable light. He laughed bitterly in +his mind at the tangle he was in, and contempt for himself and for the +community took hold of his very soul. + +Yet he was not ready to throw off allegiance. The bonds of habit are +strong; the power of old belief is stronger; and strongest of all is +that vanity which holds a man back from the avowal that he has been +mistaken in his most ardent professions. It is one thing to change a +conviction; it is quite another to acknowledge that a belief formerly +upheld with ardor is now outgrown. It is not simply the ignoble shame +of fearing the opinion of others that is involved in such a case, but +that of losing confidence in one's own judgment, of standing convicted +of error in that inner court of consciousness where all disguises are +stripped away and all excuses vain. To see that even the most +passionate conviction may have been mistaken is to feel profound and +disquieting doubt of all that human faith may compass; it is to seem to +be helpless in the midst of baffling and sphinx-like perplexities. +Maurice was already at the point where he could hardly be regarded as +holding his old opinions, but he had not reached that of being ready to +confess that he had been wrong in a matter so vital that error in it +would involve the whole reordering of his life and leave him with no +standards of faith. + +He was, moreover, noble in his impulses, and he had too long been bred +in introspection not to perceive now that he was greatly influenced by +his inclinations. He was too honest not to be aware that there was as +much passion as reason in his revulsion from the monastic life, and +that Berenice Morison's perfections weighed as heavily in the scale as +any shortcomings of theology. He reproached himself stoutly, in +thoroughly monkish fashion, and ended by resolving that obedience was a +duty; that the errand on which he was sent was one which would abase +his sinful pride and must be executed for the benefiting of his +spiritual condition. + +He said this to himself sincerely, yet he was human, and behind all was +the consciousness that in this bad business there was at least the +consolation that he should be face to face with Berenice. If +humiliation was doubly bitter by being wrought through his love, at +least his love might find some scanty comfort in the very means of his +humiliation. + +When the hour for exercise, four in the afternoon, came, Maurice set +out on his mission. He had blushed at himself in the mirror for the +solicitude with which he regarded his image, but he had tried to +believe that this arose only from a disinterested anxiety to appear at +his best in behalf of the object which he was sent to accomplish. + +Miss Morison was living with Mrs. Frostwinch, and as Maurice walked +buoyantly along, forgetting his errand and only remembering that he was +to see her, he recalled how on the day when they had first met he had +walked home with her from Mrs. Gore's. He recalled the pretty, willful +turn of her head and the saucy side-glance of her eyes, the proud curve +of her neck, the color on her cheeks delicate as the first peach- +blossom in spring. That he had no right thus to be thinking of a woman +perhaps added a certain piquancy to his thought; but he quieted his +conscience with the reflection that he was in the path of duty, and of +a duty, moreover, which was likely to prove sufficiently hard and +humiliating. + +Miss Morison was at home, and would see Mr. Wynne. + +The high reception room in which he waited for her had a gloomy +formality, a sort of petrified respectability, most discouraging. On +the wall was a large painting, evidently a copy from some famous +original, although Maurice did not know what. The picture represented a +painter with a model in the dress of a nun. The artist was evidently +engaged in painting a saint for some convent, a beautiful sister had +been chosen as his model, and he was improving the opportunity to make +love to her. Her reluctant and remorseful yielding was evident in every +line of her figure as she allowed the painter to steal his arm around +her waist and bend his lips toward hers. Wynne looked at the picture +with vague disquiet. Here was the struggle of the natural human impulse +against the constraint of ascetic vows; the irresistible yielding to +nature and to the call of a passion interwoven with the very fibres of +humanity. The sombre Boston parlor vanished, and he seemed to be in +some old-world nunnery with the unknown lovers. He felt all their +guilty bliss and their scalding remorse. He sighed so deeply that the +soft laugh behind him seemed almost an echo. Turning quickly, he found +Berenice watching him with a teasing smile on her lips. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," she said, holding out her hand, +"but you were so absorbed in Filippo and his Lucretia that you paid no +attention to me." + +"I beg your pardon," he responded, taking her hand cordially. "I was +looking at the picture and wondering what it represented." + +"It is that reprobate Filippo Lippi and Lucretia Buti, the nun that he +ran away with. Why it pleased the fancy of my grandfather, I'm sure I +can't imagine. Sit down, please. It is a long time since I have seen +you, and now that Lent is coming, I suppose that you will be lost to +the world altogether." + +He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted +him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild +geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then +without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at +the Lucretia. Berenice laughed frankly. + +"Are you comparing us?" she asked gayly. "Or are you trying to decide +what I would have done in her case? I can tell you that." + +"What would you have done?" + +"Done? I would have run away from him and the convent both! Do you +think I was made to be cooped up in a nunnery if I could escape?" + +"No," he answered with fervor, "you were certainly not made for that." + +"That is an unclerical answer from a monk." + +"I am not a monk." + +She put her head a little on one side with delicious coquetry. + +"Would it be rude to ask what you are, then?" + +He regarded her a moment, and then with explosive vehemence he broke +out:-- + +"I am a deacon who has not taken the vows, and I am a man who loves you +with his whole soul!" + +She paled, and then flushed to her temples. She cast her eyes down, and +seemed to be struggling for self-control. He did not offer to touch +her, although his throat contracted with the intensity of his effort to +maintain his outward calm. Then she looked up with a smile light and +cold. + +"We are not called upon to play Filippo and Lucretia in reversed +parts," she said. "I am not trying to tempt you away from your calling. +Wouldn't it be better to talk about the weather?" + +He was unable to answer her, but sat staring with hot eyes into her +face, feeling its beauty like a pain. + +"It has been very cold for the season during the past week," she went +on. + +"Miss Morison," he retorted hotly, "I had no right to say that, but you +needn't insult me. It is cruel enough as it is." + +Her face softened a little, but she ignored his words. + +"Tell me," she remarked, as if more personal subjects had not come into +the conversation, "what are the chances of the election? I hear so many +things said that I have ceased to have any clear ideas on the subject +at all." + +Maurice sat upright, throwing back his shoulders. This girl should not +get the better of him. He lifted his head, his nostrils distending. + +"It is too soon to speak with certainty," he responded; "but it is in +regard to that that I came--that I was sent to see you this afternoon. +We are under vows of obedience at the Clergy House." + +He said this defiantly, fancying he saw in her face a smile at the idea +of his servitude. + +"You will regard what I say as the words of a messenger." + +"All?" she interrupted. + +He flushed with confusion, but he was determined that he would not +again lose control of himself. + +"All that I _shall_ say," he responded. "What I have said is to be +forgotten." + +"By me or by you?" she asked, dimpling into a smile so provoking that +he had to look away from her or he should have given in. + +"By you," was his reply; but he could not help adding under his breath: +"If you wish to forget it." + +She laughed outright. + +"I will consider the matter. But this errand from the powers that be at +the Clergy House; I am curious about that." + +"You will remember," he urged, his face falling, "that it is only a +message for which I have no responsibility." + +"Certainly; although you would of course bring no message of which you +didn't approve." + +"I am not asked whether I approve or disapprove. It is the decision of +the Father Superior that it should be said; and that is the whole of +it." + +"Well," she inquired, as he paused, unable to go on, "after this +tremendous preamble, what is it?" + +It seemed to Maurice that he could not say it; but he cleared his +throat, and forced himself to look her in the face. + +"It has to do with your inheritance of the--your inheritance through +Mrs. Frostwinch." + +"My inheritance? What do you mean?" she demanded, suddenly becoming +grave. + +As briefly as possible he explained to her the errand which had been +given to him. He could see indignation gathering in her look. + +"But who has told Father Frontford that Mrs. Frostwinch is so ill?" she +broke out at last. "Cousin Anna is not so well since she came from the +South, but that is all. It is shameful to be speculating on her death +and disposing of her property as if she were buried already! I wonder +at you!" + +Wynne smiled bitterly. + +"I have already said that I had nothing whatever to do with the +matter," he answered. + +"You had no right to come to me with such a message. It puts me in the +position of waiting for her death! Oh, it's an insult! It's an insult +to me and to Cousin Anna! What will she think?" + +"She will think nothing," he said, roused by a sense of her injustice, +"because she will never know." + +"Why will she not?" + +"Because if it is cruel for me to say a thing which harms nobody except +me for bringing the message, it would be a thousand times more cruel +for you to tell your cousin that her death was counted on." + +He rose as he spoke, and stood looking down on her with the full +purpose of constraining her to his will. She sprang up in her turn. + +"Very well; I will not tell her. You may say to Father Frontford from +me that it will be time enough for him to undertake the disposal of my +property when it is mine. I thank him for his officiousness!" + +"You are unjust to Father Frontford. I have made his wish seem +offensive by the way I have put it, I suppose. At any rate, he is +simply seeking the good of the church." + +"And to have himself made bishop." + +"He would vote to-morrow for any man that he thought would do better +than he can do. He would support Mr. Strathmore himself if he believed +it well for the church. I do not find myself in sympathy with +everything that he does, but I know him, and of one thing I am sure: he +would be burned alive in slow fires to advance the good of the church." + +She looked at him curiously. Then she turned away in seeming +carelessness, and began to arrange some pink roses which stood in a big +vase on a table near at hand. + +"Good-by," he said. "I am sorry to have offended you." + +"Must you go?" responded she with a society manner which cut him to the +quick. "Let me give you a rose." + +She broke one off, and handed it to him. He took it awkwardly, wholly +at a loss to understand her. + +"They are lovely, aren't they?" she said. "Mr. Stanford sent them to me +this morning." + +He looked at her until her eyes fell. Then he laid the rose on the +table near the hand which had given it to him, and without further +speech went out. + + + + XXIV + + + FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL, AND EVER + Richard II., ii. 2. + + +Although Ashe had said that he should not go again to the poverty- +stricken dwelling of Mrs. Murphy, he found himself a few days later +beside her bed. Word had been brought to him that she was dying, and +that she begged to see him before her death. There was no resisting a +call like this, and on a gloomy afternoon he had gone down to the dingy +court, torn by memories and worn with inward struggles. + +He found the old woman almost speechless with weakness. The room was +more comfortable, and he knew that Maurice had been at work. The +slatternly girl was in attendance, and there was also the pleasant- +faced priest whom Philip and Maurice had encountered in the court. The +priest had come with an acolyte to administer the last rites, and the +woman had made her confession. So intent, however, was Mrs. Murphy upon +the purpose for which she had summoned Ashe that she cried out to him +as he entered, and apparently for the moment forgot all else. + +Ashe looked at the priest in apology, but the latter said kindly:-- + +"Let her speak to you, and then she will be done with things of this +earth." + +It was the safety of her husband for which the poor creature was +concerned. It was on her mind that Ashe and Mrs. Fenton could save him +from punishment if they chose. She pleaded piteously with Philip to +have the prisoner set free. + +"He'll be all alone of me," she moaned. "That'll be more punishment +than you're thinking, your riverince. He'll come out of jail sober, and +he'll remember how he had me to do for him night and day these long +years. He'll not be liking that, your riverince; and he'll be uneasy to +think maybe he had some small thing to do with it himself. Not that I +say he did," she added hastily. "His little fun wouldn't be the cause +of harm to me as is used to his ways, but maybe he'll be after thinking +so. It's the fever I have, from poor living, and maybe from being so +long without Tim and worrying the heart out of my body for him, and he +there in jail. Only if you'll promise to let him go, you and the sweet +lady that very likely didn't know his pleasant ways when he had a drop +too much, you'd make it easier dying without him." + +She gasped out her words as if every syllable were an effort, her eyes +appealing with a wildness which touched his heart. The girl went to the +bed and leaned over, taking in hers the thin, withered hand. + +"There, there, Mrs. Murphy," she said, "of course the gentleman'll do +it. He couldn't have the heart to resist your dying prayer." + +"I am ready to do all I can, Mrs. Murphy," Philip stammered, struggling +with his conscience to promise as much as he could; "and I'll see Mrs. +Fenton. I'm sure she won't wish to have anything done that you would +not like." + +The sick woman burst into weak tears, stammering half inarticulate +blessings. + +"I don't know," Philip began, feeling that it was not honest to give +her the impression that he could set her husband free, "how much"-- + +The priest crossed to him and laid a hand quickly on his shoulder. + +"Whist!" he said in Philip's ear. "There's no need of troubling her +with that. You'll do what you can, and the rest's with heaven that is +good to the poor." + +Mrs. Murphy had not heard or heeded what Ashe said, and still mumbled +her thanks while the Father prepared to administer the viaticum. The +acolyte and the girl looked at Ashe as if expecting him to withdraw. + +"May I remain?" Philip asked, looking at the priest with deep feeling. + +The other regarded him benignly. + +"Remain, my brother; and may the Holy Virgin bless the sacrament to +your soul as well as to hers." + +Ashe could not have told why he had yielded to the impulse to stay. He +had for months been coming more and more to feel that the church of +Rome was his true refuge, yet he hardly now dared confess this to +himself. He had been deeply affected by the discovery that Maurice had +been to confession at St. Eulalia, and he longed himself to follow the +example of his friend. To Ashe, however, it seemed like trifling with +sacred things, and he could not do it. Now as he knelt on the unclean +and uneven floor of that sordid chamber he experienced a peace and a +security such as he had never before known. He was moved almost to +tears; yet he would not yield. + +"It is not Rome," he insisted to himself. "It is the simple faith of +these poor souls. That is beautiful and holy. It would be easy for me +to think that I was becoming a Catholic." + +He left as soon as the rite was concluded, but the memory of it +remained. + +He saw Mrs. Fenton on the afternoon following. He had not been alone +with her since his mad declaration of love. He wished now to meet her +calmly, yet the moment he entered her house his heart quickened its +beating. He was no longer a priest bent on an errand of mercy; he was +an ardent lover, acutely conscious that he was in the rooms through +which she passed day by day, that in a moment he should see her, hear +her voice, perhaps touch her hand. He was shown into the library where +she was sitting, and she rose to greet him frankly and simply. + +"She was not touched by what happened in the carriage," Philip said to +himself, with the woeful wisdom of love, "or she could not so +completely ignore it." + +"How do you do, Mr. Ashe?" she said with perfect calmness. "You are +just in time for a cup of tea. I am having mine early, because I came +in a little chilled." + +He was too confused with the joy of her presence to decline. + +"I have come on an errand which is not over pleasant," he remarked, +watching her handling the cups, "and I am afraid that it is useless +too." + +"Does that mean that it is something you wish me to do but think I'm +too hard-hearted or selfish to agree to?" + +"It is not a question of willingness so much as of power. Mrs. Murphy +is dying,--very likely by this time she is not living,--and she begs us +to save her husband from being punished." + +"But how could that be done?" + +"I doubt if it could be done; but I promised her that I would speak to +you. I suppose that if we did not give evidence there would not be much +that could be told; but I hardly think that we have the right not to." + +Mrs. Fenton thoughtfully regarded the fire a moment; then seemed to be +recalled to the present by the active boiling of the little silver +teakettle. + +"I'm afraid women would drive justice out of the world if they had +their way," she said with a smile. + +He smiled in reply, full of delight in her mere presence. They talked +the matter over, arriving at some sort of a compromise between their +sympathy for the dying woman and their feeling that a man like Murphy +should be dealt with by the law. They came for the moment to seem to be +on the old footing of simple friendliness, while she made the tea and +they discussed the situation. + +"One lump or two?" Mrs. Fenton asked, pausing with tongs suspended over +the sugar. + +"Two," answered he. "I am afraid I am self-indulgent in my tea, but +then I very seldom take it." + +"So small an indulgence," she said, handing him his cup, "does not seem +to me to indicate any great moral laxity." + +"It is the principle of the thing," Philip returned, smiling because +she smiled. + +Mrs. Fenton shook her head. + +"Come," she said, "this is a good time for me to say something that has +been in my mind for a long time. You may think that it isn't my affair, +but I can't help saying that it seems to me you have allowed yourself +to get into a frame of mind that is rather--well, that isn't entirely +healthy. I hope you don't think me too presuming." + +"You could not be," was his reply; "but I do not understand what you +mean." + +She had grown graver, and leaned back in her chair with downcast eyes. + +"I hardly know how to say it," she began slowly, "but you seem to me to +be feeling rather morbidly about the virtue of personal discomfort. If +you will pardon me, I can't think that you really believe it to be any +merit in the sight of heaven that a man should make himself needlessly +uncomfortable." + +"But if the mortification of the flesh helps us to"-- + +She put up her hand and interrupted him. + +"I am a good churchwoman, but I am not able to believe in scoring off +the sins of the soul by abusing the body. The old monks scourging +themselves and the Hindus swinging by hooks in their backs seem to me +both pathetically mistaken, and both to be moved by the same feelings." + +"Then you do not believe in asceticism at all?" + +"Mr. Fenton used to say that asceticism was the most insolent insult to +Heaven that human vanity ever invented." + +"But if we are to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts," +Ashe broke out, his inner excitement bursting forth through his +calmness, "if we are to give way to the joys of this life, if--Do you +not see, Mrs. Fenton, that this covers so much? It goes down into the +depths of a man's heart. It comes almost at once, for instance, to the +question of the marriage of priests." + +She flushed, and her manner grew perceptibly colder. + +"That is naturally not a subject that I care to go into," she said; +"but I have no scruple against saying that I do not believe in a +celibate priesthood. In our church and our time, it is out of place." + +"But it is the supreme test whether a man is willing to give up all his +earthly joy for the service of Heaven." + +She frowned slightly, and he realized how significant his manner must +have been. + +"The marriage of the clergy is not a subject that it seems to me +necessary for us to discuss," she said. + +"Mrs. Fenton," Philip said, "I have given you too good a right to be +offended with me once, but I must say something that I fear may offend +you again. It is not about myself. It is about a better man." + +She looked at him in evident surprise and disquiet. + +"I asked what you think of the marriage of the clergy," he went on, +"because it seems to me right to tell you that Mr. Candish loves you." + +She flushed to her temples, starting impulsively in her seat. + +"Mr. Ashe," she said vehemently, "what right have you to talk to me of +such subjects at all?" + +"None," he answered, "none at all,--unless--None that you would +recognize; but I wish to atone for the wrong I did in speaking to you, +and to say what he would never say. If it were possible that you cared +for him, I should perhaps help you both." + +"You forget, I think, that I have been married." + +"I do not forget anything," Philip returned desperately. "It is only +that he is a good man, a noble man, a man that would never have fallen +under his weakness as I did, and if you cared for him, he is too fine +to be allowed to suffer. He loved you long before I ever saw you." + +"He has never given me any sign of it." + +Her flushed cheeks and something in the way in which she said this +seemed to him to indicate that she did love Candish. He had been moved +by the most sincere desire to sacrifice his own will and happiness to +the well-being of the woman he loved, and if it were that she loved his +rival he had been ready to forget everything but that. Now by a quick +revulsion it seemed to him that he could not endure the success of this +man whose cause he had been pleading. + +"Ah!" he cried, bending toward her, "you love him!" + +She rose indignantly to her feet. + +"Your impertinence is amazing!" she exclaimed. "It is time that +somebody told you the truth. It is hard for me to say unkind things to +one who has saved my life, but you ought to know how you appear. You +have got yourself into a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind and body; +and unless you get out of it you will ruin your whole career. Does it +seem to you that a man who has so little control over himself is a fit +leader for others? Can't you see that you have brooded over this +question of celibacy until you are completely morbid? Find some +wholesome, right-minded woman, Mr. Ashe; love her and marry her, and be +done with all this wretched, unwholesome mawkishness. As for me, when I +married once, I married for life. My son will never be given a second +father." + +He had risen also, and his self-possession had returned to him. + +"I have annoyed you," he said with a new dignity. "You are perhaps +right in saying that I am morbid, but in what I said to-day I was +trying to put self entirely out of the question. There is only one +thing more that I want to say; and that is that it is not fair to judge +our order by me. I know only too well how natural it is that you +should think all the men at the Clergy House weak and despicable like +me; but that is not so. They are sincere, self-forgetful fellows. You +have seen my friend Wynne. He, for instance, is as manly and fine and +honest as any man alive." + +"I do not misjudge them or you, Mr. Ashe. I only feel that in these +past weeks you have not been yourself. We will forget it all, and I +hope that you will forgive me if I have hurt you." + +"I have nothing to forgive. It is you who must do that. Good-by." + +He went away with the remembrance of her beautiful eyes looking in pity +into his, and once more the phrase of the Persian came into his mind +like a refrain: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a +slave!" + + + + XXV + + + WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED + Comedy of Errors, i. I + + +Maurice soon heard from his lawyer that the missing desk had passed +into the hands of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Singleton, and that that lady +was staying at Montfield as the guest of Mrs. Ashe. He determined to go +down himself, feeling unwilling to trust business so important to any +other. In order to leave the Clergy House, it was necessary to have +permission from the Father Superior, and on Monday of Shrove week Wynne +requested what the deacons jestingly called among themselves a +dispensation. He did not think it honest to conceal the reason for his +wishing leave of absence, and briefly related the story of his finding +his old nurse and of her revelation. + +"Poor old Norah is dead," he concluded, "but I had her affidavit taken, +and if the will can be found there should be no difficulty in +establishing it. The other witnesses are alive." They were sitting in +the Father's study, a room severely plain in its furnishings, like all +the apartments in the Clergy House. The table by which the Superior sat +was covered with papers and letters, the signs of the large +correspondence which Wynne knew Frontford to keep up with members of +his order in England and this country. The furniture was stiff and +uncompromising, the windows covered only by plain shades, while the +bookshelves took an austere air from the dull leather of the bindings +of their tall, formal volumes. Father Frontford leaned back in his +uncushioned chair and pressed together his thin finger-tips in the +gesture which was habitual with him, regarding the young man with keen +eyes. + +"This property, if I understand you rightly, is now in the possession +of the church?" + +"It was given by the will that was found to the church and to missions. +Some of it went to the founding of a home for invalid priests. My aunt +was the one of my relatives who was a churchwoman." + +"And if you succeed in finding and establishing this new will, you mean +to divert the money to your own use?" + +"If the will is valid, is not the money mine?" + +The Father looked at him a moment before he answered. Then he sighed. + +"My son," he asked, "would you have put that question six months ago?" + +Maurice flushed, but he did not wish to show that he understood. + +"Why not?" he demanded. + +"There was not then in your heart a wish to wrest property from the +church that you might enjoy it yourself." + +"I haven't any wish now to take from the church anything which is not +mine already." + +"By divine right or by human?" the Father inquired with cold +inflexibility. + +Maurice began to be irritated. He felt that he was being treated with +too high a hand. + +"Have I no rights as a man?" demanded he warmly. + +The other sighed once more, and a look of genuine pain came into his +face. + +"My son," he said with a gentleness which touched Maurice in spite of +himself, "when you gave yourself to the church, did you keep back part +of the price? Was not your gift all you were and all you might +possess?" + +Maurice was silent. He could not for shame answer, that he did not then +know that he had so much to give, and he realized too that this would +then have made no difference. He felt as if he were now being held to a +pledge which he had never meant to make, yet he could not see what +reply there was to the words of the Superior. He cast down his eyes, +but he said in his heart that he would not yield his claim; that the +demand was unjust. + +"I have for some time," Father Frontford went on, "in fact ever since +your return, seen with pain that your heart is no longer single to the +good of the church. An earthly passion has eaten into your soul. Your +confessions are evidently attempts to satisfy your own conscience by +telling as little as possible of the doubts which you have been +harboring in your heart. Now there is given you an opportunity to see +for yourself, without the possibility of disguise, what your true +feeling is. The question now is whether you are seeking your own will +or the good of religion. Will you fail us and yourself?" + +Maurice was touched by the tone in which this was said. While he had +been growing to be less and less in sympathy with Father Frontford and +with the ideals which the brotherhood represented, he had never for an +instant ceased to believe in the sincerity of the Superior. He might +think him narrow, mistaken, even at times so blinded by desire for the +success of the brotherhood as to become almost Jesuitical in method; +but he felt that the Father lived faithful to his belief, ready, if the +cause required, to sacrifice himself utterly. He could not but be moved +by the appeal which the priest made, and by the genuine feeling which +rang through every word. + +"Father," he said, raising his eyes to the face of the other, "I cannot +deny that I am less satisfied about our faith than I used to be. I can +see now that I perhaps have not been entirely frank in confession, +though I hadn't recognized it before. I cannot go into a discussion of +my doubts now. I am not in a mood to talk with you when we must look at +so many things from different points of view. I haven't hidden from you +anything that has happened, and you could not be persuaded that all the +change in me has not come from the fact that I--has not come from my +feeling toward--my feeling about marriage. This is not true. Everything +has changed; and while I may be wrong, I have been trying to act +conscientiously. I feel that it is right for me to follow up this +matter of my aunt's will; and if I cannot make you share my feeling, I +can only say that I don't wish to do anything that seems to me wrong." + +The other smiled sadly. + +"What does that mean in plainer words?" asked he. "It means that you do +not wish to do wrong because whatever you desire will seem to you +right." + +"You are unjust!" Maurice retorted, flushing. + +The face of the Father grew stern. "Since when did the rule of the +order allow you to use such language to your superiors? If you are not +thinking of evading your vows, you do evade them daily; and the +throwing them off can be nothing but an affair of time." + +Maurice felt that he could not endure this longer without breaking out +into words which he should afterward repent. He rose at once. + +"Will you permit me to retire?" he said. "I shall be glad of your +answer to my request for leave of absence, but I cannot go on with this +conversation." + +The other stretched out his hand with a gesture infinitely tender. + +"My son!" he entreated. "Do not stray into the wilderness!" + +Maurice looked at the outstretched hand. His eyes moistened, but he +could not yield. He felt tenderness for Father Frontford, but he was +more and more at war with the Father Superior. For an instant they +remained thus, and then the thin hand dropped. + +"You are then still resolute in asking leave?" the Father said, in his +coldest voice. + +"It seems to me my duty to see that if possible the last wishes of my +aunt be carried out." + +"Is that your only motive?" + +Maurice flushed hotly, but he looked the other boldly in the face. + +"I must allow you to impute to me any motive you please. The point is +whether I am to have your permission." + +"Under the circumstances I do not feel justified in granting it. We +will speak of the matter again, when you have examined your heart more +carefully." + +Maurice bowed and left the room in silence, his spirit hot within him. +That he should be denied had not entered his mind. He was now confused +by the conflict in his thoughts. To disobey would be equivalent to +nothing less than a defiance of the authority of the Father Superior. +To assert his right to decide this matter could only mean a resolve to +break away from the brotherhood altogether. He was hardly prepared for +a step so extreme; yet he could not but ask himself whether he were +willing to accept the conditions involved in remaining. He realized for +the first time what the vow of obedience meant. He had received the +slight sacrifices involved thus far in his novitiate as right and +proper; simple things which had marked his willingness to yield to the +authority which by his own choice was above him. Now he said to himself +that to continue this life was to become a mere puppet; to give up +independence and manhood itself. + +On the other hand, he had not been bred in theological subtilties +without having come to see that the act cannot be judged without the +motive, and he had been more nearly touched by the words of Father +Frontford than he would have been willing to confess. He knew that he +had been hiding from his confessor the extent to which a longing for +the world had taken possession of him; that there was in this wish to +secure the will and through it the property an eagerness to be +independent of control and to take his place in the world as a man +among men. The thought that the money was now in the hands of the +church to which he had pledged himself tormented him. There came into +his mind the question what he would do with the wealth if he obtained +it. He had vowed himself to poverty, at least in his intention. If he +had this fortune and became a priest, he would be pledged to endow the +church with all his worldly goods. + +He faced his inner self with sudden defiance, as if he had thrown off a +disguise cunningly but weakly worn. He confessed with frankness that he +had secretly desired this money that he might be in a position to gain +Berenice. He pleaded with himself that he did not mean to abandon the +priesthood; that he had simply discovered that he had not a vocation +for the existence he had contemplated. He tried to see some way in +which he might gain the end he desired without giving up the faith he +professed; and in the end he succeeded only in getting his mind into a +confusion so great that it seemed impossible to think of anything +clearly. + +He had an errand at Mrs. Wilson's on Shrove Tuesday, and she invited +him to accompany her to midnight service at the Church of the Nativity. +When he repeated the request to Father Frontford, he was given +permission to go. + +"It is an unusual, and even an extraordinary request," the Superior +said; "but Mrs. Wilson is so deeply interested in the welfare of the +brotherhood that it is better to make a concession. What time are you +to meet her?" + +"She is to send her carriage for me at half past eleven. She was so +sure that you would not object that she told me not to send any word." + +"It is not well to have her treat so great a departure from rules as a +matter of course," the Father answered gravely. "I will send her a note +which will show her this. You have permission not to retire at the +usual hour." + +The carnival season was celebrated at the Clergy House with a meal +better than usual, and with some gayety on the part of the young +deacons. The light-hearted Southerner improved to the full the +permission to talk at dinner, and chatted away with a volubility which +seemed to Maurice to indicate a nature too buoyant or too shallow to be +deeply stirred. Father Frontford was absent, and there was nothing to +throw a shadow of restraint over the feast, the other priests being +almost as boyish as the deacons. + +"Here's Wynne," the Southerner said laughing, "is as glum as if he were +Lent incarnate, come six hours too soon. You must have a good deal on +your conscience to be so solemn." + +Maurice smiled, trying to shake off his depression. + +"It isn't always what is on one's conscience," he retorted, "so much as +how tender the conscience is." + +"Good! He has you there, Ballentyne," one of the deacons cried. + +"Oh, not at all. If a conscience is tender, it must be because it is +harrowed up. Now Wynne has probably vexed his so that it is habitually +sore." + +Maurice was out of the mood of the company, but he tried to answer with +a light word. The jesting seemed to him trifling; and his companions, +compared to the men he had seen during his stay with Mrs. Staggchase, +appeared like boys chattering at boarding-school. He wondered where +they had been for their absence; then he remembered that they had all +told him, and that he had forgotten. He had had no real interest in +them after all, he reflected; and at the thought he reproached himself +with egotism and a lack of brotherliness. He glanced at Ashe, and was +struck by the paleness of his friend. His look was perhaps followed by +Ballentyne, for the latter commented on the downcast aspect of Philip. + +"Ashe," the young man said, "looks ten times more doleful than Wynne. +What have you fellows been doing? One would think that you had been +eating the bitterest of all the apples of Sodom." + +"They have been in the gay world," another rejoined. + +"Then they might be set up as a warning against it," was the retort. + +Laughter that one cannot share is more nauseous than sweets to the +sick; and this harmless trifling was intolerable to Maurice. He got +away from it as soon as it was possible, and passed the heavy hours in +his chamber, waiting for the coming of the carriage. He tried at first +to read and then to pray; but in the end he abandoned himself to bitter +reverie. + +He did not attempt to reason, he merely gave way to gloomy retrospect, +without sequence or order. Seen in the light of his experiences during +the past weeks, his life looked poor, and dull, and misdirected. It was +little comfort to assert that he had at least been true to ideals high, +no matter how mistaken. + +"It is not what one does," he thought, "but the intention with which he +does it. Only that does not excuse one for being stupid, and raw, and +ignorant. When a man is a weakling and a fool, he always takes refuge +in the excuse that he is at least fine in his intentions. Bah! No +wonder she laughed at me! I have shut myself up with ideas as mouldy as +a mediaeval skeleton, and when I come to daylight all that I can say is +that I meant well. I suppose an idiot means well from his point of +view!" + +He looked about for something which should divert him from thoughts so +tormenting. His eye fell upon his Bible, and he took it up half +mechanically. On the title page was written the name of his aunt, to +whom it had once belonged. The name brought back the interview with +Father Frontford, and the refusal of his request for leave of absence. + +"Nothing belongs to me," he said to himself. "I am a thing, a sort of +thing like a numbered prisoner. How could she care for a chattel, a +creature without even identity! I will go down to Montfield. I am not +yet so completely out of the world that I can't have a word in the +disposition of my own property." + +He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep was +impossible. He only thought the more hotly and wildly. The hours +stretched on and on interminably before he heard the bell ring, and +knew that the carriage had come. Rising hastily, he adjusted his +cassock and his tumbled hair, and went down. + +"Perhaps I may find peace at the mass," he sighed with a great +wistfulness. + +The fresh, cool air of night was grateful, and as he was driven along +the quiet streets, a new hopefulness came to him. He had supposed that +he was to be taken to Mrs. Wilson's, and when the carriage stopped was +surprised to find himself before a large building which he did not +recognize. + +"But I was to meet Mrs. Wilson," he said doubtfully to the footman who +opened the carriage door. + +"Mrs. Wilson is here, sir," was the answer. "She said to carry you +here. James is inside to tell you what to do." + +A footman was indeed within, waiting for him. + +"Mrs. Wilson says will you please come to her, sir," the man said, and +led the way upstairs. + +The sound of gay music, growing louder as he advanced, filled Wynne's +ears. He began to feel disquieted, and once half halted. + +"Are you sure there is no mistake?" he asked. + +"Oh, no mistake at all, sir," his guide answered. "Mrs. Wilson has +arranged everything. Leave your hat and cloak here, sir, if you +please." + +Maurice mechanically did as requested, but as he threw off his outer +garment the opening of a door let in a burst of music which seemed so +close at hand that he was startled. He was in what was evidently a +coat-room, the attendant of which regarded him with open curiosity; and +he realized suddenly that he must be near a ball-room. + +"Where am I?" he demanded. + +"It's the ball, sir, that they has to end the season before Lent. It's +Lent to-morrow, sir, as I thought you'd know." + +Maurice stared at him in amazement and anger. + +"There is a mistake," he said. "Give me my cloak." + +"Indeed, sir," the man said, holding back the garment he had taken, +"Mrs. Wilson said, sir, that I was to say that she particular wanted +you to come fetch her in the ball-room, sir; and I was to bring you +without fail." + +"You may send her word that I am here." + +"Please, sir," the man returned, in a voice which struck Maurice as +absurdly pleading, "she was very particular, and it's no hurt to go in, +sir. She'll blame me, sir." + +Maurice looked at him, and laughed at the solemnity of the man's homely +face. A spirit of recklessness leaped up within him. He said to himself +that at least Mrs. Wilson should not think that he dared not come. + +"Very well," he said. "Show me the way." + +"Thank you, sir," the servant said, as if he had received a great +favor. "It's not easy to bear blame that don't belong to you." + +He opened a door into an anteroom thronged with people laughing and +chatting. The sound of the music was clear and loud, with the voices +striking through its cadences. Across this he led Wynne, to the wide +door of a ball-room flooded with light and full of moving figures. + + + + XXVI + + + O WICKED WIT AND GIFT + Hamlet, i. 5. + + +The brilliant glare of lights, the strident sound of dance-music, the +enlivening sense of a living, vivaciously stirring company of gayly +dressed merrymakers, assailed Maurice as he followed his guide across +the anteroom. At the door of the ball-room he was for a moment hindered +by a group of men who were lounging and chatting there. All his senses +were keenly alert, and he perhaps unconsciously listened to hear if +there were any comment on his appearance in such a place. He had not +realized what he was coming into, and now that it was too late for him +to withdraw without sacrificing his pride, he saw how incongruous his +presence really was. Almost instantly he caught a name. + +"By Jove!" one of the men said. "Isn't the Wilson in great form to- +night! That diamond on her toe must be worth a fortune." + +"She saves the price in the materials of her gowns," another responded +lightly. "I never saw her with quite so little on." + +"No material is allowed to go to waist there," put in a third. + +"She has two straps and a rosebud," yet another voice laughed; "and +nothing else above the belt but diamonds." + +"Her very smile is décolleté" some one commented. "This is one of her +nights. When I see Mrs. Wilson with that expression, I am prepared for +anything." + +Maurice felt his cheeks burn at this light talk. It seemed to him +ribald, and he was outraged that the name of a woman should be bandied +about so carelessly. He raised his head and set his square jaw +defiantly; then began to push his way through the group, keenly +conscious of the stare which greeted him. + +"Hallo! What the devil's that?" he heard behind him. + +"The skeleton at the feast," responded one voice. + +"Oh, it's some devilish trick of Mrs. Wilson's, of course," put in +another. + +All this Maurice heard with an outraged sense that there was no attempt +to prevent him from hearing. He might have been a servant or a piece of +furniture for any restraint these men put upon their speech. He was +troubled with the fear of what absurdity Mrs. Wilson might intend. Now +that he was here, however, he would go on. The natural obstinacy of his +temper asserted itself, and if there was little pious meekness in his +spirit at that moment, there was plenty of grit. + +The ball-room was garlanded with wreaths of laurel stuck thickly with +red roses; women in white and in bright-hued gowns, with fair shoulders +and arms, were floating about in the embraces of men; the music set +everything to a rhythmic pulse, and gaily quickened the blood in the +veins of the young deacon as he looked. The throbbing of the violins +made him quiver with an excitement joyous and bewildering. He was +dazzled by the bright, moving figures, the shining colors, the +sparkling of gems, the lovely faces, the alluring creamy necks and +arms; a sweet intoxication began to creep over him, despite the +defiance of his feelings toward the men he had passed in the doorway. +Half blinded by the glare, dazed and fascinated by the sights, the +sounds, the perfumes, he followed the footman down the hall. + +He was obliged to skirt the room, even then hardly evading the dancers. +His progress was necessarily slow. The footman so continually paused to +apologize for having brushed against some lady in his anxiety to avoid +a whirling pair of dancers, that it began to seem to Maurice that they +should never reach Mrs. Wilson. He cast his eyes to the floor, +resolved not to look at the worldly sights around him. Country bred and +trained in the asceticism of the Clergy House, he could not see these +women without blushing; and more than ever he wondered that he had been +so blindly obedient as to allow himself to be brought to such a place. + +He heard a man clap his hands. He looked up to see a flock of dancers +hurrying to the upper end of the room. Among them, with a shock so +violent that his heart seemed to stand still, he recognized Berenice +Morison. He saw her go to a table and pick up something; then she and +her companions turned and came glancing and gleaming down the hall like +a flock of pigeons which fly and shine in the sun. Fair, flushed +softly, more beautiful than all the rest in his eyes, Berenice came on, +her hair curling about her forehead, her eyes shining with laughter and +pleasure. She was dressed in white, and at one shoulder, crushed +against her bare, creamy neck, was a bunch of crimson roses. Maurice +trembled at the sight of her beauty; he reddened at the consciousness +of her dress; over him came some inexplicable sense of fear. + +Suddenly he perceived that she had caught sight of him. He could see +the look of amazement rise in her face, give place to one of amusement, +then change instantly into sparkling mischievousness. He moved on +toward her, abashed, bewildered, feeling as if he were running a +gauntlet. He could not withdraw his gaze from her, as she came quickly +onward, dimpling, smiling, her face overflowing with saucy fun, her +glance holding his. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Wynne," she said lightly, coming up to him. "This is +an unexpected pleasure." + +"Good-evening," Maurice responded, hardly able to drag the words out of +his parched throat. + +"Of course you came for the german," Miss Morison went on, more +mockingly than before. "I am so glad that I happen to have a favor for +you." + +She leaned forward, swaying toward him her white shoulders, dazzling +him with the hint of the swell of her bosom, bewildering him with the +perfume of her dark hair, the alluring feminine presence which brought +the hot blood to his face. Before he guessed her intention, she had +pinned to his cassock a grotesque little dangling mask which swung from +a bright ribbon. + +"There," she commented, drawing back as if critically to observe. "The +effect is novel, but striking." + +A burst of amusement, light and blinding as the spray from a whirlpool, +went up from the women around. The music, the voices, the laughter, +seemed to Maurice so many insults flung at him in idle contempt. He +looked around him with a bitter anger which could almost have smitten +these laughing women on their red mouths. Then he turned back to +Berenice. He saw that she shrank before the wrath of his look; he felt +with a thrill that he had at least power to make her fear him. He bent +toward her full of rage made the wilder by the impulse to catch her in +his arms and cover her beautiful neck with kisses. + +"Shameless!" he hissed into her ear. + +He saw her turn pale and then flush burning red; but he hastened on +after the footman without waiting for more. Presently he reached the +head of the hall, where Mrs. Wilson stood laughing and talking with +several men. Her dress was of alternate stripes of crimson silk and +tissue of gold, and since it had excited comment from the loungers at +the door, it is small wonder that to the unsophisticated deacon, almost +convent bred, it appeared no less than horribly indecent. He cast down +his eyes; but his glance fell upon the foot which just then she thrust +laughingly forward, evidently in answer to some remark from Stanford, +who stood at her right hand. Upon the toe of her exquisite little shoe +sparkled a great diamond like a fountain of flame. + +"It gives light to my steps," she laughed. + +"The service is worthy of it," Stanford returned with a half-mocking +bow. + +"Thank you," Mrs. Wilson retorted, sweeping him a satirical courtesy. +"If you say such nice things to me, what must you say to Berenice!" + +It seemed to Maurice that the devil was exerting all his infernal +ingenuity that night to have him tormented at every turn. He came +forward hastily, eager to stop the talk. + +"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?" + +The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice +could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence. + +"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to +penance and confession." + +"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men +said, "that there's no necessity of going so early." + +"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected, +Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you +only mean to be?" + +Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind +the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets +of all sorts of fantastic devices. + +"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What +sort of a favor ought I to give you?" + +"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of +the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be +too surprised to put it down." + +"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs. Staggchase. +"That is all very well for her, but how is it for her victims?" + +"Oh, the honor of being her victim is compensation enough for them." + +Mrs. Wilson laughed, and shook her head, twinkling with diamonds which +dazzled the eyes of the young deacon. + +"You are all worldly," she retorted. "Brother Martin and I are too +unsophisticated to understand you." + +Maurice winced at the name. He felt that he must be a picture of +confusion. To stand here among these sumptuously dressed women, to +endure the glances which he knew were watching him from all parts of +the room, to be pricked with this monkish title by a woman who was +making of him and of the whole incident a sport and a spectacle, stung +him to the quick. He thought of Berenice, and he cast at Mrs. +Staggchase a look of defiance, lifting his head proudly in assertion of +his hurt dignity. + +"I am at your service, Mrs. Wilson," he said with cold sternness. + +"Well, we will go then. Unless, that is, you are dancing, Mr. Wynne. I +see that you have a favor." + +He glanced down at the grotesque little mask, dangling by its red +ribbon. With unbroken gravity he detached and laid it upon the table in +silence. He would have given much to hide it in his pocket, since it +came from Berenice; but even as he put it down a bevy of girls swept up +for favors, and one of them bore it away. + +"He has abandoned his opportunity," Mrs. Staggchase observed. "The +favor goes to Mr. Stanford." + +The girl who had taken up the mask was indeed pinning it to the coat of +that gentleman, with whom she quickly danced away. Maurice felt his +heart grow hot, but he looked at his cousin with face hard and +determined. + +"It was never mine," he said, "except by the chance of a +misunderstanding." + +A maid now came forward with a black domino, which Mrs. Wilson slipped +into gracefully, drawing up her glittering draperies. The big diamond +on the toe of her slipper glowed fantastically, peeping from beneath +the penitential robe. + +"Hallo," Dr. Wilson exclaimed, coming up at this moment, "what's in the +wind now? Is this turning into a masquerade?" + +"Your wife is about to retire from the world," Mrs. Hubbard answered, +laughing. + +"With a man," Mrs. Staggchase added, her eyes shining on her cousin. + +Wynne stabbed her with a glance of indignation. + +"No, with a priest," corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about +her face. + +"Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself," Dr. +Wilson observed jovially. "Well, good-night." + +Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on +her bosom. + +"My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent +in ten minutes." + +She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down +the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it +seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole +gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs. +Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for +her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around +grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he assured +himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred +things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs. +Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door. + +"He looks as if he belonged to the church militant," he heard one of +the men say as he passed out. + +"Even the church militant is nothing against a woman," another +replied, catching the eye of Mrs. Wilson, and laughing. + +In the vestibule stood a footman bearing Maurice's cloak, and a maid +with fur over-shoes and an ermine-lined wrap for Mrs. Wilson. Maurice +said not a word except to reply in monosyllables to the questions of +his companion, and almost in silence they drove to the Church of the +Nativity. + + + + XXVII + + + UPON A CHURCH BENCH + Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 3. + + +The music of the Church of the Nativity was most elaborate, the very +French millinery of sacred music. The selection of a new singer was +debated with a zeal which spoke volumes for the interest in the service +of the sanctuary, and the money expended in this part of the worship +would have supported two or three poorer congregations. The church, +moreover, was appointed with a richness beautiful to see. The vestments +might have moved the envy of high Roman prelates, and the altar plate +shone in gold and precious stones. + +It was no wonder, then, that a midnight service at the Nativity +attracted a crowd. Mrs. Wilson and Wynne had to force a path between +ranks of curious sight-seers in order to make their way to the guarded +pew of the former, which was well up the main aisle. It came to Maurice +suddenly that in his angry mood he was pushing against these worshipers +rudely, and that he was venting upon them a fury which had rather +increased than diminished in his ride to the church. He was seething +with anger; anger against Mrs. Wilson for having put him in a ludicrous +position, at Berenice for her mockery, at Mrs. Staggchase for her +satire, and at all the frivolous fools who had stood around, grinning +to see him made ridiculous. His hurt vanity throbbed with an ache +intolerable, and as he forced his way between the crowding spectators +he felt a certain ugly joy in thrusting them aside. + +He was recalled to self-control by the expression in the face of a girl +whom he pressed back to give Mrs. Wilson passage. She turned to him +with a look of surprise and pain, and to his excited fancy her hair in +the half shadow was like that of Berenice. + +"You hurt me!" she exclaimed. + +"I beg your pardon," he answered with instant compunction. "I did not +mean to. Come with me." + +He yielded to the sudden impulse, and then reflected as they passed +down the aisle that he had no right to bring a stranger into Mrs. +Wilson's pew. Having invited her, however, it was impossible to +retract, and he showed her into the slip after Mrs. Wilson. As the +latter turned to sit down, she became aware of the stranger. She +paused, and looked at her with haughty surprise. + +"I beg pardon," she said, "this is a private pew." + +The girl flushed, looking inquiringly at Maurice. His masculine nature +resented the insolence of the glance with which Mrs. Wilson had swept +the stranger, and he came instantly to the rescue. + +"I invited her," he said, leaning forward, speaking with a +determination at which his hostess raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, very well then," Mrs. Wilson murmured. + +She sank into her seat, and inclined her head on the rail before her. +As Maurice did the same there shot through his mind a wonder at the +change there must be in the mental attitude of the woman who spoke with +haughtiness almost insulting to the stranger, and the penitent who bent +to ask pity and forgiveness from heaven. He tried to fix his thoughts +on his own prayer, but the words ran on as mechanically as might water +flow over a stone. The serious danger of a ritualistic religion must +always be that the mere repetition of words shall come to answer for an +act of worship; and to-night Maurice might have exclaimed with King +Claudius:-- + + "My words fly up; my thoughts remain below." + +The service went on with its deep, appealing prayers for pardon, for +help, for uplifting, and Maurice followed it only half consciously. It +was as if he were drugged, so that only now and then a phrase +penetrated to his real consciousness,--words which in their instant and +particular application were so poignant that he could not avoid their +force. + +"'From all inordinate and sinful affections,'" repeated the rich voice +of Mr. Candish, thrilling the church from floor to vaulted, roof, "'and +from the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil.'" + +"'Good Lord, deliver us!'" swelled the response of the congregation; +and on the lips of the deacon the words were almost a groan. + +He lost himself then in a flood of bitter repentance and prayer, hardly +realizing where he was or what was passing around him. The music +swelled and eddied; there was a genuine "Kyrie," wherein a single +voice, a rich contralto, wailed and implored in a passion of +supplication until the whole congregation quivered with the fervor of +the music. Maurice felt himself swayed and lifted upon the rising tide +of emotion. He lost his anger, he swam in billows of celestial delight; +a blessed peace soothed his troubled soul; he knew again some of the +old-time ecstasy. Yet in all this religious fervor there was some +subtle consciousness that it was unreal. He was not able so completely +to give himself up to it as to fail to watch its growth, its progress, +its intensity; he was vexed that he should trap himself, as it were, +glorying in the susceptibility to religious influences which such +excitement showed. He had even a whimsical, momentary irritation that +the part of his mind which was acting the devotee could not do it so +well that his other consciousness could not detect the unreality of it +all. Then he struggled to forget everything in the service; to steep +himself in the spiritual intoxication of the hour. + +The girl whom he had introduced into the pew dropped her prayer-book. +He turned, startled by the sound, and saw her sway toward him. He +realized that the crowd, the heat, the excitement, the odor of incense +with which the air was heavy, had overcome her, and that she was +fainting. He rose instantly, and, lifting her, assisted her into the +aisle. She was half in his arms as he led her down the nave, and her +hair, the hair which had seemed to him like that of Berenice, brushed +now and again against his shoulder. He recalled the wreck, when +Berenice had been in his arms, and his religious mood vanished as if it +had never been. His cheek flushed; he thrilled with anger at himself. +He had been playing a part here in the church. He had never for an +instant wished to be set free from his bondage to Berenice,--Berenice +who had to-night mocked him and his profession in the eyes of all the +world. + +The way to the door seemed interminable. He was eager to get rid of +this stranger and escape. Fortunately the party to which the fainting +girl belonged were at hand to take charge of her; and presently +Maurice had made his way out of the church. He hardly gave a thought to +Mrs. Wilson. She was abundantly able to take care of herself, he +reflected with angry amusement; or, if not, the very pavement would +spring up with troops of men to assist her. She was the sort of woman +whose mere presence creates cavaliers, even in the most unlikely +places. + +The cool outer air seemed to wake him from a bad dream. He walked +hastily through the quiet streets toward the Clergy House, full of +disordered thoughts, wondering whether the ball were yet over, or if +Berenice were still dancing in the arms of other men. The blood flushed +into his cheeks at the thought. He hated furiously the partner against +whose shoulder her white, bare arm might be resting. He looked back +with ever growing anger to the scene at the dance, tingling with shame +at the humiliation, at the thought of standing before the women who had +laughed when Berenice had fastened upon his breast the tawdry trinket +which seemed chosen purposely to mock him. He wished that he had kept +the toy, that he might now throw it down into the mire and tread on it. +Yet grotesque and insulting as the thing had been, he was conscious +that if the little mask were still in his possession he should not have +been able to trample on it, but should have taken it to his lips +instead. He remembered that now Stanford wore it. He looked up to the +shining stars and felt the overwhelming presence of night like a child; +his helplessness, his misery, his hopelessness swept over him in bitter +waves. + +Late as it was when he reached his room he did not at once undress. He +sat down heavily, staring with hot eyes at the crucifix opposite. From +black and unknown depths of his heart welled up rage against life and +its perplexities. He threw upon his faith the blame of his suffering. +What was this religion which made of all human joys, of all human +instincts only devilish devices for the torture of the very soul? Why +should the world be filled only with temptations, with humiliations, +with desires which burned into the very heart yet which must be denied? +Was any future bliss worth the struggle? He realized with a shudder +that he might be arraigning the Maker of the world; then he assured +himself that he was but raging against those who misunderstood and +misinterpreted the purposes of life. + +He flung himself down on his knees before the crucifix in a quick +reaction of mood, extending his hands and trying to pray; but he found +himself repeating over and over: "For Thine is the kingdom and the +power and the glory." He felt with the whole strength of his soul the +force of the words. This deity to whom he knelt might in a breath +change all his agony; might out of overflowing power and dominion and +splendor spill but one unnoted drop, yet flood all his tortured being +with richest happiness. The contrast between his weakness, his +helplessness, his insignificance, and the superabundant resources of +the Infinite crushed him. He was transported with aching pity for +himself and for all poor mortals. He repeated, no longer in entreaty +but with passionate reproach: "For _Thine_ is the kingdom and the power +and the glory." It seemed an insult to the clemency of Heaven to call +so piteously when it were a thing lighter than the puffing away of a +flake of swan's down for One with all power to help and to comfort. If +he were in the hands of a God to whom belonged the universe, why this +agony of doubt? Then he cried out to himself that this was the +temptation of the devil. He cast himself upon the ground, beating his +breast and moaning wildly: "Mea culpa! Mea culpa!" With quick +histrionic perception he was affected by the intensity and the +effectiveness of his penitence, and redoubled his fervor. + +Then in a flash came over him the sickening realization that this +devotion was a sham; that it was hysteria, simple pretense. He ceased +to writhe on the floor. It was like coming to consciousness in a +humiliating situation. He blushed at his folly, and rose hastily from +before the crucifix. + +"I have been acting private theatricals," he muttered scornfully; "and +for what audience?" + +He threw himself again into his chair, burying his face in his hands. +He plunged into a reverie so deep and so self-searching that it could +have been fathomed by no plummet. + +"I do not believe," he said at last aloud, raising his face as if to +address the crucifix. "I have never believed. I have simply bejuggled +myself. I have been a contemptible lie in the sight of men, not even +knowing enough to be honest to myself." + +He was silent a moment, a smile of bitter contempt curling his lip. + +"I have not even been a man," he added. + +Then he rose with a spring to his feet, and looked about him, +stretching out his arms as if to embrace all the world. + +"But now," he exclaimed with gladness bursting through every syllable, +"at last I am free!" + + + + XXVIII + + + BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE + Love's Labor's Lost, ii. 1. + + +When Maurice Wynne's bitter word stung her, Berenice Morison stood for +a second too overwhelmed to speak or move. She felt the blood mount to +her temples, and she could see reflected in the eyes of acquaintances +around a mingled curiosity and amusement. Wynne passed on, and she +shrank into her seat, which fortunately was near. + +"Who in the world is that, and what did he say to you when you gave him +that favor?" exclaimed her neighbor. "I don't see how you dared to do +it!" + +A gentleman took the speaker away, so that Berenice was spared the +necessity of answering. She watched Wynne advance to the group of which +Mrs. Wilson was the centre, and she understood well enough that his +being here was some contrivance of the latter's. She was angry with +Wynne and humiliated by the insult that he had flung at her, yet she +had room in her heart for rage against the woman who had brought him +there. She looked at Mrs. Wilson laughing and jesting, she watched the +comedy proceed as the black domino covered the white shoulders and the +gown of gold and crimson, yet most of all was she conscious of how +straight and strong Maurice stood among the gay group which surrounded +him. The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his +look, seemed to her most manly and noble. She felt that he had by his +bearing mastered the absurd circumstances in which he was placed; she +smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own +thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice +saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She +watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed +figures passing like shadows among the dancers. When they had +disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of +regret, anger, and confusion. + +"Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that +before?" queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. "She +gets more amazing every day." + +"She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that +everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad +taste it is." + +"Oh, she amuses folks," Mr. Van Sandt said. "Nobody takes her +seriously." + +"It is time that they did," answered Berenice rather sharply. "Such a +performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were +her accomplices." + +"Oh, you take it too seriously; besides, I thought that you helped it +on a bit." + +Berenice was silenced, but she was none the happier for that. She was +vexed with herself for having any feeling about the incident; but the +word of Wynne came afresh into her mind, and brought the blood anew to +her cheek. She said to herself that she hoped that she should meet him +soon again, that she might wither him with a glance of burning +contempt, ever after to ignore him. + +"You think I wouldn't do it," she sneered to some inner doubt; "but I +would!" + +She was interrupted by a partner, and went whirling down the bright +hall to the tingling measures of a new waltz; yet all the while she was +thinking of the moment she had stood face to face with Maurice. She +scoffed at herself for giving so much weight to a thing so trifling; +she made a strong effort to appear gay, only the more keenly to realize +that at heart she was miserable. + +Mrs. Staggchase, on her way out of the hall a little later, stopped and +spoke to her. + +"Come, Bee, it is time for you to go home. You don't seem to profit by +the godly example of Elsie Wilson at all." + +"Heaven forbid that I should take her as my exemplar!" Berenice flung +back with unnecessary fervor. + +"Well," Mrs. Staggchase observed good-humoredly, "there are things in +which it is conceivable that you might find a better model. By the way, +what did Cousin Maurice say to you when you gave him that german favor? +Of course I haven't any right to ask, but you see I am interested in +bringing the boy up properly." + +Berenice flushed with confusion and vexation. + +"It was something no gentleman would have said!" + +"Ah," the other returned with perfect calmness, "that is the danger of +doing an unladylike thing. It is so apt to provoke an ungentlemanly +return. Men, you know, my dear, haven't the fine instincts that we +have. However, I'm sorry that Maurice didn't behave better than you +did. Good-night, dear." + +Mrs. Staggchase had hardly gone when Parker Stanford came up with a +favor. + +"I am tired, Mr. Stanford," Berenice said. "Thank you, but you had +better ask some one else." + +"I'd rather sit it out with you," he answered. + +"Nonsense; one doesn't sit out turns in the german." + +"They do if they wish." + +"Well, instead of sitting it out," she said, rising, "let us go and get +a cup of bouillon. I feel the need of something to hold me up." + +"Here is your favor," remarked Stanford, as they passed down the hall. + +It was an absurd Japanese monster, with eyes goggling out of its head. + +"How horrible!" cried Berenice. "It looks exactly like old Christopher +Plant when he is talking about his last invention in sauces. Don't you +know the way in which he sticks out his eyes, and says: 'It is the +greatest misfortune in nature that the nerves of taste do not extend +all the way down to the stomach!'" + +Stanford laughed gleefully. + +"Jove, I don't know but he's right. Think of tasting a cocktail all the +way down to the stomach!" + +"Or a quinine pill!" returned she with a grimace. "Thank you, no. +Things are bad enough as they are." + +At the door of the supper-room they encountered Dr. Wilson, with a bud +on his arm. + +"Well, Miss Morison," he exclaimed, with his usual jovial brusqueness, +"I thought that my wife was the cheekiest woman in Boston, but you ran +her hard to-night." + +"Oh, even if I surpassed her," Berenice retorted in sudden anger, yet +forcing herself to speak laughingly, "she is entirely safe to leave the +reputation of the family in the hands of her husband." + +Dr. Wilson chuckled with perfect good-nature. + +"Oh, we men are not in it with the women," laughed he. + +He passed on with his companion, and Berenice, with feminine +perversity, avenged herself upon the girl he was escorting. + +"How stout Miss Harding is," she commented. "It is such a pity for a +bud." + +"But she is pretty," Stanford returned. + +"Oh, yes, in a way. She has the face of an overripe cherub." + +He laughed and led her to a seat. + +"Take your picture of Mr. Plant," said he, "and I will get you the +bouillon." + +"No, I can't have anything so hideous. Give me one of yours instead. +I'll have that little fat monk." + +"All that I have is at your service," he responded with seriousness +sounding through the mock gravity, as he unpinned the little mask and +put it into her hand. + +"Thank you, but I don't ask your all. I hope that you didn't value this +especially." + +"Not that I remember. I haven't an idea who gave it to me." + +"You don't seem to value a gift on account of the giver." + +"That depends," returned he. "Now there are some givers whose favors I +cherish most carefully." + +He took from his breast-pocket a little Greek flag of silk, neatly +folded. Berenice flushed, recognizing a favor which she had given him +early in the evening. + +"Now this," he said, "I put away next to my heart, you observe." + +"The giver would be flattered," Berenice observed. "Was it Clare +Tophaven?" + +He looked at her, laughing; then seemed to reflect. + +"I don't know that it is right to tell you," he returned; "but if you +won't mention it, I'll confide to you that it must have been Miss +Tophaven. Sweet girl." + +"Very. Are congratulations in order?" Berenice inquired. + +She was pleased that the talk had taken this bantering tone, and +secretly determined to keep it away from dangerous seriousness. + +"Somewhat premature, I should say," Stanford replied. "You see she has +no suspicion of my devotion, and her engagement to Fred Springer is to +come out next week." + +The bit of gossip served Berenice well. She had heard it already, but +it was easy to feign surprise, and to chat lightly about the match, as +if she had not a thought beyond it in her mind. To her amazement and +disconcerting Stanford cut through the light talk to demand with sudden +gravity:-- + +"And when may our engagement be announced, Berenice?" + +She regarded him with startled eyes, but she held herself well in hand, +managing to use the same jesting tone in which she had been speaking. + +"Certainly not before it exists," was her answer. + +He leaned toward her eagerly. The room was almost deserted, and they +sat in the shelter of a great palm, so that she felt herself to be +alone with him. + +"Don't try to put me off," he pleaded. "I am in earnest." + +She rose quickly, setting her cup down in the tub of the palm. + +"Come," she said, "you forget that I am dancing the german with Mr. Van +Sandt. He will have no idea what has become of me." + +Stanford stood before her, barring her way. + +"Hang Van Sandt! You should be dancing with me, only I had to do the +polite to this everlasting English girl. I wish she was in Australia. I +wonder why in the world an English girl is never able to learn to +dance." + +"That I cannot answer. Perhaps their feet are too big; but you must go +back to her all the same, whether she can dance or not." + +"Not until you answer me. You know you are keeping me on hot coals, +Berenice. You know I love you." + +She flushed, drew back, grew pale. + +"I have answered you already," she replied, hurriedly but firmly. "Why +must you make me say it again? I don't love you, and that is reason +enough why you shouldn't care for me." + +"It isn't any reason at all. I should be fond of you anyway. Why, even +if you made a guy of me before everybody as you did to-night of that +clerical thing"-- + +"Stop!" Berenice interrupted, her color rising and her eyes shining. "I +will not have you speak of Mr. Wynne in that way. What I did was bad +enough." + +"Berenice," demanded Stanford, regarding her keenly, "do you mean to +marry _him_?" + +"You have no right to ask me whom I mean to marry! I am not going to +marry you, at least!" + +"A clergyman. A man in petticoats! Well, I must say"-- + +She drew herself up to her full height, looking at him with anger and +excitement in her heart so great that they seemed to choke her. + +"Do you see this?" she asked, holding up the little mask dangling from +her finger. "I fastened this to his cassock to-night. I insulted him in +the sight of everybody. Does that look as if"-- + +"Is that the same mask?" broke in Stanford. "You begged it of me +afterward!" + +She could not command her voice to reply. Shame, grief, indignation, +struggled in her heart; yet her strongest conscious feeling was a +determination that the tears in her eyes should not fall. She slipped +past him, and moved toward the ball-room. With a quick step he gained +her side. + +"I beg your pardon," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you. +You used to be nice to me, but lately"-- + +She mastered herself by a strong effort. She was fully aware that there +were too many curious eyes about her to make any demonstration safe. + +"Let me take your arm," she answered. "Folks are watching. We need not +make a spectacle of ourselves. I haven't meant to treat you badly. A +girl never knows how a man is going to take things, and I only meant to +be pleasant. As soon as you began to show that you were in earnest"-- + +She was so conscious that her words were not entirely frank that she +instinctively hesitated. + +"I have always been in earnest," interpolated he. + +"But you will get over it," murmured she, desperately. + +They had come to a group of palms, where they paused to let a bevy of +dancers pass. + +"Do you really mean," Stanford asked, in a hard voice, "that there is +really no hope for me?" + +"There is no hope that I shall ever feel differently about this." + +"Then I shall certainly get over it," returned he with a touch of anger +in his voice. "I don't propose to go through life wearing the willow +for anybody." + +She raised to his her eyes shining with shy but irresistible light. + +"Ah," she half whispered, "that is the difference. I know he wouldn't +get over it." + +"He!" + +The monosyllable brought to her an overwhelming sense of the confession +which her words had carried. She pressed the arm upon which her finger- +tips rested. + +"I have trusted you," she whispered hurriedly. "Be generous. Ah, Mr. +Van Sandt," she went on aloud, "I hope you didn't think I had deserted +you. Mr. Stanford found me incapable of dancing, and had to revive me +with bouillon." + + + + XXIX + + + WEIGHING DELIGHT AND DOLE + Hamlet, i. 2. + + +Strangely enough the thought which most strongly impressed Maurice +Wynne on the morning following the Mardi Gras ball was the simplicity +of life. He had heard in the early dawn the bell for rising; he had +started up, then upon his elbow realized that he had freed himself from +its tyranny. He had slidden back into his warm place, smiling to +himself, and fallen into a sleep as quiet as that of a child. About +eight he was roused by a brother sent to see if he was ill, his absence +from early mass having been noted. Maurice sent the messenger away with +the explanation that having been out to the midnight service he had +slept late; then, being left alone, he made his toilet with +deliberation. He seemed to himself a new man. There appeared to be no +longer any difficulty in life. He reflected that one had but to follow +common sense, to live sincerely up to what commended itself to his +reason, and existence became wonderfully simplified. He no longer +experienced any of the confusing doubts and perplexities which had of +late made him so thoroughly miserable. + +He hesitated to don again the dress of a deacon, but he reflected that +to do otherwise would be to expose himself to the curiosity and comment +of his fellows. With a smile and a sigh he put on for the last time the +cassock, recalling the contemptuous terms in which at the time of the +accident Mehitabel Durgin had referred to the garment. He wondered at +himself for ever finding it possible to appear before the eyes of men +in such a dress, and blushed to think how incongruous the clerical +livery must have looked in the ballroom. + +Breakfast was already half over when he appeared, and the reading of +Lamentations was accompanying the frugal meal. He sank into his seat in +silence, casting his eyes down upon his plate lest they should betray +the joy he felt. He knew that he could have no talk with Philip until +after nones, and he was not willing to leave the house without bidding +his friend good-by. While he went on with his breakfast he was busy +planning what he would do when he had left the routine of the Clergy +House behind him. He determined to go to Mrs. Staggchase for advice, +and to ask her to direct him to some quiet boarding-place where he +might reorganize his scheme of life. + +In the study hour which followed breakfast Wynne went boldly to the +room of Father Frontford, and knocked at the door. When he heard the +voice of the Father Superior bidding him enter he was for the first +time seized with an unpleasant doubt. The long habit of obedience half +asserted itself, so that for an instant he was almost minded to turn +back. With a smile of self-scorn he shook off the feeling, and opened +the door. + +The Father looked up in evident surprise at sight of the deacon who +came unsummoned at such an hour. He was alone, a fact which Maurice +noted with satisfaction. + + "Good morning, Wynne," he said. "Did you wish to see me?" + +"Yes, sir," Maurice answered, closing the door, and standing before it. +"I came to tell you that I have decided to leave the Clergy House." + +The abruptness of the communication evidently startled the Superior. +Wynne watched him as he laid down his pen, the lines about his thin +lips growing tense. + +"Sit down," he said gravely. + +Maurice obeyed unwillingly. He would have been glad to retreat at once, +his errand being done; but he knew this to be of course impossible. He +sat down facing the other, meeting with steadfast eyes the searching +look fastened upon him. + +"Since when," Father Frontford asked, "have you held this +determination?" + +"Since last night." + +"Is it founded upon any especial circumstance connected with your going +with Mrs. Wilson to midnight service?" + +Maurice looked down for a moment in thought, then he met the eyes of +the other frankly. + +"Father," he said, "I don't think that I could tell you all that has +led to this decision if I would; and I do not see that it would be wise +for us to go into the matter in any case. It seems to me that the fact +that I have decided, and decided absolutely, is enough." + +The face before him grew a shade sterner. + +"You seem to forget that you are speaking to your Superior." + +"Perhaps," the young man returned with calmness, "it is you who forget +that I have ended that relation." + +Father Frontford's face darkened. + +"I do not recognize that you have authority to end it." + +Maurice tried to repress the irritation which he could not but feel; +and forced himself to speak as civilly as before. + +"Will you pardon me," he said; "I do not wish that our last talk should +be bitter. I owe you much, and I shall never cease to respect the +unselfishness with which you have tried to help me. That I cannot +follow your path does not blind me to the fact that you have worked so +untiringly to make the way plain and attractive to me." + +He was not without a secret feeling that he was speaking with some +magnanimity, yet he was entirely sincere. He realized with thorough +respect, even at the moment of breaking away, how complete was the +devotion of the Father. There was in his mind, too, some satisfaction +at the tone he had unconsciously adopted. It flattered him to find that +he should be almost patronizing his Superior. + +Father Frontford regarded Maurice with a look in which were mingled +surprise, disapprobation, and regret. As the two sat holding each +other's eyes, the face of the older man changed and softened. Into it +came a smile of high and spiritual beauty, of nobility and +unworldliness, of tenderness most touching. All that was most winning +in the character of the man was embodied in the look which he fixed +upon his recreant disciple, a look pleading and wistful, yet full of +dignity and strength. He leaned forward, laying the tips of his thin +fingers almost caressingly on the arm of the other. + +"My son," he said, "it is not what I have done that you remember; it is +what I represent. The truth and sweetness of religion is what has +touched you. I am only the representative; and no one knows better how +unworthy I am to be so looked on. If the grace of divine love seems to +you good shining through me, think what it is in itself. Oh, my son," +he went on, the tears coming into his eyes, "I have loved you, and I +love you more now that I see you tempted and bewildered. Turn back to +the bosom of the church before it is too late." + +Maurice sat silent with look downcast. His firmness was not shaken; he +had no inclination to reconsider his decision, but he was deeply moved +by the emotion of the other. He could not bear to meet pleading so +affectionate with a cold negative. + +"It is for yourself that I appeal to you," the priest went on. "It is +for the good of your own soul, and for your happiness in this world and +the world to come. Think of your mission. Think how men need you; of +the sin and the error that cry out to Heaven, and of how few there are +to do the Lord's work. You have been confused by the temptations of the +world, and in all of us there is a selfish spirit that may lead us to +do in a moment of madness what we shall repent with tears of blood all +our lives." + +Still Maurice could not answer; and the Father, bending still nearer, +taking one of the young man's hands in both his own, still pleaded. + +"You have said that you felt my interest in you. Do not give me the +bitterness of feeling that I am a careless shepherd who has lost a lamb +to the wolves. If you have gone astray it must be in part my fault; it +must be my negligence. Oh, my son, don't force me to stand guilty +before God to answer for your lost soul." + +It seemed to Maurice that he was being swept away by the simple power +of the emotion of Frontford. He felt the tears in his eyes, and almost +without his volition his hand responded to the pressure of the hand +that clasped it. He made a strong effort to call back his will. + +"Father," he responded, "we must each stand or fall alone. It is not +your fault that I can't see things as you do, or that I can't any +longer remain here. I am changed. If I stayed, it would be against my +convictions." + +"Ah," was the eager reply, "but you could submit your convictions to +the church." + +Maurice drew back. + +"I am a man, to think for myself. I must be honest with my reason. The +church cannot take for me the place of honesty and conviction." + +The Father Superior dropped the hand he held. + +"Then you insist on putting your own will and your own wisdom above +that of the church?" + +"I must do the thing that seems to me right." + +The priest's face hardened. It was as if over the surface of a pool a +film of ice formed. He sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again +it was in a voice so hard and cold that the young man started. + +"When do you leave?" the Father Superior asked. + +"I meant to wait until after nones so as to say good-by to Philip." + +"I prefer that you should go at once." + +"You mean that you prefer that I should not see him?" Maurice demanded +quickly. + +"I merely said that I prefer that you should go at once," was the cold +reply. + +Maurice rose briskly. His impulse was to retort sharply, but he held +himself in check. + +"Very well," he answered. "I shall take it as a favor if you will let +Philip know that I did not willingly leave him without a word. It would +hurt him to think that." + +"The wounds of earth," the Father Superior said gravely, "are the joys +of heaven." + +Maurice stood an instant with a keen desire to reply, to break down +this icy statue of religion; then he drew back. + +"I will not trouble you longer," he said. "Good-by." + +"Good-by, Mr. Wynne," the other responded with the manner of one +addressing a stranger. + +Maurice went to his chamber thoroughly aroused and excited. The +restraint which he had put on himself during the talk with Father +Frontford brought now its reaction. He rehearsed in his mind the +telling and caustic things which he might have said, then laughed at +himself for his unnecessary fervor. He packed his belongings, and, +leaving them to be called for, set out for the house of his cousin. To +go out from the Clergy House seemed to him like the ending of a life. + +Mrs. Staggchase was fortunately at home. It seemed to Maurice that her +keen eyes took in the whole story from his secular dress. He blushed as +she gave him her hand. + +"Well, my dear boy," she observed, "you have come to luncheon, I +suppose, because the fare at the Clergy House is so poor in Lent. Sit +down, and give me an account of your doings last night. I trust that +you saw Mrs. Wilson safe home." + +"I left her in the church." + +"Ah! And what did you do then?" + +"I went home and fought it out with myself. You were right in saying +that things were not concluded when I became a deacon. I have given up +the whole thing." + +"What do you mean by the whole thing?" + +"I mean," he returned earnestly, "that I found out that I was acting a +part. That I didn't believe even the first principles of the religion I +was getting ready to teach. I have broken down in the temptation, +Cousin Diana." + +She looked at him closely. The buoyancy of his morning mood was gone, +and it was hard for him to endure her searching look. It came over him +that he was an apostate; one who had abandoned all that he had vowed to +uphold; his vanity smarted at the thought that she must think him weak +and unstable as water. + +"I am only what I was," he went on. "The difference is that I have +discovered what you probably saw all the time, that I don't believe the +things I have been taught. I am as free from the old creeds as you are. +I don't even pretend to know that there is a God." + +"My dear boy," she responded, shrugging her shoulders, "you run into +extremes like a schoolgirl. I beg you won't talk as if I could be so +vulgar as not to believe in a deity. Don't rank me with the crowd of +common folk that try to increase their own importance by insisting that +there's nothing above them. Really, an atheist seems to me as bad as a +man who eats with his knife." + +He changed countenance, but her words left him speechless. He could not +hear her speak in this way without being shocked. He might be without +creed, but his temper was still devout. + +"If you've thrown overboard all your old dogmas," she went on with +unruffled face, "you'd better go to work to get a new set. I've just +heard of some sort of a society got up by women out in Cambridge, where +they deduce the ethnic sources of prophetic inspiration--whatever that +means!--from the 'Arabian Nights' and 'Mother Goose.' You might find +something there to suit you." + +He could not answer her; he could only wonder whether she disapproved +of what he had done, or if she were vexed with him for coming to her. + +"It's possible," she went on mercilessly, a fresh note of mockery in +her voice, "that Berenice might help you. Very often a woman wins +converts where a priest fails. After last night"-- + +He came to his feet with a spring. + +"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I can't stand any more. Do you think that it's +been easy for me to find out the truth about myself; to have to own +that I've been a cheating fool, without honesty enough to know my own +mind? As for Miss Morison"-- + +His voice failed him. He was unnerved; the reaction from his long +vigil, from his interview with Father Frontford, overcame him. The +simple mention of the name of Berenice made him choke, and he stood +there speechless. His cousin rose and came to him softly. Before he +knew what she was doing, she bent forward and kissed his forehead. + +"You poor boy," she said in a voice half laughing, yet so gentle that +he hardly recognized it, "don't take my teasing so much to heart. You +are only finding out like the rest of us that it is impossible not to +be human." + +He could answer only by grasping her hand, ashamed of the weakness +which had betrayed him, and touched deeply by her kindness. + +"Come," Mrs. Staggchase said, moving to the bell, and speaking in her +natural tone. "I have helped you to break your life into bits; I must +try to help you to put the pieces together into something better. You +must stay here for a while, and we'll consider what is to be done next. +Will you tell Patrick how to get your things from the Clergy House? +Take your old room. I'll see you at luncheon." + +And as the servant appeared at one door she withdrew by another. + + + + XXX + + + PARTED OUR FELLOWSHIP + Othello, ii. 1. + + +Berenice had abundant leisure to reflect upon her attitude toward her +lovers, for Mrs. Frostwinch was soon so seriously ill that it was +evident to all that the end was at hand. Berenice devoted herself to +the invalid, although there was little that she could do. The sick +woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to +have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened +grasp. + +"The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say +I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully +convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end." + +"Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee. "It is too +dreadful." + +"It won't make it any less dreadful to be solemn over it," the other +answered. "However, death should be spoken of with respect; even one's +own." + +Berenice longed to know what had taken place between her cousin and +Mrs. Crapps, but she hardly liked to ask. That there had been a +disagreement of some kind, and that Mrs. Frostwinch had lost faith in +the woman, she knew; but beyond this she was in the dark. One +afternoon, however, her cousin explained matters. + +"It is so humiliating, Bee, that I can hardly bear to think of it, the +way things turned out. My conscience will be easier, though, if I tell +you the whole of it. It is so vulgar that it makes me creep. We were at +Jekyll's Island, and she had an ulcerated tooth." + +"I thought she couldn't have such things?" + +"She thought or pretended that she couldn't. I must say that she fought +against it with tremendous pluck; but the face kept swelling, and the +pain got to be more than she could bear. When she gave out she went to +pieces completely. She literally rolled on the floor and howled. I +couldn't go on believing in her after that. She'd actually made herself +ridiculous." + +"But," began Berenice, "I should think"-- + +"If it had been something dangerous, so that I had had to think of her +life," went on her cousin, not heeding, "I could have borne it; but +that common thing! Why, her face looked like a drunken cook's! I can't +tell you the humiliation of it!" + +"But if she could help you, why not herself?" + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled wanly. + +"I've tried to think that out," answered she. "It was always said of +the old witches, you know, that they couldn't help themselves. It is +faith in somebody else that is behind the wonders they do. I've grown +very wise in the last few weeks, Bee. I don't pretend that I understand +all the facts, but I do know pretty well what the facts are. I believed +in Mrs. Crapps, and that belief kept me up. When I couldn't believe in +her, that was the end of it." + +There seemed to Berenice something uncanny and monstrous in this calm +acquiescence. She could not comprehend how her cousin could give up the +struggle for life in this fashion, after having succeeded so long in +holding death at bay. + +"But surely," she protested, "you can't be willing to let everything +depend upon her. You've proved the possibility"-- + +"I've proved the possibility of depending upon somebody else; that's +all." + +"Then find another woman that you can believe in." + +"It is too late. I can't have the faith over again. I should always be +expecting another humiliating downfall of my prophetess." + +She was silent a moment, and then continued:-- + +"Do you know, Bee, it seems to me after all that my experience is like +almost all religion. There are a few men and women who believe in +themselves in that self-poised way that makes it possible for them to +get on with just ethics; and there are those who can take hold of +unseen things; but for the rest of us it's necessary to have some human +being to lean on. I hope I don't shock you. I lie awake in the night a +good deal, and my mind seems clearer than it used to be. All the +religions seem to have a real, tangible human centre, a personality +that human beings can appreciate and believe in. Mrs. Crapps was so +real and so near at hand that I could have faith in her; now that that +is gone there isn't anything left for me. I can't believe in her, and +she has destroyed the Possibility of my believing in anybody else." + +Berenice put out her hand in the growing dusk, caressing the thin +fingers of the sick woman. + +"But--but," she hesitated, "she hasn't destroyed your faith in--in +everything, has she?" + +"No, dear; she hasn't touched my belief in God; but it makes me +ashamed to see how different a thing it is to believe in what we see +and touch, from having a genuine faith in what we do not see. I have a +faith in my soul still; the other was only a faith of the body. Perhaps +it had only to do with the body, and it is not so bad to have lost it." + +"Oh, Cousin Anna," Berenice murmured, tears choking her voice, "I can't +bear to see you getting farther and farther off every day, and to feel +so helpless." + +"There, there, Bee," responded the other with tender cheerfulness, "you +are not to agitate yourself or to excite me. I've lived half a year +more now than the doctors allowed me, and I've enjoyed it too. Besides, +think of the blessedness of not having any pain. Do you know, the night +after Mrs. Crapps had that scene in the hotel, I was in a panic of +terror lest my old agony should come back; but it didn't. Then I said +to myself: 'Of course I couldn't suffer; I'm really dead!' You can't +think what a comfort it was." + +"Oh, don't, don't!" cried Bee. "I can't bear to have you talk like +that." + +"Well, then, we won't. There's something else I want to speak to you +about while I am strong enough. Do you realize that when I am gone +you'll be a rich woman?" + +"I haven't thought about it. I've hated to think." + +"Yes, dear, I understand; but when you are older you'll come to realize +that half of the duty of life is to think of things which one would +rather forget." + +"But it could do no good to think of this." + +"Perhaps not; but I want to ask you something. I know you'll forgive +me. It's about Parker Stanford." + +"You may ask me anything you like, of course, Cousin Anna. As for +Parker Stanford, he's nothing more than the rest of the men I know, +only he's been more polite. We are very good friends." + +"No more?" + +"No more; and we never shall be." + +"But he surely wished to be?" The day had darkened until the room was +lighted only by the flames of the soft coal fire which sputtered in the +grate. The cousins could hardly see each other's faces; but in the dim +light Berenice turned frankly toward Mrs. Frostwinch. + +"That is all over now," responded she. "Of course to anybody else I +shouldn't own that there ever was anything; but whatever there may have +been is ended. He understands that perfectly." + +For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the +firelight glancing on her face and hair. + +"How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without +pause she added: "Is there anybody else?" + +Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, +dropping the hand she held. + +"Who should there be?" she returned. + +Her cousin laughed softly. + +"You are as transparent as glass," she said. "Come, who is it?" + +Berenice hesitated an instant, then threw herself forward, bending over +the hand of her companion until her face was hidden. + +"There isn't really anybody; and besides I've insulted him so that he +never could help hating me. No, there isn't anybody, Cousin Anna; and +there never will be. I know I should despise him if he wasn't angry; +and besides," she added with the air of suddenly recollecting herself, +"I hate him for what he said." + +"That is evident," the other assented smilingly. "I could see at once +that you hated him. But who is it?" + +"Why, there isn't anybody, I tell you. Of course I thought about him +after he saved my life, but"-- + +"Oh," interrupted Mrs. Frostwinch. "Then it is Mr. Wynne. But I +thought"-- + +"He isn't a priest any more," Berenice struck in, replying to the +unspoken doubt as if it had been in her own mind. "I heard yesterday +that he has left the Clergy House for good, and is staying with Mrs. +Staggchase." + +"Have you seen him lately?" + +"He overtook me on the street yesterday." + +Mrs. Frostwinch put out her hand with a loving gesture. + +"Bee," said she tenderly, "I want you to be happy. You've been like a +daughter to me ever since your mother died, and I've thought of you +almost as if you were my own child. If this is the man to make you +happy"-- + +But Bee stooped forward and stopped the words with kisses. + +"I can't talk of him," she said, "and he will never be anything to me. +He is angry, and he has a right to be. He"-- + +The entrance of the nurse interrupted them, and Berenice made haste to +get away before there was opportunity for further question. In her +anxiety to know something more of Mr. Wynne, Mrs. Frostwinch sent for +Mrs. Staggchase, who came in the next day. + +Mrs. Staggchase found her friend weak and frightfully changed. The +high-bred face was haggard, the nostrils thin, while beneath the eyes +were heavy purple shadows. A ghost of the old smile lighted her face, +making it more ghastly yet, like the gleaming of a candle through a +death-mask. The hand extended to the visitor was so transparent that it +might almost have belonged to a spirit. + +"My dear Anna," Mrs. Staggchase exclaimed, "I hadn't an idea"-- + +"That I was so near dying, my dear," interrupted the other. "I am worse +than that, I am dead, really; but it doesn't matter. I want to talk to +you about Bee." + +"About Bee?" echoed the other, seating herself beside the bed. "What +about her?" + +"I should have said that I want to ask you about Mr. Wynne. Do you know +anything about his relations to her?" + +"The only relation that he has is that of a perfectly desperate adorer. +He worships the ground she walks on, but he doesn't cherish anything +that could be decently called hope." + +"Then he does care for her?" + +"My dear Anna, it almost makes me weep for my lost youth to see him. He +has so wrought upon my glands of sentiment that this morning I actually +examined my husband's wardrobe to see if the maid darns his stockings +properly. Fred would be perfectly amazed if he knew how sentimental I +feel. I even thought of sitting up last night to welcome him home from +the club, but about half past one I came to the end of my novel and +felt sleepy, so I gave that up." + +Mrs. Frostwinch smiled with the air of one who understands that the +visitor is endeavoring to furnish a diversion from the dull sadness of +the sick chamber. + +"But Bee said he was angry with her." + +"The anger of lovers, my dear, is legitimate fuel for the flame. That's +nothing. She's been amusing herself with him, and if she thinks he +resents it, so much the better for him." + +"But is he"-- + +She hesitated as if not knowing how best to frame her question. + +"He is a handsome creature, as you know if you remember him," the +visitor said, taking up the word. "He is well born, he is well bred, if +a little countrified. He's been shut up with monks and other mouldy +things, and needs a little knocking about in the world; but I am very +fond of him." + +"Then you think"-- + +"I think that whoever gets Bee will get a treasure; but I am not sure +that she is any too good for my cousin. He hasn't much money, unless he +gets a little fortune that ought to have been his, and which he has +some hope of. I mean to give him something myself one of these days, if +he behaves himself; but of course he hasn't any idea of that." + +"Bee will have all the Canton money, and can do as she likes." + +Mrs. Staggchase looked down at the carpet as if studying the pattern. + +"Perhaps," she returned. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"If I know Maurice Wynne, the fact that she has money will make him +very slow to speak. Besides, he has a silly crotchet in his head now. +He thinks that if he tried to marry her it would look as if he had +given up his religion for her." + +"Did he?" + +"Bless you, no. He was simply led into the Clergy House by being fond +of a friend; one of those men that young men and old women fall in love +with. Maurice never belonged there at all. I saw that the first day he +came to stay with me at the beginning of the winter. I was abroad while +he was in college, so I never knew him except most casually before." + +"But if he really cares for her he'll get over those obstacles." + +"If she cares for him, he must be made to." + +"I am convinced that she does," Mrs. Frostwinch said. "I am so glad you +speak well of him. I do so want Bee to be happy." + +There was a long silence in the chamber. The two friends sat wrapped in +thought. They had seen so much of life, they had had so many blessings +of fortune, culture, position, wealth, that there was a grim irony in +their sitting here helpless in the face of coming death. To their +reverie, moreover, the mention of love could not but give color. No +woman has ever come to speak of love entirely unmoved, though her heart +may have been deadened or crushed beyond the power of thrilling or +quickening at any other thought. These two, who had led lives so happy, +so protected, so rich, sat there silent before the possibilities which +lay in the love of a girl; until at last both sighed, whether with +regret or tenderness perhaps they could not themselves have told. +Perhaps both remembered their youthful days; remembered how one had +lost her first love by death and the other parted from hers in anger, +making a marriage which seemed more a matter of affronting the man +discarded than of affection for the man she chose. They knew each +other's history so completely that there could be no disguise between +them. Their eyes met, and for an instant there was a suspicion of +wistfulness in the glance. Then Mrs. Frostwinch shook her head, and +smiled sadly. + +"At least," she said, "I shall be spared the pain of growing old." + +"After all," the other responded, "the bitterness of growing old is to +feel that one has never completely been young." + +The sick woman regarded her with burning eyes. + +"But we have been young, Di," she said eagerly. "Surely we had all that +there was." + +"Anna," Mrs. Staggchase murmured, leaning toward her, "we know each +other too well not to say things that most women are afraid to say. We +both married well, and we have cared for our husbands and been happy. +But we both know that there was deep down a memory"-- + +"No, no, Di," her friend interrupted excitedly, "you shall not make me +think of that! I have forgotten all that; and I am dying comfortably. +You shall not make me think of him! Only, dear Di, I want you to help +Bee to marry the man she loves with her whole heart; that she loves as +we might have loved if"-- + +Mrs. Staggchase kissed her solemnly. + +"I promise, Anna." + +Then she rose, her whole manner changing. + +"Do you know, my dear," she observed, in a tone gayly satirical, "that +I believe that Elsie Wilson is going to be beaten in her bishop +steeplechase?" + +"Do you mean that Father Frontford won't be elected?" + +"I mean just that. However, things are still uncertain. It will be +amusing to see what Elsie will do if she is defeated. She is capable of +setting up a church of her own." + +"There are two or three men with whom I have some influence that will +go over to Mr. Strathmore if I am not here to look after them. I must +write to them to-morrow and get them to promise to hold by our side." + +But that night Mrs. Frostwinch died quietly in her sleep, and the +letters were not written. + + + + XXXI + + + HOW CHANCES MOCK + 2 Henry IV., iii. 1. + + +Maurice had seen Berenice only once since his encounter at the ball. He +had hoped and dreaded to meet her, but for more than a week after his +leaving the Clergy House he had failed. One morning he saw her walking +before him on Beacon Street; and while he instantly said to himself +that he trusted that she would not discover him, he hurried forward to +overtake her. His feet carried him forward even while he told himself +that he did not wish to go. He was beside her in a moment, and as he +spoke she raised those rich, dark eyes with a glance which made him +thrill. + +"Good-morning," he said with his heart beating as absurdly as if the +encounter were of the highest consequence. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wynne," she responded, with a manner entirely +abstract. + +She had started and blushed, he was sure, on perceiving him; but if so +she had instantly recovered her self-possession. He was disconcerted by +the coldness of her manner, and began to wish in complete earnest that +he had not overtaken her. + +"I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, his voice hardening, "but"-- + +"The public street is free to anybody, I suppose," she returned, with +an air of studied politeness. "I don't claim any exclusive right to +it." + +"I didn't apologize for being on the street, but for speaking to you." + +"Oh, that," answered Berenice carelessly, although he thought that he +detected a spark of mischief in her eye, "is a thing of so little +consequence that it isn't worth mentioning." + +"I venture to speak to you," he said, ignoring the thrust, "because I +have wanted to beg your pardon for my rudeness when I saw you last." + +She turned upon him quickly, her cheeks aflame. + +"Your rudeness?" she exclaimed. "Your brutality, I think you mean!" + +It was his turn to grow red. + +"My brutality, if you choose. I beg your pardon for whatever offended." + +"It was unpardonable! It was a thing no woman could ever forgive!" + +Maurice turned pale. He stopped where he stood. + +"In that case," he said, bowing with formality, "I have no business to +be speaking to you now." + +He turned and was gone before she could add a word. + +This interview probably made neither of the young persons happy; and +Maurice it left entirely miserable. He was not without a proper pride, +however, and in his present frame of mind was ready to call it to his +aid. He bore a brave outward front. He resolved not to think of his +love; yet he was not without the hardly confessed hope that if he could +find the lost will he might be taking a step in the direction of the +realization of his desires. He tried to forget Berenice in the very +means he was taking to bring himself nearer to her. + +He set out for Montfield one bright February day, amused at himself +for the difference in his attitude toward the world from the mere fact +that he had discarded the ecclesiastical garb. It gave him a fresh and +delightful sensation to be traveling on business in clothing like that +of other men. He had no longer any wish to be separated by his dress, +and thought with contemptuous amusement of the lurking self- +consciousness which had always attached itself in his mind to the fact +that he was in a costume apart. He realized now that he had from this +derived a certain satisfaction, half simple vanity and half the +gratification of his histrionic instinct. He felt as if he had been +like a child pleased to attract attention by a feather stuck in his +cap, or a toy sword girt at his side. Now that the whole experience was +past he could smile at it, but he had small patience with those who +still retained the clerical garb. Men have usually little tolerance for +the fault which they have but newly outgrown; and Maurice thought with +a sort of amazement of his late fellows at the Clergy House, and of +their manifest satisfaction in the dress they wore. It was almost with +a sensation of self-righteousness that he enjoyed the habiliments of +ordinary civilized man. + +As the train sped on, and the scenery became more familiar as he +approached nearer to Montfield, Maurice naturally fell to thinking, in +an irregular, detached fashion, of his youth. Both Wynne's parents had +died in his childhood, and there had been little to keep firm the bonds +of family. Alice Singleton he had known, however, both as a girl and as +the wife of his half brother, but he had known only to dislike and +avoid her. He began now to wonder how she would receive him, and +whether she would allude to the scene at Mrs. Rangely's when he had +broken up her spiritualistic deception. + +The train of thought into which reminiscence had plunged him carried +him over his whole life. He realized for the first time that his +religious experiences had been little more than a reflection of those +of Philip. It was Ashe who had interested him in spiritual things, who +had led him into the church, who had practically determined for him +that he should become a priest. For the first time, and with profound +amazement, Maurice realized how completely his theological life had +been the growth of the mind of Ashe rather than of his own. The thought +brought with it a sense of weakness and self-contempt. + +"Haven't I any strength of character?" he asked himself. "In everything +practical Phil has always relied on me. It was always Phil I cared for, +not the church." + +Imperfectly as he was able to phrase it, Maurice was not in the end +without some reasonably clear conception of the fact that in his life +Philip had represented the feminine element. It was by love for his +friend that he had been led on. Now that his reason was fully awake +this emotional yielding to the thought of another was no longer +possible; now that his heart was filled with a passion for Berenice his +nature no longer responded to the appeal of the feminine in Ashe. + +Maurice was half aware that his was a character sure to be influenced +greatly by affection; but he felt that it would never again be possible +for him so to give up to another the guidance of his life as he now saw +that he had yielded it to his friend. He had learned his weakness, and +the lesson had been enforced too sharply ever to be forgotten. + +He was coming now into the region of his old home. The forests were +beginning faintly to show the approach of spring; the treetops were +dimly warming in color, the branches thickening against the sky. Here +and there Maurice looked down on a brook black with the late rains and +with the floods from the snow-drifts still melting on the distant +hills. Now he caught a far flash of the river where he had skated in +winters almost forgotten, so fast does time move, where he had fished +and bathed in summers so long gone that they seemed to belong to the +life of some other. Yet once more and a distant hill, duskily blue +against the bluer heavens, wakened for him some memory of his boyhood, +seeming to challenge him to renew the old joys and to revel in the by- +gone fervors. + +All these things softened the mood in which Maurice came back to the +old town, and as he walked up the village street, so well remembered +yet so strange, he had a sense of unreality. The very homely +familiarity of it all made it appear the more like a dream. He felt his +heart-beats quicken as he approached the Ashe place, wondering if he +should see Mrs. Ashe. He had always, with all his affection, felt for +Philip's mother a sort of awe, as if she were more than a simple human +creature. He found it difficult to understand that Mrs. Singleton +should be staying with her, so incongruous was the association in his +mind of two such women. With Mrs. Ashe, Alice must at least be at her +best. + +He walked up to the house, passing under the leafless lilac bushes with +a keen remembrance of how they were laden with odors in June. He +wondered if the tansy still grew under the sitting-room window, and if +the lilies-of-the-valley flourished on the north side of the house as +of old. Then he knocked with the quaint old black knocker, and with the +sound came back the present and the thought that he had before him an +interview which might be neither pleasant nor easy. + +Mrs. Singleton herself opened the door. + +"I saw you coming," she greeted him, "and there is nobody at home but +me." + +Maurice tried not to look disappointed. + +"Then Mrs. Ashe is not at home?" + +"No; she is out, and the girl is out. Will you come in? You probably +didn't come to see me." + +"But I did come to see you." + +She led the way into the long, low sitting-room, with its many doors +and its wide fireplace, so familiar that he might have left it +yesterday. + +"I can't imagine what you want of me," Mrs. Singleton said, waving her +hand toward a chair. "The last time I saw you you didn't seem very fond +of me." + +She seated herself by the side of the fire in a great old-fashioned +chair covered with chintz and spreading out wings on either side of her +head. + +"You are still angry, Alice, I see," he rejoined. "Well, I can't help +that. I did what was right. How in the world could you make up your +mind to fool those people so?" + +"They wanted to be fooled; why not oblige them?" + +He regarded her with astonishment. He had expected her to deny that her +deception was deliberate, to claim that the manifestations were real. +Her frank and cynical speech disconcerted him. He had no reply. She +broke into a sneering laugh. + +"There," she said, "you didn't come here to talk about that séance. +What did you come for?" + +"I came to ask you if you still have Aunt Hannah's desk." + +She regarded him keenly. + +"The little traveling desk?" + +"Yes." + +"What if I have?" + +"But have you?" + +"Oh, I don't mind telling you that. I don't see that it can do you any +good to know that I have it. I always carry it round with me. It's so +convenient." + +"Will you sell it to me?" + +"Certainly not. If you didn't want it, I might give it to you; but if +you do you can't have it." + +Maurice began to feel his anger rising. He felt helpless before this +woman, with her innocent, baby face, this woman with the guileless look +of a child and a child's freedom from moral scruples, who faced him +with a smile of pleased malice. It might be unwise to tell his real +errand, but she surely could not do any harm greater than to be +disagreeable. There must be some method, he reflected, of getting at +the thing legally; but what it was he was entirely ignorant; and now +that he had shown a desire for the desk he was confident that Mrs. +Singleton would persist until she had discovered the truth. He could +think of nothing to do but to make a clean breast of the whole matter. +He nerved himself to the task, and told her of the finding of Norah and +of what followed. + +"Have you ever discovered that the desk had a false bottom?" he asked +in conclusion. + +"No, brother Maurice. The spirits hadn't revealed it to me. But then I +never asked them about that." + +There was an air of triumphant glee in her manner, an open and mocking +sneer, which dismayed him. He was sure that he had erred in telling her +his secret; yet he reflected that he could hardly have done otherwise, +and that she surely would not dare to refuse to give up a legal +document so important. + +"Will you let me examine the desk?" + +"I am so happy to oblige you," she returned. "Though whether your story +is true or not must depend, you know, upon the unsupported testimony of +the medium--I mean of the speaker." + +Maurice rose and went toward her, facing her squarely. + +"I understand, Alice," he said, "that you don't love me, and I haven't +come to ask favors. This is a matter of simple honesty. I certainly +don't think you would willfully keep me out of my property." + +"Thank you for drawing the line somewhere. It was so noble of you to +interfere at Mrs. Rangely's! You didn't in the least mind robbing me of +my good name, and them of the comfort of believing it was real. +Besides, I did see things! I swear to you that I did! I am a medium in +spite of whatever you say. I can call up spirits!" + +Her voice rose as she went on, and he feared lest she should work +herself into one of her furies of excitement and temper which he had +seen of old. + +"Why should we go back to that?" he said, as gently as he could. "That +is past, and I only did what I thought was my duty." + +"Oh, you did your duty, did you?" she sneered. + +"Well, I'll do mine now. Stay here, while I go and empty that old desk. +I'll match you in doing my duty!" + +She hurried tumultuously from the room, leaving Maurice in anything but +an enviable frame of mind. He began to walk up and down, assailed by +old memories at every turn, yet so disturbed by Mrs. Singleton's words +and manner that he could not heed the recollections. The minutes +passed, and Alice did not return. It seemed to him that she took a long +time to remove her papers from the desk. Then he smiled to himself in +bitter amusement and impatience. Of course his sister-in-law was trying +to discover the secret of the double bottom. She would probably +persevere until she had gained the precious document of which he had +come in search. She would read it, and then--He broke off in his +reverie with an exclamation of impatience. What a fool he had been to +attempt to deal with this woman alone! He had, it was true, expected to +find Mrs. Ashe, but he should have sent a lawyer. What did he, a puppet +from the Clergy House, know of managing the affairs of life? He felt +that he had failed in his match with Mrs. Singleton; and he had almost +made up his mind to go in search of her, when he heard her returning. + +She came in with her face flushed, her eyes shining, and an air of +triumph which struck dismay to the heart of Maurice. + +"I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long," she said, "but I had to +light a fire in the parlor, I was so cold. However, I have something to +show you that will interest you." + +"Is it the will?" he asked eagerly. + +She answered with a laugh, but led the way across the narrow front +entry into the parlor. The pleasant noise of a crackling fire sounded +within, and as he entered the room he saw that the fireplace was filled +with a ruddy blaze. Then he rushed forward with a cry. There on the top +of the blazing logs were the unmistakable remains of the desk, eaten +through and through by tongues of red flame. He seized the tongs, and +dragged the burning mass to the hearth, but even as he did so he saw +that he was too late. + +"It is kind of you to want to save my old desk, Maurice," jeered his +companion; "but I had the misfortune to put the poker through the +bottom of it before I called you, so that I'm afraid it really isn't +worth saving." + +He saw that the wood had indeed been punched through and through, and +that it was reduced almost to a cinder. It was easy to see that the +bottom had been double, and burned flakes of paper were visible among +the remains; whether of the will or not it was obviously impossible now +to discover. He looked at the burned bits of board falling into ashes +and cinders at his feet, realizing that here was an end to all his +dreams of regaining his aunt's fortune; that with this dream ended, +too, his visions of being in a position to offer Berenice--His wrath +blazed up in an uncontrollable force. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried, facing the woman who smiled beside him. +"You are a thief, a shameless, deliberate thief!" + +She stood the image of mirthful, innocent girlhood, her smooth forehead +unclouded, her eyes gleaming as if with the merriment of a child. + +"It is a pretty fire, isn't it, Maurice?" + +Then her whole expression changed. Into her dark, dewy eyes came a look +of rage, visible murder in a glance. + +"You called me a liar, there in Boston," she said hissingly. "I am not +surprised to have you add thief now. I have only done what I chose with +my own property; but I would have been cut into little bits before you +should have had that will through me!" + +He could not trust himself to reply. He felt that if he spoke he might +break out into curses, and he was conscious of an unmanly longing to +strike her, to mar that beautiful, false face, childlike and pure in +every line,--for the expression of rage had melted as quickly as it had +come,--to feel the joy of seeing her limbs slacken and her red lips +grow white. He clinched his hands and turned resolutely away. + +"I'm sure I don't know that there was anything there that you had any +interest in," she pursued lightly. "I tried as long as I dared to get +the bottom open, and I couldn't, so I decided that it wasn't any of my +business. Only when I put the poker through there seemed to be papers +there." + +Maurice could endure no more. He started toward her so fiercely that +she recoiled, a sudden pallor blanching her rosy loveliness. Then he +turned abruptly away again, and got out of the house. + + + + XXXII + + + NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS + Romeo and Juliet, ii. 4. + + +Interest in the question who would be bishop increased as Lent waned +and the time for the meeting of the convention approached. The general +public could not be expected to be greatly concerned about a matter so +purely ecclesiastical, but the wide popularity of Mr. Strathmore gave +to the election a character of its own. The question was generally held +to be that of the prevalence of liberal views. Many who cared nothing +about the church were interested in seeing whether new or old ideas +would prevail. The age is one in which there is a keen curiosity to see +what course the church will take. It is partly due, undoubtedly, to the +inherited habit of being concerned in theology; it is perhaps more +largely the result of unconscious desire for a liberalism so great that +it shall justify those who have been so liberal as to lay aside all +religion whatever. + +The papers had entered into the discussion with an alacrity quickened +by the fact that at this especial season there was not much else in the +way of news. Rangely wrote for the "Daily Eagle" a glowing editorial in +which he urged the choice of Strathmore on the ground that the new +bishop should be not the representative of a faction, but of the whole +church, and as far as possible of the people. It insisted that only a +man liberal himself could have breadth to understand and sympathize +with all shades of feeling. Others of the secular press had taken up +the discussion, and Mrs. Wilson declared that the devil was +contributing editorials to the papers in his keen fear that Father +Frontford would be elected. + +Lent wore at last to an end, and the festivities which follow Easter +came in with all their usual gayety. One evening, about a week before +the election, a musicale was given at the house of Mrs. Gore. Mr. and +Mrs. Strathmore were present, the tall figure of the former being +conspicuous in the crowd which after the music surged toward the +supper-room and later eddied through the parlors. Fred Rangely came +upon the clergyman at a moment when he had detached himself from the +admiring women who usually surrounded him, and taken refuge in the +shadow of a deep window. + +"Good-evening, Mr. Strathmore," Rangely said. "Are you making a +retreat? I thought Lent was the time for that." + +The other smiled with that kindly benevolence which was characteristic. + +"Ah, Mr. Rangely," he responded, extending his hand. "I am glad to see +you. Will you share my retirement?" + +"Thank you," Rangely answered, stepping into the recess. "A retreat is +especially grateful to a journalist. We get so tired that even a moment +of respite is welcome." + +Mr. Strathmore smiled more genially than ever. + +"Yes; you journalists are expected to know everything, and it must be +wearing to have to learn all that there is to know." + +"Oh, it's easy enough to learn instead how to appear to know." + +The clergyman regarded him with a quizzical look. + +"Is that the way it is done? I've often wondered at the infallibility +of your guild." + +"A trick, of the trade, I assure you. We have to seem to be infallible +to secure any attention at all, you see; and we soon learn the knack of +it." + +The clergyman, as if unconsciously, drew back a little farther into the +shadow of the heavy draperies veiling the nook in which they stood. + +"I dare say," he observed, as if speaking at random, "that one of your +clever professional writers would be able, for instance, to give the +reader quite an inside view even in church matters." + +Rangely's face changed, and he in turn altered his position by leaning +his elbow against the heavy middle sash of the window. The two men were +thus not only concealed from the passing crowd, but stood with faces +screened from each other by the shadow. + +"Oh, even that might be possible," Rangely returned lightly. + +"There is so much interest in church matters now," the other continued +dispassionately. "I noticed that the 'Churchman' had rather a striking +article two or three weeks ago on a layman's point of view of the +bishop question. Did you see it?" + +"I seldom see the 'Churchman,'" Rangely replied in a voice not wholly +free from constraint. + +"It is a pity you didn't see this, it was so well done. It is true that +it proved me to be all sorts of a heretic; but if I am, of course it +should be known." + +There was a pause of a moment. Outside in the drawing-room rose the +constant babble of speech, unintelligible and confusing. Then above it +Rangely laughed softly. + +"The wisdom of the journalist," he remarked, "is as nothing compared to +that of the clergy. How did you discover that I wrote it?" + +"Discover? Isn't that a word applied to finding things by seeking?" + +"What of that?" + +"I was merely thinking that you give me credit for more leisure and +more curiosity than I possess if you suppose me to have tried to find +out about that article." + +Rangely laughed again. + +"Mr. Strathmore," he said with a new resolution in his tone, "will you +pardon me if I am frank? I want to ask you what I can do to help you to +secure the election." + +"Don't think I am given to word-splitting, Mr. Rangely, but I've no +wish to _secure_ it. If the church needs me--but, after all, we need +not quibble. Will you pardon me if I say that your question is rather +remarkable coming from the author of the 'Churchman' paper." + +"Although I wrote the 'Churchman' article, I wrote also the 'Eagle' +editorial," was the reply. "I see things in a different light. The fact +is that I was trapped into writing that stuff for the 'Churchman,' and +now I'm anxious to undo any harm I may have done." + +"I am glad that you do not really think me as bad as that article made +me out," Strathmore said. "There have been some queer things about this +election. Mrs. Gore has a letter that a woman has written which +illustrates how injudicious some of those interested have been." + +"What sort of a letter?" + +"A letter that is amusing in a way. Of course I only mention the thing +confidentially. Very likely, though, Mrs. Gore might be willing to let +you see it if you are interested. It was written to a clergyman in the +western part of the State by Mrs. Wilson." + +"Mrs. Wilson?" + +"Mrs. Chauncy Wilson. Of course you know that she is much interested in +the matter. It isn't a very discreet document. I shall be much relieved +when the whole thing is settled. It causes too much excitement, +especially for us who have been named in connection with the office." + +"It can't be pleasant," Rangely assented. + +"It is not, I assure you. Now it is my duty to be talking to ladies and +helping Mrs. Gore. She told me that she depended on me." + +He moved forward as he spoke, and the two were soon in the company +again. Rangely weltered through the crowd to Mrs. Gore and asked about +the letter. + +"It is a trump card," she said. "I am glad you spoke about it. I was +wondering how it could be used to the best advantage. Mr. Strathmore +talks about its being a private letter, but I have a shrewd suspicion +that he wouldn't mind if somebody else used it. Come in to-morrow about +five, and we'll talk it over." + +Maurice Wynne was naturally not entirely at home in this sort of a +gathering. He had not overcome his shyness and want of familiarity with +social usages, so that he was especially relieved when he found himself +comfortably seated in a corner with Mrs. Herman, to whom he could talk +freely. + +"Isn't there something that can be done for Phil, Mrs. Herman?" he +asked earnestly. "I haven't seen him since I left the Clergy House. I +had to come away without saying good-by to him, and in answer to my +letter he says that Father Frontford advises him not to see me for the +present." + +Mrs. Herman sighed, playing with her fan. + +"Life is hard for a nature like his," answered she. "He is born to be a +martyr. He has the martyr temperament. It's part of our inheritance +from Puritanism, I suppose." + +Maurice smiled, looking up impulsively. + +"I can't see why you lay so much stress on Puritanism," he said. "What +has Puritanism resulted in? Its whole struggle has come to an end in +doubt and agnosticism and flippancy. Intellectual curiosity has taken +the place of spiritual stress; ethical casuistry or theological +amusements seem to me to stand instead of religious conviction." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with an inquiring smile. + +"You make me feel old," she interposed; "it is so long since I went +through that stage. Will you pardon me for saying that you are not +quite a disinterested observer?" + +"It is the eyes newly open that see most clearly," he responded, +throwing back his head with a little laugh. "The Puritan came into the +wilderness to establish a city of God. Time has shown that he dreamed +an impossible dream. The result of that effort has been the +establishment of a religious liberty"-- + +"One might almost say a religious license, I own," she interpolated. + +"A religious liberty or license as you like, but at any rate something +that would have seemed to them appallingly wicked,--a thousand times +worse than anything they fled from into the desert." + +Mrs. Herman was silent a moment while he waited for her answer. Her +eyes grew darker, and the color flushed in her cheeks. + +"It is odd enough for me to be the champion of Puritanism," she said at +length, "and yet it seems to me that after all they did their work +well, and that it was permanent. They left on the land the stress of +sincerity and earnestness. Creeds fall away just as leaves drop from +the trees, but each leaf has helped. Religions decay, but the salvation +of the race must depend upon human steadfastness to conviction." + +"Then I suppose that you think Phil is nearer to the heart of things +than I am." + +"Not in the least. The difference between you is superficial rather +than real so long as you are both true to your convictions." + +"But it seems to me," Maurice objected, "that Phil is looking at truth +as a sort of fetish. He seems to feel that the root of the matter is in +a dogma, and a dogma is only the fossil remains of a truth that is gone +by." + +She laughed appreciatively. + +"Have you caught the fever for making epigrams? I'm afraid there's a +good deal of truth in what you say about Cousin Philip. He can't help +looking at religion as an end rather than a means." + +"Has it ever struck you that he might finish by going over to the +Catholics?" + +"No," she answered, "I confess I'd never thought of it; but I see what +you mean." + +"It will seem to him a moral catastrophe, a sort of ecclesiastical +cataclysm," Maurice continued, "if Father Frontford isn't elected; and +as far as I can judge there isn't much chance of that." + +"No," she assented, "I don't think there is much chance." + +"He said to me one day," added Maurice thoughtfully, "that in the +Catholic Church there never could have been any danger of the election +of a heretic bishop. I am afraid this will decide him." + +Mrs. Herman regarded him with a smile, studying him as if she were +reading the working of his mind. + +"You think that a misfortune," she commented. "You feel that it is a +step farther into the darkness." + +"It is to narrow rather than to broaden his horizon, is it not?" + +She played with her fan a moment, smiling to herself in a way which he +did not understand, and looking down as if considering some old memory. +Then she met his glance with a look at once kind and wistful. + +"It isn't of much use to argue the matter, I suppose," were her words. +"It seems to me as if in talking to you I see my old mental self in a +mirror, if you'll pardon me for saying so. When we come out from any +conviction, and most of all from a religious belief, it seems to us a +profound misfortune that any man should still believe what we have +decided is false. By and by I think you will see that the chief point +is that a man shall believe. What he believes doesn't so much matter. +It must be the thing that best suits his temperament." + +"Then to outgrow a dogma is to weaken our power. It certainly weakens +our faith in general." + +"Yes," she assented, "that is the price we must pay for freedom; but if +Philip can still believe, I have long ago passed the place where I +should regret it. Perhaps he is to be envied." + +Maurice shook his head. + +"We may feel like that in some moods," he concluded with a smile, "but +certainly nothing would induce you to change places with him." "Oh, +no," she cried; "certainly not. But that is mere womanly lack of +logic!" + + + + XXXIII + + + A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN + Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1. + + +The disappointment of Maurice at the failure of his effort to secure +his aunt's fortune was perhaps rather more than less keen because the +property had never tangibly been his. The title of the fancy is that of +which men are most tenacious, and the thing which has been held in fee +of the imagination is precisely that which it is most grievous to lose. +Maurice returned to Boston completely overcome by the result of his +expedition, his mind overflowing with chagrin and anger. + +It was not only the money which he had missed, but he had to his +thinking lost also the hope of being in a position to press his suit +with Berenice. However intangible might be his plans for winning her, +they none the less filled his mind. He refused to regard her coldness +as enduring. He had in his thoughts imagined so many tender scenes of +reconciliation in which he magnanimously forgave her for the sharpness +of the repulse of their last meeting or humbly besought pardon for his +own offenses, that he came to feel as if all misunderstanding had +really been done away with. It had been in his mind that if he were but +in a position to meet Berenice on equal terms in regard to fortune all +might be well; and to be deprived of this hope was infinitely bitter. + +Meanwhile he had before him the problem of reshaping his life. It was +necessary that he decide what should take the place of the profession +which he had laid down. Fortunately the decision was not difficult, as +former inclination had practically settled the matter. The definite +shaping of his plans came one day in a talk which he had with his +cousin. + +"It isn't exactly my affair, Maurice," Mrs. Staggchase said, "but I +want to know, and that always makes a thing her affair with a woman,-- +what are you going to do with your life now that you have pulled it out +of the mouth of the church?" + +"It is good of you to care to ask," he answered. "I suppose I shall +study law." + +"May I talk with you quite frankly?" she asked. "Fred does me the honor +to say that for a woman I have a reasonably clear head." + +"You may say whatever you like, Cousin Diana. I shall only be +grateful." + +"Well, then, in the first place, how much have you to live on?" + +"I've about a thousand dollars a year. What was left of the estate at +mother's death amounts to about that. I wanted to give it all to the +church when I went into the Clergy House." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Father Frontford wouldn't allow it. He said that a continual sacrifice +meant more than an act that stripped me of power to decide, and which +might be regretted." + +"That was a noble temper," Mrs. Staggchase remarked thoughtfully. "A +priest is a strange being. As for you, you say you have never believed, +and yet you would have given up everything you possessed." + +Maurice flushed, and looked a little shamefaced. + +"I never did believe, so far as I can see now; but I thought I did, if +you see the difference. My wanting to give up everything wasn't belief; +it was a sort of instinctive desire to play fair. If I were to do the +thing at all, my impulse was to do it thoroughly. It isn't in my blood +to do a thing half way. I'm afraid the explanation doesn't speak very +well for my common sense; but so far as I can understand myself that's +the way of it." + +"But if you didn't believe what were you there for?" + +"I was there because Phil was. I don't pretend to understand why I, who +led Phil in everything else, who did all sorts of things that he +couldn't and had to decide everything else for him, should have +followed his lead so in religion; but I did. It was part of my caring +for him. It would have hurt him so much if I hadn't, that of course I +had to." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him keenly. He turned away his eyes, thinking +of his friend and of the wide gulf which had opened between them, so +that he but half heard and did not understand the comment she made +softly. + +"The _ewigweibliche_ in masculine shape," she murmured, smiling to +herself. "When the real came, it couldn't hold its power any longer." + +"What?" he asked. + +"Nothing. I was speaking in riddles. To come back to business,--you say +you've decided upon the law." + +"Yes. That was always my choice. I read a good deal of law while I was +in college. It wasn't till I graduated two years ago that I fell into +theology. It's two years wasted." + +"Oh, perhaps, and perhaps not. After all, experience in youth is +generally worth what it costs, little as we think so when we pay the +price. Well, then, you can easily live on your income if you choose. +Mr. Staggchase and I will be glad to have you make this your home, +and"-- + +"But, Cousin Diana," he interrupted in astonishment, "there is +certainly no reason why you should burden yourself with me. Not that I +am not a thousand times obliged to you, but"-- + +"Be as obliged as you like," interrupted she in turn, "only don't be +foolish. Fred and I are not exactly sentimentalists, and we both know +what we wish. He likes to have you to talk with, and when you have +learned to smoke you will find him a very clever and agreeable +companion after dinner. He knows the world, and he'll teach you a great +many things that you'd be slow to find out for yourself. As for me, you +amuse me, let us say. The gods have spared us the bother of children; +but the gifts of the gods are always to be paid for, and we begin to +feel as if there were a sort of loneliness ahead of us with nobody to +be especially interested in. To have somebody younger to care for is a +luxury when you are young yourself, but it's a necessity to age. I +assure you that we shouldn't have you here if we didn't want you, and +that we shall turn you out without scruple when we are tired of you." + +"Very well, then," he responded with a laugh, "I am rejoiced to remain +to be a blessing." + +They looked into the fire a little time as if they were considering +what effect upon the future this new arrangement would have; then Mrs. +Staggchase glanced up with a smile. + +"Just now," she remarked, "before you are plunged in the study of the +law, you may do escort duty for me. I am going to call on Berenice +Morison." + +"On Miss Morison?" + +"Yes. Her grandmother is staying with her. Mr. Frostwinch has gone +abroad, you know, and as the old house belongs to Bee, she is staying +on there." + +"But--but she won't care to see me." + +"Very likely not," assented his cousin coolly, "but she'll endure you +for my sake." + +"I don't like being endured," he retorted, between fun and earnest. +"Besides, she's so much money"-- + +"You are not such a cad as to be afraid of her money, I hope." + +"Not in one way, but don't you see now that she has so much, and I have +lost Aunt Hannah's"-- + +"Really, Maurice," she interrupted brusquely, "you must learn not to +speak your thoughts out like that! I'm not asking you to go to propose +to Bee. You have the theological habit of taking things with too +dreadful seriousness. Come with me for a call, and don't bother about +consequences and possibilities." + +Maurice blushed at his own folly in betraying his secret scruples, but +his cousin spared him any farther teasing, and they went on their way +peacefully. It seemed to him when he entered the stately Frostwinch +house that it had somehow been transformed. Everything was much as it +had been in the lifetime of Mrs. Frostwinch, yet to his fancy all +looked fresher and more cheerful. He smiled to himself, feeling that +the change must simply be the result of his knowledge that this was now +the home of Berenice; yet even so he could not persuade himself that +the alteration was not actual. He felt joyously alert as he followed +Mrs. Staggchase to the library, where Bee was sitting with old Mrs. +Morison. + +He had never been in this apartment before. It was high, and heavily +made, with an open fire on the hearth, and enough books to justify its +name. Berenice came forward to meet them, and Mrs. Morison remained +seated near the fire. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Staggchase," Bee said cordially. "It is +just one of those dreary days when it proves true courage to come out." + +"And true friendship, I hope," the other answered, passing on to Mrs. +Morison. "My dear old friend, I wish I could believe you are as glad to +see me as I am to see you." + +Berenice in the mean time gave her hand to Maurice graciously, but with +a certain grave courtesy which he felt to put them upon a purely +ceremonious footing. + +"It is kind of you to come," she said. "Grandmother will be glad to see +you." + +Maurice tried hard to look unconscious, but he could not help +questioning her with his eyes. She flushed under his eager regard, and +drew back a little. + +"I am very glad of the chance to see--Mrs. Morison," he answered. + +Bee flushed more deeply yet. Then she turned mischievously to Mrs. +Morison. + +"Grandmother," she said, "it seems that Mr. Wynne came to see you and +not me." + +The old lady greeted him kindly. + +"I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wynne," she said. "I hope +that your arm does not trouble you at all." + +"Not at all. I was too well taken care of at Brookfield." + +Mrs. Staggchase laughed, spreading out her hands. + +"There," said she gayly, "you see! He has only been in my hands a few +weeks, but I call that a very pretty speech." + +"He probably has a natural gift for pleasing speeches," Berenice +remarked meaningly. + +Maurice crimsoned, but his education had not proceeded far enough for +him to have any reply. + +"Well, take him away, Bee, and give him tea or gossip. I want to talk +to your grandmother about old friends, and you young people won't +understand." + +"He may have tea if he is tractable," responded Bee. "We are evidently +not appreciated, Mr. Wynne. Will you ring the bell over there, please." + +He did as he was directed, and then followed her to the tea-table at a +little distance from the fire. He was full of a troubled joy, the +mingled delight of being with her and the consciousness that he had +firmly determined in his own mind that he had no right to show her his +feelings. He said to himself that he could bear anything else better +than that she should think of him as a fortune-hunter. Her wealth +loomed between them as a wall which it were dishonorable even to +attempt to scale. His brain was busy phrasing things which he longed to +say to her, words seemed to seethe in his head, yet he found himself +strangely tongue-tied and awkward. When most of all he desired to +appear at his ease, he was most completely uncomfortable and self- +conscious. + +A servant came with the tea, and he was able to cover to some extent +his uneasiness by serving the ladies. When this was done, and he sat +nervously stirring his own cup, he found himself searching his mind in +vain for those things which it would be safe to say. His brain was full +of things which must not be said. He could think only of things which +it was not safe to utter; and his discomfiture increased as he saw Miss +Morison watching him with a half-veiled smile. + +"By the way," she said at length, when the silence was becoming too +marked, "I fulfilled your request." + +"My request?" he echoed, unable to remember that he had made any. + +"Yes. Have you forgotten that you came to ask me"-- + +He put out his hand impulsively. + +"Please don't!" he interrupted. "It is bad enough to remember what an +unmitigated idiot I was without the humiliation of thinking that you +remember it too." + +"I remember," she responded, with a sparkle in her eye, "that you did +not seem to relish the mission on which you were sent. However, I +accepted the intention, and I have promised the men a continuance of +their stipends." Her face grew suddenly grave, and she added: "I can't +joke about it, though. I really did it because Cousin Anna would have +wished it." + +They were silent now because they had come so near a solemn subject +that neither of them cared to speak. The thoughts of Maurice went back +to the day he had come to do the errand of Father Frontford, and his +cheek grew hot. + +"I hope you will believe," he said eagerly, "that I had really no idea +of how very ill your cousin was. She seemed so well when I saw her that +it was all unreal to me. I wish I could tell you how sorry I have been +for you. I have thought of you." + +She raised her eyes to his, and they exchanged a look in which there +was more than sympathy. Maurice felt her glance so deeply that for the +moment he forgot all else. Obstacles no longer existed. He was looking +into the eyes of the woman he loved, and thrilling as if her heart was +questioning his. It seemed to him that her very self was demanding how +deep and how true had been his thought of her in her time of sorrow. He +bent forward, sounding her gaze with his, trying to convey all the +unspoken words which jostled in his brain. Her eyes fell before his +burning look, and her head drooped. The room was darkening with the +coming dusk, and they sat at some distance from the others. He laid his +hand on hers. + +"Berenice!" he whispered. + +She rose as if she had not noted. + +"Don't you think it is time for lights, grandmother?" she said in a +voice so unemotional that it sent a chill to his heart. + +"It is certainly time for us to be going home," Mrs. Staggchase +interposed, rising in her turn. + +And far into the night Maurice Wynne vexed his soul with vain endeavors +to decide what Berenice meant by her treatment of him. + + + + XXXIV + + + WHAT TIME SHE CHANTED + Hamlet, iv. 7. + + +The grief which Philip felt over the apostasy of Maurice overshadowed +for a time every other feeling. He sorrowed for his friend, praying and +yearning, searching his heart to discover whether his own influence or +example had helped to bring about this lamentable fall; he turned over +in his mind plans for bringing the wanderer back to the fold; he ceased +to think about the coming election, and thought of his ill-starred love +hardly otherwise than as a possible sin which had helped perhaps to +lead to this catastrophe. + +Affection between two men is much more likely to be mutual than that +between two women. Men are more generally frank in their likes and +dislikes, they are as a rule more accustomed to feel at liberty to be +open and to please themselves in their familiarities; and it seems to +be true that men are more constant in friendship, as women are said to +be more constant in love. Affection between women, moreover, is apt to +be founded upon circumstance, while that between men is more often a +matter of character. + +The fondness of Philip and Maurice for each other was of long standing; +it had arisen out of the mutual needs of their natures, and was part of +their growth. Philip was the one most dependent upon his friend, +however, and now he felt as if he were torn away from his chief +support. He reasoned with himself that he had been letting affection +for his friend come between him and Heaven; he tried to feel that +Providence had interfered to break down his idol; yet to all this he +could not but answer that Maurice had been always a help, and that it +was impossible to believe that Providence would accomplish his good by +the hurt of his benefactor. He did assure himself that his suffering +was the will of a higher power, and as such to be acquiesced in and +improved to his spiritual good. If the voice of his secret heart, that +inner self from which we hide our faces and whose words we so +obstinately refuse to hear, cried out against the cruelty of this +discipline, he but closed his ears more resolutely. To listen would be +to yield to temptation. He would not see Maurice; he hardly permitted +himself to read his friend's letters. He answered these notes by fervid +appeals to the wanderer to return to the fold, to be reconciled with +the church, to take up again the priesthood he had discarded. Hard as +it was, he still strove for what he felt to be the other's lasting +good. + +Lent ended, and the gladness of Easter came upon the land; the spring +showed traces of its secret presence by a thousand intangible and +delicate signs in sky, and air, and earth: there was everywhere a stir +and a quickening, a blitheness which belongs to the vernal season only. +Philip felt all these things by the growing sharpness of the contrast +between his mood and that of the world without. His melancholy and +unrest seemed to him to grow every day more intense and unbearable. + +That Father Frontford did not more fully realize Philip's condition was +probably due to the near approach of the election. As the time for the +convention drew near, the supporters of the rival candidates redoubled +their exertions; there was hurrying to and fro, writing of letters and +continued consultation, all of which inevitably distracted the +attention of the Father. He did perceive, however, that Philip was +troubled, and nothing could have been more tender or considerate than +his attitude. He did not talk to Ashe about Maurice, but he contrived +to make his deacon understand that no blame was attached to him for the +apostasy of Wynne. Philip found a new affection for the Father +springing in his heart, so soothing, so winning was the sympathy of the +Superior. + +The days passed on until the convention actually assembled. Philip was +feverishly anxious; yet he persistently assured himself that he had no +doubt in regard to the result. He felt that the end had been +accomplished by the work which had already been done; and the +convention itself seemed to him somewhat unreal and unmeaning. It had +in his mind not much more than the function of announcing a result +which he felt to have been arrived at already in the canvassing of +lists of delegates in which he had taken part at Mrs. Wilson's. Until +the thing was formally announced, however, it was impossible to be at +ease. + +The first day of the convention was mainly one of organization and of +preparation. Business was disposed of and all made ready for the +election of the morrow. Philip went into the convention in the hour of +recreation. He tried to be interested in matters which he assured +himself were of real importance; yet he found his memory dwelling on +Maurice and the times they had talked of this convention. Even his +efforts to fix his thoughts on the election itself could not drive his +friend from his mind. He walked home at last, saying passionately that +he had ceased to care for the church, for its welfare, its fate; that +he had cared only for his own selfish desires and interests. He looked +back upon the convention which he had left, and saw mentally a picture +of men who seemed strange and remote, concerned with matters which he +did not understand, in which he had no interest. He felt completely out +of key with everything; he longed for Maurice with unspeakable pain. +He had rested on Maurice. In every mental crisis he had depended upon +finding his friend at hand, sympathetic, strong, responsive; he had +come to be as one unable to stand alone. It seemed impossible for him +to go on longer without seeing his fellow, his friend, his confidant, +his support. The convention and the Clergy House alike became misty and +accidental in comparison with his own desperate need of Maurice. + +A couple of blocks from the House he was joined by a fellow deacon. + +"I say, Ashe," was the other's greeting, "did you ever know anything so +unfortunate as that Wilson letter?" + +Philip turned upon him an uncomprehending face. + +"What is the Wilson letter?" he inquired absently. + +"What? Don't you know about it? I saw you at the convention." + +"I was there a little while; but there was nothing said about a letter, +that I heard." + +"Oh, there has been nothing said about it in the convention, but they +say it will turn the scale." + +"But what is it?" + +"It's a letter Mrs. Wilson--Mrs. Chauncy Wilson, you know--you must +know who she is?" + +"Yes; I know her." + +"Well, this is a letter that she wrote to a rector in the western part +of the State,--his name was Briggs or Biggs, or something of that kind. +She said that if he didn't vote for Father Frontford she could get him +out of his parish." + +"What!" exclaimed Philip. "She couldn't have written such a thing!" + +"There's a fac-simile of it in the hands of every member of the +convention." + +"But how did it get out?" + +"They say," answered the other, eager to impart his information, "that +a man named Rangely had it printed, and sent it around. I don't know +who he is, but he's a newspaper man, I believe." + +"I know who he is," Philip returned, "but I thought he was a friend of +Mrs. Wilson. I've seen him at her house. How did he get the letter?" + +"I'm sure I don't know; but he had it. He's written a circular to go +with it. He says that that is the way the friends of Father Frontford +are trying to secure the election. There is a great deal of feeling +about it." + +"But will it make much difference?" + +"They say that it will turn the scale. There are a number of men who +were in doubt, and this is likely to be enough to insure Mr. +Strathmore's election." + +"What a disgraceful trick!" Philip cried indignantly. "Father Frontford +isn't responsible for what Mrs. Wilson did. Besides, it doesn't change +the real facts of the case. It doesn't make Father Frontford any the +less the right man." + +"Of course it doesn't," was the reply. "But I've been talking with my +uncle. He's a delegate from Springfield. He says that he's sure it will +get Mr. Strathmore elected." + +The news gave Philip a shock, but it seemed impossible that a trivial, +outside trick like this could alter the conscientious vote of the +candidates. He was uneasy, but he seemed to have lost all vital care +about the election, and even this disconcerting event did not greatly +change his feeling. He reproached himself that he cared so little; yet +his personal misery so absorbed him that his thoughts wandered even +from this new cause for self-reproach. + +After supper that night he was summoned to the Father Superior. + +"I wish you to do an errand for me," Father Frontford said. "I presume +that you have heard of the publication of Mrs. Wilson's letter. It may +do harm, and whatever happens I want her to know that I do not blame +her. She acted unwisely, no doubt; but her intention was good. Besides, +I really became responsible when I trusted so much to her judgment. I +shall be happier if I know that she is not thinking that I feel +disposed to be vexed with her." + +The tone in which this was said was too sincere for Philip to doubt +that the Father uttered his true feeling. He looked into the face of +the other, and was struck by the complete weariness, almost exhaustion, +which marked it. He went on his way haunted by those deep-set eyes, so +full of pain, of fatigue, and, it seemed to Philip, of self-reproach. + +Mrs. Wilson was not at home, so that Philip had only to leave the note. +He turned back, crossing the Public Garden in the soft evening. +Overhead was the mysterious darkness, quivering with stars. The air +was full of suggestions of advancing spring. He felt in his veins an +unreasonable restlessness, a stirring as of sap in the tree, a longing +for that which he could not define. He heard around him gay voices and +laughter, for the night was warm, and people were sitting about on the +benches or strolling along the walks. He began to examine the groups he +passed, looking with a curious eye at the couples sitting side by side +in friendly or in loving companionship. He felt so utterly alone, and +all these about him were mated. The tones of women sounded soft and +sweet in his ear. Stray verses of Canticles began to float through his +mind as wisps of vapor drift across the sky before the fog comes in +from the sea. He repeated the collect for the day, and through it all +he was thinking that it was possible to walk past the house of Mrs. +Fenton. The difference in the time of his reaching the Clergy House +would not be so great as to attract notice; he might see her shadow on +the curtain; it was not probable, of course, but it was possible; in +any case, he should feel near to her. He walked more quickly, and as he +did so he heard the notes of a guitar, and then the sound of a girl +singing. It was only the hard, coarse voice of a street-singer, and the +language was Italian. He did not understand the words, but the music +was seductive, the night of spring, star-lit and fragrant with +intangible odors, quickened his sense. Constantly recurring in the +song, as if set there for his ear, he understood the magic word +"_amóre, amóre_" strung like beads down the necklace warm on a girl's +bosom. Surely he had a right to be human. All the world had leave to +love. He had given Mrs. Fenton up; she was only a memory; he should +never speak to her again; it could not be wrong simply to walk past her +house. He had lost even his friend; if this poor act were a comfort, it +surely was not sin. "_Amóre--amóre_," sang the Italian girl over there +in the warm, palpitating night. He had consecrated his love as an +offering on the altar; surely he need not therefore deny it. + +He had gained Beacon Street, and was walking rapidly, his cheeks hot +and flushed, his heart on fire. Far down a neighboring street he heard +the approach of a band of the Salvation Army. They were singing +shrilly, with beating of tambourines and clanging of cymbals, a vulgar, +raucous tune, redolent of animal vigor and of coarse passions, a tune +as unholy as the rites of a pagan festival. Ashe stood still as with +flaring torches they drew nearer. The blare of the brass, the vibrant, +tingling clangor of the cymbals, the high, penetrating voices of the +women, the barbaric rhythm of the air, made him in his sensitive mood +tremble like a tense string. He shivered with excitement, nervous tears +coming into his eyes so thickly that he turned away blinded, and +stumbled against a man who was passing. + +"My good brother," exclaimed a rich, Irish voice, jovial, yet not +without dignity, "you don't see where you are going." + +Philip recognized instantly the tones of the priest whom he had met at +the North End; and without even apologizing he answered with an +overwhelming sense of how true were the words in a figurative sense:-- + +"No, I cannot see." + +The other was evidently impressed by the manner in which the reply was +given, for instead of passing on he stopped and examined Ashe closely. + +"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. + +"Providence has sent you to me, I think," Philip returned. Then he put +his hand on the arm of the stranger, bending forward in his eagerness. +"Where do you live?" he asked. "May I come to see you to-morrow +afternoon? It may be that you can tell me where I am going." + + + + XXXV + + + THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED + Merchant of Venice, iii. 2. + + +However much or little the ill-starred letter of Mrs. Wilson may have +had to do with it, the fact was that both houses of the convention +elected Mr. Strathmore by majorities sufficiently large to satisfy even +his friends. The lay delegates were more generally in his favor than +the clergy, which circumstance gave for a time some shadowy hope to the +high-church party that the House of Bishops might refuse to confirm the +election; but whatever consolation was derived from such an expectation +was of short duration. The election was ratified, and almost +immediately preparations were begun for the consecration of the new +bishop. + +Father Frontford remarked to an interviewer at the close of the +convention that "it was not the least happy of the incidents of the +election that Mr. Strathmore had been chosen by a majority so decided, +since it indicated clearly the wishes of the church;" and he used his +influence to prevent any attempt to induce the House of Bishops to +oppose the choice of the convention. As soon as the matter was settled +he called upon Mr. Strathmore and offered his congratulations in +person. + +"It is true that I would have prevented your election had I been able," +he said frankly; "but that was entirely a question of church polity. I +hardly need say how complete is my confidence in your sincerity and +your ability." + +"Brother," Mr. Strathmore replied, with that smile whose charm no man +could resist, "I thank you for coming, and I thank you for your +generous words. One thing we may be sure of and be grateful to God for. +The church is certainly too great and too stable to be shaken by the +mistakes of any one man. If we differ sometimes about the best way of +showing it outwardly, we at least are one in wishing the best interests +of religion and of humanity." + +Father Frontford had had some difficulty in soothing Mrs. Wilson after +the election. She declared vehemently that the House of Bishops should +not confirm Mr. Strathmore. + +"I will go to New York myself," she announced. "I know I can manage the +Metropolitan. If he's on our side we can prevent that infidel +Strathmore from getting a majority." + +It is possible that Father Frontford, with all his decision, might have +been unable to prevent some demonstration, but Dr. Wilson quietly +remarked to his wife:-- + +"Elsie, we've had enough of this bishop racket. I'm devilish tired of +the whole thing, and I wish you'd find a new amusement." + +"But, Chauncy," she responded, "think how maddening it is to be beaten! +And as for that Fred Rangely, I could dig out his eyes and pour in hot +lead!" + +Wilson chuckled gleefully. + +"You played your private theatricals just a little prematurely. It was +devilish clever of him to get back at you that way; but that letter has +made newspaper talk enough about you, and you'd better drop church +politics. Isn't it time to get your stud into shape for the summer?" + +Elsie shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know. I hate to give it up while there's a fighting chance. +The campaign has been a lot of fun. However, I suppose you are right. +You have a dreadfully aggravating way of being. Besides, I am pretty +tired of parsons, and horses wear better." + +She therefore managed to secure a visiting English duke with a +characteristically shady reputation, gave the most brilliant dinner of +the season in his honor, and retired to her country place in a blaze of +glory; finding some consolation for all her disappointments in the +purchase of a couple of new racers with pedigrees far longer than that +of the duke. + +Easter came that year almost at its earliest, and it was therefore +found possible to have the consecration of the new bishop in June. To +it were assembled all the dignitaries of the church. Boston for a +couple of days overflowed with men in ecclesiastical garb; and if the +general public was not deeply stirred by the importance of the event, +all those connected with it were full of interest and excitement. + +Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening +her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her +intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country +place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had +been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the +people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high +spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she +said:-- + +"I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week." + +"Off for a week? Where are you going?" + +"Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop +Strathmore." + +"Well," her husband said, laughing, "I like your grit. If you can't +win, you won't show the white feather." + +She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child. + +"I'm going for revenge." + +"Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?" + +"Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any +time. It's better fun than that." + +"Well, let's hear." + +"You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in +Boston." + +"Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her +in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." + +"Oh, no; I'm going to meet her." + +"Marion Delegass, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the +French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons." + +"Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen." + +"Is she to take part?" + +"Don't be flippant. I am to give Mlle. Delegass a luncheon. I've +arranged it by letter. By one of the most curious coincidences in the +world it comes on the very day of the consecration." + +"That is amusing, but I don't see that it's much of a revenge." + +"No?" Elsie responded demurely, casting down her eyes. "I am so sorry +that Mrs. Strathmore can't come." + +"Mrs. Strathmore? You didn't ask her!" + +"Why, of course, Chauncy, I wanted to show that I hadn't any ill +feeling against the family of my bishop." + +"To meet Marion Delegass?" + +"Of course. I thought it would liven Mrs. Strathmore up a little. She +always reminded me of water-gruel with not enough salt in it." + +Dr. Wilson burst into a roar of laughter, leaning back in his chair and +slapping his knee. + +"Marion Delegass! Why she's left more husbands and lovers behind her +than a sailor has wives! Marion Delegass and that prig in petticoats! +Well, Elsie, you do beat the devil!" + +"Am I to understand that you know His Satanic Majesty well enough to +speak with authority?" she laughed. "What do you think now of my +revenge?" + +"I don't exactly see where the revenge comes in. She won't come to the +lunch." + +"Come? Oh, no; thank Heaven, she won't come. She'd be like a death's +head in a punch-bowl. She won't come, but she'll tell that she was +invited. She'll be too furious not to tell; and everybody will know +that I asked her. That's all I care about." + +Wilson laughed again. + +"Well," he said again, "you are the cheekiest and the most amusing +woman in town. You'll shock all your relations, but they must be +getting hardened to that by this time." + +Whether the relatives were on this occasion more or less shocked than +upon others was not a question to which Elsie devoted any especial +thought. She gave her luncheon, and all the world knew that she had +invited Mrs. Strathmore to meet Marion Delegass on the day of the +consecration. Mrs. Strathmore was so enraged that she talked flames and +fury, even going so far as to wonder whether there were not some +possibility of excommunication; so that her tormentor was enchanted +with the success of her revenge. + +The consecration took place on a beautiful June day, and was as +imposing a function in its line as Boston had ever seen. Trinity was +crowded to overflowing, and if the ceremony was less imposing than +would have been the induction of a Catholic bishop, it was impressive +and dignified. The sunlight filtering through the windows of stained +glass splashed fantastic colors over the long surpliced train which +wound through the aisles down to the chancel, singing processionals of +joyous hope; the air was full of the sense of solemn meaning; the organ +pealed; the noble words of the fine old ritual spoke to the hearts of +the hearers, and carried their message of a faith which took hold upon +the unseen. Above all the circumstance, the form, the conventions, the +creeds, rose the spirit of the worshipers, uplifted by the thrilling +realization of the outpouring of the soul of humanity before the +unknown eternal. + +Maurice had accompanied Mrs. Staggchase and Miss Morison to the +ceremony. It had been his impulse not to go, but his cousin urged it, +and it needed little to induce him to go to any place where Berenice +was, even though it were a church. He went with some secret misgiving +lest the service should move him more than he wished; but to his +satisfaction he found that while he felt ćsthetic pleasure, he was +inclined to be critical about the doctrine of the ritual. His +satisfaction, he reflected, would have been thought amusing by Mrs. +Staggchase; but it at least assured him that he had not been mistaken +in his mental attitude toward the creed he had discarded. + +The thing which most moved him was the sight of Philip among the +surpliced deacons in the procession. Philip's face seemed to him +thinner and paler than of old; he blamed himself that he had not +disregarded his friend's injunction, and insisted upon seeing him. To +his repeated requests Philip had returned answer that he could not bear +the meeting. Maurice had come at length to feel something almost of +resentment at the wall which this prohibition put between them; but to- +day, seeing the white countenance, he experienced a pang of deep self- +reproach. He reflected how sharply his defection must have weighed his +friend down. He should have tried to comfort him; at least he should +have assured Phil that in spite of whatever might come his affection +would remain unchanged. + +He thought lovingly of the old days when he and Phil were together, and +of the plans they had sometimes made for keeping if possible together +even after they went out into the world to work. He had the impatience +of one who has recently put a doctrine by for the blindness, as it +seemed to him, which kept Phil still in the power of the old +superstition; but with his friend's white face, marked with mental +suffering, there to soften him, he dwelt little on this, and much on +his affection for his friend and fellow. + +As Maurice brooded, watching Philip moving slowly down the aisle, +Berenice bent forward to take a book from the rack, and her face came +between him and his friend. The thought of Philip vanished as a shadow +before a sun-burst. He was conscious only of Berenice, sitting there so +near him, her dark eyes serious with the solemnity of the occasion, her +cheeks tinged with a color so lovely that the lining of a shell or the +petals of a rose were poor things with which to compare it. He forgot +all else, and lost himself in a delicious, troubled dream of what might +be. Surely, surely she must love him! He could not give her up; it was +not possible that he should not some day win her. He fixed on her a +look so ardent that it seemed to compel her glance to meet his. The +flush in her cheek deepened, and he reflected with an exultant thrill +that even in the absorption of a time like this he could reach and move +her spirit. + +The rest of the service was little to Maurice. He heard the music, +listened now and then to the words which were being spoken, thought for +a moment here and there upon the strangeness that these people should +be consecrating Mr. Strathmore and not recognizing in the least that +they were assisting at the breaking down of the church; he gave a +little reflection to his own interview with the new bishop, unable +completely to satisfy himself how far Mr. Strathmore was sincere and +how far simply following out a policy; these and other matters floated +through his mind, but they were mere trifles on the surface. His real +thought was of Berenice, always of Berenice. The fluttered, troubled +look which he had seen when his gaze had compelled hers, a look which +seemed to him full of confession of things unutterable, full almost of +appeal as if she realized that she was betraying a feeling that she +feared to own even to herself, this look of a moment so fleeting +clocks could hardly have measured it, filled him with a wild, +unreasoning bliss. He did not again try to challenge her eyes. He sat +in a dream of happiness; a vague, intangible, ecstatic sense that all +was well, that the universe was in tune, and that all things were but +ministers of his joy. + +When the ceremonial was concluded Mrs. Staggchase went home with +Berenice to lunch with Mrs. Morison. Maurice put them into their +carriage, feeling that he could not let Berenice go out of his sight. +He stood on the curbstone watching the carriage as if it had set out on +a voyage to regions unknown and far; then smiling at himself with a +realization of what he was doing he turned back to go home himself. As +he did so he came face to face with Philip. + + + + XXXVI + + + THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT + Measure for Measure, iv. I + + +The mind of Philip Ashe had not become more quiet as time went on, and +the day of the consecration found him hesitating between his old life +and a new one. Ever since the chance encounter with the Irish priest he +had been going almost every afternoon to talk with this new friend, and +one by one he had found his doubts about the supremacy of the Roman +church fading away. Ashe was of a nature which must rely upon another, +and since he was shut off from the companionship of Wynne it was +inevitable that he should lean upon this great, hearty, healthy man, +who with the possibility of adding a son to the church received him so +warmly. Philip's nature, moreover, inclined him strongly toward a +church which exercised absolute authority, and in doctrinal points he +found himself surprisingly at one with his teacher. Nothing held him +back but the force of habit and a natural hesitancy to break away from +the faith which he had professed. Undoubtedly his feeling for Father +Frontford counted for much; but the fact, that in the months which had +preceded the election the Father Superior had been so much absorbed +that intimacy between him and his deacons was impossible, had greatly +lessened Philip's sense of loyalty to him. Very tenderly and wisely the +priest led Ashe on, until he was in very truth a Catholic in all but +name. + +To his ardent, mystical mind, deeply responsive to the ritual of the +older church, the ceremonies of the consecration seemed poor and thin. +He craved symbolism and richly suggestive rites. He had been more than +once in these latter days to the services of the Catholics, and his +imagination came more and more to demand the embodiment in form of the +aspirations of his soul. He tried to stifle the disappointment which +assailed him as the function proceeded, but it was impossible for him +not to realize that the ceremonial of his own faith left him cold and +unsatisfied. He missed the warm emotional excitement of the music, the +incense, the sonorous Latin, the sumptuous robes, and the romantic +associations of the mass. + +He felt keenly, moreover, that the man who was being to-day installed +as the head of the diocese was of tendencies distinctly opposed to his +desires. He mingled with disappointment that Father Frontford had not +been chosen a genuine conviction that Strathmore would use his +influence to carry church forms toward a worship ever simpler and more +bare. He could not wholly smother an almost personal resentment against +Strathmore, and a consciousness that it would be always impossible for +him to regard the newly consecrated bishop with that respect and +veneration due to one holding the office. He reflected that the church +must itself be tending toward a dangerous liberalism if it were +possible for this thing to have come about. He listened dully and +confusedly to the service until the time came when the bishop elect +made his vows. He heard the strong voice of Strathmore, vibrant, +deliberate, penetrating, repeat with slow solemnity the promise of +conformity and obedience to the doctrine and worship of the church. The +words tingled through the mind of Ashe like an electric shock. To his +excited feeling Strathmore was perjuring himself in the name of God, +since it was impossible to feel that the new bishop followed or +intended to follow either. He experienced a wild impulse to spring to +his feet and protest; he wondered if he only of all the persons in this +crowded church recognized the shocking irreligion of that vow. He +reflected that in the Catholic communion it would have been impossible +for popular suffrage to raise to the bishopric a man like this, a +heretic and a perjurer. + +The service went on, and Philip sat in a sort of dull stupor. He could +not think clearly; he was only dreamily conscious of what was going on +about him. The music, the prayers, the solemn words were to him so +remote from his true self that he seemed to hear them through a veil of +distance. He had ceased to have part in this rite; he ceased even to +heed it. + +Like one who is lost in idle musing, one who concerns himself with +trifling thoughts lest he realize too poignantly a bitter actuality, +Philip sat in his place, now and then glancing about the great church. +Changing his position a little, he saw the face of Mrs. Fenton. He +dwelt on it with mingled grief and pain. More and more he became +absorbed in gazing, while love and anguish swelled in his heart. He +forgot where he was; he saw her only; he felt only her presence in all +the throng. His passion seemed to him greater than ever. He did not for +an instant think of her as of one who could or would requite his +affection; or even as one who belonged to his future life. He was +filled with a sense of the completeness of his devotion to her; he felt +that he had loved her more than Heaven itself; but he felt also that he +was bidding her good-by. He had not definitely said to himself that a +change was before him; yet looking at her he felt it. The shadow of an +eternal farewell seemed to be over him. He was benumbed with suffering; +he drank in her face greedily; he seemed to himself to be imprinting +for the last time upon his memory that which was dearer to him than +life, yet which he was to see no more. + +The service ended at last, and once more the long procession of which +he was a part slowly made its way out of the church. Philip found +himself in the vestry in the midst of a crowd of ecclesiastics from +which he extricated himself with all possible speed; and got once more +into the open air. He threaded his way among the groups standing on the +sidewalks chatting and hindering him. Suddenly a man turned close to +him, and Maurice stood before his face. + +"Phil!" he heard the joyful voice of his friend cry. "My dear old Phil, +how glad I am to see you!" + +The sound was like a charm which breaks a spell. For the instant all +else was forgotten in the pleasure of being again with his heart- +fellow. He could have flung his arms about the other's neck and kissed +him, so keen was his delight. The doubts and distractions which a +moment earlier had bewildered and tortured him vanished before Wynne's +greeting as a mist before a brisk and wholesome wind. He seized the +hand held out to him, and clasped it almost convulsively. + +"Maurice!" was all that he could say. + +"I really ought not to recognize you," Maurice said, in a great hearty +voice which sounded to Philip strangely unfamiliar. "Why in the world +have you refused to see me? I assure you I'm not contagious." + +They were close to a group waiting on the sidewalk, and with +instinctive shrinking Ashe led the way down the street. Soon they were +walking in much the old fashion, and Philip left his friend's question +unanswered until they had gone some distance. Then he turned with a +smile not a little wistful. + +"Certainly it was not because I did not long to see you," he said. + +Maurice smiled, but Philip sensitively felt a veiled impatience in his +tone as he replied:-- + +"Oh, Phil, if I could only get the ascetic nonsense out of you!" + +Ashe could not answer. He could not reprove his friend after the +separation--which to him had been so long and so sorrowful, and he had +a secret feeling that they were to be more entirely divided. The pair +walked in silence a moment, and then Wynne spoke. + +"Well, I'll not talk on forbidden subjects; but, surely, Phil, you are +not going to throw me over entirely. I wouldn't drop you, no matter +what happened." + +"I'm not throwing you over," Philip answered with a choking in his +throat. "I would--Oh, Maurice," he broke out, interrupting himself, "it +isn't for want of caring for you, but if I am ever to help you, I must +keep my own faith. I have been so troubled and so--There," he broke off +again, "let us talk of something else." + +He felt that Maurice was studying him carefully. + +"Phil, old fellow, you are hysterically incoherent. What's the matter +with you? It can't be all my going off. Can't you come home with me, +and talk it out?" + +Ashe shook his head. The more he was touched and moved by the affection +of his friend, the more he shrank from him. This tender comradeship +seemed to him the most subtile of temptations. He feared, moreover, +lest he might reveal to Maurice too much of what was in his heart. + +"Not now," he said. "I must go home at once." + +"Then I'll walk along with you," rejoined the other. "I do wish you'd +let me help you. You are evidently all played out physically, and half +an eye could see that you've something on your mind. Is it the bishop?" + +"That has troubled me a good deal," Ashe returned, feeling a relief in +being able to say this truthfully. + +"Well, Phil, if you worry yourself sick over what you can't help, what +strength will you have for the things that you can do? I'm glad it +isn't all my going that has brought you to this, for you look +positively ill. I wish you'd get sick-leave, and go off a while." + +Ashe shook his head again. He felt that if Maurice went on talking to +him he should lose his self-command. He must get away; yet he could not +bear to hurt his friend. He turned toward Maurice and held out his +hand. + +"Dear Maurice," he said, "don't be hurt; but I can't talk with you. I +must be alone. I am upset, and not myself. It is not that I don't trust +you, you know; but there are things that a man has to fight out for +himself." + +The other stopped, and regarded him closely. + +"All right, Phil," he said. "I understand. If you've got a fight with +the devil on hand nobody can help you. I only wish I could." + +He wrung the hand of Ashe, and added: + +"Good-by. I'm always fond of you, old fellow; and you know that when +there is a place that I can help there's nothing I wouldn't do for +you." + +Ashe tried to answer, but he could not command his voice. He could only +return the warm pressure of Wynne's hand, and then, miserable and +hopeless, go on his way to his conflict with the arch fiend. + +Once in his chamber Ashe fastened the door, drew down the shades, and +lighted the gas. He laid aside his cassock, and loosened his clothing +so that his breast lay bare. He took from a drawer a little crucifix of +iron. This he placed across the chimney of the gas-burner, and watched +it until it was heated. Then he seized it with his fingers, but the +stinging pain made him drop it to the floor. He bared his breast, +wildly calling aloud to heaven, and flung himself down upon the +crucifix, pressing the hot iron to his naked bosom. A fierce shudder +convulsed him; he extended his arms in the form of a cross, and with +closed eyes lay still an instant. A horrible odor filled the room; +great drops of sweat dripped from his forehead; his teeth were set in +his lower lip. For a moment he remained motionless; then in +uncontrollable agony he writhed over upon his back and fainted. + +The return to consciousness was a terrible sensation of misery and +weakness. He was heart-sick and racked in body and mind. Feebly he +rose, and gathered his scattered senses. Then with trembling he got to +his feet. His wound gave him bitter agony, but the bodily pain made him +smile. He took from the same drawer a picture of the Madonna, and knelt +before it with clasped hands. His doubts, his passion, his self- +reproaches, danced like demons before his distracted brain. The +troubled, stormy thoughts of his distraught mind merged insensibly +into prayers. He put aside the clothing and showed to the Virgin Mother +his wounded breast, scarred and bleeding. He looked into her face with +murmured words of contrition, of imploring, of faith. A gracious sense +of her womanly pity, of her heavenly tenderness, stole soothingly over +him. He seemed almost to feel cool hands on his hot forehead; it was as +if in a moment more the heavens might open and grant to him the +beatific vision. There came over him a wave of joy which was beyond +words. The longing of his soul for the woman he loved was merged in the +desire of his heart which yearned toward the blessed Virgin Mother. His +prayers became more glowing, more ecstatic, until in a rapture of +adoration, of bliss, of passion, he fell prostrate before the divine +image, crying out with all his soul:-- + +"Thou ever blessed one! To thee I give myself! 'O thou, to the arch of +whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave,' receive me, save me!" + +He had no sense of incongruity to make the phrase unseemly or +ludicrous. It was to him the formal transfer of his deepest allegiance +from an earthly love to a heavenly. He had at last found peace. + + + + XXXVII + + + THIS IS NOT A BOON + Othello, iii. 3. + + +It was Mrs. Wilson who was the immediate means of bringing about an +understanding between Maurice and Berenice. Mrs. Wilson was never so +occupied that she was not able to attend to any new thing which might +turn up, and her interest in the spring races did not prevent her from +having a hand in the affairs of the lovers. While she was in town +attending to the luncheon for Marion Delegass she dined with Mrs. +Staggchase, and Maurice took her down. + +"I understand that you are a renegade," she remarked vivaciously as +soon as they were seated. "I wonder you dare look me in the face." + +"Because you are the church?" he demanded. + +"Certainly not now that that Strathmore is bishop," she retorted, +tossing her head. "However, I always said that you were too good to be +wasted in a cassock." + +"Thank you. What would you say if I made such a reflection on the +clergy?" + +"Oh, I've no patience with the clergy!" she declared. "They bore me to +death. There's that solemn-faced friend of yours, Mr. Ashe--his name +ought to be Ashes!--he actually lectured me on my worldliness! _My_ +worldliness, if you please, and I working myself to a shadow for the +election of Father Frontford!" + +"He has imagination, you see," Maurice suggested, smiling. + +"Now you are sneering, Mr. Wynne. I shall talk to the man on the other +side." + +She was good as her word, and left Maurice to devote himself to the +lady on his right. He had the American adaptability, and a couple of +months had sufficed to make him reasonably at ease at a dinner. The +continuous delight he felt in his freedom, moreover, inspired him with +an inclination to be frank and communicative, so that if he did not +talk like the conventional man of the world, he managed not to sit +silent. His neighbor to-night was Mrs. Thayer Kent, and he chatted +easily with her about the West, where for a couple of years she had +been living on a ranch. Something in Mrs. Kent's talk reminded him of +Berenice, and he sighed inwardly that the latter's mourning prevented +her from going out. As if the thought had been spoken aloud, Mrs. +Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:-- + +"It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since +the Mardi Gras ball?" + +"Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush. +"I saw her yesterday at the consecration." + +"Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for +Marion Delegass." + +"So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do." + +"Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for +deserting me in the middle of the service that night." + +"I had to take care of that girl. She fainted." + +"Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't +care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story +you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there." + +Wynne was too confused to answer this sally, although he wanted to say +something about the cruelty of taking him into the ball-room. His +confusion increased Mrs. Wilson's amusement. + +"I think I should like to be in at the death," she said. "She is coming +down to stay with me next week. Come down and make love to her. I won't +tell about the girl you carried out of church in your arms." + +More and more disconcerted and self-conscious, Maurice could only +stammer that Mrs. Wilson flattered him if she supposed that Miss +Morison would tolerate any love-making on his part. + +"You are adorable when you blush like that," was the reply which he +got. "I have almost a mind to set you to make love to me. However, that +wouldn't be fair. I will take it out in seeing you and her. You must +surely come down." + +Maurice regarded the invitation as merely part of Mrs. Wilson's +badinage, but in due time it was formally repeated by note. He opened +the letter at the breakfast table, and was advised by his cousin to +accept. + +"Mrs. Wilson," she commented, "is like a banjo, more exciting than +refined, but she isn't bad-hearted. She has the old Boston blood and +traditions behind her." + +"They are sometimes rather far behind," interpolated Mr. Staggchase +dryly. "She wasn't a Beauchester, you know. However, she has her +ancestors safe in their graves so that they can't escape her." + +Mrs. Staggchase smiled good-naturedly at the little fling at her own +family pretensions. + +"You are wicked this morning, Fred," was her reply. "Elsie is something +of a sport on the ancestral tree; but she is worth visiting. Berenice +Morison is going down there sometime soon. Perhaps she will be there +with you, Maurice." + +"I thought," Mr. Staggchase observed, "that old Mrs. Morison didn't +approve of Mrs. Wilson." + +"Nobody approves of Elsie," was Mrs. Staggchase's calm reply. "I'm sure +I don't; but after all she is a sort of cousin of Berenice, and she +can't very well refuse to visit her. Really, there is nothing bad about +Elsie. She is startling, and she certainly does things which are bad +form. That's half of it because she married as she did." + +Nothing more was said, and Maurice kept his own counsel in regard to +the fact that he knew that Miss Morison was to be his fellow-guest. He +was full of wild hopes. He reproached himself that he was wrong to +forget that Berenice was rich and he was poor; yet not for all his +reproaches could he keep himself from feeling Mrs. Wilson had not +seemed to see any insurmountable obstacle to his wooing; that she had +appeared rather to be ready to help his suit. He must not, of course, +try to win Berenice; yet he was going to Mrs. Wilson's to meet her, to +be with her, to revel in the delicious pleasure of hoping, of fearing, +of loving. + +The house of the Wilsons at Beverly Farms was on a bluff overlooking +the sea. It was reached by a long avenue winding through pines mingled +with birches and rowan trees; and stood in a clearing where all the day +and all the night the sound of the waves on the cliff answered the +whispering of the wind in the pine-tops. The broad piazzas of the house +looked out over the sea, and gave views of the islands off shore, the +ever-changing water, the beautiful curves of the sea marge, now high +with defiant rocks, and now falling into sandy beaches. A level lawn, +velvety and green, stretched from the house to the edge of the cliff, +with here and there a rustic seat or a century plant stiff and arrogant +in its lonely exile from warmer climes. + +On this piazza Maurice found himself, just before dinner on the evening +of his arrival, walking up and down with Berenice. It was still cool +enough to make the exercise grateful. + +"It is so delightful to have the weather warm enough to be out of doors +without being all bundled up," she said, looking over the sea, cold +green and gray in the declining light. + +"The water doesn't look very warm," Maurice responded, following her +gaze. + +"No, it isn't exactly summer yet," she replied lightly. "Do you know," +she added, turning to meet his eyes, "I can't help thinking how +different this is from the last time we were together away from +Boston." + +"When we were at Brookfield?" + +"Yes." + +"It is different; more different to me than you can have any idea of. +Then I was a cog in a machine; now I am my own master." + +They walked to the end of the piazza, turned, and came down again. They +were facing the light now, and her face shone with the pale glow of the +declining day. In her black dress, with a soft shawl thrown about her, +she was dazzling; and Maurice found it difficult not to take her in his +arms then and there. + +"It must have been a strange feeling," she observed thoughtfully, "to +know that you were not master of your own movements, but had to do as +you were told, whether you approved of it or not." + +"Strange," he echoed, a sense of slavery coming over him which was far +stronger than anything he had felt while the bondage lasted, "it was +intolerable!" + +"Yet you endured it?" she returned, regarding him curiously. + +"Yes, I endured it. In the first place, I thought that it was my duty; +and in the second, it was not so hard until I had seen"-- + +"Well, until you had seen?"-- + +"Until I had seen you, I was going to say." + +Berenice flushed, and tossed her head. + +"You have caught a pretty trick of paying compliments, Mr. Wynne." + +"No," he answered with gravity, "I have only the mistaken temerity to +say the truth." + +She regarded him with a mocking light in her deep, velvety eyes. + +"And is it the truth that you have given up your religion because you +have seen me?" + +Maurice wondered afterward how he looked when she sped this shaft, for +he saw her shrink and pale. She even stammered some sort of an apology; +but he did not heed it. Although he was sure that he should sooner or +later have come to the same conclusion whether he had met Berenice or +not, he knew in his secret heart that there was in her words some savor +at least of truth. He felt their bitterness to his heart's core, and +could only stand speechless, reproaching her with his glance. If they +were true it was cruel for her to say them. He regarded her a moment, +and then turned toward the long French window by which they had come +out of the house. Berenice recovered herself instantly, and behaved as +if nothing had occurred to mar the serenity of their talk. + +"Yes," she said in an even voice, "you are right. It is becoming too +cold to stay out here." + +He held open the window for her, and she swept past him with a soft +rustle and a faint breath of perfume. He did not follow, but drew the +window to behind her and continued his promenade alone until he was +summoned to dinner. All his glorious air-castles had fallen in ruins +about his feet, and he rated himself as a fool for having come to +Beverly Farms to meet this girl who evidently flouted him. + +The result of this conversation was to bring Maurice to the resolution +to return to town. All the doubts which had been in his mind arose like +ghosts ill exorcised, more tangible and more insistent than ever. He +realized that he had come here fully persuaded in his secret heart that +Miss Morison must love him, and with the hope of winning some proof of +it. Now he assured himself that she did not care for him and that he +had been a fool to indulge in a dream so absurd. The obstacles which +lay between them presented themselves to him in a dismal array. He +decided that she could have no respect for him, or she could not have +thrown at him the implication that he had apostatized from selfish +motives. With all the awful solemnity with which a man deeply in love +examines trifles, he recalled her looks and words, deciding that he was +to her nothing more than the butt of her light contempt; and secretly +wondering when and where he should see her again, he decided to leave +her forever. + +He announced his determination next morning to his hostess. As he could +not well give the real reason for his decision, and had no experience +in social finesse, he came off badly when asked why he had come to this +sudden decision. He could not equivocate; and when Mrs. Wilson asked +him point-blank if Berenice had been treating him badly, he could only +take refuge in the reply that it was not for him to criticise what Miss +Morison chose to do. He persisted in his resolution to return to +Boston, feeling obstinately that he could not with dignity remain where +he was while Berenice was there. A man of the world would at once have +seen the folly of such a course, but Maurice was not a man of the +world. + +"Well," Mrs. Wilson said, after she had argued with him a little, "you +have retained the clerical obstinacy, whatever else you've given up. I +am not in the habit of pressing my guests to stay if they are tired of +my society. If you choose to go, of course you will go." + +"Oh, it is not that I am tired of your society," poor Maurice put in +eagerly. + +"If I were a man," his hostess went on, "I never would let a woman see +that I minded how she treated me. You'd soon have her coming down from +her high horse if you showed her that you didn't care." + +Maurice flushed painfully. It was impossible for him to talk to Mrs. +Wilson about his feeling for Berenice. + +"I am afraid that I had better go," he said, with eyes abased. + +She regarded him with a mixture of impatience and amusement struggling +in her face. + +"By all means go," she retorted. "I'll tell Patrick to be at the door +in time to take you to the three o'clock train." + +She swept away rather brusquely, leaving him disconsolate and uneasy. +He felt that he had bungled matters; but before he had time to consider +Berenice appeared, and joined him on the piazza. + +"I am sent by Mrs. Wilson," she announced, "to ask you to stay." + +"You take some pains to clear yourself from the suspicion of having any +interest in the matter." + +"'I am only a messenger,'" she quoted saucily, seating herself on the +rail of the piazza in the sunshine, and looking so piquant that Maurice +felt resolution and resentment oozing out of his mind with fatal +rapidity. + +He flushed at her allusion to his ill-considered interview with her, +but he could not for his life be half so indignant as he wished to be. + +"Apparently an indifferent messenger. You evidently do not care whether +I go or I stay." + +"Why should I?" + +"Why should Mrs. Wilson?" he retorted, not very well knowing what he +was saying. + +"Oh, Mrs. Wilson is your hostess. Besides," Bee went on, a delightful +look of mischief coming into her face, "she said that she hated to have +her plans interfered with, and that you were so handsome that she liked +to have you about." + +Maurice flushed with a strangely mixed sensation of pleased vanity and +irritation, and was angry with himself that he could not receive her +jesting unmoved. He bowed stiffly. + +"I am very sorry," he returned, "that Mrs. Wilson should be deprived of +so beautiful an ornament for her place." + +"Then you will go?" Bee demanded, looking at him with mirthful eyes, a +glance which so moved him that he could not face it. + +"I see no reason why I should remain." + +"There certainly can be none if you see none. Well, I want to give you +something of yours before you leave us." + +She drew from the folds of her handkerchief the little grotesque mask +which she had pinned upon her lover's cassock at the Mardi Gras ball. +Maurice flushed hotly at the sight. + +"You are determined, Miss Morison, to spare me no humiliation in your +power." + +"Humiliation?" she echoed. "Why, I was humiliating myself. Seriously, +Mr. Wynne, I have been ashamed of that performance ever since; and I +most sincerely beg your pardon. The humiliation is mine entirely." + +"But where in the world," demanded he, a new thought striking him, "did +you get the thing? You know I threw it on the table." + +"Miss Carstair gave it to Mr. Stanford, and I got it from him." + +Maurice came a step nearer. + +"Why?" he asked, his voice deepening. + +"I--I didn't like to have him keep it," Bee murmured, with downcast +face and lower tone. + +"Why?" he repeated, so much in earnest that his voice was almost +threatening. + +She was for a moment more confused than ever, but rallying she held out +the mask. + +"Oh, that I might tease you with it again!" she laughed. + +He took the absurd trinket in his hand. + +"It is pretty badly dilapidated," he observed. + +"Yes," she said demurely. "I crushed it in the carriage on the way home +from the ball. I--I crumpled it up in my hand." + +"Why?" + +"You keep saying 'why' over and over to me, Mr. Wynne, as if I were on +the witness-stand." + +"Why?" he persisted. + +He had forgotten all the doubts which had beset and hindered him, the +scruples he had had about wooing, and the fears that she did not love +him. He was conscious only that she was there before him and that he +loved her; that her downcast looks seemed to encourage him, so that it +was impossible to rest until he knew what was really in her mind. The +unspoken message which he had somehow intangibly received from her made +him forget everything else. He loved her; he loved her, and a wild hope +was beating in his heart and seething in his brain. He could not turn +back now; he must know. He saw her grow paler as he looked at her, +standing so close that his face was bent down almost over her bent +head. He felt that her secret, nay, the crown of life itself, was +within his grasp if he did not fail now. + +"Why?" he asked still again, hardly conscious that he said it, and yet +determined that he would win an answer at whatever cost. + +She raised her face slowly, shyly; her eyes were shining. + +"Because," she said, hardly above a whisper, "I was determined to +convince myself that I hated you. But then"-- + +Her words faltered, yet he still did not dare to give way to the warm +tide which he felt swelling up from his heart. His voice softened +almost to the tone of hers. + +"But then?" + +The crimson stained her beautiful face, and faded. + +"I think I--I kissed it," she murmured, so low that the words were mere +phantoms of speech. + +He tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat. He sprang +forward, and gathered her into his arms. It is an art which even +deacons may know by nature. + +When the pair came in to luncheon an hour later, Mrs. Wilson looked up +at them, and then without question turned to a servant. + +"You may tell Patrick that we shan't need the carriage for the +station," that sagacious woman said coolly. + +Maurice was both surprised and touched by the gratification which his +engagement gave to his friends. Mrs. Wilson might be expected to take +satisfaction, since any woman is likely to approve of any match which +she may be allowed to have a hand in promoting; the Staggchases were +delighted, and Mrs. Morison received him with a kindness which moved +him more than anything else. Mrs. Morison treated him much as if he +were her son. She spoke wisely to him about his future, and she had a +word of warning on the subject of his attitude toward religion. + +"My dear Maurice," she said, after she had come to call him by that +name, "let me give you a caution. The most fanatical belief is less +evil than dogmatic denial. If you are really the agnostic you claim to +be, your very confession that the truth is too great for human grasp +binds you to respect the unknown." + +"But one cannot respect dogmas," he objected. + +"We were not speaking of dogmas," she responded with sweet and +dignified earnestness, "but of the mystery of life and the great +unknown that incloses it. The great fault and danger of this age is +that it is all for breaking down. It reforms abuses and improves away +old errors; but it seems to forget the need of providing something to +take the place of what it clears away. Men can no more live without a +belief than without air." + +"But it is hard to have patience with what one sees to be false." + +"What one believes to be false, you mean. It isn't easy to have +patience with those who hold to theories that we've laid by; but surely +it is impossible not to respect the spirit in which any honest soul +sincerely believes." + +"Yes," Maurice assented, somewhat doubtfully; "but it is so hard to +have patience with creeds that are entirely outworn." + +The old lady smiled and shook her head. + +"Again I have to say 'which seem to you outworn.' A creed is never +really outworn so long as a single man sincerely believes in it. +However, you may have as little patience as you like with them if you +will only remember that after all the creed itself is nothing, while +the attitude of the mind to truth is everything. If you respect +conviction, that is all I ask." + +Mrs. Staggchase at another time had also an ethical word for him. +Maurice was deeply moved by the fact that Philip had gone into the +Catholic church and entered a monastery at Montreal. Like his friend, +Ashe had left the Clergy House as soon as he had come to the decision +to which his doubts led. He had seen Maurice, and had talked to him +unreservedly of his faith and of his plans. It was idle to attempt to +move him; and it was after bidding the proselyte good-by that Maurice +was talking of him to Mrs. Staggchase, and lamenting what occurred. + +"My dear fellow," she observed in her faintly satirical manner, "I know +that I'm growing old, because whereas my convictions used to be all +right and my actions all wrong, now my actions are right enough, but my +convictions have all evaporated. Mr. Ashe is still young enough to need +convictions, and the more rigid they are the more contented he'll be." + +"But with his training, to turn out in this way," responded Maurice. +"It's amazing. Think of a New England Puritan turned Catholic!" + +"On the contrary, it is the most natural thing in the world. His +Puritan training is what has made him a Catholic." + +Maurice thought a moment in silence. + +"I suppose," he said at length, "that in this age there are only two +things possible for a thinking man. One must go over to Rome and rest +on authority, or choose to use his reason, and be an agnostic." + +Mrs. Staggchase regarded him with a smile which made him flush a +little. + +"'No doubt but ye are the people,'" she quoted, "'wisdom shall die with +you.' Yet I have known persons really of intellectual respectability +who haven't found it necessary to do either." + +He was too wise to answer her. He remembered that it was time to keep +an appointment with Berenice, and he smiled with the air of one too +happy to be ruffled. + +"I suppose," he remarked, as he rose to go, "that if I would give you +the chance you would easily prove that Phil and I both are merely +Puritans more or less disguised!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Puritans, by Arlo Bates + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURITANS *** + +This file should be named 8prtn10.txt or 8prtn10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8prtn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8prtn10a.txt + +Produced by Eric Eldred, ckirschner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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