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    <title>
      The Damnation of Theron Ware | Project Gutenberg
    </title>
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  <body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 133 ***</div>
    <h1>
      THE DAMNATION OF THERON WARE
    </h1>
    <h2>
      by Harold Frederic
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <b>PART I</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_PART4"> <b>PART IV</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      PART I
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      No such throng had ever before been seen in the building during all its
      eight years of existence. People were wedged together most uncomfortably
      upon the seats; they stood packed in the aisles and overflowed the
      galleries; at the back, in the shadows underneath these galleries, they
      formed broad, dense masses about the doors, through which it would be
      hopeless to attempt a passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The light, given out from numerous tin-lined circles of flaring gas-jets
      arranged on the ceiling, fell full upon a thousand uplifted faces&mdash;some
      framed in bonnets or juvenile curls, others bearded or crowned with
      shining baldness&mdash;but all alike under the spell of a dominant emotion
      which held features in abstracted suspense and focussed every eye upon a
      common objective point.
    </p>
    <p>
      The excitement of expectancy reigned upon each row of countenances, was
      visible in every attitude&mdash;nay, seemed a part of the close,
      overheated atmosphere itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      An observer, looking over these compact lines of faces and noting the
      uniform concentration of eagerness they exhibited, might have guessed that
      they were watching for either the jury's verdict in some peculiarly
      absorbing criminal trial, or the announcement of the lucky numbers in a
      great lottery. These two expressions seemed to alternate, and even to
      mingle vaguely, upon the upturned lineaments of the waiting throng&mdash;the
      hope of some unnamed stroke of fortune and the dread of some adverse
      decree.
    </p>
    <p>
      But a glance forward at the object of this universal gaze would have
      sufficed to shatter both hypotheses. Here was neither a court of justice
      nor a tombola. It was instead the closing session of the annual Nedahma
      Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Bishop was about to
      read out the list of ministerial appointments for the coming year. This
      list was evidently written in a hand strange to him, and the slow,
      near-sighted old gentleman, having at last sufficiently rubbed the glasses
      of his spectacles, and then adjusted them over his nose with annoying
      deliberation, was now silently rehearsing his task to himself&mdash;the
      while the clergymen round about ground their teeth and restlessly shuffled
      their feet in impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon a closer inspection of the assemblage, there were a great many of
      these clergymen. A dozen or more dignified, and for the most part elderly,
      brethren sat grouped about the Bishop in the pulpit. As many others, not
      quite so staid in mien, and indeed with here and there almost a suggestion
      of frivolity in their postures, were seated on the steps leading down from
      this platform. A score of their fellows sat facing the audience, on chairs
      tightly wedged into the space railed off round the pulpit; and then came
      five or six rows of pews, stretching across the whole breadth of the
      church, and almost solidly filled with preachers of the Word.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were very old men among these&mdash;bent and decrepit veterans who
      had known Lorenzo Dow, and had been ordained by elders who remembered
      Francis Asbury and even Whitefield. They sat now in front places, leaning
      forward with trembling and misshapen hands behind their hairy ears,
      waiting to hear their names read out on the superannuated list, it might
      be for the last time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight of these venerable Fathers in Israel was good to the eyes,
      conjuring up, as it did, pictures of a time when a plain and homely people
      had been served by a fervent and devoted clergy&mdash;by preachers who
      lacked in learning and polish, no doubt, but who gave their lives without
      dream of earthly reward to poverty and to the danger and wearing toil of
      itinerant missions through the rude frontier settlements. These pictures
      had for their primitive accessories log-huts, rough household implements,
      coarse clothes, and patched old saddles which told of weary years of
      journeying; but to even the least sympathetic vision there shone upon them
      the glorified light of the Cross and Crown. Reverend survivors of the
      heroic times, their very presence there&mdash;sitting meekly at the
      altar-rail to hear again the published record of their uselessness and of
      their dependence upon church charity&mdash;was in the nature of a
      benediction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The large majority of those surrounding these patriarchs were middle-aged
      men, generally of a robust type, with burly shoulders, and bushing beards
      framing shaven upper lips, and who looked for the most part like honest
      and prosperous farmers attired in their Sunday clothes. As exceptions to
      this rule, there were scattered stray specimens of a more urban class,
      worthies with neatly trimmed whiskers, white neckcloths, and even
      indications of hair-oil&mdash;all eloquent of citified charges; and now
      and again the eye singled out a striking and scholarly face, at once
      strong and simple, and instinctively referred it to the faculty of one of
      the several theological seminaries belonging to the Conference.
    </p>
    <p>
      The effect of these faces as a whole was toward goodness, candor, and
      imperturbable self-complacency rather than learning or mental astuteness;
      and curiously enough it wore its pleasantest aspect on the countenances of
      the older men. The impress of zeal and moral worth seemed to diminish by
      regular gradations as one passed to younger faces; and among the very
      beginners, who had been ordained only within the past day or two, this
      decline was peculiarly marked. It was almost a relief to note the relative
      smallness of their number, so plainly was it to be seen that they were not
      the men their forbears had been.
    </p>
    <p>
      And if those aged, worn-out preachers facing the pulpit had gazed instead
      backward over the congregation, it may be that here too their old eyes
      would have detected a difference&mdash;what at least they would have
      deemed a decline.
    </p>
    <p>
      But nothing was further from the minds of the members of the First M. E.
      Church of Tecumseh than the suggestion that they were not an improvement
      on those who had gone before them. They were undoubtedly the smartest and
      most important congregation within the limits of the Nedahma Conference,
      and this new church edifice of theirs represented alike a scale of outlay
      and a standard of progressive taste in devotional architecture unique in
      the Methodism of that whole section of the State. They had a right to be
      proud of themselves, too. They belonged to the substantial order of the
      community, with perhaps not so many very rich men as the Presbyterians
      had, but on the other hand with far fewer extremely poor folk than the
      Baptists were encumbered with. The pews in the first four rows of their
      church rented for one hundred dollars apiece&mdash;quite up to the
      Presbyterian highwater mark&mdash;and they now had almost abolished free
      pews altogether. The oyster suppers given by their Ladies' Aid Society in
      the basement of the church during the winter had established rank among
      the fashionable events in Tecumseh's social calendar.
    </p>
    <p>
      A comprehensive and satisfied perception of these advantages was uppermost
      in the minds of this local audience, as they waited for the Bishop to
      begin his reading. They had entertained this Bishop and his Presiding
      Elders, and the rank and file of common preachers, in a style which could
      not have been remotely approached by any other congregation in the
      Conference. Where else, one would like to know, could the Bishop have been
      domiciled in a Methodist house where he might have a sitting-room all to
      himself, with his bedroom leading out of it? Every clergyman present had
      been provided for in a private residence&mdash;even down to the Licensed
      Exhorters, who were not really ministers at all when you came to think of
      it, and who might well thank their stars that the Conference had assembled
      among such open-handed people. There existed a dim feeling that these
      Licensed Exhorters&mdash;an uncouth crew, with country store-keepers and
      lumbermen and even a horse-doctor among their number&mdash;had taken
      rather too much for granted, and were not exhibiting quite the proper
      degree of gratitude over their reception.
    </p>
    <p>
      But a more important issue hung now imminent in the balance&mdash;was
      Tecumseh to be fairly and honorably rewarded for her hospitality by being
      given the pastor of her choice?
    </p>
    <p>
      All were agreed&mdash;at least among those who paid pew-rents&mdash;upon
      the great importance of a change in the pulpit of the First M. E. Church.
      A change in persons must of course take place, for their present pastor
      had exhausted the three-year maximum of the itinerant system, but there
      was needed much more than that. For a handsome and expensive church
      building like this, and with such a modern and go-ahead congregation, it
      was simply a vital necessity to secure an attractive and fashionable
      preacher. They had held their own against the Presbyterians these past few
      years only by the most strenuous efforts, and under the depressing
      disadvantage of a minister who preached dreary out-of-date sermons, and
      who lacked even the most rudimentary sense of social distinctions. The
      Presbyterians had captured the new cashier of the Adams County Bank, who
      had always gone to the Methodist Church in the town he came from, but now
      was lost solely because of this tiresome old fossil of theirs; and there
      were numerous other instances of the same sort, scarcely less grievous.
      That this state of things must be altered was clear.
    </p>
    <p>
      The unusually large local attendance upon the sessions of the Conference
      had given some of the more guileless of visiting brethren a high notion of
      Tecumseh's piety; and perhaps even the most sophisticated stranger never
      quite realized how strictly it was to be explained by the anxiety to pick
      out a suitable champion for the fierce Presbyterian competition. Big
      gatherings assembled evening after evening to hear the sermons of those
      selected to preach, and the church had been almost impossibly crowded at
      each of the three Sunday services. Opinions had naturally differed a good
      deal during the earlier stages of this scrutiny, but after last night's
      sermon there could be but one feeling. The man for Tecumseh was the
      Reverend Theron Ware.
    </p>
    <p>
      The choice was an admirable one, from points of view much more exalted
      than those of the local congregation.
    </p>
    <p>
      You could see Mr. Ware sitting there at the end of the row inside the
      altar-rail&mdash;the tall, slender young man with the broad white brow,
      thoughtful eyes, and features moulded into that regularity of strength
      which used to characterize the American Senatorial type in those far-away
      days of clean-shaven faces and moderate incomes before the War. The
      bright-faced, comely, and vivacious young woman in the second side pew was
      his wife&mdash;and Tecumseh noted with approbation that she knew how to
      dress. There were really no two better or worthier people in the building
      than this young couple, who sat waiting along with the rest to hear their
      fate. But unhappily they had come to know of the effort being made to
      bring them to Tecumseh; and their simple pride in the triumph of the
      husband's fine sermon had become swallowed up in a terribly anxious
      conflict of hope and fear. Neither of them could maintain a satisfactory
      show of composure as the decisive moment approached. The vision of
      translation from poverty and obscurity to such a splendid post as this&mdash;truly
      it was too dazzling for tranquil nerves.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tedious Bishop had at last begun to call his roll of names, and the
      good people of Tecumseh mentally ticked them off, one by one, as the list
      expanded. They felt that it was like this Bishop&mdash;an unimportant and
      commonplace figure in Methodism, not to be mentioned in the same breath
      with Simpson and Janes and Kingsley&mdash;that he should begin with the
      backwoods counties, and thrust all these remote and pitifully rustic
      stations ahead of their own metropolitan charge. To these they listened
      but listlessly&mdash;indifferent alike to the joy and to the dismay which
      he was scattering among the divines before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The announcements were being doled out with stumbling hesitation. After
      each one a little half-rustling movement through the crowded rows of
      clergymen passed mute judgment upon the cruel blow this brother had
      received, the reward justly given to this other, the favoritism by which a
      third had profited. The Presiding Elders, whose work all this was, stared
      with gloomy and impersonal abstraction down upon the rows of blackcoated
      humanity spread before them. The ministers returned this fixed and
      perfunctory gaze with pale, set faces, only feebly masking the emotions
      which each new name stirred somewhere among them. The Bishop droned on
      laboriously, mispronouncing words and repeating himself as if he were
      reading a catalogue of unfamiliar seeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;First church of Tecumseh&mdash;Brother Abram G. Tisdale!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was no doubt about it! These were actually the words that had been
      uttered. After all this outlay, all this lavish hospitality, all this
      sacrifice of time and patience in sitting through those sermons, to draw
      from the grab-bag nothing better than&mdash;a Tisdale!
    </p>
    <p>
      A hum of outraged astonishment&mdash;half groan, half wrathful snort
      bounded along from pew to pew throughout the body of the church. An echo
      of it reached the Bishop, and so confused him that he haltingly repeated
      the obnoxious line. Every local eye turned as by intuition to where the
      calamitous Tisdale sat, and fastened malignantly upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Could anything be worse? This Brother Tisdale was past fifty&mdash;a
      spindling, rickety, gaunt old man, with a long horse-like head and
      vacantly solemn face, who kept one or the other of his hands continually
      fumbling his bony jaw. He had been withdrawn from routine service for a
      number of years, doing a little insurance canvassing on his own account,
      and also travelling for the Book Concern. Now that he wished to return to
      parochial work, the richest prize in the whole list, Tecumseh, was given
      to him&mdash;to him who had never been asked to preach at a Conference,
      and whose archaic nasal singing of &ldquo;Greenland's Icy Mountains&rdquo; had made
      even the Licensed Exhorters grin! It was too intolerably dreadful to think
      of!
    </p>
    <p>
      An embittered whisper to the effect that Tisdale was the Bishop's cousin
      ran round from pew to pew. This did not happen to be true, but indignant
      Tecumseh gave it entire credit. The throngs about the doors dwindled as by
      magic, and the aisles cleared. Local interest was dead; and even some of
      the pewholders rose and made their way out. One of these murmured audibly
      to his neighbors as he departed that HIS pew could be had now for sixty
      dollars.
    </p>
    <p>
      So it happened that when, a little later on, the appointment of Theron
      Ware to Octavius was read out, none of the people of Tecumseh either noted
      or cared. They had been deeply interested in him so long as it seemed
      likely that he was to come to them&mdash;before their clearly expressed
      desire for him had been so monstrously ignored. But now what became of him
      was no earthly concern of theirs.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the Doxology had been sung and the Conference formally declared
      ended, the Wares would fain have escaped from the flood of handshakings
      and boisterous farewells which spread over the front part of the church.
      But the clergymen were unusually insistent upon demonstrations of
      cordiality among themselves&mdash;the more, perhaps, because it was
      evident that the friendliness of their local hosts had suddenly evaporated&mdash;and,
      of all men in the world, the present incumbent of the Octavius pulpit now
      bore down upon them with noisy effusiveness, and defied evasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Brother Ware&mdash;we have never been interduced&mdash;but let me clasp
      your hand! And&mdash;Sister Ware, I presume&mdash;yours too!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was a portly man, who held his head back so that his face seemed all
      jowl and mouth and sandy chin-whisker. He smiled broadly upon them with
      half-closed eyes, and shook hands again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I said to 'em,&rdquo; he went on with loud pretence of heartiness, &ldquo;the minute
      I heerd your name called out for our dear Octavius, 'I must go over an'
      interduce myself.' It will be a heavy cross to part with those dear
      people, Brother Ware, but if anything could wean me to the notion, so to
      speak, it would be the knowledge that you are to take up my labors in
      their midst. Perhaps&mdash;ah&mdash;perhaps they ARE jest a trifle close
      in money matters, but they come out strong on revivals. They'll need a
      good deal o' stirrin' up about parsonage expenses, but, oh! such seasons
      of grace as we've experienced there together!&rdquo; He shook his head, and
      closed his eyes altogether, as if transported by his memories.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Ware smiled faintly in decorous response, and bowed in silence;
      but his wife resented the unctuous beaming of content on the other's wide
      countenance, and could not restrain her tongue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You seem to bear up tolerably well under this heavy cross, as you call
      it,&rdquo; she said sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The will o' the Lord, Sister Ware&mdash;the will o' the Lord!&rdquo; he
      responded, disposed for the instant to put on his pompous manner with her,
      and then deciding to smile again as he moved off. The circumstance that he
      was to get an additional three hundred dollars yearly in his new place was
      not mentioned between them.
    </p>
    <p>
      By a mutual impulse the young couple, when they had at last gained the
      cool open air, crossed the street to the side where over-hanging trees
      shaded the infrequent lamps, and they might be comparatively alone. The
      wife had taken her husband's arm, and pressed closely upon it as they
      walked. For a time no word passed, but finally he said, in a grave voice,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is hard upon you, poor girl.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then she stopped short, buried her face against his shoulder, and fell to
      sobbing.
    </p>
    <p>
      He strove with gentle, whispered remonstrance to win her from this mood,
      and after a few moments she lifted her head and they resumed their walk,
      she wiping her eyes as they went.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I couldn't keep it in a minute longer!&rdquo; she said, catching her breath
      between phrases. &ldquo;Oh, WHY do they behave so badly to us, Theron?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He smiled down momentarily upon her as they moved along, and patted her
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Somebody must have the poor places, Alice,&rdquo; he said consolingly. &ldquo;I am a
      young man yet, remember. We must take our turn, and be patient. For 'we
      know that all things work together for good.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And your sermon was so head-and-shoulders above all the others!&rdquo; she went
      on breathlessly. &ldquo;Everybody said so! And Mrs. Parshall heard it so DIRECT
      that you were to be sent here, and I know she told everybody how much I
      was lotting on it&mdash;I wish we could go right off tonight without going
      to her house&mdash;I shall be ashamed to look her in the face&mdash;and of
      course she knows we're poked off to that miserable Octavius.&mdash;Why,
      Theron, they tell me it's a worse place even than we've got now!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, not at all,&rdquo; he put in reassuringly. &ldquo;It has grown to be a large town&mdash;oh,
      quite twice the size of Tyre. It's a great Irish place, I've heard. Our
      own church seems to be a good deal run down there. We must build it up
      again; and the salary is better&mdash;a little.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he too was depressed, and they walked on toward their temporary
      lodging in a silence full of mutual grief. It was not until they had come
      within sight of this goal that he prefaced by a little sigh of resignation
      these further words,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come&mdash;let us make the best of it, my girl! After all, we are in the
      hands of the Lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, don't, Theron!&rdquo; she said hastily. &ldquo;Don't talk to me about the Lord
      tonight; I can't bear it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Theron! Come out here! This is the funniest thing we have heard yet!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Ware stood on the platform of her new kitchen stoop. The bright flood
      of May-morning sunshine completely enveloped her girlish form, clad in a
      simple, fresh-starched calico gown, and shone in golden patches upon her
      light-brown hair. She had a smile on her face, as she looked down at the
      milk boy standing on the bottom step&mdash;a smile of a doubtful sort,
      stormily mirthful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come out a minute, Theron!&rdquo; she called again; and in obedience to the
      summons the tall lank figure of her husband appeared in the open doorway
      behind her. A long loose, open dressing-gown dangled to his knees, and his
      sallow, clean-shaven, thoughtful face wore a morning undress expression of
      youthful good-nature. He leaned against the door-sill, crossed his large
      carpet slippers, and looked up into the sky, drawing a long satisfied
      breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a beautiful morning!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;The elms over there are full of
      robins. We must get up earlier these mornings, and take some walks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His wife indicated the boy with the milk-pail on his arm, by a wave of her
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Guess what he tells me!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It wasn't a mistake at all, our
      getting no milk yesterday or the Sunday before. It seems that that's the
      custom here, at least so far as the parsonage is concerned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's the matter, boy?&rdquo; asked the young minister, drawling his words a
      little, and putting a sense of placid irony into them. &ldquo;Don't the cows
      give milk on Sunday, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The boy was not going to be chaffed. &ldquo;Oh, I'll bring you milk fast enough
      on Sundays, if you give me the word,&rdquo; he said with nonchalance. &ldquo;Only it
      won't last long.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do you mean&mdash;'won't last long'?&rdquo;, asked Mrs. Ware, briskly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy liked her&mdash;both for herself, and for the doughnuts fried with
      her own hands, which she gave him on his morning round. He dropped his
      half-defiant tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The thing of it's this,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Every new minister starts in
      saying we can deliver to this house on Sundays, an' then gives us notice
      to stop before the month's out. It's the trustees that does it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Theron Ware uncrossed his feet and moved out on to the stoop
      beside his wife. &ldquo;What's that you say?&rdquo; he interjected. &ldquo;Don't THEY take
      milk on Sundays?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nope!&rdquo; answered the boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young couple looked each other in the face for a puzzled moment, then
      broke into a laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, we'll try it, anyway,&rdquo; said the preacher. &ldquo;You can go on bringing
      it Sundays till&mdash;till&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Till you cave in an' tell me to stop,&rdquo; put in the boy. &ldquo;All right!&rdquo; and
      he was off on the instant, the dipper jangling loud incredulity in his
      pail as he went.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Wares exchanged another glance as he disappeared round the corner of
      the house, and another mutual laugh seemed imminent. Then the wife's face
      clouded over, and she thrust her under-lip a trifle forward out of its
      place in the straight and gently firm profile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's just what Wendell Phillips said,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;'The Puritan's idea
      of hell is a place where everybody has to mind his own business.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young minister stroked his chin thoughtfully, and let his gaze wander
      over the backyard in silence. The garden parts had not been spaded up, but
      lay, a useless stretch of muddy earth, broken only by last year's
      cabbage-stumps and the general litter of dead roots and vegetation. The
      door of the tenantless chicken-coop hung wide open. Before it was a great
      heap of ashes and cinders, soaked into grimy hardness by the recent spring
      rains, and nearer still an ancient chopping-block, round which were
      scattered old weather-beaten hardwood knots which had defied the axe,
      parts of broken barrels and packing-boxes, and a nameless debris of tin
      cans, clam-shells, and general rubbish. It was pleasanter to lift the
      eyes, and look across the neighbors' fences to the green, waving tops of
      the elms on the street beyond. How lofty and beautiful they were in the
      morning sunlight, and with what matchless charm came the song of the
      robins, freshly installed in their haunts among the new pale-green leaves!
      Above them, in the fresh, scented air, glowed the great blue dome, radiant
      with light and the purification of spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron lifted his thin, long-fingered hand, and passed it in a slow arch
      of movement to comprehend this glorious upper picture.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What matter anyone's ideas of hell,&rdquo; he said, in soft, grave tones, &ldquo;when
      we have that to look at, and listen to, and fill our lungs with? It seems
      to me that we never FEEL quite so sure of God's goodness at other times as
      we do in these wonderful new mornings of spring.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The wife followed his gesture, and her eyes rested for a brief moment,
      with pleased interest, upon the trees and the sky. Then they reverted,
      with a harsher scrutiny, to the immediate foreground.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those Van Sizers ought to be downright ashamed of themselves,&rdquo; she said,
      &ldquo;to leave everything in such a muss as this. You MUST see about getting a
      man to clean up the yard, Theron. It's no use your thinking of doing it
      yourself. In the first place, it wouldn't look quite the thing, and,
      second, you'd never get at it in all your born days. Or if a man would
      cost too much, we might get a boy. I daresay Harvey would come around,
      after he'd finished with his milk-route in the forenoon. We could give him
      his dinner, you know, and I'd bake him some cookies. He's got the greatest
      sweet-tooth you ever heard of. And then perhaps if we gave him a quarter,
      or say half a dollar, he'd be quite satisfied. I'll speak to him in the
      morning. We can save a dollar or so that way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose every little does help,&rdquo; commented Mr. Ware, with a doleful
      lack of conviction. Then his face brightened. &ldquo;I tell you what let's do!&rdquo;
       he exclaimed. &ldquo;Get on your street dress, and we'll take a long walk, way
      out into the country. You've never seen the basin, where they float the
      log-rafts in, or the big sawmills. The hills beyond give you almost
      mountain effects, they are so steep; and they say there's a sulphur spring
      among the slate on the hill-side, somewhere, with trees all about it; and
      we could take some sandwiches with us&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You forget,&rdquo; put in Mrs. Ware,&mdash;&ldquo;those trustees are coming at
      eleven.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So they are!&rdquo; assented the young minister, with something like a sigh. He
      cast another reluctant, lingering glance at the sunlit elm boughs, and,
      turning, went indoors.
    </p>
    <p>
      He loitered for an aimless minute in the kitchen, where his wife, her
      sleeves rolled to the elbow, now resumed the interrupted washing of the
      breakfast dishes&mdash;perhaps with vague visions of that ever-receding
      time to come when they might have a hired girl to do such work. Then he
      wandered off into the room beyond, which served them alike as living-room
      and study, and let his eye run along the two rows of books that
      constituted his library. He saw nothing which he wanted to read. Finally
      he did take down &ldquo;Paley's Evidences,&rdquo; and seated himself in the big
      armchair&mdash;that costly and oversized anomaly among his humble
      house-hold gods; but the book lay unopened on his knee, and his eyelids
      half closed themselves in sign of revery.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was his third charge&mdash;this Octavius which they both knew they
      were going to dislike so much.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first had been in the pleasant dairy and hop country many miles to the
      south, on another watershed and among a different kind of people. Perhaps,
      in truth, the grinding labor, the poverty of ideas, the systematic
      selfishness of later rural experience, had not been lacking there; but
      they played no part in the memories which now he passed in tender review.
      He recalled instead the warm sunshine on the fertile expanse of fields;
      the sleek, well-fed herds of &ldquo;milkers&rdquo; coming lowing down the road under
      the maples; the prosperous and hospitable farmhouses, with their orchards
      in blossom and their spacious red barns; the bountiful boiled dinners
      which cheery housewives served up with their own skilled hands. Of course,
      he admitted to himself, it would not be the same if he were to go back
      there again. He was conscious of having moved along&mdash;was it, after
      all, an advance?&mdash;to a point where it was unpleasant to sit at table
      with the unfragrant hired man, and still worse to encounter the bucolic
      confusion between the functions of knives and forks. But in those happy
      days&mdash;young, zealous, himself farm-bred&mdash;these trifles had been
      invisible to him, and life there among those kindly husbandmen had seemed,
      by contrast with the gaunt surroundings and gloomy rule of the theological
      seminary, luxuriously abundant and free.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was there too that the crowning blessedness of his youth&mdash;nay,
      should he not say of all his days?&mdash;had come to him. There he had
      first seen Alice Hastings,&mdash;the bright-eyed, frank-faced, serenely
      self-reliant girl, who now, less than four years thereafter, could be
      heard washing the dishes out in the parsonage kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      How wonderful she had seemed to him then! How beautiful and all-beneficent
      the miracle still appeared! Though herself the daughter of a farmer, her
      presence on a visit within the borders of his remote country charge had
      seemed to make everything, there a hundred times more countrified than it
      had ever been before. She was fresh from the refinements of a town
      seminary: she read books; it was known that she could play upon the piano.
      Her clothes, her manners, her way of speaking, the readiness of her
      thoughts and sprightly tongue&mdash;not least, perhaps, the imposing
      current understanding as to her father's wealth&mdash;placed her on a
      glorified pinnacle far away from the girls of the neighborhood. These
      honest and good-hearted creatures indeed called ceaseless attention to her
      superiority by their deference and open-mouthed admiration, and treated it
      as the most natural thing in the world that their young minister should be
      visibly &ldquo;taken&rdquo; with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron Ware, in truth, left this first pastorate of his the following
      spring, in a transfiguring halo of romance. His new appointment was to
      Tyre&mdash;a somewhat distant village of traditional local pride and
      substance&mdash;and he was to be married only a day or so before entering
      upon his pastoral duties there. The good people among whom he had begun
      his ministry took kindly credit to themselves that he had met his bride
      while she was &ldquo;visiting round&rdquo; their countryside. In part by jocose
      inquiries addressed to the expectant groom, in part by the confidences of
      the postmaster at the corners concerning the bulk and frequency of the
      correspondence passing between Theron and the now remote Alice&mdash;they
      had followed the progress of the courtship through the autumn and winter
      with friendly zest. When he returned from the Conference, to say good-bye
      and confess the happiness that awaited him, they gave him a &ldquo;donation&rdquo;&mdash;quite
      as if he were a married pastor with a home of his own, instead of a shy
      young bachelor, who received his guests and their contributions in the
      house where he boarded.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went away with tears of mingled regret and proud joy in his eyes,
      thinking a good deal upon their predictions of a distinguished career
      before him, feeling infinitely strengthened and upborne by the hearty
      fervor of their God-speed, and taking with him nearly two wagon-loads of
      vegetables, apples, canned preserves, assorted furniture, glass dishes,
      cheeses, pieced bedquilts, honey, feathers, and kitchen utensils.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the three years' term in Tyre, it was pleasantest to dwell upon the
      beginning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young couple&mdash;after being married out at Alice's home in an
      adjoining county, under the depressing conditions of a hopelessly
      bedridden mother, and a father and brothers whose perceptions were
      obviously closed to the advantages of a matrimonial connection with
      Methodism&mdash;came straight to the house which their new congregation
      rented as a parsonage. The impulse of reaction from the rather grim
      cheerlessness of their wedding lent fresh gayety to their lighthearted,
      whimsical start at housekeeping. They had never laughed so much in all
      their lives as they did now in these first months&mdash;over their weird
      ignorance of domestic details; with its mishaps, mistakes, and
      entertaining discoveries; over the comical super-abundances and
      shortcomings of their &ldquo;donation&rdquo; outfit; over the thousand and one quaint
      experiences of their novel relation to each other, to the congregation,
      and to the world of Tyre at large.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron, indeed, might be said never to have laughed before. Up to that
      time no friendly student of his character, cataloguing his admirable
      qualities, would have thought of including among them a sense of humor,
      much less a bent toward levity. Neither his early strenuous battle to get
      away from the farm and achieve such education as should serve to open to
      him the gates of professional life, nor the later wave of religious
      enthusiasm which caught him up as he stood on the border-land of manhood,
      and swept him off into a veritable new world of views and aspirations, had
      been a likely school of merriment. People had prized him for his innocent
      candor and guileless mind, for his good heart, his pious zeal, his modesty
      about gifts notably above the average, but it had occurred to none to
      suspect in him a latent funny side.
    </p>
    <p>
      But who could be solemn where Alice was?&mdash;Alice in a quandary over
      the complications of her cooking stove; Alice boiling her potatoes all
      day, and her eggs for half an hour; Alice ordering twenty pounds of steak
      and half a pound of sugar, and striving to extract a breakfast beverage
      from the unground coffee-bean? Clearly not so tenderly fond and
      sympathetic a husband as Theron. He began by laughing because she laughed,
      and grew by swift stages to comprehend, then frankly to share, her
      amusement. From this it seemed only a step to the development of a humor
      of his own, doubling, as it were, their sportive resources. He found
      himself discovering a new droll aspect in men and things; his phraseology
      took on a dryly playful form, fittingly to present conceits which danced
      up, unabashed, quite into the presence of lofty and majestic truths. He
      got from this nothing but satisfaction; it obviously involved increased
      claims to popularity among his parishioners, and consequently magnified
      powers of usefulness, and it made life so much more a joy and a thing to
      be thankful for. Often, in the midst of the exchange of merry quip and
      whimsical suggestion, bright blossoms on that tree of strength and
      knowledge which he felt expanding now with a mighty outward pushing in all
      directions, he would lapse into deep gravity, and ponder with a swelling
      heart the vast unspeakable marvel of his blessedness, in being thus
      enriched and humanized by daily communion with the most worshipful of
      womankind.
    </p>
    <p>
      This happy and good young couple took the affections of Tyre by storm. The
      Methodist Church there had at no time held its head very high among the
      denominations, and for some years back had been in a deplorably sinking
      state, owing first to the secession of the Free Methodists and then to the
      incumbency of a pastor who scandalized the community by marrying a black
      man to a white woman. But the Wares changed all this. Within a month the
      report of Theron's charm and force in the pulpit was crowding the church
      building to its utmost capacity&mdash;and that, too, with some of Tyre's
      best people. Equally winning was the atmosphere of jollity and juvenile
      high spirits which pervaded the parsonage under these new conditions, and
      which Theron and Alice seemed to diffuse wherever they went.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus swimmingly their first year sped, amid universal acclaim. Mrs. Ware
      had a recognized social place, quite outside the restricted limits of
      Methodism, and shone in it with an unflagging brilliancy altogether beyond
      the traditions of Tyre. Delightful as she was in other people's houses,
      she was still more naively fascinating in her own quaint and somewhat
      harum-scarum domicile; and the drab, two-storied, tin-roofed little
      parsonage might well have rattled its clapboards to see if it was not in
      dreamland&mdash;so gay was the company, so light were the hearts, which it
      sheltered in these new days. As for Theron, the period was one of
      incredible fructification and output. He scarcely recognized for his own
      the mind which now was reaching out on all sides with the arms of an
      octopus, exploring unsuspected mines of thought, bringing in rich
      treasures of deduction, assimilating, building, propounding as if by some
      force quite independent of him. He could not look without blinking
      timidity at the radiance of the path stretched out before him, leading
      upward to dazzling heights of greatness.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the end of this first year the Wares suddenly discovered that they were
      eight hundred dollars in debt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second year was spent in arriving, by slow stages and with a cruel
      wealth of pathetic detail, at a realization of what being eight hundred
      dollars in debt meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not in their elastic and buoyant natures to grasp the full
      significance of the thing at once, or easily. Their position in the social
      structure, too, was all against clear-sightedness in material matters. A
      general, for example, uniformed and in the saddle, advancing through the
      streets with his staff in the proud wake of his division's massed walls of
      bayonets, cannot be imagined as quailing at the glance thrown at him by
      his tailor on the sidewalk. Similarly, a man invested with sacerdotal
      authority, who baptizes, marries, and buries, who delivers judgments from
      the pulpit which may not be questioned in his hearing, and who receives
      from all his fellow-men a special deference of manner and speech, is in
      the nature of things prone to see the grocer's book and the butcher's bill
      through the little end of the telescope.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Wares at the outset had thought it right to trade as exclusively as
      possible with members of their own church society. This loyalty became a
      principal element of martyrdom. Theron had his creditors seated in serried
      rows before him, Sunday after Sunday. Alice had her critics consolidated
      among those whom it was her chief duty to visit and profess friendship
      for. These situations now began, by regular gradations, to unfold their
      terrors. At the first intimation of discontent, the Wares made what seemed
      to them a sweeping reduction in expenditure. When they heard that Brother
      Potter had spoken of them as &ldquo;poor pay,&rdquo; they dismissed their hired girl.
      A little later, Theron brought himself to drop a laboriously casual
      suggestion as to a possible increase of salary, and saw with sinking
      spirits the faces of the stewards freeze with dumb disapprobation. Then
      Alice paid a visit to her parents, only to find her brothers doggedly
      hostile to the notion of her being helped, and her father so much under
      their influence that the paltry sum he dared offer barely covered the
      expenses of her journey. With another turn of the screw, they sold the
      piano she had brought with her from home, and cut themselves down to the
      bare necessities of life, neither receiving company nor going out. They
      never laughed now, and even smiles grew rare.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time Theron's sermons, preached under that stony glare of people
      to whom he owed money, had degenerated to a pitiful level of commonplace.
      As a consequence, the attendance became once more confined to the
      insufficient membership of the church, and the trustees complained of
      grievously diminished receipts. When the Wares, grown desperate, ventured
      upon the experiment of trading outside the bounds of the congregation, the
      trustees complained again, this time peremptorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus the second year dragged itself miserably to an end. Nor was relief
      possible, because the Presiding Elder knew something of the circumstances,
      and felt it his duty to send Theron back for a third year, to pay his
      debts, and drain the cup of disciplinary medicine to its dregs.
    </p>
    <p>
      The worst has been told. Beginning in utter blackness, this third year, in
      the second month, brought a change as welcome as it was unlooked for. An
      elderly and important citizen of Tyre, by name Abram Beekman, whom Theron
      knew slightly, and had on occasions seen sitting in one of the back pews
      near the door, called one morning at the parsonage, and electrified its
      inhabitants by expressing a desire to wipe off all their old scores for
      them, and give them a fresh start in life. As he put the suggestion, they
      could find no excuse for rejecting it. He had watched them, and heard a
      good deal about them, and took a fatherly sort of interest in them. He did
      not deprecate their regarding the aid he proffered them in the nature of a
      loan, but they were to make themselves perfectly easy about it, and never
      return it at all unless they could spare it sometime with entire
      convenience, and felt that they wanted to do so. As this amazing windfall
      finally took shape, it enabled the Wares to live respectably through the
      year, and to leave Tyre with something over one hundred dollars in hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      It enabled them, too, to revive in a chastened form their old dream of
      ultimate success and distinction for Theron. He had demonstrated clearly
      enough to himself, during that brief season of unrestrained effulgence,
      that he had within him the making of a great pulpit orator. He set to work
      now, with resolute purpose, to puzzle out and master all the principles
      which underlie this art, and all the tricks that adorn its superstructure.
      He studied it, fastened his thoughts upon it, talked daily with Alice
      about it. In the pulpit, addressing those people who had so darkened his
      life and crushed the first happiness out of his home, he withheld himself
      from any oratorical display which could afford them gratification. He put
      aside, as well; the thought of attracting once more the non-Methodists of
      Tyre, whose early enthusiasm had spread such pitfalls for his unwary feet.
      He practised effects now by piecemeal, with an alert ear, and calculation
      in every tone. An ambition, at once embittered and tearfully solicitous,
      possessed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He reflected now, this morning, with a certain incredulous interest, upon
      that unworthy epoch in his life history, which seemed so far behind him,
      and yet had come to a close only a few weeks ago. The opportunity had been
      given him, there at the Tecumseh Conference, to reveal his quality. He had
      risen to its full limit of possibilities, and preached a great sermon in a
      manner which he at least knew was unapproachable. He had made his most
      powerful bid for the prize place, had trebly deserved success&mdash;and
      had been banished instead to Octavius!
    </p>
    <p>
      The curious thing was that he did not resent his failure. Alice had taken
      it hard, but he himself was conscious of a sense of spiritual gain. The
      influence of the Conference, with its songs and seasons of prayer and high
      pressure of emotional excitement, was still strong upon him. It seemed
      years and years since the religious side of him had been so stirred into
      motion. He felt, as he lay back in the chair, and folded his hands over
      the book on his knee, that he had indeed come forth from the fire purified
      and strengthened. The ministry to souls diseased beckoned him with a new
      and urgent significance. He smiled to remember that Mr. Beekman, speaking
      in his shrewd and pointed way, had asked him whether, looking it all over,
      he didn't think it would be better for him to study law, with a view to
      sliding out of the ministry when a good chance offered. It amazed him now
      to recall that he had taken this hint seriously, and even gone to the
      length of finding out what books law-students began upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thank God! all that was past and gone now. The Call sounded, resonant and
      imperative, in his ears, and there was no impulse of his heart, no fibre
      of his being, which did not stir in devout response. He closed his eyes,
      to be the more wholly alone with the Spirit, that moved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The jangling of a bell in the hallway broke sharply upon his meditations,
      and on the instant his wife thrust in her head from the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll have to go to the door, Theron!&rdquo; she warned him, in a loud, swift
      whisper. &ldquo;I'm not fit to be seen. It is the trustees.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, and rose slowly from sprawling recumbency to his
      feet. &ldquo;I'll go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And don't forget,&rdquo; she added strenuously; &ldquo;I believe in Levi Gorringe!
      I've seen him go past here with his rod and fish-basket twice in eight
      days, and that's a good sign. He's got a soft side somewhere. And just
      keep a stiff upper lip about the gas, and don't you let them jew you down
      a solitary cent on that sidewalk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Theron, again, and moved reluctantly toward the hall
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      When the three trustees had been shown in by the Rev. Mr. Ware, and had
      taken seats, an awkward little pause ensued. The young minister looked
      doubtingly from one face to another, the while they glanced with inquiring
      interest about the room, noting the pictures and appraising the furniture
      in their minds.
    </p>
    <p>
      The obvious leader of the party, Loren Pierce, a rich quarryman, was an
      old man of medium size and mean attire, with a square, beardless face as
      hard and impassive in expression as one of his blocks of limestone. The
      irregular, thin-lipped mouth, slightly sunken, and shut with vice-like
      firmness, the short snub nose, and the little eyes squinting from
      half-closed lids beneath slightly marked brows, seemed scarcely to attain
      to the dignity of features, but evaded attention instead, as if feeling
      that they were only there at all from plain necessity, and ought not to be
      taken into account. Mr. Pierce's face did not know how to smile&mdash;what
      was the use of smiles?&mdash;but its whole surface radiated secretiveness.
      Portrayed on canvas by a master brush, with a ruff or a red robe for
      masquerade, generations of imaginative amateurs would have seen in it vast
      reaching plots, the skeletons of a dozen dynastic cupboards, the guarded
      mysteries of half a century's international diplomacy. The amateurs would
      have been wrong again. There was nothing behind Mr. Pierce's juiceless
      countenance more weighty than a general determination to exact seven per
      cent for his money, and some specific notions about capturing certain
      brickyards which were interfering with his quarry-sales. But Octavius
      watched him shamble along its sidewalks quite as the Vienna of dead and
      forgotten yesterday might have watched Metternich.
    </p>
    <p>
      Erastus Winch was of a breezier sort&mdash;a florid, stout, and sandy man,
      who spent most of his life driving over evil country roads in a buggy,
      securing orders for dairy furniture and certain allied lines of farm
      utensils. This practice had given him a loud voice and a deceptively
      hearty manner, to which the other avocation of cheese-buyer, which he
      pursued at the Board of Trade meetings every Monday afternoon, had added a
      considerable command of persuasive yet non-committal language. To look at
      him, still more to hear him, one would have sworn he was a good fellow, a
      trifle rough and noisy, perhaps, but all right at bottom. But the County
      Clerk of Dearborn County could have told you of agriculturists who knew
      Erastus from long and unhappy experience, and who held him to be even a
      tighter man than Loren Pierce in the matter of a mortgage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The third trustee, Levi Gorringe, set one wondering at the very first
      glance what on earth he was doing in that company. Those who had known him
      longest had the least notion; but it may be added that no one knew him
      well. He was a lawyer, and had lived in Octavius for upwards of ten years;
      that is to say, since early manhood. He had an office on the main street,
      just under the principal photograph gallery. Doubtless he was sometimes in
      this office; but his fellow-townsmen saw him more often in the street
      doorway, with the stairs behind him, and the flaring show-cases of the
      photographer on either side, standing with his hands in his pockets and an
      unlighted cigar in his mouth, looking at nothing in particular. About
      every other day he went off after breakfast into the country roundabout,
      sometimes with a rod, sometimes with a gun, but always alone. He was a
      bachelor, and slept in a room at the back of his office, cooking some of
      his meals himself, getting others at a restaurant close by. Though he had
      little visible practice, he was understood to be well-to-do and even more,
      and people tacitly inferred that he &ldquo;shaved notes.&rdquo; The Methodists of
      Octavius looked upon him as a queer fish, and through nearly a dozen years
      had never quite outgrown their hebdomadal tendency to surprise at seeing
      him enter their church. He had never, it is true, professed religion, but
      they had elected him as a trustee now for a number of terms, all the same&mdash;partly
      because he was their only lawyer, partly because he, like both his
      colleagues, held a mortgage on the church edifice and lot. In person, Mr.
      Gorringe was a slender man, with a skin of a clear, uniform citron tint,
      black waving hair, and dark gray eyes, and a thin, high-featured face. He
      wore a mustache and pointed chin-tuft; and, though he was of New England
      parentage and had never been further south than Ocean Grove, he presented
      a general effect of old Mississippian traditions and tastes startlingly at
      variance with the standards of Dearborn County Methodism. Nothing could
      convince some of the elder sisters that he was not a drinking man.
    </p>
    <p>
      The three visitors had completed their survey of the room now; and Loren
      Pierce emitted a dry, harsh little cough, as a signal that business was
      about to begin. At this sound, Winch drew up his feet, and Gorringe untied
      a parcel of account-books and papers that he held on his knee. Theron felt
      that his countenance must be exhibiting to the assembled brethren an
      unfortunate sense of helplessness in their hands. He tried to look more
      resolute, and forced his lips into a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Brother Gorringe allus acts as Seckertary,&rdquo; said Erastus Winch, beaming
      broadly upon the minister, as if the mere mention of the fact promoted
      jollity. &ldquo;That's it, Brother Gorringe,&mdash;take your seat at Brother
      Ware's desk. Mind the Dominie's pen don't play tricks on you, an' start
      off writin' out sermons instid of figgers.&rdquo; The humorist turned to Theron
      as the lawyer walked over to the desk at the window. &ldquo;I allus have to
      caution him about that,&rdquo; he remarked with great joviality. &ldquo;An' do YOU
      look out afterwards, Brother Ware, or else you'll catch that pen o' yours
      scribblin' lawyer's lingo in place o' the Word.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron felt bound to exhibit a grin in acknowledgment of this pleasantry.
      The lawyer's change of position had involved some shifting of the others'
      chairs, and the young minister found himself directly confronted by
      Brother Pierce's hard and colorless old visage. Its little eyes were
      watching him, as through a mask, and under their influence the smile of
      politeness fled from his lips. The lawyer on his right, the cheese-buyer
      to the left, seemed to recede into distance as he for the moment returned
      the gaze of the quarryman. He waited now for him to speak, as if the
      others were of no importance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are a plain sort o' folks up in these parts,&rdquo; said Brother Pierce,
      after a slight further pause. His voice was as dry and rasping as his
      cough, and its intonations were those of authority. &ldquo;We walk here,&rdquo; he
      went on, eying the minister with a sour regard, &ldquo;in a meek an' humble
      spirit, in the straight an' narrow way which leadeth unto life. We ain't
      gone traipsin' after strange gods, like some people that call themselves
      Methodists in other places. We stick by the Discipline an' the ways of our
      fathers in Israel. No new-fangled notions can go down here. Your wife'd
      better take them flowers out of her bunnit afore next Sunday.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Silence possessed the room for a few moments, the while Theron, pale-faced
      and with brows knit, studied the pattern of the ingrain carpet. Then he
      lifted his head, and nodded it in assent. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;we will do
      nothing by which our 'brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made
      weak.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Pierce's parchment face showed no sign of surprise or pleasure at
      this easy submission. &ldquo;Another thing: We don't want no book-learnin' or
      dictionary words in our pulpit,&rdquo; he went on coldly. &ldquo;Some folks may
      stomach 'em; we won't. Them two sermons o' yours, p'r'aps they'd do down
      in some city place; but they're like your wife's bunnit here, they're too
      flowery to suit us. What we want to hear is the plain, old-fashioned Word
      of God, without any palaver or 'hems and ha's. They tell me there's some
      parts where hell's treated as played-out&mdash;where our ministers don't
      like to talk much about it because people don't want to hear about it.
      Such preachers ought to be put out. They ain't Methodists at all. What we
      want here, sir, is straight-out, flat-footed hell&mdash;the burnin' lake
      o' fire an' brim-stone. Pour it into 'em, hot an' strong. We can't have
      too much of it. Work in them awful deathbeds of Voltaire an' Tom Paine,
      with the Devil right there in the room, reachin' for 'em, an' they yellin'
      for fright; that's what fills the anxious seat an' brings in souls hand
      over fist.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron's tongue dallied for an instant with the temptation to comment upon
      these old-wife fables, which were so dear to the rural religious heart
      when he and I were boys. But it seemed wiser to only nod again, and let
      his mentor go on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We ain't had no trouble with the Free Methodists here,&rdquo; continued Brother
      Pierce, &ldquo;jest because we kept to the old paths, an' seek for salvation in
      the good old way. Everybody can shout 'Amen!' as loud and as long as the
      Spirit moves him, with us. Some one was sayin' you thought we ought to
      have a choir and an organ. No, sirree! No such tom-foolery for us! You'll
      only stir up feelin' agin yourself by hintin' at such things. And then,
      too, our folks don't take no stock in all that pack o' nonsense about
      science, such as tellin' the age of the earth by crackin' up stones. I've
      b'en in the quarry line all my life, an' I know it's all humbug! Why, they
      say some folks are goin' round now preachin' that our grandfathers were
      all monkeys. That comes from departin' from the ways of our forefathers,
      an puttin' in organs an' choirs, an' deckin' our women-folks out with
      gewgaws, an' apin' the fashions of the worldly. I shouldn't wonder if them
      kind did have some monkey blood in 'em. You'll find we're a different sort
      here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young minister preserved silence for a little, until it became
      apparent that the old trustee had had his say out. Even then he raised his
      head slowly, and at last made answer in a hesitating and irresolute way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been very frank,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am obliged to you. A clergyman
      coming to a new charge cannot be better served than by having laid before
      him a clear statement of the views and&mdash;and spiritual tendencies&mdash;of
      his new flock, quite at the outset. I feel it to be of especial value in
      this case, because I am young in years and in my ministry, and am
      conscious of a great weakness of the flesh. I can see how daily contact
      with a people so attached to the old, simple, primitive Methodism of
      Wesley and Asbury may be a source of much strength to me. I may take it,&rdquo;
       he added upon second thought, with an inquiring glance at Mr. Winch, &ldquo;that
      Brother Pierce's description of our charge, and its tastes and needs,
      meets with your approval?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Erastus Winch nodded his head and smiled expansively. &ldquo;Whatever Brother
      Pierce says, goes!&rdquo; he declared. The lawyer, sitting behind at the desk by
      the window, said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The place is jest overrun with Irish,&rdquo; Brother Pierce began again.
      &ldquo;They've got two Catholic churches here now to our one, and they do jest
      as they blamed please at the Charter elections. It'd be a good idee to
      pitch into Catholics in general whenever you can. You could make a hit
      that way. I say the State ought to make 'em pay taxes on their church
      property. They've no right to be exempted, because they ain't Christians
      at all. They're idolaters, that's what they are! I know 'em! I've had 'em
      in my quarries for years, an' they ain't got no idee of decency or fair
      dealin'. Every time the price of stone went up, every man of 'em would
      jine to screw more wages out o' me. Why, they used to keep account o' the
      amount o' business I done, an' figger up my profits, an' have the face to
      come an' talk to me about 'em, as if that had anything to do with wages.
      It's my belief their priests put 'em up to it. People don't begin to
      reelize&mdash;that church of idolatry 'll be the ruin o' this country, if
      it ain't checked in time. Jest you go at 'em hammer 'n' tongs! I've got
      Eyetalians in the quarries now. They're sensible fellows: they know when
      they're well off&mdash;a dollar a day, an' they're satisfied, an'
      everything goes smooth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But they're Catholics, the same as the Irish,&rdquo; suddenly interjected the
      lawyer, from his place by the window. Theron pricked up his ears at the
      sound of his voice. There was an anti-Pierce note in it, so to speak,
      which it did him good to hear. The consciousness of sympathy began on the
      instant to inspire him with courage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know some people SAY they are,&rdquo; Brother Pierce guardedly retorted &ldquo;but
      I've summered an' wintered both kinds, an' I hold to it they're different.
      I grant ye, the Eyetalians ARE some given to jabbin' knives into each
      other, but they never git up strikes, an' they don't grumble about wages.
      Why, look at the way they live&mdash;jest some weeds an' yarbs dug up on
      the roadside, an' stewed in a kettle with a piece o' fat the size o' your
      finger, an' a loaf o' bread, an' they're happy as a king. There's some
      sense in THAT; but the Irish, they've got to have meat an' potatoes an'
      butter jest as if&mdash;as if&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As if they'd b'en used to 'em at home,&rdquo; put in Mr. Winch, to help his
      colleague out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer ostentatiously drew up his chair to the desk, and began turning
      over the leaves of his biggest book. &ldquo;It's getting on toward noon,
      gentlemen,&rdquo; he said, in an impatient voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The business meeting which followed was for a considerable time confined
      to hearing extracts from the books and papers read in a swift and formal
      fashion by Mr. Gorringe. If this was intended to inform the new pastor of
      the exact financial situation in Octavius, it lamentably failed of its
      purpose. Theron had little knowledge of figures; and though he tried hard
      to listen, and to assume an air of comprehension, he did not understand
      much of what he heard. In a general way he gathered that the church
      property was put down at $12,000, on which there was a debt of $4,800. The
      annual expenses were $2,250, of which the principal items were $800 for
      his salary, $170 for the rent of the parsonage, and $319 for interest on
      the debt. It seemed that last year the receipts had fallen just under
      $2,000, and they now confronted the necessity of making good this deficit
      during the coming year, as well as increasing the regular revenues.
      Without much discussion, it was agreed that they should endeavor to secure
      the services of a celebrated &ldquo;debt-raiser,&rdquo; early in the autumn, and
      utilize him in the closing days of a revival.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron knew this &ldquo;debt-raiser,&rdquo; and had seen him at work&mdash;a burly,
      bustling, vulgar man who took possession of the pulpit as if it were an
      auctioneer's block, and pursued the task of exciting liberality in the
      bosoms of the congregation by alternating prayer, anecdote, song, and
      cheap buffoonery in a manner truly sickening. Would it not be preferable,
      he feebly suggested, to raise the money by a festival, or fair, or some
      other form of entertainment which the ladies could manage?
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Pierce shook his head with contemptuous emphasis. &ldquo;Our women-folks
      ain't that kind,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They did try to hold a sociable once, but
      nobody came, and we didn't raise more 'n three or four dollars. It ain't
      their line. They lack the worldly arts. As the Discipline commands, they
      avoid the evil of putting on gold and costly apparel, and taking such
      diversions as cannot be used in the name of the Lord Jesus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;of course&mdash;if you prefer the 'debt-raiser'&mdash;&rdquo; Theron
      began, and took the itemized account from Gorringe's knee as an excuse for
      not finishing the hateful sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked down the foolscap sheet, line by line, with no special sense of
      what it signified, until his eye caught upon this little section of the
      report, bracketed by itself in the Secretary's neat hand:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     INTEREST CHARGE.

     First mortgage (1873) .. $1,000 ... (E. Winch)    @7.. $ 70
     Second mortgage (1776)..  1,700 ... (L. Gorringe) @6..  102
     Third mortgage (1878)...  2,100 ... (L. Pierce)   @7..  147
     &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-                       &mdash;&mdash;-
     $4,800                        $319
</pre>
    <p>
      It was no news to him that the three mortgages on the church property were
      held by the three trustees. But as he looked once more, another feature of
      the thing struck him as curious.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I notice that the rates of interest vary,&rdquo; he remarked without thinking,
      and then wished the words unsaid, for the two trustees in view moved
      uneasily on their seats.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, that's nothing,&rdquo; exclaimed Erastus Winch, with a boisterous display
      of jollity. &ldquo;It's only Brother Gorringe's pleasant little way of making a
      contribution to our funds. You will notice that, at the date of all these
      mortgages, the State rate of interest was seven per cent. Since then it's
      b'en lowered to six. Well, when that happened, you see, Brother Gorringe,
      not being a professin' member, and so not bound by our rules, he could
      just as well as not let his interest down a cent. But Brother Pierce an'
      me, we talked it over, an' we made up our minds we were tied hand an' foot
      by our contract. You know how strong the Discipline lays it down that we
      must be bound to the letter of our agreements. That bein' so, we seen it
      in the light of duty not to change what we'd set our hands to. That's how
      it is, Brother Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; said Theron, with an effort at polite calmness of tone.
      &ldquo;And&mdash;is there anything else?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's this,&rdquo; broke in Brother Pierce: &ldquo;we're commanded to be
      law-abiding people, an' seven per cent WAS the law an' would be now if
      them ragamuffins in the Legislation&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Surely we needn't go further into that,&rdquo; interrupted the minister,
      conscious of a growing stiffness in his moral spine. &ldquo;Have we any other
      business before us?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Pierce's little eyes snapped, and the wrinkles in his forehead
      deepened angrily. &ldquo;Business?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Yes, plenty of it. We've got
      to reduce expenses. We're nigh onto $300 behind-hand this minute. Besides
      your house-rent, you get $800 free an' clear&mdash;that is $15.38 every
      week, an' only you an' your wife to keep out of it. Why, when I was your
      age, young man, and after that too, I was glad to get $4 a week.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't think my salary is under discussion, Mr. Pierce&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;BROTHER Pierce!&rdquo; suggested Winch, in a half-shuckling undertone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Brother Pierce, then!&rdquo; echoed Theron, impatiently. &ldquo;The Quarterly
      Conference and the Estimating Committee deal with that. The trustees have
      no more to do with it than the man in the moon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, come, Brother Ware,&rdquo; put in Erastus Winch, &ldquo;we mustn't have no hard
      feelin's. Brotherly love is what we're all lookin' after. Brother Pierce's
      meanin' wasn't agin your drawin' your full salary, every cent of it, only&mdash;only
      there are certain little things connected with the parsonage here that we
      feel you ought to bear. F'r instance, there's the new sidewalk we had to
      lay in front of the house here only a month ago. Of course, if the
      treasury was flush we wouldn't say a word about it. An' then there's the
      gas bill here. Seein' as you get your rent for nothin', it don't seem much
      to ask that you should see to lightin' the place yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I don't think that either is a proper charge upon me,&rdquo; interposed
      Theron. &ldquo;I decline to pay them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can have the gas shut off,&rdquo; remarked Brother Pierce, coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As soon as you like,&rdquo; responded the minister, sitting erect and tapping
      the carpet nervously with his foot. &ldquo;Only you must understand that I will
      take the whole matter to the Quarterly Conference in July. I already see a
      good many other interesting questions about the financial management of
      this church which might be appropriately discussed there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, come, Brother Ware!&rdquo; broke in Trustee Winch, with a somewhat agitated
      assumption of good-feeling. &ldquo;Surely these are matters we ought to settle
      amongst ourselves. We never yet asked outsiders to meddle with our
      business here. It's our motto, Brother Ware. I say, if you've got a motto,
      stand by it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my motto,&rdquo; said Theron, &ldquo;is to be behaved decently to by those with
      whom I have to deal; and I also propose to stand by it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Pierce rose gingerly to his feet, with the hesitation of an old
      man not sure about his knees. When he had straightened himself, he put on
      his hat, and eyed the minister sternly from beneath its brim.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Lord gives us crosses grievous to our natur',&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an' we're
      told to bear 'em cheerfully as long as they're on our backs; but there
      ain't nothin' said agin our unloadin' 'em in the ditch the minute we git
      the chance. I guess you won't last here more 'n a twelvemonth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He pulled his soft and discolored old hat down over his brows with a
      significantly hostile nod, and, turning, stumped toward the hall-door
      without offering to shake hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other trustees had risen likewise, in tacit recognition that the
      meeting was over. Winch clasped the minister's hand in his own broad, hard
      palm, and squeezed it in an exuberant grip. &ldquo;Don't mind his little ways,
      Brother Ware,&rdquo; he urged in a loud, unctuous whisper, with a grinning
      backward nod: &ldquo;he's a trifle skittish sometimes when you don't give him
      free rein; but he's all wool an' a yard wide when it comes to right-down
      hard-pan religion. My love to Sister Ware;&rdquo; and he followed the senior
      trustee into the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Gorringe had been tying up his books and papers. He came now with the
      bulky parcel under his arm, and his hat and stick in the other hand. He
      could give little but his thumb to Theron to shake. His face wore a grave
      expression, and not a line relaxed as, catching the minister's look, he
      slowly covered his left eye in a deliberate wink.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well?&mdash;and how did it go off?&rdquo; asked Alice, from where she knelt by
      the oven door, a few minutes later.
    </p>
    <p>
      For answer, Theron threw himself wearily into the big old farm
      rocking-chair on the other side of the stove, and shook his head with a
      lengthened sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If it wasn't for that man Gorringe of yours,&rdquo; he said dejectedly, &ldquo;I
      think I should feel like going off&mdash;and learning a trade.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the following Sunday, young Mrs. Ware sat alone in the preacher's pew
      through the morning service, and everybody noted that the roses had been
      taken from her bonnet. In the evening she was absent, and after the
      doxology and benediction several people, under the pretence of solicitude
      for her health, tried to pump her husband as to the reason. He answered
      their inquiries civilly enough, but with brevity: she had stayed at home
      because she did not feel like coming out&mdash;this and nothing more.
    </p>
    <p>
      The congregation dispersed under a gossip-laden cloud of consciousness
      that there must be something queer about Sister Ware. There was a
      tolerably general agreement, however, that the two sermons of the day had
      been excellent. Not even Loren Pierce's railing commentary on the pastor's
      introduction of an outlandish word like &ldquo;epitome&rdquo;&mdash;clearly forbidden
      by the Discipline's injunction to plain language understood of the people&mdash;availed
      to sap the satisfaction of the majority.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron himself comprehended that he had pleased the bulk of his auditors;
      the knowledge left him curiously hot and cold. On the one hand, there was
      joy in the apparent prospect that the congregation would back him up in a
      stand against the trustees, if worst came to worst. But, on the other
      hand, the bonnet episode entered his soul. It had been a source of bitter
      humiliation to him to see his wife sitting there beneath the pulpit, shorn
      by despotic order of the adornments natural to her pretty head. But he had
      even greater pain in contemplating the effect it had produced on Alice
      herself. She had said not a word on the subject, but her every glance and
      gesture seemed to him eloquent of deep feeling about it. He made sure that
      she blamed him for having defended his own gas and sidewalk rights with
      successful vigor, but permitted the sacrifice of her poor little
      inoffensive roses without a protest. In this view of the matter, indeed,
      he blamed himself. Was it too late to make the error good? He ventured a
      hint on this Sunday evening, when he returned to the parsonage and found
      her reading an old weekly newspaper by the light of the kitchen lamp, to
      the effect that he fancied there would be no great danger in putting those
      roses back into her bonnet. Without lifting her eyes from the paper, she
      answered that she had no earthly desire to wear roses in her bonnet, and
      went on with her reading.
    </p>
    <p>
      At breakfast the next morning Theron found himself in command of an
      unusual fund of humorous good spirits, and was at pains to make the most
      of it, passing whimsical comments on subjects which the opening day
      suggested, recalling quaint and comical memories of the past, and striving
      his best to force Alice into a laugh. Formerly her merry temper had always
      ignited at the merest spark of gayety. Now she gave his jokes only a
      dutiful half-smile, and uttered scarcely a word in response to his running
      fire of talk. When the meal was finished, she went silently to work to
      clear away the dishes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron turned over in his mind the project of offering to help her, as he
      had done so often in those dear old days when they laughingly began life
      together. Something decided this project in the negative for him, and
      after lingering moments he put on his hat and went out for a walk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not even the most doleful and trying hour of his bitter experience in Tyre
      had depressed him like this. Looking back upon these past troubles, he
      persuaded himself that he had borne them all with a light and cheerful
      heart, simply because Alice had been one with him in every thought and
      emotion. How perfect, how ideally complete, their sympathy had always
      been! With what absolute unity of mind and soul they had trod that
      difficult path together! And now&mdash;henceforth&mdash;was it to be
      different? The mere suggestion of such a thing chilled his veins. He said
      aloud to himself as he walked that life would be an intolerable curse if
      Alice were to cease sharing it with him in every conceivable phase.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had made his way out of town, and tramped along the country hill-road
      for a considerable distance, before a merciful light began to lessen the
      shadows in the picture of gloom with which his mind tortured itself. All
      at once he stopped short, lifted his head, and looked about him. The broad
      valley lay warm and tranquil in the May sunshine at his feet. In the
      thicket up the side-hill above him a gray squirrel was chattering shrilly,
      and the birds sang in a tireless choral confusion. Theron smiled, and drew
      a long breath. The gay clamor of the woodland songsters, the placid
      radiance of the landscape, were suddenly taken in and made a part of his
      new mood. He listened, smiled once more, and then started in a leisurely
      way back toward Octavius.
    </p>
    <p>
      How could he have been so ridiculous as to fancy that Alice&mdash;his
      Alice&mdash;had been changed into someone else? He marvelled now at his
      own perverse folly. She was overworked&mdash;tired out&mdash;that was all.
      The task of moving in, of setting the new household to rights, had been
      too much for her. She must have a rest. They must get in a hired girl.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once this decision about a servant fixed itself in the young minister's
      mind, it drove out the last vestage of discomfort. He strode along now in
      great content, revolving idly a dozen different plans for gilding and
      beautifying this new life of leisure into which his sanguine thoughts
      projected Alice. One of these particularly pleased him, and waxed in
      definiteness as he turned it over and over. He would get another piano for
      her, in place of that which had been sacrificed in Tyre. That beneficient
      modern invention, the instalment plan, made this quite feasible&mdash;so
      easy, in fact, that it almost seemed as if he should find his wife playing
      on the new instrument when he got home. He would stop in at the music
      store and see about it that very day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, now that these important resolutions had been taken, it would
      be a good thing if he could do something to bring in some extra money.
      This was by no means a new notion. He had mused over the possibility in a
      formless way ever since that memorable discovery of indebtedness in Tyre,
      and had long ago recognized the hopelessness of endeavor in every channel
      save that of literature. Latterly his fancy had been stimulated by reading
      an account of the profits which Canon Farrar had derived from his &ldquo;Life of
      Christ.&rdquo; If such a book could command such a bewildering multitude of
      readers, Theron felt there ought to be a chance for him. So clear did
      constant rumination render this assumption that the young pastor in time
      had come to regard this prospective book of his as a substantial asset,
      which could be realized without trouble whenever he got around to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had not, it is true, gone to the length of seriously considering what
      should be the subject of his book. That had not seemed to him to matter
      much, so long as it was scriptural. Familiarity with the process of
      extracting a fixed amount of spiritual and intellectual meat from any
      casual text, week after week, had given him an idea that any one of many
      subjects would do, when the time came for him to make a choice. He
      realized now that the time for a selection had arrived, and almost
      simultaneously found himself with a ready-made decision in his mind. The
      book should be about Abraham!
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron Ware was extremely interested in the mechanism of his own brain,
      and followed its workings with a lively curiosity. Nothing could be more
      remarkable, he thought, than to thus discover that, on the instant of his
      formulating a desire to know what he should write upon, lo, and behold!
      there his mind, quite on its own initiative, had the answer waiting for
      him! When he had gone a little further, and the powerful range of
      possibilities in the son's revolt against the idolatry of his father, the
      image-maker, in the exodus from the unholy city of Ur, and in the
      influence of the new nomadic life upon the little deistic family group,
      had begun to unfold itself before him, he felt that the hand of Providence
      was plainly discernible in the matter. The book was to be blessed from its
      very inception.
    </p>
    <p>
      Walking homeward briskly now, with his eyes on the sidewalk and his mind
      all aglow with crowding suggestions for the new work, and impatience to be
      at it, he came abruptly upon a group of men and boys who occupied the
      whole path, and were moving forward so noiselessly that he had not heard
      them coming. He almost ran into the leader of this little procession, and
      began a stammering apology, the final words of which were left unspoken,
      so solemnly heedless of him and his talk were all the faces he saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the centre of the group were four working-men, bearing between them an
      extemporized litter of two poles and a blanket hastily secured across them
      with spikes. Most of what this litter held was covered by another blanket,
      rounded in coarse folds over a shapeless bulk. From beneath its farther
      end protruded a big broom-like black beard, thrown upward at such an angle
      as to hide everything beyond to those in front. The tall young minister,
      stepping aside and standing tip-toe, could see sloping downward behind
      this hedge of beard a pinched and chalk-like face, with wide-open, staring
      eyes. Its lips, of a dull lilac hue, were moving ceaselessly, and made a
      dry, clicking sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron instinctively joined himself to those who followed the litter&mdash;a
      motley dozen of street idlers, chiefly boys. One of these in whispers
      explained to him that the man was one of Jerry Madden's workmen in the
      wagon-shops, who had been deployed to trim an elm-tree in front of his
      employer's house, and, being unused to such work, had fallen from the top
      and broken all his bones. They would have cared for him at Madden's house,
      but he had insisted upon being taken home. His name was MacEvoy, and he
      was Joey MacEvoy's father, and likewise Jim's and Hughey's and Martin's.
      After a pause the lad, a bright-eyed, freckled, barefooted wee Irishman,
      volunteered the further information that his big brother had run to bring
      &ldquo;Father Forbess,&rdquo; on the chance that he might be in time to administer
      &ldquo;extry munction.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The way of the silent little procession led through back streets&mdash;where
      women hanging up clothes in the yards hurried to the gates, their aprons
      full of clothes-pins, to stare open-mouthed at the passers-by&mdash;and
      came to a halt at last in an irregular and muddy lane, before one of a
      half dozen shanties reared among the ash-heaps and debris of the town's
      most bedraggled outskirts.
    </p>
    <p>
      A stout, middle-aged, red-armed woman, already warned by some messenger of
      calamity, stood waiting on the roadside bank. There were whimpering
      children clinging to her skirts, and a surrounding cluster of women of the
      neighborhood, some of the more elderly of whom, shrivelled little crones
      in tidy caps, and with their aprons to their eyes, were beginning in a
      low-murmured minor the wail which presently should rise into the keen of
      death. Mrs. MacEvoy herself made no moan, and her broad ruddy face was
      stern in expression rather than sorrowful. When the litter stopped beside
      her, she laid a hand for an instant on her husband's wet brow, and looked&mdash;one
      could have sworn impassively&mdash;into his staring eyes. Then, still
      without a word, she waved the bearers toward the door, and led the way
      herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron, somewhat wonderingly, found himself, a minute later, inside a dark
      and ill-smelling room, the air of which was humid with the steam from a
      boiler of clothes on the stove, and not in other ways improved by the
      presence of a jostling score of women, all straining their gaze upon the
      open door of the only other apartment&mdash;the bed-chamber. Through this
      they could see the workmen laying MacEvoy on the bed, and standing
      awkwardly about thereafter, getting in the way of the wife and old Maggie
      Quirk as they strove to remove the garments from his crushed limbs. As the
      neighbors watched what could be seen of these proceedings, they whispered
      among themselves eulogies of the injured man's industry and good temper,
      his habit of bringing his money home to his wife, and the way he kept his
      Father Mathew pledge and attended to his religious duties. They admitted
      freely that, by the light of his example, their own husbands and sons left
      much to be desired, and from this wandered easily off into domestic
      digressions of their own. But all the while their eyes were bent upon the
      bedroom door; and Theron made out, after he had grown accustomed to the
      gloom and the smell, that many of them were telling their beads even while
      they kept the muttered conversation alive. None of them paid any attention
      to him, or seemed to regard his presence there as unusual.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently he saw enter through the sunlit street doorway a person of a
      different class. The bright light shone for a passing instant upon a
      fashionable, flowered hat, and upon some remarkably brilliant shade of red
      hair beneath it. In another moment there had edged along through the
      throng, to almost within touch of him, a tall young woman, the owner of
      this hat and wonderful hair. She was clad in light and pleasing spring
      attire, and carried a parasol with a long oxidized silver handle of a
      quaint pattern. She looked at him, and he saw that her face was of a
      lengthened oval, with a luminous rose-tinted skin, full red lips, and big
      brown, frank eyes with heavy auburn lashes. She made a grave little
      inclination of her head toward him, and he bowed in response. Since her
      arrival, he noted, the chattering of the others had entirely ceased.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I followed the others in, in the hope that I might be of some
      assistance,&rdquo; he ventured to explain to her in a low murmur, feeling that
      at last here was some one to whom an explanation of his presence in this
      Romish house was due. &ldquo;I hope they won't feel that I have intruded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She nodded her head as if she quite understood. &ldquo;They'll take the will for
      the deed,&rdquo; she whispered back. &ldquo;Father Forbes will be here in a minute. Do
      you know is it too late?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Even as she spoke, the outer doorway was darkened by the commanding bulk
      of a newcomer's figure. The flash of a silk hat, and the deferential way
      in which the assembled neighbors fell back to clear a passage, made his
      identity clear. Theron felt his blood tingle in an unaccustomed way as
      this priest of a strange church advanced across the room&mdash;a
      broad-shouldered, portly man of more than middle height, with a shapely,
      strong-lined face of almost waxen pallor, and a firm, commanding tread. He
      carried in his hands, besides his hat, a small leather-bound case. To this
      and to him the women courtesied and bowed their heads as he passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come with me,&rdquo; whispered the tall girl with the parasol to Theron; and he
      found himself pushing along in her wake until they intercepted the priest
      just outside the bedroom door. She touched Father Forbes on the arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just to tell you that I am here,&rdquo; she said. The priest nodded with a
      grave face, and passed into the other room. In a minute or two the
      workmen, Mrs. MacEvoy, and her helper came out, and the door was shut
      behind them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is making his confession,&rdquo; explained the young lady. &ldquo;Stay here for a
      minute.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She moved over to where the woman of the house stood, glum-faced and
      tearless, and whispered something to her. A confused movement among the
      crowd followed, and out of it presently resulted a small table, covered
      with a white cloth, and bearing on it two unlighted candles, a basin of
      water, and a spoon, which was brought forward and placed in readiness
      before the closed door. Some of those nearest this cleared space were
      kneeling now, and murmuring a low buzz of prayer to the click of beads on
      their rosaries.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door opened, and Theron saw the priest standing in the doorway with an
      uplifted hand. He wore now a surplice, with a purple band over his
      shoulders, and on his pale face there shone a tranquil and tender light.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the workmen fetched from the stove a brand, lighted the two
      candles, and bore the table with its contents into the bedroom. The young
      woman plucked Theron's sleeve, and he dumbly followed her into the chamber
      of death, making one of the group of a dozen, headed by Mrs. MacEvoy and
      her children, which filled the little room, and overflowed now outward to
      the street door. He found himself bowing with the others to receive the
      sprinkled holy water from the priest's white fingers; kneeling with the
      others for the prayers; following in impressed silence with the others the
      strange ceremonial by which the priest traced crosses of holy oil with his
      thumb upon the eyes, ears, nostrils, lips, hands, and feet of the dying
      man, wiping off the oil with a piece of cotton-batting each time after he
      had repeated the invocation to forgiveness for that particular sense. But
      most of all he was moved by the rich, novel sound of the Latin as the
      priest rolled it forth in the ASPERGES ME, DOMINE, and MISEREATUR VESTRI
      OMNIPOTENS DEUS, with its soft Continental vowels and liquid R's. It
      seemed to him that he had never really heard Latin before. Then the
      astonishing young woman with the red hair declaimed the CONFITEOR,
      vigorously and with a resonant distinctness of enunciation. It was a
      different Latin, harsher and more sonorous; and while it still dominated
      the murmured undertone of the other's prayers, the last moment came.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had stood face to face with death at many other bedsides; no other
      final scene had stirred him like this. It must have been the girl's Latin
      chant, with its clanging reiteration of the great names&mdash;BEATUM
      MICHAELEM ARCHANGELUM, BEATUM JOANNEM BAPTISTAM, SANCTOS APOSTOLOS PETRUM
      ET PAULUM&mdash;invoked with such proud confidence in this squalid little
      shanty, which so strangely affected him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came out with the others at last&mdash;the candles and the folded hands
      over the crucifix left behind&mdash;and walked as one in a dream. Even by
      the time that he had gained the outer doorway, and stood blinking at the
      bright light and filling his lungs with honest air once more, it had begun
      to seem incredible to him that he had seen and done all this.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      While Mr. Ware stood thus on the doorstep, through a minute of formless
      musing, the priest and the girl came out, and, somewhat to his confusion,
      made him one of their party. He felt himself flushing under the idea that
      they would think he had waited for them&mdash;was thrusting himself upon
      them. The notion prompted him to bow frigidly in response to Father
      Forbes' pleasant &ldquo;I am glad to meet you, sir,&rdquo; and his outstretched hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dropped in by the&mdash;the merest accident,&rdquo; Theron said. &ldquo;I met them
      bringing the poor man home, and&mdash;and quite without thinking, I obeyed
      the impulse to follow them in, and didn't realize&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He stopped short, annoyed by the reflection that this was his second
      apology. The girl smiled placidly at him, the while she put up her
      parasol.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It did me good to see you there,&rdquo; she said, quite as if she had known him
      all her life. &ldquo;And so it did the rest of us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes permitted himself a soft little chuckle, approving rather
      than mirthful, and patted her on the shoulder with the air of being fifty
      years her senior instead of fifteen. To the minister's relief, he changed
      the subject as the three started together toward the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, again, no doctor was sent for!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as if resuming a
      familiar subject with the girl. Then he turned to Theron. &ldquo;I dare-say you
      have no such trouble; but with our poorer people it is very vexing. They
      will not call in a physician, but hurry off first for the clergyman. I
      don't know that it is altogether to avoid doctor's bills, but it amounts
      to that in effect. Of course in this case it made no difference; but I
      have had to make it a rule not to go out at night unless they bring me a
      physician's card with his assurance that it is a genuine affair. Why, only
      last winter, I was routed up after midnight, and brought off in the mud
      and pelting rain up one of the new streets on the hillside there, simply
      because a factory girl who was laced too tight had fainted at a dance. I
      slipped and fell into a puddle in the darkness, ruined a new overcoat, and
      got drenched to the skin; and when I arrived the girl had recovered and
      was dancing away again, thirteen to the dozen. It was then that I made the
      rule. I hope, Mr. Ware, that Octavius is producing a pleasant impression
      upon you so far?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I scarcely know yet,&rdquo; answered Theron. The genial talk of the priest,
      with its whimsical anecdote, had in truth passed over his head. His mind
      still had room for nothing but that novel death-bed scene, with the winged
      captain of the angelic host, the Baptist, the glorified Fisherman and the
      Preacher, all being summoned down in the pomp of liturgical Latin to help
      MacEvoy to die. &ldquo;If you don't mind my saying so,&rdquo; he added hesitatingly,
      &ldquo;what I have just seen in there DID make a very powerful impression upon
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a very ancient ceremony,&rdquo; said the priest; &ldquo;probably Persian, like
      the baptismal form, although, for that matter, we can never dig deep
      enough for the roots of these things. They all turn up Turanian if we
      probe far enough. Our ways separate here, I'm afraid. I am delighted to
      have made your acquaintance, Mr. Ware. Pray look in upon me, if you can as
      well as not. We are near neighbors, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes had shaken hands, and moved off up another street some
      distance, before the voice of the girl recalled Theron to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course you knew HIM by name,&rdquo; she was saying, &ldquo;and he knew you by
      sight, and had talked of you; but MY poor inferior sex has to be
      introduced. I am Celia Madden. My father has the wagon-shops, and I&mdash;I
      play the organ at the church.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&mdash;I am delighted to make your acquaintance,&rdquo; said Theron, conscious
      as he spoke that he had slavishly echoed the formula of the priest. He
      could think of nothing better to add than, &ldquo;Unfortunately, we have no
      organ in our church.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The girl laughed, as they resumed their walk down the street. &ldquo;I'm afraid
      I couldn't undertake two,&rdquo; she said, and laughed again. Then she spoke
      more seriously. &ldquo;That ceremony must have interested you a good deal, never
      having seen it before. I saw that it was all new to you, and so I made
      bold to take you under my wing, so to speak.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You were very kind,&rdquo; said the young minister. &ldquo;It was really a great
      experience for me. May&mdash;may I ask, is it a part of your functions, in
      the church, I mean, to attend these last rites?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mercy, no!&rdquo; replied the girl, spinning the parasol on her shoulder and
      smiling at the thought. &ldquo;No; it was only because MacEvoy was one of our
      workmen, and really came by his death through father sending him up to
      trim a tree. Ann MacEvoy will never forgive us that, the longest day she
      lives. Did you notice her? She wouldn't speak to me. After you came out, I
      tried to tell her that we would look out for her and the children; but all
      she would say to me was: 'An' fwat would a wheelwright, an' him the father
      of a family, be doin' up a tree?'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They had come now upon the main street of the village, with its flagstone
      sidewalk overhung by a lofty canopy of elm-boughs. Here, for the space of
      a block, was concentrated such fashionable elegance of mansions and
      ornamental lawns as Octavius had to offer; and it was presented with the
      irregularity so characteristic of our restless civilization. Two or three
      of the houses survived untouched from the earlier days&mdash;prim,
      decorous structures, each with its gabled centre and lower wings, each
      with its row of fluted columns supporting the classical roof of a piazza
      across its whole front, each vying with the others in the whiteness of
      those wooden walls enveloping its bright green blinds. One had to look
      over picket fences to see these houses, and in doing so caught the notion
      that they thus railed themselves off in pride at being able to remember
      before the railroad came to the village, or the wagon-works were thought
      of.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the neighboring properties the fences had been swept away, so that
      one might stroll from the sidewalk straight across the well-trimmed sward
      to any one of a dozen elaborately modern doorways. Some of the residences,
      thus frankly proffering friendship to the passer-by, were of wood painted
      in drabs and dusky reds, with bulging windows which marked the native
      yearning for the mediaeval, and shingles that strove to be accounted
      tiles. Others&mdash;a prouder, less pretentious sort&mdash;were of brick
      or stone, with terra-cotta mouldings set into the walls, and with real
      slates covering the riot of turrets and peaks and dormer peepholes
      overhead.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia Madden stopped in front of the largest and most important-looking of
      these new edifices, and said, holding out her hand: &ldquo;Here I am, once more.
      Good-morning, Mr. Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron hoped that his manner did not betray the flash of surprise he felt
      in discovering that his new acquaintance lived in the biggest house in
      Octavius. He remembered now that some one had pointed it out as the abode
      of the owner of the wagon factories; but it had not occurred to him before
      to associate this girl with that village magnate. It was stupid of him, of
      course, because she had herself mentioned her father. He looked at her
      again with an awkward smile, as he formally shook the gloved hand she gave
      him, and lifted his soft hat. The strong noon sunlight, forcing its way
      down between the elms, and beating upon her parasol of lace-edged, creamy
      silk, made a halo about her hair and face at once brilliant and tender. He
      had not seen before how beautiful she was. She nodded in recognition of
      his salute, and moved up the lawn walk, spinning the sunshade on her
      shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though the parsonage was only three blocks away, the young minister had
      time to think about a good many things before he reached home.
    </p>
    <p>
      First of all, he had to revise in part the arrangement of his notions
      about the Irish. Save for an occasional isolated and taciturn figure among
      the nomadic portion of the hired help in the farm country, Theron had
      scarcely ever spoken to a person of this curiously alien race before. He
      remembered now that there had been some dozen or more Irish families in
      Tyre, quartered in the outskirts among the brickyards, but he had never
      come in contact with any of them, or given to their existence even a
      passing thought. So far as personal acquaintance went, the Irish had been
      to him only a name.
    </p>
    <p>
      But what a sinister and repellent name! His views on this general subject
      were merely those common to his communion and his environment. He took it
      for granted, for example, that in the large cities most of the poverty and
      all the drunkenness, crime, and political corruption were due to the
      perverse qualities of this foreign people&mdash;qualities accentuated and
      emphasized in every evil direction by the baleful influence of a false and
      idolatrous religion. It is hardly too much to say that he had never
      encountered a dissenting opinion on this point. His boyhood had been spent
      in those bitter days when social, political, and blood prejudices were
      fused at white heat in the public crucible together. When he went to the
      Church Seminary, it was a matter of course that every member of the
      faculty was a Republican, and that every one of his classmates had come
      from a Republican household. When, later on, he entered the ministry, the
      rule was still incredulous of exceptions. One might as well have looked in
      the Nedahma Conference for a divergence of opinion on the Trinity as for a
      difference in political conviction. Indeed, even among the laity, Theron
      could not feel sure that he had ever known a Democrat; that is, at all
      closely. He understood very little about politics, it is true. If he had
      been driven into a corner, and forced to attempt an explanation of this
      tremendous partisan unity in which he had a share, he would probably have
      first mentioned the War&mdash;the last shots of which were fired while he
      was still in petticoats. Certainly his second reason, however, would have
      been that the Irish were on the other side.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had never before had occasion to formulate, even in his own thoughts,
      this tacit race and religious aversion in which he had been bred. It rose
      now suddenly in front of him, as he sauntered from patch to patch of
      sunlight under the elms, like some huge, shadowy, and symbolic monument.
      He looked at it with wondering curiosity, as at something he had heard of
      all his life, but never seen before&mdash;an abhorrent spectacle, truly!
      The foundations upon which its dark bulk reared itself were ignorance,
      squalor, brutality and vice. Pigs wallowed in the mire before its base,
      and burrowing into this base were a myriad of narrow doors, each bearing
      the hateful sign of a saloon, and giving forth from its recesses of night
      the sounds of screams and curses. Above were sculptured rows of lowering,
      ape-like faces from Nast's and Keppler's cartoons, and out of these sprang
      into the vague upper gloom&mdash;on the one side, lamp-posts from which
      negroes hung by the neck, and on the other gibbets for dynamiters and
      Molly Maguires, and between the two glowed a spectral picture of some
      black-robed tonsured men, with leering satanic masks, making a bonfire of
      the Bible in the public schools.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron stared this phantasm hard in the face, and recognized it for a very
      tolerable embodiment of what he had heretofore supposed he thought about
      the Irish. For an instant, the sight of it made him shiver, as if the
      sunny May had of a sudden lapsed back into bleak December. Then he smiled,
      and the bad vision went off into space. He saw instead Father Forbes, in
      the white and purple vestments, standing by poor MacEvoy's bedside, with
      his pale, chiselled, luminous, uplifted face, and he heard only the proud,
      confident clanging of the girl's recital,&mdash;BEATUM MICHAELEM
      ARCHANGELUM, BEATUM JOANNEM BAPTISTAM, PETRUM ET PAULUM&mdash;EM!&mdash;AM!&mdash;UM!&mdash;like
      strokes on a great resonant alarm-bell, attuned for the hearing of heaven.
      He caught himself on the very verge of feeling that heaven must have
      heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he smiled again, and laid the matter aside, with a parting admission
      that it had been undoubtedly picturesque and impressive, and that it had
      been a valuable experience to him to see it. At least the Irish, with all
      their faults, must have a poetic strain, or they would not have clung so
      tenaciously to those curious and ancient forms. He recalled having heard
      somewhere, or read, it might be, that they were a people much given to
      songs and music. And the young lady, that very handsome and friendly Miss
      Madden, had told him that she was a musician! He had a new pleasure in
      turning this over in his mind. Of all the closed doors which his choice of
      a career had left along his pathway, no other had for him such a magical
      fascination as that on which was graven the lute of Orpheus. He knew not
      even the alphabet of music, and his conceptions of its possibilities ran
      but little beyond the best of the hymn-singing he had heard at
      Conferences, yet none the less the longing for it raised on occasion such
      mutiny in his soul that more than once he had specifically prayed against
      it as a temptation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dangerous though some of its tendencies might be, there was no gainsaying
      the fact that a love for music was in the main an uplifting influence&mdash;an
      attribute of cultivation. The world was the sweeter and more gentle for
      it. And this brought him to musing upon the odd chance that the two people
      of Octavius who had given him the first notion of polish and intellectual
      culture in the town should be Irish. The Romish priest must have been
      vastly surprised at his intrusion, yet had been at the greatest pains to
      act as if it were quite the usual thing to have Methodist ministers assist
      at Extreme Unction. And the young woman&mdash;how gracefully, with what
      delicacy, had she comprehended his position and robbed it of all its
      possible embarrassments! It occurred to him that they must have passed,
      there in front of her home, the very tree from which the luckless
      wheelwright had fallen some hours before; and the fact that she had
      forborne to point it out to him took form in his mind as an added proof of
      her refinement of nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      The midday dinner was a little more than ready when Theron reached home,
      and let himself in by the front door. On Mondays, owing to the moisture
      and &ldquo;clutter&rdquo; of the weekly washing in the kitchen, the table was laid in
      the sitting-room, and as he entered from the hall the partner of his joys
      bustled in by the other door, bearing the steaming platter of corned beef,
      dumplings, cabbages, and carrots, with arms bared to the elbows, and a red
      face. It gave him great comfort, however, to note that there were no signs
      of the morning's displeasure remaining on this face; and he immediately
      remembered again those interrupted projects of his about the piano and the
      hired girl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! I'd just about begun to reckon that I was a widow,&rdquo; said Alice,
      putting down her fragrant burden. There was such an obvious suggestion of
      propitiation in her tone that Theron went around and kissed her. He
      thought of saying something about keeping out of the way because it was
      &ldquo;Blue Monday,&rdquo; but held it back lest it should sound like a reproach.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what kind of a washerwoman does THIS one turn out to be?&rdquo; he asked,
      after they were seated, and he had invoked a blessing and was cutting
      vigorously into the meat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, so-so,&rdquo; replied Alice; &ldquo;she seems to be particular, but she's mortal
      slow. If I hadn't stood right over her, we shouldn't have had the clothes
      out till goodness knows when. And of course she's Irish!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what of THAT?&rdquo; asked the minister, with a fine unconcern.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice looked up from her plate, with knife and fork suspended in air.
      &ldquo;Why, you know we were talking only the other day of what a pity it was
      that none of our own people went out washing,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;That Welsh woman
      we heard of couldn't come, after all; and they say, too, that she presumes
      dreadfully upon the acquaintance, being a church member, you know. So we
      simply had to fall back on the Irish. And even if they do go and tell
      their priest everything they see and hear, why, there's one comfort, they
      can tell about US and welcome. Of course I see to it she doesn't snoop
      around in here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled. &ldquo;That's all nonsense about their telling such things to
      their priests,&rdquo; he said with easy confidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, you told me so yourself,&rdquo; replied Alice, briskly. &ldquo;And I've always
      understood so, too; they're bound to tell EVERYTHING in confession. That's
      what gives the Catholic Church such a tremendous hold. You've spoken of it
      often.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must have been by way of a figure of speech,&rdquo; remarked Theron, not
      with entire directness. &ldquo;Women are great hands to separate one's
      observations from their context, and so give them meanings quite
      unintended. They are also great hands,&rdquo; he added genially, &ldquo;or at least
      one of them is, at making the most delicious dumplings in the world. I
      believe these are the best even you ever made.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice was not unmindful of the compliment, but her thoughts were on other
      things. &ldquo;I shouldn't like that woman's priest, for example,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to
      know that we had no piano.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if he comes and stands outside our house every night and listens&mdash;as
      of course he will,&rdquo; said Theron, with mock gravity, &ldquo;it is only a question
      of time when he must reach that conclusion for himself. Our only chance,
      however, is that there are some sixteen hundred other houses for him to
      watch, so that he may not get around to us for quite a spell. Why,
      seriously, Alice, what on earth do you suppose Father Forbes knows or
      cares about our poor little affairs, or those of any other Protestant
      household in this whole village? He has his work to do, just as I have
      mine&mdash;only his is ten times as exacting in everything except sermons&mdash;and
      you may be sure he is only too glad when it is over each day, without
      bothering about things that are none of his business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All the same I'm afraid of them,&rdquo; said Alice, as if argument were
      exhausted.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the following morning young Mr. Ware anticipated events by inscribing
      in his diary for the day, immediately after breakfast, these remarks:
      &ldquo;Arranged about piano. Began work upon book.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The date indeed deserved to be distinguished from its fellows. Theron was
      so conscious of its importance that he not only prophesied in the little
      morocco-bound diary which Alice had given him for Christmas, but returned
      after he had got out upon the front steps of the parsonage to have his hat
      brushed afresh by her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wonders will never cease,&rdquo; she said jocosely. &ldquo;With you getting
      particular about your clothes, there isn't anything in this wide world
      that can't happen now!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One doesn't go out to bring home a piano every day,&rdquo; he made answer.
      &ldquo;Besides, I want to make such an impression upon the man that he will deal
      gently with that first cash payment down. Do you know,&rdquo; he added, watching
      her turn the felt brim under the wisp-broom's strokes, &ldquo;I'm thinking some
      of getting me a regular silk stove-pipe hat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why don't you, then?&rdquo; she rejoined, but without any ring of glad
      acquiescence in her tone. He fancied that her face lengthened a little,
      and he instantly ascribed it to recollections of the way in which the
      roses had been bullied out of her own headgear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are quite sure, now, pet,&rdquo; he made haste to change the subject, &ldquo;that
      the hired girl can wait just as well as not until fall?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, MY, yes!&rdquo; Alice replied, putting the hat on his head, and smoothing
      back his hair behind his ears. &ldquo;She'd only be in the way now. You see,
      with hot weather coming on, there won't be much cooking. We'll take all
      our meals out here, and that saves so much work that really what remains
      is hardly more than taking care of a bird-cage. And, besides, not having
      her will almost half pay for the piano.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But when cold weather comes, you're sure you'll consent?&rdquo; he urged.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like a shot!&rdquo; she assured him, and, after a happy little caress, he
      started out again on his momentous mission.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thurston's&rdquo; was a place concerning which opinions differed in Octavius.
      That it typified progress, and helped more than any other feature of the
      village to bring it up to date, no one indeed disputed. One might move
      about a great deal, in truth, and hear no other view expressed. But then
      again one might stumble into conversation with one small storekeeper after
      another, and learn that they united in resenting the existence of
      &ldquo;Thurston's,&rdquo; as rival farmers might join to curse a protracted drought.
      Each had his special flaming grievance. The little dry-goods dealers asked
      mournfully how they could be expected to compete with an establishment
      which could buy bankrupt stocks at a hundred different points, and make a
      profit if only one-third of the articles were sold for more than they
      would cost from the jobber? The little boot and shoe dealers, clothiers,
      hatters, and furriers, the small merchants in carpets, crockery, and
      furniture, the venders of hardware and household utensils, of leathern
      goods and picture-frames, of wall-paper, musical instruments, and even
      toys&mdash;all had the same pathetically unanswerable question to
      propound. But mostly they put it to themselves, because the others were at
      &ldquo;Thurston's.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Theron Ware had entertained rather strong views on this subject,
      and that only a week or two ago. One of his first acquaintances in
      Octavius had been the owner of the principal book-store in the place&mdash;a
      gentle and bald old man who produced the complete impression of a
      bibliophile upon what the slightest investigation showed to be only a
      meagre acquaintance with publishers' circulars. But at least he had the
      air of loving his business, and the young minister had enjoyed a long talk
      with, or rather, at him. Out of this talk had come the information that
      the store was losing money. Not even the stationery department now showed
      a profit worth mentioning. When Octavius had contained only five thousand
      inhabitants, it boasted four book-stores, two of them good ones. Now, with
      a population more than doubled, only these latter two survived, and they
      must soon go to the wall. The reason? It was in a nutshell. A book which
      sold at retail for one dollar and a half cost the bookseller ninety cents.
      If it was at all a popular book, &ldquo;Thurston's&rdquo; advertised it at eighty-nine
      cents&mdash;and in any case at a profit of only two or three cents. Of
      course it was done to widen the establishment's patronage&mdash;to bring
      people into the store. Equally of course, it was destroying the book
      business and debauching the reading tastes of the community. Without the
      profits from the light and ephemeral popular literature of the season, the
      book-store proper could not keep up its stock of more solid works, and
      indeed could not long keep open at all. On the other hand, &ldquo;Thurston's&rdquo;
       dealt with nothing save the demand of the moment, and offered only the
      books which were the talk of the week. Thus, in plain words, the book
      trade was going to the dogs, and it was the same with pretty nearly every
      other trade.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron was indignant at this, and on his return home told Alice that he
      desired her to make no purchases whatever at &ldquo;Thurston's.&rdquo; He even
      resolved to preach a sermon on the subject of the modern idea of admiring
      the great for crushing the small, and sketched out some notes for it which
      he thought solved the problem of flaying the local abuse without
      mentioning it by name. They had lain on his desk now for ten days or more,
      and on only the previous Friday he had speculated upon using them that
      coming Sunday.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this bright and cheerful Tuesday morning he walked with a blithe step
      unhesitatingly down the main street to &ldquo;Thurston's,&rdquo; and entered without
      any show of repugnance the door next to the window wherein, flanked by
      dangling banjos and key-bugles built in pyramids, was displayed the sign,
      &ldquo;Pianos on the Instalment Plan.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was recognized by some responsible persons, and treated with
      distinguished deference. They were charmed with the intelligence that he
      desired a piano, and fascinated by his wish to pay for it only a little at
      a time. They had special terms for clergymen, and made him feel as if
      these were being extended to him on a silver charger by kneeling admirers.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was so easy to buy things here that he was a trifle disturbed to find
      his flowing course interrupted by his own entire ignorance as to what kind
      of piano he wanted. He looked at all they had in stock, and heard them
      played upon. They differed greatly in price, and, so he fancied, almost as
      much in tone. It discouraged him to note, however, that several of those
      he thought the finest in tone were among the very cheapest in the lot.
      Pondering this, and staring in hopeless puzzlement from one to another of
      the big black shiny monsters, he suddenly thought of something.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather not decide for myself,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I know so little about
      it. If you don't mind, I will have a friend of mine, a skilled musician,
      step in and make a selection. I have so much confidence in&mdash;in her
      judgment.&rdquo; He added hurriedly, &ldquo;It will involve only a day or two's
      delay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The next moment he was sorry he had spoken. What would they think when
      they saw the organist of the Catholic church come to pick out a piano for
      the Methodist parsonage? And how could he decorously prefer the request to
      her to undertake this task? He might not meet her again for ages, and to
      his provincial notions writing would have seemed out of the question. And
      would it not be disagreeable to have her know that he was buying a piano
      by part payments? Poor Alice's dread of the washerwoman's gossip occurred
      to him, at this, and he smiled in spite of himself. Then all at once the
      difficulty vanished. Of course it would come all right somehow. Everything
      did.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was on firmer ground, buying the materials for the new book, over on
      the stationery side. His original intention had been to bestow this
      patronage upon the old bookseller, but these suavely smart people in
      &ldquo;Thurston's&rdquo; had had the effect of putting him on his honor when they
      asked, &ldquo;Would there be anything else?&rdquo; and he had followed them
      unresistingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He indulged to the full his whim that everything entering into the
      construction of &ldquo;Abraham&rdquo; should be spick-and-span. He watched with his
      own eyes a whole ream of broad glazed white paper being sliced down by the
      cutter into single sheets, and thrilled with a novel ecstasy as he laid
      his hand upon the spotless bulk, so wooingly did it invite him to begin.
      He tried a score of pens before the right one came to hand. When a box of
      these had been laid aside, with ink and pen-holders and a little bronze
      inkstand, he made a sign that the outfit was complete. Or no&mdash;there
      must be some blotting-paper. He had always used those blotting-pads given
      away by insurance companies&mdash;his congregations never failed to
      contain one or more agents, who had these to bestow by the armful&mdash;but
      the book deserved a virgin blotter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron stood by while all these things were being tied up together in a
      parcel. The suggestion that they should be sent almost hurt him. Oh, no,
      he would carry them home himself. So strongly did they appeal to his
      sanguine imagination that he could not forbear hinting to the man who had
      shown him the pianos and was now accompanying him to the door that this
      package under his arm represented potentially the price of the piano he
      was going to have. He did it in a roundabout way, with one of his droll,
      hesitating smiles. The man did not understand at all, and Theron had not
      the temerity to repeat the remark. He strode home with the precious bundle
      as fast as he could.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought it best, after all, not to commit myself to a selection,&rdquo; he
      explained about the piano at dinner-time. &ldquo;In such a matter as this, the
      opinion of an expert is everything. I am going to have one of the
      principal musicians of the town go and try them all, and tell me which we
      ought to have.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And while he's about it,&rdquo; said Alice, &ldquo;you might ask him to make a little
      list of some of the new music. I've got way behind the times, being
      without a piano so long. Tell him not any VERY difficult pieces, you
      know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; put in Theron, almost hastily, and began talking of other
      things. His conversation was of the most rambling and desultory sort,
      because all the while the two lobes of his brain, as it were, kept up a
      dispute as to whether Alice ought to have been told that this &ldquo;principal
      musician&rdquo; was of her own sex. It would certainly have been better, at the
      outset, he decided; but to mention it now would be to invest the fact with
      undue importance. Yes, that was quite clear; only the clearer it became,
      from one point of view, the shadier it waxed from the other. The problem
      really disturbed the young minister's mind throughout the meal, and his
      abstraction became so marked at last that his wife commented upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A penny for your thoughts!&rdquo; she said, with cheerful briskness. This
      ancient formula of the farm-land had always rather jarred on Theron. It
      presented itself now to his mind as a peculiarly aggravating banality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going to begin my book this afternoon,&rdquo; he remarked impressively.
      &ldquo;There is a great deal to think about.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It turned out that there was even more to think about than he had
      imagined. After hours of solitary musing at his desk, or of pacing up and
      down before his open book-shelves, Theron found the first shadows of a
      May-day twilight beginning to fall upon that beautiful pile of white
      paper, still unstained by ink. He saw the book he wanted to write before
      him, in his mental vision, much more distinctly than ever, but the idea of
      beginning it impetuously, and hurling it off hot and glowing week by week,
      had faded away like a dream.
    </p>
    <p>
      This long afternoon, spent face to face with a project born of his own
      brain but yesterday, yet already so much bigger than himself, was really a
      most fruitful time for the young clergyman. The lessons which cut most
      deeply into our consciousness are those we learn from our children.
      Theron, in this first day's contact with the offspring of his fancy, found
      revealed to him an unsuspected and staggering truth. It was that he was an
      extremely ignorant and rudely untrained young man, whose pretensions to
      intellectual authority among any educated people would be laughed at with
      deserved contempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Strangely enough, after he had weathered the first shock, this discovery
      did not dismay Theron Ware. The very completeness of the conviction it
      carried with it, saturated his mind with a feeling as if the fact had
      really been known to him all along. And there came, too, after a little,
      an almost pleasurable sense of the importance of the revelation. He had
      been merely drifting in fatuous and conceited blindness. Now all at once
      his eyes were open; he knew what he had to do. Ignorance was a thing to be
      remedied, and he would forthwith bend all his energies to cultivating his
      mind till it should blossom like a garden. In this mood, Theron mentally
      measured himself against the more conspicuous of his colleagues in the
      Conference. They also were ignorant, clownishly ignorant: the difference
      was that they were doomed by native incapacity to go on all their lives
      without ever finding it out. It was obvious to him that his case was
      better. There was bright promise in the very fact that he had discovered
      his shortcomings.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had begun the afternoon by taking down from their places the various
      works in his meagre library which bore more or less relation to the task
      in hand. The threescore books which constituted his printed possessions
      were almost wholly from the press of the Book Concern; the few exceptions
      were volumes which, though published elsewhere, had come to him through
      that giant circulating agency of the General Conference, and wore the
      stamp of its approval. Perhaps it was the sight of these half-filled
      shelves which started this day's great revolution in Theron's opinions of
      himself. He had never thought much before about owning books. He had been
      too poor to buy many, and the conditions of canvassing about among one's
      parishioners which the thrifty Book Concern imposes upon those who would
      have without buying, had always repelled him. Now, suddenly, as he moved
      along the two shelves, he felt ashamed at their beggarly showing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Land and the Book,&rdquo; in three portly volumes, was the most pretentious
      of the aids which he finally culled from his collection. Beside it he laid
      out &ldquo;Bible Lands,&rdquo; &ldquo;Rivers and Lakes of Scripture,&rdquo; &ldquo;Bible Manners and
      Customs,&rdquo; the &ldquo;Genesis and Exodus&rdquo; volume of Whedon's Commentary, some old
      numbers of the &ldquo;Methodist Quarterly Review,&rdquo; and a copy of &ldquo;Josephus&rdquo;
       which had belonged to his grandmother, and had seen him through many a
      weary Sunday afternoon in boyhood. He glanced casually through these, one
      by one, as he took them down, and began to fear that they were not going
      to be of so much use as he had thought. Then, seating himself, he read
      carefully through the thirteen chapters of Genesis which chronicle the
      story of the founder of Israel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course he had known this story from his earliest years. In almost every
      chapter he came now upon a phrase or an incident which had served him as
      the basis for a sermon. He had preached about Hagar in the wilderness,
      about Lot's wife, about the visit of the angels, about the intended
      sacrifice of Isaac, about a dozen other things suggested by the ancient
      narrative. Somehow this time it all seemed different to him. The people he
      read about were altered to his vision. Heretofore a poetic light had shone
      about them, where indeed they had not glowed in a halo of sanctification.
      Now, by some chance, this light was gone, and he saw them instead as
      untutored and unwashed barbarians, filled with animal lusts and
      ferocities, struggling by violence and foul chicanery to secure a foothold
      in a country which did not belong to them&mdash;all rude tramps and
      robbers of the uncivilized plain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The apparent fact that Abram was a Chaldean struck him with peculiar
      force. How was it, he wondered, that this had never occurred to him
      before? Examining himself, he found that he had supposed vaguely that
      there had been Jews from the beginning, or at least, say, from the flood.
      But, no, Abram was introduced simply as a citizen of the Chaldean town of
      Ur, and there was no hint of any difference in race between him and his
      neighbors. It was specially mentioned that his brother, Lot's father, died
      in Ur, the city of his nativity. Evidently the family belonged there, and
      were Chaldeans like the rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not cite this as at all a striking discovery, but it did have a
      curious effect upon Theron Ware. Up to that very afternoon, his notion of
      the kind of book he wanted to write had been founded upon a popular book
      called &ldquo;Ruth the Moabitess,&rdquo; written by a clergyman he knew very well, the
      Rev. E. Ray Mifflin. This model performance troubled itself not at all
      with difficult points, but went swimmingly along through scented summer
      seas of pretty rhetoric, teaching nothing, it is true, but pleasing a good
      deal and selling like hot cakes. Now, all at once Theron felt that he
      hated that sort of book. HIS work should be of a vastly different order.
      He might fairly assume, he thought, that if the fact that Abram was a
      Chaldean was new to him, it would fall upon the world in general as a
      novelty. Very well, then, there was his chance. He would write a learned
      book, showing who the Chaldeans were, and how their manners and beliefs
      differed from, and influenced&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was at this psychological instant that the wave of self-condemnation
      suddenly burst upon and submerged the young clergyman. It passed again,
      leaving him staring fixedly at the pile of books he had taken down from
      the shelves, and gasping a little, as if for breath. Then the humorous
      side of the thing, perversely enough, appealed to him, and he grinned
      feebly to himself at the joke of his having imagined that he could write
      learnedly about the Chaldeans, or anything else. But, no, it shouldn't
      remain a joke! His long mobile face grew serious under the new resolve. He
      would learn what there was to be learned about the Chaldeans. He rose and
      walked up and down the room, gathering fresh strength of purpose as this
      inviting field of research spread out its vistas before him. Perhaps&mdash;yes,
      he would incidentally explore the mysteries of the Moabitic past as well,
      and thus put the Rev. E. Ray Mifflin to confusion on his own subject. That
      would in itself be a useful thing, because Mifflin wore kid gloves at the
      Conference, and affected an intolerable superiority of dress and demeanor,
      and there would be general satisfaction among the plainer and worthier
      brethren at seeing him taken down a peg.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now for the first time there rose distinctly in Theron's mind that casual
      allusion which Father Forbes had made to the Turanians. He recalled, too,
      his momentary feeling of mortification at not knowing who the Turanians
      were, at the time. Possibly, if he had probed this matter more deeply, now
      as he walked and pondered in the little living-room, he might have traced
      the whole of the afternoon's mental experiences to that chance remark of
      the Romish priest. But this speculation did not detain him. He mused
      instead upon the splendid library Father Forbes must have.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, how does the book come on? Have you got to 'my Lady Keturah' yet?'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was Alice who spoke, opening the door from the kitchen, and putting in
      her head with a pretence of great and solemn caution, but with a
      correcting twinkle in her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I haven't got to anybody yet,&rdquo; answered Theron, absently. &ldquo;These big
      things must be approached slowly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come out to supper, then, while the beans are hot,&rdquo; said Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young minister sat through this other meal, again in deep abstraction.
      His wife pursued her little pleasantry about Keturah, the second wife,
      urging him with mock gravity to scold her roundly for daring to usurp
      Sarah's place, but Theron scarcely heard her, and said next to nothing. He
      ate sparingly, and fidgeted in his seat, waiting with obvious impatience
      for the finish of the meal. At last he rose abruptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've got a call to make&mdash;something with reference to the book,&rdquo; he
      said. &ldquo;I'll run out now, I think, before it gets dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He put on his hat, and strode out of the house as if his errand was of the
      utmost urgency. Once upon the street, however, his pace slackened. There
      was still a good deal of daylight outside, and he loitered aimlessly
      about, walking with bowed head and hands clasped behind him, until dusk
      fell. Then he squared his shoulders, and started straight as the crow
      flies toward the residence of Father Forbes.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The new Catholic church was the largest and most imposing public building
      in Octavius. Even in its unfinished condition, with a bald roofing of
      weather-beaten boards marking on the stunted tower the place where a spire
      was to begin later on, it dwarfed every other edifice of the sort in the
      town, just as it put them all to shame in the matter of the throngs it
      drew, rain or shine, to its services.
    </p>
    <p>
      These facts had not heretofore been a source of satisfaction to the Rev.
      Theron Ware. He had even alluded to the subject in terms which gave his
      wife the impression that he actively deplored the strength and size of the
      Catholic denomination in this new home of theirs, and was troubled in his
      mind about Rome generally. But this evening he walked along the extended
      side of the big structure, which occupied nearly half the block, and then,
      turning the corner, passed in review its wide-doored, looming front,
      without any hostile emotions whatever. In the gathering dusk it seemed
      more massive than ever before, but he found himself only passively
      considering the odd statement he had heard that all Catholic Church
      property was deeded absolutely in the name of the Bishop of the diocese.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only a narrow passage-way separated the church from the pastorate&mdash;a
      fine new brick residence standing flush upon the street. Theron mounted
      the steps, and looked about for a bell-pull. Search revealed instead a
      little ivory button set in a ring of metal work. He picked at this for a
      time with his finger-nail, before he made out the injunction, printed
      across it, to push. Of course! how stupid of him! This was one of those
      electric bells he had heard so much of, but which had not as yet made
      their way to the class of homes he knew. For custodians of a mediaeval
      superstition and fanaticism, the Catholic clergy seemed very much up to
      date. This bell made him feel rather more a countryman than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door was opened by a tall gaunt woman, who stood in black relief
      against the radiance of the hall-way while Theron, choosing his words with
      some diffidence, asked if the Rev. Mr. Forbes was in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is&rdquo; came the hush-voiced answer. &ldquo;He's at dinner, though.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It took the young minister a second or two to bring into association in
      his mind this evening hour and this midday meal. Then he began to say that
      he would call again&mdash;it was nothing special&mdash;but the woman
      suddenly cut him short by throwing the door wide open.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's Mr. Ware, is it not?&rdquo; she asked, in a greatly altered tone. &ldquo;Sure,
      he'd not have you go away. Come inside&mdash;do, sir!&mdash;I'll tell
      him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron, with a dumb show of reluctance, crossed the threshold. He noted
      now that the woman, who had bustled down the hall on her errand, was
      gray-haired and incredibly ugly, with a dark sour face, glowering black
      eyes, and a twisted mouth. Then he saw that he was not alone in the
      hall-way. Three men and two women, all poorly clad and obviously working
      people, were seated in meek silence on a bench beyond the hat-rack. They
      glanced up at him for an instant, then resumed their patient study of the
      linoleum pattern on the floor at their feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And will you kindly step in, sir?&rdquo; the elderly Gorgon had returned to
      ask. She led Mr. Ware along the hall-way to a door near the end, and
      opened it for him to pass before her.
    </p>
    <p>
      He entered a room in which for the moment he could see nothing but a
      central glare of dazzling light beating down from a great shaded lamp upon
      a circular patch of white table linen. Inside this ring of illumination
      points of fire sparkled from silver and porcelain, and two bars of burning
      crimson tracked across the cloth in reflection from tall glasses filled
      with wine. The rest of the room was vague darkness; but the gloom seemed
      saturated with novel aromatic odors, the appetizing scent of which bore
      clear relation to what Theron's blinking eyes rested upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was able now to discern two figures at the table, outside the glowing
      circle of the lamp. They had both risen, and one came toward him with
      cordial celerity, holding out a white plump hand in greeting. He took this
      proffered hand rather limply, not wholly sure in the half-light that this
      really was Father Forbes, and began once more that everlasting apology to
      which he seemed doomed in the presence of the priest. It was broken
      abruptly off by the other's protesting laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Mr. Ware, I beg of you,&rdquo; the priest urged, chuckling with
      hospitable mirth, &ldquo;don't, don't apologize! I give you my word, nothing in
      the world could have pleased us better than your joining us here tonight.
      It was quite dramatic, your coming in as you did. We were speaking of you
      at that very moment. Oh, I forgot&mdash;let me make you acquainted with my
      friend&mdash;my very particular friend, Dr. Ledsmar. Let me take your hat;
      pray draw up a chair. Maggie will have a place laid for you in a minute.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I assure you&mdash;I couldn't think of it&mdash;I've just eaten my&mdash;my&mdash;dinner,&rdquo;
       expostulated Theron. He murmured more inarticulate remonstrances a moment
      later, when the grim old domestic appeared with plates, serviette, and
      tableware for his use, but she went on spreading them before him as if she
      heard nothing. Thus committed against a decent show of resistance, the
      young minister did eat a little here and there of what was set before him,
      and was human enough to regret frankly that he could not eat more. It
      seemed to him very remarkable cookery, transfiguring so simple a thing as
      a steak, for example, quite out of recognition, and investing the humble
      potato with a charm he had never dreamed of. He wondered from time to time
      if it would be polite to ask how the potatoes were cooked, so that he
      might tell Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation at the table was not continuous, or even enlivened. After
      the lapses into silence became marked, Theron began to suspect that his
      refusal to drink wine had annoyed them&mdash;the more so as he had
      drenched a large section of table-cloth in his efforts to manipulate a
      siphon instead. He was greatly relieved, therefore, when Father Forbes
      explained in an incidental way that Dr. Ledsmar and he customarily ate
      their meals almost without a word.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's a philosophic fad of his,&rdquo; the priest went on smilingly, &ldquo;and I have
      fallen in with it for the sake of a quiet life; so that when we do have
      company&mdash;that is to say, once in a blue moon&mdash;we display no
      manners to speak of.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had always supposed&mdash;that is, I've always heard&mdash;that it was
      more healthful to talk at meals,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;Of course&mdash;what I
      mean&mdash;I took it for granted all physicians thought so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar laughed. &ldquo;That depends so much upon the quality of the meals!&rdquo;
       he remarked, holding his glass up to the light.
    </p>
    <p>
      He seemed a man of middle age and an equable disposition. Theron, stealing
      stray glances at him around the lampshade, saw most distinctly of all a
      broad, impressive dome of skull, which, though obviously the result of
      baldness, gave the effect of quite belonging to the face. There were
      gold-rimmed spectacles, through which shone now and again the vivid
      sparkle of sharp, alert eyes, and there was a nose of some sort not easy
      to classify, at once long and thick. The rest was thin hair and short
      round beard, mouse-colored where the light caught them, but losing their
      outlines in the shadows of the background. Theron had not heard of him
      among the physicians of Octavius. He wondered if he might not be a doctor
      of something else than medicine, and decided upon venturing the question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, it is medicine,&rdquo; replied Ledsmar. &ldquo;I am a doctor three or four
      times over, so far as parchments can make one. In some other respects,
      though, I should think I am probably less of a doctor than anybody else
      now living. I haven't practised&mdash;that is, regularly&mdash;for many
      years, and I take no interest whatever in keeping abreast of what the
      profession regards as its progress. I know nothing beyond what was being
      taught in the sixties, and that I am glad to say I have mostly forgotten.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;I had always supposed that Science was the most
      engrossing of pursuits&mdash;that once a man took it up he never left it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But that would imply a connection between Science and Medicine!&rdquo;
       commented the doctor. &ldquo;My dear sir, they are not even on speaking terms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall we go upstairs?&rdquo; put in the priest, rising from his chair. &ldquo;It will
      be more comfortable to have our coffee there&mdash;unless indeed, Mr.
      Ware, tobacco is unpleasant to you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my, no!&rdquo; the young minister exclaimed, eager to free himself from the
      suggestion of being a kill-joy. &ldquo;I don't smoke myself; but I am very fond
      of the odor, I assure you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes led the way out. It could be seen now that he wore a long
      house-gown of black silk, skilfully moulded to his erect, shapely, and
      rounded form. Though he carried this with the natural grace of a proud and
      beautiful belle, there was no hint of the feminine in his bearing, or in
      the contour of his pale, firm-set, handsome face. As he moved through the
      hall-way, the five people whom Theron had seen waiting rose from their
      bench, and two of the women began in humble murmurs, &ldquo;If you please,
      Father,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Good-evening to your Riverence;&rdquo; but the priest merely
      nodded and passed on up the staircase, followed by his guests. The people
      sat down on their bench again.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes later, reclining at his ease in a huge low chair, and
      feeling himself unaccountably at home in the most luxuriously appointed
      and delightful little room he had ever seen, the Rev. Theron Ware sipped
      his unaccustomed coffee and embarked upon an explanation of his errand.
      Somehow the very profusion of scholarly symbols about him&mdash;the great
      dark rows of encased and crowded book-shelves rising to the ceiling, the
      classical engravings upon the wall, the revolving book-case, the
      reading-stand, the mass of littered magazines, reviews, and papers at
      either end of the costly and elaborate writing-desk&mdash;seemed to make
      it the easier for him to explain without reproach that he needed
      information about Abram. He told them quite in detail the story of his
      book.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two others sat watching him through a faint haze of scented smoke,
      with polite encouragement on their faces. Father Forbes took the added
      trouble to nod understandingly at the various points of the narrative, and
      when it was finished gave one of his little approving chuckles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This skirts very closely upon sorcery,&rdquo; he said smilingly. &ldquo;Do you know,
      there is perhaps not another man in the country who knows Assyriology so
      thoroughly as our friend here, Dr. Ledsmar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's putting it too strong,&rdquo; remarked the Doctor. &ldquo;I only follow at a
      distance&mdash;a year or two behind. But I daresay I can help you. You are
      quite welcome to anything I have: my books cover the ground pretty well up
      to last year. Delitzsch is very interesting; but Baudissin's 'Studien zur
      Semitischen Religionsgeschichte' would come closer to what you need. There
      are several other important Germans&mdash;Schrader, Bunsen, Duncker,
      Hommel, and so on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unluckily I&mdash;I don't read German readily,&rdquo; Theron explained with
      diffidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's a pity,&rdquo; said the doctor, &ldquo;because they do the best work&mdash;not
      only in this field, but in most others. And they do so much that the mass
      defies translation. Well, the best thing outside of German of course is
      Sayce. I daresay you know him, though.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware shook his head mournfully. &ldquo;I don't seem to know any
      one,&rdquo; he murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      The others exchanged glances.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if I may ask, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; pursued the doctor, regarding their guest
      with interest through his spectacles, &ldquo;why do you specially hit upon
      Abraham? He is full of difficulties&mdash;enough, just now, at any rate,
      to warn off the bravest scholar. Why not take something easier?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron had recovered something of his confidence. &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that
      is just what attracts me to Abraham. I like the complexities and
      contradictions in his character. Take for instance all that strange and
      picturesque episode of Hagar: see the splendid contrast between the craft
      and commercial guile of his dealings in Egypt and with Abimelech, and the
      simple, straightforward godliness of his later years. No, all those
      difficulties only attract me. Do you happen to know&mdash;of course you
      would know&mdash;do those German books, or the others, give anywhere any
      additional details of the man himself and his sayings and doings&mdash;little
      things which help, you know, to round out one's conception of the
      individual?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again the priest and the doctor stole a furtive glance across the young
      minister's head. It was Father Forbes who replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear that you are taking our friend Abraham too literally, Mr. Ware,&rdquo;
       he said, in that gentle semblance of paternal tones which seemed to go so
      well with his gown. &ldquo;Modern research, you know, quite wipes him out of
      existence as an individual. The word 'Abram' is merely an eponym&mdash;it
      means 'exalted father.' Practically all the names in the Genesis
      chronologies are what we call eponymous. Abram is not a person at all: he
      is a tribe, a sept, a clan. In the same way, Shem is not intended for a
      man; it is the name of a great division of the human race. Heber is simply
      the throwing back into allegorical substance, so to speak, of the Hebrews;
      Heth of the Hittites; Asshur of Assyria.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But this is something very new, this theory, isn't it?&rdquo; queried Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      The priest smiled and shook his head. &ldquo;Bless you, no! My dear sir, there
      is nothing new. Epicurus and Lucretius outlined the whole Darwinian theory
      more than two thousand years ago. As for this eponym thing, why Saint
      Augustine called attention to it fifteen hundred years ago. In his 'De
      Civitate Dei,' he expressly says of these genealogical names, 'GENTES NON
      HOMINES;' that is, 'peoples, not persons.' It was as obvious to him&mdash;as
      much a commonplace of knowledge&mdash;as it was to Ezekiel eight hundred
      years before him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems passing strange that we should not know it now, then,&rdquo; commented
      Theron; &ldquo;I mean, that everybody shouldn't know it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes gave a little purring chuckle. &ldquo;Ah, there we get upon
      contentious ground,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;Why should 'everybody' be supposed to
      know anything at all? What business is it of 'everybody's' to know things?
      The earth was just as round in the days when people supposed it to be
      flat, as it is now. So the truth remains always the truth, even though you
      give a charter to ten hundred thousand separate numskulls to examine it by
      the light of their private judgment, and report that it is as many
      different varieties of something else. But of course that whole question
      of private judgment versus authority is No-Man's-Land for us. We were
      speaking of eponyms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Theron; &ldquo;it is very interesting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a curious phase of the subject which hasn't been worked out
      much,&rdquo; continued the priest. &ldquo;Probably the Germans will get at that too,
      sometime. They are doing the best Irish work in other fields, as it is. I
      spoke of Heber and Heth, in Genesis, as meaning the Hebrews and the
      Hittites. Now my own people, the Irish, have far more ancient legends and
      traditions than any other nation west of Athens; and you find in their
      myth of the Milesian invasion and conquest two principal leaders called
      Heber and Ith, or Heth. That is supposed to be comparatively modern&mdash;about
      the time of Solomon's Temple. But these independent Irish myths go back to
      the fall of the Tower of Babel, and they have there an ancestor, grandson
      of Japhet, named Fenius Farsa, and they ascribe to him the invention of
      the alphabet. They took their ancient name of Feine, the modern Fenian,
      from him. Oddly enough, that is the name which the Romans knew the
      Phoenicians by, and to them also is ascribed the invention of the
      alphabet. The Irish have a holy salmon of knowledge, just like the
      Chaldean man-fish. The Druids' tree-worship is identical with that of the
      Chaldeans&mdash;those pagan groves, you know, which the Jews were always
      being punished for building. You see, there is nothing new. Everything is
      built on the ruins of something else. Just as the material earth is made
      up of countless billions of dead men's bones, so the mental world is all
      alive with the ghosts of dead men's thoughts and beliefs, the wraiths of
      dead races' faiths and imaginings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes paused, then added with a twinkle in his eye: &ldquo;That
      peroration is from an old sermon of mine, in the days when I used to
      preach. I remember rather liking it, at the time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you still preach?&rdquo; asked the Rev. Mr. Ware, with lifted brows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No! no more! I only talk now and again,&rdquo; answered the priest, with what
      seemed a suggestion of curtness. He made haste to take the conversation
      back again. &ldquo;The names of these dead-and-gone things are singularly
      pertinacious, though. They survive indefinitely. Take the modern name
      Marmaduke, for example. It strikes one as peculiarly modern, up-to-date,
      doesn't it? Well, it is the oldest name on earth&mdash;thousands of years
      older than Adam. It is the ancient Chaldean Meridug, or Merodach. He was
      the young god who interceded continually between the angry, omnipotent Ea,
      his father, and the humble and unhappy Damkina, or Earth, who was his
      mother. This is interesting from another point of view, because this
      Merodach or Marmaduke is, so far as we can see now, the original prototype
      of our 'divine intermediary' idea. I daresay, though, that if we could go
      back still other scores of centuries, we should find whole receding series
      of types of this Christ-myth of ours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron Ware sat upright at the fall of these words, and flung a swift,
      startled look about the room&mdash;the instinctive glance of a man
      unexpectedly confronted with peril, and casting desperately about for
      means of defence and escape. For the instant his mind was aflame with this
      vivid impression&mdash;that he was among sinister enemies, at the mercy of
      criminals. He half rose under the impelling stress of this feeling, with
      the sweat standing on his brow, and his jaw dropped in a scared and
      bewildered stare.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, quite as suddenly, the sense of shock was gone; and it was as if
      nothing at all had happened. He drew a long breath, took another sip of
      his coffee, and found himself all at once reflecting almost pleasurably
      upon the charm of contact with really educated people. He leaned back in
      the big chair again, and smiled to show these men of the world how much at
      his ease he was. It required an effort, he discovered, but he made it
      bravely, and hoped he was succeeding.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It hasn't been in my power to at all lay hold of what the world keeps on
      learning nowadays about its babyhood,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;All I have done is to try
      to preserve an open mind, and to maintain my faith that the more we know,
      the nearer we shall approach the Throne.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar abruptly scuffled his feet on the floor, and took out his
      watch. &ldquo;I'm afraid&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no! There's plenty of time,&rdquo; remarked the priest, with his soft
      half-smile and purring tones. &ldquo;You finish your cigar here with Mr. Ware,
      and excuse me while I run down and get rid of the people in the hall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes tossed his cigar-end into the fender. Then he took from the
      mantel a strange three-cornered black-velvet cap, with a dangling silk
      tassel at the side, put it on his head, and went out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron, being left alone with the doctor, hardly knew what to do or say.
      He took up a paper from the floor beside him, but realized that it would
      be impolite to go farther, and laid it on his knee. Some trace of that
      earlier momentary feeling that he was in hostile hands came back, and
      worried him. He lifted himself upright in the chair, and then became
      conscious that what really disturbed him was the fact that Dr. Ledsmar had
      turned in his seat, crossed his legs, and was contemplating him with a
      gravely concentrated scrutiny through his spectacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      This uncomfortable gaze kept itself up a long way beyond the point of good
      manners; but the doctor seemed not to mind that at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Dr. Ledsmar finally spoke, it was in a kindlier tone than the young
      minister had looked for. &ldquo;I had half a notion of going to hear you preach
      the other evening,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but at the last minute I backed out. I
      daresay I shall pluck up the courage, sooner or later, and really go. It
      must be fully twenty years since I last heard a sermon, and I had supposed
      that that would suffice for the rest of my life. But they tell me that you
      are worth while; and, for some reason or other, I find myself curious on
      the subject.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Involved and dubious though the compliment might be, Theron felt himself
      flushing with satisfaction. He nodded his acknowledgment, and changed the
      topic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was surprised to hear Father Forbes say that he did not preach,&rdquo; he
      remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why should he?&rdquo; asked the doctor, indifferently. &ldquo;I suppose he hasn't
      more than fifteen parishioners in a thousand who would understand him if
      he did, and of these probably twelve would join in a complaint to his
      Bishop about the heterodox tone of his sermon. There is no point in his
      going to all that pains, merely to incur that risk. Nobody wants him to
      preach, and he has reached an age where personal vanity no longer tempts
      him to do so. What IS wanted of him is that he should be the paternal,
      ceremonial, authoritative head and centre of his flock, adviser, monitor,
      overseer, elder brother, friend, patron, seigneur&mdash;whatever you like&mdash;everything
      except a bore. They draw the line at that. You see how diametrically
      opposed this Catholic point of view is to the Protestant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The difference does seem extremely curious to me,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;Now,
      those people in the hall&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; put in the doctor, as the other faltered hesitatingly. &ldquo;I know
      what you were going to say. It struck you as odd that he should let them
      wait on the bench there, while he came up here to smoke.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled faintly. &ldquo;I WAS thinking that my&mdash;my parishioners
      wouldn't have taken it so quietly. But of course&mdash;it is all so
      different!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As chalk from cheese!&rdquo; said Dr. Ledsmar, lighting a fresh cigar. &ldquo;I
      daresay every one you saw there had come either to take the pledge, or see
      to it that one of the others took it. That is the chief industry in the
      hall, so far as I have observed. Now discipline is an important element in
      the machinery here. Coming to take the pledge implies that you have been
      drunk and are now ashamed. Both states have their values, but they are
      opposed. Sitting on that bench tends to develop penitence to the prejudice
      of alcoholism. But at no stage would it ever occur to the occupant of the
      bench that he was the best judge of how long he was to sit there, or that
      his priest should interrupt his dinner or general personal routine, in
      order to administer that pledge. Now, I daresay you have no people at all
      coming to 'swear off.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware shook his head. &ldquo;No; if a man with us got as bad as all
      that, he wouldn't come near the church at all. He'd simply drop out, and
      there would be an end to it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; interjected the doctor. &ldquo;That is the voluntary system. But
      these fellows can't drop out. There's no bottom to the Catholic Church.
      Everything that's in, stays in. If you don't mind my saying so&mdash;of
      course I view you all impartially from the outside&mdash;but it seems
      logical to me that a church should exist for those who need its help, and
      not for those who by their own profession are so good already that it is
      they who help the church. Now, you turn a man out of your church who
      behaves badly: that must be on the theory that his remaining in would
      injure the church, and that in turn involves the idea that it is the
      excellent character of the parishioners which imparts virtue to the
      church. The Catholics' conception, you see, is quite the converse. Such
      virtue as they keep in stock is on tap, so to speak, here in the church
      itself, and the parishioners come and get some for themselves according to
      their need for it. Some come every day, some only once a year, some
      perhaps never between their baptism and their funeral. But they all have a
      right here, the professional burglar every whit as much as the speckless
      saint. The only stipulation is that they oughtn't to come under false
      pretences: the burglar is in honor bound not to pass himself off to his
      priest as the saint. But that is merely a moral obligation, established in
      the burglar's own interest. It does him no good to come unless he feels
      that he is playing the rules of the game, and one of these is confession.
      If he cheats there, he knows that he is cheating nobody but himself, and
      might much better have stopped away altogether.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron nodded his head comprehendingly. He had a great many views about
      the Romanish rite of confession which did not at all square with this
      statement of the case, but this did not seem a specially fit time for
      bringing them forth. There was indeed a sense of languid repletion in his
      mind, as if it had been overfed and wanted to lie down for awhile. He
      contented himself with nodding again, and murmuring reflectively, &ldquo;Yes, it
      is all strangely different.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His tone was an invitation to silence; and the doctor turned his attention
      to the cigar, studying its ash for a minute with an air of deep
      meditation, and then solemnly blowing out a slow series of smoke-rings.
      Theron watched him with an indolent, placid eye, wondering lazily if it
      was, after all, so very pleasant to smoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      There fell upon this silence&mdash;with a softness so delicate that it
      came almost like a progression in the hush&mdash;the sound of sweet music.
      For a little, strain and source were alike indefinite&mdash;an impalpable
      setting to harmony of the mellowed light, the perfumed opalescence of the
      air, the luxury and charm of the room. Then it rose as by a sweeping curve
      of beauty, into a firm, calm, severe melody, delicious to the ear, but as
      cold in the mind's vision as moonlit sculpture. It went on upward with
      stately collectedness of power, till the atmosphere seemed all alive with
      the trembling consciousness of the presence of lofty souls, sternly pure
      and pitilessly great.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron found himself moved as he had never been before. He almost resented
      the discovery, when it was presented to him by the prosaic, mechanical
      side of his brain, that he was listening to organ-music, and that it came
      through the open window from the church close by. He would fain have
      reclined in his chair and closed his eyes, and saturated himself with the
      uttermost fulness of the sensation. Yet, in absurd despite of himself, he
      rose and moved over to the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only a narrow alley separated the pastorate from the church; Mr. Ware
      could have touched with a walking-stick the opposite wall. Indirectly
      facing him was the arched and mullioned top of a great window. A dim light
      from within shone through the more translucent portions of the glass
      below, throwing out faint little bars of party-colored radiance upon the
      blackness of the deep passage-way. He could vaguely trace by these the
      outlines of some sort of picture on the window. There were human figures
      in it, and&mdash;yes&mdash;up here in the centre, nearest him, was a
      woman's head. There was a halo about it, engirdling rich, flowing waves of
      reddish hair, the lights in which glowed like flame. The face itself was
      barely distinguishable, but its half-suggested form raised a curious sense
      of resemblance to some other face. He looked at it closely, blankly, the
      noble music throbbing through his brain meanwhile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's that Madden girl!&rdquo; he suddenly heard a voice say by his side. Dr.
      Ledsmar had followed him to the window, and was close at his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron's thoughts were upon the puzzling shadowed lineaments on the
      stained glass. He saw now in a flash the resemblance which had baffled
      him. &ldquo;It IS like her, of course,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, unfortunately, it IS just like her,&rdquo; replied the doctor, with a
      hostile note in his voice. &ldquo;Whenever I am dining here, she always goes in
      and kicks up that racket. She knows I hate it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, you mean that it is she who is playing,&rdquo; remarked Theron. &ldquo;I thought
      you referred to&mdash;at least&mdash;I was thinking of&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His sentence died off in inconsequence. He had a feeling that he did not
      want to talk with the doctor about the stained-glass likeness. The music
      had sunk away now into fragmentary and unconnected passages, broken here
      and there by abrupt stops. Dr. Ledsmar stretched an arm out past him and
      shut the window. &ldquo;Let's hear as little of the row as we can,&rdquo; he said, and
      the two went back to their chairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pardon me for the question,&rdquo; the Rev. Mr. Ware said, after a pause which
      began to affect him as constrained, &ldquo;but something you said about dining&mdash;you
      don't live here, then? In the house, I mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The doctor laughed&mdash;a characteristically abrupt, dry little laugh,
      which struck Theron at once as bearing a sort of black-sheep relationship
      to the priest's habitual chuckle. &ldquo;That must have been puzzling you no
      end,&rdquo; he said&mdash;&ldquo;that notion that the pastorate kept a devil's
      advocate on the premises. No, Mr. Ware, I don't live here. I inhabit a
      house of my own&mdash;you may have seen it&mdash;an old-fashioned place up
      beyond the race-course, with a sort of tower at the back, and a big
      garden. But I dine here three or four times a week. It is an old
      arrangement of ours. Vincent and I have been friends for many years now.
      We are quite alone in the world, we two&mdash;much to our mutual
      satisfaction. You must come up and see me some time; come up and have a
      look over the books we were speaking of.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am much obliged,&rdquo; said Theron, without enthusiasm. The thought of the
      doctor by himself did not attract him greatly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reservation in his tone seemed to interest the doctor. &ldquo;I suppose you
      are the first man I have asked in a dozen years,&rdquo; he remarked, frankly
      willing that the young minister should appreciate the favor extended him.
      &ldquo;It must be fully that since anybody but Vincent Forbes has been under my
      roof; that is, of my own species, I mean.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You live there quite alone,&rdquo; commented Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite&mdash;with my dogs and cats and lizards&mdash;and my Chinaman. I
      mustn't forget him.&rdquo; The doctor noted the inquiry in the other's lifted
      brows, and smilingly explained. &ldquo;He is my solitary servant. Possibly he
      might not appeal to you much; but I can assure you he used to interest
      Octavius a great deal when I first brought him here, ten years ago or so.
      He afforded occupation for all the idle boys in the village for a
      twelve-month at least. They used to lie in wait for him all day long, with
      stones or horse-chestnuts or snowballs, according to the season. The
      Irishmen from the wagon-works nearly killed him once or twice, but he
      patiently lived it all down. The Chinaman has the patience to live
      everything down&mdash;the Caucasian races included. He will see us all to
      bed, will that gentleman with the pigtail!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The music over in the church had lifted itself again into form and
      sequence, and defied the closed window. If anything, it was louder than
      before, and the sonorous roar of the bass-pedals seemed to be shaking the
      very walls. It was something with a big-lunged, exultant, triumphing swing
      in it&mdash;something which ought to have been sung on the battlefield at
      the close of day by the whole jubilant army of victors. It was impossible
      to pretend not to be listening to it; but the doctor submitted with an
      obvious scowl, and bit off the tip of his third cigar with an annoyed air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You don't seem to care much for music,&rdquo; suggested Mr. Ware, when a lull
      came.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar looked up, lighted match in hand. &ldquo;Say musicians!&rdquo; he growled.
      &ldquo;Has it ever occurred to you,&rdquo; he went on, between puffs at the flame,
      &ldquo;that the only animals who make the noises we call music are of the bird
      family&mdash;a debased offshoot of the reptilian creation&mdash;the very
      lowest types of the vertebrata now in existence? I insist upon the
      parallel among humans. I have in my time, sir, had considerable
      opportunities for studying close at hand the various orders of mammalia
      who devote themselves to what they describe as the arts. It may sound a
      harsh judgement, but I am convinced that musicians stand on the very
      bottom rung of the ladder in the sub-cellar of human intelligence, even
      lower than painters and actors.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This seemed such unqualified nonsense to the Rev. Mr. Ware that he offered
      no comment whatever upon it. He tried instead to divert his thoughts to
      the stormy strains which rolled in through the vibrating brickwork, and to
      picture to himself the large, capable figure of Miss Madden seated in the
      half-light at the organ-board, swaying to and fro in a splendid ecstasy of
      power as she evoked at will this superb and ordered uproar. But the doctor
      broke insistently in upon his musings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All art, so-called, is decay,&rdquo; he said, raising his voice. &ldquo;When a race
      begins to brood on the beautiful&mdash;so-called&mdash;it is a sign of
      rot, of getting ready to fall from the tree. Take the Jews&mdash;those
      marvellous old fellows&mdash;who were never more than a handful, yet have
      imposed the rule of their ideas and their gods upon us for fifteen hundred
      years. Why? They were forbidden by their most fundamental law to make
      sculptures or pictures. That was at a time when the Egyptians, when the
      Assyrians, and other Semites, were running to artistic riot. Every great
      museum in the world now has whole floors devoted to statues from the Nile,
      and marvellous carvings from the palaces of Sargon and Assurbanipal. You
      can get the artistic remains of the Jews during that whole period into a
      child's wheelbarrow. They had the sense and strength to penalize art; they
      alone survived. They saw the Egyptians go, the Assyrians go, the Greeks
      go, the late Romans go, the Moors in Spain go&mdash;all the artistic
      peoples perish. They remained triumphing over all. Now at last their
      long-belated apogee is here; their decline is at hand. I am told that in
      this present generation in Europe the Jews are producing a great lot of
      young painters and sculptors and actors, just as for a century they have
      been producing famous composers and musicians. That means the end of the
      Jews!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! have you only got as far as that?&rdquo; came the welcome interruption of
      a cheery voice. Father Forbes had entered the room, and stood looking down
      with a whimsical twinkle in his eye from one to the other of his guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must have been taken over the ground at a very slow pace, Mr. Ware,&rdquo;
       he continued, chuckling softly, &ldquo;to have arrived merely at the collapse of
      the New Jerusalem. I fancied I had given him time enough to bring you
      straight up to the end of all of us, with that Chinaman of his gently
      slapping our graves with his pigtail. That's where the doctor always winds
      up, if he's allowed to run his course.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It has all been very interesting, extremely so, I assure you,&rdquo; faltered
      Theron. It had become suddenly apparent to him that he desired nothing so
      much as to make his escape&mdash;that he had indeed only been waiting for
      the host's return to do so.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose at this, and explained that he must be going. No special effort
      being put forth to restrain him, he presently made his way out, Father
      Forbes hospitably following him down to the door, and putting a very
      gracious cordiality into his adieux.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night was warm and black. Theron stood still in it the moment the
      pastorate door had closed; the sudden darkness was so thick that it was as
      if he had closed his eyes. His dominant sensation was of a deep relief and
      rest after some undue fatigue. It crossed his mind that drunken men
      probably felt like that as they leaned against things on their way home.
      He was affected himself, he saw, by the weariness and half-nausea
      following a mental intoxication. The conceit pleased him, and he smiled to
      himself as he turned and took the first homeward steps. It must be growing
      late, he thought. Alice would be wondering as she waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a street lamp at the corner, and as he walked toward it he noted
      all at once that his feet were keeping step to the movement of the music
      proceeding from the organ within the church&mdash;a vaguely processional
      air, marked enough in measure, but still with a dreamy effect. It became a
      pleasure to identify his progress with the quaint rhythm of sound as he
      sauntered along. He discovered, as he neared the light, that he was
      instinctively stepping over the seams in the flagstone sidewalk as he had
      done as a boy. He smiled again at this. There was something exceptionally
      juvenile and buoyant about his mood, now that he examined it. He set it
      down as a reaction from that doctor's extravagant and incendiary talk. One
      thing was certain&mdash;he would never be caught up at that house beyond
      the race-course, with its reptiles and its Chinaman. Should he ever even
      go to the pastorate again? He decided not to quite definitely answer THAT
      in the negative, but as he felt now, the chances were all against it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Turning the corner, and walking off into the shadows along the side of the
      huge church building, Theron noted, almost at the end of the edifice, a
      small door&mdash;the entrance to a porch coming out to the sidewalk&mdash;which
      stood wide open. A thin, pale, vertical line of light showed that the
      inner door, too, was ajar.
    </p>
    <p>
      Through this wee aperture the organ-music, reduced and mellowed by
      distance, came to him again with that same curious, intimate, personal
      relation which had so moved him at the start, before the doctor closed the
      window. It was as if it was being played for him alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused for a doubting minute or two, with bowed head, listening to the
      exquisite harmony which floated out to caress and soothe and enfold him.
      There was no spiritual, or at least pious, effect in it now. He fancied
      that it must be secular music, or, if not, then something adapted to
      marriage ceremonies&mdash;rich, vivid, passionate, a celebration of beauty
      and the glory of possession, with its ruling note of joy only heightened
      by soft, wooing interludes, and here and there the tremor of a fond, timid
      little sob.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron turned away irresolutely, half frightened at the undreamt-of
      impression this music was making upon him. Then, all at once, he wheeled
      and stepped boldly into the porch, pushing the inner door open and hearing
      it rustle against its leathern frame as it swung to behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had never been inside a Catholic church before.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      Jeremiah Madden was supposed to be probably the richest man in Octavius.
      There was no doubt at all about his being its least pretentious citizen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The huge and ornate modern mansion which he had built, putting to shame
      every other house in the place, gave an effect of ostentation to the
      Maddens as a family; it seemed only to accentuate the air of humility
      which enveloped Jeremiah as with a garment. Everybody knew some version of
      the many tales afloat which, in a kindly spirit, illustrated the
      incongruity between him and his splendid habitation. Some had it that he
      slept in the shed. Others told whimsical stories of his sitting alone in
      the kitchen evenings, smoking his old clay pipe, and sorrowing because the
      second Mrs. Madden would not suffer the pigs and chickens to come in and
      bear him company. But no matter how comic the exaggeration, these legends
      were invariably amiable. It lay in no man's mouth to speak harshly of
      Jeremiah Madden.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had been born a Connemara peasant, and he would die one. When he was
      ten years old he had seen some of his own family, and most of his
      neighbors, starve to death. He could remember looking at the stiffened
      figure of a woman stretched on the stones by the roadside, with the green
      stain of nettles on her white lips. A girl five years or so older than
      himself, also a Madden and distantly related, had started in despair off
      across the mountains to the town where it was said the poor-law officers
      were dealing out food. He could recall her coming back next day, wild-eyed
      with hunger and the fever; the officers had refused her relief because her
      bare legs were not wholly shrunken to the bone. &ldquo;While there's a calf on
      the shank, there's no starvation,&rdquo; they had explained to her. The girl
      died without profiting by this official apothegm. The boy found it burned
      ineffaceably upon his brain. Now, after a lapse of more than forty years,
      it seemed the thing that he remembered best about Ireland.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had drifted westward as an unconsidered, unresisting item in that vast
      flight of the famine years. Others whom he rubbed against in that
      melancholy exodus, and deemed of much greater promise than himself, had
      done badly. Somehow he did well. He learned the wheelwright's trade, and
      really that seemed all there was to tell. The rest had been calm and
      sequent progression&mdash;steady employment as a journeyman first; then
      marriage and a house and lot; the modest start as a master; the move to
      Octavius and cheap lumber; the growth of his business, always marked of
      late years stupendous&mdash;all following naturally, easily, one thing out
      of another. Jeremiah encountered the idea among his fellows, now and
      again, that he was entitled to feel proud of all this. He smiled to
      himself at the thought, and then sent a sigh after the smile. What was it
      all but empty and transient vanity? The score of other Connemara boys he
      had known&mdash;none very fortunate, several broken tragically in prison
      or the gutter, nearly all now gone the way of flesh&mdash;were as good as
      he. He could not have it in his heart to take credit for his success; it
      would have been like sneering over their poor graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jeremiah Madden was now fifty-three&mdash;a little man of a reddened,
      weather-worn skin and a meditative, almost saddened, aspect. He had blue
      eyes, but his scanty iron-gray hair showed raven black in its shadows. The
      width and prominence of his cheek-bones dominated all one's recollections
      of his face. The long vertical upper-lip and irregular teeth made, in
      repose, an unshapely mouth; its smile, though, sweetened the whole
      countenance. He wore a fringe of stiff, steel-colored beard, passing from
      ear to ear under his chin. His week-day clothes were as simple as his
      workaday manners, fitting his short black pipe and his steadfast devotion
      to his business. On Sundays he dressed with a certain rigor of
      respectability, all in black, and laid aside tobacco, at least to the
      public view. He never missed going to the early Low Mass, quite alone. His
      family always came later, at the ten o'clock High Mass.
    </p>
    <p>
      There had been, at one time or another, a good many members of this
      family. Two wives had borne Jeremiah Madden a total of over a dozen
      children. Of these there survived now only two of the first Mrs. Madden's
      offspring&mdash;Michael and Celia&mdash;and a son of the present wife, who
      had been baptized Terence, but called himself Theodore. This minority of
      the family inhabited the great new house on Main Street. Jeremiah went
      every Sunday afternoon by himself to kneel in the presence of the
      majority, there where they lay in Saint Agnes' consecrated ground. If the
      weather was good, he generally extended his walk through the fields to an
      old deserted Catholic burial-field, which had been used only in the first
      years after the famine invasion, and now was clean forgotten. The old
      wagon-maker liked to look over the primitive, neglected stones which
      marked the graves of these earlier exiles. Fully half of the inscriptions
      mentioned his County Galway&mdash;there were two naming the very parish
      adjoining his. The latest date on any stone was of the remoter 'fifties.
      They had all been stricken down, here in this strange land with its bitter
      winters, while the memory of their own soft, humid, gentle west-coast air
      was fresh within them. Musing upon the clumsy sculpture, with its
      &ldquo;R.I.P.,&rdquo; or &ldquo;Pray for the Soul of,&rdquo; half to be guessed under the stain
      and moss of a generation, there would seem to him but a step from this
      present to that heart-rending, awful past. What had happened between was a
      meaningless vision&mdash;as impersonal as the passing of the planets
      overhead. He rarely had an impulse to tears in the new cemetery, where his
      ten children were. He never left this weed-grown, forsaken old God's-acre
      dry-eyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      One must not construct from all this the image of a melancholy man, as his
      fellows met and knew him. Mr. Madden kept his griefs, racial and
      individual, for his own use. To the men about him in the offices and the
      shops he presented day after day, year after year, an imperturbable
      cheeriness of demeanor. He had been always fortunate in the selection of
      lieutenants and chief helpers. Two of these had grown now into partners,
      and were almost as much a part of the big enterprise as Jeremiah himself.
      They spoke often of their inability to remember any unjust or petulant
      word of his&mdash;much less any unworthy deed. Once they had seen him in a
      great rage, all the more impressive because he said next to nothing. A
      thoughtless fellow told a dirty story in the presence of some apprentices;
      and Madden, listening to this, drove the offender implacably from his
      employ. It was years now since any one who knew him had ventured upon lewd
      pleasantries in his hearing. Jokes of the sort which women might hear he
      was very fond of though he had not much humor of his own. Of books he knew
      nothing whatever, and he made only the most perfunctory pretence now and
      again of reading the newspapers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The elder son Michael was very like his father&mdash;diligent, unassuming,
      kindly, and simple&mdash;a plain, tall, thin red man of nearly thirty, who
      toiled in paper cap and rolled-up shirt-sleeves as the superintendent in
      the saw-mill, and put on no airs whatever as the son of the master. If
      there was surprise felt at his not being taken into the firm as a partner,
      he gave no hint of sharing it. He attended to his religious duties with
      great zeal, and was President of the Sodality as a matter of course. This
      was regarded as his blind side; and young employees who cultivated it, and
      made broad their phylacteries under his notice, certainly had an added
      chance of getting on well in the works. To some few whom he knew specially
      well, Michael would confess that if he had had the brains for it, he
      should have wished to be a priest. He displayed no inclination to marry.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other son, Terence, was some eight years younger, and seemed the
      product of a wholly different race. The contrast between Michael's sandy
      skin and long gaunt visage and this dark boy's handsome, rounded face,
      with its prettily curling black hair, large, heavily fringed brown eyes,
      and delicately modelled features, was not more obvious than their
      temperamental separation. This second lad had been away for years at
      school,&mdash;indeed, at a good many schools, for no one seemed to manage
      to keep him long. He had been with the Jesuits at Georgetown, with the
      Christian Brothers at Manhattan; the sectarian Mt. St. Mary's and the
      severely secular Annapolis had both been tried, and proved misfits. The
      young man was home again now, and save that his name had become Theodore,
      he appeared in no wise changed from the beautiful, wilful, bold, and showy
      boy who had gone away in his teens. He was still rather small for his
      years, but so gracefully moulded in form, and so perfectly tailored, that
      the fact seemed rather an advantage than otherwise. He never dreamed of
      going near the wagon-works, but he did go a good deal&mdash;in fact, most
      of the time&mdash;to the Nedahma Club. His mother spoke often to her
      friends about her fears for his health. He never spoke to his friends
      about his mother at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second Mrs. Madden did not, indeed, appeal strongly to the family
      pride. She had been a Miss Foley, a dress-maker, and an old maid. Jeremiah
      had married her after a brief widowerhood, principally because she was the
      sister of his parish priest, and had a considerable reputation for piety.
      It was at a time when the expansion of his business was promising certain
      wealth, and suggesting the removal to Octavius. He was conscious of a
      notion that his obligations to social respectability were increasing; it
      was certain that the embarrassments of a motherless family were. Miss
      Foley had shown a good deal of attention to his little children. She was
      not ill-looking; she bore herself with modesty; she was the priest's
      sister&mdash;the niece once removed of a vicar-general. And so it came
      about.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although those most concerned did not say so, everybody could see from the
      outset the pity of its ever having come about at all. The pious and
      stiffly respectable priest's sister had been harmless enough as a
      spinster. It made the heart ache to contemplate her as a wife. Incredibly
      narrow-minded, ignorant, suspicious, vain, and sour-tempered, she must
      have driven a less equable and well-rooted man than Jeremiah Madden to
      drink or flight. He may have had his temptations, but they made no mark on
      the even record of his life. He only worked the harder, concentrating upon
      his business those extra hours which another sort of home-life would have
      claimed instead. The end of twenty years found him a rich man, but still
      toiling pertinaciously day by day, as if he had his wage to earn. In the
      great house which had been built to please, or rather placate, his wife,
      he kept to himself as much as possible. The popular story of his smoking
      alone in the kitchen was more or less true; only Michael as a rule sat
      with him, too weak-lunged for tobacco himself, but reading stray scraps
      from the papers to the lonely old man, and talking with him about the
      works, the while Jeremiah meditatively sucked his clay pipe. One or two
      evenings in the week the twain spent up in Celia's part of the house,
      listening with the awe of simple, honest mechanics to the music she played
      for them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia was to them something indefinably less, indescribably more, than a
      daughter and sister. They could not think there had ever been anything
      like her before in the world; the notion of criticising any deed or word
      of hers would have appeared to them monstrous and unnatural.
    </p>
    <p>
      She seemed to have come up to this radiant and wise and marvellously
      talented womanhood of hers, to their minds, quite spontaneously. There had
      been a little Celia&mdash;a red-headed, sulky, mutinous slip of a girl,
      always at war with her step-mother, and affording no special comfort or
      hope to the rest of the family. Then there was a long gap, during which
      the father, four times a year, handed Michael a letter he had received
      from the superioress of a distant convent, referring with cold formality
      to the studies and discipline by which Miss Madden might profit more if
      she had been better brought up, and enclosing a large bill. Then all at
      once they beheld a big Celia, whom they spoke of as being home again, but
      who really seemed never to have been there before&mdash;a tall, handsome,
      confident young woman, swift of tongue and apprehension, appearing to know
      everything there was to be known by the most learned, able to paint
      pictures, carve wood, speak in divers languages, and make music for the
      gods, yet with it all a very proud lady, one might say a queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The miracle of such a Celia as this impressed itself even upon the
      step-mother. Mrs. Madden had looked forward with a certain grim tightening
      of her combative jaws to the home-coming of the &ldquo;red-head.&rdquo; She felt
      herself much more the fine lady now than she had been when the girl went
      away. She had her carriage now, and the magnificent new house was nearly
      finished, and she had a greater number of ailments, and spent far more
      money on doctor's bills, than any other lady in the whole section. The
      flush of pride in her greatest achievement up to date&mdash;having the
      most celebrated of New York physicians brought up to Octavius by special
      train&mdash;still prickled in her blood. It was in all the papers, and the
      admiration of the flatterers and &ldquo;soft-sawdherers&rdquo;&mdash;wives of Irish
      merchants and smaller professional men who formed her social circle&mdash;was
      raising visions in her poor head of going next year with Theodore to
      Saratoga, and fastening the attention of the whole fashionable republic
      upon the variety and resources of her invalidism. Mrs. Madden's fancy did
      not run to the length of seeing her step-daughter also at Saratoga; it
      pictured her still as the sullen and hated &ldquo;red-head,&rdquo; moping defiantly in
      corners, or courting by her insolence the punishments which leaped against
      their leash in the step-mother's mind to get at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The real Celia, when she came, fairly took Mrs. Madden's breath away. The
      peevish little plans for annoyance and tyranny, the resolutions born of
      ignorant and jealous egotism, found themselves swept out of sight by the
      very first swirl of Celia's dress-train, when she came down from her room
      robed in peacock blue. The step-mother could only stare.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, after two years of it, Mrs. Madden still viewed her step-daughter
      with round-eyed uncertainty, not unmixed with wrathful fear. She still
      drove about behind two magnificent horses; the new house had become almost
      tiresome by familiarity; her pre-eminence in the interested minds of the
      Dearborn County Medical Society was as towering as ever, but somehow it
      was all different. There was a note of unreality nowadays in Mrs.
      Donnelly's professions of wonder at her bearing up under her multiplied
      maladies; there was almost a leer of mockery in the sympathetic smirk with
      which the Misses Mangan listened to her symptoms. Even the doctors, though
      they kept their faces turned toward her, obviously did not pay much
      attention; the people in the street seemed no longer to look at her and
      her equipage at all. Worst of all, something of the meaning of this
      managed to penetrate her own mind. She caught now and again a dim glimpse
      of herself as others must have been seeing her for years&mdash;as a
      stupid, ugly, boastful, and bad-tempered old nuisance. And it was always
      as if she saw this in a mirror held up by Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of open discord there had been next to none. Celia would not permit it,
      and showed this so clearly from the start that there was scarcely need for
      her saying it. It seemed hardly necessary for her to put into words any of
      her desires, for that matter. All existing arrangements in the Madden
      household seemed to shrink automatically and make room for her, whichever
      way she walked. A whole quarter of the unfinished house set itself apart
      for her. Partitions altered themselves; door-ways moved across to opposite
      sides; a recess opened itself, tall and deep, for it knew not what statue&mdash;simply
      because, it seemed, the Lady Celia willed it so.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the family moved into this mansion, it was with a consciousness that
      the only one who really belonged there was Celia. She alone could behave
      like one perfectly at home. It seemed entirely natural to the others that
      she should do just what she liked, shut them off from her portion of the
      house, take her meals there if she felt disposed, and keep such hours as
      pleased her instant whim. If she awakened them at midnight by her piano,
      or deferred her breakfast to the late afternoon, they felt that it must be
      all right, since Celia did it. She had one room furnished with only divans
      and huge, soft cushions, its walls covered with large copies of statuary
      not too strictly clothed, which she would suffer no one, not even the
      servants, to enter. Michael fancied sometimes, when he passed the draped
      entrance to this sacred chamber, that the portiere smelt of tobacco, but
      he would not have spoken of it, even had he been sure. Old Jeremiah, whose
      established habit it was to audit minutely the expenses of his household,
      covered over round sums to Celia's separate banking account, upon the mere
      playful hint of her holding her check-book up, without a dream of
      questioning her.
    </p>
    <p>
      That the step-mother had joy, or indeed anything but gall and wormwood,
      out of all this is not to be pretended. There lingered along in the
      recollection of the family some vague memories of her having tried to
      assert an authority over Celia's comings and goings at the outset, but
      they grouped themselves as only parts of the general disorder of moving
      and settling, which a fort-night or so quite righted. Mrs. Madden still
      permitted herself a certain license of hostile comment when her
      step-daughter was not present, and listened with gratification to what the
      women of her acquaintance ventured upon saying in the same spirit; but
      actual interference or remonstrance she never offered nowadays. The two
      rarely met, for that matter, and exchanged only the baldest and curtest
      forms of speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia Madden interested all Octavius deeply. This she must have done in
      any case, if only because she was the only daughter of its richest
      citizen. But the bold, luxuriant quality of her beauty, the original and
      piquant freedom of her manners, the stories told in gossip about her
      lawlessness at home, her intellectual attainments, and artistic vagaries&mdash;these
      were even more exciting. The unlikelihood of her marrying any one&mdash;at
      least any Octavian&mdash;was felt to add a certain romantic zest to the
      image she made on the local perceptions. There was no visible young
      Irishman at all approaching the social and financial standard of the
      Maddens; it was taken for granted that a mixed marriage was quite out of
      the question in this case. She seemed to have more business about the
      church than even the priest. She was always playing the organ, or drilling
      the choir, or decorating the altars with flowers, or looking over the
      robes of the acolytes for rents and stains, or going in or out of the
      pastorate. Clearly this was not the sort of girl to take a Protestant
      husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gossip of the town concerning her was, however, exclusively
      Protestant. The Irish spoke of her, even among themselves, but seldom.
      There was no occasion for them to pretend to like her: they did not know
      her, except in the most distant and formal fashion. Even the members of
      the choir, of both sexes, had the sense of being held away from her at
      haughty arm's length. No single parishioner dreamed of calling her friend.
      But when they referred to her, it was always with a cautious and
      respectful reticence. For one thing, she was the daughter of their chief
      man, the man they most esteemed and loved. For another, reservations they
      may have had in their souls about her touched close upon a delicately sore
      spot. It could not escape their notice that their Protestant neighbors
      were watching her with vigilant curiosity, and with a certain tendency to
      wink when her name came into conversation along with that of Father
      Forbes. It had never yet got beyond a tendency&mdash;the barest fluttering
      suggestion of a tempted eyelid&mdash;but the whole Irish population of the
      place felt themselves to be waiting, with clenched fists but sinking
      hearts, for the wink itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Theron Ware had not caught even the faintest hint of these
      overtures to suspicion.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had entered the huge, dark, cool vault of the church, he could see
      nothing at first but a faint light up over the gallery, far at the other
      end. Then, little by little, his surroundings shaped themselves out of the
      gloom. To his right was a rail and some broad steps rising toward a softly
      confused mass of little gray vertical bars and the pale twinkle of tiny
      spots of gilded reflection, which he made out in the dusk to be the
      candles and trappings of the altar. Overhead the great arches faded away
      from foundations of dimly discernible capitals into utter blackness. There
      was a strange medicinal odor&mdash;as of cubeb cigarettes&mdash;in the
      air.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a little pause, he tiptoed noiselessly up the side aisle toward the
      end of the church&mdash;toward the light above the gallery. This radiance
      from a single gas-jet expanded as he advanced, and spread itself upward
      over a burnished row of monster metal pipes, which went towering into the
      darkness like giants. They were roaring at him now&mdash;a sonorous,
      deafening, angry bellow, which made everything about him vibrate. The
      gallery balustrade hid the keyboard and the organist from view. There were
      only these jostling brazen tubes, as big round as trees and as tall,
      trembling with their own furious thunder. It was for all the world as if
      he had wandered into some vast tragical, enchanted cave, and was being
      drawn against his will&mdash;like fascinated bird and python&mdash;toward
      fate at the savage hands of these swollen and enraged genii.
    </p>
    <p>
      He stumbled in the obscure light over a kneeling-bench, making a
      considerable racket. On the instant the noise from the organ ceased, and
      he saw the black figure of a woman rise above the gallery-rail and look
      down.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; the indubitable voice of Miss Madden demanded sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had a sudden sheepish notion of turning and running. With the best
      grace he could summon, he called out an explanation instead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wait a minute. I'm through now. I'm coming down,&rdquo; she returned. He
      thought there was a note of amusement in her tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      She came to him a moment later, accompanied by a thin, tall man, whom
      Theron could barely see in the dark, now that the organ-light too was
      gone. This man lighted a match or two to enable them to make their way
      out.
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were on the sidewalk, Celia spoke: &ldquo;Walk on ahead, Michael!&rdquo; she
      said. &ldquo;I have some matters to speak of with Mr. Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what did you think of Dr. Ledsmar?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The girl's abrupt question came as a relief to Theron. They were walking
      along in a darkness so nearly complete that he could see next to nothing
      of his companion. For some reason, this seemed to suggest a sort of
      impropriety. He had listened to the footsteps of the man ahead&mdash;whom
      he guessed to be a servant&mdash;and pictured him as intent upon getting
      up early next morning to tell everybody that the Methodist minister had
      stolen into the Catholic church at night to walk home with Miss Madden.
      That was going to be very awkward&mdash;yes, worse than awkward! It might
      mean ruin itself. She had mentioned aloud that she had matters to talk
      over with him: that of course implied confidences, and the man might put
      heaven only knew what construction on that. It was notorious that servants
      did ascribe the very worst motives to those they worked for. The bare
      thought of the delight an Irish servant would have in also dragging a
      Protestant clergyman into the thing was sickening. And what could she want
      to talk to him about, anyway? The minute of silence stretched itself out
      upon his nerves into an interminable period of anxious unhappiness. Her
      mention of the doctor at last somehow, seemed to lighten the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I thought he was very smart.&rdquo; he made haste to answer. &ldquo;Wouldn't it
      be better&mdash;to&mdash;keep close to your man? He&mdash;may&mdash;think
      we've gone some other way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It wouldn't matter if he did,&rdquo; remarked Celia. She appeared to comprehend
      his nervousness and take pity on it, for she added, &ldquo;It is my brother
      Michael, as good a soul as ever lived. He is quite used to my ways.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware drew a long comforting breath. &ldquo;Oh, I see! He went with
      you to&mdash;bring you home.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To blow the organ,&rdquo; said the girl in the dark, correctingly. &ldquo;But about
      that doctor; did you like him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Theron began, &ldquo;'like' is rather a strong word for so short an
      acquaintance. He talked very well; that is, fluently. But he is so
      different from any other man I have come into contact with that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I wanted you to say was that you hated him,&rdquo; put in Celia, firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't make a practice of saying that of anybody,&rdquo; returned Theron, so
      much at his ease again that he put an effect of gentle, smiling reproof
      into the words. &ldquo;And why specially should I make an exception for him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because he's a beast!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron fancied that he understood. &ldquo;I noticed that he seemed not to have
      much of an ear for music,&rdquo; he commented, with a little laugh. &ldquo;He shut
      down the window when you began to play. His doing so annoyed me, because I&mdash;I
      wanted very much to hear it all. I never heard such music before. I&mdash;I
      came into the church to hear more of it; but then you stopped!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will play for you some other time,&rdquo; Celia said, answering the reproach
      in his tone. &ldquo;But tonight I wanted to talk with you instead.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She kept silent, in spite of this, so long now that Theron was on the
      point of jestingly asking when the talk was to begin. Then she put a
      question abruptly&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a conventional way of putting it, but are you fond of poetry, Mr.
      Ware?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, yes, I suppose I am,&rdquo; replied Theron, much mystified. &ldquo;I can't say
      that I am any great judge; but I like the things that I like&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Meredith,&rdquo; interposed Celia, &ldquo;makes one of his women, Emilia in England,
      say that poetry is like talking on tiptoe; like animals in cages, always
      going to one end and back again. Does it impress you that way?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know that it does,&rdquo; said he, dubiously. It seemed, however, to be
      her whim to talk literature, and he went on: &ldquo;I've hardly read Meredith at
      all. I once borrowed his 'Lucile,' but somehow I never got interested in
      it. I heard a recitation of his once, though&mdash;a piece about a dead
      wife, and the husband and another man quarrelling as to whose portrait was
      in the locket on her neck, and of their going up to settle the dispute,
      and finding that it was the likeness of a third man, a young priest&mdash;and
      though it was very striking, it didn't give me a thirst to know his other
      poems. I fancied I shouldn't like them. But I daresay I was wrong. As I
      get older, I find that I take less narrow views of literature&mdash;that
      is, of course, of light literature&mdash;and that&mdash;that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia mercifully stopped him. &ldquo;The reason I asked you was&mdash;&rdquo; she
      began, and then herself paused. &ldquo;Or no,&mdash;never mind that&mdash;tell
      me something else. Are you fond of pictures, statuary, the beautiful
      things of the world? Do great works of art, the big achievements of the
      big artists, appeal to you, stir you up?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas! that is something I can only guess at myself,&rdquo; answered Theron,
      humbly. &ldquo;I have always lived in little places. I suppose, from your point
      of view, I have never seen a good painting in my life. I can only say
      this, though&mdash;that it has always weighed on my mind as a great and
      sore deprivation, this being shut out from knowing what others mean when
      they talk and write about art. Perhaps that may help you to get at what
      you are after. If I ever went to New York, I feel that one of the first
      things I should do would be to see all the picture galleries; is that what
      you meant? And&mdash;would you mind telling me&mdash;why you&mdash;?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why I asked you?&rdquo; Celia supplied his halting question. &ldquo;No, I DON'T mind.
      I have a reason for wanting to know&mdash;to satisfy myself whether I had
      guessed rightly or not&mdash;about the kind of man you are. I mean in the
      matter of temperament and bent of mind and tastes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The girl seemed to be speaking seriously, and without intent to offend.
      Theron did not find any comment ready, but walked along by her side,
      wondering much what it was all about.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I daresay you think me 'too familiar on short acquaintance,'&rdquo; she
      continued, after a little.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Miss Madden!&rdquo; he protested perfunctorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; it is a matter of a good deal of importance,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;I can see
      that you are going to be thrown into friendship, close contact, with
      Father Forbes. He likes you, and you can't help liking him. There is
      nobody else in this raw, overgrown, empty-headed place for you and him TO
      like, nobody except that man, that Dr. Ledsmar. And if you like HIM, I
      shall hate you! He has done mischief enough already. I am counting on you
      to help undo it, and to choke him off from doing more. It would be
      different if you were an ordinary Orthodox minister, all encased like a
      terrapin in prejudices and nonsense. Of course, if you had been THAT kind,
      we should never have got to know you at all. But when I saw you in
      MacEvoy's cottage there, it was plain that you were one of US&mdash;I mean
      a MAN, and not a marionette or a mummy. I am talking very frankly to you,
      you see. I want you on my side, against that doctor and his heartless,
      bloodless science.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I feel myself very heartily on your side,&rdquo; replied Theron. She had set
      their progress at a slower pace, now that the lights of the main street
      were drawing near, as if to prolong their talk. All his earlier
      reservations had fled. It was almost as if she were a parishioner of his
      own. &ldquo;I need hardly tell you that the doctor's whole attitude toward&mdash;toward
      revelation&mdash;was deeply repugnant to me. It doesn't make it any the
      less hateful to call it science. I am afraid, though,&rdquo; he went on
      hesitatingly, &ldquo;that there are difficulties in the way of my helping, as
      you call it. You see, the very fact of my being a Methodist minister, and
      his being a Catholic priest, rather puts my interference out of the
      question.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; that doesn't matter a button,&rdquo; said Celia, lightly. &ldquo;None of us think
      of that at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is the other embarrassment, then,&rdquo; pursued Theron, diffidently,
      &ldquo;that Father Forbes is a vastly broader and deeper scholar&mdash;in all
      these matters&mdash;than I am. How could I possibly hope to influence him
      by my poor arguments? I don't know even the alphabet of the language he
      thinks in&mdash;on these subjects, I mean.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course you don't!&rdquo; interposed the girl, with a confidence which the
      other, for all his meekness, rather winced under. &ldquo;That wasn't what I
      meant at all. We don't want arguments from our friends: we want
      sympathies, sensibilities, emotional bonds. The right person's silence is
      worth more for companionship than the wisest talk in the world from
      anybody else. It isn't your mind that is needed here, or what you know; it
      is your heart, and what you feel. You are full of poetry, of ideals, of
      generous, unselfish impulses. You see the human, the warm-blooded side of
      things. THAT is what is really valuable. THAT is how you can help!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You overestimate me sadly,&rdquo; protested Theron, though with considerable
      tolerance for her error in his tone. &ldquo;But you ought to tell me something
      about this Dr. Ledsmar. He spoke of being an old friend of the pr&mdash;of
      Father Forbes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, they've always known each other; that is, for many years. They
      were professors together in a college once, heaven only knows how long
      ago. Then they separated, I fancy they quarrelled, too, before they
      parted. The doctor came here, where some relative had left him the place
      he lives in. Then in time the Bishop chanced to send Father Forbes here&mdash;that
      was about three years ago,&mdash;and the two men after a while renewed
      their old relations. They dine together; that is the doctor's stronghold.
      He knows more about eating than any other man alive, I believe. He studies
      it as you would study a language. He has taught old Maggie, at the
      pastorate there, to cook like the mother of all the Delmonicos. And while
      they sit and stuff themselves, or loll about afterward like gorged snakes,
      they think it is smart to laugh at all the sweet and beautiful things in
      life, and to sneer at people who believe in ideals, and to talk about
      mankind being merely a fortuitous product of fermentation, and twaddle of
      that sort. It makes me sick!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can readily see,&rdquo; said Theron, with sympathy, &ldquo;how such a cold,
      material, and infidel influence as that must shock and revolt an
      essentially religious temperament like yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Miss Madden looked up at him. They had turned into the main street, and
      there was light enough for him to detect something startlingly like a grin
      on her beautiful face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I'm not religious at all, you know,&rdquo; he heard her say. &ldquo;I'm as Pagan
      as&mdash;anything! Of course there are forms to be observed, and so on; I
      rather like them than otherwise. I can make them serve very well for my
      own system; for I am myself, you know, an out-an-out Greek.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I had supposed that you were full blooded Irish,&rdquo; the Rev. Mr. Ware
      found himself remarking, and then on the instant was overwhelmed by the
      consciousness that he had said a foolish thing. Precisely where the folly
      lay he did not know, but it was impossible to mistake the gesture of
      annoyance which his companion had instinctively made at his words. She had
      widened the distance between them now, and quickened her step. They went
      on in silence till they were within a block of her house. Several people
      had passed them who Theron felt sure must have recognized them both.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I meant was,&rdquo; the girl all at once began, drawing nearer again, and
      speaking with patient slowness, &ldquo;that I find myself much more in sympathy
      with the Greek thought, the Greek theology of the beautiful and the
      strong, the Greek philosophy of life, and all that, than what is taught
      nowadays. Personally, I take much more stock in Plato than I do in Peter.
      But of course it is a wholly personal affair; I had no business to bother
      you with it. And for that matter, I oughtn't to have troubled you with any
      of our&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I assure you, Miss Madden!&rdquo; the young minister began, with fervor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she broke in, in a resigned and even downcast tone; &ldquo;let it all be
      as if I hadn't spoken. Don't mind anything I have said. If it is to be, it
      will be. You can't say more than that, can you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked into his face again, and her large eyes produced an impression
      of deep melancholy, which Theron found himself somehow impelled to share.
      Things seemed all at once to have become very sad indeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is one of my unhappy nights,&rdquo; she explained, in gloomy confidence. &ldquo;I
      get them every once in a while&mdash;as if some vicious planet or other
      was crossing in front of my good star&mdash;and then I'm a caution to
      snakes. I shut myself up&mdash;that's the only thing to do&mdash;and have
      it out with myself I didn't know but the organ-music would calm me down,
      but it hasn't. I shan't sleep a wink tonight, but just rage around from
      one room to another, piling all the cushions from the divans on to the
      floor, and then kicking them away again. Do YOU ever have fits like that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron was able to reply with a good conscience in the negative. It
      occurred to him to add, with jocose intent: &ldquo;I am curious to know, do
      these fits, as you call them, occupy a prominent part in Grecian
      philosophy as a general rule?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia gave a little snort, which might have signified amusement, but did
      not speak until they were upon her own sidewalk. &ldquo;There is my brother,
      waiting at the gate,&rdquo; she said then, briefly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, I will bid you good-night here, I think,&rdquo; Theron remarked,
      coming to a halt, and offering his hand. &ldquo;It must be getting very late,
      and my&mdash;that is&mdash;I have to be up particularly early tomorrow. So
      good-night; I hope you will be feeling ever so much better in spirits in
      the morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, that doesn't matter,&rdquo; replied the girl, listlessly. &ldquo;It's a very
      paltry little affair, this life of ours, at the best of it. Luckily it's
      soon done with&mdash;like a bad dream.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tut! Tut! I won't have you talk like that!&rdquo; interrupted Theron, with a
      swift and smart assumption of authority. &ldquo;Such talk isn't sensible, and it
      isn't good. I have no patience with it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, try and have a little patience with ME, anyway, just for tonight,&rdquo;
       said Celia, taking the reproof with gentlest humility, rather to her
      censor's surprise. &ldquo;I really am unhappy tonight, Mr. Ware, very unhappy.
      It seems as if all at once the world had swelled out in size a
      thousandfold, and that poor me had dwindled down to the merest wee little
      red-headed atom&mdash;the most helpless and forlorn and lonesome of atoms
      at that.&rdquo; She seemed to force a sorrowful smile on her face as she added:
      &ldquo;But all the same it has done me good to be with you&mdash;I am sure it
      has&mdash;and I daresay that by tomorrow I shall be quite out of the
      blues. Good-night, Mr. Ware. Forgive my making such an exhibition of
      myself I WAS going to be such a fine early Greek, you know, and I have
      turned out only a late Milesian&mdash;quite of the decadence. I shall do
      better next time. And good-night again, and ever so many thanks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was walking briskly away toward the gate now, where the shadowy
      Michael still patiently stood. Theron strode off in the opposite
      direction, taking long, deliberate steps, and bowing his head in thought.
      He had his hands behind his back, as was his wont, and the sense of their
      recent contact with her firm, ungloved hands was, curiously enough, the
      thing which pushed itself uppermost in his mind. There had been a frank,
      almost manly vigor in her grasp; he said to himself that of course that
      came from her playing so much on the keyboard; the exercise naturally
      would give her large, robust hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly he remembered about the piano; he had quite forgotten to solicit
      her aid in selecting it. He turned, upon the impulse, to go back. She had
      not entered the gate as yet, but stood, shiningly visible under the street
      lamp, on the sidewalk, and she was looking in his direction. He turned
      again like a shot, and started homeward.
    </p>
    <p>
      The front door of the parsonage was unlocked, and he made his way on
      tiptoe through the unlighted hall to the living-room. The stuffy air here
      was almost suffocating with the evil smell of a kerosene lamp turned down
      too low. Alice sat asleep in her old farmhouse rocking-chair, with an
      inelegant darning-basket on the table by her side. The whole effect of the
      room was as bare and squalid to Theron's newly informed eye as the
      atmosphere was offensive to his nostrils. He coughed sharply, and his wife
      sat up and looked at the clock. It was after eleven.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where on earth have you been?&rdquo; she asked, with a yawn, turning up the
      wick of her sewing-lamp again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You ought never to turn down a light like that,&rdquo; said Theron, with a
      complaining note in his voice. &ldquo;It smells up the whole place. I never
      dreamed of your sitting up for me like this. You ought to have gone to
      bed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how could I guess that you were going to be so late?,&rdquo; she retorted.
      &ldquo;And you haven't told me where you were. Is this book of yours going to
      keep you up like this right along?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The episode of the book was buried in the young minister's mind beneath
      such a mass of subsequent experiences that it required an effort for him
      to grasp what she was talking about. It seemed as if months had elapsed
      since he was in earnest about that book; and yet he had left the house
      full of it only a few hours before. He shook his wits together, and made
      answer&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, bless you, no! Only there arose a very curious question. You have no
      idea, literally no conception, of the interesting and important problems
      which are raised by the mere fact of Abraham leaving the city of Ur. It's
      amazing, I assure you. I hadn't realized it myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; remarked Alice, rising&mdash;and with good-humor and petulance
      struggling sleepily ill her tone&mdash;&ldquo;all I've got to say is, that if
      Abraham hasn't anything better to do than to keep young ministers of the
      gospel out, goodness knows where, till all hours of the night, I wish to
      gracious he'd stayed in the city of Ur right straight along.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have no idea what a scholarly man Dr. Ledsmar is,&rdquo; Theron suddenly
      found himself inspired to volunteer. &ldquo;He has the most marvellous
      collection of books&mdash;a whole library devoted to this very subject&mdash;and
      he has put them all quite freely at my disposal. Extremely kind of him,
      isn't it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ledsmar? Ledsmar?&rdquo; queried Alice. &ldquo;I don't seem to remember the name. He
      isn't the little man with the birthmark, who sits in the pew behind the
      Lovejoys, is he? I think some one said he was a doctor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, a horse doctor!&rdquo; said Theron, with a sniff. &ldquo;No; you haven't seen
      this Dr. Ledsmar at all. I&mdash;I don't know that he attends any church
      regularly. I scraped his acquaintance quite by accident. He is really a
      character. He lives in the big house, just beyond the race-course, you
      know&mdash;the one with the tower at the back&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I don't know. How should I? I've hardly poked my nose outside of the
      yard since I have been here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you shall go,&rdquo; said the husband, consolingly. &ldquo;You HAVE been cooped
      up here too much, poor girl. I must take you out more, really. I don't
      know that I could take you to the doctor's place&mdash;without an
      invitation, I mean. He is very queer about some things. He lives there all
      alone, for instance, with only a Chinaman for a servant. He told me I was
      almost the only man he had asked under his roof for years. He isn't a
      practising physician at all, you know. He is a scientist; he makes
      experiments with lizards&mdash;and things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Theron,&rdquo; the wife said, pausing lamp in hand on her way to the bedroom,
      &ldquo;do you be careful, now! For all you know this doctor may be a loose man,
      or pretty near an infidel. You've got to be mighty particular in such
      matters, you know, or you'll have the trustees down on you like a
      'thousand of bricks.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will thank the trustees to mind their own business,&rdquo; said Theron,
      stiffly, and the subject dropped.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bedroom window upstairs was open, and upon the fresh night air was
      borne in the shrill, jangling sound of a piano, being played off somewhere
      in the distance, but so vehemently that the noise imposed itself upon the
      silence far and wide. Theron listened to this as he undressed. It
      proceeded from the direction of the main street, and he knew, as by
      instinct, that it was the Madden girl who was playing. The incongruity of
      the hour escaped his notice. He mused instead upon the wild and tropical
      tangle of moods, emotions, passions, which had grown up in that strange
      temperament. He found something very pathetic in that picture she had
      drawn of herself in forecast, roaming disconsolate through her rooms the
      livelong night, unable to sleep. The woful moan of insomnia seemed to make
      itself heard in every strain from her piano.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice heard it also, but being unillumined, she missed the romantic
      pathos. &ldquo;I call it disgraceful,&rdquo; she muttered from her pillow, &ldquo;for folks
      to be banging away on a piano at this time of night. There ought to be a
      law to prevent it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may be some distressed soul,&rdquo; said Theron, gently, &ldquo;seeking relief
      from the curse of sleeplessness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The wife laughed, almost contemptuously. &ldquo;Distressed fiddlesticks!&rdquo; was
      her only other comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The music went on for a long time&mdash;rising now to strident heights,
      now sinking off to the merest tinkling murmur, and broken ever and again
      by intervals of utter hush. It did not prevent Alice from at once falling
      sound asleep; but Theron lay awake, it seemed to him, for hours, listening
      tranquilly, and letting his mind wander at will through the pleasant
      antechambers of Sleep, where are more unreal fantasies than Dreamland
      itself affords.
    </p>
    <p>
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PART II
    </h2>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
    <p>
      For some weeks the Rev. Theron Ware saw nothing of either the priest or
      the doctor, or the interesting Miss Madden.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were, indeed, more urgent matters to think about. June had come; and
      every succeeding day brought closer to hand the ordeal of his first
      Quarterly Conference in Octavius. The waters grew distinctly rougher as
      his pastoral bark neared this difficult passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      He would have approached the great event with an easier mind if he could
      have made out just how he stood with his congregation. Unfortunately
      nothing in his previous experiences helped him in the least to measure or
      guess at the feelings of these curious Octavians. Their Methodism seemed
      to be sound enough, and to stick quite to the letter of the Discipline, so
      long as it was expressed in formulae. It was its spirit which he felt to
      be complicated by all sorts of conditions wholly novel to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The existence of a line of street-cars in the town, for example, would not
      impress the casual thinker as likely to prove a rock in the path of
      peaceful religion. Theron, in his simplicity, had even thought, when he
      first saw these bobtailed cars bumping along the rails in the middle of
      the main street, that they must be a great convenience to people living in
      the outskirts, who wished to get in to church of a Sunday morning. He was
      imprudent enough to mention this in conversation with one of his new
      parishioners. Then he learned, to his considerable chagrin, that when this
      line was built, some years before, a bitter war of words had been fought
      upon the question of its being worked on the Sabbath day. The then
      occupant of the Methodist pulpit had so distinguished himself above the
      rest by the solemnity and fervor of his protests against this insolent
      desecration of God's day that the Methodists of Octavius still felt
      themselves peculiarly bound to hold this horse-car line, its management,
      and everything connected with it, in unbending aversion. At least once a
      year they were accustomed to expect a sermon denouncing it and all its
      impious Sunday patrons. Theron made a mental resolve that this year they
      should be disappointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another burning problem, which he had not been called upon before to
      confront, he found now entangled with the mysterious line which divided a
      circus from a menagerie. Those itinerant tent-shows had never come his way
      heretofore, and he knew nothing of that fine balancing proportion between
      ladies in tights on horseback and cages full of deeply educational
      animals, which, even as the impartial rain, was designed to embrace alike
      the just and the unjust. There had arisen inside the Methodist society of
      Octavius some painful episodes, connected with members who took their
      children &ldquo;just to see the animals,&rdquo; and were convicted of having also
      watched the Rose-Queen of the Arena, in her unequalled flying leap through
      eight hoops, with an ardent and unashamed eye. One of these cases still
      remained on the censorial docket of the church; and Theron understood that
      he was expected to name a committee of five to examine and try it. This he
      neglected to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was no longer at all certain that the congregation as a whole liked his
      sermons. The truth was, no doubt, that he had learned enough to cease
      regarding the congregation as a whole. He could still rely upon carrying
      along with him in his discourses from the pulpit a large majority of
      interested and approving faces. But here, unhappily, was a case where the
      majority did not rule. The minority, relatively small in numbers, was
      prodigious in virile force.
    </p>
    <p>
      More than twenty years had now elapsed since that minor schism in the
      Methodist Episcopal Church, the result of which was the independent body
      known as Free Methodists, had relieved the parent flock of its principal
      disturbing element. The rupture came fittingly at that time when all the
      &ldquo;isms&rdquo; of the argumentative fifties were hurled violently together into
      the melting-pot of civil war. The great Methodist Church, South, had
      broken bodily off on the question of State Rights. The smaller and
      domestic fraction of Free Methodism separated itself upon an issue which
      may be most readily described as one of civilization. The seceders
      resented growth in material prosperity; they repudiated the introduction
      of written sermons and organ-music; they deplored the increasing laxity in
      meddlesome piety, the introduction of polite manners in the pulpit and
      classroom, and the development of even a rudimentary desire among the
      younger people of the church to be like others outside in dress and speech
      and deportment. They did battle as long as they could, inside the fold, to
      restore it to the severely straight and narrow path of primitive
      Methodism. When the adverse odds became too strong for them, they quitted
      the church and set up a Bethel for themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      Octavius chanced to be one of the places where they were able to hold
      their own within the church organization. The Methodism of the town had
      gone along without any local secession. It still held in full fellowship
      the radicals who elsewhere had followed their unbridled bent into the
      strongest emotional vagaries&mdash;where excited brethren worked
      themselves up into epileptic fits, and women whirled themselves about in
      weird religious ecstasies, like dervishes of the Orient, till they fell
      headlong in a state of trance. Octavian Methodism was spared extravagances
      of this sort, it is true, but it paid a price for the immunity. The people
      whom an open split would have taken away remained to leaven and dominate
      the whole lump. This small advanced section, with its men of a type all
      the more aggressive from its narrowness, and women who went about solemnly
      in plain gray garments, with tight-fitting, unadorned, mouse-colored
      sunbonnets, had not been able wholly to enforce its views upon the social
      life of the church members, but of its controlling influence upon their
      official and public actions there could be no doubt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The situation had begun to unfold itself to Theron from the outset. He had
      recognized the episodes of the forbidden Sunday milk and of the flowers in
      poor Alice's bonnet as typical of much more that was to come. No week
      followed without bringing some new fulfilment of this foreboding. Now, at
      the end of two months, he knew well enough that the hitherto dominant
      minority was hostile to him and his ministry, and would do whatever it
      could against him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though Theron at once decided to show fight, and did not at all waver in
      that resolve, his courage was in the main of a despondent sort. Sometimes
      it would flutter up to the point of confidence, or at least hopefulness,
      when he met with substantial men of the church who obviously liked him,
      and whom he found himself mentally ranging on his side, in the struggle
      which was to come. But more often it was blankly apparent to him that, the
      moment flags were flying and drums on the roll, these amiable fair-weather
      friends would probably take to their heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, such as they were, his sole hope lay in their support. He must make
      the best of them. He set himself doggedly to the task of gathering
      together all those who were not his enemies into what, when the proper
      time came, should be known as the pastor's party. There was plenty of
      apostolic warrant for this. If there had not been, Theron felt that the
      mere elementary demands of self-defence would have justified his use of
      strategy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The institution of pastoral calling, particularly that inquisitorial form
      of it laid down in the Discipline, had never attracted Theron. He and
      Alice had gone about among their previous flocks in quite a haphazard
      fashion, without thought of system, much less of deliberate purpose.
      Theron made lists now, and devoted thought and examination to the personal
      tastes and characteristics of the people to be cultivated. There were
      some, for example, who would expect him to talk pretty much as the
      Discipline ordained&mdash;that is, to ask if they had family prayer, to
      inquire after their souls, and generally to minister grace to his hearers&mdash;and
      these in turn subdivided themselves into classes, ranging from those who
      would wish nothing else to those who needed only a mild spiritual flavor.
      There were others whom he would please much better by not talking shop at
      all. Although he could ill afford it, he subscribed now for a daily paper
      that he might have a perpetually renewed source of good conversational
      topics for these more worldly calls. He also bought several pounds of
      candy, pleasing in color, but warranted to be entirely harmless, and he
      made a large mysterious mark on the inside of his new silk hat to remind
      him not to go out calling without some of this in his pocket for the
      children.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice, he felt, was not helping him in this matter as effectively as he
      could have wished. Her attitude toward the church in Octavius might best
      be described by the word &ldquo;sulky.&rdquo; Great allowance was to be made, he
      realized, for her humiliation over the flowers in her bonnet. That might
      justify her, fairly enough, in being kept away from meeting now and again
      by headaches, or undefined megrims. But it ought not to prevent her from
      going about and making friends among the kindlier parishioners who would
      welcome such a thing, and whom he from time to time indicated to her. She
      did go to some extent, it is true, but she produced, in doing so, an
      effect of performing a duty. He did not find traces anywhere of her having
      created a brilliant social impression. When they went out together, he was
      peculiarly conscious of having to do the work unaided.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was not at all like the Alice of former years, of other charges. Why,
      she had been, beyond comparison, the most popular young woman in Tyre.
      What possessed her to mope like this in Octavius?
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron looked at her attentively nowadays, when she was unaware of his
      gaze, to try if her face offered any answer to the riddle. It could not be
      suggested that she was ill. Never in her life had she been looking so
      well. She had thrown herself, all at once, and with what was to him an
      unaccountable energy, into the creation and management of a flower-garden.
      She was out the better part of every day, rain or shine, digging,
      transplanting, pruning, pottering generally about among her plants and
      shrubs. This work in the open air had given her an aspect of physical
      well-being which it was impossible to be mistaken about.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her husband was glad, of course, that she had found some occupation which
      at once pleased her and so obviously conduced to health. This was so much
      a matter of course, in fact, that he said to himself over and over again
      that he was glad. Only&mdash;only, sometimes the thought WOULD force
      itself upon his attention that if she did not spend so much of her time in
      her own garden, she would have more time to devote to winning friends for
      them in the Garden of the Lord&mdash;friends whom they were going to need
      badly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young minister, in taking anxious stock of the chances for and against
      him, turned over often in his mind the fact that he had already won rank
      as a pulpit orator. His sermons had attracted almost universal attention
      at Tyre, and his achievement before the Conference at Tecumseh, if it did
      fail to receive practical reward, had admittedly distanced all the other
      preaching there. It was a part of the evil luck pursuing him that here in
      this perversely enigmatic Octavius his special gift seemed to be of no use
      whatever. There were times, indeed, when he was tempted to think that bad
      preaching was what Octavius wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Somewhere he had heard of a Presbyterian minister, in charge of a big city
      church, who managed to keep well in with a watchfully Orthodox
      congregation, and at the same time establish himself in the affections of
      the community at large, by simply preaching two kinds of sermons. In the
      morning, when almost all who attended were his own communicants, he gave
      them very cautious and edifying doctrinal discourses, treading loyally in
      the path of the Westminster Confession. To the evening assemblages, made
      up for the larger part of outsiders, he addressed broadly liberal sermons,
      literary in form, and full of respectful allusions to modern science and
      the philosophy of the day. Thus he filled the church at both services, and
      put money in its treasury and his own fame before the world. There was of
      course the obvious danger that the pious elders who in the forenoon heard
      infant damnation vigorously proclaimed, would revolt when they heard after
      supper that there was some doubt about even adults being damned at all.
      But either because the same people did not attend both services, or
      because the minister's perfect regularity in the morning was each week
      regarded as a retraction of his latest vagaries of an evening, no trouble
      ever came.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had somewhat tentatively tried this on in Octavius. It was no good.
      His parishioners were of the sort who would have come to church eight
      times a day on Sunday, instead of two, if occasion offered. The hope that
      even a portion of them would stop away, and that their places would be
      taken in the evening by less prejudiced strangers who wished for
      intellectual rather than theological food, fell by the wayside. The
      yearned-for strangers did not come; the familiar faces of the morning
      service all turned up in their accustomed places every evening. They were
      faces which confused and disheartened Theron in the daytime. Under the
      gaslight they seemed even harder and more unsympathetic. He timorously
      experimented with them for an evening or two, then abandoned the effort.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once there had seemed the beginning of a chance. The richest banker in
      Octavius&mdash;a fat, sensual, hog-faced old bachelor&mdash;surprised
      everybody one evening by entering the church and taking a seat. Theron
      happened to know who he was; even if he had not known, the suppressed
      excitement visible in the congregation, the way the sisters turned round
      to look, the way the more important brethren put their heads together and
      exchanged furtive whispers&mdash;would have warned him that big game was
      in view. He recalled afterward with something like self-disgust the eager,
      almost tremulous pains he himself took to please this banker. There was a
      part of the sermon, as it had been written out, which might easily give
      offence to a single man of wealth and free notions of life. With the
      alertness of a mental gymnast, Theron ran ahead, excised this portion, and
      had ready when the gap was reached some very pretty general remarks, all
      the more effective and eloquent, he felt, for having been extemporized.
      People said it was a good sermon; and after the benediction and dispersion
      some of the officials and principal pew-holders remained to talk over the
      likelihood of a capture having been effected. Theron did not get away
      without having this mentioned to him, and he was conscious of sharing
      deeply the hope of the brethren&mdash;with the added reflection that it
      would be a personal triumph for himself into the bargain. He was ashamed
      of this feeling a little later, and of his trick with the sermon. But this
      chastening product of introspection was all the fruit which the incident
      bore. The banker never came again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron returned one afternoon, a little earlier than usual, from a group
      of pastoral calls. Alice, who was plucking weeds in a border at the shady
      side of the house, heard his step, and rose from her labors. He was
      walking slowly, and seemed weary. He took off his high hat, as he saw her,
      and wiped his brow. The broiling June sun was still high overhead.
      Doubtless it was its insufferable heat which was accountable for the worn
      lines in his face and the spiritless air which the wife's eye detected.
      She went to the gate, and kissed him as he entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe if I were you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I'd carry an umbrella such scorching
      days as this. Nobody'd think anything of it. I don't see why a minister
      shouldn't carry one as much as a woman carries a parasol.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron gave her a rueful, meditative sort of smile. &ldquo;I suppose people
      really do think of us as a kind of hybrid female,&rdquo; he remarked. Then,
      holding his hat in his hand, he drew a long breath of relief at finding
      himself in the shade, and looked about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, you've got more posies here, on this one side of the house alone,
      than mother had in her whole yard,&rdquo; he said, after a little. &ldquo;Let's see&mdash;I
      know that one: that's columbine, isn't it? And that's London pride, and
      that's ragged robin. I don't know any of the others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice recited various unfamiliar names, as she pointed out the several
      plants which bore them, and he listened with a kindly semblance of
      interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      They strolled thus to the rear of the house, where thick clumps of
      fragrant pinks lined both sides of the path. She picked some of these for
      him, and gave him more names with which to label the considerable number
      of other plants he saw about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had no idea we were so well provided as all this,&rdquo; he commented at
      last. &ldquo;Those Van Sizers must have been tremendous hands for flowers. You
      were lucky in following such people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Van Sizers!&rdquo; echoed Alice, with contempt. &ldquo;All they left was old tomato
      cans and clamshells. Why, I've put in every blessed one of these myself,
      all except those peonies, there, and one brier on the side wall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good for you!&rdquo; exclaimed Theron, approvingly. Then it occurred to him to
      ask, &ldquo;But where did you get them all? Around among our friends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some few,&rdquo; responded Alice, with a note of hesitation in her voice.
      &ldquo;Sister Bult gave me the verbenas, there, and the white pinks were a
      present from Miss Stevens. But most of them Levi Gorringe was good enough
      to send me&mdash;from his garden.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't know that Gorringe had a garden,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;I thought he
      lived over his law-office, in the brick block, there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I don't know that it's exactly HIS,&rdquo; explained Alice; &ldquo;but it's a
      big garden somewhere outside, where he can have anything he likes.&rdquo; She
      went on with a little laugh: &ldquo;I didn't like to question him too closely,
      for fear he'd think I was looking a gift horse in the mouth&mdash;or else
      hinting for more. It was quite his own offer, you know. He picked them all
      out for me, and brought them here, and lent me a book telling me just what
      to do with each one. And in a few days, now, I am to have another big
      batch of plants&mdash;dahlias and zinnias and asters and so on; I'm almost
      ashamed to take them. But it's such a change to find some one in this
      Octavius who isn't all self!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, Gorringe is a good fellow,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;I wish he was a professing
      member.&rdquo; Then some new thought struck him. &ldquo;Alice,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I
      believe I'll go and see him this very afternoon. I don't know why it
      hasn't occurred to me before: he's just the man whose advice I need most.
      He knows these people here; he can tell me what to do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aren't you too tired now?&rdquo; suggested Alice, as Theron put on his hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, the sooner the better,&rdquo; he replied, moving now toward the gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;if I were you, I wouldn't say too much about&mdash;that
      is, I&mdash;but never mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing whatever,&rdquo; replied Alice, positively. &ldquo;It was only some nonsense
      of mine;&rdquo; and Theron, placidly accepting the feminine whim, went off down
      the street again.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware found Levi Gorringe's law-office readily enough, but its
      owner was not in. He probably would be back again, though, in a quarter of
      an hour or so, the boy said, and the minister at once decided to wait.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron was interested in finding that this office-boy was no other than
      Harvey&mdash;the lad who brought milk to the parsonage every morning. He
      remembered now that he had heard good things of this urchin, as to the
      hard work he did to help his mother, the Widow Semple, in her struggle to
      keep a roof over her head; and also bad things, in that he did not come
      regularly either to church or Sunday-school. The clergyman recalled, too,
      that Harvey had impressed him as a character.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sonny, are you going to be a lawyer?&rdquo; he asked, as he seated
      himself by the window, and looked about him, first at the dusty litter of
      old papers, pamphlets, and tape-bound documents in bundles which crowded
      the stuffy chamber, and then at the boy himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Harvey was busy at a big box&mdash;a rough pine dry-goods box which bore
      the flaring label of an express company, and also of a well-known seed
      firm in a Western city, and which the boy had apparently just opened. He
      was lifting from it, and placing on the table after he had shaken off the
      sawdust and moss in which they were packed, small parcels of what looked
      in the fading light to be half-dried plants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I don't know&mdash;I rather guess not,&rdquo; he made answer, as he
      pursued his task. &ldquo;So far as I can make out, this wouldn't be the place to
      start in at, if I WAS going to be a lawyer. A boy can learn here
      first-rate how to load cartridges and clean a gun, and braid trout-flies
      on to leaders, but I don't see much law laying around loose. Anyway,&rdquo; he
      went on, &ldquo;I couldn't afford to read law, and not be getting any wages. I
      have to earn money, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron felt that he liked the boy. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, with a kindly tone;
      &ldquo;I've heard that you are a good, industrious youngster. I daresay Mr.
      Gorringe will see to it that you get a chance to read law, and get wages
      too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I can read all there is here and welcome,&rdquo; the boy explained,
      stepping toward the window to decipher the label on a bundle of roots in
      his hand, &ldquo;but that's no good unless there's regular practice coming into
      the office all the while. THAT'S how you learn to be a lawyer. But
      Gorringe don't have what I call a practice at all. He just sees men in the
      other room there, with the door shut, and whatever there is to do he does
      it all himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The minister remembered a stray hint somewhere that Mr. Gorringe was a
      money-lender&mdash;what was colloquially called a &ldquo;note-shaver.&rdquo; To his
      rustic sense, there was something not quite nice about that occupation. It
      would be indecorous, he felt, to encourage further talk about it from the
      boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you doing there?&rdquo; he inquired, to change the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sorting out some plants,&rdquo; replied Harvey. &ldquo;I don't know what's got into
      Gorringe lately. This is the third big box he's had since I've been here&mdash;that
      is, in six weeks&mdash;besides two baskets full of rose-bushes. I don't
      know what he does with them. He carries them off himself somewhere. I've
      had kind of half a notion that he's figurin' on getting married. I can't
      think of anything else that would make a man spend money like water&mdash;just
      for flowers and bushes. They do get foolish, you know, when they've got
      marriage on the brain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron found himself only imperfectly following the theories of the young
      philosopher. It was his fact that monopolized the minister's attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But as I understand it,&rdquo; he remarked hesitatingly, &ldquo;Brother Gorringe&mdash;or
      rather Mr. Gorringe&mdash;gets all the plants he wants, everything he
      likes, from a big garden somewhere outside. I don't know that it is
      exactly his; but I remember hearing something to that effect.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The boy slapped the last litter off his hands, and, as he came to the
      window, shook his head. &ldquo;These don't come from no garden outside,&rdquo; he
      declared. &ldquo;They come from the dealers', and he pays solid cash for 'em.
      The invoice for this lot alone was thirty-one dollars and sixty cents.
      There it is on the table. You can see it for yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware did not offer to look. &ldquo;Very likely these are for the garden I
      was speaking of,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Of course you can't go on taking plants out of
      a garden indefinitely without putting others in.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know anything about any garden that he takes plants out of,&rdquo;
       answered Harvey, and looked meditatively for a minute or two out upon the
      street below. Then he turned to the minister. &ldquo;Your wife's doing a good
      deal of gardening this spring, I notice,&rdquo; he said casually. &ldquo;You'd hardly
      think it was the same place, she's fixed it up so. If she wants any extra
      hoeing done, I can always get off Saturday afternoons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will remember,&rdquo; said Theron. He also looked out of the window; and
      nothing more was said until, a few moments later, Mr. Gorringe himself
      came in.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer seemed both surprised and pleased at discovering the identity
      of his visitor, with whom he shook hands in almost an excess of
      cordiality. He spread a large newspaper over the pile of seedling plants
      on the table, pushed the packing-box under the table with his foot, and
      said almost peremptorily to the boy, &ldquo;You can go now!&rdquo; Then he turned
      again to Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Ware, I'm glad to see you,&rdquo; he repeated, and drew up a chair by
      the window. &ldquo;Things are going all right with you, I hope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron noted again the waving black hair, the dark skin, and the carefully
      trimmed mustache and chin-tuft which gave the lawyer's face a combined
      effect of romance and smartness. No; it was the eyes, cool, shrewd,
      dark-gray eyes, which suggested this latter quality. The recollection of
      having seen one of them wink, in deliberate hostility of sarcasm, when
      those other trustees had their backs turned, came mercifully at the moment
      to recall the young minister to his errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought I would drop in and have a chat with you,&rdquo; he said, getting
      better under way as he went on. &ldquo;Quarterly Conference is only a fortnight
      off, and I am a good deal at sea about what is going to happen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm not a church member, you know,&rdquo; interposed Gorringe. &ldquo;That shuts me
      out of the Quarterly Conference.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas, yes!&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;I wish it didn't. I'm afraid I'm not going to
      have any friends to spare there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you afraid of?&rdquo; asked the lawyer, seeming now to be wholly at
      his ease again &ldquo;They can't eat you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, they keep me too lean for that,&rdquo; responded Theron, with a pensive
      smile. &ldquo;I WAS going to ask, you know, for an increase of salary, or an
      extra allowance. I don't see how I can go on as it is. The sum fixed by
      the last Quarterly Conference of the old year, and which I am getting now,
      is one hundred dollars less than my predecessor had. That isn't fair, and
      it isn't right. But so far from its looking as if I could get an increase,
      the prospect seems rather that they will make me pay for the gas and that
      sidewalk. I never recovered more than about half of my moving expenses, as
      you know, and&mdash;and, frankly, I don't know which way to turn. It keeps
      me miserable all the while.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's where you're wrong,&rdquo; said Mr. Gorringe. &ldquo;If you let things like
      that worry you, you'll keep a sore skin all your life. You take my advice
      and just go ahead your own gait, and let other folks do the worrying. They
      ARE pretty close-fisted here, for a fact, but you can manage to rub along
      somehow. If you should get into any real difficulties, why, I guess&mdash;&rdquo;
       the lawyer paused to smile in a hesitating, significant way&mdash;&ldquo;I guess
      some road out can be found all right. The main thing is, don't fret, and
      don't allow your wife to&mdash;to fret either.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He stopped abruptly. Theron nodded in recognition of his amiable tone, and
      then found the nod lengthening itself out into almost a bow as the thought
      spread through his mind that this had been nothing more nor less than a
      promise to help him with money if worst came to worst. He looked at Levi
      Gorringe, and said to himself that the intuition of women was wonderful.
      Alice had picked him out as a friend of theirs merely by seeing him pass
      the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I am specially anxious to keep my wife from worrying. She
      was surrounded in her girlhood by a good deal of what, relatively, we
      should call luxury, and that makes it all the harder for her to be a poor
      minister's wife. I had quite decided to get her a hired girl, come what
      might, but she thinks she'd rather get on without one. Her health is
      better, I must admit, than it was when we came here. She works out in her
      garden a great deal, and that seems to agree with her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Octavius is a healthy place&mdash;that's generally admitted,&rdquo; replied the
      lawyer, with indifference. He seemed not to be interested in Mrs. Ware's
      health, but looked intently out through the window at the buildings
      opposite, and drummed with his fingers on the arms of his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron made haste to revert to his errand. &ldquo;Of course, your not being in
      the Quarterly Conference,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;renders certain things impossible.
      But I didn't know but you might have some knowledge of how matters are
      going, what plans the officials of the church had; they seem to have
      agreed to tell me nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I HAVE heard this much,&rdquo; responded Gorringe. &ldquo;They're figuring on
      getting the Soulsbys here to raise the debt and kind o' shake things up
      generally. I guess that's about as good as settled. Hadn't you heard of
      it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a breath!&rdquo; exclaimed Theron, mournfully. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added upon
      reflection, &ldquo;I'm sorry, downright sorry. The debt-raiser seems to me about
      the lowest-down thing we produce. I've heard of those Soulsbys; I think I
      saw HIM indeed once at Conference, but I believe SHE is the head of the
      firm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes; she wears the breeches, I understand,&rdquo; said Gorringe sententiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I HAD hoped,&rdquo; the young minister began with a rueful sigh, &ldquo;in fact, I
      felt quite confident at the outset that I could pay off this debt, and put
      the church generally on a new footing, by giving extra attention to my
      pulpit work. It is hardly for me to say it, but in other places where I
      have been, my preaching has been rather&mdash;rather a feature in the town
      itself. I have always been accustomed to attract to our services a good
      many non-members, and that, as you know, helps tremendously from a money
      point of view. But somehow that has failed here. I doubt if the average
      congregations are a whit larger now than they were when I came in April. I
      know the collections are not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; commented the lawyer, slowly; &ldquo;you'll never do anything in that line
      in Octavius. You might, of course, if you were to stay here and work hard
      at it for five or six years&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heaven forbid!&rdquo; groaned Mr. Ware.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; put in the other. &ldquo;The point is that the Methodists here are a
      little set by themselves. I don't know that they like one another
      specially, but I do know that they are not what you might call popular
      with people outside. Now, a new preacher at the Presbyterian church, or
      even the Baptist&mdash;he might have a chance to create talk, and make a
      stir. But Methodist&mdash;no! People who don't belong won't come near the
      Methodist church here so long as there's any other place with a roof on it
      to go to. Give a dog a bad name, you know. Well, the Methodists here have
      got a bad name; and if you could preach like Henry Ward Beecher himself
      you wouldn't change it, or get folks to come and hear you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see what you mean,&rdquo; Theron responded. &ldquo;I'm not particularly surprised
      myself that Octavius doesn't love us, or look to us for intellectual
      stimulation. I myself leave that pulpit more often than otherwise feeling
      like a wet rag&mdash;utterly limp and discouraged. But, if you don't mind
      my speaking of it, YOU don't belong, and yet YOU come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was evident that the lawyer did not mind. He spoke freely in reply.
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I've got into the habit of it. I began going when I first came
      here, and&mdash;and so it grew to be natural for me to go. Then, of
      course, being the only lawyer you have, a considerable amount of my
      business is mixed up in one way or another with your membership; you see
      those are really the things which settle a man in a rut, and keep him
      there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose your people were Methodists,&rdquo; said Theron, to fill in the
      pause, &ldquo;and that is how you originally started with us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Levi Gorringe shook his head. He leaned back, half closed his eyes, put
      his finger-tips together, and almost smiled as if something in retrospect
      pleased and moved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I went to the church first to see a girl who used to go
      there. It was long before your time. All her family moved away years ago.
      You wouldn't know any of them. I was younger then, and I didn't know as
      much as I do now. I worshipped the very ground that girl walked on, and
      like a fool I never gave her so much as a hint of it. Looking back now, I
      can see that I might have had her if I'd asked her. But I went instead and
      sat around and looked at her at church and Sunday-school and
      prayer-meetings Thursday nights, and class-meetings after the sermon. She
      was devoted to religion and church work; and, thinking it would please
      her, I joined the church on probation. Men can fool themselves easier than
      they can other people. I actually believed at the time that I had
      experienced religion. I felt myself full of all sorts of awakenings of the
      soul and so forth. But it was really that girl. You see I'm telling you
      the thing just as it was. I was very happy. I think it was the happiest
      time of my life. I remember there was a love-feast while I was on
      probation; and I sat down in front, right beside her, and we ate the
      little square chunks of bread and drank the water together, and I held one
      corner of her hymn-book when we stood up and sang. That was the nearest I
      ever got to her, or to full membership in the church. That very next week,
      I think it was, we learned that she had got engaged to the minister's son&mdash;a
      young man who had just become a minister himself. They got married, and
      went away&mdash;and I&mdash;somehow I never took up my membership when the
      six months' probation was over. That's how it was.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is very interesting,&rdquo; remarked Theron, softly, after a little silence&mdash;&ldquo;and
      very full of human nature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, now you see,&rdquo; said the lawyer, &ldquo;what I mean when I say that there
      hasn't been another minister here since, that I should have felt like
      telling this story to. They wouldn't have understood it at all. They would
      have thought it was blasphemy for me to say straight out that what I took
      for experiencing religion was really a girl. But you are different. I felt
      that at once, the first time I saw you. In a pulpit or out of it, what I
      like in a human being is that he SHOULD be human.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It pleases me beyond measure that you should like me, then&rdquo; returned the
      young minister, with frank gratification shining on his face. &ldquo;The world
      is made all the sweeter and more lovable by these&mdash;these elements of
      romance. I am not one of those who would wish to see them banished or
      frowned upon. I don't mind admitting to you that there is a good deal in
      Methodism&mdash;I mean the strict practice of its letter which you find
      here in Octavius&mdash;that is personally distasteful to me. I read the
      other day of an English bishop who said boldly, publicly, that no modern
      nation could practise the principles laid down in the Sermon on the Mount
      and survive for twenty-four hours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha, ha! That's good!&rdquo; laughed the lawyer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I felt that it was good, too,&rdquo; pursued Theron. &ldquo;I am getting to see a
      great many things differently, here in Octavius. Our Methodist Discipline
      is like the Beatitudes&mdash;very helpful and beautiful, if treated as
      spiritual suggestion, but more or less of a stumbling-block if insisted
      upon literally. I declare!&rdquo; he added, sitting up in his chair, &ldquo;I never
      talked like this to a living soul before in all my life. Your confidences
      were contagious.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware rose as he spoke, and took up his hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Must you be going?&rdquo; asked the lawyer, also rising. &ldquo;Well, I'm glad I
      haven't shocked you. Come in oftener when you are passing. And if you see
      anything I can help you in, always tell me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The two men shook hands, with an emphatic and lingering clasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad,&rdquo; said Theron, &ldquo;that you didn't stop coming to church just
      because you lost the girl.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Levi Gorringe answered the minister's pleasantry with a smile which curled
      his mustache upward, and expanded in little wrinkles at the ends of his
      eyes. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said jestingly. &ldquo;I'm death on collecting debts; and I
      reckon that the church still owes me a girl. I'll have one yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So, with merriment the echoes of which pleasantly accompanied Theron down
      the stairway, the two men parted.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      Though time lagged in passing with a slowness which seemed born of studied
      insolence, there did arrive at last a day which had something definitive
      about it to Theron's disturbed and restless mind. It was a Thursday, and
      the prayer-meeting to be held that evening would be the last before the
      Quarterly Conference, now only four days off.
    </p>
    <p>
      For some reason, the young minister found himself dwelling upon this fact,
      and investing it with importance. But yesterday the Quarterly Conference
      had seemed a long way ahead. Today brought it alarmingly close to hand. He
      had not heretofore regarded the weekly assemblage for prayer and song as a
      thing calling for preparation, or for any preliminary thought. Now on this
      Thursday morning he went to his desk after breakfast, which was a sign
      that he wanted the room to himself, quite as if he had the task of a
      weighty sermon before him. He sat at the desk all the forenoon, doing no
      writing, it is true, but remembering every once in a while, when his mind
      turned aside from the book in his hands, that there was that
      prayer-meeting in the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sometimes he reached the point of vaguely wondering why this strictly
      commonplace affair should be forcing itself thus upon his attention. Then,
      with a kind of mental shiver at the recollection that this was Thursday,
      and that the great struggle came on Monday, he would go back to his book.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were a half-dozen volumes on the open desk before him. He had taken
      them out from beneath a pile of old &ldquo;Sunday-School Advocates&rdquo; and church
      magazines, where they had lain hidden from Alice's view most of the week.
      If there had been a locked drawer in the house, he would have used it
      instead to hold these books, which had come to him in a neat parcel, which
      also contained an amiable note from Dr. Ledsmar, recalling a pleasant
      evening in May, and expressing the hope that the accompanying works would
      be of some service. Theron had glanced at the backs of the uppermost two,
      and discovered that their author was Renan. Then he had hastily put the
      lot in the best place he could think of to escape his wife's observation.
    </p>
    <p>
      He realized now that there had been no need for this secrecy. Of the other
      four books, by Sayce, Budge, Smith, and Lenormant, three indeed revealed
      themselves to be published under religious auspices. As for Renan, he
      might have known that the name would be meaningless to Alice. The feeling
      that he himself was not much wiser in this matter than his wife may have
      led him to pass over the learned text-books on Chaldean antiquity, and
      even the volume of Renan which appeared to be devoted to Oriental
      inscriptions, and take up his other book, entitled in the translation,
      &ldquo;Recollections of my Youth.&rdquo; This he rather glanced through, at the
      outset, following with a certain inattention the introductory sketches and
      essays, which dealt with an unfamiliar, and, to his notion, somewhat
      preposterous Breton racial type. Then, little by little, it dawned upon
      him that there was a connected story in all this; and suddenly he came
      upon it, out in the open, as it were. It was the story of how a deeply
      devout young man, trained from his earliest boyhood for the sacred office,
      and desiring passionately nothing but to be worthy of it, came to a point
      where, at infinite cost of pain to himself and of anguish to those dearest
      to him, he had to declare that he could no longer believe at all in
      revealed religion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron Ware read this all with an excited interest which no book had ever
      stirred in him before. Much of it he read over and over again, to make
      sure that he penetrated everywhere the husk of French habits of thought
      and Catholic methods in which the kernel was wrapped. He broke off midway
      in this part of the book to go out to the kitchen to dinner, and began the
      meal in silence. To Alice's questions he replied briefly that he was
      preparing himself for the evening's prayer-meeting. She lifted her brows
      in such frank surprise at this that he made a further and somewhat
      rambling explanation about having again taken up the work on his book&mdash;the
      book about Abraham.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you said you'd given that up altogether,&rdquo; she remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I WAS discouraged about it for a while. But a man never
      does anything big without getting discouraged over and over again while
      he's doing it. I don't say now that I shall write precisely THAT book&mdash;I'm
      merely reading scientific works about the period, just now&mdash;but if
      not that, I shall write some other book. Else how will you get that
      piano?&rdquo; he added, with an attempt at a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you had given that up, too!&rdquo; she replied ruefully. Then before
      he could speak, she went on: &ldquo;Never mind the piano; that can wait. What
      I've got on my mind just now isn't piano; it's potatoes. Do you know, I
      saw some the other day at Rasbach's, splendid potatoes&mdash;these are
      some of them&mdash;and fifteen cents a bushel cheaper than those dried-up
      old things Brother Barnum keeps, and so I bought two bushels. And Sister
      Barnum met me on the street this morning, and threw it in my face that the
      Discipline commands us to trade with each other. Is there any such
      command?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the husband. &ldquo;It's Section 33. Don't you remember? I looked it
      up in Tyre. We are to 'evidence our desire of salvation by doing good,
      especially to them that are of the household of faith, or groaning so to
      be; by employing them preferably to others; buying one of another; helping
      each other in business'&mdash;and so on. Yes, it's all there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I told her I didn't believe it was,&rdquo; put in Alice, &ldquo;and I said that
      even if it was, there ought to be another section about selling potatoes
      to their minister for more than they're worth&mdash;potatoes that turn all
      green when you boil them, too. I believe I'll read up that old Discipline
      myself, and see if it hasn't got some things that I can talk back with.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The very section before that, Number 32, enjoins members against
      'uncharitable or unprofitable conversation&mdash;particularly speaking
      evil of magistrates or ministers.' You'd have 'em there, I think.&rdquo; Theron
      had begun cheerfully enough, but the careworn, preoccupied look returned
      now to his face. &ldquo;I'm sorry if we've fallen out with the Barnums,&rdquo; he
      said. &ldquo;His brother-in-law, Davis, the Sunday-school superintendent, is a
      member of the Quarterly Conference, you know, and I've been hoping that he
      was on my side. I've been taking a good deal of pains to make up to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He ended with a sigh, the pathos of which impressed Alice. &ldquo;If you think
      it will do any good,&rdquo; she volunteered, &ldquo;I'll go and call on the Davises
      this very afternoon. I'm sure to find her at home,&mdash;she's tied hand
      and foot with that brood of hers&mdash;and you'd better give me some of
      that candy for them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron nodded his approval and thanks, and relapsed into silence. When the
      meal was over, he brought out the confectionery to his wife, and without a
      word went back to that remarkable book.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Alice returned toward the close of day, to prepare the simple tea
      which was always laid a half-hour earlier on Thursdays and Sundays, she
      found her husband where she had left him, still busy with those new
      scientific works. She recounted to him some incidents of her call upon
      Mrs. Davis, as she took off her hat and put on the big kitchen apron&mdash;how
      pleased Mrs. Davis seemed to be; how her affection for her sister-in-law,
      the grocer's wife, disclosed itself to be not even skin-deep; how the
      children leaped upon the candy as if they had never seen any before; and
      how, in her belief, Mr. Davis would be heart and soul on Theron's side at
      the Conference.
    </p>
    <p>
      To her surprise, the young minister seemed not at all interested. He
      hardly looked at her during her narrative, but reclined in the easy-chair
      with his head thrown back, and an abstracted gaze wandering aimlessly
      about the ceiling. When she avowed her faith in the Sunday-school
      superintendent's loyal partisanship, which she did with a pardonable pride
      in having helped to make it secure, her husband even closed his eyes, and
      moved his head with a gesture which plainly bespoke indifference.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I expected you'd be tickled to death,&rdquo; she remarked, with evident
      disappointment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've a bad headache,&rdquo; he explained, after a minute's pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No wonder!&rdquo; Alice rejoined, sympathetically enough, but with a note of
      reproof as well. &ldquo;What can you expect, staying cooped up in here all day
      long, poring over those books? People are all the while remarking that you
      study too much. I tell them, of course, that you're a great hand for
      reading, and always were; but I think myself it would be better if you got
      out more, and took more exercise, and saw people. You know lots and
      slathers more than THEY do now, or ever will, if you never opened another
      book.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron regarded her with an expression which she had never seen on his
      face before. &ldquo;You don't realize what you are saying,&rdquo; he replied slowly.
      He sighed as he added, with increased gravity, &ldquo;I am the most ignorant man
      alive!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice began a little laugh of wifely incredulity, and then let it die away
      as she recognized that he was really troubled and sad in his mind. She
      bent over to kiss him lightly on the brow, and tiptoed her way out into
      the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe I will let you make my excuses at the prayer-meeting this
      evening,&rdquo; he said all at once, as the supper came to an end. He had eaten
      next to nothing during the meal, and had sat in a sort of brown-study from
      which Alice kindly forbore to arouse him. &ldquo;I don't know&mdash;I hardly
      feel equal to it. They won't take it amiss&mdash;for once&mdash;if you
      explain to them that I&mdash;I am not at all well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I do hope you're not coming down with anything!&rdquo; Alice had risen too,
      and was gazing at him with a solicitude the tenderness of which at once
      comforted, and in some obscure way jarred on his nerves. &ldquo;Is there
      anything I can do&mdash;or shall I go for a doctor? We've got mustard in
      the house, and senna&mdash;I think there's some senna left&mdash;and
      Jamaica ginger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron shook his head wearily at her. &ldquo;Oh, no,&mdash;no!&rdquo; he expostulated.
      &ldquo;It isn't anything that needs drugs, or doctors either. It's just mental
      worry and fatigue, that's all. An evening's quiet rest in the big chair,
      and early to bed&mdash;that will fix me up all right.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you'll read; and that will make your head worse,&rdquo; said Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I won't read any more,&rdquo; he promised her, walking slowly into the
      sitting-room, and settling himself in the big chair, the while she brought
      out a pillow from the adjoining best bedroom, and adjusted it behind his
      head. &ldquo;That's nice! I'll just lie quiet here, and perhaps doze a little
      till you come back. I feel in the mood for the rest; it will do me all
      sorts of good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He closed his eyes; and Alice, regarding his upturned face anxiously,
      decided that already it looked more at peace than awhile ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I hope you'll be better when I get back,&rdquo; she said, as she began
      preparations for the evening service. These consisted in combing stiffly
      back the strands of light-brown hair which, during the day, had
      exuberantly loosened themselves over her temples into something almost
      like curls; in fastening down upon this rebellious hair a plain
      brown-straw bonnet, guiltless of all ornament save a binding ribbon of
      dull umber hue; and in putting on a thin dark-gray shawl and a pair of
      equally subdued lisle-thread gloves. Thus attired, she made a mischievous
      little grimace of dislike at her puritanical image in the looking-glass
      over the mantel, and then turned to announce her departure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I'm off,&rdquo; she said. Theron opened his eyes to take in this figure
      of his wife dressed for prayer-meeting, and then closed them again
      abruptly. &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he murmured, and then he heard the door shut behind
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although he had been alone all day, there seemed to be quite a unique
      value and quality in this present solitude. He stretched out his legs on
      the opposite chair, and looked lazily about him, with the feeling that at
      last he had secured some leisure, and could think undisturbed to his
      heart's content. There were nearly two hours of unbroken quiet before him;
      and the mere fact of his having stepped aside from the routine of his duty
      to procure it; marked it in his thoughts as a special occasion, which
      ought in the nature of things to yield more than the ordinary harvest of
      mental profit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron's musings were broken in upon from time to time by rumbling
      outbursts of hymn-singing from the church next door. Surely, he said to
      himself, there could be no other congregation in the Conference, or in all
      Methodism, which sang so badly as these Octavians did. The noise, as it
      came to him now and again, divided itself familiarly into a main strain of
      hard, high, sharp, and tinny female voices, with three or four concurrent
      and clashing branch strains of part-singing by men who did not know how.
      How well he already knew these voices! Through two wooden walls he could
      detect the conceited and pushing note of Brother Lovejoy, who tried always
      to drown the rest out, and the lifeless, unmeasured weight of shrill
      clamor which Sister Barnum hurled into every chorus, half closing her eyes
      and sticking out her chin as she did so. They drawled their hymns too,
      these people, till Theron thought he understood that injunction in the
      Discipline against singing too slowly. It had puzzled him heretofore; now
      he felt that it must have been meant in prophecy for Octavius.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was impossible not to recall in contrast that other church music he had
      heard, a month before, and the whole atmosphere of that other pastoral
      sitting room, from which he had listened to it. The startled and crowded
      impressions of that strange evening had been lying hidden in his mind all
      this while, driven into a corner by the pressure of more ordinary,
      everyday matters. They came forth now, and passed across his brain&mdash;no
      longer confusing and distorted, but in orderly and intelligible sequence.
      Their earlier effect had been one of frightened fascination. Now he looked
      them over calmly as they lifted themselves, one by one, and found himself
      not shrinking at all, or evading anything, but dwelling upon each in turn
      as a natural and welcome part of the most important experience of his
      life.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young minister had arrived, all at once, at this conclusion. He did
      not question at all the means by which he had reached it. Nothing was
      clearer to his mind than the conclusion itself&mdash;that his meeting,
      with the priest and the doctor was the turning-point in his career. They
      had lifted him bodily out of the slough of ignorance, of contact with low
      minds and sordid, narrow things, and put him on solid ground. This book he
      had been reading&mdash;this gentle, tender, lovable book, which had as
      much true piety in it as any devotional book he had ever read, and yet,
      unlike all devotional books, put its foot firmly upon everything which
      could not be proved in human reason to be true&mdash;must be merely one of
      a thousand which men like Father Forbes and Dr. Ledsmar knew by heart. The
      very thought that he was on the way now to know them, too, made Theron
      tremble. The prospect wooed him, and he thrilled in response, with the
      wistful and delicate eagerness of a young lover.
    </p>
    <p>
      Somehow, the fact that the priest and the doctor were not religious men,
      and that this book which had so impressed and stirred him was nothing more
      than Renan's recital of how he, too, ceased to be a religious man, did not
      take a form which Theron could look square in the face. It wore the shape,
      instead, of a vague premise that there were a great many different kinds
      of religions&mdash;the past and dead races had multiplied these in their
      time literally into thousands&mdash;and that each no doubt had its central
      support of truth somewhere for the good men who were in it, and that to
      call one of these divine and condemn all the others was a part fit only
      for untutored bigots. Renan had formally repudiated Catholicism, yet could
      write in his old age with the deepest filial affection of the Mother
      Church he had quitted. Father Forbes could talk coolly about the
      &ldquo;Christ-myth&rdquo; without even ceasing to be a priest, and apparently a very
      active and devoted priest. Evidently there was an intellectual world, a
      world of culture and grace, of lofty thoughts and the inspiring communion
      of real knowledge, where creeds were not of importance, and where men
      asked one another, not &ldquo;Is your soul saved?&rdquo; but &ldquo;Is your mind well
      furnished?&rdquo; Theron had the sensation of having been invited to become a
      citizen of this world. The thought so dazzled him that his impulses were
      dragging him forward to take the new oath of allegiance before he had had
      time to reflect upon what it was he was abandoning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The droning of the Doxology from the church outside stirred Theron
      suddenly out of his revery. It had grown quite dark, and he rose and lit
      the gas. &ldquo;Blest be the Tie that Binds,&rdquo; they were singing. He paused, with
      hand still in air, to listen. That well-worn phrase arrested his
      attention, and gave itself a new meaning. He was bound to those people, it
      was true, but he could never again harbor the delusion that the tie
      between them was blessed. There was vaguely present in his mind the
      consciousness that other ties were loosening as well. Be that as it might,
      one thing was certain. He had passed definitely beyond pretending to
      himself that there was anything spiritually in common between him and the
      Methodist Church of Octavius. The necessity of his keeping up the pretence
      with others rose on the instant like a looming shadow before his mental
      vision. He turned away from it, and bent his brain to think of something
      else.
    </p>
    <p>
      The noise of Alice opening the front door came as a pleasant digression. A
      second later it became clear from the sound of voices that she had brought
      some one back with her, and Theron hastily stretched himself out again in
      the armchair, with his head back in the pillow, and his feet on the other
      chair. He had come mighty near forgetting that he was an invalid, and he
      protected himself the further now by assuming an air of lassitude verging
      upon prostration.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes; there's a light burning. It's all right,&rdquo; he heard Alice say. She
      entered the room, and Theron's head was too bad to permit him to turn it,
      and see who her companion was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Theron dear,&rdquo; Alice began, &ldquo;I knew you'd be glad to see HER, even if you
      were out of sorts; and I persuaded her just to run in for a minute. Let me
      introduce you to Sister Soulsby. Sister Soulsby&mdash;my husband.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware sat upright with an energetic start, and fastened upon
      the stranger a look which conveyed anything but the satisfaction his wife
      had been so sure about. It was at the first blush an undisguised scowl,
      and only some fleeting memory of that reflection about needing now to
      dissemble, prevented him from still frowning as he rose to his feet, and
      perfunctorily held out his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Delighted, I'm sure,&rdquo; he mumbled. Then, looking up, he discovered that
      Sister Soulsby knew he was not delighted, and that she seemed not to mind
      in the least.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As your good lady said, I just ran in for a moment,&rdquo; she remarked,
      shaking his limp hand with a brisk, business-like grasp, and dropping it.
      &ldquo;I hate bothering sick people, but as we're to be thrown together a good
      deal this next week or so, I thought I'd like to lose no time in saying
      'howdy.' I won't keep you up now. Your wife has been sweet enough to ask
      me to move my trunk over here in the morning, so that you'll see enough of
      me and to spare.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron looked falteringly into her face, as he strove for words which
      should sufficiently mask the disgust this intelligence stirred within him.
      A debt-raiser in the town was bad enough! A debt-raiser quartered in the
      very parsonage!&mdash;he ground his teeth to think of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice read his hesitation aright. &ldquo;Sister Soulsby went to the hotel,&rdquo; she
      hastily put in; &ldquo;and Loren Pierce was after her to come and stay at his
      house, and I ventured to tell her that I thought we could make her more
      comfortable here.&rdquo; She accompanied this by so daring a grimace and nod
      that her husband woke up to the fact that a point in Conference politics
      was involved.
    </p>
    <p>
      He squeezed a doubtful smile upon his features. &ldquo;We shall both do our
      best,&rdquo; he said. It was not easy, but he forced increasing amiability into
      his glance and tone. &ldquo;Is Brother Soulsby here, too?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      The debt-raiser shook her head&mdash;again the prompt, decisive movement,
      so like a busy man of affairs. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;He's doing supply down
      on the Hudson this week, but he'll be here in time for the Sunday morning
      love-feast. I always like to come on ahead, and see how the land lies.
      Well, good-night! Your head will be all right in the morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Precisely what she meant by this assurance, Theron did not attempt to
      guess. He received her adieu, noted the masterful manner in which she
      kissed his wife, and watched her pass out into the hall, with the feeling
      uppermost that this was a person who decidedly knew her way about. Much as
      he was prepared to dislike her, and much as he detested the vulgar methods
      her profession typified, he could not deny that she seemed a very capable
      sort of woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      This mental concession did not prevent his fixing upon Alice, when she
      returned to the room, a glance of obvious disapproval.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Theron,&rdquo; she broke forth, to anticipate his reproach, &ldquo;I did it for the
      best. The Pierces would have got her if I hadn't cut in. I thought it
      would help to have her on our side. And, besides, I like her. She's the
      first sister I've seen since we've been in this hole that's had a kind
      word for me&mdash;or&mdash;or sympathized with me! And&mdash;and&mdash;if
      you're going to be offended&mdash;I shall cry!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There were real tears on her lashes, ready to make good the threat. &ldquo;Oh, I
      guess I wouldn't,&rdquo; said Theron, with an approach to his old, half-playful
      manner. &ldquo;If you like her, that's the chief thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice shook her tear-drops away. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she replied, with a wistful smile;
      &ldquo;the chief thing is to have her like you. She's as smart as a steel trap&mdash;that
      woman is&mdash;and if she took the notion, I believe she could help get us
      a better place.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
    <p>
      The ensuing week went by with a buzz and whirl, circling about Theron
      Ware's dizzy consciousness like some huge, impalpable teetotum sent
      spinning under Sister Soulsby's resolute hands. Whenever his vagrant
      memory recurred to it, in after months, he began by marvelling, and ended
      with a shudder of repulsion.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a week crowded with events, which seemed to him to shoot past so
      swiftly that in effect they came all of a heap. He never essayed the task,
      in retrospect, of arranging them in their order of sequence. They had,
      however, a definite and interdependent chronology which it is worth the
      while to trace.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Soulsby brought her trunk round to the parsonage bright and early on
      Friday morning, and took up her lodgement in the best bedroom, and her
      headquarters in the house at large, with a cheerful and business-like
      manner. She desired nothing so much, she said, as that people should not
      put themselves out on her account, or allow her to get in their way. She
      appeared to mean this, too, and to have very good ideas about securing its
      realization.
    </p>
    <p>
      During both Friday and the following day, indeed, Theron saw her only at
      the family meals. There she displayed a hearty relish for all that was set
      before her which quite won Mrs. Ware's heart, and though she talked rather
      more than Theron found himself expecting from a woman, he could not deny
      that her conversation was both seemly and entertaining. She had evidently
      been a great traveller, and referred to things she had seen in Savannah or
      Montreal or Los Angeles in as matter-of-fact fashion as he could have
      spoken of a visit to Tecumseh. Theron asked her many questions about these
      and other far-off cities, and her answers were all so pat and showed so
      keen and clear an eye that he began in spite of himself to think of her
      with a certain admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      She in turn plied him with inquiries about the principal pew-holders and
      members of his congregation&mdash;their means, their disposition, and the
      measure of their devotion. She put these queries with such intelligence,
      and seemed to assimilate his replies with such an alert understanding,
      that the young minister was spurred to put dashes of character in his
      descriptions, and set forth the idiosyncrasies and distinguishing earmarks
      of his flock with what he felt afterward might have been too free a
      tongue. But at the time her fine air of appreciation led him captive. He
      gossiped about his parishioners as if he enjoyed it. He made a specially
      happy thumb-nail sketch for her of one of his trustees, Erastus Winch, the
      loud-mouthed, ostentatiously jovial, and really cold-hearted cheese-buyer.
      She was particularly interested in hearing about this man. The personality
      of Winch seemed to have impressed her, and she brought the talk back to
      him more than once, and prompted Theron to the very threshold of
      indiscretion in his confidences on the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      Save at meal-times, Sister Soulsby spent the two days out around among the
      Methodists of Octavius. She had little or nothing to say about what she
      thus saw and heard, but used it as the basis for still further inquiries.
      She told more than once, however, of how she had been pressed here or
      there to stay to dinner or supper, and how she had excused herself. &ldquo;I've
      knocked about too much,&rdquo; she would explain to the Wares, &ldquo;not to fight shy
      of random country cooking. When I find such a born cook as you are&mdash;well
      I know when I'm well off.&rdquo; Alice flushed with pleased pride at this, and
      Theron himself felt that their visitor showed great good sense. By
      Saturday noon, the two women were calling each other by their first names.
      Theron learned with a certain interest that Sister Soulsby's Christian
      name was Candace.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was only natural that he should give even more thought to her than to
      her quaint and unfamiliar old Ethiopian name. She was undoubtedly a very
      smart woman. To his surprise she had never introduced in her talk any of
      the stock religious and devotional phrases which official Methodists so
      universally employed in mutual converse. She might have been an insurance
      agent, or a school-teacher, visiting in a purely secular household, so
      little parade of cant was there about her.
    </p>
    <p>
      He caught himself wondering how old she was. She seemed to have been
      pretty well over the whole American continent, and that must take years of
      time. Perhaps, however, the exertion of so much travel would tend to age
      one in appearance. Her eyes were still youthful&mdash;decidedly wise eyes,
      but still juvenile. They had sparkled with almost girlish merriment at
      some of his jokes. She turned them about a good deal when she spoke,
      making their glances fit and illustrate the things she said. He had never
      met any one whose eyes played so constant and prominent a part in their
      owner's conversation. Theron had never seen a play; but he had encountered
      the portraits of famous queens of the drama several times in illustrated
      papers or shop windows, and it occurred to him that some of the more
      marked contortions of Sister Soulsby's eyes&mdash;notably a trick she had
      of rolling them swiftly round and plunging them, so to speak, into an
      intent, yearning, one might almost say devouring, gaze at the speaker&mdash;were
      probably employed by eminent actresses like Ristori and Fanny Davenport.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rest of Sister Soulsby was undoubtedly subordinated in interest to
      those eyes of hers. Sometimes her face seemed to be reviving temporarily a
      comeliness which had been constant in former days; then again it would
      look decidedly, organically, plain. It was the worn and loose-skinned face
      of a nervous, middle-aged woman, who had had more than her share of
      trouble, and drank too much tea. She wore the collar of her dress rather
      low; and Theron found himself wondering at this, because, though long and
      expansive, her neck certainly showed more cords and cavities than
      consorted with his vague ideal of statuesque beauty. Then he wondered at
      himself for thinking about it, and abruptly reined up his fancy, only to
      find that it was playing with speculations as to whether her yellowish
      complexion was due to that tea-drinking or came to her as a legacy of
      Southern blood.
    </p>
    <p>
      He knew that she was born in the South because she said so. From the same
      source he learned that her father had been a wealthy planter, who was
      ruined by the war, and sank into a premature grave under the weight of his
      accumulated losses. The large dark rings around her eyes grew deeper still
      in their shadows when she told about this, and her ordinarily sharp voice
      took on a mellow cadence, with a soft, drawling accent, turning U's into
      O's, and having no R's to speak of. Theron had imbibed somewhere in early
      days the conviction that the South was the land of romance, of cavaliers
      and gallants and black eyes flashing behind mantillas and outspread fans,
      and somehow when Sister Soulsby used this intonation she suggested all
      these things.
    </p>
    <p>
      But almost all her talk was in another key&mdash;a brisk, direct,
      idiomatic manner of speech, with an intonation hinting at no section in
      particular. It was merely that of the city-dweller as distinguished from
      the rustic. She was of about Alice's height, perhaps a shade taller. It
      did not escape the attention of the Wares that she wore clothes of a more
      stylish cut and a livelier arrangement of hues than any Alice had ever
      dared own, even in lax-minded Tyre. The two talked of this in their room
      on Friday night; and Theron explained that congregations would tolerate
      things of this sort with a stranger which would be sharply resented in the
      case of local folk whom they controlled. It was on this occasion that
      Alice in turn told Theron she was sure Mrs. Soulsby had false teeth&mdash;a
      confidence which she immediately regretted as an act of treachery to her
      sex.
    </p>
    <p>
      On Saturday afternoon, toward evening, Brother Soulsby arrived, and was
      guided to the parsonage by his wife, who had gone to the depot to meet
      him. They must have talked over the situation pretty thoroughly on the
      way, for by the time the new-comer had washed his face and hands and put
      on a clean collar, Sister Soulsby was ready to announce her plan of
      campaign in detail.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her husband was a man of small stature and, like herself, of uncertain
      age. He had a gentle, if rather dry, clean-shaven face, and wore his
      dust-colored hair long behind. His little figure was clad in black clothes
      of a distinctively clerical fashion, and he had a white neck-cloth neatly
      tied under his collar. The Wares noted that he looked clean and amiable
      rather than intellectually or spiritually powerful, as he took the vacant
      seat between theirs, and joined them in concentrating attention upon Mrs.
      Soulsby.
    </p>
    <p>
      This lady, holding herself erect and alert on the edge of the low, big
      easy-chair had the air of presiding over a meeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My idea is,&rdquo; she began, with an easy implication that no one else's idea
      was needed, &ldquo;that your Quarterly Conference, when it meets on Monday, must
      be adjourned to Tuesday. We will have the people all out tomorrow morning
      to love-feast, and announcement can be made there, and at the morning
      service afterward, that a series of revival meetings are to be begun that
      same evening. Mr. Soulsby and I can take charge in the evening, and we'll
      see to it that THAT packs the house&mdash;fills the church to overflowing
      Monday evening. Then we'll quietly turn the meeting into a debt-raising
      convention, before they know where they are, and we'll wipe off the best
      part of the load. Now, don't you see,&rdquo; she turned her eyes full upon
      Theron as she spoke, &ldquo;you want to hold your Quarterly Conference AFTER
      this money's been raised, not before.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see what you mean,&rdquo; Mr. Ware responded gravely. &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what!&rdquo; Sister Soulsby interjected, with vivacity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Theron, picking his words, &ldquo;in the first place, it rests with
      the Presiding Elder to say whether an adjournment can be made until
      Tuesday, not with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's all right. Leave that to me,&rdquo; said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the second place,&rdquo; Theron went on, still more hesitatingly, &ldquo;there
      seems a certain&mdash;what shall I say?&mdash;indirection in&mdash;in&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In getting them together for a revival, and springing a debt-raising on
      them?&rdquo; Sister Soulsby put in. &ldquo;Why, man alive, that's the best part of it.
      You ought to be getting some notion by this time what these Octavius folks
      of yours are like. I've only been here two days, but I've got their
      measure down to an allspice. Supposing you were to announce tomorrow that
      the debt was to be raised Monday. How many men with bank-accounts would
      turn up, do you think? You could put them all in your eye, sir&mdash;all
      in your eye!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very possibly you're right,&rdquo; faltered the young minister.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right? Why, of course I'm right,&rdquo; she said, with placid confidence.
      &ldquo;You've got to take folks as you find them; and you've got to find them
      the best way you can. One place can be worked, managed, in one way, and
      another needs quite a different way, and both ways would be dead frosts&mdash;complete
      failures&mdash;in a third.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby coughed softly here, and shuffled his feet for an instant
      on the carpet. His wife resumed her remarks with slightly abated
      animation, and at a slower pace.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My experience,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;has shown me that the Apostle was right. To
      properly serve the cause, one must be all things to all men. I have known
      very queer things indeed turn out to be means of grace. You simply CAN'T
      get along without some of the wisdom of the serpent. We are commanded to
      have it, for that matter. And now, speaking of that, do you know when the
      Presiding Elder arrives in town today, and where he is going to eat supper
      and sleep?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron shook his head. &ldquo;All I know is he isn't likely to come here,&rdquo; he
      said, and added sadly, &ldquo;I'm afraid he's not an admirer of mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps that's not all his fault,&rdquo; commented Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;I'll tell
      you something. He came in on the same train as my husband, and that old
      trustee Pierce of yours was waiting for him with his buggy, and I saw like
      a flash what was in the wind, and the minute the train stopped I caught
      the Presiding Elder, and invited him in your name to come right here and
      stay; told him you and Alice were just set on his coming&mdash;wouldn't
      take no for an answer. Of course he couldn't come&mdash;I knew well enough
      he had promised old Pierce&mdash;but we got in our invitation anyway, and
      it won't do you any harm. Now, that's what I call having some gumption&mdash;wisdom
      of the serpent, and so on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure,&rdquo; remarked Alice, &ldquo;I should have been mortified to death if he
      had come. We lost the extension-leaf to our table in moving, and four is
      all it'll seat decently.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby smiled winningly into the wife's honest face. &ldquo;Don't you
      see, dear,&rdquo; she explained patiently, &ldquo;I only asked him because I knew he
      couldn't come. A little butter spreads a long way, if it's only
      intelligently warmed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was certainly very ingenious of you,&rdquo; Theron began almost stiffly.
      Then he yielded to the humanities, and with a kindling smile added, &ldquo;And
      it was as kind as kind could be. I'm afraid you're wrong about it's doing
      me any good, but I can see how well you meant it, and I'm grateful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We COULD have sneaked in the kitchen table, perhaps, while he was out in
      the garden, and put on the extra long tablecloth,&rdquo; interjected Alice,
      musingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby smiled again at Sister Ware, but without any words this
      time; and Alice on the instant rose, with the remark that she must be
      going out to see about supper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm going to insist on coming out to help you,&rdquo; Mrs. Soulsby declared,
      &ldquo;as soon as I've talked over one little matter with your husband. Oh, yes,
      you must let me this time. I insist!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the kitchen door closed behind Mrs. Ware, a swift and apparently
      significant glance shot its way across from Sister Soulsby's roving,
      eloquent eyes to the calmer and smaller gray orbs of her husband. He rose
      to his feet, made some little explanation about being a gardener himself,
      and desiring to inspect more closely some rhododendrons he had noticed in
      the garden, and forthwith moved decorously out by the other door into the
      front hall. They heard his footsteps on the gravel beneath the window
      before Mrs. Soulsby spoke again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You're right about the Presiding Elder, and you're wrong,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He
      isn't what one might call precisely in love with you. Oh, I know the story&mdash;how
      you got into debt at Tyre, and he stepped in and insisted on your being
      denied Tecumseh and sent here instead.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;HE was responsible for that, then, was he?&rdquo; broke in Theron, with
      contracted brows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, don't you make any effort to find out anything at ALL?&rdquo; she asked
      pertly enough, but with such obvious good-nature that he could not but
      have pleasure in her speech. &ldquo;Why, of course he did it! Who else did you
      suppose?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the young minister, despondently, &ldquo;if he's as much against me
      as all that, I might as well hang up my fiddle and go home.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby gave a little involuntary groan of impatience. She bent
      forward, and, lifting her eyes, rolled them at him in a curve of downward
      motion which suggested to his fancy the image of two eagles in a concerted
      pounce upon a lamb.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; she began, with a new note of impressiveness in her voice,
      &ldquo;if you'll pardon my saying it, you haven't got the spunk of a mouse. If
      you're going to lay down, and let everybody trample over you just as they
      please, you're right! You MIGHT as well go home. But now here, this is
      what I wanted to say to you: Do you just keep your hands off these next
      few days, and leave this whole thing to me. I'll pull it into shipshape
      for you. No&mdash;wait a minute&mdash;don't interrupt now. I have taken a
      liking to you. You've got brains, and you've got human nature in you, and
      heart. What you lack is SABE&mdash;common-sense. You'll get that, too, in
      time, and meanwhile I'm not going to stand by and see you cut up and fed
      to the dogs for want of it. I'll get you through this scrape, and put you
      on your feet again, right-side-up-with care, because, as I said, I like
      you. I like your wife, too, mind. She's a good, honest little soul, and
      she worships the very ground you tread on. Of course, as long as people
      WILL marry in their teens, the wrong people will get yoked up together.
      But that's neither here nor there. She's a kind sweet little body, and
      she's devoted to you, and it isn't every intellectual man that gets even
      that much. But now it's a go, is it? You promise to keep quiet, do you,
      and leave the whole show absolutely to me? Shake hands on it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby had risen, and stood now holding out her hand in a frank,
      manly fashion. Theron looked at the hand, and made mental notes that there
      were a good many veins discernible on the small wrist, and that the
      forearm seemed to swell out more than would have been expected in a woman
      producing such a general effect of leanness. He caught the shine of a thin
      bracelet-band of gold under the sleeve. A delicate, significant odor just
      hinted its presence in the air about this outstretched arm&mdash;something
      which was not a perfume, yet deserved as gracious a name.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose to his feet, and took the proffered hand with a deliberate
      gesture, as if he had been cautiously weighing all the possible arguments
      for and against this momentous compact.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I promise,&rdquo; he said gravely, and the two palms squeezed themselves
      together in an earnest clasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right you are,&rdquo; exclaimed the lady, once more with cheery vivacity.
      &ldquo;Mind, when it's all over, I'm going to give you a good, serious,
      downright talking to&mdash;a regular hoeing-over. I'm not sure I shan't
      give you a sound shaking into the bargain. You need it. And now I'm going
      out to help Alice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Reverend Mr. Ware remained standing after his new friend had left the
      room, and his meditative face wore an even unusual air of abstraction. He
      strolled aimlessly over, after a time, to the desk by the window, and
      stood there looking out at the slight figure of Brother Soulsby, who was
      bending over and attentively regarding some pink blossoms on a shrub
      through what seemed to be a pocket magnifying-glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      What remained uppermost in his mind was not this interesting woman's
      confident pledge of championship in his material difficulties. He found
      himself dwelling instead upon her remark about the incongruous results of
      early marriages. He wondered idly if the little man in the white tie,
      fussing out there over that rhododendron-bush, had figured in her thoughts
      as an example of these evils. Then he reflected that they had been
      mentioned in clear relation to talk about Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now that he faced this question, it was as if he had been consciously
      ignoring and putting it aside for a long time. How was it, he asked
      himself now, that Alice, who had once seemed so bright and keen-witted,
      who had in truth started out immeasurably his superior in swiftness of
      apprehension and readiness in humorous quips and conceits, should have
      grown so dull? For she was undoubtedly slow to understand things nowadays.
      Her absurd lugging in of the extension-table problem, when the great
      strategic point of that invitation foisted upon the Presiding Elder came
      up, was only the latest sample of a score of these heavy-minded
      exhibitions that recalled themselves to him. And outsiders were apparently
      beginning to notice it. He knew by intuition what those phrases, &ldquo;good,
      honest little soul&rdquo; and &ldquo;kind, sweet little body&rdquo; signified, when another
      woman used them to a husband about his wife. The very employment of that
      word &ldquo;little&rdquo; was enough, considering that there was scarcely more than a
      hair's difference between Mrs. Soulsby and Alice, and that they were both
      rather tall than otherwise, as the stature of women went.
    </p>
    <p>
      What she had said about the chronic misfortunes of intellectual men in
      such matters gave added point to those meaning phrases. Nobody could deny
      that geniuses and men of conspicuous talent had as a rule, all through
      history, contracted unfortunate marriages. In almost every case where
      their wives were remembered at all, it was on account of their abnormal
      stupidity, or bad temper, or something of that sort. Take Xantippe, for
      example, and Shakespeare's wife, and&mdash;and&mdash;well, there was
      Byron, and Bulwer-Lytton, and ever so many others.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course there was nothing to be done about it. These things happened,
      and one could only put the best possible face on them, and live one's
      appointed life as patiently and contentedly as might be. And Alice
      undoubtedly merited all the praise which had been so generously bestowed
      upon her. She was good and honest and kindly, and there could be no doubt
      whatever as to her utter devotion to him. These were tangible, solid
      qualities, which must always secure respect for her. It was true that she
      no longer seemed to be very popular among people. He questioned whether
      men, for instance, like Father Forbes and Dr. Ledsmar would care much
      about her. Visions of the wifeless and academic calm in which these men
      spent their lives&mdash;an existence consecrated to literature and
      knowledge and familiarity with all the loftiest and noblest thoughts of
      the past&mdash;rose and enveloped him in a cloud of depression. No such
      lot would be his! He must labor along among ignorant and spiteful
      narrow-minded people to the end of his days, pocketing their insults and
      fawning upon the harsh hands of jealous nonentities who happened to be his
      official masters, just to keep a roof over his head&mdash;or rather
      Alice's. He must sacrifice everything to this, his ambitions, his
      passionate desires to do real good in the world on a large scale, his
      mental freedom, yes, even his chance of having truly elevating,
      intellectual friendships. For it was plain enough that the men whose
      friendship would be of genuine and stimulating profit to him would not
      like her. Now that he thought of it, she seemed latterly to make no
      friends at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, as he watched in a blank sort of way Brother Soulsby take out a
      penknife, and lop an offending twig from a rose-bush against the fence,
      something occurred to him. There was a curious exception to that rule of
      Alice's isolation. She had made at least one friend. Levi Gorringe seemed
      to like her extremely.
    </p>
    <p>
      As if his mind had been a camera, Theron snapped a shutter down upon this
      odd, unbidden idea, and turned away from the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sounds of an active, almost strenuous conversation in female voices
      came from the kitchen. Theron opened the door noiselessly, and put in his
      head, conscious of something furtive in his intention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must dreen every drop of water off the spinach, mind, before you put
      it over, or else&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was Sister Soulsby's sharp and penetrating tones which came to him.
      Theron closed the door again, and surrendered himself once more to the
      circling whirl of his thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
    <p>
      A love-feast at nine in the morning opened the public services of a Sunday
      still memorable in the annals of Octavius Methodism.
    </p>
    <p>
      This ceremony, which four times a year preceded the sessions of the
      Quarterly Conference, was not necessarily an event of importance. It was
      an occasion upon which the brethren and sisters who clung to the
      old-fashioned, primitive ways of the itinerant circuit-riders, let
      themselves go with emphasized independence, putting up more vehement
      prayers than usual, and adding a special fervor of noise to their &ldquo;Amens!&rdquo;
       and other interjections&mdash;and that was all.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was Theron's first love-feast in Octavius, and as the big class-room in
      the church basement began to fill up, and he noted how the men with ultra
      radical views and the women clad in the most ostentatious drabs and grays
      were crowding into the front seats, he felt his spirits sinking. He had
      literally to force himself from sentence to sentence, when the time came
      for him to rise and open the proceedings with an exhortation. He had
      eagerly offered this function to the Presiding Elder, the Rev. Aziel P.
      Larrabee, who sat in severe silence on the little platform behind him, but
      had been informed that the dignitary would lead off in giving testimony
      later on. So Theron, feeling all the while the hostile eyes of the Elder
      burning holes in his back, dragged himself somehow through the task. He
      had never known any such difficulty of speech before. The relief was
      almost overwhelming when he came to the customary part where all are
      adjured to be as brief as possible in witnessing for the Lord, because the
      time belongs to all the people, and the Discipline forbids the feast to
      last more than ninety minutes. He delivered this injunction to brevity
      with marked earnestness, and then sat down abruptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was some rather boisterous singing, during which the stewards,
      beginning with the platform, passed plates of bread cut in small cubes,
      and water in big plated pitchers and tumblers, about among the
      congregation, threading their way between the long wooden benches
      ordinarily occupied at this hour by the children of the Sunday-school, and
      helping each brother and sister in turn. They held by the old custom, here
      in Octavius, and all along the seats the sexes alternated, as they do at a
      polite dinner-table.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron impassively watched the familiar scene. The early nervousness had
      passed away. He felt now that he was not in the least afraid of these
      people, even with the Presiding Elder thrown in. Folks who sang with such
      unintelligence, and who threw themselves with such undignified fervor into
      this childish business of the bread and water, could not be formidable
      antagonists for a man of intellect. He had never realized before what a
      spectacle the Methodist love-feast probably presented to outsiders. What
      must they think of it!
    </p>
    <p>
      He had noticed that the Soulsbys sat together, in the centre and toward
      the front. Next to Brother Soulsby sat Alice. He thought she looked pale
      and preoccupied, and set it down in passing to her innate distaste for the
      somber garments she was wearing, and for the company she perforce found
      herself in. Another head was in the way, and for a time Theron did not
      observe who sat beside Alice on the other side. When at last he saw that
      it was Levi Gorringe, his instinct was to wonder what the lawyer must be
      saying to himself about these noisy and shallow enthusiasts. A recurring
      emotion of loyalty to the simple people among whom, after all, he had
      lived his whole life, prompted him to feel that it wasn't wholly nice of
      Gorringe to come and enjoy this revelation of their foolish side, as if it
      were a circus. There was some vague memory in his mind which associated
      Gorringe with other love-feasts, and with a cynical attitude toward them.
      Oh, yes! he had told how he went to one just for the sake of sitting
      beside the girl he admired&mdash;and was pursuing.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stewards had completed their round, and the loud, discordant singing
      came to an end. There ensued a little pause, during which Theron turned to
      the Presiding Elder with a gesture of invitation to take charge of the
      further proceedings. The Elder responded with another gesture, calling his
      attention to something going on in front.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother and Sister Soulsby, to the considerable surprise of everybody, had
      risen to their feet, and were standing in their places, quite motionless,
      and with an air of professional self-assurance dimly discernible under a
      large show of humility. They stood thus until complete silence had been
      secured. Then the woman, lifting her head, began to sing. The words were
      &ldquo;Rock of Ages,&rdquo; but no one present had heard the tune to which she wedded
      them. Her voice was full and very sweet, and had in it tender cadences
      which all her hearers found touching. She knew how to sing, and she put
      forth the words so that each was distinctly intelligible. There came a
      part where Brother Soulsby, lifting his head in turn, took up a tuneful
      second to her air. Although the two did not, as one could hear by
      listening closely, sing the same words at the same time, they produced
      none the less most moving and delightful harmonies of sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      The experience was so novel and charming that listeners ran ahead in their
      minds to fix the number of verses there were in the hymn, and to hope that
      none would be left out. Toward the end, when some of the intolerably
      self-conceited local singers, fancying they had caught the tune, started
      to join in, they were stopped by an indignant &ldquo;sh-h!&rdquo; which rose from all
      parts of the class-room; and the Soulsbys, with a patient and pensive
      kindliness written on their uplifted faces, gave that verse over again.
    </p>
    <p>
      What followed seemed obviously restrained and modified by the effect of
      this unlooked-for and tranquillizing overture. The Presiding Elder was
      known to enjoy visits to old-fashioned congregations like that of
      Octavius, where he could indulge to the full his inner passion for
      high-pitched passionate invocations and violent spiritual demeanor, but
      this time he spoke temperately, almost soothingly. The most tempestuous of
      the local witnesses for the Lord gave in their testimony in relatively
      pacific tones, under the influence of the spell which good music had laid
      upon the gathering. There was the deepest interest as to what the two
      visitors would do in this way. Brother Soulsby spoke first, very briefly
      and in well rounded and well-chosen, if conventional, phrases. His wife,
      following him, delivered in a melodious monotone some equally hackneyed
      remarks. The assemblage, listening in rapt attention, felt the suggestion
      of reserved power in every sentence she uttered, and burst forth, as she
      dropped into her seat, in a loud chorus of approving ejaculations. The
      Soulsbys had captured Octavius with their first outer skirmish line.
    </p>
    <p>
      Everything seemed to move forward now with a new zest and spontaneity.
      Theron had picked out for the occasion the best of those sermons which he
      had prepared in Tyre, at the time when he was justifying his ambition to
      be accounted a pulpit orator. It was orthodox enough, but had been planned
      as the framework for picturesque and emotional rhetoric rather than
      doctrinal edification. He had never dreamed of trying it on Octavius
      before, and only on the yesterday had quavered at his own daring in
      choosing it now. Nothing but the desire to show Sister Soulsby what was in
      him had held him to the selection.
    </p>
    <p>
      Something of this same desire no doubt swayed and steadied him now in the
      pulpit. The labored slowness of his beginning seemed to him to be due to
      nervous timidity, until suddenly, looking down into those big eyes of
      Sister Soulsby's, which were bent gravely upon him from where she sat
      beside Alice in the minister's pew, he remembered that it was instead the
      studied deliberation which art had taught him. He went on, feeling more
      and more that the skill and histrionic power of his best days were
      returning to him, were as marked as ever&mdash;nay, had never triumphed
      before as they were triumphing now. The congregation watched and listened
      with open, steadfast eyes and parted lips. For the first time in all that
      weary quarter, their faces shone. The sustaining sparkle of their gaze
      lifted him to a peroration unrivalled in his own recollection of himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat down, and bent his head forward upon the open Bible, breathing
      hard, but suffused with a glow of satisfaction. His ears caught the music
      of that sighing rustle through the audience which bespeaks a profound
      impression. He could scarcely keep the fingers of his hands, covering his
      bowed face in a devotional posture as they were, from drumming a jubilant
      tattoo. His pulses did this in every vein, throbbing with excited
      exultation. The insistent whim seized him, as he still bent thus before
      his people, to whisper to his own heart, &ldquo;At last!&mdash;The dogs!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The announcement that in the evening a series of revival meetings was to
      be inaugurated, had been made at the love-feast, and it was repeated now
      from the pulpit, with the added statement that for the once the
      class-meetings usually following this morning service would be suspended.
      Then Theron came down the steps, conscious after a fashion that the
      Presiding Elder had laid a propitiatory hand on his shoulder and spoken
      amiably about the sermon, and that several groups of more or less
      important parishioners were waiting in the aisle and the vestibule to
      shake hands and tell him how much they had enjoyed the sermon. His mind
      perversely kept hold of the thought that all this came too late. He
      politely smiled his way along out, and, overtaking the Soulsbys and his
      wife near the parsonage gate, went in with them.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the cold, picked-up noonday meal which was the Sunday rule of the
      house, Theron rather expected that his guests would talk about the sermon,
      or at any rate about the events of the morning. A Sabbath chill seemed to
      have settled upon both their tongues. They ate almost in silence, and
      their sparse remarks touched upon topics far removed from church affairs.
      Alice too, seemed strangely disinclined to conversation. The husband knew
      her face and its varying moods so well that he could see she was laboring
      under some very powerful and deep emotion. No doubt it was the sermon, the
      oratorical swing of which still tingled in his own blood, that had so
      affected her. If she had said so, it would have pleased him, but she said
      nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      After dinner, Brother Soulsby disappeared in his bedroom, with the remark
      that he guessed he would lie down awhile. Sister Soulsby put on her
      bonnet, and, explaining that she always prepared herself for an evening's
      work by a long solitary walk, quitted the house. Alice, after she had put
      the dinner things away, went upstairs, and stayed there. Left to himself,
      Theron spent the afternoon in the easy-chair, and, in the intervals of
      confused introspection, read &ldquo;Recollections of my Youth&rdquo; through again
      from cover to cover.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went through the remarkable experiences attending the opening of the
      revival, when evening came, as one in a dream. Long before the hour for
      the service arrived, the sexton came in to tell him that the church was
      already nearly full, and that it was going to be impossible to present any
      distinction in the matter of pews. When the party from the parsonage went
      over&mdash;after another cold and mostly silent meal&mdash;it was to find
      the interior of the church densely packed, and people being turned away
      from the doors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron was supposed to preside over what followed, and he did sit on the
      central chair in the pulpit, between the Presiding Elder and Brother
      Soulsby, and on the several needful occasions did rise and perfunctorily
      make the formal remarks required of him. The Elder preached a short, but
      vigorously phrased sermon. The Soulsbys sang three or four times&mdash;on
      each occasion with familiar hymnal words set to novel, concerted music&mdash;and
      then separately exhorted the assemblage. The husband's part seemed well
      done. If his speech lacked some of the fire of the divine girdings which
      older Methodists recalled, it still led straight, and with kindling
      fervency, up to a season of power. The wife took up the word as he sat
      down. She had risen from one of the side-seats; and, speaking as she
      walked, she moved forward till she stood within the altar-rail,
      immediately under the pulpit, and from this place, facing the listening
      throng, she delivered her harangue. Those who watched her words most
      intently got the least sense of meaning from them. The phrases were all
      familiar enough&mdash;&ldquo;Jesus a very present help,&rdquo; &ldquo;Sprinkled by the
      Blood,&rdquo; &ldquo;Comforted by the Word,&rdquo; &ldquo;Sanctified by the Spirit,&rdquo; &ldquo;Born into
      the Kingdom,&rdquo; and a hundred others&mdash;but it was as in the case of her
      singing: the words were old; the music was new.
    </p>
    <p>
      What Sister Soulsby said did not matter. The way she said it&mdash;the
      splendid, searching sweep of her great eyes; the vibrating roll of her
      voice, now full of tears, now scornful, now boldly, jubilantly triumphant;
      the sympathetic swaying of her willowy figure under the stress of her
      eloquence&mdash;was all wonderful. When she had finished, and stood,
      flushed and panting, beneath the shadow of the pulpit, she held up a hand
      deprecatingly as the resounding &ldquo;Amens!&rdquo; and &ldquo;Bless the Lords!&rdquo; began to
      well up about her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have heard us sing,&rdquo; she said, smiling to apologize for her shortness
      of breath. &ldquo;Now we want to hear you sing!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her husband had risen as she spoke, and on the instant, with a far greater
      volume of voice than they had hitherto disclosed, the two began &ldquo;From
      Greenland's Icy Mountains,&rdquo; in the old, familiar tune. It did not need
      Sister Soulsby's urgent and dramatic gesture to lift people to their feet.
      The whole assemblage sprang up, and, under the guidance of these two
      powerful leading voices, thundered the hymn out as Octavius had never
      heard it before.
    </p>
    <p>
      While its echoes were still alive, the woman began speaking again. &ldquo;Don't
      sit down!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You would stand up if the President of the United
      States was going by, even if he was only going fishing. How much more
      should you stand up in honor of living souls passing forward to find their
      Saviour!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The psychological moment was upon them. Groans and cries arose, and a
      palpable ferment stirred the throng. The exhortation to sinners to declare
      themselves, to come to the altar, was not only on the revivalist's lips:
      it seemed to quiver in the very air, to be borne on every inarticulate
      exclamation in the clamor of the brethren. A young woman, with a dazed and
      startled look in her eyes, rose in the body of the church tremblingly
      hesitated for a moment, and then, with bowed head and blushing cheeks,
      pressed her way out from the end of a crowded pew and down the aisle to
      the rail. A triumphant outburst of welcoming ejaculations swelled to the
      roof as she knelt there, and under its impetus others followed her
      example. With interspersed snatches of song and shouted encouragements the
      excitement reached its height only when twoscore people, mostly young,
      were tightly clustered upon their knees about the rail, and in the space
      opening upon the aisle. Above the confusion of penitential sobs and moans,
      and the hysterical murmurings of members whose conviction of entire
      sanctity kept them in their seats, could be heard the voices of the
      Presiding Elder, the Soulsbys, and the elderly deacons of the church, who
      moved about among the kneeling mourners, bending over them and patting
      their shoulders, and calling out to them: &ldquo;Fasten your thoughts on Jesus!&rdquo;
       &ldquo;Oh, the Precious Blood!&rdquo; &ldquo;Blessed be His Name!&rdquo; &ldquo;Seek Him, and you shall
      find Him!&rdquo; &ldquo;Cling to Jesus, and Him Crucified!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Theron Ware did not, with the others, descend from the pulpit.
      Seated where he could not see Sister Soulsby, he had failed utterly to be
      moved by the wave of enthusiasm she had evoked. What he heard her say
      disappointed him. He had expected from her more originality, more spice of
      her own idiomatic, individual sort. He viewed with a cold sense of
      aloofness the evidences of her success when they began to come forward and
      abase themselves at the altar. The instant resolve that, come what might,
      he would not go down there among them, sprang up ready-made in his mind.
      He saw his two companions pass him and descend the pulpit stairs, and
      their action only hardened his resolution. If an excuse were needed, he
      was presiding, and the place to preside in was the pulpit. But he waived
      in his mind the whole question of an excuse.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a little, he put his hand over his face, leaning the elbow forward
      on the reading-desk. The scene below would have thrilled him to the marrow
      six months&mdash;yes, three months ago. He put a finger across his eyes
      now, to half shut it out. The spectacle of these silly young &ldquo;mourners&rdquo;&mdash;kneeling
      they knew not why, trembling at they could not tell what, pledging
      themselves frantically to dogmas and mysteries they knew nothing of, under
      the influence of a hubbub of outcries as meaningless in their way, and
      inspiring in much the same way, as the racket of a fife and drum corps&mdash;the
      spectacle saddened and humiliated him now. He was conscious of a dawning
      sense of shame at being even tacitly responsible for such a thing. His
      fancy conjured up the idea of Dr. Ledsmar coming in and beholding this
      maudlin and unseemly scene, and he felt his face grow hot at the bare
      thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      Looking through his fingers, Theron all at once saw something which caught
      at his breath with a sharp clutch. Alice had risen from the minister's pew&mdash;the
      most conspicuous one in the church&mdash;and was moving down the aisle
      toward the rail, her uplifted face chalk-like in its whiteness, and her
      eyes wide-open, looking straight ahead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young pastor could scarcely credit his sight. He thrust aside his
      hand, and bent forward, only to see his wife sink upon her knees among the
      rest, and to hear this notable accession to the &ldquo;mourners&rdquo; hailed by a
      tumult of approving shouts. Then, remembering himself, he drew back and
      put up his hand, shutting out the strange scene altogether. To see nothing
      at all was a relief, and under cover he closed his eyes, and bit his teeth
      together.
    </p>
    <p>
      A fresh outburst of thanksgivings, spreading noisily through the
      congregation, prompted him to peer through his fingers again. Levi
      Gorringe was making his way down the aisle&mdash;was at the moment quite
      in front. Theron found himself watching this man with the stern composure
      of a fatalist. The clamant brethren down below were stirred to new
      excitement by the thought that the sceptical lawyer, so long with them,
      yet not of them, had been humbled and won by the outpourings of the
      Spirit. Theron's perceptions were keener. He knew that Gorringe was coming
      forward to kneel beside Alice; The knowledge left him curiously
      undisturbed. He saw the lawyer advance, gently insinuate himself past the
      form of some kneeling mourner who was in his way, and drop on his knees
      close beside the bowed figure of Alice. The two touched shoulders as they
      bent forward beneath Sister Soulsby's outstretched hands, held over them
      as in a blessing. Theron looked fixedly at them, and professed to himself
      that he was barely interested.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little afterward, he was standing up in his place, and reading aloud a
      list of names which one of the stewards had given him. They were the names
      of those who had asked that evening to be taken into the church as members
      on probation. The sounds of the recent excitement were all hushed now,
      save as two or three enthusiasts in a corner raised their voices in abrupt
      greeting of each name in its turn, but Theron felt somehow that this noise
      had been transferred to the inside of his head. A continuous buzzing went
      on there, so that the sound of his voice was far-off and unfamiliar in his
      ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      He read through the list&mdash;comprising some fifteen items&mdash;and
      pronounced the names with great distinctness. It was necessary to take
      pains with this, because the only name his blurred eyes seemed to see
      anywhere on the foolscap sheet was that of Levi Gorringe. When he had
      finished and was taking his seat, some one began speaking to him from the
      body of the church. He saw that this was the steward, who was explaining
      to him that the most important name of the lot&mdash;that of Brother
      Gorringe&mdash;had not been read out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled and shook his head. Then, when the Presiding Elder touched
      him on the arm, and assured him that he had not mentioned the name in
      question, he replied quite simply, and with another smile, &ldquo;I thought it
      was the only name I did read out.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then he sat down abruptly, and let his head fall to one side. There were
      hurried movements inside the pulpit, and people in the audience had begun
      to stand up wonderingly, when the Presiding Elder, with uplifted hands,
      confronted them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We will omit the Doxology, and depart quietly after the benediction,&rdquo; he
      said. &ldquo;Brother Ware seems to have been overcome by the heat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Theron woke next morning, Alice seemed to have dressed and left the
      room&mdash;a thing which had never happened before.
    </p>
    <p>
      This fact connected itself at once in his brain with the recollection of
      her having made an exhibition of herself the previous evening&mdash;going
      forward before all eyes to join the unconverted and penitent sinners, as
      if she were some tramp or shady female, instead of an educated lady, a
      professing member from her girlhood, and a minister's wife. It crossed his
      mind that probably she had risen and got away noiselessly, for very shame
      at looking him in the face, after such absurd behavior.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he remembered more, and grasped the situation. He had fainted in
      church, and had been brought home and helped to bed. Dim memories of
      unaccustomed faces in the bedroom, of nauseous drugs and hushed voices,
      came to him out of the night-time. Now that he thought of it, he was a
      sick man. Having settled this, he went off to sleep again, a feverish and
      broken sleep, and remained in this state most of the time for the
      following twenty-four hours. In the brief though numerous intervals of
      waking, he found certain things clear in his mind. One was that he was
      annoyed with Alice, but would dissemble his feelings. Another was that it
      was much pleasanter to be ill than to be forced to attend and take part in
      those revival meetings. These two ideas came and went in a lazy, drowsy
      fashion, mixing themselves up with other vagrant fancies, yet always
      remaining on top.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the evening the singing from the church next door filled his room. The
      Soulsbys' part of it was worth keeping awake for. He turned over and
      deliberately dozed when the congregation sang.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice came up a number of times during the day to ask how he felt, and to
      bring him broth or toast-water. On several occasions, when he heard her
      step, the perverse inclination mastered him to shut his eyes, and pretend
      to be asleep, so that she might tip-toe out again. She had a depressed and
      thoughtful air, and spoke to him like one whose mind was on something
      else. Neither of them alluded to what had happened the previous evening.
      Toward the close of the long day, she came to ask him whether he would
      prefer her to remain in the house, instead of attending the meeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go, by all means,&rdquo; he said almost curtly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Presiding Elder and the Sunday-school superintendent called early
      Tuesday morning at the parsonage to make brotherly inquiries, and Theron
      was feeling so much better that he himself suggested their coming upstairs
      to see him. The Elder was in good spirits; he smiled approvingly, and even
      put in a jocose word or two while the superintendent sketched for the
      invalid in a cheerful way the leading incidents of the previous evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      There had been an enormous crowd, even greater than that of Sunday night,
      and everybody had been looking forward to another notable and exciting
      season of grace. These expectations were especially heightened when Sister
      Soulsby ascended the pulpit stairs and took charge of the proceedings. She
      deferred to Paul's views about women preachers on Sundays, she said; but
      on weekdays she had just as much right to snatch brands from the burning
      as Paul, or Peter, or any other man. She went on like that, in a breezy,
      off-hand fashion which tickled the audience immensely, and led to the
      liveliest anticipations of what would happen when she began upon the
      evening's harvest of souls.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was something else that happened. At a signal from Sister Soulsby
      the steward got up, and, in an unconcerned sort of way, went through the
      throng to the rear of the church, locked the doors, and put the keys in
      their pockets. The sister dryly explained now to the surprised
      congregation that there was a season for all things, and that on the
      present occasion they would suspend the glorious work of redeeming fallen
      human nature, and take up instead the equally noble task of raising some
      fifteen hundred dollars which the church needed in its business. The doors
      would only be opened again when this had been accomplished.
    </p>
    <p>
      The brethren were much taken aback by this trick, and they permitted
      themselves to exchange a good many scowling and indignant glances, the
      while their professional visitors sang another of their delightfully novel
      sacred duets. Its charm of harmony for once fell upon unsympathetic ears.
      But then Sister Soulsby began another monologue, defending this way of
      collecting money, chaffing the assemblage with bright-eyed impudence on
      their having been trapped, and scoring, one after another, neat and jocose
      little personal points on local characteristics, at which everybody but
      the individual touched grinned broadly. She was so droll and cheeky, and
      withal effective in her talk, that she quite won the crowd over. She told
      a story about a woodchuck which fairly brought down the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A man,&rdquo; she began, with a quizzical twinkle in her eye, &ldquo;told me once
      about hunting a woodchuck with a pack of dogs, and they chased it so hard
      that it finally escaped only by climbing a butternut-tree. 'But, my
      friend,' I said to him, 'woodchucks can't climb trees&mdash;butternut-trees
      or any other kind&mdash;and you know it!' All he said in reply to me was:
      'This woodchuck had to climb a tree!' And that's the way with this
      congregation. You think you can't raise $1,500, but you've GOT to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So it went on. She set them all laughing; and then, with a twist of the
      eyes and a change of voice, lo, and behold, she had them nearly crying in
      the same breath. Under the pressure of these jumbled emotions, brethren
      began to rise up in their pews and say what they would give. The wonderful
      woman had something smart and apt to say about each fresh contribution,
      and used it to screw up the general interest a notch further toward
      benevolent hysteria. With songs and jokes and impromptu exhortations and
      prayers she kept the thing whirling, until a sort of duel of generosity
      began between two of the most unlikely men&mdash;Erastus Winch and Levi
      Gorringe. Everybody had been surprised when Winch gave his first $50; but
      when he rose again, half an hour afterward, and said that, owing to the
      high public position of some of the new members on probation, he foresaw a
      great future for the church, and so felt moved to give another $25, there
      was general amazement. Moved by a common instinct, all eyes were turned
      upon Levi Gorringe, and he, without the slightest hesitation, stood up and
      said he would give $100. There was something in his tone which must have
      annoyed Brother Winch, for he shot up like a dart, and called out, &ldquo;Put me
      down for fifty more;&rdquo; and that brought Gorringe to his feet with an added
      $50, and then the two went on raising each other till the assemblage was
      agape with admiring stupefaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      This gladiatorial combat might have been going on till now, the
      Sunday-school superintendent concluded, if Winch hadn't subsided. The
      amount of the contributions hadn't been figured up yet, for Sister Soulsby
      kept the list; but there had been a tremendous lot of money raised. Of
      that there could be no doubt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Presiding Elder now told Theron that the Quarterly Conference had been
      adjourned yesterday till today. He and Brother Davis were even now on
      their way to attend the session in the church next door. The Elder added,
      with an obvious kindly significance, that though Theron was too ill to
      attend it, he guessed his absence would do him no harm. Then the two men
      left the room, and Theron went to sleep again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another almost blank period ensued, this time lasting for forty-eight
      hours. The young minister was enfolded in the coils of a fever of some
      sort, which Brother Soulsby, who had dabbled considerably in medicine,
      admitted that he was puzzled about. Sometimes he thought that it was
      typhoid, and then again there were symptoms which looked suspiciously like
      brain fever. The Methodists of Octavius counted no physician among their
      numbers, and when, on the second day, Alice grew scared, and decided, with
      Brother Soulsby's assent, to call in professional advice, the only
      doctor's name she could recall was that of Ledsmar. She was conscious of
      an instinctive dislike for the vague image of him her fancy had conjured
      up, but the reflection that he was Theron's friend, and so probably would
      be more moderate in his charges, decided her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby showed a most comforting tact and swiftness of
      apprehension when Alice, in mentioning Dr. Ledsmar's name, disclosed by
      her manner a fear that his being sent for would create talk among the
      church people. He volunteered at once to act as messenger himself, and,
      with no better guide than her dim hints at direction, found the doctor and
      brought him back to the parsonage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar expressly disclaimed to Soulsby all pretence of professional
      skill, and made him understand that he went along solely because he liked
      Mr. Ware, and was interested in him, and in any case would probably be of
      as much use as the wisest of strange physicians&mdash;a view which the
      little revivalist received with comprehending nods of tacit acquiescence.
      Ledsmar came, and was taken up to the sick-room. He sat on the bedside and
      talked with Theron awhile, and then went downstairs again. To Alice's
      anxious inquiries, he replied that it seemed to him merely a case of
      over-work and over-worry, about which there was not the slightest occasion
      for alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But he says the strangest things,&rdquo; the wife put in. &ldquo;He has been quite
      delirious at times.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That means only that his brain is taking a rest as well as his body,&rdquo;
       remarked Ledsmar. &ldquo;That is Nature's way of securing an equilibrium of
      repose&mdash;of recuperation. He will come out of it with his mind all the
      fresher and clearer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't believe he knows shucks!&rdquo; was Alice's comment when she closed the
      street door upon Dr. Ledsmar. &ldquo;Anybody could have come in and looked at a
      sick man and said, 'Leave him alone.' You expect something more from a
      doctor. It's his business to say what to do. And I suppose he'll charge
      two dollars for just telling me that my husband was resting!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Brother Soulsby, &ldquo;he said he never practised, and that he would
      come only as a friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, it isn't my idea of a friend&mdash;not to prescribe a single
      thing,&rdquo; protested Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet it seemed that no prescription was needed, after all. The next morning
      Theron woke to find himself feeling quite restored in spirits and nerves.
      He sat up in bed, and after an instant of weakly giddiness, recognized
      that he was all right again. Greatly pleased, he got up, and proceeded to
      dress himself. There were little recurring hints of faintness and vertigo,
      while he was shaving, but he had the sense to refer these to the fact that
      he was very, very hungry. He went downstairs, and smiled with the pleased
      pride of a child at the surprise which his appearance at the door created.
      Alice and the Soulsbys were at breakfast. He joined them, and ate
      voraciously, declaring that it was worth a month's illness to have things
      taste so good once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You still look white as a sheet,&rdquo; said Alice, warningly. &ldquo;If I were you,
      I'd be careful in my diet for a spell yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      For answer, Theron let Sister Soulsby help him again to ham and eggs. He
      talked exclusively to Sister Soulsby, or rather invited her by his manner
      to talk to him, and listened and watched her with indolent content. There
      was a sort of happy and purified languor in his physical and mental being,
      which needed and appreciated just this&mdash;to sit next a bright and
      attractive woman at a good breakfast, and be ministered to by her
      sprightly conversation, by the flash of her informing and inspiring eyes,
      and the nameless sense of support and repose which her near proximity
      exhaled. He felt himself figuratively leaning against Sister Soulsby's
      buoyant personality, and resting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby, like the intelligent creature he was, ate his breakfast
      in peace; but Alice would interpose remarks from time to time. Theron was
      conscious of a certain annoyance at this, and knew that he was showing it
      by an exaggerated display of interest in everything Sister Soulsby said,
      and persisted in it. There trembled in the background of his thoughts ever
      and again the recollection of a grievance against his wife&mdash;an
      offence which she had committed&mdash;but he put it aside as something to
      be grappled and dealt with when he felt again like taking up the serious
      and disagreeable things of life. For the moment, he desired only to be
      amused by Sister Soulsby. Her casual mention of the fact that she and her
      husband were taking their departure that very day, appealed to him as an
      added reason for devoting his entire attention to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mustn't forget that famous talking-to you threatened me with&mdash;that
      'regular hoeing-over,' you know,&rdquo; he reminded her, when he found himself
      alone with her after breakfast. He smiled as he spoke, in frank enjoyment
      of the prospect.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby nodded, and aided with a roll of her eyes the effect of
      mock-menace in her uplifted forefinger. &ldquo;Oh, never fear,&rdquo; she cried.
      &ldquo;You'll catch it hot and strong. But that'll keep till afternoon. Tell me,
      do you feel strong enough to go in next door and attend the trustees'
      meeting this forenoon? It's rather important that you should be there, if
      you can spur yourself up to it. By the way, you haven't asked what
      happened at the Quarterly Conference yesterday.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron sighed, and made a little grimace of repugnance. &ldquo;If you knew how
      little I cared!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I did hope you'd forget all about mentioning
      that&mdash;and everything else connected with&mdash;the next door. You
      talk so much more interestingly about other things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here's gratitude for you!&rdquo; exclaimed Sister Soulsby, with a gay
      simulation of despair. &ldquo;Why, man alive, do you know what I've done for
      you? I got around on the Presiding Elder's blind side, I captured old
      Pierce, I wound Winch right around my little finger, I worked two or three
      of the class-leaders&mdash;all on your account. The result was you went
      through as if you'd had your ears pinned back, and been greased all over.
      You've got an extra hundred dollars added to your salary; do you hear? On
      the sixth question of the order of business the Elder ruled that the
      recommendation of the last conference's estimating committee could be
      revised (between ourselves he was wrong, but that doesn't matter), and so
      you're in clover. And very friendly things were said about you, too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was very kind of you,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;I am really extremely grateful to
      you.&rdquo; He shook her by the hand to make up for what he realized to be a
      lack of fervor in his tones.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; Sister Soulsby replied, &ldquo;you pull yourself together, and
      take your place as chairman of the trustees' meeting, and see to it that,
      whatever comes up, you side with old Pierce and Winch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, THEY'RE my friends now, are they?&rdquo; asked Theron, with a faint play of
      irony about his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, that's your ticket this election,&rdquo; she answered briskly, &ldquo;and mind
      you vote it straight. Don't bother about reasons now. Just take it from
      me, as the song says, 'that things have changed since Willie died.' That's
      all. And then come back here, and this afternoon we'll have a good
      old-fashioned jaw.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware, walking with ostentatious feebleness, and forcing a
      conventional smile upon his wan face, duly made his unexpected appearance
      at the trustees' meeting in one of the smaller classrooms. He received
      their congratulations gravely, and shook hands with all three. It required
      an effort to do this impartially, because, upon sight of Levi Gorringe,
      there rose up suddenly within him an emotion of fierce dislike and enmity.
      In some enigmatic way his thoughts had kept themselves away from Gorringe
      ever since Sunday evening. Now they concentrated with furious energy and
      swiftness upon him. Theron seemed able in a flash of time to coordinate
      many recollections of Gorringe&mdash;the early liking Alice had professed
      for him, the mystery of those purchased plants in her garden, the story of
      the girl he had lost in church, his offer to lend him money, the way in
      which he had sat beside Alice at the love-feast and followed her to the
      altar-rail in the evening. These raced abreast through the young
      minister's brain, yet with each its own image, and its relation to the
      others clearly defined.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found the nerve, all the same, to take this third trustee by the hand,
      and to thank him for his congratulations, and even to say, with a surface
      smile of welcome, &ldquo;It is BROTHER Gorringe, now, I remember.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The work before the meeting was chiefly of a routine kind. In most places
      this would have been transacted by the stewards; but in Octavius these
      minor officials had degenerated into mere ceremonial abstractions, who
      humbly ratified, or by arrangement anticipated, the will of the powerful,
      mortgage-owning trustees. Theron sat languidly at the head of the table
      while these common-place matters passed in their course, noting the
      intonations of Gorringe's voice as he read from his secretary's book, and
      finding his ear displeased by them. No issue arose upon any of these
      trivial affairs, and the minister, feeling faint and weary in the heat,
      wondered why Sister Soulsby had insisted on his coming.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once he sat up straight, with an instinctive warning in his mind
      that here was the thing. Gorringe had taken up the subject of the
      &ldquo;debt-raising&rdquo; evening, and read out its essentials as they had been
      embodied in a report of the stewards. The gross sum obtained, in cash and
      promises, was $1,860. The stewards had collected of this a trifle less
      than half, but hoped to get it all in during the ensuing quarter. There
      were, also, the bill of Mr. and Mrs. Soulsby for $150, and the increases
      of $100 in the pastor's salary and $25 in the apportioned contribution of
      the charge toward the Presiding Elder's maintenance, the two latter items
      of which the Quarterly Conference had sanctioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want to hear the names of the subscribers and their amounts read out,&rdquo;
       put in Brother Pierce.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this was done, it became apparent that much more than half of the
      entire amount had been offered by two men. Levi Gorringe's $450 and
      Erastus Winch's $425 left only $985 to be divided up among some seventy or
      eighty other members of the congregation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Pierce speedily stopped the reading of these subordinate names.
      &ldquo;They're of no concern whatever,&rdquo; he said, despite the fact that his own
      might have been reached in time. &ldquo;Those first names are what I was getting
      at. Have those two first amounts, the big ones, be'n paid?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One has&mdash;the other not,&rdquo; replied Gorringe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;PRE-cisely,&rdquo; remarked the senior trustee. &ldquo;And I'm goin' to move that it
      needn't be paid, either. When Brother Winch, here, began hollerin' out
      those extra twenty-fives and fifties, that evening, it was under a
      complete misapprehension. He'd be'n on the Cheese Board that same Monday
      afternoon, and he'd done what he thought was a mighty big stroke of
      business, and he felt liberal according. I know just what that feelin' is
      myself. If I'd be'n makin' a mint o' money, instead o' losin' all the
      while, as I do, I'd 'a' done just the same. But the next day, lo, and
      behold, Brother Winch found that it was all a mistake&mdash;he hadn't made
      a single penny.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fact is, I lost by the whole transaction,&rdquo; put in Erastus Winch,
      defiantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; Brother Pierce went on. &ldquo;He lost money. You have his own word
      for it. Well, then, I say it would be a burning shame for us to consent to
      touch one penny of what he offered to give, in the fullness of his heart,
      while he was laborin' under that delusion. And I move he be not asked for
      it. We've got quite as much as we need, without it. I put my motion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is, YOU don't put it,&rdquo; suggested Winch, correctingly. &ldquo;You move it,
      and Brother Ware, whom we're all so glad to see able to come and preside&mdash;he'll
      put it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a moment's silence. &ldquo;You've heard the motion,&rdquo; said Theron,
      tentatively, and then paused for possible remarks. He was not going to
      meddle in this thing himself, and Gorringe was the only other who might
      have an opinion to offer. The necessities of the situation forced him to
      glance at the lawyer inquiringly. He did so, and turned his eyes away
      again like a shot. Gorringe was looking him squarely in the face, and the
      look was freighted with satirical contempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young minister spoke between clinched teeth. &ldquo;All those in favor will
      say aye.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brothers Pierce and Winch put up a simultaneous and confident &ldquo;Aye.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, you don't!&rdquo; interposed the lawyer, with deliberate, sneering
      emphasis. &ldquo;I decidedly protest against Winch's voting. He's directly
      interested, and he mustn't vote. Your chairman knows that perfectly well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I think Brother Winch ought not to vote,&rdquo; decided Theron, with great
      calmness. He saw now what was coming, and underneath his surface composure
      there were sharp flutterings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very well, then,&rdquo; said Gorringe. &ldquo;I vote no, and it's a tie. It rests
      with the chairman now to cast the deciding vote, and say whether this
      interesting arrangement shall go through or not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Me?&rdquo; said Theron, eying the lawyer with a cool self-control which had
      come all at once to him. &ldquo;Me? Oh, I vote Aye.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I did what you told me to do,&rdquo; Theron Ware remarked to Sister
      Soulsby, when at last they found themselves alone in the sitting-room
      after the midday meal.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had taken not a little strategic skirmishing to secure the room to
      themselves for the hospitable Alice, much touched by the thought of her
      new friend's departure that very evening had gladly proposed to let all
      the work stand over until night, and devote herself entirely to Sister
      Soulsby. When, finally, Brother Soulsby conceived and deftly executed the
      coup of interesting her in the budding of roses, and then leading her off
      into the garden to see with her own eyes how it was done, Theron had a
      sense of being left alone with a conspirator. The notion impelled him to
      plunge at once into the heart of their mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did what you told me to do,&rdquo; he repeated, looking up from his low
      easy-chair to where she sat by the desk; &ldquo;and I dare say you won't be
      surprised when I add that I have no respect for myself for doing it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet you would go and do it right over again, eh?&rdquo; the woman said, in
      bright, pert tones, nodding her head, and smiling at him with roguish,
      comprehending eyes. &ldquo;Yes, that's the way we're built. We spend our lives
      doing that sort of thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know that you would precisely grasp my meaning,&rdquo; said the young
      minister, with a polite effort in his words to mask the untoward side of
      the suggestion. &ldquo;It is a matter of conscience with me; and I am pained and
      shocked at myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby drummed for an absent moment with her thin, nervous fingers
      on the desk-top. &ldquo;I guess maybe you'd better go and lie down again,&rdquo; she
      said gently. &ldquo;You're a sick man, still, and it's no good your worrying
      your head just now with things of this sort. You'll see them differently
      when you're quite yourself again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; pleaded Theron. &ldquo;Do let us have our talk out! I'm all right. My
      mind is clear as a bell. Truly, I've really counted on this talk with
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But there's something else to talk about, isn't there, besides&mdash;besides
      your conscience?&rdquo; she asked. Her eyes bent upon him a kindly pressure as
      she spoke, which took all possible harshness from her meaning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron answered the glance rather than her words. &ldquo;I know that you are my
      friend,&rdquo; he said simply.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby straightened herself, and looked down upon him with a new
      intentness. &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;let's thrash this thing out right
      now, and be done with it. You say it's hurt your conscience to do just one
      little hundredth part of what there was to be done here. Ask yourself what
      you mean by that. Mind, I'm not quarrelling, and I'm not thinking about
      anything except just your own state of mind. You think you soiled your
      hands by doing what you did. That is to say, you wanted ALL the dirty work
      done by other people. That's it, isn't it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Rev. Mr. Ware sat up, in turn, and looked doubtingly into his
      companion's face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, we were going to be frank, you know,&rdquo; she added, with a pleasant play
      of mingled mirth and honest liking in her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, picking his words, &ldquo;my point would rather be that&mdash;that
      there ought not to have been any of what you yourself call this&mdash;this
      'dirty work.' THAT is my feeling.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now we're getting at it,&rdquo; said Sister Soulsby, briskly. &ldquo;My dear friend,
      you might just as well say that potatoes are unclean and unfit to eat
      because manure is put into the ground they grow in. Just look at the case.
      Your church here was running behind every year. Your people had got into a
      habit of putting in nickels instead of dimes, and letting you sweat for
      the difference. That's a habit, like tobacco, or biting your fingernails,
      or anything else. Either you were all to come to smash here, or the people
      had to be shaken up, stood on their heads, broken of their habit. It's my
      business&mdash;mine and Soulsby's&mdash;to do that sort of thing. We came
      here and we did it&mdash;did it up brown, too. We not only raised all the
      money the church needs, and to spare, but I took a personal shine to you,
      and went out of my way to fix up things for you. It isn't only the extra
      hundred dollars, but the whole tone of the congregation is changed toward
      you now. You'll see that they'll be asking to have you back here, next
      spring. And you're solid with your Presiding Elder, too. Well, now, tell
      me straight&mdash;is that worth while, or not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've told you that I am very grateful,&rdquo; answered the minister, &ldquo;and I say
      it again, and I shall never be tired of repeating it. But&mdash;but it was
      the means I had in mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; rejoined the sister, patiently. &ldquo;If you saw the way a hotel
      dinner was cooked, you wouldn't be able to stomach it. Did you ever see a
      play? In a theatre, I mean. I supposed not. But you'll understand when I
      say that the performance looks one way from where the audience sit, and
      quite a different way when you are behind the scenes. THERE you see that
      the trees and houses are cloth, and the moon is tissue paper, and the
      flying fairy is a middle-aged woman strung up on a rope. That doesn't
      prove that the play, out in front, isn't beautiful and affecting, and all
      that. It only shows that everything in this world is produced by machinery&mdash;by
      organization. The trouble is that you've been let in on the stage, behind
      the scenes, so to speak, and you're so green&mdash;if you'll pardon me&mdash;that
      you want to sit down and cry because the trees ARE cloth, and the moon IS
      a lantern. And I say, don't be such a goose!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see what you mean,&rdquo; Theron said, with an answering smile. He added,
      more gravely, &ldquo;All the same, the Winch business seems to me&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now the Winch business is my own affair,&rdquo; Sister Soulsby broke in
      abruptly. &ldquo;I take all the responsibility for that. You need know nothing
      about it. You simply voted as you did on the merits of the case as he
      presented them&mdash;that's all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo; Theron began, and then paused. Something had occurred to him,
      and he knitted his brows to follow its course of expansion in his mind.
      Suddenly he raised his head. &ldquo;Then you arranged with Winch to make those
      bogus offers&mdash;just to lead others on?&rdquo; he demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby's large eyes beamed down upon him in reply, at first in
      open merriment, then more soberly, till their regard was almost pensive.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us talk of something else,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;All that is past and gone. It
      has nothing to do with you, anyway. I've got some advice to give you about
      keeping up this grip you've got on your people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young minister had risen to his feet while she spoke. He put his hands
      in his pockets, and with rounded shoulders began slowly pacing the room.
      After a turn or two he came to the desk, and leaned against it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I doubt if it's worth while going into that,&rdquo; he said, in the solemn tone
      of one who feels that an irrevocable thing is being uttered. She waited to
      hear more, apparently. &ldquo;I think I shall go away&mdash;give up the
      ministry,&rdquo; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby's eyes revealed no such shock of consternation as he,
      unconsciously, had looked for. They remained quite calm; and when she
      spoke, they deepened, to fit her speech, with what he read to be a gaze of
      affectionate melancholy&mdash;one might say pity. She shook her head
      slowly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;don't let any one else hear you say that,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;My poor
      young friend, it's no good to even think it. The real wisdom is to school
      yourself to move along smoothly, and not fret, and get the best of what's
      going. I've known others who felt as you do&mdash;of course there are
      times when every young man of brains and high notions feels that way&mdash;but
      there's no help for it. Those who tried to get out only broke themselves.
      Those who stayed in, and made the best of it&mdash;well, one of them will
      be a bishop in another ten years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron had started walking again. &ldquo;But the moral degradation of it!&rdquo; he
      snapped out at her over his shoulder. &ldquo;I'd rather earn the meanest living,
      at an honest trade, and be free from it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That may all be,&rdquo; responded Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;But it isn't a question of
      what you'd rather do. It's what you can do. How could you earn a living?
      What trade or business do you suppose you could take up now, and get a
      living out of? Not one, my man, not one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron stopped and stared at her. This view of his capabilities came upon
      him with the force and effect of a blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't discover, myself,&rdquo; he began stumblingly, &ldquo;that I'm so
      conspicuously inferior to the men I see about me who do make livings, and
      very good ones, too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course you're not,&rdquo; she replied with easy promptness; &ldquo;you're greatly
      the other way, or I shouldn't be taking this trouble with you. But you're
      what you are because you're where you are. The moment you try on being
      somewhere else, you're done for. In all this world nobody else comes to
      such unmerciful and universal grief as the unfrocked priest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The phrase sent Theron's fancy roving. &ldquo;I know a Catholic priest,&rdquo; he said
      irrelevantly, &ldquo;who doesn't believe an atom in&mdash;in things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; said Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;Most of us do. But you don't hear him
      talking about going and earning his living, I'll bet! Or if he does, he
      takes powerful good care not to go, all the same. They've got horse-sense,
      those priests. They're artists, too. They know how to allow for the
      machinery behind the scenes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But it's all so different,&rdquo; urged the young minister; &ldquo;the same things
      are not expected of them. Now I sat the other night and watched those
      people you got up around the altar-rail, groaning and shouting and crying,
      and the others jumping up and down with excitement, and Sister Lovejoy&mdash;did
      you see her?&mdash;coming out of her pew and regularly waltzing in the
      aisle, with her eyes shut, like a whirling dervish&mdash;I positively
      believe it was all that made me ill. I couldn't stand it. I can't stand it
      now. I won't go back to it! Nothing shall make me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh-h, yes, you will,&rdquo; she rejoined soothingly. &ldquo;There's nothing else to
      do. Just put a good face on it, and make up your mind to get through by
      treading on as few corns as possible, and keeping your own toes well in,
      and you'll be surprised how easy it'll all come to be. You were speaking
      of the revival business. Now that exemplifies just what I was saying&mdash;it's
      a part of our machinery. Now a church is like everything else,&mdash;it's
      got to have a boss, a head, an authority of some sort, that people will
      listen to and mind. The Catholics are different, as you say. Their church
      is chuck-full of authority&mdash;all the way from the Pope down to the
      priest&mdash;and accordingly they do as they're told. But the Protestants&mdash;your
      Methodists most of all&mdash;they say 'No, we won't have any authority, we
      won't obey any boss.' Very well, what happens? We who are responsible for
      running the thing, and raising the money and so on&mdash;we have to put on
      a spurt every once in a while, and work up a general state of excitement;
      and while it's going, don't you see that THAT is the authority, the motive
      power, whatever you like to call it, by which things are done? Other
      denominations don't need it. We do, and that's why we've got it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the mean dishonesty of it all!&rdquo; Theron broke forth. He moved about
      again, his bowed face drawn as with bodily suffering. &ldquo;The low-born
      tricks, the hypocrisies! I feel as if I could never so much as look at
      these people here again without disgust.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, now that's where you make your mistake,&rdquo; Sister Soulsby put in
      placidly. &ldquo;These people of yours are not a whit worse than other people.
      They've got their good streaks and their bad streaks, just like the rest
      of us. Take them by and large, they're quite on a par with other folks the
      whole country through.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't believe there's another congregation in the Conference where&mdash;where
      this sort of thing would have been needed, or, I might say, tolerated,&rdquo;
       insisted Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps you're right,&rdquo; the other assented; &ldquo;but that only shows that your
      people here are different from the others&mdash;not that they're worse.
      You don't seem to realize: Octavius, so far as the Methodists are
      concerned, is twenty or thirty years behind the times. Now that has its
      advantages and its disadvantages. The church here is tough and coarse, and
      full of grit, like a grindstone; and it does ministers from other more
      niminy-piminy places all sorts of good to come here once in a while and
      rub themselves up against it. It scours the rust and mildew off from their
      piety, and they go back singing and shouting. But of course it's had a
      different effect with you. You're razor-steel instead of scythe-steel, and
      the grinding's been too rough and violent for you. But you see what I
      mean. These people here really take their primitive Methodism seriously.
      To them the profession of entire sanctification is truly a genuine thing.
      Well, don't you see, when people just know that they're saved, it doesn't
      seem to them to matter so much what they do. They feel that ordinary rules
      may well be bent and twisted in the interest of people so supernaturally
      good as they are. That's pure human nature. It's always been like that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron paused in his walk to look absently at her. &ldquo;That thought,&rdquo; he
      said, in a vague, slow way, &ldquo;seems to be springing up in my path,
      whichever way I turn. It oppresses me, and yet it fascinates me&mdash;this
      idea that the dead men have known more than we know, done more than we do;
      that there is nothing new anywhere; that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind the dead men,&rdquo; interposed Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;Just you come and
      sit down here. I hate to have you straddling about the room when I'm
      trying to talk to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron obeyed, and as he sank into the low seat, Sister Soulsby drew up
      her chair, and put her hand on his shoulder. Her gaze rested upon his with
      impressive steadiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now I want to talk seriously to you, as a friend,&rdquo; she began. &ldquo;You
      mustn't breathe to any living soul the shadow of a hint of this nonsense
      about leaving the ministry. I could see how you were feeling&mdash;I saw
      the book you were reading the first time I entered this room&mdash;and
      that made me like you; only I expected to find you mixing up more worldly
      gumption with your Renan. Well, perhaps I like you all the better for not
      having it&mdash;for being so delightfully fresh. At any rate, that made me
      sail in and straighten your affairs for you. And now, for God's sake, keep
      them straight. Just put all notions of anything else out of your head.
      Watch your chief men and women, and be friends with them. Keep your eye
      open for what they think you ought to do, and do it. Have your own ideas
      as much as you like, read what you like, say 'Damn' under your breath as
      much as you like, but don't let go of your job. I've knocked about too
      much, and I've seen too many promising young fellows cut their own throats
      for pure moonshine, not to have a right to say that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron could not be insensible to the friendly hand on his shoulder, or to
      the strenuous sincerity of the voice which thus adjured him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said vaguely, smiling up into her earnest eyes, &ldquo;if we agree
      that it IS moonshine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See here!&rdquo; she exclaimed, with renewed animation, patting his shoulder in
      a brisk, automatic way, to point the beginnings of her confidences: &ldquo;I'll
      tell you something. It's about myself. I've got a religion of my own, and
      it's got just one plank in it, and that is that the time to separate the
      sheep from the goats is on Judgment Day, and that it can't be done a
      minute before.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young minister took in the thought, and turned it about in his mind,
      and smiled upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that brings me to what I'm going to tell you,&rdquo; Sister Soulsby
      continued. She leaned back in her chair, and crossed her knees so that one
      well-shaped and artistically shod foot poised itself close to Theron's
      hand. Her eyes dwelt upon his face with an engaging candor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I began life,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;as a girl by running away from a stupid home
      with a man that I knew was married already. After that, I supported myself
      for a good many years&mdash;generally, at first, on the stage. I've been a
      front-ranker in Amazon ballets, and I've been leading lady in comic opera
      companies out West. I've told fortunes in one room of a mining-camp hotel
      where the biggest game of faro in the Territory went on in another. I've
      been a professional clairvoyant, and I've been a professional medium, and
      I've been within one vote of being indicted by a grand jury, and the money
      that bought that vote was put up by the smartest and most famous
      train-gambler between Omaha and 'Frisco, a gentleman who died in his boots
      and took three sheriff's deputies along with him to Kingdom-Come. Now,
      that's MY record.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron looked earnestly at her, and said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now take Soulsby,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;Of course I take it for granted
      there's a good deal that he has never felt called upon to mention. He
      hasn't what you may call a talkative temperament. But there is also a good
      deal that I do know. He's been an actor, too, and to this day I'd back him
      against Edwin Booth himself to recite 'Clarence's Dream.' And he's been a
      medium, and then he was a travelling phrenologist, and for a long time he
      was advance agent for a British Blondes show, and when I first saw him he
      was lecturing on female diseases&mdash;and he had HIS little turn with a
      grand jury too. In fact, he was what you may call a regular bad old
      rooster.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again Theron suffered the pause to lapse without comment&mdash;save for an
      amorphous sort of conversation which he felt to be going on between his
      eyes and those of Sister Soulsby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;so much for us apart. Now about us together.
      We liked each other from the start. We compared notes, and we found that
      we had both soured on living by fakes, and that we were tired of the road,
      and wanted to settle down and be respectable in our old age. We had a
      little money&mdash;enough to see us through a year or two. Soulsby had
      always hungered and longed to own a garden and raise flowers, and had
      never been able to stay long enough in one place to see so much as a
      bean-pod ripen. So we took a little place in a quiet country village down
      on the Southern Tier, and he planted everything three deep all over the
      place, and I bought a roomful of cheap good books, and we started in. We
      took to it like ducks to water for a while, and I don't say that we
      couldn't have stood it out, just doing nothing, to this very day; but as
      luck would have it, during the first winter there was a revival at the
      local Methodist church, and we went every evening&mdash;at first just to
      kill time, and then because we found we liked the noise and excitement and
      general racket of the thing. After it was all over each of us found that
      the other had been mighty near going up to the rail and joining the
      mourners. And another thing had occurred to each of us, too&mdash;that is,
      what tremendous improvements there were possible in the way that amateur
      revivalist worked up his business. This stuck in our crops, and we figured
      on it all through the winter.&mdash;Well, to make a long story short, we
      finally went into the thing ourselves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tell me one thing,&rdquo; interposed Theron. &ldquo;I'm anxious to understand it all
      as we go along. Were you and he at any time sincerely converted?&mdash;that
      is, I mean, genuinely convicted of sin and conscious of&mdash;you know
      what I mean!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, bless you, yes,&rdquo; responded Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;Not only once&mdash;dozens
      of times&mdash;I may say every time. We couldn't do good work if we
      weren't. But that's a matter of temperament&mdash;of emotions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Precisely. That was what I was getting at,&rdquo; explained Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, hear what I was getting at,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;You were talking
      very loudly here about frauds and hypocrisies and so on, a few minutes
      ago. Now I say that Soulsby and I do good, and that we're good fellows.
      Now take him, for example. There isn't a better citizen in all Chemung
      County than he is, or a kindlier neighbor, or a better or more charitable
      man. I've known him to stay up a whole winter's night in a poor Irishman's
      stinking and freezing stable, trying to save his cart-horse for him, that
      had been seized with some sort of fit. The man's whole livelihood, and his
      family's, was in that horse; and when it died, Soulsby bought him another,
      and never told even ME about it. Now that I call real piety, if you like.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; put in Theron, cordially.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And this question of fraud,&rdquo; pursued his companion,&mdash;&ldquo;look at it in
      this light. You heard us sing. Well, now, I was a singer, of course, but
      Soulsby hardly knew one note from another. I taught him to sing, and he
      went at it patiently and diligently, like a little man. And I invented
      that scheme of finding tunes which the crowd didn't know, and so couldn't
      break in on and smother. I simply took Chopin&mdash;he is full of sixths,
      you know&mdash;and I got all sorts of melodies out of his waltzes and
      mazurkas and nocturnes and so on, and I trained Soulsby just to sing those
      sixths so as to make the harmony, and there you are. He couldn't sing by
      himself any more than a crow, but he's got those sixths of his down to a
      hair. Now that's machinery, management, organization. We take these tunes,
      written by a devil-may-care Pole who was living with George Sand openly at
      the time, and pass 'em off on the brethren for hymns. It's a fraud, yes;
      but it's a good fraud. So they are all good frauds. I say frankly that I'm
      glad that the change and the chance came to help Soulsby and me to be good
      frauds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the point is that I'm to be a good fraud, too,&rdquo; commented the young
      minister.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had risen, and he got to his feet as well. He instinctively sought for
      her hand, and pressed it warmly, and held it in both his, with an
      exuberance of gratitude and liking in his manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby danced her eyes at him with a saucy little shake of the
      head. &ldquo;I'm afraid you'll never make a really GOOD fraud,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You
      haven't got it in you. Your intentions are all right, but your execution
      is hopelessly clumsy. I came up to your bedroom there twice while you were
      sick, just to say 'howdy,' and you kept your eyes shut, and all the while
      a blind horse could have told that you were wide awake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must have thought it was my wife,&rdquo; said Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PART III
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      When the lingering dusk finally settled down upon this long summer
      evening, the train bearing the Soulsbys homeward was already some score of
      miles on its way, and the Methodists of Octavius had nearly finished their
      weekly prayer-meeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the stirring events of the revival, it was only to be expected that
      this routine, home-made affair should suffer from a reaction. The
      attendance was larger than usual, perhaps, but the proceedings were
      spiritless and tame. Neither the pastor nor his wife was present at the
      beginning, and the class-leader upon whom control devolved made but feeble
      headway against the spell of inertia which the hot night-air laid upon the
      gathering. Long pauses intervened between the perfunctory praise-offerings
      and supplications, and the hymns weariedly raised from time to time fell
      again in languor by the wayside.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice came in just as people were beginning to hope that some one would
      start the Doxology, and bring matters to a close. Her appearance
      apparently suggested this to the class-leader, for in a few moments the
      meeting had been dismissed, and some of the members, on their way out,
      were shaking hands with their minister's wife, and expressing the polite
      hope that he was better. The worried look in her face, and the obvious
      stains of recent tears upon her cheeks imparted an added point and fervor
      to these inquiries, but she replied to all in tones of studied
      tranquillity that, although not feeling well enough to attend
      prayer-meeting, Brother Ware was steadily recovering strength, and
      confidently expected to be in complete health by Sunday. They left her,
      and could hardly wait to get into the vestibule to ask one another in
      whispers what on earth she could have been crying about.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Brother Ware improved his convalescent state by pacing slowly up
      and down under the elms on the side of the street opposite the Catholic
      church. There were no houses here for a block and more; the sidewalk was
      broken in many places, so that passers-by avoided it; the overhanging
      boughs shrouded it all in obscurity; it was preeminently a place to be
      alone in.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had driven to the depot with his guests an hour before, and after a
      period of pleasant waiting on the platform, had said good-bye to them as
      the train moved away. Then he turned to Alice, who had also accompanied
      them in the carriage, and was conscious of a certain annoyance at her
      having come. That long familiar talk of the afternoon had given him the
      feeling that he was entitled to bid farewell to Sister Soulsby&mdash;to
      both the Soulsbys&mdash;by himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid folks will think it strange&mdash;neither of us attending the
      prayer-meeting,&rdquo; he said, with a suggestion of reproof in his tone, as
      they left the station-yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If we get back in time, I'll run in for a minute,&rdquo; answered Alice, with
      docility.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; he broke in. &ldquo;I'm not equal to walking so fast. You run on
      ahead, and explain matters, and I will come along slowly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The hack we came in is still there in the yard,&rdquo; the wife suggested. &ldquo;We
      could drive home in that. I don't believe it would cost more than a
      quarter&mdash;and if you're feeling badly&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I am NOT feeling badly,&rdquo; Theron replied, with frank impatience. &ldquo;Only
      I feel&mdash;I feel that being alone with my thoughts would be good for
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, certainly&mdash;by all means!&rdquo; Alice had said, and turned sharply on
      her heel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being alone with these thoughts, Theron strolled aimlessly about, and did
      not think at all. The shadows gathered, and fireflies began to disclose
      their tiny gleams among the shrubbery in the gardens. A lamp-lighter came
      along, and passed him, leaving in his wake a straggling double line of
      lights, glowing radiantly against the black-green of the trees. This
      recalled to Theron that he had heard that the town council lit the street
      lamps by the almanac, and economized gas when moonshine was due. The idea
      struck him as droll, and he dwelt upon it in various aspects, smiling at
      some of its comic possibilities. Looking up in the middle of one of these
      whimsical conceits, the sportive impulse died suddenly within him. He
      realized that it was dark, and that the massive black bulk reared against
      the sky on the other side of the road was the Catholic church. The other
      fact, that he had been there walking to and fro for some time, was borne
      in upon him more slowly. He turned, and resumed the pacing up and down
      with a still more leisurely step, musing upon the curious way in which
      people's minds all unconsciously follow about where instincts and
      intuitions lead.
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt it was what Sister Soulsby had said about Catholics which had
      insensibly guided his purposeless stroll in this direction. What a woman
      that was! Somehow the purport of her talk&mdash;striking, and even
      astonishing as he had found it&mdash;did not stand out so clearly in his
      memory as did the image of the woman herself. She must have been extremely
      pretty once. For that matter she still was a most attractive-looking
      woman. It had been a genuine pleasure to have her in the house&mdash;to
      see her intelligent responsive face at the table&mdash;to have it in one's
      power to make drafts at will upon the fund of sympathy and appreciation,
      of facile mirth and ready tenderness in those big eyes of hers. He liked
      that phrase she had used about herself&mdash;&ldquo;a good fellow.&rdquo; It seemed to
      fit her to a &ldquo;t.&rdquo; And Soulsby was a good fellow too. All at once it
      occurred to him to wonder whether they were married or not.
    </p>
    <p>
      But really that was no affair of his, he reflected. A citizen of the
      intellectual world should be above soiling his thoughts with mean
      curiosities of that sort, and he drove the impertinent query down again
      under the surface of his mind. He refused to tolerate, as well, sundry
      vagrant imaginings which rose to cluster about and literalize the romance
      of her youth which Sister Soulsby had so frankly outlined. He would think
      upon nothing but her as he knew her,&mdash;the kindly, quick-witted,
      capable and charming woman who had made such a brilliant break in the
      monotony of life at that dull parsonage of his. The only genuine happiness
      in life must consist in having bright, smart, attractive women like that
      always about.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lights were visible now in the upper rooms of Father Forbes' pastorate
      across the way. Theron paused for a second to consider whether he wanted
      to go over and call on the priest. He decided that mentally he was too
      fagged and flat for such an undertaking. He needed another sort of
      companionship&mdash;some restful, soothing human contact, which should
      exact nothing from him in return, but just take charge of him, with soft,
      wise words and pleasant plays of fancy, and jokes and&mdash;and&mdash;something
      of the general effect created by Sister Soulsby's eyes. The thought
      expanded itself, and he saw that he had never realized before&mdash;nay,
      never dreamt before&mdash;what a mighty part the comradeship of talented,
      sweet-natured and beautiful women must play in the development of genius,
      the achievement of lofty aims, out in the great world of great men. To
      know such women&mdash;ah, that would never fall to his hapless lot.
    </p>
    <p>
      The priest's lamps blinked at him through the trees. He remembered that
      priests were supposed to be even further removed from the possibilities of
      such contact than he was himself. His memory reverted to that horribly
      ugly old woman whom Father Forbes had spoken of as his housekeeper. Life
      under the same roof with such a hag must be even worse than&mdash;worse
      than&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young minister did not finish the comparison, even in the privacy of
      his inner soul. He stood instead staring over at the pastorate, in a kind
      of stupor of arrested thought. The figure of a woman passed in view at the
      nearest window&mdash;a tall figure with pale summer clothes of some sort,
      and a broad summer hat&mdash;a flitting effect of diaphanous shadow
      between him and the light which streamed from the casement.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron felt a little shiver run over him, as if the delicate coolness of
      the changing night-air had got into his blood. The window was open, and
      his strained hearing thought it caught the sound of faint laughter. He
      continued to gaze at the place where the vision had appeared, the while a
      novel and strange perception unfolded itself upon his mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had come there in the hope of encountering Celia Madden.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now that he looked this fact in the face, there was nothing remarkable
      about it. In truth, it was simplicity itself. He was still a sick man,
      weak in body and dejected in spirits. The thought of how unhappy and
      unstrung he was came to him now with an insistent pathos that brought
      tears to his eyes. He was only obeying the universal law of nature&mdash;the
      law which prompts the pallid spindling sprout of the potato in the cellar
      to strive feebly toward the light.
    </p>
    <p>
      From where he stood in the darkness he stretched out his hands in the
      direction of that open window. The gesture was his confession to the
      overhanging boughs, to the soft night-breeze, to the stars above&mdash;and
      it bore back to him something of the confessional's vague and wistful
      solace. He seemed already to have drawn down into his soul a taste of the
      refreshment it craved. He sighed deeply, and the hot moisture smarted
      again upon his eyelids, but this time not all in grief. With his tender
      compassion for himself there mingled now a flutter of buoyant prescience,
      of exquisite expectancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fate walked abroad this summer night. The street door of the pastorate
      opened, and in the flood of illumination which spread suddenly forth over
      the steps and sidewalk, Theron saw again the tall form, with the
      indefinitely light-hued flowing garments and the wide straw hat. He heard
      a tuneful woman's voice call out &ldquo;Good-night, Maggie,&rdquo; and caught no
      response save the abrupt closing of the door, which turned everything
      black again with a bang. He listened acutely for another instant, and then
      with long, noiseless strides made his way down his deserted side of the
      street. He moderated his pace as he turned to cross the road at the
      corner, and then, still masked by the trees, halted altogether, in a
      momentary tumult of apprehension. No&mdash;yes&mdash;it was all right. The
      girl sauntered out from the total darkness into the dim starlight of the
      open corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, bless me, is that you, Miss Madden?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia seemed to discern readily enough, through the accents of surprise,
      the identity of the tall, slim man who addressed her from the shadows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good-evening, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; she said, with prompt affability. &ldquo;I'm so glad
      to find you out again. We heard you were ill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been very ill,&rdquo; responded Theron, as they shook hands and walked
      on together. He added, with a quaver in his voice, &ldquo;I am still far from
      strong. I really ought not to be out at all. But&mdash;but the longing for&mdash;for&mdash;well,
      I COULDN'T stay in any longer. Even if it kills me, I shall be glad I came
      out tonight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, we won't talk of killing,&rdquo; said Celia. &ldquo;I don't believe in illnesses
      myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you believe in collapses of the nerves,&rdquo; put in Theron, with gentle
      sadness, &ldquo;in moral and spiritual and mental breakdowns. I remember how I
      was touched by the way you told me YOU suffered from them. I had to take
      what you said then for granted. I had had no experience of it myself. But
      now I know what it is.&rdquo; He drew a long, pathetic sigh. &ldquo;Oh, DON'T I know
      what it is!&rdquo; he repeated gloomily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, my friend, cheer up,&rdquo; Celia purred at him, in soothing tones. He
      felt that there was a deliciously feminine and sisterly intuition in her
      speech, and in the helpful, nurse-like way in which she drew his arm
      through hers. He leaned upon this support, and was glad of it in every
      fibre of his being.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you remember? You promised&mdash;that last time I saw you&mdash;to
      play for me,&rdquo; he reminded her. They were passing the little covered
      postern door at the side and rear of the church as he spoke, and he made a
      half halt to point the coincidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, there's no one to blow the organ,&rdquo; she said, divining his suggestion.
      &ldquo;And I haven't the key&mdash;and, besides, the organ is too heavy and
      severe for an invalid. It would overwhelm you tonight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not as you would know how to play it for me,&rdquo; urged Theron, pensively. &ldquo;I
      feel as if good music to-night would make me well again. I am really very
      ill and weak&mdash;and unhappy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The girl seemed moved by the despairing note in his voice. She invited him
      by a sympathetic gesture to lean even more directly on her arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come home with me, and I'll play Chopin to you,&rdquo; she said, in
      compassionate friendliness. &ldquo;He is the real medicine for bruised and
      wounded nerves. You shall have as much of him as you like.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The idea thus unexpectedly thrown forth spread itself like some vast and
      inexpressibly alluring vista before Theron's imagination. The spice of
      adventure in it fascinated his mind as well, but for a shrinking moment
      the flesh was weak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm afraid your people would&mdash;would think it strange,&rdquo; he faltered&mdash;and
      began also to recall that he had some people of his own who would be even
      more amazed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said Celia, in fine, bold confidence, and with a reassuring
      pressure on his arm. &ldquo;I allow none of my people to question what I do.
      They never dream of such a preposterous thing. Besides, you will see none
      of them. Mrs. Madden is at the seaside, and my father and brother have
      their own part of the house. I shan't listen for a minute to your not
      coming. Come, I'm your doctor. I'm to make you well again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was further conversation, and Theron more or less knew that he was
      bearing a part in it, but his whole mind seemed concentrated, in a sort of
      delicious terror, upon the wonderful experience to which every footstep
      brought him nearer. His magnetized fancy pictured a great spacious parlor,
      such as a mansion like the Maddens' would of course contain, and there
      would be a grand piano, and lace curtains, and paintings in gold frames,
      and a chandelier, and velvet easy-chairs, and he would sit in one of
      these, surrounded by all the luxury of the rich, while Celia played to
      him. There would be servants about, he presumed, and very likely they
      would recognize him, and of course they would talk about it to Tom, Dick
      and Harry afterward. But he said to himself defiantly that he didn't care.
    </p>
    <p>
      He withdrew his arm from hers as they came upon the well-lighted main
      street. He passed no one who seemed to know him. Presently they came to
      the Madden place, and Celia, without waiting for the gravelled walk,
      struck obliquely across the lawn. Theron, who had been lagging behind with
      a certain circumspection, stepped briskly to her side now. Their progress
      over the soft, close-cropped turf in the dark together, with the scent of
      lilies and perfumed shrubs heavy on the night air, and the majestic bulk
      of the big silent house rising among the trees before them, gave him a
      thrilling sense of the glory of individual freedom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I feel a new man already,&rdquo; he declared, as they swung along on the grass.
      He breathed a long sigh of content, and drew nearer, so that their
      shoulders touched now and again as they walked. In a minute more they were
      standing on the doorstep, and Theron heard the significant jingle of a
      bunch of keys which his companion was groping for in her elusive pocket.
      He was conscious of trembling a little at the sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed that, unlike other people, the Maddens did not have their parlor
      on the ground-floor, opening off the front hall. Theron stood in the
      complete darkness of this hall, till Celia had lit one of several candles
      which were in their hand-sticks on a sort of sideboard next the hat-rack.
      She beckoned him with a gesture of her head, and he followed her up a
      broad staircase, magnificent in its structural appointments of inlaid
      woods, and carpeted with what to his feet felt like down. The tiny light
      which his guide bore before her half revealed, as they passed in their
      ascent, tall lengths of tapestry, and the dull glint of armor and brazen
      discs in shadowed niches on the nearer wall. Over the stair-rail lay an
      open space of such stately dimensions, bounded by terminal lines of
      decoration so distant in the faint candle-flicker, that the young country
      minister could think of no word but &ldquo;palatial&rdquo; to fit it all.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the head of the flight, Celia led the way along a wide corridor to
      where it ended. Here, stretched from side to side, and suspended from
      broad hoops of a copper-like metal, was a thick curtain, of a uniform
      color which Theron at first thought was green, and then decided must be
      blue. She pushed its heavy folds aside, and unlocked another door. He
      passed under the curtain behind her, and closed the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      The room into which he had made his way was not at all after the fashion
      of any parlor he had ever seen. In the obscure light it was difficult to
      tell what it resembled. He made out what he took to be a painter's easel,
      standing forth independently in the centre of things. There were rows of
      books on rude, low shelves. Against one of the two windows was a big, flat
      writing-table&mdash;or was it a drawing-table?&mdash;littered with papers.
      Under the other window was a carpenter's bench, with a large mound of
      something at one end covered with a white cloth. On a table behind the
      easel rose a tall mechanical contrivance, the chief feature of which was a
      thick upright spiral screw. The floor was of bare wood stained brown. The
      walls of this queer room had photographs and pictures, taken apparently
      from illustrated papers, pinned up at random for their only ornament.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia had lighted three or four other candles on the mantel. She caught
      the dumfounded expression with which her guest was surveying his
      surroundings, and gave a merry little laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is my workshop,&rdquo; she explained. &ldquo;I keep this for the things I do
      badly&mdash;things I fool with. If I want to paint, or model in clay, or
      bind books, or write, or draw, or turn on the lathe, or do some
      carpentering, here's where I do it. All the things that make a mess which
      has to be cleaned up&mdash;they are kept out here&mdash;because this is as
      far as the servants are allowed to come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She unlocked still another door as she spoke&mdash;a door which was also
      concealed behind a curtain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; she said, holding up the candle so that its reddish flare rounded
      with warmth the creamy fulness of her chin and throat, and glowed upon her
      hair in a flame of orange light&mdash;&ldquo;now I will show you what is my very
      own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX
    </h2>
    <p>
      Theron Ware looked about him with frankly undisguised astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The room in which he found himself was so dark at first that it yielded
      little to the eye, and that little seemed altogether beyond his
      comprehension. His gaze helplessly followed Celia and her candle about as
      she busied herself in the work of illumination. When she had finished, and
      pinched out the taper, there were seven lights in the apartment&mdash;lights
      beaming softly through half-opaque alternating rectangles of blue and
      yellow glass. They must be set in some sort of lanterns around against the
      wall, he thought, but the shape of these he could hardly make out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gradually his sight adapted itself to this subdued light, and he began to
      see other things. These queer lamps were placed, apparently, so as to shed
      a special radiance upon some statues which stood in the corners of the
      chamber, and upon some pictures which were embedded in the walls. Theron
      noted that the statues, the marble of which lost its aggressive whiteness
      under the tinted lights, were mostly of naked men and women; the pictures,
      four or five in number, were all variations of a single theme&mdash;the
      Virgin Mary and the Child.
    </p>
    <p>
      A less untutored vision than his would have caught more swiftly the scheme
      of color and line in which these works of art bore their share. The walls
      of the room were in part of flat upright wooden columns, terminating high
      above in simple capitals, and they were all painted in pale amber and
      straw and primrose hues, irregularly wavering here and there toward
      suggestions of white. Between these pilasters were broader panels of
      stamped leather, in gently varying shades of peacock blue. These
      contrasted colors vaguely interwove and mingled in what he could see of
      the shadowed ceiling far above. They were repeated in the draperies and
      huge cushions and pillows of the low, wide divan which ran about three
      sides of the room. Even the floor, where it revealed itself among the
      scattered rugs, was laid in a mosaic pattern of matched woods, which, like
      the rugs, gave back these same shifting blues and uncertain yellows.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fourth side of the apartment was broken in outline at one end by the
      door through which they had entered, and at the other by a broad, square
      opening, hung with looped-back curtains of a thin silken stuff. Between
      the two apertures rose against the wall what Theron took at first glance
      to be an altar. There were pyramidal rows of tall candles here on either
      side, each masked with a little silken hood; below, in the centre, a
      shelf-like projection supported what seemed a massive, carved casket, and
      in the beautiful intricacies of this, and the receding canopy of delicate
      ornamentation which depended above it, the dominant color was white,
      deepening away in its shadows, by tenderly minute gradations, to the tints
      which ruled the rest of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia lighted some of the high, thick tapers in these candelabra, and
      opened the top of the casket. Theron saw with surprise that she had
      uncovered the keyboard of a piano. He viewed with much greater amazement
      her next proceeding&mdash;which was to put a cigarette between her lips,
      and, bending over one of the candles with it for an instant, turn to him
      with a filmy, opalescent veil of smoke above her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Make yourself comfortable anywhere,&rdquo; she said, with a gesture which
      comprehended all the divans and pillows in the place. &ldquo;Will you smoke?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have never tried since I was a little boy,&rdquo; said Theron, &ldquo;but I think I
      could. If you don't mind, I should like to see.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lounging at his ease on the oriental couch, Theron experimented cautiously
      upon the unaccustomed tobacco, and looked at Celia with what he felt to be
      the confident quiet of a man of the world. She had thrown aside her hat,
      and in doing so had half released some of the heavy strands of hair coiled
      at the back of her head. His glance instinctively rested upon this
      wonderful hair of hers. There was no mistaking the sudden fascination its
      disorder had for his eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      She stood before him with the cigarette poised daintily between thumb and
      finger of a shapely hand, and smiled comprehendingly down on her guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suffered the horrors of the damned with this hair of mine when I was a
      child,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I daresay all children have a taste for persecuting
      red-heads; but it's a specialty with Irish children. They get hold somehow
      of an ancient national superstition, or legend, that red hair was brought
      into Ireland by the Danes. It's been a term of reproach with us since
      Brian Boru's time to call a child a Dane. I used to be pursued and baited
      with it every day of my life, until the one dream of my ambition was to
      get old enough to be a Sister of Charity, so that I might hide my hair
      under one of their big beastly white linen caps. I've got rather away from
      that ideal since, I'm afraid,&rdquo; she added, with a droll downward curl of
      her lip.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your hair is very beautiful,&rdquo; said Theron, in the calm tone of a
      connoisseur.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I like it myself,&rdquo; Celia admitted, and blew a little smoke-ring toward
      him. &ldquo;I've made this whole room to match it. The colors, I mean,&rdquo; she
      explained, in deference to his uplifted brows. &ldquo;Between us, we make up
      what Whistler would call a symphony. That reminds me&mdash;I was going to
      play for you. Let me finish the cigarette first.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron felt grateful for her reticence about the fact that he had laid his
      own aside. &ldquo;I have never seen a room at all like this,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;You
      are right; it does fit you perfectly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She nodded her sense of his appreciation. &ldquo;It is what I like,&rdquo; she said.
      &ldquo;It expresses ME. I will not have anything about me&mdash;or anybody
      either&mdash;that I don't like. I suppose if an old Greek could see it, it
      would make him sick, but it represents what I mean by being a Greek. It is
      as near as an Irishman can get to it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I remember your puzzling me by saying that you were a Greek.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia laughed, and tossed the cigarette-end away. &ldquo;I'd puzzle you more,
      I'm afraid, if I tried to explain to you what I really meant by it. I
      divide people up into two classes, you know&mdash;Greeks and Jews. Once
      you get hold of that principle, all other divisions and classifications,
      such as by race or language or nationality, seem pure foolishness. It is
      the only true division there is. It is just as true among negroes or wild
      Indians who never heard of Greece or Jerusalem, as it is among white
      folks. That is the beauty of it. It works everywhere, always.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Try it on me,&rdquo; urged Theron, with a twinkling eye. &ldquo;Which am I?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Both,&rdquo; said the girl, with a merry nod of the head. &ldquo;But now I'll play. I
      told you you were to hear Chopin. I prescribe him for you. He is the
      Greekiest of the Greeks. THERE was a nation where all the people were
      artists, where everybody was an intellectual aristocrat, where the
      Philistine was as unknown, as extinct, as the dodo. Chopin might have
      written his music for them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am interested in Shopang,&rdquo; put in Theron, suddenly recalling Sister
      Soulsby's confidences as to the source of her tunes. &ldquo;He lived with&mdash;what's
      his name&mdash;George something. We were speaking about him only this
      afternoon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia looked down into her visitor's face at first inquiringly, then with
      a latent grin about her lips. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;George something,&rdquo; she said, in a
      tone which mystified him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Rev. Mr. Ware was sitting up, a minute afterward, in a ferment of
      awakened consciousness that he had never heard the piano played before.
      After a little, he noiselessly rearranged the cushions, and settled
      himself again in a recumbent posture. It was beyond his strength to follow
      that first impulse, and keep his mind abreast with what his ears took in.
      He sighed and lay back, and surrendered his senses to the mere unthinking
      charm of it all.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the Fourth Prelude that was singing in the air about him&mdash;a
      simple, plaintive strain wandering at will over a surface of steady
      rhythmic movement underneath, always creeping upward through mysteries of
      sweetness, always sinking again in cadences of semi-tones. With only a
      moment's pause, there came the Seventh Waltz&mdash;a rich, bold confusion
      which yet was not confused. Theron's ears dwelt with eager delight upon
      the chasing medley of swift, tinkling sounds, but it left his thoughts
      free.
    </p>
    <p>
      From where he reclined, he turned his head to scrutinize, one by one, the
      statues in the corners. No doubt they were beautiful&mdash;for this was a
      department in which he was all humility&mdash;and one of them, the figure
      of a broad-browed, stately, though thick-waisted woman, bending slightly
      forward and with both arms broken off, was decently robed from the hips
      downward. The others were not robed at all. Theron stared at them with the
      erratic, rippling jangle of the waltz in his ears, and felt that he
      possessed a new and disturbing conception of what female emancipation
      meant in these later days. Roving along the wall, his glance rested again
      upon the largest of the Virgin pictures&mdash;a full-length figure in
      sweeping draperies, its radiant, aureoled head upturned in rapt adoration,
      its feet resting on a crescent moon which shone forth in bluish silver
      through festooned clouds of cherubs. The incongruity between the unashamed
      statues and this serene incarnation of holy womanhood jarred upon him for
      the instant. Then his mind went to the piano.
    </p>
    <p>
      Without a break the waltz had slowed and expanded into a passage of what
      might be church music, an exquisitely modulated and gently solemn chant,
      through which a soft, lingering song roved capriciously, forcing the
      listener to wonder where it was coming out, even while it caressed and
      soothed to repose.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked from the Madonna to Celia. Beyond the carelessly drooping braids
      and coils of hair which blazed between the candles, he could see the
      outline of her brow and cheek, the noble contour of her lifted chin and
      full, modelled throat, all pink as the most delicate rose leaf is pink,
      against the cool lights of the altar-like wall. The sight convicted him in
      the court of his own soul as a prurient and mean-minded rustic. In the
      presence of such a face, of such music, there ceased to be any such thing
      as nudity, and statues no more needed clothes than did those slow, deep,
      magnificent chords which came now, gravely accumulating their spell upon
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is all singing!&rdquo; the player called out to him over her shoulder, in a
      minute of rest. &ldquo;That is what Chopin does&mdash;he sings!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She began, with an effect of thinking of something else, the Sixth
      Nocturne, and Theron at first thought she was not playing anything in
      particular, so deliberately, haltingly, did the chain of charm unwind
      itself into sequence. Then it came closer to him than the others had done.
      The dreamy, wistful, meditative beauty of it all at once oppressed and
      inspired him. He saw Celia's shoulders sway under the impulse of the
      RUBATO license&mdash;the privilege to invest each measure with the stress
      of the whole, to loiter, to weep, to run and laugh at will&mdash;and the
      music she made spoke to him as with a human voice. There was the wooing
      sense of roses and moonlight, of perfumes, white skins, alluring
      languorous eyes, and then&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know this part, of course,&rdquo; he heard her say.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the instant they had stepped from the dark, scented, starlit garden,
      where the nightingale sang, into a great cathedral. A sombre and lofty
      anthem arose, and filled the place with the splendor of such dignified
      pomp of harmony and such suggestions of measureless choral power and
      authority that Theron sat abruptly up, then was drawn resistlessly to his
      feet. He stood motionless in the strange room, feeling most of all that
      one should kneel to hear such music.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This you'll know too&mdash;the funeral march from the Second Sonata,&rdquo; she
      was saying, before he realized that the end of the other had come. He sank
      upon the divan again, bending forward and clasping his hands tight around
      his knees. His heart beat furiously as he listened to the weird, mediaeval
      processional, with its wild, clashing chords held down in the bondage of
      an orderly sadness. There was a propelling motion in the thing&mdash;a
      sense of being borne bodily along&mdash;which affected him like dizziness.
      He breathed hard through the robust portions of stern, vigorous noise, and
      rocked himself to and fro when, as rosy morn breaks upon a storm-swept
      night, the drums are silenced for the sweet, comforting strain of solitary
      melody. The clanging minor harmonies into which the march relapses came to
      their abrupt end. Theron rose once more, and moved with a hesitating step
      to the piano.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want to rest a little,&rdquo; he said, with his hand on her shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whew! so do I,&rdquo; exclaimed Celia, letting her hands fall with an
      exaggerated gesture of weariness. &ldquo;The sonatas take it out of one! They
      are hideously difficult, you know. They are rarely played.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't know,&rdquo; remarked Theron. She seemed not to mind his hand upon her
      shoulder, and he kept it there. &ldquo;I didn't know anything about music at
      all. What I do know now is that&mdash;that this evening is an event in my
      life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked up at him and smiled. He read unsuspected tendernesses and
      tolerances of friendship in the depths of her eyes, which emboldened him
      to stir the fingers of that audacious hand in a lingering, caressing trill
      upon her shoulder. The movement was of the faintest, but having ventured
      it, he drew his hand abruptly away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are getting on,&rdquo; she said to him. There was an enigmatic twinkle in
      the smile with which she continued to regard him. &ldquo;We are Hellenizing you
      at a great rate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She shifted her eyes toward vacancy
      with a swift, abstracted glance, reflected for a moment, then let a
      sparkling half-wink and the dimpling beginnings of an almost roguish smile
      mark her assent to the conceit, whatever it might be.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will be with you in a moment,&rdquo; he heard her say; and while the words
      were still in his ears she had risen and passed out of sight through the
      broad, open doorway to the right. The looped curtains fell together behind
      her. Presently a mellow light spread over their delicately translucent
      surface&mdash;a creamy, undulating radiance which gave the effect of
      moving about among the myriad folds of the silk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron gazed at these curtains for a little, then straightened his
      shoulders with a gesture of decision, and, turning on his heel, went over
      and examined the statues in the further corners minutely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you would like some more, I will play you the Berceuse now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her voice came to him with a delicious shock. He wheeled round and beheld
      her standing at the piano, with one hand resting, palm upward, on the
      keys. She was facing him. Her tall form was robed now in some shapeless,
      clinging drapery, lustrous and creamy and exquisitely soft, like the
      curtains. The wonderful hair hung free and luxuriant about her neck and
      shoulders, and glowed with an intensity of fiery color which made all the
      other hues of the room pale and vague. A fillet of faint, sky-like blue
      drew a gracious span through the flame of red above her temples, and from
      this there rose the gleam of jewels. Her head inclined gently, gravely,
      toward him&mdash;with the posture of that armless woman in marble he had
      been studying&mdash;and her brown eyes, regarding him from the shadows,
      emitted light.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a lullaby&mdash;the only one he wrote,&rdquo; she said, as Theron,
      pale-faced and with tightened lips, approached her. &ldquo;No&mdash;you mustn't
      stand there,&rdquo; she added, sinking into the seat before the instrument; &ldquo;go
      back and sit where you were.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The most perfect of lullabies, with its swaying abandonment to cooing
      rhythm, ever and again rising in ripples to the point of insisting on
      something, one knows not what, and then rocking, melting away once more,
      passed, so to speak, over Theron's head. He leaned back upon the cushions,
      and watched the white, rounded forearm which the falling folds of this
      strange, statue-like drapery made bare.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was more that appealed to his mood in the Third Ballade. It seemed
      to him that there were words going along with it&mdash;incoherent and
      impulsive yet very earnest words, appealing to him in strenuous argument
      and persuasion. Each time he almost knew what they said, and strained
      after their meaning with a passionate desire, and then there would come a
      kind of cuckoo call, and everything would swing dancing off again into a
      mockery of inconsequence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the silence there fell the pure, liquid, mellifluous melody of a
      soft-throated woman singing to her lover.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is like Heine&mdash;simply a love-poem,&rdquo; said the girl, over her
      shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron followed now with all his senses, as she carried the Ninth Nocturne
      onward. The stormy passage, which she banged finely forth, was in truth a
      lover's quarrel; and then the mild, placid flow of sweet harmonies into
      which the furore sank, dying languorously away upon a silence all alive
      with tender memories of sound&mdash;was that not also a part of love?
    </p>
    <p>
      They sat motionless through a minute&mdash;the man on the divan, the girl
      at the piano&mdash;and Theron listened for what he felt must be the
      audible thumping of his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, throwing back her head, with upturned face, Celia began what she had
      withheld for the last&mdash;the Sixteenth Mazurka. This strange foreign
      thing she played with her eyes closed, her head tilted obliquely so that
      Theron could see the rose-tinted, beautiful countenance, framed as if
      asleep in the billowing luxuriance of unloosed auburn hair. He fancied her
      beholding visions as she wrought the music&mdash;visions full of barbaric
      color and romantic forms. As his mind swam along with the gliding, tricksy
      phantom of a tune, it seemed as if he too could see these visions&mdash;as
      if he gazed at them through her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      It could not be helped. He lifted himself noiselessly to his feet, and
      stole with caution toward her. He would hear the rest of this weird,
      voluptuous fantasy standing thus, so close behind her that he could look
      down upon her full, uplifted lace&mdash;so close that, if she moved, that
      glowing nimbus of hair would touch him.
    </p>
    <p>
      There had been some curious and awkward pauses in this last piece, which
      Theron, by some side cerebration, had put down to her not watching what
      her fingers did. There came another of these pauses now&mdash;an odd,
      unaccountable halt in what seemed the middle of everything. He stared
      intently down upon her statuesque, dreaming face during the hush, and
      caught his breath as he waited. There fell at last a few faltering
      ascending notes, making a half-finished strain, and then again there was
      silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia opened her eyes, and poured a direct, deep gaze into the face above
      hers. Its pale lips were parted in suspense, and the color had faded from
      its cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is the end,&rdquo; she said, and, with a turn of her lithe body, stood
      swiftly up, even while the echoes of the broken melody seemed panting in
      the air about her for completion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron put his hands to his face, and pressed them tightly against eyes
      and brow for an instant. Then, throwing them aside with an expansive
      downward sweep of the arms, and holding them clenched, he returned Celia's
      glance. It was as if he had never looked into a woman's eyes before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It CAN'T be the end!&rdquo; he heard himself saying, in a low voice charged
      with deep significance. He held her gaze in the grasp of his with
      implacable tenacity. There was a trouble about breathing, and the mosaic
      floor seemed to stir under his feet. He clung defiantly to the one idea of
      not releasing her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How COULD it be the end?&rdquo; he demanded, lifting an uncertain hand to his
      breast as he spoke, and spreading it there as if to control the tumultuous
      fluttering of his heart. &ldquo;Things don't end that way!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sharp, blinding spasm of giddiness closed upon and shook him, while the
      brave words were on his lips. He blinked and tottered under it, as it
      passed, and then backed humbly to his divan and sat down, gasping a
      little, and patting his hand on his heart. There was fright written all
      over his whitened face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We&mdash;we forgot that I am a sick man,&rdquo; he said feebly, answering
      Celia's look of surprised inquiry with a forced, wan smile. &ldquo;I was afraid
      my heart had gone wrong.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She scrutinized him for a further moment, with growing reassurance in her
      air. Then, piling up the pillows and cushions behind him for support, for
      all the world like a big sister again, she stepped into the inner room,
      and returned with a flagon of quaint shape and a tiny glass. She poured
      this latter full to the brim of a thick yellowish, aromatic liquid, and
      gave it him to drink.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This Benedictine is all I happen to have,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Swallow it down. It
      will do you good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron obeyed her. It brought tears to his eyes; but, upon reflection, it
      was grateful and warming. He did feel better almost immediately. A great
      wave of comfort seemed to enfold him as he settled himself back on the
      divan. For that one flashing instant he had thought that he was dying. He
      drew a long grateful breath of relief, and smiled his content.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia had seated herself beside him, a little away. She sat with her head
      against the wall, and one foot curled under her, and almost faced him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dare say we forced the pace a little,&rdquo; she remarked, after a pause,
      looking down at the floor, with the puckers of a ruminating amusement
      playing in the corners of her mouth. &ldquo;It doesn't do for a man to get to be
      a Greek all of a sudden. He must work along up to it gradually.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He remembered the music. &ldquo;Oh, if I only knew how to tell you,&rdquo; he murmured
      ecstatically, &ldquo;what a revelation your playing has been to me! I had never
      imagined anything like it. I shall think of it to my dying day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He began to remember as well the spirit that was in the air when the music
      ended. The details of what he had felt and said rose vaguely in his mind.
      Pondering them, his eye roved past Celia's white-robed figure to the
      broad, open doorway beyond. The curtains behind which she had disappeared
      were again parted and fastened back. A dim light was burning within, out
      of sight, and its faint illumination disclosed a room filled with white
      marbles, white silks, white draperies of varying sorts, which shaped
      themselves, as he looked, into the canopy and trappings of an
      extravagantly over-sized and sumptuous bed. He looked away again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish you would tell me what you really mean by that Greek idea of
      yours,&rdquo; he said with the abruptness of confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia did not display much enthusiasm in the tone of her answer. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she
      said almost indifferently, &ldquo;lots of things. Absolute freedom from moral
      bugbears, for one thing. The recognition that beauty is the only thing in
      life that is worth while. The courage to kick out of one's life everything
      that isn't worth while; and so on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Theron, watching the mingled delicacy and power of the bared
      arm and the shapely grace of the hand which she had lifted to her face, &ldquo;I
      am going to get you to teach it ALL to me.&rdquo; The memories began crowding in
      upon him now, and the baffling note upon which the mazurka had stopped
      short chimed like a tuning-fork in his ears. &ldquo;I want to be a Greek myself,
      if you're one. I want to get as close to you&mdash;to your ideal, that is,
      as I can. You open up to me a whole world that I had not even dreamed
      existed. We swore our friendship long ago, you know: and now, after
      tonight&mdash;you and the music have decided me. I am going to put the
      things out of MY life that are not worthwhile. Only you must help me; you
      must tell me how to begin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked up as he spoke, to enforce the almost tender entreaty of his
      words. The spectacle of a yawn, only fractionally concealed behind those
      talented fingers, chilled his soft speech, and sent a flush over his face.
      He rose on the instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia was nothing abashed at his discovery. She laughed gayly in
      confession of her fault, and held her hand out to let him help her
      disentangle her foot from her draperies, and get off the divan. It seemed
      to be her meaning that he should continue holding her hand after she was
      also standing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You forgive me, don't you?&rdquo; she urged smilingly. &ldquo;Chopin always first
      excites me, then sends me to sleep. You see how YOU sleep tonight!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The brown, velvety eyes rested upon him, from under their heavy lids, with
      a languorous kindliness. Her warm, large palm clasped his in frank liking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't want to sleep at all,&rdquo; Mr. Ware was impelled to say. &ldquo;I want to
      lie awake and think about&mdash;about everything all over again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled drowsily. &ldquo;And you're sure you feel strong enough to walk
      home?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he replied, with a lingering dilatory note, which deepened upon
      reflection into a sigh. &ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He followed her and her candle down the magnificent stairway again. She
      blew the light out in the hall, and, opening the front door, stood with
      him for a silent moment on the threshold. Then they shook hands once more,
      and with a whispered good-night, parted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia, returning to the blue and yellow room, lighted a cigarette and
      helped herself to some Benedictine in the glass which Theron had used. She
      looked meditatively at this little glass for a moment, turning it about in
      her fingers with a smile. The smile warmed itself suddenly into a joyous
      laugh. She tossed the glass aside, and, holding out her flowing skirts
      with both hands, executed a swinging pirouette in front of the gravely
      beautiful statue of the armless woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was apparent to the Rev. Theron Ware, from the very first moment of
      waking next morning, that both he and the world had changed over night.
      The metamorphosis, in the harsh toils of which he had been laboring
      blindly so long, was accomplished. He stood forth, so to speak, in a new
      skin, and looked about him, with perceptions of quite an altered kind,
      upon what seemed in every way a fresh existence. He lacked even the
      impulse to turn round and inspect the cocoon from which he had emerged.
      Let the past bury the past. He had no vestige of interest in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The change was not premature. He found himself not in the least confused
      by it, or frightened. Before he had finished shaving, he knew himself to
      be easily and comfortably at home in his new state, and master of all its
      requirements.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed as if Alice, too, recognized that he had become another man,
      when he went down and took his chair at the breakfast table. They had
      exchanged no words since their parting in the depot-yard the previous
      evening&mdash;an event now faded off into remote vagueness in Theron's
      mind. He smiled brilliantly in answer to the furtive, half-sullen,
      half-curious glance she stole at him, as she brought the dishes in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! potatoes warmed up in cream!&rdquo; he said, with hearty pleasure in his
      tone. &ldquo;What a mind-reader you are, to be sure!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm glad you're feeling so much better,&rdquo; she said briefly, taking her
      seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Better?&rdquo; he returned. &ldquo;I'm a new being!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She ventured to look him over more freely, upon this assurance. He
      perceived and catalogued, one by one, the emotions which the small brain
      was expressing through those shallow blue eyes of hers. She was turning
      over this, that, and the other hostile thought and childish grievance&mdash;most
      of all she was dallying with the idea of asking him where he had been till
      after midnight. He smiled affably in the face of this scattering fire of
      peevish glances, and did not dream of resenting any phase of them all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going down to Thurston's this morning, and order that piano sent up
      today,&rdquo; he announced presently, in a casual way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Theron, can we afford it?&rdquo; the wife asked, regarding him with
      surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, easily enough,&rdquo; he replied light-heartedly. &ldquo;You know they've
      increased my salary.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head. &ldquo;No, I didn't. How should I? You don't realize it,&rdquo;
       she went on, dolefully, &ldquo;but you're getting so you don't tell me the least
      thing about your affairs nowadays.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron laughed aloud. &ldquo;You ought to be grateful&mdash;such melancholy
      affairs as mine have been till now,&rdquo; he declared&mdash;&ldquo;that is, if it
      weren't absurd to think such a thing.&rdquo; Then, more soberly, he explained:
      &ldquo;No, my girl, it is you who don't realize. I am carrying big projects in
      my mind&mdash;big, ambitious thoughts and plans upon which great things
      depend. They no doubt make me seem preoccupied and absent-minded; but it
      is a wife's part to understand, and make allowances, and not intrude
      trifles which may throw everything out of gear. Don't think I'm scolding,
      my girl. I only speak to reassure you and&mdash;and help you to
      comprehend. Of course I know that you wouldn't willingly embarrass my&mdash;my
      career.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; responded Alice, dubiously; &ldquo;but&mdash;but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what? Theron felt compelled by civility to say, though on the instant
      he reproached himself for the weakness of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;I hardly know how to say it,&rdquo; she faltered, &ldquo;but it was nicer
      in the old days, before you bothered your head about big projects, and
      your career, as you call it, and were just a good, earnest, simple young
      servant of the Lord. Oh, Theron!&rdquo; she broke forth suddenly, with tearful
      zeal, &ldquo;I get sometimes lately almost scared lest you should turn out to be
      a&mdash;a BACKSLIDER!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The husband sat upright, and hardened his countenance. But yesterday the
      word would have had in it all sorts of inherited terrors for him. This
      morning's dawn of a new existence revealed it as merely an empty and
      stupid epithet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These are things not to be said,&rdquo; he admonished her, after a moment's
      pause, and speaking with carefully measured austerity. &ldquo;Least of all are
      they to be said to a clergyman&mdash;by his wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was on the tip of Alice's tongue to retort, &ldquo;Better by his wife than by
      outsiders!&rdquo; but she bit her lips, and kept the gibe back. A rebuke of this
      form and gravity was a novelty in their relations. The fear that it had
      been merited troubled, even while it did not convince, her mind, and the
      puzzled apprehension was to be read plainly enough on her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron, noting it, saw a good deal more behind. Really, it was amazing how
      much wiser he had grown all at once. He had been married for years, and it
      was only this morning that he suddenly discovered how a wife ought to be
      handled. He continued to look sternly away into space for a little. Then
      his brows relaxed slowly and under the visible influence of melting
      considerations. He nodded his head, turned toward her abruptly, and broke
      the silence with labored amiability.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, come&mdash;the day began so pleasantly&mdash;it was so good to feel
      well again&mdash;let us talk about the piano instead. That is,&rdquo; he added,
      with an obvious overture to playfulness, &ldquo;if the thought of having a piano
      is not too distasteful to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice yielded almost effusively to his altered mood. They went together
      into the sitting-room, to measure and decide between the two available
      spaces which were at their disposal, and he insisted with resolute
      magnanimity on her settling this question entirely by herself. When at
      last he mentioned the fact that it was Friday, and he would look over some
      sermon memoranda before he went out, Alice retired to the kitchen in
      openly cheerful spirits.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron spread some old manuscript sermons before him on his desk, and took
      down his scribbling-book as well. But there his application flagged, and
      he surrendered himself instead, chin on hand, to staring out at the
      rhododendron in the yard. He recalled how he had seen Soulsby patiently
      studying this identical bush. The notion of Soulsby, not knowing at all
      how to sing, yet diligently learning those sixths, brought a smile to his
      mind; and then he seemed to hear Celia calling out over her shoulder,
      &ldquo;That's what Chopin does&mdash;he sings!&rdquo; The spirit of that wonderful
      music came back to him, enfolded him in its wings. It seemed to raise
      itself up&mdash;a palpable barrier between him and all that he had known
      and felt and done before. That was his new birth&mdash;that marvellous
      night with the piano. The conceit pleased him&mdash;not the less because
      there flashed along with it the thought that it was a poet that had been
      born. Yes; the former country lout, the narrow zealot, the untutored slave
      groping about in the dark after silly superstitions, cringing at the scowl
      of mean Pierces and Winches, was dead. There was an end of him, and good
      riddance. In his place there had been born a Poet&mdash;he spelled the
      word out now unabashed&mdash;a child of light, a lover of beauty and sweet
      sounds, a recognizable brother to Renan and Chopin&mdash;and Celia!
    </p>
    <p>
      Out of the soothing, tenderly grateful revery, a practical suggestion
      suddenly took shape. He acted upon it without a moment's delay, getting
      out his letter-pad, and writing hurriedly&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear Miss Madden,&mdash;Life will be more tolerable to me if before
      nightfall I can know that there is a piano under my roof. Even if it
      remains dumb, it will be some comfort to have it here and look at it, and
      imagine how a great master might make it speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would it be too much to beg you to look in at Thurston's, say at eleven
      this forenoon, and give me the inestimable benefit of your judgment in
      selecting an instrument?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not trouble to answer this, for I am leaving home now, but shall call
      at Thurston's at eleven, and wait.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanking you in anticipation,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here Theron's fluency came to a sharp halt. There were adverbs enough and
      to spare on the point of his pen, but the right one was not easy to come
      at. &ldquo;Gratefully,&rdquo; &ldquo;faithfully,&rdquo; &ldquo;sincerely,&rdquo; &ldquo;truly&rdquo;&mdash;each in turn
      struck a false note. He felt himself not quite any of these things. At
      last he decided to write just the simple word &ldquo;yours,&rdquo; and then wavered
      between satisfaction at his boldness, dread lest he had been over-bold,
      and, worst of the lot, fear that she would not notice it one way or the
      other&mdash;all the while he sealed and addressed the letter, put it
      carefully in an inner pocket, and got his hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a moment's hesitation as to notifying the kitchen of his
      departure. The interests of domestic discipline seemed to point the other
      way. He walked softly through the hall, and let himself out by the front
      door without a sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Down by the canal bridge he picked out an idle boy to his mind&mdash;a lad
      whose aspect appeared to promise intelligence as a messenger, combined
      with large impartiality in sectarian matters. He was to have ten cents on
      his return; and he might report himself to his patron at the bookstore
      yonder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron was grateful to the old bookseller for remaining at his desk in the
      rear. There was a tacit compliment in the suggestion that he was not a
      mere customer, demanding instant attention. Besides, there was no keeping
      &ldquo;Thurston's&rdquo; out of conversations in this place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loitering along the shelves, the young minister's eye suddenly found
      itself arrested by a name on a cover. There were a dozen narrow volumes in
      uniform binding, huddled together under a cardboard label of &ldquo;Eminent
      Women Series.&rdquo; Oddly enough, one of these bore the title &ldquo;George Sand.&rdquo;
       Theron saw there must be some mistake, as he took the book down, and
      opened it. His glance hit by accident upon the name of Chopin. Then he
      read attentively until almost the stroke of eleven.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have to make ourselves acquainted with all sorts of queer phases of
      life,&rdquo; he explained in self-defence to the old bookseller, then counting
      out the money for the book from his lean purse. He smiled as he added,
      &ldquo;There seems something almost wrong about taking advantage of the
      clergyman's discount for a life of George Sand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; answered the other, pleasantly. &ldquo;Guess she wasn't so much
      different from the rest of 'em&mdash;except that she didn't mind
      appearances. We know about her. We don't know about the others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must hurry,&rdquo; said Theron, turning on his heel. The haste with which he
      strode out of the store, crossed the street, and made his way toward
      Thurston's, did not prevent his thinking much upon the astonishing things
      he had encountered in this book. Their relation to Celia forced itself
      more and more upon his mind. He could recall the twinkle in her eye, the
      sub-mockery in her tone, as she commented with that half-contemptuous &ldquo;Yes&mdash;George
      something!&rdquo; upon his blundering ignorance. His mortification at having
      thus exposed his dull rusticity was swallowed up in conjectures as to just
      what her tolerant familiarity with such things involved. He had never
      before met a young unmarried woman who would have confessed to him any
      such knowledge. But then, of course, he had never known a girl who
      resembled Celia in any other way. He recognized vaguely that he must
      provide himself with an entire new set of standards by which to measure
      and comprehend her. But it was for the moment more interesting to wonder
      what her standards were. Did she object to George Sand's behavior? Or did
      she sympathize with that sort of thing? Did those statues, and the
      loose-flowing diaphonous toga and unbound hair, the cigarettes, the fiery
      liqueur, the deliberately sensuous music&mdash;was he to believe that they
      signified&mdash;?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good-morning, Mr. Ware. You have managed by a miracle to hit on one of my
      punctual days,&rdquo; said Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was standing on the doorstep, at the entrance to the musical
      department of Thurston's. He had not noticed before the fact that the sun
      was shining. The full glare of its strong light, enveloping her figure as
      she stood, and drawing the dazzled eye for relief to the bower of softened
      color, close beneath her parasol of creamy silk and lace, was what struck
      him now first of all. It was as if Celia had brought the sun with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron shook hands with her, and found joy in the perception, that his own
      hand trembled. He put boldly into words the thought that came to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was generous of you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to wait for me out here, where all
      might delight in the sight of you, instead of squandering the privilege on
      a handful of clerks inside.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Miss Madden beamed upon him, and nodded approval.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alcibiades never turned a prettier compliment,&rdquo; she remarked. They went
      in together at this, and Theron made a note of the name.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the ensuing half-hour, the young minister followed about even more
      humbly than the clerks in Celia's commanding wake. There were a good many
      pianos in the big show-room overhead, and Theron found himself almost awed
      by their size and brilliancy of polish, and the thought of the tremendous
      sum of money they represented altogether. Not so with the organist. She
      ordered them rolled around this way or that, as if they had been so many
      checkers on a draught-board. She threw back their covers with the scant
      ceremony of a dispensary dentist opening paupers' mouths. She exploited
      their several capacities with masterful hands, not deigning to seat
      herself, but just slightly bending forward, and sweeping her fingers up
      and down their keyboards&mdash;able, domineering fingers which pounded,
      tinkled, meditated, assented, condemned, all in a flash, and amid what
      affected the layman's ears as a hopelessly discordant hubbub.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron moved about in the group, nursing her parasol in his arms, and
      watching her. The exaggerated deference which the clerks and salesmen
      showed to her as the rich Miss Madden, seemed to him to be mixed with a
      certain assertion of the claims of good-fellowship on the score of her
      being a musician. There undoubtedly was a sense of freemasonry between
      them. They alluded continually in technical terms to matters of which he
      knew nothing, and were amused at remarks of hers which to him carried no
      meaning whatever. It was evident that the young men liked her, and that
      their liking pleased her. It thrilled him to think that she knew he liked
      her, too, and to recall what abundant proofs she had given that here,
      also, she had pleasure in the fact. He clung insistently to the memory of
      these evidences. They helped him to resist a disagreeable tendency to feel
      himself an intruder, an outsider, among these pianoforte experts.
    </p>
    <p>
      When it was all over, Celia waved the others aside, and talked with
      Theron. &ldquo;I suppose you want me to tell you the truth,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;There's
      nothing here really good. It is always much better to buy of the makers
      direct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do they sell on the instalment plan?&rdquo; he asked. There was a wistful
      effect in his voice which caught her attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked away&mdash;out through the window on the street below&mdash;for
      a moment. Then her eyes returned to his, and regarded him with a
      comforting, friendly, half-motherly glance, recalling for all the world
      the way Sister Soulsby had looked at him at odd times.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, you want it at once&mdash;I see,&rdquo; she remarked softly. &ldquo;Well, this
      Adelberger is the best value for the money.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware followed her finger, and beheld with dismay that it pointed
      toward the largest instrument in the room&mdash;a veritable leviathan
      among pianos. The price of this had been mentioned as $600. He turned over
      the fact that this was two-thirds his yearly salary, and found the courage
      to shake his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It would be too large&mdash;much too large&mdash;for the room,&rdquo; he
      explained. &ldquo;And, besides, it is more than I like to pay&mdash;or CAN pay,
      for that matter.&rdquo; It was pitiful to be explaining such details, but there
      was no help for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      They picked out a smaller one, which Celia said was at least of fair
      quality. &ldquo;Now leave all the bargaining to me,&rdquo; she adjured him. &ldquo;These
      prices that they talk about in the piano trade are all in the air. There
      are tremendous discounts, if one knows how to insist upon them. All you
      have to do is to tell them to send it to your house&mdash;you wanted it
      today, you said?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;in memory of yesterday,&rdquo; he murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      She herself gave the directions, and Thurston's people, now all salesmen
      again, bowed grateful acquiescence. Then she sailed regally across the
      room and down the stairs, drawing Theron in her train. The hirelings made
      salaams to him as well; it would have been impossible to interpose
      anything so trivial and squalid as talk about terms and dates of payment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am ever so much obliged to you,&rdquo; he said fervently, in the comparative
      solitude of the lower floor. She had paused to look at something in the
      book-department.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course I was entirely at your service; don't mention it,&rdquo; she replied,
      reaching forth her hand in an absent way for her parasol.
    </p>
    <p>
      He held up instead the volume he had purchased. &ldquo;Guess what that is! You
      never would guess in this wide world!&rdquo; His manner was surcharged with a
      sense of the surreptitious.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, there's no good trying, IS there?&rdquo; commented Celia, her
      glance roving again toward the shelves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a life of George Sand,&rdquo; whispered Theron. &ldquo;I've been reading it
      this morning&mdash;all the Chopin part&mdash;while I was waiting for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To his surprise, there was an apparently displeased contraction of her
      brows as he made this revelation. For the instant, a dreadful fear of
      having offended her seized upon and sickened him. But then her face
      cleared, as by magic. She smiled, and let her eyes twinkle in laughter at
      him, and lifted a forefinger in the most winning mockery of admonition.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Naughty! naughty!&rdquo; she murmured back, with a roguishly solemn wink.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had no response ready for this, but mutely handed her the parasol. The
      situation had suddenly grown too confused for words, or even sequent
      thoughts. Uppermost across the hurly-burly of his mind there scudded the
      singular reflection that he should never hear her play on that new piano
      of his. Even as it flashed by out of sight, he recognized it for one of
      the griefs of his life; and the darkness which followed seemed nothing but
      a revolt against the idea of having a piano at all. He would countermand
      the order. He would&mdash;but she was speaking again.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had strolled toward the door, and her voice was as placidly
      conventional as if the talk had never strayed from the subject of pianos.
      Theron with an effort pulled himself together, and laid hold of her words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose you will be going the other way,&rdquo; she was saying. &ldquo;I shall have
      to be at the church all day. We have just got a new Mass over from Vienna,
      and I'm head over heels in work at it. I can have Father Forbes to myself
      today, too. That bear of a doctor has got the rheumatism, and can't come
      out of his cave, thank Heaven!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And then she was receding from view, up the sunlit, busy sidewalk, and
      Theron, standing on the doorstep, ruefully rubbed his chin. She had said
      he was going the other way, and, after a little pause, he made her words
      good, though each step he took seemed all in despite of his personal
      inclinations. Some of the passers-by bowed to him, and one or two paused
      as if to shake hands and exchange greetings. He nodded responses
      mechanically, but did not stop. It was as if he feared to interrupt the
      process of lifting his reluctant feet and propelling them forward, lest
      they should wheel and scuttle off in the opposite direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI
    </h2>
    <p>
      Deliberate as his progress was, the diminishing number of store-fronts
      along the sidewalk, and the increasing proportion of picket-fences
      enclosing domestic lawns, forced upon Theron's attention the fact that he
      was nearing home. It was a trifle past the hour for his midday meal. He
      was not in the least hungry; still less did he feel any desire just now to
      sit about in that library living-room of his. Why should he go home at
      all? There was no reason whatever&mdash;save that Alice would be expecting
      him. Upon reflection, that hardly amounted to a reason. Wives, with their
      limited grasp of the realities of life, were always expecting their
      husbands to do things which it turned out not to be feasible for them to
      do. The customary male animal spent a considerable part of his life in
      explaining to his mate why it had been necessary to disappoint or upset
      her little plans for his comings and goings. It was in the very nature of
      things that it should be so.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sustained by these considerations, Mr. Ware slackened his steps, then
      halted irresolutely, and after a minute's hesitation, entered the small
      temperance restaurant before which, as by intuition, he had paused. The
      elderly woman who placed on the tiny table before him the tea and rolls he
      ordered, was entirely unknown to him, he felt sure, yet none the less she
      smiled at him, and spoke almost familiarly&mdash;&ldquo;I suppose Mrs. Ware is
      at the seaside, and you are keeping bachelor's hall?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not quite that,&rdquo; he responded stiffly, and hurried through the meagre and
      distasteful repast, to avoid any further conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was an idea underlying her remark, however, which recurred to him
      when he had paid his ten cents and got out on the street again. There was
      something interesting in the thought of Alice at the seaside. Neither of
      them had ever laid eyes on salt water, but Theron took for granted the
      most extravagant landsman's conception of its curative and invigorating
      powers. It was apparent to him that he was going to pay much greater
      attention to Alice's happiness and well-being in the future than he had
      latterly done. He had bought her, this very day, a superb new piano. He
      was going to simply insist on her having a hired girl. And this seaside
      notion&mdash;why, that was best of all.
    </p>
    <p>
      His fancy built up pleasant visions of her feasting her delighted eyes
      upon the marvel of a great ocean storm, or roaming along a beach strewn
      with wonderful marine shells, exhibiting an innocent joy in their beauty.
      The fresh sea-breeze blew through her hair, as he saw her in mind's eye,
      and brought the hardy flush of health back upon her rather pallid cheeks.
      He was prepared already hardly to know her, so robust and revivified would
      she have become, by the time he went down to the depot to meet her on her
      return.
    </p>
    <p>
      For his imagination stopped short of seeing himself at the seaside. It
      sketched instead pictures of whole weeks of solitary academic calm, alone
      with his books and his thoughts. The facts that he had no books, and that
      nobody dreamed of interfering with his thoughts, subordinated themselves
      humbly to his mood. The prospect, as he mused fondly upon it, expanded to
      embrace the priest's and the doctor's libraries; the thoughts which he
      longed to be alone with involved close communion with their thoughts. It
      could not but prove a season of immense mental stimulation and ethical
      broadening. It would have its lofty poetic and artistic side as well; the
      languorous melodies of Chopin stole over his revery, as he dwelt upon
      these things, and soft azure and golden lights modelled forth the
      exquisite outlines of tall marble forms.
    </p>
    <p>
      He opened the gate leading to Dr. Ledsmar's house. His walk had brought
      him quite out of the town, and up, by a broad main highway which yet took
      on all sorts of sylvan charms, to a commanding site on the hillside.
      Below, in the valley, lay Octavius, at one end half-hidden in factory
      smoke, at the other, where narrow bands of water gleamed upon the surface
      of a broad plain piled symmetrically with lumber, presenting an oddly
      incongruous suggestion of forest odors and the simplicity of the
      wilderness. In the middle distance, on gradually rising ground, stretched
      a wide belt of dense, artificial foliage, peeping through which tiled
      turrets and ornamented chimneys marked the polite residences of those who,
      though they neither stoked the furnace fires to the west, nor sawed the
      lumber on the east, lived in purple and fine linen from the profits of
      this toil. Nearer at hand, pastures with grazing cows on the one side of
      the road, and the nigh, weather-stained board fence of the race-course on
      the other, completed the jumble of primitive rusticity and urban
      complications characterizing the whole picture.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar's house, toward which Theron's impulses had been secretly
      leading him ever since Celia's parting remark about the rheumatism, was of
      that spacious and satisfying order of old-fashioned houses which men of
      leisure and means built for themselves while the early traditions of a
      sparse and contented homogeneous population were still strong in the
      Republic. There was a hospitable look about its wide veranda, its broad,
      low bulk, and its big, double front door, which did not fit at all with
      the sketch of a man-hating recluse that the doctor had drawn of himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had prepared his mind for the effect of being admitted by a
      Chinaman, and was taken somewhat aback when the door was opened by the
      doctor himself. His reception was pleasant enough, almost cordial, but the
      sense of awkwardness followed him into his host's inner room and rested
      heavily upon his opening speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I heard, quite by accident, that you were ill,&rdquo; he said, laying aside his
      hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's nothing at all,&rdquo; replied Ledsmar. &ldquo;Merely a stiff shoulder that I
      wear from time to time in memory of my father. It ought to be quite gone
      by nightfall. It was good of you to come, all the same. Sit down if you
      can find a chair. As usual, we are littered up to our eyes here. That's it&mdash;throw
      those things on the floor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware carefully deposited an armful of pamphlets on the rug at his
      feet, and sat down. Litter was indeed the word for what he saw about him.
      Bookcases, chairs, tables, the corners of the floor, were all buried deep
      under disorderly strata of papers, diagrams, and opened books. One could
      hardly walk about without treading on them. The dust which danced up into
      the bar of sunshine streaming in from the window, as the doctor stepped
      across to another chair, gave Theron new ideas about the value of Chinese
      servants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must thank you, first of all, doctor,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;for your kindness in
      coming when I was ill. 'I was sick, and ye visited me.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mustn't think of it that way,&rdquo; said Ledsmar; &ldquo;your friend came for
      me, and of course I went; and gladly too. There was nothing that I could
      do, or that anybody could do. Very interesting man, that friend of yours.
      And his wife, too&mdash;both quite out of the common. I don't know when
      I've seen two such really genuine people. I should like to have known more
      of them. Are they still here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They went yesterday,&rdquo; Theron replied. His earlier shyness had worn off,
      and he felt comfortably at his ease. &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;that the
      word 'genuine' is just what would have occurred to me to describe the
      Soulsbys. They are very interesting people, as you say&mdash;MOST
      interesting&mdash;and there was a time, I dare say, when I should have
      believed in their sincerity. But of course I saw them and their
      performance from the inside&mdash;like one on the stage of a theatre, you
      know, instead of in the audience, and&mdash;well, I understand things
      better than I used to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The doctor looked over his spectacles at him with a suggestion of inquiry
      in his glance, and Theron continued: &ldquo;I had several long talks with her;
      she told me very frankly the whole story of her life&mdash;and and it was
      decidedly queer, I can assure you! I may say to you&mdash;you will
      understand what I mean&mdash;that since my talk with you, and the books
      you lent me, I see many things differently. Indeed, when I think upon it
      sometimes my old state of mind seems quite incredible to me. I can use no
      word for my new state short of illumination.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar continued to regard his guest with that calm, interrogatory
      scrutiny of his. He did not seem disposed to take up the great issue of
      illumination. &ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; he said after a little, &ldquo;no woman can come in
      contact with a priest for any length of time WITHOUT telling him the
      'story of her life,' as you call it. They all do it. The thing amounts to
      a law.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young minister's veins responded with a pleasurable thrill to the use
      of the word &ldquo;priest&rdquo; in obvious allusion to himself. &ldquo;Perhaps in fairness
      I ought to explain,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that in her case it was only done in the
      course of a long talk about myself. I might say that it was by way of
      kindly warning to me. She saw how I had become unsettled in many&mdash;many
      of my former views&mdash;and she was nervous lest this should lead me to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To throw up the priesthood,&rdquo; the doctor interposed upon his hesitation.
      &ldquo;Yes, I know the tribe. Why, my dear sir, your entire profession would
      have perished from the memory of mankind, if it hadn't been for women. It
      is a very curious subject. Lots of thinkers have dipped into it, but no
      one has gone resolutely in with a search-light and exploited the whole
      thing. Our boys, for instance, traverse in their younger years all the
      stages of the childhood of the race. They have terrifying dreams of awful
      monsters and giant animals of which they have never so much as heard in
      their waking hours; they pass through the lust for digging caves, building
      fires, sleeping out in the woods, hunting with bows and arrows&mdash;all
      remote ancestral impulses; they play games with stones, marbles, and so on
      at regular stated periods of the year which they instinctively know, just
      as they were played in the Bronze Age, and heaven only knows how much
      earlier. But the boy goes through all this, and leaves it behind him&mdash;so
      completely that the grown man feels himself more a stranger among boys of
      his own place who are thinking and doing precisely the things he thought
      and did a few years before, than he would among Kurds or Esquimaux. But
      the woman is totally different. She is infinitely more precocious as a
      girl. At an age when her slow brother is still stubbing along somewhere in
      the neolithic period, she has flown way ahead to a kind of mediaeval
      stage, or dawn of mediaevalism, which is peculiarly her own. Having got
      there, she stays there; she dies there. The boy passes her, as the
      tortoise did the hare. He goes on, if he is a philosopher, and lets her
      remain in the dark ages, where she belongs. If he happens to be a fool,
      which is customary, he stops and hangs around in her vicinity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled. &ldquo;We priests,&rdquo; he said, and paused again to enjoy the words&mdash;&ldquo;I
      suppose I oughtn't to inquire too closely just where we belong in the
      procession.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are considering the question impersonally,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;First of
      all, what you regard as religion is especially calculated to attract
      women. They remain as superstitious today, down in the marrow of their
      bones, as they were ten thousand years ago. Even the cleverest of them are
      secretly afraid of omens, and respect auguries. Think of the broadest
      women you know. One of them will throw salt over her shoulder if she
      spills it. Another drinks money from her cup by skimming the bubbles in a
      spoon. Another forecasts her future by the arrangement of tea-grounds.
      They make the constituency to which an institution based on mysteries,
      miracles, and the supernatural generally, would naturally appeal.
      Secondly, there is the personality of the priest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented Ware. There rose up before him, on the instant, the
      graceful, portly figure and strong, comely face of Father Forbes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Women are not a metaphysical people. They do not easily follow
      abstractions. They want their dogmas and religious sentiments embodied in
      a man, just as they do their romantic fancies. Of course you Protestants,
      with your married clergy, see less of the effects of this than celibates
      do, but even with you there is a great deal in it. Why, the very
      institution of celibacy itself was forced upon the early Christian Church
      by the scandal of rich Roman ladies loading bishops and handsome priests
      with fabulous gifts until the passion for currying favor with women of
      wealth, and marrying them or wheedling their fortunes from them, debauched
      the whole priesthood. You should read your Jerome.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will&mdash;certainly,&rdquo; said the listener, resolving to remember the
      name and refer it to the old bookseller.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, whatever laws one sect or another makes, the woman's attitude
      toward the priest survives. She desires to see him surrounded by
      flower-pots and candles, to have him smelling of musk. She would like to
      curl his hair, and weave garlands in it. Although she is not learned
      enough to have ever heard of such things, she intuitively feels in his
      presence a sort of backwash of the old pagan sensuality and lascivious
      mysticism which enveloped the priesthood in Greek and Roman days. Ugh! It
      makes one sick!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar rose, as he spoke, and dismissed the topic with a dry little
      laugh. &ldquo;Come, let me show you round a bit,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My shoulder is
      easier walking than sitting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you never written a book yourself?&rdquo; asked Theron, getting to his
      feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have a thing on serpent-worship,&rdquo; the scientist replied&mdash;&ldquo;written
      years ago.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't tell you how I should enjoy reading it,&rdquo; urged the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor laughed again. &ldquo;You'll have to learn German, then, I 'm afraid.
      It is still in circulation in Germany, I believe, on its merits as a
      serious book. I haven't a copy of the edition in English. THAT was all
      exhausted by collectors who bought it for its supposed obscenity, like
      Burton's 'Arabian Nights.' Come this way, and I will show you my
      laboratory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They moved out of the room, and through a passage, Ledsmar talking as he
      led the way. &ldquo;I took up that subject, when I was at college, by a curious
      chance. I kept a young monkey in my rooms, which had been born in
      captivity. I brought home from a beer hall&mdash;it was in Germany&mdash;some
      pretzels one night, and tossed one toward the monkey. He jumped toward it,
      then screamed and ran back shuddering with fright. I couldn't understand
      it at first. Then I saw that the curled pretzel, lying there on the floor,
      was very like a little coiled-up snake. The monkey had never seen a snake,
      but it was in his blood to be afraid of one. That incident changed my
      whole life for me. Up to that evening, I had intended to be a lawyer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron did not feel sure that he had understood the point of the anecdote.
      He looked now, without much interest, at some dark little tanks containing
      thick water, a row of small glass cases with adders and other lesser
      reptiles inside, and a general collection of boxes, jars, and similar
      receptacles connected with the doctor's pursuits. Further on was a smaller
      chamber, with a big empty furnace, and shelves bearing bottles and
      apparatus like a drugstore.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was pleasanter in the conservatory&mdash;a low, spacious structure with
      broad pathways between the plants, and an awning over the sunny side of
      the roof. The plants were mostly orchids, he learned. He had read of them,
      but never seen any before. No doubt they were curious; but he discovered
      nothing to justify the great fuss made about them. The heat grew
      oppressive inside, and he was glad to emerge into the garden. He paused
      under the grateful shade of a vine-clad trellis, took off his hat, and
      looked about him with a sigh of relief. Everything seemed old-fashioned
      and natural and delightfully free from pretence in the big, overgrown
      field of flowers and shrubs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron recalled with some surprise Celia's indictment of the doctor as a
      man with no poetry in his soul. &ldquo;You must be extremely fond of flowers,&rdquo;
       he remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar shrugged his well shoulder. &ldquo;They have their points,&rdquo; he said
      briefly. &ldquo;These are all dioecious here. Over beyond are monoecious
      species. My work is to test the probabilities for or against Darwin's
      theory that hermaphroditism in plants is a late by-product of these
      earlier forms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And is his theory right?&rdquo; asked Mr. Ware, with a polite show of interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We may know in the course of three or four hundred years,&rdquo; replied
      Ledsmar. He looked up into his guest's face with a quizzical half-smile.
      &ldquo;That is a very brief period for observation when such a complicated
      question as sex is involved,&rdquo; he added. &ldquo;We have been studying the female
      of our own species for some hundreds of thousands of years, and we haven't
      arrived at the most elementary rules governing her actions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They had moved along to a bed of tall plants, the more forward of which
      were beginning to show bloom. &ldquo;Here another task will begin next month,&rdquo;
       the doctor observed. &ldquo;These are salvias, pentstemons, and antirrhinums, or
      snapdragons, planted very thick for the purpose. Humble-bees bore holes
      through their base, to save the labor of climbing in and out of the
      flowers, and we don't quite know yet why some hive-bees discover and
      utilize these holes at once, while others never do. It may be merely the
      old-fogy conservatism of the individual, or there may be a law in it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      These seemed very paltry things for a man of such wisdom to bother his
      head about. Theron looked, as he was bidden, at the rows of hives shining
      in the hot sun on a bench along the wall, but offered no comment beyond a
      casual, &ldquo;My mother was always going to keep bees, but somehow she never
      got around to it. They say it pays very well, though.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The discovery of the reason why no bee will touch the nectar of the
      EPIPACTIS LATIFOLIA, though it is sweet to our taste, and wasps are greedy
      for it, WOULD pay,&rdquo; commented the doctor. &ldquo;Not like a blue rhododendron,
      in mere money, but in recognition. Lots of men have achieved a half-column
      in the 'Encyclopedia Britannica' on a smaller basis than that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They stood now at the end of the garden, before a small, dilapidated
      summer-house. On the bench inside, facing him, Theron saw a strange
      recumbent figure stretched at full length, apparently sound asleep, or it
      might be dead. Looking closer, with a startled surprise, he made out the
      shaven skull and outlandish garb of a Chinaman. He turned toward his guide
      in the expectation of a scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor had already taken out a note-book and pencil, and was drawing
      his watch from his pocket. He stepped into the summer-house, and, lifting
      the Oriental's limp arm, took account of his pulse. Then, with head bowed
      low, side-wise, he listened for the heart-action. Finally, he somewhat
      brusquely pushed back one of the Chinaman's eyelids, and made a minute
      inspection of what the operation disclosed. Returning to the light, he
      inscribed some notes in his book, put it back in his pocket, and came out.
      In answer to Theron's marvelling stare, he pointed toward a pipe of odd
      construction lying on the floor beneath the sleeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is one of my regular afternoon duties,&rdquo; he explained, again with the
      whimsical half-smile. &ldquo;I am increasing his dose monthly by regular stages,
      and the results promise to be rather remarkable. Heretofore, observations
      have been made mostly on diseased or morbidly deteriorated subjects. This
      fellow of mine is strong as an ox, perfectly nourished, and watched over
      intelligently. He can assimilate opium enough to kill you and me and every
      other vertebrate creature on the premises, without turning a hair, and he
      hasn't got even fairly under way yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The thing was unpleasant, and the young minister turned away. They walked
      together up the path toward the house. His mind was full now of the
      hostile things which Celia had said about the doctor. He had vaguely
      sympathized with her then, upon no special knowledge of his own. Now he
      felt that his sentiments were vehemently in accord with hers. The doctor
      WAS a beast.
    </p>
    <p>
      And yet&mdash;as they moved slowly along through the garden the thought
      took sudden shape in his mind&mdash;it would be only justice for him to
      get also the doctor's opinion of Celia. Even while they offended and
      repelled him, he could not close his eyes to the fact that the doctor's
      experiments and occupations were those of a patient and exact man of
      science&mdash;a philosopher. And what he had said about women&mdash;there
      was certainly a great deal of acumen and shrewd observation in that. If he
      would only say what he really thought about Celia, and about her relations
      with the priest! Yes, Theron recognized now there was nothing else that he
      so much needed light upon as those puzzling ties between Celia and Father
      Forbes.
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, with a simulated curiosity, about one of the flower-beds.
      &ldquo;Speaking of women and religion&rdquo;&mdash;he began, in as casual a tone as he
      could command&mdash;&ldquo;I notice curiously enough in my own case, that as I
      develop in what you may call the&mdash;the other direction, my wife, who
      formerly was not especially devote, is being strongly attracted by the
      most unthinking and hysterical side of&mdash;of our church system.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The doctor looked at him, nodded, and stooped to nip some buds from a
      stalk in the bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And another case,&rdquo; Theron went on&mdash;&ldquo;of course it was all so new and
      strange to me&mdash;but the position which Miss Madden seems to occupy
      about the Catholic Church here&mdash;I suppose you had her in mind when
      you spoke.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ledsmar stood up. &ldquo;My mind has better things to busy itself with than mad
      asses of that description,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;She is not worth talking about&mdash;a
      mere bundle of egotism, ignorance, and red-headed lewdness. If she were
      even a type, she might be worth considering; but she is simply an abnormal
      sport, with a little brain addled by notions that she is like Hypatia, and
      a large impudence rendered intolerable by the fact that she has money. Her
      father is a decent man. He ought to have her whipped.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware drew himself erect, as he listened to these outrageous words. It
      would be unmanly, he felt, to allow such comments upon an absent friend to
      pass unrebuked. Yet there was the courtesy due to a host to be considered.
      His mind, fluttering between these two extremes, alighted abruptly upon a
      compromise. He would speak so as to show his disapproval, yet not so as to
      prevent his finding out what he wanted to know. The desire to hear Ledsmar
      talk about Celia and the priest seemed now to have possessed him for a
      long time, to have dictated his unpremeditated visit out here, to have
      been growing in intensity all the while he pretended to be interested in
      orchids and bees and the drugged Chinaman. It tugged passionately at his
      self-control as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot in the least assent to your characterization of the lady,&rdquo; he
      began with rhetorical dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bless me!&rdquo; interposed the doctor, with deceptive cheerfulness, &ldquo;that is
      not required of you at all. It is a strictly personal opinion, offered
      merely as a contribution to the general sum of hypotheses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; Theron went on, feeling his way, &ldquo;of course, I gathered that
      evening that you had prejudices in the matter; but these are rather apart
      from the point I had in view. We were speaking, you will remember, of the
      traditional attitude of women toward priests&mdash;wanting to curl their
      hair and put flowers in it, you know, and that suggested to me some
      individual illustrations, and it occurred to me to wonder just what were
      the relations between Miss Madden and&mdash;and Father Forbes. She said
      this morning, for instance&mdash;I happened to meet her, quite by accident&mdash;that
      she was going to the church to practise a new piece, and that she could
      have Father Forbes to herself all day. Now that would be quite an
      impossible remark in our&mdash;that is, in any Protestant circles&mdash;and
      purely as a matter of comparison, I was curious to ask you just how much
      there was in it. I ask you, because going there so much you have had
      exceptional opportunities for&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sharp exclamation from his companion interrupted the clergyman's
      hesitating monologue. It began like a high-pitched, violent word, but
      dwindled suddenly into a groan of pain. The doctor's face, too, which had
      on the flash of Theron's turning seemed given over to unmixed anger, took
      on an expression of bodily suffering instead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My shoulder has grown all at once excessively painful,&rdquo; he said hastily.
      &ldquo;I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Carrying the afflicted side with ostentatious caution, he led the way
      without ado round the house to the front gate on the road. He had put his
      left hand under his coat to press it against his aching shoulder, and his
      right hung palpably helpless. This rendered it impossible for him to shake
      hands with his guest in parting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You're sure there's nothing I can do,&rdquo; said Theron, lingering on the
      outer side of the gate. &ldquo;I used to rub my father's shoulders and back; I'd
      gladly&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, not for worlds!&rdquo; groaned the doctor. His anguish was so impressive
      that Theron, as he walked down the road, quite missed the fact that there
      had been no invitation to come again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dr. Ledsmar stood for a minute or two, his gaze meditatively following the
      retreating figure. Then he went in, opening the front door with his right
      hand, and carrying himself once more as if there were no such thing as
      rheumatism in the world. He wandered on through the hall into the
      laboratory, and stopped in front of the row of little tanks full of water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some deliberation was involved in whatever his purpose might be, for he
      looked from one tank to another with a pondering, dilatory gaze. At last
      he plunged his hand into the opaque fluid and drew forth a long, slim,
      yellowish-green lizard, with a coiling, sinuous tail and a pointed, evil
      head. The reptile squirmed and doubled itself backward around his wrist,
      darting out and in with dizzy swiftness its tiny forked tongue.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor held the thing up to the light, and, scrutinizing it through
      his spectacles, nodded his head in sedate approval. A grim smile curled in
      his beard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, you are the type,&rdquo; he murmured to it, with evident enjoyment in the
      conceit. &ldquo;Your name isn't Johnny any more. It's the Rev. Theron Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The annual camp-meeting of the combined Methodist districts of Octavius
      and Thessaly was held this year in the second half of September, a little
      later than usual. Of the nine days devoted to this curious survival of
      primitive Wesleyanism, the fifth fell upon a Saturday. On the noon of that
      day the Rev. Theron Ware escaped for some hours from the burden of work
      and incessant observation which he shared with twenty other preachers, and
      walked alone in the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scene upon which he turned his back was one worth looking at. A
      spacious, irregularly defined clearing in the forest lay level as a
      tennis-court, under the soft haze of autumn sunlight. In the centre was a
      large, roughly constructed frame building, untouched by paint, but stained
      and weather-beaten with time. Behind it were some lines of horse-sheds,
      and still further on in that direction, where the trees began, the eye
      caught fragmentary glimpses of low roofs and the fronts of tiny cottages,
      withdrawn from full view among the saplings and underbrush. At the other
      side of the clearing, fully fourscore tents were pitched, some gray and
      mended, others dazzlingly white in their newness. The more remote of these
      tents fell into an orderly arrangement of semi-circular form, facing that
      part of the engirdling woods where the trees were largest, and their
      canopy of overhanging foliage was lifted highest from the ground. Inside
      this half-ring of tents were many rounded rows of benches, which followed
      in narrowing lines the idea of an amphitheatre cut in two. In the centre,
      just under the edge of the roof of boughs, rose a wooden pagoda, in form
      not unlike an open-air stand for musicians. In front of this, and leading
      from it on the level of its floor, there projected a platform, railed
      round with aggressively rustic woodwork. The nearest benches came close
      about this platform.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the hour when Theron started away, there were few enough signs of life
      about this encampment. The four or five hundred people who were in
      constant residence were eating their dinners in the big boarding-house, or
      the cottages or the tents. It was not the time of day for strangers. Even
      when services were in progress by daylight, the regular attendants did not
      make much of a show, huddled in a gray-black mass at the front of the
      auditorium, by comparison with the great green and blue expanses of nature
      about them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The real spectacle was in the evening when, as the shadows gathered, big
      clusters of kerosene torches, hung on the trees facing the audience were
      lighted. The falling darkness magnified the glow of the lights, and the
      size and importance of what they illumined. The preacher, bending forward
      over the rails of the platform, and fastening his eyes upon the abashed
      faces of those on the &ldquo;anxious seat&rdquo; beneath him, borrowed an effect of
      druidical mystery from the wall of blackness about him, from the
      flickering reflections on the branches far above, from the cool night air
      which stirred across the clearing. The change was in the blood of those
      who saw and heard him, too. The decorum and half-heartedness of their
      devotions by day deepened under the glare of the torches into a fervent
      enthusiasm, even before the services began. And if there was in the rustic
      pulpit a man whose prayers or exhortations could stir their pulses, they
      sang and groaned and bellowed out their praises with an almost barbarous
      license, such as befitted the wilderness.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in the evening not all were worshippers. For a dozen miles round on
      the country-side, young farm-workers and their girls regarded the
      camp-meeting as perhaps the chief event of the year&mdash;no more to be
      missed than the country fair or the circus, and offering, from many points
      of view, more opportunities for genuine enjoyment than either. Their
      behavior when they came was pretty bad&mdash;not the less so because all
      the rules established by the Presiding Elders for the regulation of
      strangers took it for granted that they would act as viciously as they
      knew how. These sight-seers sometimes ventured to occupy the back benches
      where the light was dim. More often they stood outside, in the circular
      space between the tents and the benches, and mingled cat-calls, drovers'
      yelps, and all sorts of mocking cries and noises with the &ldquo;Amens&rdquo; of the
      earnest congregation. Their rough horse-play on the fringe of the
      sanctified gathering was grievous enough; everybody knew that much worse
      things went on further out in the surrounding darkness. Indeed, popular
      report gave to these external phases of the camp-meeting an even more evil
      fame than attached to the later moonlight husking-bees, or the least
      reputable of the midwinter dances at Dave Randall's low halfway house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cynics said that the Methodists found consolation for this scandal in the
      large income they derived from their unruly visitors' gate-money. This was
      unfair. No doubt the money played its part, but there was something else
      far more important. The pious dwellers in the camp, intent upon reviving
      in their poor modern way the character and environment of the heroic early
      days, felt the need of just this hostile and scoffing mob about them to
      bring out the spirit they sought. Theirs was pre-eminently a fighting
      religion, which languished in peaceful fair weather, but flamed high in
      the storm. The throng of loafers and light-minded worldlings of both
      sexes, with their jeering interruptions and lewd levity of conduct,
      brought upon the scene a kind of visible personal devil, with whom the
      chosen could do battle face to face. The daylight services became more and
      more perfunctory, as the sojourn in the woods ran its course, and interest
      concentrated itself upon the night meetings, for the reason that THEN came
      the fierce wrestle with a Beelzebub of flesh and blood. And it was not so
      one-sided a contest, either!
    </p>
    <p>
      No evening passed without its victories for the pulpit. Careless or
      mischievous young people who were pushed into the foremost ranks of the
      mockers, and stood grinning and grimacing under the lights, would of a
      sudden feel a spell clamped upon them. They would hear a strange,
      quavering note in the preacher's voice, catch the sense of a piercing,
      soul-commanding gleam in his eye&mdash;not at all to be resisted. These
      occult forces would take control of them, drag them forward as in a dream
      to the benches under the pulpit, and abase them there like worms in the
      dust. And then the preacher would descend, and the elders advance, and the
      torch-fires would sway and dip before the wind of the mighty roar that
      went up in triumph from the brethren.
    </p>
    <p>
      These combats with Satan at close quarters, if they made the week-day
      evenings exciting, reacted with an effect of crushing dulness upon the
      Sunday services. The rule was to admit no strangers to the grounds from
      Saturday night to Monday morning. Every year attempts were made to rescind
      or modify this rule, and this season at least three-fourths of the laymen
      in attendance had signed a petition in favor of opening the gates. The two
      Presiding Elders, supported by a dozen of the older preachers, resisted
      the change, and they had the backing of the more bigoted section of the
      congregation from Octavius. The controversy reached a point where Theron's
      Presiding Elder threatened to quit the grounds, and the leaders of the
      open-Sunday movement spoke freely of the ridiculous figure which its
      cranks and fanatics made poor Methodism cut in the eyes of modern go-ahead
      American civilization. Then Theron Ware saw his opportunity, and preached
      an impromptu sermon upon the sanctity of the Sabbath, which ended all
      discussion. Sometimes its arguments seemed to be on one side, sometimes on
      the other, but always they were clothed with so serene a beauty of
      imagery, and moved in such a lofty and rarefied atmosphere of spiritual
      exaltation, that it was impossible to link them to so sordid a thing as
      this question of gate-money. When he had finished, nobody wanted the gates
      opened. The two factions found that the difference between them had melted
      out of existence. They sat entranced by the charm of the sermon; then,
      glancing around at the empty benches, glaringly numerous in the afternoon
      sunlight, they whispered regrets that ten thousand people had not been
      there to hear that marvellous discourse. Theron's conquest was of
      exceptional dimensions. The majority, whose project he had defeated, were
      strangers who appreciated and admired his effort most. The little minority
      of his own flock, though less susceptible to the influence of graceful
      diction and delicately balanced rhetoric, were proud of the distinction he
      had reflected upon them, and delighted with him for having won their
      fight. The Presiding Elders wrung his hand with a significant grip. The
      extremists of his own charge beamed friendship upon him for the first
      time. He was the veritable hero of the week.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prestige of this achievement made it the easier for Theron to get away
      by himself next day, and walk in the woods. A man of such power had a
      right to solitude. Those who noted his departure from the camp remembered
      with pleasure that he was to preach again on the morrow. He was going to
      commune with God in the depths of the forest, that the Message next day
      might be clearer and more luminous still.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron strolled for a little, with an air of aimlessness, until he was
      well outside the more or less frequented neighborhood of the camp. Then he
      looked at the sun and the lay of the land with that informing scrutiny of
      which the farm-bred boy never loses the trick, turned, and strode at a
      rattling pace down the hillside. He knew nothing personally of this piece
      of woodland&mdash;a spur of the great Adirondack wilderness thrust
      southward into the region of homesteads and dairies and hop-fields&mdash;but
      he had prepared himself by a study of the map, and he knew where he wanted
      to go. Very Soon he hit upon the path he had counted upon finding, and at
      this he quickened his gait.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three months of the new life had wrought changes in Theron. He bore
      himself more erectly, for one thing; his shoulders were thrown back, and
      seemed thicker. The alteration was even more obvious in his face. The
      effect of lank, wistful, sallow juvenility had vanished. It was the
      countenance of a mature, well-fed, and confident man, firmer and more
      rounded in its outlines, and with a glow of health on its whole surface.
      Under the chin were the suggestions of fulness which bespeak an easy mind.
      His clothes were new; the frock-coat fitted him, and the thin,
      dark-colored autumn overcoat, with its silk lining exposed at the breast,
      gave a masculine bulk and shape to his figure. He wore a shining tall hat,
      and, in haste though he was, took pains not to knock it against
      low-hanging branches.
    </p>
    <p>
      All had gone well&mdash;more than well&mdash;with him. The second
      Quarterly Conference had passed without a ripple. Both the attendance and
      the collections at his church were larger than ever before, and the tone
      of the congregation toward him was altered distinctly for the better. As
      for himself, he viewed with astonished delight the progress he had made in
      his own estimation. He had taken Sister Soulsby's advice, and the results
      were already wonderful. He had put aside, once and for all, the thousand
      foolish trifles and childish perplexities which formerly had racked his
      brain, and worried him out of sleep and strength. He borrowed all sorts of
      books boldly now from the Octavius public library, and could swim with a
      calm mastery and enjoyment upon the deep waters into which Draper and
      Lecky and Laing and the rest had hurled him. He dallied pleasurably, a
      little languorously, with a dozen aspects of the case against revealed
      religion, ranging from the mild heterodoxy of Andover's qualms to the rude
      Ingersoll's rollicking negation of God himself, as a woman of coquetry
      might play with as many would-be lovers. They amused him; they were all
      before him to choose; and he was free to postpone indefinitely the act of
      selection. There was a sense of the luxurious in this position which
      softened bodily as well as mental fibres. He ceased to grow indignant at
      things below or outside his standards, and he bought a small book which
      treated of the care of the hand and finger nails.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice had accepted with deference his explanation that shapely hands
      played so important a part in pulpit oratory. For that matter, she now
      accepted whatever he said or did with admirable docility. It was months
      since he could remember her venturing upon a critical attitude toward him.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had not wished to leave home, for the seaside or any other resort,
      during the summer, but had worked outside in her garden more than usual.
      This was inexpensive, and it seemed to do her as much good as a holiday
      could have done. Her new devotional zeal was now quite an odd thing; it
      had not slackened at all from the revival pitch. At the outset she had
      tried several times to talk with her husband upon this subject. He had
      discouraged conversation about her soul and its welfare, at first
      obliquely, then, under compulsion, with some directness. His thoughts were
      absorbed, he said, by the contemplation of vast, abstract schemes of
      creation and the government of the universe, and it only diverted and
      embarrassed his mind to try to fasten it upon the details of personal
      salvation. Thereafter the topic was not broached between them.
    </p>
    <p>
      She bestowed a good deal of attention, too, upon her piano. The knack of a
      girlish nimbleness of touch had returned to her after a few weeks, and she
      made music which Theron supposed was very good&mdash;for her. It pleased
      him, at all events, when he sat and listened to it; but he had a far
      greater pleasure, as he listened, in dwelling upon the memories of the
      yellow and blue room which the sounds always brought up. Although three
      months had passed, Thurston's had never asked for the first payment on the
      piano, or even sent in a bill. This impressed him as being peculiarly
      graceful behavior on his part, and he recognized its delicacy by not going
      near Thurston's at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour's sharp walk, occasionally broken by short cuts across open
      pastures, but for the most part on forest paths, brought Theron to the
      brow of a small knoll, free from underbrush, and covered sparsely with
      beech-trees. The ground was soft with moss and the powdered remains of
      last year's foliage; the leaves above him were showing the first yellow
      stains of autumn. A sweet smell of ripening nuts was thick upon the air,
      and busy rustlings and chirpings through the stillness told how the
      chipmunks and squirrels were attending to their harvest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had no ears for these noises of the woodland. He had halted, and
      was searching through the little vistas offered between the stout gray
      trunks of the beeches for some sign of a more sophisticated sort. Yes!
      there were certainly voices to be heard, down in the hollow. And now,
      beyond all possibility of mistake, there came up to him the low, rhythmic
      throb of music. It was the merest faint murmur of music, made up almost
      wholly of groaning bass notes, but it was enough. He moved down the slope,
      swiftly at first, then with increasing caution. The sounds grew louder as
      he advanced, until he could hear the harmony of the other strings in its
      place beside the uproar of the big fiddles, and distinguish from both the
      measured noise of many feet moving as one.
    </p>
    <p>
      He reached a place from which, himself unobserved, he could overlook much
      of what he had come to see.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bottom of the glade below him lay out in the full sunshine, as flat
      and as velvety in its fresh greenness as a garden lawn. Its open expanse
      was big enough to accommodate several distinct crowds, and here the crowds
      were&mdash;one massed about an enclosure in which young men were playing
      at football, another gathered further off in a horse-shoe curve at the end
      of a baseball diamond, and a third thronging at a point where the shade of
      overhanging woods began, focussed upon a centre of interest which Theron
      could not make out. Closer at hand, where a shallow stream rippled along
      over its black-slate bed, some little boys, with legs bared to the thighs,
      were paddling about, under the charge of two men clad in long black gowns.
      There were others of these frocked monitors scattered here and there upon
      the scene&mdash;pallid, close-shaven, monkish figures, who none the less
      wore modern hats, and superintended with knowledge the games of the
      period. Theron remembered that these were the Christian Brothers, the
      semi-monastic teachers of the Catholic school.
    </p>
    <p>
      And this was the picnic of the Catholics of Octavius. He gazed in mingled
      amazement and exhilaration upon the spectacle. There seemed to be
      literally thousands of people on the open fields before him, and
      apparently there were still other thousands in the fringes of the woods
      round about. The noises which arose from this multitude&mdash;the shouts
      of the lads in the water, the playful squeals of the girls in the swings,
      the fused uproar of the more distant crowds, and above all the diligent,
      ordered strains of the dance-music proceeding from some invisible distance
      in the greenwood&mdash;charmed his ears with their suggestion of universal
      merriment. He drew a long breath&mdash;half pleasure, half wistful regret&mdash;as
      he remembered that other gathering in the forest which he had left behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      At any rate, it should be well behind him today, whatever the morrow might
      bring! Evidently he was on the wrong side of the circle for the
      headquarters of the festivities. He turned and walked to the right through
      the beeches, making a detour, under cover, of the crowds at play. At last
      he rounded the long oval of the clearing, and found himself at the very
      edge of that largest throng of all, which had been too far away for
      comprehension at the beginning. There was no mystery now. A rough, narrow
      shed, fully fifty feet in length, imposed itself in an arbitrary line
      across the face of this crowd, dividing it into two compact halves. Inside
      this shed, protected all round by a waist-high barrier of boards, on top
      of which ran a flat, table-like covering, were twenty men in their
      shirt-sleeves, toiling ceaselessly to keep abreast of the crowd's thirst
      for beer. The actions of these bartenders greatly impressed Theron. They
      moved like so many machines, using one hand, apparently, to take money and
      give change, and with the other incessantly sweeping off rows of empty
      glasses, and tossing forward in their place fresh, foaming glasses five at
      a time. Hundreds of arms and hands were continually stretched out, on both
      sides of the shed, toward this streaming bar, and through the babel of
      eager cries rose without pause the racket of mallets tapping new kegs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had never seen any considerable number of his fellow-citizens
      engaged in drinking lager beer before. His surprise at the facility of
      those behind the bar began to yield, upon observation, to a profound
      amazement at the thirst of those before it. The same people seemed to be
      always in front, emptying the glasses faster than the busy men inside
      could replenish them, and clamoring tirelessly for more. Newcomers had to
      force their way to the bar by violent efforts, and once there they stayed
      until pushed bodily aside. There were actually women to be seen here and
      there in the throng, elbowing and shoving like the rest for a place at the
      front. Some of the more gallant young men fought their way outward, from
      time to time, carrying for safety above their heads glasses of beer which
      they gave to young and pretty girls standing on the fringe of the crowd,
      among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      Everywhere a remarkable good-humor prevailed. Once a sharp fight broke
      out, just at the end of the bar nearest Theron, and one young man was
      knocked down. A rush of the onlookers confused everything before the
      minister's eyes for a minute, and then he saw the aggrieved combatant up
      on his legs again, consenting under the kindly pressure of the crowd to
      shake hands with his antagonist, and join him in more beer. The incident
      caught his fancy. There was something very pleasingly human, he thought,
      in this primitive readiness to resort to fisticuffs, and this frank and
      genial reconciliation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps there was something contagious in this wholesale display of
      thirst, for the Rev. Mr. Ware became conscious of a notion that he should
      like to try a glass of beer. He recalled having heard that lager was
      really a most harmless beverage. Of course it was out of the question that
      he should show himself at the bar. Perhaps some one would bring him out a
      glass, as if he were a pretty girl. He looked about for a possible
      messenger. Turning, he found himself face to face with two smiling people,
      into whose eyes he stared for an instant in dumfounded blankness. Then his
      countenance flashed with joy, and he held out both hands in greeting. It
      was Father Forbes and Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We stole down upon you unawares,&rdquo; said the priest, in his cheeriest
      manner. He wore a brown straw hat, and loose clothes hardly at all
      clerical in form, and had Miss Madden's arm drawn lightly within his own.
      &ldquo;We could barely believe our eyes&mdash;that it could be you whom we saw,
      here among the sinners!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am in love with your sinners,&rdquo; responded Theron, as he shook hands with
      Celia, and trusted himself to look fully into her eyes. &ldquo;I've had five
      days of the saints, over in another part of the woods, and they've bored
      the head off me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      At the command of Father Forbes, a lad who was loitering near them went
      down through the throng to the bar, and returned with three glasses of
      beer. It pleased the Rev. Mr. Ware that the priest should have taken it
      for granted that he would do as the others did. He knocked his glass
      against theirs in compliance with a custom strange to him, but which they
      seemed to understand very well. The beer itself was not so agreeable to
      the taste as he had expected, but it was cold and refreshing.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the boy had returned with the glasses, the three stood for a moment
      in silence, meditatively watching the curious scene spread below them.
      Beyond the bar, Theron could catch now through the trees regularly
      recurring glimpses of four or five swings in motion. These were nearest
      him, and clearest to the vision as well, at the instant when they reached
      their highest forward point. The seats were filled with girls, some of
      them quite grown young women, and their curving upward sweep through the
      air was disclosing at its climax a remarkable profusion of white skirts
      and black stockings. The sight struck him as indecorous in the extreme,
      and he turned his eyes away. They met Celia's; and there was something
      latent in their brown depths which prompted him, after a brief dalliance
      of interchanging glances, to look again at the swings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That old maid Curran is really too ridiculous, with those white stockings
      of hers,&rdquo; remarked Celia; &ldquo;some friend ought to tell her to dye them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or pad them,&rdquo; suggested Father Forbes, with a gay little chuckle. &ldquo;I
      daresay the question of swings and ladies' stockings hardly arises with
      you, over at the camp-meeting, Mr. Ware?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron laughed aloud at the conceit. &ldquo;I should say not!&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm just dying to see a camp-meeting!&rdquo; said Celia. &ldquo;You hear such racy
      accounts of what goes on at them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't go, I beg of you!&rdquo; urged Theron, with doleful emphasis. &ldquo;Don't
      let's even talk about them. I should like to feel this afternoon as if
      there was no such thing within a thousand miles of me as a camp-meeting.
      Do you know, all this interests me enormously. It is a revelation to me to
      see these thousands of good, decent, ordinary people, just frankly
      enjoying themselves like human beings. I suppose that in this whole huge
      crowd there isn't a single person who will mention the subject of his soul
      to any other person all day long.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should think the assumption was a safe one,&rdquo; said the priest,
      smilingly, &ldquo;unless,&rdquo; he added on afterthought, &ldquo;it be by way of a genial
      profanity. There used to be some old Clare men who said 'Hell to my soul!'
      when they missed at quoits, but I haven't heard it for a long time. I
      daresay they're all dead.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall never forget that death-bed&mdash;where I saw you first,&rdquo;
       remarked Theron, musingly. &ldquo;I date from that experience a whole new life.
      I have been greatly struck lately, in reading our 'Northern Christian
      Advocate' to see in the obituary notices of prominent Methodists how over
      and over again it is recorded that they got religion in their youth
      through being frightened by some illness of their own, or some epidemic
      about them. The cholera year of 1832 seems to have made Methodists hand
      over fist. Even to this day our most successful revivalists, those who
      work conversions wholesale wherever they go, do it more by frightful
      pictures of hell-fire surrounding the sinner's death-bed than anything
      else. You could hear the same thing at our camp-meeting tonight, if you
      were there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There isn't so much difference as you think,&rdquo; said Father Forbes,
      dispassionately. &ldquo;Your people keep examining their souls, just as children
      keep pulling up the bulbs they have planted to see are there any roots
      yet. Our people are more satisfied to leave their souls alone, once they
      have been planted, so to speak, by baptism. But fear of hell governs them
      both, pretty much alike. As I remember saying to you once before, there is
      really nothing new under the sun. Even the saying isn't new. Though there
      seem to have been the most tremendous changes in races and civilizations
      and religions, stretching over many thousands of years, yet nothing is in
      fact altered very much. Where religions are concerned, the human race are
      still very like savages in a dangerous wood in the dark, telling one
      another ghost stories around a camp-fire. They have always been like
      that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What nonsense!&rdquo; cried Celia. &ldquo;I have no patience with such gloomy
      rubbish. The Greeks had a religion full of beauty and happiness and
      light-heartedness, and they weren't frightened of death at all. They made
      the image of death a beautiful boy, with a torch turned down. Their
      greatest philosophers openly preached and practised the doctrine of
      suicide when one was tired of life. Our own early Church was full of these
      broad and beautiful Greek ideas. You know that yourself! And it was only
      when your miserable Jeromes and Augustines and Cyrils brought in the
      abominable meannesses and cruelties of the Jewish Old Testament, and
      stamped out the sane and lovely Greek elements in the Church, that
      Christians became the poor, whining, cowardly egotists they are, troubling
      about their little tin-pot souls, and scaring themselves in their churches
      by skulls and crossbones.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Celia,&rdquo; interposed the priest, patting her shoulder gently, &ldquo;we
      will have no Greek debate today. Mr. Ware has been permitted to taboo
      camp-meetings, and I claim the privilege to cry off on Greeks. Look at
      those fellows down there, trampling over one another to get more beer.
      What have they to do with Athens, or Athens with them? I take it, Mr.
      Ware,&rdquo; he went on, with a grave face but a twinkling eye, &ldquo;that what we
      are observing here in front of us is symbolical of a great ethical and
      theological revolution, which in time will modify and control the destiny
      of the entire American people. You see those young Irishmen there,
      struggling like pigs at a trough to get their fill of German beer. That
      signifies a conquest of Teuton over Kelt more important and far-reaching
      in its results than the landing of Hengist and Horsa. The Kelt has come to
      grief heretofore&mdash;or at least been forced to play second fiddle to
      other races&mdash;because he lacked the right sort of a drink. He has in
      his blood an excess of impulsive, imaginative, even fantastic qualities.
      It is much easier for him to make a fool of himself, to begin with, than
      it is for people of slower wits and more sluggish temperaments. When you
      add whiskey to that, or that essence of melancholia which in Ireland they
      call 'porther,' you get the Kelt at his very weakest and worst. These
      young men down there are changing all that. They have discovered lager.
      Already many of them can outdrink the Germans at their own beverage. The
      lager-drinking Irishman in a few generations will be a new type of
      humanity&mdash;the Kelt at his best. He will dominate America. He will be
      THE American. And his church&mdash;with the Italian element thrown clean
      out of it, and its Pope living, say, in Baltimore or Georgetown&mdash;will
      be the Church of America.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us have some more lager at once,&rdquo; put in Celia. &ldquo;This revolution
      can't be hurried forward too rapidly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron could not feel sure how much of the priest's discourse was in jest,
      how much in earnest. &ldquo;It seems to me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that as things are going,
      it doesn't look much as if the America of the future will trouble itself
      about any kind of a church. The march of science must very soon produce a
      universal scepticism. It is in the nature of human progress. What all
      intelligent men recognize today, the masses must surely come to see in
      time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes laughed outright this time. &ldquo;My dear Mr. Ware,&rdquo; he said, as
      they touched glasses again, and sipped the fresh beer that had been
      brought them, &ldquo;of all our fictions there is none so utterly baseless and
      empty as this idea that humanity progresses. The savage's natural
      impression is that the world he sees about him was made for him, and that
      the rest of the universe is subordinated to him and his world, and that
      all the spirits and demons and gods occupy themselves exclusively with him
      and his affairs. That idea was the basis of every pagan religion, and it
      is the basis of the Christian religion, simply because it is the
      foundation of human nature. That foundation is just as firm and unshaken
      today as it was in the Stone Age. It will always remain, and upon it will
      always be built some kind of a religious superstructure. 'Intelligent
      men,' as you call them, really have very little influence, even when they
      all pull one way. The people as a whole soon get tired of them. They give
      too much trouble. The most powerful forces in human nature are
      self-protection and inertia. The middle-aged man has found out that the
      chief wisdom in life is to bend to the pressures about him, to shut up and
      do as others do. Even when he thinks he has rid his own mind of
      superstitions, he sees that he will best enjoy a peaceful life by leaving
      other peoples' superstitions alone. That is always the ultimate view of
      the crowd.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I don't see,&rdquo; observed Theron, &ldquo;granting that all this is true, how
      you think the Catholic Church will come out on top. I could understand it
      of Unitarianism, or Universalism, or the Episcopal Church, where nobody
      seems to have to believe particularly in anything except the beauty of its
      burial service, but I should think the very rigidity of the Catholic creed
      would make it impossible. There everything is hard and fast; nothing is
      elastic; there is no room for compromise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Church is always compromising,&rdquo; explained the priest, &ldquo;only it does
      it so slowly that no one man lives long enough to quite catch it at the
      trick. No; the great secret of the Catholic Church is that it doesn't
      debate with sceptics. No matter what points you make against it, it is
      never betrayed into answering back. It simply says these things are sacred
      mysteries, which you are quite free to accept and be saved, or reject and
      be damned. There is something intelligible and fine about an attitude like
      that. When people have grown tired of their absurd and fruitless wrangling
      over texts and creeds which, humanly speaking, are all barbaric nonsense,
      they will come back to repose pleasantly under the Catholic roof, in that
      restful house where things are taken for granted. There the manners are
      charming, the service excellent, the decoration and upholstery most
      acceptable to the eye, and the music&rdquo;&mdash;he made a little mock bow here
      to Celia&mdash;&ldquo;the music at least is divine. There you have nothing to do
      but be agreeable, and avoid scandal, and observe the convenances. You are
      no more expected to express doubts about the Immaculate Conception than
      you are to ask the lady whom you take down to dinner how old she is. Now
      that is, as I have said, an intelligent and rational church for people to
      have. As the Irish civilize themselves&mdash;you observe them diligently
      engaged in the process down below there&mdash;and the social roughness of
      their church becomes softened and ameliorated, Americans will inevitably
      be attracted toward it. In the end, it will embrace them all, and be
      modified by them, and in turn influence their development, till you will
      have a new nation and a new national church, each representative of the
      other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And all this is to be done by lager beer!&rdquo; Theron ventured to comment,
      jokingly. He was conscious of a novel perspiration around the bridge of
      his nose, which was obviously another effect of the drink.
    </p>
    <p>
      The priest passed the pleasantry by. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said seriously; &ldquo;what you
      must see is that there must always be a church. If one did not exist, it
      would be necessary to invent it. It is needed, first and foremost, as a
      police force. It is needed, secondly, so to speak, as a fire insurance. It
      provides the most even temperature and pure atmosphere for the growth of
      young children. It furnishes the best obtainable social machinery for
      marrying off one's daughters, getting to know the right people, patching
      up quarrels, and so on. The priesthood earn their salaries as the agents
      for these valuable social arrangements. Their theology is thrown in as a
      sort of intellectual diversion, like the ritual of a benevolent
      organization. There are some who get excited about this part of it, just
      as one hears of Free-Masons who believe that the sun rises and sets to
      exemplify their ceremonies. Others take their duties more quietly, and,
      understanding just what it all amounts to, make the best of it, like you
      and me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron assented to the philosophy and the compliment by a grave bow. &ldquo;Yes,
      that is the idea&mdash;to make the best of it,&rdquo; he said, and fastened his
      regard boldly this time upon the swings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were both ordained by our bishops,&rdquo; continued the priest, &ldquo;at an age
      when those worthy old gentlemen would not have trusted our combined wisdom
      to buy a horse for them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I was married,&rdquo; broke in Theron, with an eagerness almost vehement,
      &ldquo;when I had only just been ordained! At the worst, YOU had only the Church
      fastened upon your back, before you were old enough to know what you
      wanted. It is easy enough to make the best of THAT, but it is different
      with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A marked silence followed this outburst. The Rev. Mr. Ware had never
      spoken of his marriage to either of these friends before; and something in
      their manner seemed to suggest that they did not find the subject
      inviting, now that it had been broached. He himself was filled with a
      desire to say more about it. He had never clearly realized before what a
      genuine grievance it was. The moisture at the top of his nose merged
      itself into tears in the corners of his eyes, as the cruel enormity of the
      sacrifice he had made in his youth rose before him. His whole life had
      been fettered and darkened by it. He turned his gaze from the swings
      toward Celia, to claim the sympathy he knew she would feel for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Celia was otherwise engaged. A young man had come up to her&mdash;a
      tall and extremely thin young man, soberly dressed, and with a long,
      gaunt, hollow-eyed face, the skin of which seemed at once florid and pale.
      He had sandy hair and the rough hands of a workman; but he was speaking to
      Miss Madden in the confidential tones of an equal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can do nothing at all with him,&rdquo; this newcomer said to her. &ldquo;He'll not
      be said by me. Perhaps he'd listen to you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's likely I'll go down there!&rdquo; said Celia. &ldquo;He may do what he likes for
      all me! Take my advice, Michael, and just go your way, and leave him to
      himself. There was a time when I would have taken out my eyes for him, but
      it was love wasted and thrown away. After the warnings he's had, if he
      WILL bring trouble on himself, let's make it no affair of ours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron had found himself exchanging glances of inquiry with this young
      man. &ldquo;Mr. Ware,&rdquo; said Celia, here, &ldquo;let me introduce you to my brother
      Michael&mdash;my full brother.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware remembered him now, and began, in response to the other's formal
      bow, to say something about their having met in the dark, inside the
      church. But Celia held up her hand. &ldquo;I'm afraid, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; she said
      hurriedly, &ldquo;that you are in for a glimpse of the family skeleton. I will
      apologize for the infliction in advance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wonderingly, Theron followed her look, and saw another young man who had
      come up the path from the crowd below, and was close upon them. The
      minister recognized in him a figure which had seemed to be the centre of
      almost every group about the bar that he had studied in detail. He was a
      small, dapper, elegantly attired youth, with dark hair, and the handsome,
      regularly carved face of an actor. He advanced with a smiling countenance
      and unsteady step&mdash;his silk hat thrust back upon his head, his
      frock-coat and vest unbuttoned, and his neckwear disarranged&mdash;and
      saluted the company with amiability.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw you up here, Father Forbes,&rdquo; he said, with a thickened and erratic
      utterance. &ldquo;Whyn't you come down and join us? I'm setting 'em up for
      everybody. You got to take care of the boys, you know. I'll blow in the
      last cent I've got in the world for the boys, every time, and they know
      it. They're solider for me than they ever were for anybody. That's how it
      is. If you stand by the boys, the boys'll stand by you. I'm going to the
      Assembly for this district, and they ain't nobody can stop me. The boys
      are just red hot for me. Wish you'd come down, Father Forbes, and address
      a few words to the meeting&mdash;just mention that I'm a candidate, and
      say I'm bound to win, hands down. That'll make you solid with the boys,
      and we'll be all good fellows together. Come on down!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The priest affably disengaged his arm from the clutch which the speaker
      had laid upon it, and shook his head in gentle deprecation. &ldquo;No, no; you
      must excuse me, Theodore,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We mustn't meddle in politics, you
      know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Politics be damned!&rdquo; urged Theodore, grabbing the priest's other arm, and
      tugging at it stoutly to pull him down the path. &ldquo;I say, boys&rdquo; he shouted
      to those below, &ldquo;here's Father Forbes, and he's going to come down and
      address the meeting. Come on, Father! Come down, and have a drink with the
      boys!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was Celia who sharply pulled his hand away from the priest's arm this
      time. &ldquo;Go away with you!&rdquo; she snapped in low, angry tones at the intruder.
      &ldquo;You should be ashamed of yourself! If you can't keep sober yourself, you
      can at least keep your hands off the priest. I should think you'd have
      more decency, when you're in such a state as this, than to come where I
      am. If you've no respect for yourself, you might have that much respect
      for me! And before strangers, too!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I mustn't come where YOU are, eh?&rdquo; remarked the peccant Theodore,
      straightening himself with an elaborate effort. &ldquo;You've bought these
      woods, have you? I've got a hundred friends here, all the same, for every
      one you'll ever have in your life, Red-head, and don't you forget it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go and spend your money with them, then, and don't come insulting decent
      people,&rdquo; said Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before strangers, too!&rdquo; the young man called out, with beery sarcasm.
      &ldquo;Oh, we'll take care of the strangers all right.&rdquo; He had not seemed to be
      aware of Theron's presence, much less his identity, before; but he turned
      to him now with a knowing grin. &ldquo;I'm running for the Assembly, Mr. Ware,&rdquo;
       he said, speaking loudly and with deliberate effort to avoid the drunken
      elisions and comminglings to which his speech tended, &ldquo;and I want you to
      fix up the Methodists solid for me. I'm going to drive over to the
      camp-meeting tonight, me and some of the boys in a barouche, and I'll put
      a twenty-dollar bill on their plate. Here it is now, if you want to see
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the young man began fumbling in a vest-pocket, Theron gathered his wits
      together.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'd better not go this evening,&rdquo; he said, as convincingly as he knew
      how; &ldquo;because the gates will be closed very early, and the
      Saturday-evening services are of a particularly special nature, quite
      reserved for those living on the grounds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rats!&rdquo; said Theodore, raising his head, and abandoning the search for the
      bill. &ldquo;Why don't you speak out like a man, and say you think I'm too
      drunk?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't think that is a question which need arise between us, Mr.
      Madden,&rdquo; murmured Theron, confusedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, don't you make any mistake! A hell of a lot of questions arise
      between us, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; cried Theodore, with a sudden accession of vigor in
      tone and mien. &ldquo;And one of 'em is&mdash;go away from me, Michael!&mdash;one
      of 'em is, I say, why don't you leave our girls alone? They've got their
      own priests to make fools of themselves over, without any sneak of a
      Protestant parson coming meddling round them. You're a married man into
      the bargain; and you've got in your house this minute a piano that my
      sister bought and paid for. Oh, I've seen the entry in Thurston's books!
      You have the cheek to talk to me about being drunk&mdash;why&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      These remarks were never concluded, for Father Forbes here clapped a hand
      abruptly over the offending mouth, and flung his free arm in a tight grip
      around the young man's waist. &ldquo;Come with me, Michael!&rdquo; he said, and the
      two men led the reluctant and resisting Theodore at a sharp pace off into
      the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron and Celia stood and watched them disappear among the undergrowth.
      &ldquo;It's the dirty Foley blood that's in him,&rdquo; he heard her say, as if
      between clenched teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl's big brown eyes, when Theron looked into them again, were still
      fixed upon the screen of foliage, and dilated like those of a Medusa mask.
      The blood had gone away, and left the fair face and neck as white, it
      seemed to him, as marble. Even her lips, fiercely bitten together,
      appeared colorless. The picture of consuming and powerless rage which she
      presented, and the shuddering tremor which ran over her form, as visible
      as the quivering track of a gust of wind across a pond, awed and
      frightened him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tenderness toward her helpless state came too, and uppermost. He drew her
      arm into his, and turned their backs upon the picnic scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us walk a little up the path into the woods,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and get away
      from all this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The further away the better,&rdquo; she answered bitterly, and he felt the
      shiver run through her again as she spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      The methodical waltz-music from that unseen dancing platform rose again
      above all other sounds. They moved up the woodland path, their steps
      insensibly falling into the rhythm of its strains, and vanished from sight
      among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV
    </h2>
    <p>
      Theron and Celia walked in silence for some minutes, until the noises of
      the throng they had left behind were lost. The path they followed had
      grown indefinite among the grass and creepers of the forest carpet; now it
      seemed to end altogether in a little copse of young birches, the
      delicately graceful stems of which were clustered about a parent stump,
      long since decayed and overgrown with lichens and layers of thick moss.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the two paused, the girl suddenly sank upon her knees, then threw
      herself face forward upon the soft green bark which had formed itself
      above the roots of the ancient mother-tree. Her companion looked down in
      pained amazement at what he saw. Her body shook with the violence of
      recurring sobs, or rather gasps of wrath and grief Her hands, with
      stiffened, claw-like fingers, dug into the moss and tangle of tiny vines,
      and tore them by the roots. The half-stifled sounds of weeping that arose
      from where her face grovelled in the leaves were terrible to his ears. He
      knew not what to say or do, but gazed in resourceless suspense at the
      strange figure she made. It seemed a cruelly long time that she lay there,
      almost at his feet, struggling fiercely with the fury that was in her.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once the paroxysms passed away, the sounds of wild weeping ceased.
      Celia sat up, and with her handkerchief wiped the tears and leafy
      fragments from her face. She rearranged her hat and the braids of her hair
      with swift, instinctive touches, brushed the woodland debris from her
      front, and sprang to her feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm all right now,&rdquo; she said briskly. There was palpable effort in her
      light tone, and in the stormy sort of smile which she forced upon her
      blotched and perturbed countenance, but they were only too welcome to
      Theron's anxious mood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; he blurted out, all radiant with relief. &ldquo;I feared you were
      going to have a fit&mdash;or something.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia laughed, a little artificially at first, then with a genuine
      surrender to the comic side of his visible fright. The mirth came back
      into the brown depths of her eyes again, and her face cleared itself of
      tear-stains and the marks of agitation. &ldquo;I AM a nice quiet party for a
      Methodist minister to go walking in the woods with, am I not?&rdquo; she cried,
      shaking her skirts and smiling at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not a Methodist minister&mdash;please!&rdquo; answered Theron&mdash;&ldquo;at
      least not today&mdash;and here&mdash;with you! I am just a man&mdash;nothing
      more&mdash;a man who has escaped from lifelong imprisonment, and feels for
      the first time what it is to be free!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, my friend,&rdquo; Celia said, shaking her head slowly, &ldquo;I'm afraid you
      deceive yourself. You are not by any means free. You are only looking out
      of the window of your prison, as you call it. The doors are locked, just
      the same.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will smash them!&rdquo; he declared, with confidence. &ldquo;Or for that matter, I
      HAVE smashed them&mdash;battered them to pieces. You don't realize what
      progress I have made, what changes there have been in me since that night,
      you remember that wonderful night! I am quite another being, I assure you!
      And really it dates from way beyond that&mdash;why, from the very first
      evening, when I came to you in the church. The window in Father Forbes'
      room was open, and I stood by it listening to the music next door, and I
      could just faintly see on the dark window across the alley-way a
      stained-glass picture of a woman. I suppose it was the Virgin Mary. She
      had hair like yours, and your face, too; and that is why I went into the
      church and found you. Yes, that is why.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia regarded him with gravity. &ldquo;You will get yourself into great
      trouble, my friend,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's where you're wrong,&rdquo; put in Theron. &ldquo;Not that I'd mind any trouble
      in this wide world, so long as you called me 'my friend,' but I'm not
      going to get into any at all. I know a trick worth two of that. I've
      learned to be a showman. I can preach now far better than I used to, and I
      can get through my work in half the time, and keep on the right side of my
      people, and get along with perfect smoothness. I was too green before. I
      took the thing seriously, and I let every mean-fisted curmudgeon and crazy
      fanatic worry me, and keep me on pins and needles. I don't do that any
      more. I've taken a new measure of life. I see now what life is really
      worth, and I'm going to have my share of it. Why should I deliberately
      deny myself all possible happiness for the rest of my days, simply because
      I made a fool of myself when I was in my teens? Other men are not
      eternally punished like that, for what they did as boys, and I won't
      submit to it either. I will be as free to enjoy myself as&mdash;as Father
      Forbes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia smiled softly, and shook her head again. &ldquo;Poor man, to call HIM
      free!&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;why, he is bound hand and foot. You don't in the least
      realize how he is hedged about, the work he has to do, the thousand
      suspicious eyes that watch his every movement, eager to bring the Bishop
      down upon him. And then think of his sacrifice&mdash;the great sacrifice
      of all&mdash;to never know what love means, to forswear his manhood, to
      live a forlorn, celibate life&mdash;you have no idea how sadly that
      appeals to a woman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us sit down here for a little,&rdquo; said Theron; &ldquo;we seem at the end of
      the path.&rdquo; She seated herself on the root-based mound, and he reclined at
      her side, with an arm carelessly extended behind her on the moss.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can see what you mean,&rdquo; he went on, after a pause. &ldquo;But to me, do you
      know, there is an enormous fascination in celibacy. You forget that I know
      the reverse of the medal. I know how the mind can be cramped, the nerves
      harassed, the ambitions spoiled and rotted, the whole existence darkened
      and belittled, by&mdash;by the other thing. I have never talked to you
      before about my marriage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't think we'd better talk about it now,&rdquo; observed Celia. &ldquo;There must
      be many more amusing topics.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He missed the spirit of her remark. &ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;It
      is too sad a thing to talk about. But there! it is my load, and I bear it,
      and there's nothing more to be said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron drew a heavy sigh, and let his fingers toy abstractedly with a
      ribbon on the outer edge of Celia's penumbra of apparel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We mustn't snivel, and we mustn't sulk. When I get into a
      rage it makes me ill, and I storm my way through it and tear things, but
      it doesn't last long, and I come out of it feeling all the better. I don't
      know that I've ever seen your wife. I suppose she hasn't got red hair?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think it's a kind of light brown,&rdquo; answered Theron, with an effect of
      exerting his memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems that you only take notice of hair in stained-glass windows,&rdquo; was
      Celia's comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; he murmured reproachfully, &ldquo;as if&mdash;as if&mdash;but I won't
      say what I was going to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's not fair!&rdquo; she said. The little touch of whimsical mockery which
      she gave to the serious declaration was delicious to him. &ldquo;You have me at
      such a disadvantage! Here am I rattling out whatever comes into my head,
      exposing all my lightest emotions, and laying bare my very heart in
      candor, and you meditate, you turn things over cautiously in your mind,
      like a second Machiavelli. I grow afraid of you; you are so subtle and
      mysterious in your reserves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron gave a tug at the ribbon, to show the joy he had in her delicate
      chaff. &ldquo;No, it is you who are secretive,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You never told me
      about&mdash;about the piano.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The word was out! A minute before it had seemed incredible to him that he
      should ever have the courage to utter it&mdash;but here it was. He laid
      firm hold upon the ribbon, which it appeared hung from her waist, and drew
      himself a trifle nearer to her. &ldquo;I could never have consented to take it,
      I'm afraid,&rdquo; he went on in a low voice, &ldquo;if I had known. And even as it
      is, I fear it won't be possible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you afraid of?&rdquo; asked Celia. &ldquo;Why shouldn't you take it? People
      in your profession never do get anything unless it's given to them, do
      they? I've always understood it was like that. I've often read of donation
      parties&mdash;that's what they're called, isn't it?&mdash;where everybody
      is supposed to bring some gift to the minister. Very well, then, I've
      simply had a donation party of my own, that's all. Unless you mean that my
      being a Catholic makes a difference. I had supposed you were quite free
      from that kind of prejudice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I am! Believe me, I am!&rdquo; urged Theron. &ldquo;When I'm with you, it seems
      impossible to realize that there are people so narrow and contracted in
      their natures as to take account of such things. It is another atmosphere
      that I breathe near you. How could you imagine that such a thought&mdash;about
      our difference of creed&mdash;would enter my head? In fact,&rdquo; he concluded
      with a nervous half-laugh, &ldquo;there isn't any such difference. Whatever your
      religion is, it's mine too. You remember&mdash;you adopted me as a Greek.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did I?&rdquo; she rejoined. &ldquo;Well, if that's the case, it leaves you without a
      leg to stand on. I challenge you to find any instance where a Greek made
      any difficulties about accepting a piano from a friend. But seriously&mdash;while
      we are talking about it&mdash;you introduced the subject: I didn't&mdash;I
      might as well explain to you that I had no such intention, when I picked
      the instrument out. It was later, when I was talking to Thurston's people
      about the price, that the whim seized me. Now it is the one fixed rule of
      my life to obey my whims. Whatever occurs to me as a possibly pleasant
      thing to do, straight like a hash, I go and do it. It is the only way that
      a person with means, with plenty of money, can preserve any freshness of
      character. If they stop to think what it would be prudent to do, they get
      crusted over immediately. That is the curse of rich people&mdash;they
      teach themselves to distrust and restrain every impulse toward unusual
      actions. They get to feel that it is more necessary for them to be
      cautious and conventional than it is for others. I would rather work at a
      wash-tub than occupy that attitude toward my bank account. I fight against
      any sign of it that I detect rising in my mind. The instant a wish occurs
      to me, I rush to gratify it. That is my theory of life. That accounts for
      the piano; and I don't see that you've anything to say about it at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It seemed very convincing, this theory of life. Somehow, the thought of
      Miss Madden's riches had never before assumed prominence in Theron's mind.
      Of course her father was very wealthy, but it had not occurred to him that
      the daughter's emancipation might run to the length of a personal fortune.
      He knew so little of rich people and their ways!
    </p>
    <p>
      He lifted his head, and looked up at Celia with an awakened humility and
      awe in his glance. The glamour of a separate banking-account shone upon
      her. Where the soft woodland light played in among the strands of her
      disordered hair, he saw the veritable gleam of gold. A mysterious new
      suggestion of power blended itself with the beauty of her face, was
      exhaled in the faint perfume of her garments. He maintained a timorous
      hold upon the ribbon, wondering at his hardihood in touching it, or being
      near her at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What surprises me,&rdquo; he heard himself saying, &ldquo;is that you are contented
      to stay in Octavius. I should think that you would travel&mdash;go abroad&mdash;see
      the beautiful things of the world, surround yourself with the luxuries of
      big cities&mdash;and that sort of thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia regarded the forest prospect straight in front of her with a pensive
      gaze. &ldquo;Sometime&mdash;no doubt I will sometime,&rdquo; she said abstractedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One reads so much nowadays,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;of American heiresses going to
      Europe and marrying dukes and noblemen. I suppose you will do that too.
      Princes would fight one another for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The least touch of a smile softened for an instant the impassivity of her
      countenance. Then she stared harder than ever at the vague, leafy
      distance. &ldquo;That is the old-fashioned idea,&rdquo; she said, in a musing tone,
      &ldquo;that women must belong to somebody, as if they were curios, or statues,
      or race-horses. You don't understand, my friend, that I have a different
      view. I am myself, and I belong to myself, exactly as much as any man. The
      notion that any other human being could conceivably obtain the slightest
      property rights in me is as preposterous, as ridiculous, as&mdash;what
      shall I say?&mdash;as the notion of your being taken out with a chain on
      your neck and sold by auction as a slave, down on the canal bridge. I
      should be ashamed to be alive for another day, if any other thought were
      possible to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is not the generally accepted view, I should think,&rdquo; faltered
      Theron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more is it the accepted view that young married Methodist ministers
      should sit out alone in the woods with red-headed Irish girls. No, my
      friend, let us find what the generally accepted views are, and as fast as
      we find them set our heels on them. There is no other way to live like
      real human beings. What on earth is it to me that other women crawl about
      on all-fours, and fawn like dogs on any hand that will buckle a collar
      onto them, and toss them the leavings of the table? I am not related to
      them. I have nothing to do with them. They cannot make any rules for me.
      If pride and dignity and independence are dead in them, why, so much the
      worse for them! It is no affair of mine. Certainly it is no reason why I
      should get down and grovel also. No; I at least stand erect on my legs.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ware sat up, and stared confusedly, with round eyes and parted lips,
      at his companion. Instinctively his brain dragged forth to the surface
      those epithets which the doctor had hurled in bitter contempt at her&mdash;&ldquo;mad
      ass, a mere bundle of egotism, ignorance, and red-headed lewdness.&rdquo; The
      words rose in their order on his memory, hard and sharp-edged, like
      arrow-heads. But to sit there, quite at her side; to breathe the same air,
      and behold the calm loveliness of her profile; to touch the ribbon of her
      dress&mdash;and all the while to hold these poisoned darts of abuse
      levelled in thought at her breast&mdash;it was monstrous. He could have
      killed the doctor at that moment. With an effort, he drove the foul things
      from his mind&mdash;scattered them back into the darkness. He felt that he
      had grown pale, and wondered if she had heard the groan that seemed to
      have been forced from him in the struggle. Or was the groan imaginary?
    </p>
    <p>
      Celia continued to sit unmoved, composedly looking upon vacancy. Theron's
      eyes searched her face in vain for any sign of consciousness that she had
      astounded and bewildered him. She did not seem to be thinking of him at
      all. The proud calm of her thoughtful countenance suggested instead
      occupation with lofty and remote abstractions and noble ideals.
      Contemplating her, he suddenly perceived that what she had been saying was
      great, wonderful, magnificent. An involuntary thrill ran through his veins
      at recollection of her words. His fancy likened it to the sensation he
      used to feel as a youth, when the Fourth of July reader bawled forth that
      opening clause: &ldquo;When, in the course of human events, it becomes
      necessary,&rdquo; etc. It was nothing less than another Declaration of
      Independence he had been listening to.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sank again recumbent at her side, and stretched the arm behind her,
      nearer than before. &ldquo;Apparently, then, you will never marry.&rdquo; His voice
      trembled a little.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most certainly not!&rdquo; said Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You spoke so feelingly a little while ago,&rdquo; he ventured along, with
      hesitation, &ldquo;about how sadly the notion of a priest's sacrificing himself&mdash;never
      knowing what love meant&mdash;appealed to a woman. I should think that the
      idea of sacrificing herself would seem to her even sadder still.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't remember that we mentioned THAT,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;How do you mean&mdash;sacrificing
      herself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron gathered some of the outlying folds of her dress in his hand, and
      boldly patted and caressed them. &ldquo;You, so beautiful and so free, with such
      fine talents and abilities,&rdquo; he murmured; &ldquo;you, who could have the whole
      world at your feet&mdash;are you, too, never going to know what love
      means? Do you call that no sacrifice? To me it is the most terrible that
      my imagination can conceive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia laughed&mdash;a gentle, amused little laugh, in which Theron's ears
      traced elements of tenderness. &ldquo;You must regulate that imagination of
      yours,&rdquo; she said playfully. &ldquo;It conceives the thing that is not. Pray,
      when&rdquo;&mdash;and here, turning her head, she bent down upon his face a gaze
      of arch mock-seriousness&mdash;&ldquo;pray, when did I describe myself in these
      terms? When did I say that I should never know what love meant?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      For answer Theron laid his head down upon his arm, and closed his eyes,
      and held his face against the draperies encircling her. &ldquo;I cannot think!&rdquo;
       he groaned.
    </p>
    <p>
      The thing that came uppermost in his mind, as it swayed and rocked in the
      tempest of emotion, was the strange reminiscence of early childhood in it
      all. It was like being a little boy again, nestling in an innocent,
      unthinking transport of affection against his mother's skirts. The tears
      he felt scalding his eyes were the spontaneous, unashamed tears of a
      child; the tremulous and exquisite joy which spread, wave-like, over him,
      at once reposeful and yearning, was full of infantile purity and
      sweetness. He had not comprehended at all before what wellsprings of
      spiritual beauty, what limpid depths of idealism, his nature contained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were speaking of our respective religions,&rdquo; he heard Celia say, as
      imperturbably as if there had been no digression worth mentioning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he assented, and moved his head so that he looked up at her back
      hair, and the leaves high above, mottled against the sky. The wish to lie
      there, where now he could just catch the rose-leaf line of her under-chin
      as well, was very strong upon him. &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot talk to you like that,&rdquo; she said; and he sat up again
      shamefacedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I think we were speaking of religions&mdash;some time ago,&rdquo; he
      faltered, to relieve the situation. The dreadful thought that she might be
      annoyed began to oppress him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you said whatever my religion was, it was yours too. That entitles
      you at least to be told what the religion is. Now, I am a Catholic.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron, much mystified, nodded his head. Could it be possible&mdash;was
      there coming a deliberate suggestion that he should become a convert? &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I
      know,&rdquo; he murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I should explain that I am only a Catholic in the sense that its
      symbolism is pleasant to me. You remember what Schopenhauer said&mdash;you
      cannot have the water by itself: you must also have the jug that it is in.
      Very well; the Catholic religion is my jug. I put into it the things I
      like. They were all there long ago, thousands of years ago. The Jews threw
      them out; we will put them back again. We will restore art and poetry and
      the love of beauty, and the gentle, spiritual, soulful life. The Greeks
      had it; and Christianity would have had it too, if it hadn't been for
      those brutes they call the Fathers. They loved ugliness and dirt and the
      thought of hell-fire. They hated women. In all the earlier stages of the
      Church, women were very prominent in it. Jesus himself appreciated women,
      and delighted to have them about him, and talk with them and listen to
      them. That was the very essence of the Greek spirit; and it breathed into
      Christianity at its birth a sweetness and a grace which twenty generations
      of cranks and savages like Paul and Jerome and Tertullian weren't able to
      extinguish. But the very man, Cyril, who killed Hypatia, and thus began
      the dark ages, unwittingly did another thing which makes one almost
      forgive him. To please the Egyptians, he secured the Church's acceptance
      of the adoration of the Virgin. It is that idea which has kept the Greek
      spirit alive, and grown and grown, till at last it will rule the world. It
      was only epileptic Jews who could imagine a religion without sex in it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I remember the pictures of the Virgin in your room,&rdquo; said Theron, feeling
      more himself again. &ldquo;I wondered if they quite went with the statues.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The remark won a smile from Celia's lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They get along together better than you suppose,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Besides,
      they are not all pictures of Mary. One of them, standing on the moon, is
      of Isis with the infant Horus in her arms. Another might as well be
      Mahamie, bearing the miraculously born Buddha, or Olympias with her child
      Alexander, or even Perictione holding her babe Plato&mdash;all these were
      similar cases, you know. Almost every religion had its Immaculate
      Conception. What does it all come to, except to show us that man turns
      naturally toward the worship of the maternal idea? That is the deepest of
      all our instincts&mdash;love of woman, who is at once daughter and wife
      and mother. It is that that makes the world go round.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brave thoughts shaped themselves in Theron's mind, and shone forth in a
      confident yet wistful smile on his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a pity you cannot change estates with me for one minute,&rdquo; he said,
      in steady, low tone. &ldquo;Then you would realize the tremendous truth of what
      you have been saying. It is only your intellect that has reached out and
      grasped the idea. If you were in my place, you would discover that your
      heart was bursting with it as well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia turned and looked at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I myself,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;would not have known, half an hour ago, what you
      meant by the worship of the maternal idea. I am much older than you. I am
      a strong, mature man. But when I lay down there, and shut my eyes&mdash;because
      the charm and marvel of this whole experience had for the moment overcome
      me&mdash;the strangest sensation seized upon me. It was absolutely as if I
      were a boy again, a good, pure-minded, fond little child, and you were the
      mother that I idolized.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia had not taken her eyes from his face. &ldquo;I find myself liking you
      better at this moment,&rdquo; she said, with gravity, &ldquo;than I have ever liked
      you before.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then, as by a sudden impulse, she sprang to her feet. &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; she cried,
      her voice and manner all vivacity once more, &ldquo;we have been here long
      enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Upon the instant, as Theron was more laboriously getting up, it became
      apparent to them both that perhaps they had been there too long.
    </p>
    <p>
      A boy with a gun under his arm, and two gray squirrels tied by the tails
      slung across his shoulder, stood at the entrance to the glade, some dozen
      paces away, regarding them with undisguised interest. Upon the discovery
      that he was in turn observed, he resumed his interrupted progress through
      the woods, whistling softly as he went, and vanished among the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heavens above!&rdquo; groaned Theron, shudderingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Know him?&rdquo; he went on, in answer to the glance of inquiry on his
      companion's face. &ldquo;I should think I did! He spades my&mdash;my wife's
      garden for her. He used to bring our milk. He works in the law office of
      one of my trustees&mdash;the one who isn't friendly to me, but is very
      friendly indeed with my&mdash;with Mrs. Ware. Oh, what shall I do? It may
      easily mean my ruin!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia looked at him attentively. The color had gone out of his face, and
      with it the effect of earnestness and mental elevation which, a minute
      before, had caught her fancy. &ldquo;Somehow, I fear that I do not like you
      quite so much just now, my friend,&rdquo; she remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In God's name, don't say that!&rdquo; urged Theron. He raised his voice in
      agitated entreaty. &ldquo;You don't know what these people are&mdash;how they
      would leap at the barest hint of a scandal about me. In my position I am a
      thousand times more defenceless than any woman. Just a single whisper, and
      I am done for!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me point out to you, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; said Celia, slowly, &ldquo;that to be seen
      sitting and talking with me, whatever doubts it may raise as to a
      gentleman's intellectual condition, need not necessarily blast his social
      reputation beyond all hope whatever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron stared at her, as if he had not grasped her meaning. Then he winced
      visibly under it, and put out his hands to implore her. &ldquo;Forgive me!
      Forgive me!&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;I was beside myself for the moment with the
      fright of the thing. Oh, say you do forgive me, Celia!&rdquo; He made haste to
      support this daring use of her name. &ldquo;I have been so happy today&mdash;so
      deeply, so vastly happy&mdash;like the little child I spoke of&mdash;and
      that is so new in my lonely life&mdash;that&mdash;the suddenness of the
      thing&mdash;it just for the instant unstrung me. Don't be too hard on me
      for it! And I had hoped, too&mdash;I had had such genuine heartfelt
      pleasure in the thought&mdash;that, an hour or two ago, when you were
      unhappy, perhaps it had been some sort of consolation to you that I was
      with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia was looking away. When he took her hand she did not withdraw it, but
      turned and nodded in musing general assent to what he had said. &ldquo;Yes, we
      have both been unstrung, as you call it, today,&rdquo; she said, decidedly out
      of pitch. &ldquo;Let each forgive the other, and say no more about it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She took his arm, and they retraced their steps along the path, again in
      silence. The labored noise of the orchestra, as it were, returned to meet
      them. They halted at an intersecting footpath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I go back to my slavery&mdash;my double bondage,&rdquo; said Theron, letting
      his voice sink to a sigh. &ldquo;But even if I am put on the rack for it, I
      shall have had one day of glory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you may kiss me, in memory of that one day&mdash;or of a few
      minutes in that day,&rdquo; said Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their lips brushed each other in a swift, almost perfunctory caress.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron went his way at a hurried pace, the sobered tones of her &ldquo;good-bye&rdquo;
       beating upon his brain with every measure of the droning waltz-music.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PART IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV
    </h2>
    <p>
      The memory of the kiss abode with Theron. Like Aaron's rod, it swallowed
      up one by one all competing thoughts and recollections, and made his brain
      its slave.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even as he strode back through the woods to the camp-meeting, it was the
      kiss that kept his feet in motion, and guided their automatic course. All
      along the watches of the restless night, it was the kiss that bore him
      sweet company, and wandered with him from one broken dream of bliss to
      another. Next day, it was the kiss that made of life for him a sort of
      sunlit wonderland. He preached his sermon in the morning, and took his
      appointed part in the other services of afternoon and evening, apparently
      to everybody's satisfaction: to him it was all a vision.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the beautiful full moon rose, this Sunday evening, and glorified the
      clearing and the forest with its mellow harvest radiance, he could have
      groaned with the burden of his joy. He went out alone into the light, and
      bared his head to it, and stood motionless for a long time. In all his
      life, he had never been impelled as powerfully toward earnest and soulful
      thanksgiving. The impulse to kneel, there in the pure, tender moonlight,
      and lift up offerings of praise to God, kept uppermost in his mind. Some
      formless resignation restrained him from the act itself, but the spirit of
      it hallowed his mood. He gazed up at the broad luminous face of the
      satellite. &ldquo;You are our God,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Hers and mine! You are the
      most beautiful of heavenly creatures, as she is of the angels on earth. I
      am speechless with reverence for you both.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was not until the camp-meeting broke up, four days later, and Theron
      with the rest returned to town, that the material aspects of what had
      happened, and might be expected to happen, forced themselves upon his
      mind. The kiss was a child of the forest. So long as Theron remained in
      the camp, the image of the kiss, which was enshrined in his heart and
      ministered to by all his thoughts, continued enveloped in a haze of sylvan
      mystery, like a dryad. Suggestions of its beauty and holiness came to him
      in the odors of the woodland, at the sight of wild flowers and
      water-lilies. When he walked alone in unfamiliar parts of the forest, he
      carried about with him the half-conscious idea of somewhere coming upon a
      strange, hidden pool which mortal eye had not seen before&mdash;a deep,
      sequestered mere of spring-fed waters, walled in by rich, tangled growths
      of verdure, and bearing upon its virgin bosom only the shadows of the
      primeval wilderness, and the light of the eternal skies. His fancy dwelt
      upon some such nook as the enchanted home of the fairy that possessed his
      soul. The place, though he never found it, became real to him. As he
      pictured it, there rose sometimes from among the lily-pads, stirring the
      translucent depths and fluttering over the water's surface drops like
      gems, the wonderful form of a woman, with pale leaves wreathed in her
      luxuriant red hair, and a skin which gave forth light.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the homecoming to Octavius, his dreams began to take more account of
      realities. In a day or two he was wide awake, and thinking hard. The kiss
      was as much as ever the ceaseless companion of his hours, but it no longer
      insisted upon shrouding itself in vines and woodland creepers, or
      outlining itself in phosphorescent vagueness against mystic backgrounds of
      nymph-haunted glades. It advanced out into the noonday, and assumed
      tangible dimensions and substance. He saw that it was related to the facts
      of his daily life, and had, in turn, altered his own relations to all
      these facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      What ought he to do? What COULD he do? Apparently, nothing but wait. He
      waited for a week&mdash;then for another week. The conclusion that the
      initiative had been left to him began to take shape in his mind. From this
      it seemed but a step to the passionate resolve to act at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      Turning the situation over and over in his anxious thoughts, two things
      stood out in special prominence. One was that Celia loved him. The other
      was that the boy in Gorringe's law office, and possibly Gorringe, and
      heaven only knew how many others besides, had reasons for suspecting this
      to be true.
    </p>
    <p>
      And what about Celia? Side by side with the moving rapture of thinking
      about her as a woman, there rose the substantial satisfaction of
      contemplating her as Miss Madden. She had kissed him, and she was very
      rich. The things gradually linked themselves before his eyes. He tried a
      thousand varying guesses at what she proposed to do, and each time reined
      up his imagination by the reminder that she was confessedly a creature of
      whims, who proposed to do nothing, but was capable of all things.
    </p>
    <p>
      And as to the boy. If he had blabbed what he saw, it was incredible that
      somebody should not take the subject up, and impart a scandalous twist to
      it, and send it rolling like a snowball to gather up exaggeration and foul
      innuendo till it was big enough to overwhelm him. What would happen to him
      if a formal charge were preferred against him? He looked it up in the
      Discipline. Of course, if his accusers magnified their mean suspicions and
      calumnious imaginings to the point of formulating a charge, it would be
      one of immorality. They could prove nothing; there was nothing to prove.
      At the worst, it was an indiscretion, which would involve his being
      admonished by his Presiding Elder. Or if these narrow bigots confused
      slanders with proofs, and showed that they intended to convict him, then
      it would be open to him to withdraw from the ministry, in advance of his
      condemnation. His relation to the church would be the same as if he had
      been expelled, but to the outer world it would be different. And supposing
      he did withdraw from the ministry?
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes; this was the important point. What if he did abandon this mistaken
      profession of his? On its mental side the relief would be prodigious,
      unthinkable. But on the practical side, the bread-and-butter side? For
      some days Theron paused with a shudder when he reached this question. The
      thought of the plunge into unknown material responsibilities gave him a
      sinking heart. He tried to imagine himself lecturing, canvassing for books
      or insurance policies, writing for newspapers&mdash;and remained
      frightened. But suddenly one day it occurred to him that these qualms and
      forebodings were sheer folly. Was not Celia rich? Would she not with
      lightning swiftness draw forth that check-book, like the flashing sword of
      a champion from its scabbard, and run to his relief? Why, of course. It
      was absurd not to have thought of that before.
    </p>
    <p>
      He recalled her momentary anger with him, that afternoon in the woods,
      when he had cried out that discovery would mean ruin to him. He saw
      clearly enough now that she had been grieved at his want of faith in her
      protection. In his flurry of fright, he had lost sight of the fact that,
      if exposure and trouble came to him, she would naturally feel that she had
      been the cause of his martyrdom. It was plain enough now. If he got into
      hot water, it would be solely on account of his having been seen with her.
      He had walked into the woods with her&mdash;&ldquo;the further the better&rdquo; had
      been her own words&mdash;out of pure kindliness, and the desire to lead
      her away from the scene of her brother's and her own humiliation. But why
      amplify arguments? Her own warm heart would tell her, on the instant, how
      he had been sacrificed for her sake, and would bring her, eager and
      devoted, to his succor.
    </p>
    <p>
      That was all right, then. Slowly, from this point, suggestions expanded
      themselves. The future could be, if he willed it, one long serene triumph
      of love, and lofty intellectual companionship, and existence softened and
      enriched at every point by all that wealth could command, and the most
      exquisite tastes suggest. Should he will it! Ah! the question answered
      itself. But he could not enter upon this beckoning heaven of a future
      until he had freed himself. When Celia said to him, &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; he must not be
      in the position to reply, &ldquo;I should like to, but unfortunately I am tied
      by the leg.&rdquo; He should have to leave Octavius, leave the ministry, leave
      everything. He could not begin too soon to face these contingencies.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very likely Celia had not thought it out as far as this. With her, it was
      a mere vague &ldquo;sometime I may.&rdquo; But the harder masculine sense, Theron
      felt, existed for the very purpose of correcting and giving point to these
      loose feminine notions of time and space. It was for him to clear away the
      obstacles, and map the plans out with definite decision.
    </p>
    <p>
      One warm afternoon, as he lolled in his easy-chair under the open window
      of his study, musing upon the ever-shifting phases of this vast,
      complicated, urgent problem, some chance words from the sidewalk in front
      came to his ears, and, coming, remained to clarify his thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two ladies whose voices were strange to him had stopped&mdash;as so many
      people almost daily stopped&mdash;to admire the garden of the parsonage.
      One of them expressed her pleasure in general terms. Said the other&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My husband declares those dahlias alone couldn't be matched for thirty
      dollars, and that some of those gladiolus must have cost three or four
      dollars apiece. I know we've spent simply oceans of money on our garden,
      and it doesn't begin to compare with this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems like a sinful waste to me,&rdquo; said her companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No-o,&rdquo; the other hesitated. &ldquo;No, I don't think quite that&mdash;if you
      can afford it just as well as not. But it does seem to me that I'd rather
      live in a little better house, and not spend it ALL on flowers. Just LOOK
      at that cactus!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The voices died away. Theron sat up, with a look of arrested thought upon
      his face, then sprang to his feet and moved hurriedly through the parlor
      to an open front window. Peering out with caution he saw that the two
      women receding from view were fashionably dressed and evidently came from
      homes of means. He stared after them in a blank way until they turned a
      corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went into the hall then, put on his frock-coat and hat, and stepped out
      into the garden. He was conscious of having rather avoided it heretofore&mdash;not
      altogether without reasons of his own, lying unexamined somewhere in the
      recesses of his mind. Now he walked slowly about, and examined the flowers
      with great attentiveness. The season was advancing, and he saw that many
      plants had gone out of bloom. But what a magnificent plenitude of blossoms
      still remained!
    </p>
    <p>
      Thirty dollars' worth of dahlias&mdash;that was what the stranger had
      said. Theron hardly brought himself to credit the statement; but all the
      same it was apparent to even his uninformed eye that these huge,
      imbricated, flowering masses, with their extraordinary half-colors, must
      be unusual. He remembered that the boy in Gorringe's office had spoken of
      just one lot of plants costing thirty-one dollars and sixty cents, and
      there had been two other lots as well. The figures remained surprisingly
      distinct in his memory. It was no good deceiving himself any longer: of
      course these were the plants that Gorringe had spent his money upon, here
      all about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he surveyed them with a sour regard, a cool breeze stirred across the
      garden. The tall, over-laden flower-spikes of gladioli bent and nodded at
      him; the hollyhocks and flaming alvias, the clustered blossoms on the
      standard roses, the delicately painted lilies on their stilt-like stems,
      fluttered in the wind, and seemed all bowing satirically to him. &ldquo;Yes,
      Levi Gorringe paid for us!&rdquo; He almost heard their mocking declaration.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out in the back-yard, where a longer day of sunshine dwelt, there were
      many other flowers, and notably a bed of geraniums which literally made
      the eye ache. Standing at this rear corner of the house, he caught the
      droning sound of Alice's voice, humming a hymn to herself as she went
      about her kitchen work. He saw her through the open window. She was
      sweeping, and had a sort of cap on her head which did not add to the
      graces of her appearance. He looked at her with a hard glance, recalling
      as a fresh grievance the ten days of intolerable boredom he had spent
      cooped up in a ridiculous little tent with her, at the camp-meeting. She
      must have realized at the time how odious the enforced companionship was
      to him. Yes, beyond doubt she did. It came back to him now that they had
      spoken but rarely to each other. She had not even praised his sermon upon
      the Sabbath-question, which every one else had been in raptures over. For
      that matter she no longer praised anything he did, and took obvious pains
      to preserve toward him a distant demeanor. So much the better, he felt
      himself thinking. If she chose to behave in that offish and unwifely
      fashion, she could blame no one but herself for its results.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had seen him, and came now to the window, watering-pot and broom in
      hand. She put her head out, to breathe a breath of dustless air, and began
      as if she would smile on him. Then her face chilled and stiffened, as she
      caught his look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall you be home for supper?&rdquo; she asked, in her iciest tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had not thought of going out before. The question, and the manner of
      it, gave immediate urgency to the idea of going somewhere. &ldquo;I may or I may
      not,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;It is quite impossible for me to say.&rdquo; He turned on his
      heel with this, and walked briskly out of the yard and down the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the most natural thing that presently he should be strolling past
      the Madden house, and letting a covert glance stray over its front and the
      grounds about it, as he loitered along. Every day since his return from
      the woods he had given the fates this chance of bringing Celia to meet
      him, without avail. He had hung about in the vicinity of the Catholic
      church on several evenings as well, but to no purpose. The organ inside
      was dumb, and he could detect no signs of Celia's presence on the curtains
      of the pastorate next door. This day, too, there was no one visible at the
      home of the Maddens, and he walked on, a little sadly. It was weary work
      waiting for the signal that never came.
    </p>
    <p>
      But there were compensations. His mind reverted doggedly to the flowers in
      his garden, and to Alice's behavior toward him. They insisted upon
      connecting themselves in his thoughts. Why should Levi Gorringe, a
      money-lender, and therefore the last man in the world to incur reckless
      expenditure, go and buy perhaps a hundred dollars, worth of flowers for
      his wife's garden? It was time&mdash;high time&mdash;to face this
      question. And his experiencing religion afterward, just when Alice did,
      and marching down to the rail to kneel beside her&mdash;that was a thing
      to be thought of, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meditation, it is true, hardly threw fresh light upon the matter. It was
      incredible, of course, that there should be anything wrong. To even shape
      a thought of Alice in connection with gallantry would be wholly
      impossible. Nor could it be said that Gorringe, in his new capacity as a
      professing church-member, had disclosed any sign of ulterior motives, or
      of insincerity. Yet there the facts were. While Theron pondered them,
      their mystery, if they involved a mystery, baffled him altogether. But
      when he had finished, he found himself all the same convinced that neither
      Alice nor Gorringe would be free to blame him for anything he might do. He
      had grounds for complaint against them. If he did not himself know just
      what these grounds were, it was certain enough that THEY knew. Very well,
      then, let them take the responsibility for what happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was indeed awkward that at the moment, as Theron chanced to emerge
      temporarily from his brown-study, his eyes fell full upon the spare,
      well-knit form of Levi Gorringe himself, standing only a few feet away, in
      the staircase entrance to his law office. His lean face, browned by the
      summer's exposure, had a more Arabian aspect than ever. His hands were in
      his pockets, and he held an unlighted cigar between his teeth. He looked
      the Rev. Mr. Ware over calmly, and nodded recognition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had halted instinctively. On the instant he would have given a
      great deal not to have stopped at all. It was stupid of him to have
      paused, but it would not do now to go on without words of some sort. He
      moved over to the door-way, and made a half-hearted pretence of looking at
      the photographs in one of the show-cases at its side. As Mr. Gorringe did
      not take his hands from his pockets, there was no occasion for any formal
      greeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had no idea that they took such good pictures in Octavius,&rdquo; Theron
      remarked after a minute's silence, still bending in examination of the
      photographs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They ought to; they charge New York prices,&rdquo; observed the lawyer,
      sententiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron found in the words confirmation of his feeling that Gorringe was
      not naturally a lavish or extravagant man. Rather was he a careful and
      calculating man, who spent money only for a purpose. Though the minister
      continued gazing at the stiff presentments of local beauties and swains,
      his eyes seemed to see salmon-hued hollyhocks and spotted lilies instead.
      Suddenly a resolve came to him. He stood erect, and faced his trustee.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Speaking of the price of things,&rdquo; he said, with an effort of arrogance in
      his measured tone, &ldquo;I have never had an opportunity before of mentioning
      the subject of the flowers you have so kindly furnished for my&mdash;for
      MY garden.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why mention it now?&rdquo; queried Gorringe, with nonchalance. He turned his
      cigar about with a movement of his lips, and worked it into the corner of
      his mouth. He did not find it necessary to look at Theron at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because&mdash;&rdquo; began Mr. Ware, and then hesitated&mdash;&ldquo;because&mdash;well,
      it raises a question of my being under obligation, which I&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no, sir,&rdquo; said the lawyer; &ldquo;put that out of your mind. You are no
      more under obligation to me than I am to you. Oh, no, make yourself easy
      about that. Neither of us owes the other anything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not even good-will&mdash;I take that to be your meaning,&rdquo; retorted
      Theron, with some heat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The words are yours, sir,&rdquo; responded Gorringe, coolly. &ldquo;I do not object
      to them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you like,&rdquo; put in the other. &ldquo;If it be so, why, then all the more
      reason why I should, under the circumstances&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Under what circumstances?&rdquo; interposed the lawyer. &ldquo;Let us be clear about
      this thing as we go along. To what circumstances do you refer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had turned his eyes now, and looked Theron in the face. A slight
      protrusion of his lower jaw had given the cigar an upward tilt under the
      black mustache.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The circumstances are that you have brought or sent to my garden a great
      many very expensive flower-plants and bushes and so on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you object? I had not supposed that clergymen in general&mdash;and
      you in particular&mdash;were so sensitive. Have donation parties, then,
      gone out of date?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand your sneer well enough,&rdquo; retorted Theron, &ldquo;but that can
      pass. The main point is, that you did me the honor to send these plants&mdash;or
      to smuggle them in&mdash;but never once deigned to hint to me that you had
      done so. No one told me. Except by mere accident, I should not have known
      to this day where they came from.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Gorringe twisted the cigar at another angle, with lines of grim
      amusement about the corner of his mouth. &ldquo;I should have thought,&rdquo; he said
      with dry deliberation, &ldquo;that possibly this fact might have raised in your
      mind the conceivable hypothesis that the plants might not be intended for
      you at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is precisely it, sir,&rdquo; said Theron. There were people passing, and
      he was forced to keep his voice down. It would have been a relief, he
      felt, to shout. &ldquo;That is it&mdash;they were not intended for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, what are you talking about?&rdquo; The lawyer's speech had become
      abrupt almost to incivility.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think my remarks have been perfectly clear,&rdquo; said the minister, with
      dignity. It was a new experience to be addressed in that fashion. It
      occurred to him to add, &ldquo;Please remember that I am not in the witness-box,
      to be bullied or insulted by a professional.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Gorringe studied Theron's face attentively with a cold, searching
      scrutiny. &ldquo;You may thank your stars you're not!&rdquo; he said, with
      significance.
    </p>
    <p>
      What on earth could he mean? The words and the menacing tone greatly
      impressed Theron. Indeed, upon reflection, he found that they frightened
      him. The disposition to adopt a high tone with the lawyer was melting
      away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not see,&rdquo; he began, and then deliberately allowed his voice to take
      on an injured and plaintive inflection&mdash;&ldquo;I do not see why you should
      adopt this tone toward me&mdash;Brother Gorringe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer scowled, and bit sharply into the cigar, but said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I have unconsciously offended you in any way,&rdquo; Theron went on, &ldquo;I beg
      you to tell me how. I liked you from the beginning of my pastorate here,
      and the thought that latterly we seemed to be drifting apart has given me
      much pain. But now it is still more distressing to find you actually
      disposed to quarrel with me. Surely, Brother Gorringe, between a pastor
      and a probationer who&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; Gorringe broke in; &ldquo;quarrel isn't the word for it. There isn't any
      quarrel, Mr. Ware.&rdquo; He stepped down from the door-stone to the sidewalk as
      he spoke, and stood face to face with Theron. Working-men with
      dinner-pails, and factory girls, were passing close to them, and he
      lowered his voice to a sharp, incisive half-whisper as he added, &ldquo;It
      wouldn't be worth any grown man's while to quarrel with so poor a creature
      as you are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron stood confounded, with an empty stare of bewilderment on his face.
      It rose in his mind that the right thing to feel was rage, righteous
      indignation, fury; but for the life of him, he could not muster any manly
      anger. The character of the insult stupefied him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not know that I have anything to say to you in reply,&rdquo; he remarked,
      after what seemed to him a silence of minutes. His lips framed the words
      automatically, but they expressed well enough the blank vacancy of his
      mind. The suggestion that anybody deemed him a &ldquo;poor creature&rdquo; grew more
      astounding, incomprehensible, as it swelled in his brain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I suppose not,&rdquo; snapped Gorringe. &ldquo;You're not the sort to stand up to
      men; your form is to go round the corner and take it out of somebody
      weaker than yourself&mdash;a defenceless woman, for instance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;ho!&rdquo; said Theron. The exclamation had uttered itself. The sound
      of it seemed to clarify his muddled thoughts; and as they ranged
      themselves in order, he began to understand. &ldquo;Oh&mdash;ho!&rdquo; he said again,
      and nodded his head in token of comprehension.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer, chewing his cigar with increased activity, glared at him.
      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he demanded peremptorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mean?&rdquo; said the minister. &ldquo;Oh, nothing that I feel called upon to explain
      to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was passing strange, but his self-possession had all at once returned
      to him. As it became more apparent that the lawyer was losing his temper,
      Theron found the courage to turn up the corners of his lips in show of a
      bitter little smile of confidence. He looked into the other's dusky face,
      and flaunted this smile at it in contemptuous defiance. &ldquo;It is not a
      subject that I can discuss with propriety&mdash;at this stage,&rdquo; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Damn you! Are you talking about those flowers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I am not talking about anything in particular,&rdquo; returned Theron, &ldquo;not
      even the curious choice of language which my latest probationer seems to
      prefer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go and strike my name off the list!&rdquo; said Gorringe, with rising passion.
      &ldquo;I was a fool to ever have it there. To think of being a probationer of
      yours&mdash;my God!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That will be a pity&mdash;from one point of view,&rdquo; remarked Theron, still
      with the ironical smile on his lips. &ldquo;You seemed to enter upon the new
      life with such deliberation and fixity of purpose, too! I can imagine the
      regrets your withdrawal will cause, in certain quarters. I only hope that
      it will not discourage those who accompanied you to the altar, and shared
      your enthusiasm at the time.&rdquo; He had spoken throughout with studied
      slowness and an insolent nicety of utterance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You had better go away!&rdquo; broke forth Gorringe. &ldquo;If you don't, I shall
      forget myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For the first time?&rdquo; asked Theron. Then, warned by the flash in the
      lawyer's eye, he turned on his heel and sauntered, with a painstaking
      assumption of a mind quite at ease, up the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gorringe's own face twitched and his veins tingled as he looked after him.
      He spat the shapeless cigar out of his mouth into the gutter, and, drawing
      forth another from his pocket, clenched it between his teeth, his gaze
      following the tall form of the Methodist minister till it was merged in
      the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I'm damned!&rdquo; he said aloud to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The photographer had come down to take in his showcases for the night. He
      looked up from his task at the exclamation, and grinned inquiringly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've just been talking to a man,&rdquo; said the lawyer, &ldquo;who's so much meaner
      than any other man I ever heard of that it takes my breath away. He's got
      a wife that's as pure and good as gold, and he knows it, and she worships
      the ground he walks on, and he knows that too. And yet the scoundrel is
      around trying to sniff out some shadow of a pretext for misusing her worse
      than he's already done. Yes, sir; he'd be actually tickled to death if he
      could nose up some hint of a scandal about her&mdash;something that he
      could pretend to believe, and work for his own advantage to levy
      blackmail, or get rid of her, or whatever suited his book. I didn't think
      there was such an out-and-out cur on this whole footstool. I almost wish,
      by God, I'd thrown him into the canal!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, you lawyers must run against some pretty snide specimens,&rdquo; remarked
      the photographer, lifting one of the cases from its sockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI
    </h2>
    <p>
      Theron spent half an hour in aimless strolling about the streets. From
      earliest boyhood his mind had always worked most clearly when he walked
      alone. Every mental process which had left a mark upon his memory and his
      career&mdash;the daydreams of future academic greatness and fame which had
      fashioned themselves in his brain as a farm lad; the meditations,
      raptures, and high resolves of his student period at the seminary; the
      more notable sermons and powerful discourse by which he had revealed the
      genius that was in him to astonished and delighted assemblages&mdash;all
      were associated in his retrospective thoughts with solitary rambles.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had a very direct and vivid consciousness now that it was good to be on
      his legs, and alone. He had never in his life been more sensible of the
      charm of his own companionship. The encounter with Gorringe seemed to have
      cleared all the clouds out of his brain, and restored lightness to his
      heart. After such an object lesson, the impossibility of his continuing to
      sacrifice himself to a notion of duty to these low-minded and
      coarse-natured villagers was beyond all argument. There could no longer be
      any doubt about his moral right to turn his back upon them, to wash his
      hands of the miserable combination of hypocrisy and hysterics which they
      called their spiritual life.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the question of Gorringe and Alice, that too stood precisely where he
      wanted it. Even in his own thoughts, he preferred to pursue it no further.
      Between them somewhere an offence of concealment, it might be of
      conspiracy, had been committed against him. It was no business of his to
      say more, or to think more. He rested his case simply on the fact, which
      could not be denied, and which he was not in the least interested to have
      explained, one way or the other. The recollection of Gorringe's obvious
      disturbance of mind was especially pleasant to him. He himself had been
      magnanimous almost to the point of weakness. He had gone out of his way to
      call the man &ldquo;brother,&rdquo; and to give him an opportunity of behaving like a
      gentleman; but his kindly forbearance had been wasted. Gorringe was not
      the man to understand generous feelings, much less rise to their level. He
      had merely shown that he would be vicious if he knew how. It was more
      important and satisfactory to recall that he had also shown a complete
      comprehension of the injured husband's grievance. The fact that he had
      recognized it was enough&mdash;was, in fact, everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the background of his thoughts Theron had carried along a notion of
      going and dining with Father Forbes when the time for the evening meal
      should arrive. The idea in itself attracted him, as a fitting capstone to
      his resolve not to go home to supper. It gave just the right kind of
      character to his domestic revolt. But when at last he stood on the
      doorstep of the pastorate, waiting for an answer to the tinkle of the
      electric bell he had heard ring inside, his mind contained only the single
      thought that now he should hear something about Celia. Perhaps he might
      even find her there; but he put that suggestion aside as slightly
      unpleasant.
    </p>
    <p>
      The hag-faced housekeeper led him, as before, into the dining-room. It was
      still daylight, and he saw on the glance that the priest was alone at the
      table, with a book beside him to read from as he ate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes rose and came forward, greeting his visitor with profuse
      urbanity and smiles. If there was a perfunctory note in the invitation to
      sit down and share the meal, Theron did not catch it. He frankly displayed
      his pleasure as he laid aside his hat, and took the chair opposite his
      host.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is really only a few months since I was here, in this room, before,&rdquo;
       he remarked, as the priest closed his book and tossed it to one side, and
      the housekeeper came in to lay another place. &ldquo;Yet it might have been
      years, many long years, so tremendous is the difference that the lapse of
      time has wrought in me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid we have nothing to tempt you very much, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; remarked
      Father Forbes, with a gesture of his plump white hand which embraced the
      dishes in the centre of the table. &ldquo;May I send you a bit of this boiled
      mutton? I have very homely tastes when I am by myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was saying,&rdquo; Theron observed, after some moments had passed in silence,
      &ldquo;that I date such a tremendous revolution in my thoughts, my beliefs, my
      whole mind and character, from my first meeting with you, my first coming
      here. I don't know how to describe to you the enormous change that has
      come over me; and I owe it all to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can only hope, then, that it is entirely of a satisfactory nature,&rdquo;
       said the priest, politely smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, it is so splendidly satisfactory!&rdquo; said Theron, with fervor. &ldquo;I look
      back at myself now with wonder and pity. It seems incredible that, such a
      little while ago, I should have been such an ignorant and unimaginative
      clod of earth, content with such petty ambitions and actually proud of my
      limitations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you have larger ambitions now?&rdquo; asked the other. &ldquo;Pray let me help
      you to some potatoes. I am afraid that ambitions only get in our way and
      trip us up. We clergymen are like street-car horses. The more steadily we
      jog along between the rails, the better it is for us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I don't intend to remain in the ministry,&rdquo; declared Theron. The
      statement seemed to him a little bald, now that he had made it; and as his
      companion lifted his brows in surprise, he added stumblingly: &ldquo;That is, as
      I feel now, it seems to me impossible that I should remain much longer.
      With you, of course, it is different. You have a thousand things to
      interest and pleasantly occupy you in your work and its ceremonies, so
      that mere belief or non-belief in the dogma hardly matters. But in our
      church dogma is everything. If you take that away, or cease to have its
      support, the rest is intolerable, hideous.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes cut another slice of mutton for himself. &ldquo;It is a pretty
      serious business to make such a change at your time of life. I take it for
      granted you will think it all over very carefully before you commit
      yourself.&rdquo; He said this with an almost indifferent air, which rather
      chilled his listener's enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo;, Theron made answer; &ldquo;I shall do nothing rash. But I have a
      good many plans for the future.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes did not ask what these were, and a brief further period of
      silence fell upon the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope everything went off smoothly at the picnic,&rdquo; Theron ventured, at
      last. &ldquo;I have not seen any of you since then.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The priest shook his head and sighed. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is a bad
      business. I have had a great deal of unhappiness out of it this past
      fortnight. That young man who was rude to you&mdash;of course it was mere
      drunken, irresponsible nonsense on his part&mdash;has got himself into a
      serious scrape, I'm afraid. It is being kept quite within the family, and
      we hope to manage so that it will remain there, but it has terribly upset
      his father and his sister. But that, after all, is not so hard to bear as
      the other affliction that has come upon the Maddens. You remember Michael,
      the other brother? He seems to have taken cold that evening, or perhaps
      over-exerted himself. He has been seized with quick consumption. He will
      hardly last till snow flies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I am GRIEVED to hear that!&rdquo; Theron spoke with tremulous earnestness.
      It seemed to him as if Michael were in some way related to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is very hard upon them all,&rdquo; the priest went on. &ldquo;Michael is as sweet
      and holy a character as it is possible for any one to think of. He is the
      apple of his father's eye. They were inseparable, those two. Do you know
      the father, Mr. Madden?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron shook his head. &ldquo;I think I have seen him,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;A small man,
      with gray whiskers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A peasant,&rdquo; said Father Forbes, &ldquo;but with a heart of gold. Poor man! he
      has had little enough out of his riches. Ah, the West Coast people, what
      tragedies I have seen among them over here! They have rudimentary lung
      organizations, like a frog's, to fit the mild, wet soft air they live in.
      The sharp air here kills them off like flies in a frost. Whole families
      go. I should think there are a dozen of old Jeremiah's children in the
      cemetery. If Michael could have passed his twenty-eighth year, there would
      have been hope for him, at least till his thirty-fifth. These pulmonary
      things seem to go by sevens, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't know,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;It is very strange&mdash;and very sad.&rdquo; His
      startled mind was busy, all at once, with conjectures as to Celia's age.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The sister&mdash;Miss Madden&mdash;seems extremely strong,&rdquo; he remarked
      tentatively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Celia may escape the general doom,&rdquo; said the priest. His guest noted that
      he clenched his shapely white hand on the table as he spoke, and that his
      gentle, carefully modulated voice had a gritty hardness in its tone. &ldquo;THAT
      would be too dreadful to think of,&rdquo; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron shuddered in silence, and strove to shut his mind against the
      thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She has taken Michael's illness so deeply to heart,&rdquo; the priest
      proceeded, &ldquo;and devoted herself to him so untiringly that I get a little
      nervous about her. I have been urging her to go away and get a change of
      air and scene, if only for a few days. She does not sleep well, and that
      is always a bad thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think I remember her telling me once that sometimes she had sleepless
      spells,&rdquo; said Theron. &ldquo;She said that then she banged on her piano at all
      hours, or dragged the cushions about from room to room, like a wild woman.
      A very interesting young lady, don't you find her so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes let a wan smile play on his lips. &ldquo;What, our Celia?&rdquo; he
      said. &ldquo;Interesting! Why, Mr. Ware, there is no one like her in the world.
      She is as unique as&mdash;what shall I say?&mdash;as the Irish are among
      races. Her father and mother were both born in mud-cabins, and she&mdash;she
      might be the daughter of a hundred kings, except that they seem mostly
      rather under-witted than otherwise. She always impresses me as a sort of
      atavistic idealization of the old Kelt at his finest and best. There in
      Ireland you got a strange mixture of elementary early peoples, walled off
      from the outer world by the four seas, and free to work out their own
      racial amalgam on their own lines. They brought with them at the outset a
      great inheritance of Eastern mysticism. Others lost it, but the Irish, all
      alone on their island, kept it alive and brooded on it, and rooted their
      whole spiritual side in it. Their religion is full of it; their blood is
      full of it; our Celia is fuller of it than anybody else. The Ireland of
      two thousand years ago is incarnated in her. They are the merriest people
      and the saddest, the most turbulent and the most docile, the most talented
      and the most unproductive, the most practical and the most visionary, the
      most devout and the most pagan. These impossible contradictions war
      ceaselessly in their blood. When I look at Celia, I seem to see in my
      mind's eye the fair young-ancestral mother of them all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron gazed at the speaker with open admiration. &ldquo;I love to hear you
      talk,&rdquo; he said simply.
    </p>
    <p>
      An unbidden memory flitted upward in his mind. Those were the very words
      that Alice had so often on her lips in their old courtship days. How
      curious it was! He looked at the priest, and had a quaint sensation of
      feeling as a romantic woman must feel in the presence of a specially
      impressive masculine personality. It was indeed strange that this
      soft-voiced, portly creature in a gown, with his white, fat hands and his
      feline suavity of manner, should produce such a commanding and unique
      effect of virility. No doubt this was a part of the great sex mystery
      which historically surrounded the figure of the celibate priest as with an
      atmosphere. Women had always been prostrating themselves before it.
      Theron, watching his companion's full, pallid face in the lamp-light,
      tried to fancy himself in the priest's place, looking down upon these
      worshipping female forms. He wondered what the celibate's attitude really
      was. The enigma fascinated him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes, after his rhetorical outburst, had been eating. He pushed
      aside his cheese-plate. &ldquo;I grow enthusiastic on the subject of my race
      sometimes,&rdquo; he remarked, with the suggestion of an apology. &ldquo;But I make up
      for it other times&mdash;most of the time&mdash;by scolding them. If it
      were not such a noble thing to be an Irishman, it would be ridiculous.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Theron, deprecatingly, &ldquo;who would not be enthusiastic in
      talking of Miss Madden? What you said about her was perfect. As you spoke,
      I was thinking how proud and thankful we ought to be for the privilege of
      knowing her&mdash;we who do know her well&mdash;although of course your
      friendship with her is vastly more intimate than mine&mdash;than mine
      could ever hope to be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The priest offered no comment, and Theron went on: &ldquo;I hardly know how to
      describe the remarkable impression she makes upon me. I can't imagine to
      myself any other young woman so brilliant or broad in her views, or so
      courageous. Of course, her being so rich makes it easier for her to do
      just what she wants to do, but her bravery is astonishing all the same. We
      had a long and very sympathetic talk in the woods, that day of the picnic,
      after we left you. I don't know whether she spoke to you about it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes made a movement of the head and eyes which seemed to
      negative the suggestion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her talk,&rdquo; continued Theron, &ldquo;gave me quite new ideas of the range and
      capacity of the female mind. I wonder that everybody in Octavius isn't
      full of praise and admiration for her talents and exceptional character.
      In such a small town as this, you would think she would be the centre of
      attention&mdash;the pride of the place.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think she has as much praise as is good for her,&rdquo; remarked the priest,
      quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And here's a thing that puzzles me,&rdquo; pursued Mr. Ware. &ldquo;I was immensely
      surprised to find that Dr. Ledsmar doesn't even think she is smart&mdash;or
      at least he professes the utmost intellectual contempt for her, and says
      he dislikes her into the bargain. But of course she dislikes him, too, so
      that's only natural. But I can't understand his denying her great
      ability.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The priest smiled in a dubious way. &ldquo;Don't borrow unnecessary alarm about
      that, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; he said, with studied smoothness of modulated tones.
      &ldquo;These two good friends of mine have much enjoyment out of the idea that
      they are fighting for the mastery over my poor unstable character. It has
      grown to be a habit with them, and a hobby as well, and they pursue it
      with tireless zest. There are not many intellectual diversions open to us
      here, and they make the most of this one. It amuses them, and it is not
      without its charms for me, in my capacity as an interested observer. It is
      a part of the game that they should pretend to themselves that they detest
      each other. In reality I fancy that they like each other very much. At any
      rate, there is nothing to be disturbed about.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His mellifluous tones had somehow the effect of suggesting to Theron that
      he was an outsider and would better mind his own business. Ah, if this
      purring pussy-cat of a priest only knew how little of an outsider he
      really was! The thought gave him an easy self-control.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;our warm mutual friendship makes the observation of
      these little individual vagaries merely a part of a delightful whole. I
      should not dream of discussing Miss Madden's confidences to me, or the
      doctor's either, outside our own little group.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Father Forbes reached behind him and took from a chair his black
      three-cornered cap with the tassel. &ldquo;Unfortunately I have a sick call
      waiting me,&rdquo; he said, gathering up his gown and slowly rising.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I saw the man sitting in the hall,&rdquo; remarked Theron, getting to his
      feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would ask you to go upstairs and wait,&rdquo; the priest went on, &ldquo;but my
      return, unhappily, is quite uncertain. Another evening I may be more
      fortunate. I am leaving town tomorrow for some days, but when I get back&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The polite sentence did not complete itself. Father Forbes had come out
      into the hall, giving a cool nod to the working-man, who rose from the
      bench as they passed, and shook hands with his guest on the doorstep.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the door had closed upon Mr. Ware, the priest turned to the man. &ldquo;You
      have come about those frames,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you will come upstairs, I will
      show you the prints, and you can give me a notion of what can be done with
      them. I rather fancy the idea of a triptych in carved old English, if you
      can manage it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After the workman had gone away, Father Forbes put on slippers and an old
      loose soutane, lighted a cigar, and, pushing an easy-chair over to the
      reading lamp, sat down with a book. Then something occurred to him, and he
      touched the house-bell at his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Maggie,&rdquo; he said gently, when the housekeeper appeared at the door, &ldquo;I
      will have the coffee and FINE CHAMPAGNE up here, if it is no trouble. And&mdash;oh,
      Maggie&mdash;I was compelled this evening to turn the blameless visit of
      the framemaker into a venial sin, and that involves a needless wear and
      tear of conscience. I think that&mdash;hereafter&mdash;you understand?&mdash;I
      am not invariably at home when the Rev. Mr. Ware does me the honor to
      call.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII
    </h2>
    <p>
      That night brought the first frost of the season worth counting. In the
      morning, when Theron came downstairs, his casual glance through the window
      caught a desolate picture of blackened dahlia stalks and shrivelled
      blooms. The gayety and color of the garden were gone, and in their place
      was shabby and dishevelled ruin. He flung the sash up and leaned out. The
      nipping autumn air was good to breathe. He looked about him, surveying the
      havoc the frost had wrought among the flowers, and smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      At breakfast he smiled again&mdash;a mirthless and calculated smile. &ldquo;I
      see that Brother Gorringe's flowers have come to grief over night,&rdquo; he
      remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice looked at him before she spoke, and saw on his face a confirmation
      of the hostile hint in his voice. She nodded in a constrained way, and
      said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or rather, I should say,&rdquo; Theron went on, with deliberate words, &ldquo;the
      late Brother Gorringe's flowers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do you mean&mdash;LATE&rdquo; asked his wife, swiftly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, calm yourself!&rdquo; replied the husband. &ldquo;He is not dead. He has only
      intimated to me his desire to sever his connection. I may add that he did
      so in a highly offensive manner.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am very sorry,&rdquo; said Alice, in a low tone, and with her eyes on her
      plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I took it for granted you would be grieved at his backsliding,&rdquo; remarked
      Theron, making his phrases as pointed as he could. &ldquo;He was such a
      promising probationer, and you took such a keen interest in his spiritual
      awakening. But the frost has nipped his zeal&mdash;along with the hundred
      or more dollars' worth of flowers by which he testified his faith. I find
      something interesting in their having been blasted simultaneously.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice dropped all pretence of interest in her breakfast. With a flushed
      face and lips tightly compressed, she made a movement as if to rise from
      her chair. Then, changing her mind, she sat bolt upright and faced her
      husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think we had better have this out right now,&rdquo; she said, in a voice
      which Theron hardly recognized. &ldquo;You have been hinting round the subject
      long enough&mdash;too long. There are some things nobody is obliged to put
      up with, and this is one of them. You will oblige me by saying out in so
      many words what it is you are driving at.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The outburst astounded Theron. He laid down his knife and fork, and gazed
      at his wife in frank surprise. She had so accustomed him, of late, to a
      demeanor almost abject in its depressed docility that he had quite
      forgotten the Alice of the old days, when she had spirit and courage
      enough for two, and a notable tongue of her own. The flash in her eyes and
      the lines of resolution about her mouth and chin for a moment daunted him.
      Then he observed by a flutter of the frill at her wrist that she was
      trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sure I have nothing to 'say out in so many words,' as you put it,&rdquo;
       he replied, forcing his voice into cool, impassive tones. &ldquo;I merely
      commented upon a coincidence, that was all. If, for any reason under the
      sun, the subject chances to be unpleasant to you, I have no earthly desire
      to pursue it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I insist upon having it pursued!&rdquo; returned Alice. &ldquo;I've had just all
      I can stand of your insinuations and innuendoes, and it's high time we had
      some plain talk. Ever since the revival, you have been dropping sly,
      underhand hints about Mr. Gorringe and&mdash;and me. Now I ask you what
      you mean by it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Yes, there was a shake in her voice, and he could see how her bosom heaved
      in a tremor of nervousness. It was easy for him to be very calm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is you who introduce these astonishing suggestions, not I,&rdquo; he replied
      coldly. &ldquo;It is you who couple your name with his&mdash;somewhat to my
      surprise, I admit&mdash;but let me suggest that we drop the subject. You
      are excited just now, and you might say things that you would prefer to
      leave unsaid. It would surely be better for all concerned to say no more
      about it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice, staring across the table at him with knitted brows, emitted a sharp
      little snort of indignation. &ldquo;Well, I never! Theron, I wouldn't have
      thought it of you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There are so many things you wouldn't have thought, on such a variety of
      subjects,&rdquo; he observed, with a show of resuming his breakfast. &ldquo;But why
      continue? We are only angering each other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind that,&rdquo; she replied, with more control over her speech. &ldquo;I
      guess things have come to a pass where a little anger won't do any harm. I
      have a right to insist on knowing what you mean by your insinuations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron sighed. &ldquo;Why will you keep harping on the thing?&rdquo; he asked wearily.
      &ldquo;I have displayed no curiosity. I don't ask for any explanations. I think
      I mentioned that the man had behaved insultingly to me&mdash;but that
      doesn't matter. I don't bring it up as a grievance. I am very well able to
      take care of myself. I have no wish to recur to the incident in any way. So
      far as I am concerned, the topic is dismissed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Listen to me!&rdquo; broke in Alice, with eager gravity. She hesitated, as he
      looked up with a nod of attention, and reflected as well as she was able
      among her thoughts for a minute or two. &ldquo;This is what I want to say to
      you. Ever since we came to this hateful Octavius, you and I have been
      drifting apart&mdash;or no, that doesn't express it&mdash;simply rushing
      away from each other. It only began last spring, and now the space between
      us is so wide that we are worse than complete strangers. For strangers at
      least don't hate each other, and I've had a good many occasions lately to
      see that you positively do hate me&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What grotesque absurdity&rdquo; interposed Theron, impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, it isn't absurdity; it's gospel truth,&rdquo; retorted Alice. &ldquo;And&mdash;don't
      interrupt me&mdash;there have been times, too, when I have had to ask
      myself if I wasn't getting almost to hate you in return. I tell you this
      frankly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, you are undoubtedly frank,&rdquo; commented the husband, toying with his
      teaspoon. &ldquo;A hypercritical person might consider, almost too frank.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice scanned his face closely while he spoke, and held her breath as if
      in expectant suspense. Her countenance clouded once more. &ldquo;You don't
      realize, Theron,&rdquo; she said gravely; &ldquo;your voice when you speak to me, your
      look, your manner, they have all changed. You are like another man&mdash;some
      man who never loved me, and doesn't even know me, much less like me. I
      want to know what the end of it is to be. Up to the time of your sickness
      last summer, until after the Soulsbys went away, I didn't let myself get
      downright discouraged. It seemed too monstrous for belief that you should
      go away out of my life like that. It didn't seem possible that God could
      allow such a thing. It came to me that I had been lax in my Christian
      life, especially in my position as a minister's wife, and that this was my
      punishment. I went to the altar, to intercede with Him, and to try to
      loose my burden at His feet. But nothing has come of it. I got no help
      from you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really, Alice,&rdquo; broke in Theron, &ldquo;I explained over and over again to you
      how preoccupied I was&mdash;with the book&mdash;and affairs generally.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I got no assistance from Heaven either,&rdquo; she went on, declining the
      diversion he offered. &ldquo;I don't want to talk impiously, but if there is a
      God, he has forgotten me, his poor heart-broken hand-maiden.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are talking impiously, Alice,&rdquo; observed her husband. &ldquo;And you are
      doing me cruel injustice, into the bargain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I only wish I were!&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;I only wish to God I were!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, accept my complete assurance that you ARE&mdash;that your
      whole conception of me, and of what you are pleased to describe as my
      change toward you, is an entire and utter mistake. Of course, the married
      state is no more exempt from the universal law of growth, development,
      alteration, than any other human institution. On its spiritual side, of
      course, viewed either as a sacrament, or as&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't let us go into that,&rdquo; interposed Alice, abruptly. &ldquo;In fact, there
      is no good in talking any more at all. It is as if we didn't speak the
      same language. You don't understand what I say; it makes no impression
      upon your mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite to the contrary,&rdquo; he assured her; &ldquo;I have been deeply interested
      and concerned in all you have said. I think you are laboring under a great
      delusion, and I have tried my best to convince you of it; but I have never
      heard you speak more intelligibly or, I might say, effectively.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A little gleam of softness stole over Alice's face. &ldquo;If you only gave me a
      little more credit for intelligence,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you would find that I am
      not such a blockhead as you think I am.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, come!&rdquo; he said, with a smiling show of impatience. &ldquo;You really
      mustn't impute things to me wholesale, like that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was glad to answer the smile in kind. &ldquo;No; but truly,&rdquo; she pleaded,
      &ldquo;you don't realize it, but you have grown into a way of treating me as if
      I had absolutely no mind at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have a very admirable mind,&rdquo; he responded, and took up his teaspoon
      again. She reached for his cup, and poured out hot coffee for him. An
      almost cheerful spirit had suddenly descended upon the breakfast table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now let me say the thing I have been aching to say for months,&rdquo; she
      began in less burdened voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      He lifted his brows. &ldquo;Haven't things been discussed pretty fully already?&rdquo;
       he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doubtful, harassed expression clouded upon her face at his words, and
      she paused. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said resolutely, after an instant's reflection; &ldquo;it
      is my duty to discuss this, too. It is a misunderstanding all round. You
      remember that I told you Mr. Gorringe had given me some plants, which he
      got from some garden or other?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you really wish to go on with the subject&mdash;yes I have a
      recollection of that particular falsehood of his.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He did it with the kindest and friendliest motives in the world!&rdquo;
       protested Alice. &ldquo;He saw how down-in-the-mouth and moping I was here,
      among these strangers&mdash;and I really was getting quite peaked and
      run-down&mdash;and he said I stayed indoors too much and it would do me
      all sorts of good to work in the garden, and he would send me some plants.
      The next I knew, here they were, with a book about mixing soils and
      planting, and so on. When I saw him next, and thanked him, I suppose I
      showed some apprehension about his having laid out money on them, and he,
      just to ease my mind, invented the story about his getting them for
      nothing. When I found out the truth&mdash;I got it out of that boy, Harvey
      Semple&mdash;he admitted it quite frankly&mdash;said he was wrong to
      deceive me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This was in the fine first fervor of his term of probation, I suppose,&rdquo;
       put in Theron. He made no effort to dissemble the sneer in his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; answered Alice, with a touch of acerbity, &ldquo;I have told you now,
      and it is off my mind. There never would have been the slightest
      concealment about it, if you hadn't begun by keeping me at arm's length,
      and making it next door to impossible to speak to you at all, and if&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And if he hadn't lied.&rdquo; Theron, as he finished her sentence for her, rose
      from the table. Dallying for a brief moment by his chair, there seemed the
      magnetic premonition in the air of some further and kindlier word. Then he
      turned and walked sedately into the next room, and closed the door behind
      him. The talk was finished; and Alice, left alone, passed the knuckle of
      her thumb over one swimming eye and then the other, and bit her lips and
      swallowed down the sob that rose in her throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was early afternoon when Theron walked out of his yard, bestowing no
      glance upon the withered and tarnished show of the garden, and started
      with a definite step down the street. The tendency to ruminative
      loitering, which those who saw him abroad always associated with his tall,
      spare figure, was not suggested today. He moved forward like a man with a
      purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the forenoon in the seclusion of the sitting-room, with a book opened
      before him, he had been thinking hard. It was not the talk with Alice that
      occupied his thoughts. That rose in his mind from time to time, only as a
      disagreeable blur, and he refused to dwell upon it. It was nothing to him,
      he said to himself, what Gorringe's motives in lying had been. As for
      Alice, he hardened his heart against her. Just now it was her mood to try
      and make up to him. But it had been something different yesterday, and who
      could say what it would be tomorrow? He really had passed the limit of
      patience with her shifting emotional vagaries, now lurching in this
      direction, now in that. She had had her chance to maintain a hold upon his
      interest and imagination, and had let it slip. These were the accidents of
      life, the inevitable harsh happenings in the great tragedy of Nature. They
      could not be helped, and there was nothing more to be said.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had bestowed much more attention upon what the priest had said the
      previous evening. He passed in review all the glowing tributes Father
      Forbes had paid to Celia. They warmed his senses as he recalled them, but
      they also, in a curious, indefinite way, caused him uneasiness. There had
      been a personal fervor about them which was something more than priestly.
      He remembered how the priest had turned pale and faltered when the
      question whether Celia would escape the general doom of her family came
      up. It was not a merely pastoral agitation that, he felt sure.
    </p>
    <p>
      A hundred obscure hints, doubts, stray little suspicions, crowded upward
      together in his thoughts. It became apparent to him now that from the
      outset he had been conscious of something queer&mdash;yes, from that very
      first day when he saw the priest and Celia together, and noted their
      glance of recognition inside the house of death. He realized now, upon
      reflection, that the tone of other people, his own parishioners and his
      casual acquaintances in Octavius alike, had always had a certain note of
      reservation in it when it touched upon Miss Madden. Her running in and out
      of the pastorate at all hours, the way the priest patted her on the
      shoulder before others, the obvious dislike the priest's ugly old
      housekeeper bore her, the astonishing freedom of their talk with each
      other&mdash;these dark memories loomed forth out of a mass of sinister
      conjecture.
    </p>
    <p>
      He could bear the uncertainty no longer. Was it indeed not entirely his
      own fault that it had existed thus long? No man with the spirit of a mouse
      would have shilly-shallied in this preposterous fashion, week after week,
      with the fever of a beautiful woman's kiss in his blood, and the woman
      herself living only round the corner. The whole world had been as good as
      offered to him&mdash;a bewildering world of wealth and beauty and
      spiritual exaltation and love&mdash;and he, like a weak fool, had waited
      for it to be brought to him on a salver, as it were, and actually forced
      upon his acceptance! &ldquo;That is my failing,&rdquo; he reflected; &ldquo;these miserable
      ecclesiastical bandages of mine have dwarfed my manly side. The meanest of
      Thurston's clerks would have shown a more adventurous spirit and a bolder
      nerve. If I do not act at once, with courage and resolution, everything
      will be lost. Already she must think me unworthy of the honor it was in
      her sweet will to bestow.&rdquo; Then he remembered that she was now always at
      home. &ldquo;Not another hour of foolish indecision!&rdquo; he whispered to himself.
      &ldquo;I will put my destiny to the test. I will see her today!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A middle-aged, plain-faced servant answered his ring at the door-bell of
      the Madden mansion. She was palpably Irish, and looked at him with a
      saddened preoccupation in her gray eyes, holding the door only a little
      ajar.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron had got out one of his cards. &ldquo;I wish to make inquiry about young
      Mr. Madden&mdash;Mr. Michael Madden,&rdquo; he said, holding the card forth
      tentatively. &ldquo;I have only just heard of his illness, and it has been a
      great grief to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is no better,&rdquo; answered the woman, briefly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am the Rev. Mr. Ware,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;and you may say that, if he is well
      enough, I should be glad to see him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The servant peered out at him with a suddenly altered expression, then
      shook her head. &ldquo;I don't think he would be wishing to see YOU,&rdquo; she
      replied. It was evident from her tone that she suspected the visitor's
      intentions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled in spite of himself. &ldquo;I have not come as a clergyman,&rdquo; he
      explained, &ldquo;but as a friend of the family. If you will tell Miss Madden
      that I am here, it will do just as well. Yes, we won't bother him. If you
      will kindly hand my card to his sister.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When the domestic turned at this and went in, Theron felt like throwing
      his hat in the air, there where he stood. The woman's churlish sectarian
      prejudices had played ideally into his hands. In no other imaginable way
      could he have asked for Celia so naturally. He wondered a little that a
      servant at such a grand house as this should leave callers standing on the
      doorstep. Still more he wondered what he should say to the lady of his
      dream when he came into her presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you please to walk this way?&rdquo; The woman had returned. She closed the
      door noiselessly behind him, and led the way, not up the sumptuous
      staircase, as Theron had expected, but along through the broad hall, past
      several large doors, to a small curtained archway at the end. She pushed
      aside this curtain, and Theron found himself in a sort of conservatory,
      full of the hot, vague light of sunshine falling through ground-glass. The
      air was moist and close, and heavy with the smell of verdure and wet
      earth. A tall bank of palms, with ferns sprawling at their base, reared
      itself directly in front of him. The floor was of mosaic, and he saw now
      that there were rugs upon it, and that there were chairs and sofas, and
      other signs of habitation. It was, indeed, only half a greenhouse, for the
      lower part of it was in rosewood panels, with floral paintings on them,
      like a room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Moving to one side of the barrier of palms, he discovered, to his great
      surprise, the figure of Michael, sitting propped up with pillows in a huge
      easy-chair. The sick man was looking at him with big, gravely intent eyes.
      His face did not show as much change as Theron had in fancy pictured. It
      had seemed almost as bony and cadaverous on the day of the picnic. The
      hands spread out on the chair-arms were very white and thin, though, and
      the gaze in the blue eyes had a spectral quality which disturbed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Michael raised his right hand, and Theron, stepping forward, took it
      limply in his for an instant. Then he laid it down again. The touch of
      people about to die had always been repugnant to him. He could feel on his
      own warm palm the very damp of the grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I only heard from Father Forbes last evening of your&mdash;your
      ill-health,&rdquo; he said, somewhat hesitatingly. He seated himself on a bench
      beneath the palms, facing the invalid, but still holding his hat. &ldquo;I hope
      very sincerely that you will soon be all right again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My sister is lying down in her room,&rdquo; answered Michael. He had not once
      taken his sombre and embarrassing gaze from the other's face. The voice in
      which he uttered this uncalled-for remark was thin in fibre, cold and
      impassive. It fell upon Theron's ears with a suggestion of hidden meaning.
      He looked uneasily into Michael's eyes, and then away again. They seemed
      to be looking straight through him, and there was no shirking the
      sensation that they saw and comprehended things with an unnatural
      prescience.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope she is feeling better,&rdquo; Theron found himself saying. &ldquo;Father
      Forbes mentioned that she was a little under the weather. I dined with him
      last night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad that you came,&rdquo; said Michael, after a little pause. His
      earnest, unblinking eyes seemed to supplement his tongue with speech of
      their own. &ldquo;I do be thinking a great deal about you. I have matters to
      speak of to you, now that you are here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron bowed his head gently, in token of grateful attention. He tried the
      experiment of looking away from Michael, but his glance went back again
      irresistibly, and fastened itself upon the sick man's gaze, and clung
      there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am next door to a dead man,&rdquo; he went on, paying no heed to the other's
      deprecatory gesture. &ldquo;It is not years or months with me, but weeks. Then I
      go away to stand up for judgment on my sins, and if it is His merciful
      will, I shall see God. So I say my good-byes now, and so you will let me
      speak plainly, and not think ill of what I say. You are much changed, Mr.
      Ware, since you came to Octavius, and it is not a change for the good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron lifted his brows in unaffected surprise, and put inquiry into his
      glance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know if Protestants will be saved, in God's good time, or not,&rdquo;
       continued Michael. &ldquo;I find there are different opinions among the clergy
      about that, and of course it is not for me, only a plain mechanic, to be
      sure where learned and pious scholars are in doubt. But I am sure about
      one thing. Those Protestants, and others too, mind you, who profess and
      preach good deeds, and themselves do bad deeds&mdash;they will never be
      saved. They will have no chance at all to escape hell-fire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think we are all agreed upon that, Mr. Madden,&rdquo; said Theron, with
      surface suavity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I say to you, Mr. Ware, you are yourself in a bad path. Take the
      warning of a dying man, sir, and turn from it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The impulse to smile tugged at Theron's facial muscles. This was really
      too droll. He looked up at the ceiling, the while he forced his
      countenance into a polite composure, then turned again to Michael, with
      some conciliatory commonplace ready for utterance. But he said nothing,
      and all suggestion of levity left his mind, under the searching inspection
      bent upon him by the young man's hollow eyes. What did Michael suspect?
      What did he know? What was he hinting at, in this strange talk of his?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw you often on the street when first you came here,&rdquo; continued
      Michael. &ldquo;I knew the man who was here before you&mdash;that is, by sight&mdash;and
      he was not a good man. But your face, when you came, pleased me. I liked
      to look at you. I was tormented just then, do you see, that so many
      decent, kindly people, old school-mates and friends and neighbors of mine&mdash;and,
      for that matter, others all over the country must lose their souls because
      they were Protestants. At my boyhood and young manhood, that thought took
      the joy out of me. Sometimes I usen't to sleep a whole night long, for
      thinking that some lad I had been playing with, perhaps in his own house,
      that very day, would be taken when he died, and his mother too, when she
      died, and thrown into the flames of hell for all eternity. It made me so
      unhappy that finally I wouldn't go to any Protestant boy's house, and have
      his mother be nice to me, and give me cake and apples&mdash;and me
      thinking all the while that they were bound to be damned, no matter how
      good they were to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The primitive humanity of this touched Theron, and he nodded approbation
      with a tender smile in his eyes, forgetting for the moment that a personal
      application of the monologue had been hinted at.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But then later, as I grew up,&rdquo; the sick man went on, &ldquo;I learned that it
      was not altogether certain. Some of the authorities, I found, maintained
      that it was doubtful, and some said openly that there must be salvation
      possible for good people who lived in ignorance of the truth through no
      fault of their own. Then I had hope one day, and no hope the next, and as
      I did my work I thought it over, and in the evenings my father and I
      talked it over, and we settled nothing of it at all. Of course, how could
      we?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you ever discuss the question with your sister?&rdquo; it occurred suddenly
      to Theron to interpose. He was conscious of some daring in doing so, and
      he fancied that Michael's drawn face clouded a little at his words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My sister is no theologian,&rdquo; he answered briefly. &ldquo;Women have no call to
      meddle with such matters. But I was saying&mdash;it was in the middle of
      these doubtings of mine that you came here to Octavius, and I noticed you
      on the streets, and once in the evening&mdash;I made no secret of it to my
      people&mdash;I sat in the back of your church and heard you preach. As I
      say, I liked you. It was your face, and what I thought it showed of the
      man underneath it, that helped settle my mind more than anything else. I
      said to myself: 'Here is a young man, only about my own age, and he has
      education and talents, and he does not seek to make money for himself, or
      a great name, but he is content to live humbly on the salary of a
      book-keeper, and devote all his time to prayer and the meditation of his
      religion, and preaching, and visiting the sick and the poor, and
      comforting them. His very face is a pleasure and a help for those in
      suffering and trouble to look at. The very sight of it makes one believe
      in pure thoughts and merciful deeds. I will not credit it that God intends
      damning such a man as that, or any like him!'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron bowed, with a slow, hesitating gravity of manner, and deep, not
      wholly complacent, attention on his face. Evidently all this was by way of
      preparation for something unpleasant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That was only last spring,&rdquo; said Michael. His tired voice sank for a
      sentence or two into a meditative half-whisper. &ldquo;And it was MY last spring
      of all. I shall not be growing weak any more, or drawing hard breaths,
      when the first warm weather comes. It will be one season to me hereafter,
      always the same.&rdquo; He lifted his voice with perceptible effort. &ldquo;I am
      talking too much. The rest I can say in a word. Only half a year has gone
      by, and you have another face on you entirely. I had noticed the small
      changes before, one by one. I saw the great change, all of a sudden, the
      day of the picnic. I see it a hundred times more now, as you sit there. If
      it seemed to me like the face of a saint before, it is more like the face
      of a bar-keeper now!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was quite too much. Theron rose, flushed to the temples, and scowled
      down at the helpless man in the chair. He swallowed the sharp words which
      came uppermost, and bit and moistened his lips as he forced himself to
      remember that this was a dying man, and Celia's brother, to whom she was
      devoted, and whom he himself felt he wanted to be very fond of. He got the
      shadow of a smile on to his countenance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear you HAVE tired yourself unduly,&rdquo; he said, in as non-contentious a
      tone as he could manage. He even contrived a little deprecatory laugh. &ldquo;I
      am afraid your real quarrel is with the air of Octavius. It agrees with me
      so wonderfully&mdash;I am getting as fat as a seal. But I do hope I am not
      paying for it by such a wholesale deterioration inside. If my own opinion
      could be of any value, I should assure you that I feel myself an
      infinitely better and broader and stronger man than I was when I came
      here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Michael shook his head dogmatically. &ldquo;That is the greatest pity of all,&rdquo;
       he said, with renewed earnestness. &ldquo;You are entirely deceived about
      yourself. You do not at all realize how you have altered your direction,
      or where you are going. It was a great misfortune for you, sir, that you
      did not keep among your own people. That poor half-brother of mine, though
      the drink was in him when he said that same to you, never spoke a truer
      word. Keep among your own people, Mr. Ware! When you go among others&mdash;you
      know what I mean&mdash;you have no proper understanding of what their
      sayings and doings really mean. You do not realize that they are held up
      by the power of the true Church, as a little child learning to walk is
      held up with a belt by its nurse. They can say and do things, and no harm
      at all come to them, which would mean destruction to you, because they
      have help, and you are walking alone. And so be said by me, Mr. Ware! Go
      back to the way you were brought up in, and leave alone the people whose
      ways are different from yours. You are a married man, and you are the
      preacher of a religion, such as it is. There can be nothing better for you
      than to go and strive to be a good husband, and to set a good example to
      the people of your Church, who look up to you&mdash;and mix yourself up no
      more with outside people and outside notions that only do you mischief.
      And that is what I wanted to say to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron took up his hat. &ldquo;I take in all kindness what you have felt it your
      duty to say to me, Mr. Madden,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am not sure that I have
      altogether followed you, but I am very sure you mean it well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean well by you,&rdquo; replied Michael, wearily moving his head on the
      pillow, and speaking in an undertone of languor and pain, &ldquo;and I mean well
      by others, that are nearer to me, and that I have a right to care more
      about. When a man lies by the site of his open grave, he does not be
      meaning ill to any human soul.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;thanks&mdash;quite so!&rdquo; faltered Theron. He dallied for an
      instant with the temptation to seek some further explanation, but the
      sight of Michael's half-closed eyes and worn-out expression decided him
      against it. It did not seem to be expected, either, that he should shake
      hands, and with a few perfunctory words of hope for the invalid's
      recovery, which fell with a jarring note of falsehood upon his own ears,
      he turned and left the room. As he did so, Michael touched a bell on the
      table beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron drew a long breath in the hall, as the curtain fell behind him. It
      was an immense relief to escape from the oppressive humidity and heat of
      the flower-room, and from that ridiculous bore of a Michael as well.
    </p>
    <p>
      The middle-aged, grave-faced servant, warned by the bell, stood waiting to
      conduct him to the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry to have missed Miss Madden,&rdquo; he said to her. &ldquo;She must be
      quite worn out. Perhaps later in the day&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She will not be seeing anybody today,&rdquo; returned the woman. &ldquo;She is going
      to New York this evening, and she is taking some rest against the
      journey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will she be away long?&rdquo; he asked mechanically. The servant's answer, &ldquo;I
      have no idea,&rdquo; hardly penetrated his consciousness at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      He moved down the steps, and along the gravel to the street, in a maze of
      mental confusion. When he reached the sidewalk, under the familiar elms,
      he paused, and made a definite effort to pull his thoughts together, and
      take stock of what had happened, of what was going to happen; but the
      thing baffled him. It was as if some drug had stupefied his faculties.
    </p>
    <p>
      He began to walk, and gradually saw that what he was thinking about was
      the fact of Celia's departure for New York that evening. He stared at this
      fact, at first in its nakedness, then clothed with reassuring suggestions
      that this was no doubt a trip she very often made. There was a blind sense
      of comfort in this idea, and he rested himself upon it. Yes, of course,
      she travelled a great deal. New York must be as familiar to her as
      Octavius was to him. Her going there now was quite a matter of course&mdash;the
      most natural thing in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then there burst suddenly uppermost in his mind the other fact&mdash;that
      Father Forbes was also going to New York that evening. The two things
      spindled upward, side by side, yet separately, in his mental vision; then
      they twisted and twined themselves together. He followed their
      convolutions miserably, walking as if his eyes were shut.
    </p>
    <p>
      In slow fashion matters defined and arranged themselves before him. The
      process of tracing their sequence was all torture, but there was no
      possibility, no notion, of shirking any detail of the pain. The priest had
      spoken of his efforts to persuade Celia to go away for a few days, for
      rest and change of air and scene. He must have known only too well that
      she was going, but of that he had been careful to drop no hint. The
      possibility of accident was too slight to be worth considering. People on
      such intimate terms as Celia and the priest&mdash;people with such
      facilities for seeing each other whenever they desired&mdash;did not find
      themselves on the same train of cars, with the same long journey in view,
      by mere chance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron walked until dusk began to close in upon the autumn day. It grew
      colder, as he turned his face homeward. He wondered if it would freeze
      again over-night, and then remembered the shrivelled flowers in his wife's
      garden. For a moment they shaped themselves in a picture before his mind's
      eye; he saw their blackened foliage, their sicklied, drooping stalks, and
      wilted blooms, and as he looked, they restored themselves to the vigor and
      grace and richness of color of summer-time, as vividly as if they had been
      painted on a canvas. Or no, the picture he stared at was not on canvas,
      but on the glossy, varnished panel of a luxurious sleeping-car. He shook
      his head angrily and blinked his eyes again and again, to prevent their
      seeing, seated together in the open window above this panel, the two
      people he knew were there, gloved and habited for the night's journey,
      waiting for the train to start.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very much to my surprise,&rdquo; he found himself saying to Alice, watching her
      nervously as she laid the supper-table, &ldquo;I find I must go to Albany
      tonight. That is, it isn't absolutely necessary, for that matter, but I
      think it may easily turn out to be greatly to my advantage to go.
      Something has arisen&mdash;I can't speak about it as yet&mdash;but the
      sooner I see the Bishop about it the better. Things like that occur in a
      man's life, where boldly striking out a line of action, and following it
      up without an instant's delay, may make all the difference in the world to
      him. Tomorrow it might be too late; and, besides, I can be home the sooner
      again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice's face showed surprise, but no trace of suspicion. She spoke with
      studied amiability during the meal, and deferred with such unexpected tact
      to his implied desire not to be questioned as to the mysterious motives of
      the journey, that his mood instinctively softened and warmed toward her,
      as they finished supper.
    </p>
    <p>
      He smiled a little. &ldquo;I do hope I shan't have to go on tomorrow to New
      York; but these Bishops of ours are such gad-abouts one never knows where
      to catch them. As like as not Sanderson may be down in New York, on
      Book-Concern business or something; and if he is, I shall have to chase
      him up. But, after all, perhaps the trip will do me good&mdash;the change
      of air and scene, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure I hope so,&rdquo; said Alice, honestly enough. &ldquo;If you do go on to New
      York, I suppose you'll go by the river-boat. Everybody talks so much of
      that beautiful sail down the Hudson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's an idea!&rdquo; exclaimed Theron, welcoming it with enthusiasm. &ldquo;It
      hadn't occurred to me. If I do have to go, and it is as lovely as they
      make out, the next time I promise I won't go without you, my girl. I HAVE
      been rather out of sorts lately,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;When I come back, I
      daresay I shall be feeling better, more like my old self. Then I'm going
      to try, Alice, to be nicer to you than I have been of late. I'm afraid
      there was only too much truth in what you said this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind what I said this morning&mdash;or any other time,&rdquo; broke in
      Alice, softly. &ldquo;Don't ever remember it again, Theron, if only&mdash;only&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He rose as she spoke, moved round the table to where she sat, and, bending
      over her, stopped the faltering sentence with a kiss. When was it, he
      wondered, that he had last kissed her? It seemed years, ages, ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour later, with hat and overcoat on, and his valise in his hand, he
      stood on the doorstep of the parsonage, and kissed her once more before he
      turned and descended into the darkness. He felt like whistling as his feet
      sounded firmly on the plank sidewalk beyond the gate. It seemed as if he
      had never been in such capital good spirits before in his life.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX
    </h2>
    <p>
      The train was at a standstill somewhere, and the dull, ashen beginnings of
      daylight had made a first feeble start toward effacing the lamps in the
      car-roof, when the new day opened for Theron. A man who had just come in
      stopped at the seat upon which he had been stretched through the night,
      and, tapping him brusquely on the knee, said, &ldquo;I'm afraid I must trouble
      you, sir.&rdquo; After a moment of sleep-burdened confusion, he sat up, and the
      man took the other half of the seat and opened a newspaper, still damp
      from the press. It was morning, then.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron rubbed a clear space upon the clouded window with his thumb, and
      looked out. There was nothing to be seen but a broad stretch of tracks,
      and beyond this the shadowed outlines of wagons and machinery in a yard,
      with a background of factory buildings.
    </p>
    <p>
      The atmosphere in the car was vile beyond belief. He thought of opening
      the window, but feared that the peremptory-looking man with the paper, who
      had wakened him and made him sit up, might object. They were the only
      people in the car who were sitting up. Backwards and forwards, on either
      side of the narrow aisle, the dim light disclosed recumbent forms, curled
      uncomfortably into corners, or sprawling at difficult angles which
      involved the least interference with one another. Here and there an
      upturned face gave a livid patch of surface for the mingled play of the
      gray dawn and the yellow lamp-light. A ceaseless noise of snoring was in
      the air.
    </p>
    <p>
      He got up and walked to the tank of ice-water at the end of the aisle, and
      took a drink from the most inaccessible portion of the common tin-cup's
      rim. The happy idea of going out on the platform struck him, and he acted
      upon it. The morning air was deliciously cool and fresh by contrast, and
      he filled his lungs with it again and again. Standing here, he could
      discern beyond the buildings to the right the faint purplish outlines of
      great rounded hills. Some workmen, one of them bearing a torch, were
      crouching along under the side of the train, pounding upon the resonant
      wheels with small hammers. He recalled having heard the same sound in the
      watches of the night, during a prolonged halt. Some one had said it was
      Albany. He smiled in spite of himself at the thought that Bishop Sanderson
      would never know about the visit he had missed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Swinging himself to the ground, he bent sidewise and looked forward down
      the long train. There were five, six, perhaps more, sleeping-cars on in
      front. Which one of them, he wondered&mdash;and then there came the sharp
      &ldquo;All aboard!&rdquo; from the other side, and he bundled up the steps again, and
      entered the car as the train slowly resumed its progress.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was wide-awake now, and quite at his ease. He took his seat, and
      diverted himself by winking gravely at a little child facing him on the
      next seat but one. There were four other children in the family party,
      encamped about the tired and still sleeping mother whose back was turned
      to Theron. He recalled now having noticed this poor woman last night, in
      the first stage of his journey&mdash;how she fed her brood from one of the
      numerous baskets piled under their feet, and brought water in a tin dish
      of her own from the tank to use in washing their faces with a rag, and
      loosened their clothes to dispose them for the night's sleep. The face of
      the woman, her manner and slatternly aspect, and the general effect of her
      belongings, bespoke squalid ignorance and poverty. Watching her, Theron
      had felt curiously interested in the performance. In one sense, it was
      scarcely more human than the spectacle of a cat licking her kittens, or a
      cow giving suck to her calf. Yet, in another, was there anything more
      human?
    </p>
    <p>
      The child who had wakened before the rest regarded him with placidity,
      declining to be amused by his winkings, but exhibiting no other emotion.
      She had been playing by herself with a couple of buttons tied on a string,
      and after giving a civil amount of attention to Theron's grimaces, she
      turned again to the superior attractions of this toy. Her self-possession,
      her capacity for self-entertainment, the care she took not to arouse the
      others, all impressed him very much. He felt in his pocket for a small
      coin, and, reaching forward, offered it to her. She took it calmly,
      bestowed a tranquil gaze upon him for a moment, and went back to the
      buttons. Her indifference produced an unpleasant sensation upon him
      somehow, and he rubbed the steaming window clear again, and stared out of
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wide river lay before him, flanked by a precipitous wall of cliffs
      which he knew instantly must be the Palisades. There was an advertisement
      painted on them which he tried in vain to read. He was surprised to find
      they interested him so slightly. He had heard all his life of the Hudson,
      and especially of it just at this point. The reality seemed to him almost
      commonplace. His failure to be thrilled depressed him for the moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose those ARE the Palisades?&rdquo; he asked his neighbor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man glanced up from his paper, nodded, and made as if to resume his
      reading. But his eye had caught something in the prospect through the
      window which arrested his attention. &ldquo;By George!&rdquo; he exclaimed, and lifted
      himself to get a clearer view.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Theron, peering forth as well.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing; only Barclay Wendover's yacht is still there. There's been a
      hitch of some sort. They were to have left yesterday.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is that it&mdash;that long black thing?&rdquo; queried Theron. &ldquo;That can't be a
      yacht, can it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you think it is?&rdquo; answered the other. They were looking at a
      slim, narrow hull, lying at anchor, silent and motionless on the drab
      expanse of water. &ldquo;If that ain't a yacht, they haven't begun building any
      yet. They're taking her over to the Mediterranean for a cruise, you know&mdash;around
      India and Japan for the winter, and home by the South Sea islands. Friend
      o' mine's in the party. Wouldn't mind the trip myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But do you mean to say,&rdquo; asked Theron, &ldquo;that that little shell of a thing
      can sail across the ocean? Why, how many people would she hold?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The man laughed. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;there's room for two sets of quadrilles
      in the chief saloon, if the rest keep their legs well up on the sofas. But
      there's only ten or a dozen in the party this time. More than that rather
      get in one another's way, especially with so many ladies on board.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron asked no more questions, but bent his head to see the last of this
      wonderful craft. The sight of it, and what he had heard about it, suddenly
      gave point and focus to his thoughts. He knew at last what it was that had
      lurked, formless and undesignated, these many days in the background of
      his dreams. The picture rose in his mind now of Celia as the mistress of a
      yacht. He could see her reclining in a low easy-chair upon the polished
      deck, with the big white sails billowing behind her, and the sun shining
      upon the deep blue waves, and glistening through the splash of spray in
      the air, and weaving a halo of glowing gold about her fair head. Ah, how
      the tender visions crowded now upon him! Eternal summer basked round this
      enchanted yacht of his fancy&mdash;summer sought now in Scottish firths or
      Norwegian fiords, now in quaint old Southern harbors, ablaze with the hues
      of strange costumes and half-tropical flowers and fruits, now in far-away
      Oriental bays and lagoons, or among the coral reefs and palm-trees of the
      luxurious Pacific. He dwelt upon these new imaginings with the fervent
      longing of an inland-born boy. Every vague yearning he had ever felt
      toward salt-water stirred again in his blood at the thought of the sea&mdash;with
      Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Why not? She had never visited any foreign land. &ldquo;Sometime,&rdquo; she had said,
      &ldquo;sometime, no doubt I will.&rdquo; He could hear again the wistful, musing tone
      of her voice. The thought had fascinations for her, it was clear. How
      irresistibly would it not appeal to her, presented with the added charm of
      a roving, vagrant independence on the high seas, free to speed in her
      snow-winged chariot wherever she willed over the deep, loitering in this
      place, or up-helm-and-away to another, with no more care or weight of
      responsibility than the gulls tossing through the air in her wake!
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron felt, rather than phrased to himself, that there would not be &ldquo;ten
      or a dozen in the party&rdquo; on that yacht. Without defining anything in his
      mind, he breathed in fancy the same bold ocean breeze which filled the
      sails, and toyed with Celia's hair; he looked with her as she sat by the
      rail, and saw the same waves racing past, the same vast dome of cloud and
      ether that were mirrored in her brown eyes, and there was no one else
      anywhere near them. Even the men in sailors' clothes, who would be pulling
      at ropes, or climbing up tarred ladders, kept themselves considerately
      outside the picture. Only Celia sat there, and at her feet, gazing up
      again into her face as in the forest, the man whose whole being had been
      consecrated to her service, her worship, by the kiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've passed it now. I was trying to point out the Jumel house to you&mdash;where
      Aaron Burr lived, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron roused himself from his day-dream, and nodded with a confused smile
      at his neighbor. &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; he faltered; &ldquo;I didn't hear you. The train
      makes such a noise, and I must have been dozing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked about him. The night aspect, as of a tramps' lodging-house, had
      quite disappeared from the car. Everybody was sitting up; and the more
      impatient were beginning to collect their bundles and hand-bags from the
      racks and floor. An expressman came through, jangling a huge bunch of
      brass checks on leathern thongs over his arm, and held parley with
      passengers along the aisle. Outside, citified streets, with stores and
      factories, were alternating in the moving panorama with open fields; and,
      even as he looked, these vacant spaces ceased altogether, and successive
      regular lines of pavement, between two tall rows of houses all alike,
      began to stretch out, wheel to the right, and swing off out of view, for
      all the world like the avenues of hop-poles he remembered as a boy. Then
      was a long tunnel, its darkness broken at stated intervals by brief bursts
      of daylight from overhead, and out of this all at once the train drew up
      its full length in some vast, vaguely lighted enclosure, and stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, this is New York,&rdquo; said the man, folding up his paper, and springing
      to his feet. The narrow aisle was filled with many others who had been
      prompter still; and Theron stood, bag in hand, waiting till this energetic
      throng should have pushed itself bodily past him forth from the car. Then
      he himself made his way out, drifting with a sense of helplessness in
      their resolute wake. There rose in his mind the sudden conviction that he
      would be too late. All the passengers in the forward sleepers would be
      gone before he could get there. Yet even this terror gave him no new power
      to get ahead of anybody else in the tightly packed throng.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once on the broad platform, the others started off briskly; they all
      seemed to know just where they wanted to go, and to feel that no instant
      of time was to be lost in getting there. Theron himself caught some of
      this urgent spirit, and hurled himself along in the throng with reckless
      haste, knocking his bag against peoples' legs, but never pausing for
      apology or comment until he found himself abreast of the locomotive at the
      head of the train. He drew aside from the main current here, and began
      searching the platform, far and near, for those he had travelled so far to
      find.
    </p>
    <p>
      The platform emptied itself. Theron lingered on in puzzled hesitation, and
      looked about him. In the whole immense station, with its acres of tracks
      and footways, and its incessantly shifting processions of people, there
      was visible nobody else who seemed also in doubt, or who appeared capable
      of sympathizing with indecision in any form. Another train came in, some
      way over to the right, and before it had fairly stopped, swarms of eager
      men began boiling out of each end of each car, literally precipitating
      themselves over one another, it seemed to Theron, in their excited dash
      down the steps. As they caught their footing below, they started racing
      pell-mell down the platform to its end; there he saw them, looking more
      than ever like clustered bees in the distance, struggling vehemently in a
      dense mass up a staircase in the remote corner of the building.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are those folks running for? Is there a fire?&rdquo; he asked an
      amiable-faced young mulatto, in the uniform of the sleeping-car service,
      who passed him with some light hand-bags.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; they's Harlem people, I guess&mdash;jes' catchin' the Elevated&mdash;that's
      all, sir,&rdquo; he answered obligingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the moment some passengers emerged slowly from one of the
      sleeping-cars, and came loitering toward him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, are there people still in these cars?&rdquo; he asked eagerly. &ldquo;Haven't
      they all gone?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some has; some ain't,&rdquo; the porter replied. &ldquo;They most generally take
      their time about it. They ain't no hurry, so long's they get out 'fore
      we're drawn round to the drill-yard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was still hope, then. Theron took up his bag and walked forward,
      intent upon finding some place from which he could watch unobserved the
      belated stragglers issuing from the sleeping-cars. He started back all at
      once, confronted by a semi-circle of violent men with whips and badges,
      who stunned his hearing by a sudden vociferous outburst of shouts and
      yells. They made furious gestures at him with their whips and fists, to
      enforce the incoherent babel of their voices; and in these gestures, as in
      their faces and cries, there seemed a great deal of menace and very little
      invitation. There was a big policeman sauntering near by, and Theron got
      the idea that it was his presence alone which protected him from open
      violence at the hands of these savage hackmen. He tightened his clutch on
      his valise, and, turning his back on them and their uproar, tried to brave
      it out and stand where he was. But the policeman came lounging slowly
      toward him, with such authority in his swaying gait, and such urban
      omniscience written all over his broad, sandy face, that he lost heart,
      and beat an abrupt retreat off to the right, where there were a number of
      doorways, near which other people had ventured to put down baggage on the
      floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here, somewhat screened from observation, he stood for a long time,
      watching at odd moments the ceaselessly varying phases of the strange
      scene about him, but always keeping an eye on the train he had himself
      arrived in. It was slow and dispiriting work. A dozen times his heart
      failed him, and he said to himself mournfully that he had had his journey
      for nothing. Then some new figure would appear, alighting from the steps
      of a sleeper, and hope revived in his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, when over half an hour of expectancy had been marked off by the
      big clock overhead, his suspense came to an end. He saw Father Forbes'
      erect and substantial form, standing on the car platform nearest of all,
      balancing himself with his white hands on the rails, waiting for
      something. Then after a little he came down, followed by a black porter,
      whose arms were burdened by numerous bags and parcels. The two stood a
      minute or so more in hesitation at the side of the steps. Then Celia
      descended, and the three advanced.
    </p>
    <p>
      The importance of not being discovered was uppermost in Theron's mind, now
      that he saw them actually coming toward him. He had avoided this the
      previous evening, in the Octavius depot, with some skill, he flattered
      himself. It gave him a pleasurable sense of being a man of affairs, almost
      a detective, to be confronted by the necessity now of baffling observation
      once again. He was still rather without plans for keeping them in view,
      once they left the station. He had supposed that he would be able to hear
      what hotel they directed their driver to take them to, and, failing that,
      he had fostered a notion, based upon a story he had read when a boy, of
      throwing himself into another carriage, and bidding his driver to pursue
      them in hot haste, and on his life not fail to track them down. These
      devices seemed somewhat empty, now that the urgent moment was at hand; and
      as he drew back behind some other loiterers, out of view, he sharply
      racked his wits for some way of coping with this most pressing problem.
    </p>
    <p>
      It turned out, however, that there was no difficulty at all. Father Forbes
      and Celia seemed to have no use for the hackmen, but moved straight
      forward toward the street, through the doorway next to that in which
      Theron cowered. He stole round, and followed them at a safe distance,
      making Celia's hat, and the portmanteau perched on the shoulder of the
      porter behind her, his guides. To his surprise, they still kept on their
      course when they had reached the sidewalk, and went over the pavement
      across an open square which spread itself directly in front of the
      station. Hanging as far behind as he dared, he saw them pass to the other
      sidewalk diagonally opposite, proceed for a block or so along this, and
      then separate at a corner. Celia and the negro lad went down a side
      street, and entered the door of a vast, tall red-brick building which
      occupied the whole block. The priest, turning on his heel, came back again
      and went boldly up the broad steps of the front entrance to this same
      structure, which Theron now discovered to be the Murray Hill Hotel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fortune had indeed favored him. He not only knew where they were, but he
      had been himself a witness to the furtive way in which they entered the
      house by different doors. Nothing in his own limited experience of hotels
      helped him to comprehend the notion of a separate entrance for ladies and
      their luggage. He did not feel quite sure about the significance of what
      he had observed, in his own mind. But it was apparent to him that there
      was something underhanded about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      After lingering awhile on the steps of the hotel, and satisfying himself
      by peeps through the glass doors that the coast was clear, he ventured
      inside. The great corridor contained many people, coming, going, or
      standing about, but none of them paid any attention to him. At last he
      made up his mind, and beckoned a colored boy to him from a group gathered
      in the shadows of the big central staircase. Explaining that he did not at
      that moment wish a room, but desired to leave his bag, the boy took him to
      a cloak-room, and got him a check for the thing. With this in his pocket
      he felt himself more at his ease, and turned to walk away. Then suddenly
      he wheeled, and, bending his body over the counter of the cloak-room,
      astonished the attendant inside by the eagerness with which he scrutinized
      the piled rows of portmanteaus, trunks, overcoats, and bundles in the
      little enclosure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it you want? Here's your bag, if you're looking for that,&rdquo; this
      man said to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, thanks; it's nothing,&rdquo; replied Theron, straightening himself again.
      He had had a narrow escape. Father Forbes and Celia, walking side by side,
      had come down the small passage in which he stood, and had passed him so
      closely that he had felt her dress brush against him. Fortunately he had
      seen them in time, and by throwing himself half into the cloak-room, had
      rendered recognition impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      He walked now in the direction they had taken, till he came to the polite
      colored man at an open door on the left, who was bowing people into the
      breakfast room. Standing in the doorway, he looked about him till his eye
      lighted upon his two friends, seated at a small table by a distant window,
      with a black waiter, card in hand, bending over in consultation with them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Returning to the corridor, he made bold now to march up to the desk and
      examine the register. The priest's name was not there. He found only the
      brief entry, &ldquo;Miss Madden, Octavius,&rdquo; written, not by her, but by Father
      Forbes. On the line were two numbers in pencil, with an &ldquo;and&rdquo; between
      them. An indirect question to one of the clerks helped him to an
      explanation of this. When there were two numbers, it meant that the guest
      in question had a parlor as well as a bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here he drew a long, satisfied breath, and turned away. The first half of
      his quest stood completed&mdash;and that much more fully and easily than
      he had dared to hope. He could not but feel a certain new respect for
      himself as a man of resource and energy. He had demonstrated that people
      could not fool with him with impunity.
    </p>
    <p>
      It remained to decide what he would do with his discovery, now that it had
      been so satisfactorily made. As yet, he had given this hardly a thought.
      Even now, it did not thrust itself forward as a thing demanding instant
      attention. It was much more important, first of all, to get a good
      breakfast. He had learned that there was another and less formal
      eating-place, downstairs in the basement by the bar, with an entrance from
      the street. He walked down by the inner stairway instead, feeling himself
      already at home in the big hotel. He ordered an ample breakfast, and came
      out while it was being served to wash and have his boots blacked, and he
      gave the man a quarter of a dollar. His pockets were filled with silver
      quarters, half-dollars, and dollars almost to a burdensome point, and in
      his valise was a bag full of smaller change, including many rolls of
      copper cents which Alice always counted and packed up on Mondays. In the
      hurry of leaving he had brought with him the church collections for the
      past two weeks. It occurred to him that he must keep a strict account of
      his expenditure. Meanwhile he gave ten cents to another man in a
      silk-sleeved cardigan jacket, who had merely stood by and looked at him
      while his boots were being polished. There was a sense of metropolitan
      affluence in the very atmosphere.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little table in the adjoining room, on which Theron found his meal in
      waiting for him, seemed a vision of delicate napery and refined
      appointments in his eyes. He was wolfishly hungry, and the dishes he
      looked upon gave him back assurances by sight and smell that he was very
      happy as well. The servant in attendance had an extremely white apron and
      a kindly black face. He bowed when Theron looked at him, with the air of a
      lifelong admirer and humble friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose you'll have claret with your breakfast, sir?&rdquo; he remarked, as
      if it were a matter of course.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, certainly,&rdquo; answered Theron, stretching his legs contentedly under
      the table, and tucking the corner of his napkin in his neckband.&mdash;&ldquo;Certainly,
      my good man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX
    </h2>
    <p>
      At ten o'clock Theron, loitering near the bookstall in the corridor, saw
      Father Forbes come downstairs, pass out through the big front doors, get
      into a carriage, and drive away.
    </p>
    <p>
      This relieved him of a certain sense of responsibility, and he retired to
      a corner sofa and sat down. The detective side of him being off duty, so
      to speak, there was leisure at last for reflection upon the other aspects
      of his mission. Yes; it was high time for him to consider what he should
      do next.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was easier to recognize this fact, however, than to act upon it. His
      mind was full of tricksy devices for eluding this task of serious thought
      which he sought to impose upon it. It seemed so much pleasanter not to
      think at all&mdash;but just to drift. He found himself watching with envy
      the men who, as they came out from their breakfast, walked over to the
      bookstall, and bought cigars from the row of boxes nestling there among
      the newspaper piles. They had such evident delight in the work of
      selection; they took off the ends of the cigars so carefully, and lighted
      them with such meditative attention,&mdash;he could see that he was
      wofully handicapped by not knowing how to smoke. He had had the most
      wonderful breakfast of his life, but even in the consciousness of
      comfortable repletion which pervaded his being, there was an obstinate
      sense of something lacking. No doubt a good cigar was the thing needed to
      round out the perfection of such a breakfast. He half rose once, fired by
      a sudden resolution to go over and get one. But of course that was
      nonsense; it would only make him sick. He sat down, and determinedly set
      himself to thinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      The effort finally brought fruit&mdash;and of a kind which gave him a very
      unhappy quarter of an hour. The lover part of him was uppermost now,
      insistently exposing all its raw surfaces to the stings and scalds of
      jealousy. Up to this moment, his brain had always evaded the direct
      question of how he and the priest relatively stood in Celia's estimation.
      It forced itself remorselessly upon him now; and his thoughts, so far from
      shirking the subject, seemed to rise up to meet it. It was extremely
      unpleasant, all this.
    </p>
    <p>
      But then a calmer view asserted itself. Why go out of his way to invent
      anguish for himself? The relations between Celia and the priest, whatever
      they might be, were certainly of old standing. They had begun before his
      time. His own romance was a more recent affair, and must take its place,
      of course, subject to existing conditions.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all right for him to come to New York, and satisfy his legitimate
      curiosity as to the exact character and scope of these conditions. But it
      was foolish to pretend to be amazed or dismayed at the discovery of their
      existence. They were a part of the situation which he, with his eyes wide
      open, had accepted. It was his function to triumph over them, to supplant
      them, to rear the edifice of his own victorious passion upon their ruins.
      It was to this that Celia's kiss had invited him. It was for this that he
      had come to New York. To let his purpose be hampered or thwarted now by
      childish doubts and jealousies would be ridiculous.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose, and holding himself very erect, walked with measured deliberation
      across the corridor and up the broad staircase. There was an elevator near
      at hand, he had noticed, but he preferred the stairs. One or two of the
      colored boys clustered about the foot of the stairs looked at him, and he
      had a moment of dreadful apprehension lest they should stop his progress.
      Nothing was said, and he went on. The numbers on the first floor were not
      what he wanted, and after some wandering about he ascended to the next,
      and then to the third. Every now and then he encountered attendants, but
      intuitively he bore himself with an air of knowing what he was about which
      protected him from inquiry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally he came upon the hall-way he sought. Passing along, he found the
      doors bearing the numbers he had memorized so well. They were quite close
      together, and there was nothing to help him guess which belonged to the
      parlor. He hesitated, gazing wistfully from one to the other. In the
      instant of indecision, even while his alert ear caught the sound of feet
      coming along toward the passage in which he stood, a thought came to
      quicken his resolve. It became apparent to him that his discovery gave him
      a certain new measure of freedom with Celia, a sort of right to take
      things more for granted than heretofore. He chose a door at random, and
      rapped distinctly on the panel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The voice he knew for Celia's. The single word, however, recalled the
      usage of Father Forbes, which he had noted more than once at the
      pastorate, when Maggie had knocked.
    </p>
    <p>
      He straightened his shoulders, took his hat off, and pushed open the door.
      It WAS the parlor&mdash;a room of sofas, pianos, big easy-chairs, and
      luxurious bric-a-brac. A tall woman was walking up and down in it, with
      bowed head. Her back was at the moment toward him; and he looked at her,
      saying to himself that this was the lady of his dreams, the enchantress of
      the kiss, the woman who loved him&mdash;but somehow it did not seem to his
      senses to be Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned, and moved a step or two in his direction before she
      mechanically lifted her eyes and saw who was standing in her doorway. She
      stopped short, and regarded him. Her face was in the shadow, and he could
      make out nothing of its expression, save that there was a general effect
      of gravity about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot receive you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You must go away. You have no business
      to come like this without sending up your card.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron smiled at her. The notion of taking in earnest her inhospitable
      words did not at all occur to him. He could see now that her face had
      vexed and saddened lines upon it, and the sharpness of her tone remained
      in his ears. But he smiled again gently, to reassure her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I ought to have sent up my name, I know,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I couldn't bear
      to wait. I just saw your name on the register and&mdash;you WILL forgive
      me, won't you?&mdash;I ran to you at once. I know you won't have the heart
      to send me away!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She stood where she had halted, her arms behind her, looking him fixedly
      in the face. He had made a movement to advance, and offer his hand in
      greeting, but her posture checked the impulse. His courage began to falter
      under her inspection.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Must I really go down again?&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;It's a crushing penalty to
      suffer for such little indiscretion. I was so excited to find you were
      here&mdash;I never stopped to think. Don't send me away; please don't!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia raised her head. &ldquo;Well, shut the door, then,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;since you
      are so anxious to stay. You would have done much better, though, very much
      better indeed, to have taken the hint and gone away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you shake hands with me, Celia?&rdquo; he asked softly, as he came near
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sit there, please!&rdquo; she made answer, indicating a chair in the middle of
      the room. He obeyed her, but to his surprise, instead of seating herself
      as well, she began walking up and down the length of the floor again.
      After a turn or two she stopped in front of him, and looked him full in
      the eye. The light from the windows was on her countenance now, and its
      revelations vaguely troubled him. It was a Celia he had never seen before
      who confronted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am much occupied by other matters,&rdquo; she said, speaking with cold
      impassivity, &ldquo;but still I find myself curious to know just what limits you
      set to your dishonesty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron stared up at her. His lips quivered, but no speech came to them. If
      this was all merely fond playfulness, it was being carried to a
      heart-aching point.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw you hiding about in the depot at home last evening,&rdquo; she went on.
      &ldquo;You come up here, pretending to have discovered me by accident, but I saw
      you following me from the Grand Central this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I did both these things,&rdquo; said Theron, boldly. A fine bravery
      tingled in his veins all at once. He looked into her face and found the
      spirit to disregard its frowning aspect. &ldquo;Yes, I did them,&rdquo; he repeated
      defiantly. &ldquo;That is not the hundredth part, or the thousandth part, of
      what I would do for your sake. I have got way beyond caring for any
      consequences. Position, reputation, the good opinion of fools&mdash;what
      are they? Life itself&mdash;what does it amount to? Nothing at all&mdash;with
      you in the balance!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but I am not in the balance,&rdquo; observed Celia, quietly. &ldquo;That is
      where you have made your mistake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron laid aside his hat. Women were curious creatures, he reflected.
      Some were susceptible to one line of treatment, some to another. His own
      reading of Celia had always been that she liked opposition, of a smart,
      rattling, almost cheeky, sort. One got on best with her by saying bright
      things. He searched his brain now for some clever quip that would strike
      sparks from the adamantine mood which for the moment it was her whim to
      assume. To cover the process, he smiled a little. Then her beauty, as she
      stood before him, her queenly form clad in a more stiffly fashionable
      dress than he had seen her wearing before, appealed afresh and
      overwhelmingly to him. He rose to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you forgotten our talk in the woods?&rdquo; he murmured with a wooing
      note. &ldquo;Have you forgotten the kiss?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head calmly. &ldquo;I have forgotten nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then why play with me so cruelly now?&rdquo; he went on, in a voice of tender
      deprecation. &ldquo;I know you don't mean it, but all the same it bruises my
      heart a little. I build myself so wholly upon you, I have made existence
      itself depend so completely upon your smile, upon a soft glance in your
      eyes, that when they are not there, why, I suffer, I don't know how to
      live at all. So be kinder to me, Celia!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was kinder, as you call it, when you came in,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I told you
      to go away. That was pure kindness&mdash;more kindness than you deserved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron looked at his hat, where it stood on the carpet by his feet. He
      felt tears coming into his eyes. &ldquo;You tell me that you remember,&rdquo; he said,
      in depressed tones, &ldquo;and yet you treat me like this! Perhaps I am wrong.
      No doubt it is my own fault. I suppose I ought not to have come down here
      at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia nodded her head in assent to this view.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I swear that I was helpless in the matter,&rdquo; he burst forth. &ldquo;I HAD to
      come! It would have been literally impossible for me to have stayed at
      home, knowing that you were here, and knowing also that&mdash;that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; said Celia, thrusting forth her under-lip a trifle, and hardening
      still further the gleam in her eye, as he stumbled over his sentence and
      left it unfinished. &ldquo;What was the other thing that you were 'knowing'?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Knowing&mdash;&rdquo; he took up the word hesitatingly&mdash;&ldquo;knowing that life
      would be insupportable to me if I could not be near you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She curled her lip at him. &ldquo;You skated over the thin spot very well,&rdquo; she
      commented. &ldquo;It was on the tip of your tongue to mention the fact that
      Father Forbes came with me. Oh, I can read you through and through, Mr.
      Ware.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In a misty way Theron felt things slipping from his grasp. The rising
      moisture blurred his eyes as their gaze clung to Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then if you do read me,&rdquo; he protested, &ldquo;you must know how utterly my
      heart and brain are filled with you. No other man in all the world can
      yield himself so absolutely to the woman he worships as I can. You have
      taken possession of me so wholly, I am not in the least master of myself
      any more. I don't know what I say or what I do. I am not worthy of you, I
      know. No man alive could be that. But no one else will idolize and
      reverence you as I do. Believe me when I say that, Celia! And how can you
      blame me, in your heart, for following you? 'Whither thou goest, I will
      go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people,
      and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be
      buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee
      and me!'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Celia shrugged her shoulders, and moved a few steps away from him.
      Something like despair seized upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; he urged with passion, &ldquo;surely I have a right to remind you of
      the kiss!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned. &ldquo;The kiss,&rdquo; she said meditatively. &ldquo;Yes, you have a right to
      remind me of it. Oh, yes, an undoubted right. You have another right too&mdash;the
      right to have the kiss explained to you. It was of the good-bye order. It
      signified that we weren't to meet again, and that just for one little
      moment I permitted myself to be sorry for you. That was all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He held himself erect under the incredible words, and gazed blankly at
      her. The magnitude of what he confronted bewildered him; his mind was
      incapable of taking it in. &ldquo;You mean&mdash;&rdquo; he started to say, and then
      stopped, helplessly staring into her face, with a dropped jaw. It was too
      much to try to think what she meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little side-thought sprouted in the confusion of his brain. It grew
      until it spread a bitter smile over his pale face. &ldquo;I know so little about
      kisses,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I am such a greenhorn at that sort of thing. You should
      have had pity on my inexperience, and told me just what brand of kiss it
      was I was getting. Probably I ought to have been able to distinguish, but
      you see I was brought up in the country&mdash;on a farm. They don't have
      kisses in assorted varieties there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She bowed her head slightly. &ldquo;Yes, you are entitled to say that,&rdquo; she
      assented. &ldquo;I was to blame, and it is quite fair that you should tell me
      so. You spoke of your inexperience, your innocence. That was why I kissed
      you in saying good-bye. It was in memory of that innocence of yours, to
      which you yourself had been busy saying good-bye ever since I first saw
      you. The idea seemed to me to mean something at the moment. I see now that
      it was too subtle. I do not usually err on that side.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron kept his hold upon her gaze, as if it afforded him bodily support.
      He felt that he ought to stoop and take up his hat, but he dared not look
      away from her. &ldquo;Do you not err now, on the side of cruelty?&rdquo; he asked her
      piteously.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed for the instant as if she were wavering, and he swiftly thrust
      forth other pleas. &ldquo;I admit that I did wrong to follow you to New York. I
      see that now. But it was an offence committed in entire good faith. Think
      of it, Celia! I have never seen you since that day&mdash;that day in the
      woods. I have waited&mdash;and waited&mdash;with no sign from you, no
      chance of seeing you at all. Think what that meant to me! Everything in
      the world had been altered for me, torn up by the roots. I was a new
      being, plunged into a new existence. The kiss had done that. But until I saw
      you again, I could not tell whether this vast change in me and my life was
      for good or for bad&mdash;whether the kiss had come to me as a blessing or
      a curse. The suspense was killing me, Celia! That is why, when I learned
      that you were coming here, I threw everything to the winds and followed
      you. You blame me for it, and I bow my head and accept the blame. But are
      you justified in punishing me so terribly&mdash;in going on after I have
      confessed my error, and cutting my heart into little strips, putting me to
      death by torture?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; said Celia, with a softened weariness in her voice. She seated
      herself in front of him as he sank into his chair again. &ldquo;I don't want to
      give you unnecessary pain, but you have insisted on forcing yourself into
      a position where there isn't anything else but pain. I warned you to go
      away, but you wouldn't. No matter how gently I may try to explain things
      to you, you are bound to get nothing but suffering out of the explanation.
      Now shall I still go on?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He inclined his head in token of assent, and did not lift it again, but
      raised toward her a disconsolate gaze from a pallid, drooping face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is all in a single word, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; she proceeded, in low tones. &ldquo;I
      speak for others as well as myself, mind you&mdash;we find that you are a
      bore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Theron's stiffened countenance remained immovable. He continued to stare
      unblinkingly up into her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were disposed to like you very much when we first knew you,&rdquo; Celia
      went on. &ldquo;You impressed us as an innocent, simple, genuine young
      character, full of mother's milk. It was like the smell of early spring in
      the country to come in contact with you. Your honesty of nature, your
      sincerity in that absurd religion of yours, your general NAIVETE of mental
      and spiritual get-up, all pleased us a great deal. We thought you were
      going to be a real acquisition.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just a moment&mdash;whom do you mean by 'we'?&rdquo; He asked the question
      calmly enough, but in a voice with an effect of distance in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It may not be necessary to enter into that,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Let me go on.
      But then it became apparent, little by little, that we had misjudged you.
      We liked you, as I have said, because you were unsophisticated and
      delightfully fresh and natural. Somehow we took it for granted you would
      stay so. But that is just what you didn't do&mdash;just what you hadn't
      the sense to try to do. Instead, we found you inflating yourself with all
      sorts of egotisms and vanities. We found you presuming upon the
      friendships which had been mistakenly extended to you. Do you want
      instances? You went to Dr. Ledsmar's house that very day after I had been
      with you to get a piano at Thurston's, and tried to inveigle him into
      talking scandal about me. You came to me with tales about him. You went to
      Father Forbes, and sought to get him to gossip about us both. Neither of
      those men will ever ask you inside his house again. But that is only one
      part of it. Your whole mind became an unpleasant thing to contemplate. You
      thought it would amuse and impress us to hear you ridiculing and reviling
      the people of your church, whose money supports you, and making a mock of
      the things they believe in, and which you for your life wouldn't dare let
      them know you didn't believe in. You talked to us slightingly about your
      wife. What were you thinking of, not to comprehend that that would disgust
      us? You showed me once&mdash;do you remember?&mdash;a life of George Sand
      that you had just bought,&mdash;bought because you had just discovered
      that she had an unclean side to her life. You chuckled as you spoke to me
      about it, and you were for all the world like a little nasty boy, giggling
      over something dirty that older people had learned not to notice. These
      are merely random incidents. They are just samples, picked hap-hazard, of
      the things in you which have been opening our eyes, little by little, to
      our mistake. I can understand that all the while you really fancied that
      you were expanding, growing, in all directions. What you took to be
      improvement was degeneration. When you thought that you were impressing us
      most by your smart sayings and doings, you were reminding us most of the
      fable about the donkey trying to play lap-dog. And it wasn't even an
      honest, straightforward donkey at that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She uttered these last words sorrowfully, her hands clasped in her lap,
      and her eyes sinking to the floor. A silence ensued. Then Theron reached a
      groping hand out for his hat, and, rising, walked with a lifeless,
      automatic step to the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had it half open, when the impossibility of leaving in this way towered
      suddenly in his path and overwhelmed him. He slammed the door to, and
      turned as if he had been whirled round by some mighty wind. He came toward
      her, with something almost menacing in the vigor of his movements, and in
      the wild look upon his white, set face. Halting before her, he covered the
      tailor-clad figure, the coiled red hair, the upturned face with its
      simulated calm, the big brown eyes, the rings upon the clasped fingers,
      with a sweeping, comprehensive glare of passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is what you have done to me, then!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His voice was unrecognizable in his own ears&mdash;hoarse and broken, but
      with a fright-compelling something in it which stimulated his rage. The
      horrible notion of killing her, there where she sat, spread over the chaos
      of his mind with an effect of unearthly light&mdash;red and abnormally
      evil. It was like that first devilish radiance ushering in Creation, of
      which the first-fruit was Cain. Why should he not kill her? In all ages,
      women had been slain for less. Yes&mdash;and men had been hanged.
      Something rose and stuck in his dry throat; and as he swallowed it down,
      the sinister flare of murderous fascination died suddenly away into
      darkness. The world was all black again&mdash;plunged in the Egyptian
      night which lay upon the face of the deep while the earth was yet without
      form and void. He was alone on it&mdash;alone among awful, planetary
      solitudes which crushed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sight of Celia, sitting motionless only a pace in front of him, was
      plain enough to his eyes. It was an illusion. She was really a star, many
      millions of miles away. These things were hard to understand; but they
      were true, none the less. People seemed to be about him, but in fact he
      was alone. He recalled that even the little child in the car, playing with
      those two buttons on a string, would have nothing to do with him. Take his
      money, yes; take all he would give her&mdash;but not smile at him, not
      come within reach of him! Men closed the doors of their houses against
      him. The universe held him at arm's length as a nuisance.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was standing with one knee upon a sofa. Unconsciously he had moved
      round to the side of Celia; and as he caught the effect of her face now in
      profile, memory-pictures began at once building themselves in his brain&mdash;pictures
      of her standing in the darkened room of the cottage of death, declaiming
      the CONFITEOR; of her seated at the piano, under the pure, mellowed
      candle-light; of her leaning her chin on her hands, and gazing
      meditatively at the leafy background of the woods they were in; of her
      lying back, indolently content, in the deck-chair on the yacht of his
      fancy&mdash;that yacht which a few hours before had seemed so brilliantly
      and bewitchingly real to him, and now&mdash;now&mdash;!
    </p>
    <p>
      He sank in a heap upon the couch, and, burying his face among its
      cushions, wept and groaned aloud. His collapse was absolute. He sobbed
      with the abandonment of one who, in the veritable presence of death, lets
      go all sense of relation to life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently some one was touching him on the shoulder&mdash;an incisive,
      pointed touch&mdash;and he checked himself, and lifted his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will have to get up, and present some sort of an appearance, and go
      away at once,&rdquo; Celia said to him in low, rapid tones. &ldquo;Some gentlemen are
      at the door, whom I have been waiting for.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he stupidly sat up and tried to collect his faculties, Celia had opened
      the door and admitted two visitors. The foremost was Father Forbes; and
      he, with some whispered, smiling words, presented to her his companion, a
      tall, robust, florid man of middle-age, with a frock-coat and a gray
      mustache, sharply waxed. The three spoke for a moment together. Then the
      priest's wandering eye suddenly lighted upon the figure on the sofa. He
      stared, knitted his brows, and then lifted them in inquiry as he turned to
      Celia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor man!&rdquo; she said readily, in tones loud enough to reach Theron. &ldquo;It is
      our neighbor, Father, the Rev. Mr. Ware. He hit upon my name in the
      register quite unexpectedly, and I had him come up. He is in sore distress&mdash;a
      great and sudden bereavement. He is going now. Won't you speak to him in
      the hall&mdash;a few words, Father? It would please him. He is terribly
      depressed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The words had drawn Theron to his feet, as by some mechanical process. He
      took up his hat and moved dumbly to the door. It seemed to him that Celia
      intended offering to shake hands; but he went past her with only some
      confused exchange of glances and a murmured word or two. The tall
      stranger, who drew aside to let him pass, had acted as if he expected to
      be introduced. Theron, emerging into the hall, leaned against the wall and
      looked dreamily at the priest, who had stepped out with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am very sorry to learn that you are in trouble, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; Father
      Forbes said, gently enough, but in hurried tones. &ldquo;Miss Madden is also in
      trouble. I mentioned to you that her brother had got into a serious
      scrape. I have brought my old friend, General Brady, to consult with her
      about the matter. He knows all the parties concerned, and he can set
      things right if anybody can.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's a mistake about me&mdash;I 'm not in any trouble at all,&rdquo; said
      Theron. &ldquo;I just dropped in to make a friendly call.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The priest glanced sharply at him, noting with a swift, informed scrutiny
      how he sprawled against the wall, and what vacuity his eyes and loosened
      lips expressed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then you have a talent for the inopportune amounting to positive genius,&rdquo;
       said Father Forbes, with a stormy smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tell me this, Father Forbes,&rdquo; the other demanded, with impulsive
      suddenness, &ldquo;is it true that you don't want me in your house again? Is
      that the truth or not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The truth is always relative, Mr. Ware,&rdquo; replied the priest, turning
      away, and closing the door of the parlor behind him with a decisive sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Left alone, Theron started to make his way downstairs. He found his legs
      wavering under him and making zigzag movements of their own in a
      bewildering fashion. He referred this at first, in an outburst of fresh
      despair, to the effects of his great grief. Then, as he held tight to the
      banister and governed his descent step by step, it occurred to him that it
      must be the wine he had had for breakfast. Upon examination, he was not so
      unhappy, after all.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI
    </h2>
    <p>
      At the second peal of the door-bell, Brother Soulsby sat up in bed. It was
      still pitch-dark, and the memory of the first ringing fluttered musically
      in his awakening consciousness as a part of some dream he had been having.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who the deuce can that be?&rdquo; he mused aloud, in querulous resentment at
      the interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Put your head out of the window, and ask,&rdquo; suggested his wife, drowsily.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bell-pull scraped violently in its socket, and a third outburst of
      shrill reverberations clamored through the silent house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whatever you do, I'd do it before he yanked the whole thing to pieces,&rdquo;
       added the wife, with more decision.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby was wide awake now. He sprang to the floor, and, groping
      about in the obscurity, began drawing on some of his clothes. He rapped on
      the window during the process, to show that the house was astir, and a
      minute afterward made his way out of the room and down the stairs, the
      boards creaking under his stockinged feet as he went.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before he returned. Sister Soulsby,
      lying in sleepy quiescence, heard vague sounds of voices at the front
      door, and did not feel interested enough to lift her head and listen. A
      noise of footsteps on the sidewalk followed, first receding from the door,
      then turning toward it, this second time marking the presence of more than
      one person. There seemed in this the implication of a guest, and she shook
      off the dozing impulses which enveloped her faculties, and waited to hear
      more. There came up, after further muttering of male voices, the
      undeniable chink of coins striking against one another. Then more
      footsteps, the resonant slam of a carriage door out in the street, the
      grinding of wheels turning on the frosty road, and the racket of a vehicle
      and horses going off at a smart pace into the night. Somebody had come,
      then. She yawned at the thought, but remained well awake, tracing idly in
      her mind, as various slight sounds rose from the lower floor, the
      different things Soulsby was probably doing. Their spare room was down
      there, directly underneath, but curiously enough no one seemed to enter
      it. The faint murmur of conversation which from time to time reached her
      came from the parlor instead. At last she heard her husband's soft tread
      coming up the staircase, and still there had been no hint of employing the
      guest-chamber. What could he be about? she wondered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby came in, bearing a small lamp in his hand, the reddish
      light of which, flaring upward, revealed an unlooked-for display of
      amusement on his thin, beardless face. He advanced to the bedside, shading
      the glare from her blinking eyes with his palm, and grinned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A thousand guesses, old lady,&rdquo; he said, with a dry chuckle, &ldquo;and you
      wouldn't have a ghost of a chance. You might guess till Hades froze over
      seven feet thick, and still you wouldn't hit it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sat up in turn. &ldquo;Good gracious, man,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;you don't mean&mdash;&rdquo;
       Here the cheerful gleam in his small eyes reassured her, and she sighed
      relief, then smiled confusedly. &ldquo;I half thought, just for the minute,&rdquo; she
      explained, &ldquo;it might be some bounder who'd come East to try and blackmail
      me. But no, who is it&mdash;and what on earth have you done with him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby cackled in merriment. &ldquo;It's Brother Ware of Octavius, out
      on a little bat, all by himself. He says he's been on the loose only two
      days; but it looks more like a fortnight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;OUR Brother Ware?&rdquo; she regarded him with open-eyed surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, yes, I suppose he's OUR Brother Ware&mdash;some,&rdquo; returned Soulsby,
      genially. &ldquo;He seems to think so, anyway.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But tell me about it!&rdquo; she urged eagerly. &ldquo;What's the matter with him?
      How does he explain it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, he explains it pretty badly, if you ask me,&rdquo; said Soulsby, with a
      droll, joking eye and a mock-serious voice. He seated himself on the side
      of the bed, facing her, and still considerately shielding her from the
      light of the lamp he held. &ldquo;But don't think I suggested any explanations.
      I've been a mother myself. He's merely filled himself up to the neck with
      rum, in the simple, ordinary, good old-fashioned way. That's all. What is
      there to explain about that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked meditatively at him for a time, shaking her head. &ldquo;No,
      Soulsby,&rdquo; she said gravely, at last. &ldquo;This isn't any laughing matter. You
      may be sure something bad has happened, to set him off like that. I'm
      going to get up and dress right now. What time is it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now don't you do anything of the sort,&rdquo; he urged persuasively. &ldquo;It isn't
      five o'clock; it'll be dark for nearly an hour yet. Just you turn over,
      and have another nap. He's all right. I put him on the sofa, with the
      buffalo robe round him. You'll find him there, safe and sound, when it's
      time for white folks to get up. You know how it breaks you up all day, not
      to get your full sleep.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't care if it makes me look as old as the everlasting hills,&rdquo; she
      said. &ldquo;Can't you understand, Soulsby? The thing worries me&mdash;gets on
      my nerves. I couldn't close an eye, if I tried. I took a great fancy to
      that young man. I told you so at the time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Soulsby nodded, and turned down the wick of his lamp a trifle. &ldquo;Yes, I
      know you did,&rdquo; he remarked in placidly non-contentious tones. &ldquo;I can't say
      I saw much in him myself, but I daresay you're right.&rdquo; There followed a
      moment's silence, during which he experimented in turning the wick up
      again. &ldquo;But, anyway,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;there isn't anything you can do. He'll
      sleep it off, and the longer he's left alone the better. It isn't as if we
      had a hired girl, who'd come down and find him there, and give the whole
      thing away. He's fixed up there perfectly comfortable; and when he's had
      his sleep out, and wakes up on his own account, he'll be feeling a heap
      better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The argument might have carried conviction, but on the instant the sound
      of footsteps came to them from the room below. The subdued noise rose
      regularly, as of one pacing to and fro.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, Soulsby, YOU come back to bed, and get YOUR sleep out. I'm going
      downstairs. It's no good talking; I'm going.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Brother Soulsby offered no further opposition, either by talk or demeanor,
      but returned contentedly to bed, pulling the comforter over his ears, and
      falling into the slow, measured respiration of tranquil slumber before his
      wife was ready to leave the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dim, cold gray of twilight was sifting furtively through the lace
      curtains of the front windows when Mrs. Soulsby, lamp in hand, entered the
      parlor. She confronted a figure she would have hardly recognized. The man
      seemed to have been submerged in a bath of disgrace. From the crown of his
      head to the soles of his feet, everything about him was altered,
      distorted, smeared with an intangible effect of shame. In the vague gloom
      of the middle distance, between lamp and window, she noticed that his
      shoulders were crouched, like those of some shambling tramp. The frowsy
      shadows of a stubble beard lay on his jaw and throat. His clothes were
      crumpled and hung awry; his boots were stained with mud. The silk hat on
      the piano told its battered story with dumb eloquence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lifting the lamp, she moved forward a step, and threw its light upon his
      face. A little groan sounded involuntarily upon her lips. Out of a mask of
      unpleasant features, swollen with drink and weighted by the physical
      craving for rest and sleep, there stared at her two bloodshot eyes,
      shining with the wild light of hysteria. The effect of dishevelled hair,
      relaxed muscles, and rough, half-bearded lower face lent to these eyes, as
      she caught their first glance, an unnatural glare. The lamp shook in her
      hand for an instant. Then, ashamed of herself, she held out her other hand
      fearlessly to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tell me all about it, Theron,&rdquo; she said calmly, and with a soothing,
      motherly intonation in her voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      He did not take the hand she offered, but suddenly, with a wailing moan,
      cast himself on his knees at her feet. He was so tall a man that the
      movement could have no grace. He abased his head awkwardly, to bury it
      among the folds of the skirts at her ankles. She stood still for a moment,
      looking down upon him. Then, blowing out the light, she reached over and
      set the smoking lamp on the piano near by. The daylight made things
      distinguishable in a wan, uncertain way, throughout the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have come out of hell, for the sake of hearing some human being speak
      to me like that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The thick utterance proceeded in a muffled fashion from where his face
      grovelled against her dress. Its despairing accents appealed to her, but
      even more was she touched by the ungainly figure he made, sprawling on the
      carpet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, since you are out, stay out,&rdquo; she answered, as reassuringly as she
      could. &ldquo;But get up and take a seat here beside me, like a sensible man,
      and tell me all about it. Come! I insist!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In obedience to her tone, and the sharp tug at his shoulder with which she
      emphasized it, he got slowly to his feet, and listlessly seated himself on
      the sofa to which she pointed. He hung his head, and began catching his
      breath with a periodical gasp, half hiccough, half sob.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;First of all,&rdquo; she said, in her brisk, matter-of-fact manner, &ldquo;don't you
      want to lie down there again, and have me tuck you up snug with the
      buffalo robe, and go to sleep? That would be the best thing you could do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He shook his head disconsolately, from side to side. &ldquo;I can't!&rdquo; he
      groaned, with a swifter recurrence of the sob-like convulsions. &ldquo;I'm dying
      for sleep, but I'm too&mdash;too frightened!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, I'll sit beside you till you drop off,&rdquo; she said, with masterful
      decision. He suffered himself to be pushed into recumbency on the couch,
      and put his head with docility on the pillow she brought from the spare
      room. When she had spread the fur over him, and pushed her chair close to
      the sofa, she stood by it for a little, looking down in meditation at his
      demoralized face. Under the painful surface-blur of wretchedness and
      fatigued debauchery, she traced reflectively the lineaments of the younger
      and cleanlier countenance she had seen a few months before. Nothing
      essential had been taken away. There was only this pestiferous overlaying
      of shame and cowardice to be removed. The face underneath was still all
      right.
    </p>
    <p>
      With a soft, maternal touch, she smoothed the hair from his forehead into
      order. Then she seated herself, and, when he got his hand out from under
      the robe and thrust it forth timidly, she took it in hers and held it in a
      warm, sympathetic grasp. He closed his eyes at this, and gradually the
      paroxysmal catch in his breathing lapsed. The daylight strengthened, until
      at last tiny flecks of sunshine twinkled in the meshes of the further
      curtains at the window. She fancied him asleep, and gently sought to
      disengage her hand, but his fingers clutched at it with vehemence, and his
      eyes were wide open.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't sleep at all,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;I want to talk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There 's nothing in the world to hinder you,&rdquo; she commented smilingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell you the solemn truth,&rdquo; he said, lifting his voice in dogged
      assertion: &ldquo;the best sermon I ever preached in my life, I preached only
      three weeks ago, at the camp-meeting. It was admitted by everybody to be
      far and away my finest effort! They will tell you the same!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's quite likely,&rdquo; assented Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;I quite believe it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then how can anybody say that I've degenerated, that I've become a fool?&rdquo;
       he demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I haven't heard anybody hint at such a thing,&rdquo; she answered quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, of course, YOU haven't heard them!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I heard them, though!&rdquo;
       Then, forcing himself to a sitting posture, against the restraint of her
      hand, he flung back the covering. &ldquo;I'm burning hot already! Yes, those
      were the identical words: I haven't improved; I've degenerated. People
      hate me; they won't have me in their houses. They say I'm a nuisance and a
      bore. I'm like a little nasty boy. That's what they say. Even a young man
      who was dying&mdash;lying right on the edge of his open grave&mdash;told
      me solemnly that I reminded him of a saint once, but I was only fit for a
      barkeeper now. They say I really don't know anything at all. And I'm not
      only a fool, they say, I'm a dishonest fool into the bargain!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But who says such twaddle as that?&rdquo; she returned consolingly. The
      violence of his emotion disturbed her. &ldquo;You mustn't imagine such things.
      You are among friends here. Other people are your friends, too. They have
      the very highest opinion of you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I haven't a friend on earth but you!&rdquo; he declared solemnly. His eyes
      glowed fiercely, and his voice sank into a grave intensity of tone. &ldquo;I was
      going to kill myself. I went on to the big bridge to throw myself off, and
      a policeman saw me trying to climb over the railing, and he grabbed me and
      marched me away. Then he threw me out at the entrance, and said he would
      club my head off if I came there again. And then I went and stood and let
      the cable-cars pass close by me, and twenty times I thought I had the
      nerve to throw myself under the next one, and then I waited for the next&mdash;and
      I was afraid! And then I was in a crowd somewhere, and the warning came to
      me that I was going to die. The fool needn't go kill himself: God would
      take care of that. It was my heart, you know. I've had that terrible
      fluttering once before. It seized me this time, and I fell down in the
      crowd, and some people walked over me, but some one else helped me up, and
      let me sit down in a big lighted hallway, the entrance to some theatre,
      and some one brought me some brandy, but somebody else said I was drunk,
      and they took it away again, and put me out. They could see I was a fool,
      that I hadn't a friend on earth. And when I went out, there was a big
      picture of a woman in tights, and the word 'Amazons' overhead&mdash;and
      then I remembered you. I knew you were my friend&mdash;the only one I have
      on earth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is very flattering&mdash;to be remembered like that,&rdquo; said Sister
      Soulsby, gently. The disposition to laugh was smothered by a pained
      perception of the suffering he was undergoing. His face had grown drawn
      and haggard under the burden of his memories as he rambled on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I came straight to you,&rdquo; he began again. &ldquo;I had just money enough left
      to pay my fare. The rest is in my valise at the hotel&mdash;the Murray
      Hill Hotel. It belongs to the church. I stole it from the church. When I
      am dead they can get it back again!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby forced a smile to her lips. &ldquo;What nonsense you talk&mdash;about
      dying!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Why, man alive, you'll sleep this all off like a
      top, if you'll only lie down and give yourself a chance. Come, now, you
      must do as you're told.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With a resolute hand, she made him lie down again, and once more covered
      him with the fur. He submitted, and did not even offer to put out his arm
      this time, but looked in piteous dumbness at her for a long time. While
      she sat thus in silence, the sound of Brother Soulsby moving about
      upstairs became audible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron heard it, and the importance of hurrying on some further disclosure
      seemed to suggest itself. &ldquo;I can see you think I'm just drunk,&rdquo; he said,
      in low, sombre tones. &ldquo;Of course that's what HE thought. The hackman
      thought so, and so did the conductor, and everybody. But I hoped you would
      know better. I was sure you would see that it was something worse than
      that. See here, I'll tell you. Then you'll understand. I've been drinking
      for two days and one whole night, on my feet all the while, wandering
      alone in that big strange New York, going through places where they
      murdered men for ten cents, mixing myself up with the worst people in low
      bar-rooms and dance-houses, and they saw I had money in my pocket, too,
      and yet nobody touched me, or offered to lay a finger on me. Do you know
      why? They understood that I wanted to get drunk, and couldn't. The Indians
      won't harm an idiot, or lunatic, you know. Well, it was the same with
      these vilest of the vile. They saw that I was a fool whom God had taken
      hold of, to break his heart first, and then to craze his brain, and then
      to fling him on a dunghill to die like a dog. They believe in God, those
      people. They're the only ones who do, it seems to me. And they wouldn't
      interfere when they saw what He was doing to me. But I tell you I wasn't
      drunk. I haven't been drunk. I'm only heart-broken, and crushed out of
      shape and life&mdash;that's all. And I've crawled here just to have a
      friend by me when&mdash;when I come to the end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You're not talking very sensibly, or very bravely either, Theron Ware,&rdquo;
       remarked his companion. &ldquo;It's cowardly to give way to notions like that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I 'm not afraid to die; don't think that,&rdquo; he remonstrated wearily.
      &ldquo;If there is a Judgment, it has hit me as hard as it can already. There
      can't be any hell worse than that I've gone through. Here I am talking
      about hell,&rdquo; he continued, with a pained contraction of the muscles about
      his mouth&mdash;a stillborn, malformed smile&mdash;&ldquo;as if I believed in
      one! I've got way through all my beliefs, you know. I tell you that
      frankly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's none of my business,&rdquo; she reassured him. &ldquo;I'm not your Bishop, or
      your confessor. I'm just your friend, your pal, that's all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; he broke in, with some animation and a new intensity of
      glance and voice. &ldquo;If I was going to live, I'd have some funny things to
      tell. Six months ago I was a good man. I not only seemed to be good, to
      others and to myself, but I was good. I had a soul; I had a conscience. I
      was going along doing my duty, and I was happy in it. We were poor, Alice
      and I, and people behaved rather hard toward us, and sometimes we were a
      little down in the mouth about it; but that was all. We really were happy;
      and I&mdash;I really was a good man. Here's the kind of joke God plays!
      You see me here six months after. Look at me! I haven't got an honest hair
      in my head. I'm a bad man through and through, that's what I am. I look
      all around at myself, and there isn't an atom left anywhere of the good
      man I used to be. And, mind you, I never lifted a finger to prevent the
      change. I didn't resist once; I didn't make any fight. I just walked
      deliberately down-hill, with my eyes wide open. I told myself all the
      while that I was climbing uphill instead, but I knew in my heart that it
      was a lie. Everything about me was a lie. I wouldn't be telling the truth,
      even now, if&mdash;if I hadn't come to the end of my rope. Now, how do you
      explain that? How can it be explained? Was I really rotten to the core all
      the time, years ago, when I seemed to everybody, myself and the rest, to
      be good and straight and sincere? Was it all a sham, or does God take a
      good man and turn him into an out-and-out bad one, in just a few months&mdash;in
      the time that it takes an ear of corn to form and ripen and go off with
      the mildew? Or isn't there any God at all&mdash;but only men who live and
      die like animals? And that would explain my case, wouldn't it? I got
      bitten and went vicious and crazy, and they've had to chase me out and
      hunt me to my death like a mad dog! Yes, that makes it all very simple. It
      isn't worth while to discuss me at all as if I had a soul, is it? I'm just
      one more mongrel cur that's gone mad, and must be put out of the way.
      That's all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See here,&rdquo; said Sister Soulsby, alertly, &ldquo;I half believe that a good
      cuffing is what you really stand in need of. Now you stop all this
      nonsense, and lie quiet and keep still! Do you hear me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The jocose sternness which she assumed, in words and manner, seemed to
      soothe him. He almost smiled up at her in a melancholy way, and sighed
      profoundly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've told you MY religion before,&rdquo; she went on with gentleness. &ldquo;The
      sheep and the goats are to be separated on Judgment Day, but not a minute
      sooner. In other words, as long as human life lasts, good, bad, and
      indifferent are all braided up together in every man's nature, and every
      woman's too. You weren't altogether good a year ago, any more than you're
      altogether bad now. You were some of both then; you're some of both now.
      If you've been making an extra sort of fool of yourself lately, why, now
      that you recognize it, the only thing to do is to slow steam, pull up, and
      back engine in the other direction. In that way you'll find things will
      even themselves up. It's a see-saw with all of us, Theron Ware&mdash;sometimes
      up; sometimes down. But nobody is rotten clear to the core.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He closed his eyes, and lay in silence for a time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is what day of the week?&rdquo; he asked, at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Friday, the nineteenth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wednesday&mdash;that would be the seventeenth. That was the day ordained
      for my slaughter. On that morning, I was the happiest man in the world. No
      king could have been so proud and confident as I was. A wonderful romance
      had come to me. The most beautiful young woman in the world, the most
      talented too, was waiting for me. An express train was carrying me to her,
      and it couldn't go fast enough to keep up with my eagerness. She was very
      rich, and she loved me, and we were to live in eternal summer, wherever we
      liked, on a big, beautiful yacht. No one else had such a life before him
      as that. It seemed almost too good for me, but I thought I had grown and
      developed so much that perhaps I would be worthy of it. Oh, how happy I
      was! I tell you this because&mdash;because YOU are not like the others.
      You will understand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I understand,&rdquo; she said patiently. &ldquo;Well&mdash;you were being so
      happy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That was in the morning&mdash;Wednesday the seventeenth&mdash;early in
      the morning. There was a little girl in the car, playing with some
      buttons, and when I tried to make friends with her, she looked at me, and
      she saw, right at a glance, that I was a fool. 'Out of the mouths of babes
      and sucklings,' you know. She was the first to find it out. It began like
      that, early in the morning. But then after that everybody knew it. They
      had only to look at me and they said: 'Why, this is a fool&mdash;like a
      little nasty boy; we won't let him into our houses; we find him a bore.'
      That is what they said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did SHE say it?&rdquo; Sister Soulsby permitted herself to ask.
    </p>
    <p>
      For answer Theron bit his lips, and drew his chin under the fur, and
      pushed his scowling face into the pillow. The spasmodic, sob-like gasps
      began to shake him again. She laid a compassionate hand upon his hot brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is why I made my way here to you,&rdquo; he groaned piteously. &ldquo;I knew you
      would sympathize; I could tell it all to you. And it was so awful, to die
      there alone in the strange city&mdash;I couldn't do it&mdash;with nobody
      near me who liked me, or thought well of me. Alice would hate me. There
      was no one but you. I wanted to be with you&mdash;at the last.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His quavering voice broke off in a gust of weeping, and his face frankly
      surrendered itself to the distortions of a crying child's countenance,
      wide-mouthed and tragically grotesque in its abandonment of control.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby, as her husband's boots were heard descending the stairs,
      rose, and drew the robe up to half cover his agonized visage. She patted
      the sufferer softly on the head, and then went to the stair-door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think he'll go to sleep now,&rdquo; she said, lifting her voice to the
      new-comer, and with a backward nod toward the couch. &ldquo;Come out into the
      kitchen while I get breakfast, or into the sitting-room, or somewhere, so
      as not to disturb him. He's promised me to lie perfectly quiet, and try to
      sleep.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When they had passed together out of the room, she turned. &ldquo;Soulsby,&rdquo; she
      said with half-playful asperity, &ldquo;I'm disappointed in you. For a man who's
      knocked about as much as you have, I must say you've picked up an
      astonishingly small outfit of gumption. That poor creature in there is no
      more drunk than I am. He's been drinking&mdash;yes, drinking like a fish;
      but it wasn't able to make him drunk. He's past being drunk; he's
      grief-crazy. It's a case of 'woman.' Some girl has made a fool of him, and
      decoyed him up in a balloon, and let him drop. He's been hurt bad, too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have all been hurt in our day and generation,&rdquo; responded Brother
      Soulsby, genially. &ldquo;Don't you worry; he'll sleep that off too. It takes
      longer than drink, and it doesn't begin to be so pleasant, but it can be
      slept off. Take my word for it, he'll be a different man by noon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When noon came, however, Brother Soulsby was on his way to summon one of
      the village doctors. Toward nightfall, he went out again to telegraph for
      Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII
    </h2>
    <p>
      Spring fell early upon the pleasant southern slopes of the Susquehanna
      country. The snow went off as by magic. The trees budded and leaved before
      their time. The birds came and set up their chorus in the elms, while
      winter seemed still a thing of yesterday.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alice, clad gravely in black, stood again upon a kitchen-stoop, and looked
      across an intervening space of back-yards and fences to where the tall
      boughs, fresh in their new verdure, were silhouetted against the pure blue
      sky. The prospect recalled to her irresistibly another sunlit morning, a
      year ago, when she had stood in the doorway of her own kitchen, and
      surveyed a scene not unlike this; it might have been with the same
      carolling robins, the same trees, the same azure segment of the tranquil,
      speckless dome. Then she was looking out upon surroundings novel and
      strange to her, among which she must make herself at home as best she
      could. But at least the ground was secure under her feet; at least she had
      a home, and a word from her lips could summon her husband out, to stand
      beside her with his arm about her, and share her buoyant, hopeful joy in
      the promises of spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      To think that that was only one little year ago&mdash;the mere revolution
      of four brief seasons! And now&mdash;!
    </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby, wiping her hands on her apron, came briskly out upon the
      stoop. Some cheerful commonplace was on her tongue, but a glance at
      Alice's wistful face kept it back. She passed an arm around her waist
      instead, and stood in silence, looking at the elms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It brings back memories to me&mdash;all this,&rdquo; said Alice, nodding her
      head, and not seeking to dissemble the tears which sprang to her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The men will be down in a minute, dear,&rdquo; the other reminded her. &ldquo;They'd
      nearly finished packing before I put the biscuits in the oven. We mustn't
      wear long faces before folks, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; murmured Alice. Then, with a sudden impulse, she turned to
      her companion. &ldquo;Candace,&rdquo; she said fervently, &ldquo;we're alone here for the
      moment; I must tell you that if I don't talk gratitude to you, it's simply
      and solely because I don't know where to begin, or what to say. I'm just
      dumfounded at your goodness. It takes my speech away. I only know this,
      Candace: God will be very good to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tut! tut!&rdquo; replied Sister Soulsby, &ldquo;that's all right, you dear thing. I
      know just how you feel. Don't dream of being under obligation to explain
      it to me, or to thank us at all. We've had all sorts of comfort out of the
      thing&mdash;Soulsby and I. We used to get downright lonesome, here all by
      ourselves, and we've simply had a winter of pleasant company instead, that
      s all. Besides, there's solid satisfaction in knowing that at last, for
      once in our lives we've had a chance to be of some real use to somebody
      who truly needed it. You can't imagine how stuck up that makes us in our
      own conceit. We feel as if we were George Peabody and Lady Burdett-Coutts,
      and several other philanthropists thrown in. No, seriously, don't think of
      it again. We're glad to have been able to do it all; and if you only go
      ahead now, and prosper and be happy, why, that will be the only reward we
      want.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope we shall do well,&rdquo; said Alice. &ldquo;Only tell me this, Candace. You do
      think I was right, don't you, in insisting on Theron's leaving the
      ministry altogether? He seems convinced enough now that it was the right
      thing to do; but I grow nervous sometimes lest he should find it harder
      than he thought to get along in business, and regret the change&mdash;and
      blame me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you may rest easy in your mind about that,&rdquo; the other responded.
      &ldquo;Whatever else he does, he will never want to come within gunshot of a
      pulpit again. It came too near murdering him for that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alice looked at her doubtfully. &ldquo;Something came near murdering him, I
      know. But it doesn't seem to me that I would say it was the ministry. And
      I guess you know pretty well yourself what it was. Of course, I've never
      asked any questions, and I've hushed up everybody at Octavius who tried to
      quiz me about it&mdash;his disappearance and my packing up and leaving,
      and all that&mdash;and I've never discussed the question with you&mdash;but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, and there's no good going into it now,&rdquo; put in Sister Soulsby, with
      amiable decisiveness. &ldquo;It's all past and gone. In fact, I hardly remember
      much about it now myself. He simply got into deep water, poor soul, and
      we've floated him out again, safe and sound. That's all. But all the same,
      I was right in what I said. He was a mistake in the ministry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if you'd known him in previous years,&rdquo; urged Alice, plaintively,
      &ldquo;before we were sent to that awful Octavius. He was the very ideal of all
      a young minister should be. People used to simply worship him, he was such
      a perfect preacher, and so pure-minded and friendly with everybody, and
      threw himself into his work so. It was all that miserable, contemptible
      Octavius that did the mischief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby slowly shook her head. &ldquo;If there hadn't been a screw loose
      somewhere,&rdquo; she said gently, &ldquo;Octavius wouldn't have hurt him. No, take my
      word for it, he never was the right man for the place. He seemed to be, no
      doubt, but he wasn't. When pressure was put on him, it found out his weak
      spot like a shot, and pushed on it, and&mdash;well, it came near smashing
      him, that's all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And do you think he'll always be a&mdash;a back-slider,&rdquo; mourned Alice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For mercy's sake, don't ever try to have him pretend to be anything
      else!&rdquo; exclaimed the other. &ldquo;The last state of that man would be worse
      than the first. You must make up your mind to that. And you mustn't show
      that you're nervous about it. You mustn't get nervous! You mustn't be
      afraid of things. Just you keep a stiff upper lip, and say you WILL get
      along, you WILL be happy. That's your only chance, Alice. He isn't going
      to be an angel of light, or a saint, or anything of that sort, and it's no
      good expecting it. But he'll be just an average kind of man&mdash;a little
      sore about some things, a little wiser than he was about some others. You
      can get along perfectly with him, if you only keep your courage up, and
      don't show the white feather.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I know; but I've had it pretty well taken out of me,&rdquo; commented
      Alice. &ldquo;It used to come easy to me to be cheerful and resolute and all
      that; but it's different now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sister Soulsby stole a swift glance at the unsuspecting face of her
      companion which was not all admiration, but her voice remained patiently
      affectionate. &ldquo;Oh, that'll all come back to you, right enough. You'll have
      your hands full, you know, finding a house, and unpacking all your old
      furniture, and buying new things, and getting your home settled. It'll
      keep you so busy you won't have time to feel strange or lonesome, one bit.
      You'll see how it'll tone you up. In a year's time you won't know yourself
      in the looking-glass.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my health is good enough,&rdquo; said Alice; &ldquo;but I can't help thinking,
      suppose Theron should be taken sick again, away out there among strangers.
      You know he's never appeared to me to have quite got his strength back.
      These long illnesses, you know, they always leave a mark on a man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense! He's strong as an ox,&rdquo; insisted Sister Soulsby. &ldquo;You mark my
      word, he'll thrive in Seattle like a green bay-tree.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seattle!&rdquo; echoed Alice, meditatively. &ldquo;It sounds like the other end of
      the world, doesn't it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The noise of feet in the house broke upon the colloquy, and the women went
      indoors, to join the breakfast party. During the meal, it was Brother
      Soulsby who bore the burden of the conversation. He was full of the future
      of Seattle and the magnificent impending development of that Pacific
      section. He had been out there, years ago, when it was next door to
      uninhabited. He had visited the district twice since, and the changes
      discoverable each new time were more wonderful than anything Aladdin's
      lamp ever wrought. He had secured for Theron, through some of his friends
      in Portland, the superintendency of a land and real estate company, which
      had its headquarters in Seattle, but ambitiously linked its affairs with
      the future of all Washington Territory. In an hour's time the hack would
      come to take the Wares and their baggage to the depot, the first stage in
      their long journey across the continent to their new home. Brother Soulsby
      amiably filled the interval with reminiscences of the Oregon of twenty
      years back, with instructive dissertations upon the soil, climate, and
      seasons of Puget Sound and the Columbia valley, and, above all, with
      helpful characterizations of the social life which had begun to take form
      in this remotest West. He had nothing but confidence, to all appearances,
      in the success of his young friend, now embarking on this new career. He
      seemed so sanguine about it that the whole atmosphere of the breakfast
      room lightened up, and the parting meal, surrounded by so many temptations
      to distraught broodings and silences as it was, became almost jovial in
      its spirit.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, it was time to look for the carriage. The trunks and hand-bags
      were ready in the hall, and Sister Soulsby was tying up a package of
      sandwiches for Alice to keep by her in the train.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theron, with hat in hand, and overcoat on arm, loitered restlessly into
      the kitchen, and watched this proceeding for a moment. Then he sauntered
      out upon the stoop, and, lifting his head and drawing as long a breath as
      he could, looked over at the elms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps the face was older and graver; it was hard to tell. The long
      winter's illness, with its recurring crises and sustained confinement, had
      bleached his skin and reduced his figure to gauntness, but there was none
      the less an air of restored and secure good health about him. Only in the
      eyes themselves, as they rested briefly upon the prospect, did a
      substantial change suggest itself. They did not dwell fondly upon the
      picture of the lofty, spreading boughs, with their waves of sap-green
      leafage stirring against the blue. They did not soften and glow this time,
      at the thought of how wholly one felt sure of God's goodness in these
      wonderful new mornings of spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      They looked instead straight through the fairest and most moving spectacle
      in nature's processional, and saw afar off, in conjectural vision, a
      formless sort of place which was Seattle. They surveyed its impalpable
      outlines, its undefined dimensions, with a certain cool glitter of
      hard-and-fast resolve. There rose before his fancy, out of the chaos of
      these shapeless imaginings, some faces of men, then more behind them, then
      a great concourse of uplifted countenances, crowded close together as far
      as the eye could reach. They were attentive faces all, rapt, eager,
      credulous to a degree. Their eyes were admiringly bent upon a common
      object of excited interest. They were looking at HIM; they strained their
      ears to miss no cadence of his voice. Involuntarily he straightened
      himself, stretched forth his hand with the pale, thin fingers gracefully
      disposed, and passed it slowly before him from side to side, in a
      comprehensive, stately gesture. The audience rose at him, as he dropped
      his hand, and filled his day-dream with a mighty roar of applause, in
      volume like an ocean tempest, yet pitched for his hearing alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      He smiled, shook himself with a little delighted tremor, and turned on the
      stoop to the open door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What Soulsby said about politics out there interested me enormously,&rdquo; he
      remarked to the two women. &ldquo;I shouldn't be surprised if I found myself
      doing something in that line. I can speak, you know, if I can't do
      anything else. Talk is what tells, these days. Who knows? I may turn up in
      Washington a full-blown senator before I'm forty. Stranger things have
      happened than that, out West!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We'll come down and visit you then, Soulsby and I,&rdquo; said Sister Soulsby,
      cheerfully. &ldquo;You shall take us to the White House, Alice, and introduce
      us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, it isn't likely I would come East,&rdquo; said Alice, pensively. &ldquo;Most
      probably I'd be left to amuse myself in Seattle. But there&mdash;I think
      that's the carriage driving up to the door.&rdquo;
     </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 133 ***</div>
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