are overwhelmed by circumstance? Is there no overruling power, no fixed
law to which men may conform, and by which they may be governed and
protected, even to the extent that our man-made laws govern and protect
those who conform to them? I have been over this ground so many times;
I have questioned and reasoned and studied, and yet I have
learned--nothing at all."
Her hands fell to her sides with a nervous movement, but her face was
averted now, as though she would not have him see its expression.
The doctor thought of what his father had said about the limitations the
Lord has placed on human knowledge. He did not for a moment admit that
there was a grain of truth in the theory, in fact he believed it to be
one of his father's queer jests; yet the thought came to him that the
woman before him seemed an actual demonstration of such a theory. But
his answer was far from the thought and was intended to turn her mind to
a more practical consideration of the subject.
"There are many laws of Nature that are intended to protect mankind.
Our safety lies in obeying them; if we disobey, a penalty must be paid,
and though the penalty may seem severe, or even, to us, unjust, this
should but teach us to be the more obedient and circumspect."
"Do you believe that physical disability is always the result of a
broken law of Nature?" The question was direct, incisive, and her eyes
were upon him, demanding the truth.
He answered her truthfully, yet because of his own lack of knowledge,
evasively:
"Not a direct result always, perhaps; some maladies are constitutional,
inherited from some ancestor, it may be."
"Yes, it may be," she replied. She seemed quieter now, but there was an
unmistakable accent of scorn in her voice.
"It may be. I have observed that where it comes to a question that
concerns humanity high and low, the world over, it is very likely to be
all guesswork with us."
There was a moment's silence, and her ever-varying mood changed again,
and when she spoke her words came rapidly and there was a gleaming fire
in her eyes.
"And if we do inherit our diseases, to whom are we indebted for this
heritage? We may say to some ancestor, and if there is any uncertainty
about it we make him as remote as possible. But where did he get it,
where did he get this thing that has been fought and battled through all
the years of its existence, yet has proven itself invulnerable? Give me
the origin of disease. Who conceived it? Who created it? What is its
mission--? this thing that is stronger than man--stronger than his
Maker--" Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper. "If there are two
powers in this world, and this cruel, monstrous thing we call disease is
the stronger of the two, what folly for man to struggle or resist. Oh,
to know--to _know_--if only one could _know_!" Her voice fell and broke
in a gasping sob, and she covered her face with her hands.
Dr. Eldrige did not betray by word or look that Mrs. Thorpe had
disclosed to him the trouble that was preying on her mind, and he did
not forget his professional duties. He had gained the knowledge that he
desired to possess, yet the fact that this woman had allowed her mind to
dwell on subjects of a religious nature until her health suffered and
her reason was threatened was of no particular importance to him unless
he could use his knowledge for her benefit; and now the question
confronted him: had he the wisdom and tact to do this?
"Mrs. Thorpe," he said, "you have allowed your mind to dwell too long on
this subject. As your physician I advise you to put this thing wholly
from you."
But he saw her face grow white and her eyes dilate, and he thought best
to change his tactics. He dropped his professional manner, or rather it
seemed to slip from him. Before such need as this he felt that a mere
physician must stand helpless and disarmed; but the man within him was
ready to give in friendship's name all that could be given. Yet, the
realization of his own lack of knowledge again arose before him and
seemed almost to jeer and jest at his ignorance. But with scarcely a
moment's hesitation, although fighting for the mastery of his own
discordant thoughts, he decided to try once more to give this woman
before him something practical and tangible for her mind to dwell upon.
"There are some things in this world that we cannot know," he said.
"Perhaps it was intended that we should not know them. This we do know,
that a pursuit of knowledge concerning them cannot benefit us, cannot
fail to do us harm. And there is consolation, or at least exculpation,
for us in the fact that this is God's world. He created it, he is
responsible--we are not. We have only to take life as we find it, and
make the best we can of it; we have no right to burden ourselves
further."
In thus making it appear as though it is the Infinite One, and not
finite man, who is responsible for the world's discords, Dr. Eldrige Jr.
did not express a sincere conviction, but he felt that it would be a
great indiscretion to enter into any argument or discussion with Mrs.
Thorpe at this time, and he sincerely hoped that she might catch some
suggestion from his words that would tend to quiet her troubled mind.
Yet, despite his good intentions, he was conscious of a haunting thought
that for a deadly malady he was giving a medicine whose only virtue lay
in its being smooth to the taste.
Mrs. Thorpe saw the flaw in his logic, and to her distorted vision it
seemed like a fault in the Infinite plan; but she said no more. She was
already sick at heart over what she considered her indiscretion. And
she felt guilty of a sort of infidelity to her husband for having given
voice to heresies that she knew would displease and offend him, and a
thousand troubled thoughts surged through her brain. The glow had left
her face and it now appeared pale and cold, and her eyes that had burned
with so bright a light seemed dull as though covered with mist. Her
voice, too, had lost its life and ring.
"You have been very kind to me, Dr. Eldrige," she said, "and I thank
you."
The doctor arose to take his departure. "I have advised you both as a
physician and a friend," he said, "to rid your mind of this unhappy
train of thought, and I will add, find something to take up your time
and attention; let it be amusing, entertaining, frivolous if you like,
but give it your entire attention."
Mrs. Thorpe had arisen and stood confronting him. She now extended her
hand to him, and her unfathomable eyes looked into his.
"You are my friend, Dr. Eldrige," she said. There was the conviction of
a statement in the words, yet a catch in her voice and the intonation
made it seem almost a question.
The doctor was quick of perception; instantly he understood her unworded
request. He took her hand in his.
"I am your friend," he said, in a voice of utmost respect and sincerest
sympathy. "And before God I will help you in any way that I can."
After the doctor left her, Mrs. Thorpe stood at her window and looked
out at the somber autumn day. A gray mist hung in the air and red and
yellow leaves lay in heaps in the corners of the yard. With her old
habit still strong upon her, Mrs. Thorpe fell into reverie.
"Nature nursed the tiny leaves into life," she mused; "gave them form
and color and permitted them to sport in happy freedom through all the
days of summer, and now at the approach of winter she has bedecked them
in gorgeous array."
And then the very subject that the doctor had so painstakingly warned
her against presented itself to her in every form and shape that it was
possible for it to assume.
"There is no pain nor suffering in this changing process," she thought;
"even when disintegration sets in there is no reason to believe that a
leaf or plant or flower feels the downward process to which it is
subjected. This heritage of suffering, the realization of corruption
and pollution, has been reserved for man--man, who of all the creatures
of God's creation has been made the most susceptible to pain and woe.
The vine flings its blood-colored leaves to the breeze, oblivious of
time or change. The great trees reach their arms to the sky and stand
secure in their native strength. How complete is the harmony between
all growing things and Nature's laws that govern them."
When thinking deeply Mrs. Thorpe often experienced the strange
phenomenon of having her thoughts suddenly, and without her conscious
will, revert to some irrelevant circumstance or event apparently
forgotten. Vividly before her now there flashed the vision of a little
girl, who in her childish mind firmly believed that there were two Gods,
a good one and a bad one. She gave a low shriek and covered her face
with her hands.
"I have been worshiping the bad God!" she whispered.
Pauline, who was busy in an adjoining room, thought she heard a peculiar
sound, and came into the room. She found Mrs. Thorpe reclining in an
easy chair near the window.
"Are you feeling well, Evelyn?" she asked.
"As well as usual, I think," Mrs. Thorpe replied. Then she leaned back
in her chair and closed her eyes. It was another bitter drop in her cup,
the bitterest one of all, perhaps, that she could not prevent wild
impulses and strange fancies from flitting through her brain. She might
be obliged to yield her body to this unknown power that no man could
explain or trace to its origin, but with all the force of her nature she
fought against yielding her brain and will as well.
There was with her a continual sense of discord and irritation; small,
trivial things upset her mental balance and rendered her trying and
exacting with those about her. Secretly, she resented the close
companionship of Pauline; she chaffed over the way many small tasks were
performed, and often felt hurt and miserable, and all sorts of unhappy
fancies dwelt in her mind.
Those were dark days at the parsonage. Daily the pastor knelt in prayer
and implored the gracious Father to restore health and strength to the
dear one suffering under His hand.
Mrs. Thorpe grew more frail and her health continued to decline during
the winter. She would sometimes sit for hours thinking or dreaming, her
hands folded idly in her lap, her eyes on the glowing fire. But no hint
of the trend of her thoughts ever escaped her. Whatever problems
presented themselves to her, she found their solution alone or not at
all; from whatever premise she reasoned, she reasoned alone, without a
hint or help to guide her, and her conclusions were always the
deductions of her own brain, but flavored and colored, no doubt, by the
writers, ancient and modern, sacred and secular, whose convictions and
beliefs she had read, measured and weighed.
There were two reasons for her rigid silence. One of these was the
natural proclivity from the days of her childhood to keep within her own
heart the things that troubled and puzzled her. The other reason was
much more complex, and added materially to the burden that she carried.
Her husband, scholarly, thoughtful, gentle and reverent, was, she knew,
flint and steel where the doctrines and dogmas of his church were
concerned, and would, she believed, yield up his life as readily as any
martyr of old had ever done, rather than yield one principle of his
faith or compromise one conviction.
Her domestic relations had been particularly happy; her husband's faith
and confidence in her were complete. And dear to her as the breath to
her nostrils was his love and approbation. And the more surely she felt
the structure of her life, her aims and purposes, her hopes and
aspirations falling in ruins about her, the more passionately she clung
to this, the one thing that was left her, beautiful and unimpaired. What
was all that she had suffered, or all that she could suffer while her
husband's faith in her remained, compared to what must follow should he
learn that she had withdrawn from him spiritually, forsaken the
principles that were strong within him as the fibres of his life,
repudiated the sacred tenets of his church? A sort of prayer had worded
itself in her brain that she be not spared in bodily pain nor mental
suffering, that no portion of the burden she bore be removed, if
thereby, in life or death, her husband must know that she had proven
faithless to the principles of his faith.
*CHAPTER VII*
*MRS. THORPE'S MOUNTAINS*
The ice king reigned. Ice bound, snow covered, the world lay white and
still in the embrace of winter. Nature had closed her laboratory and
turned the key; all the wonderful things in her store-rooms were waiting
and resting. The tiny rootlets were deaf to the moaning wind; the stern
and sturdy trees tossed their branches to the sky and defied the storms
in their rage to tear from them the life force which they guarded; the
ice-locked lakes and rivers joined in the great white stillness.
It was the time of year when the Star appeared in the East and wise men
journeyed far to visit the Child; the time when the shepherds were
aroused by the heavenly visitants, and angels proclaimed that the
world's Redeemer was born and that the good tidings were for all men.
Nevertheless, at this anniversary of the Redeemer's birth there were
hearts in Edgerly in which rankled bitterness and envy, and where burned
hatred and despair. Children, poorly clad, pale and thin, shivered
along the streets of the city, and men and women faced the biting blast
and dreamed of the return of the season that should warm and comfort
them.
But these things were not in Maurice Thorpe's mind when he prepared his
Christmas sermon. His purpose was to give to his people at this most
blessed season something that would comfort them and bring peace, even
the peace that had been proclaimed to their hearts.
The sweet hush of the Sabbath brooded over the church and lay like a
benediction over the parsonage. The winter sunshine, warm and mellow,
sifted through the windows and added to the warmth and glow of Mrs.
Thorpe's apartment. In her clinging crimson gown, which brought into
strong relief her white drawn face and luminous dark eyes, she appeared
almost as though she might be a being from some other world.
"The morning is fine," said Mr. Thorpe, "and the air will do you good.
It has been a long time since you attended church, Evelyn. Make
yourself ready and go with me to-day."
Mrs. Thorpe avoided her husband's eyes. Could she trust herself to go?
Dare she trust herself to refuse? Mr. Thorpe overruled her excuse of
illness and insisted that going out would do her good.
Without further protest she yielded to his wishes and accompanied him.
It was the Sunday before Christmas. The air was crisp and keen and
brought a freshness and a bit of color to their faces as they climbed
the incline to the church.
The solemn strains of the organ began in a hushed minor key and
increased in volume and tone until they rang and vibrated through the
farthest corner of the room. The melody was now pleading and plaintive,
like a voice filled with passionate longing, and again solemn and grand
as the longing glided into fulfillment, and at last triumphant,
victorious--
"All is well with the world."
Geraldine Vane, a little lower than the angels, her blue eyes like stars
and her yellow hair like a halo of light, put her own heart-pulse into
the music. In the anthem that followed, Max Morrison's strong, clear
voice rang out the joyful message:
"Peace on earth, good-will, good-will to men."
The congregation joined in singing a song and the words burned
themselves into Mrs. Thorpe's brain and caused her heart to quiver and
her soul to writhe--
"Not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace, nor wash away the stain.
But Christ the heavenly lamb takes all our sins away.
A sacrifice of nobler name and richer blood than they.
My soul looks back to see the burden Thou didst bear
While hanging on the cursed tree, and knows his guilt was
there."
The Reverend Maurice Thorpe then stepped forward and gave the waiting
audience his text:
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that
whoso believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
The pastor's voice was musical and cultured and the words of the text as
he uttered them met with a magnetic response from the audience. This
silent applause, this outpouring of the commendation of his hearers was
as manifest to Mr. Thorpe as though it had been demonstrated by visible
signs or audible words; as manifest and more satisfactory, for the sense
of exultation which it gave him was perceived by no one save himself.
Sensitive and responsive, he always knew in what spirit his people
received his text. He read their faces as an open book, and took his
keynote from them. It was this intangible method of getting at the
hearts of his people that made it possible for him to comfort and
satisfy them, while preaching the most orthodox doctrine and restricted
creed.
Mrs. Thorpe's battle began with the text. She kept her eyes withdrawn
from the pastor's face and she endeavored to keep her mind from dwelling
wholly on what he was saying. She thought of the long line of
snow-capped homes that led up to the church; and about her heart there
clutched a hardness cold and unyielding as the frost king's embrace of
the earth. Each building and frost-hung shrub and white-branched tree
reared itself into a mountain of ice and snow. And Mrs. Thorpe felt
that just such a range of ice-bound mountains, relentless, forbidding,
impassable, lay between her and the love of God.
The pastor, with nice discernment, was able to give his voice just the
proper pitch and volume to cause it to fill the room; every word was
carefully articulated, clear and distinct:
"From the beginning, man, the crowning work of God's hand, manifested a
disposition to disobey, and this disobedience plunged the world into a
chaos of sin and disorder. From the earliest record we see man
demonstrating his evil nature, his tendency to sin and all
unrighteousness.... The priests of old endeavored to cleanse and purify
from sin. Moses was chosen the deliverer of the Lord's ancient people;
David in his day was called to rule over them; Solomon was given wisdom
with which to direct them; Jeremiah threatened them with destruction;
and Habakkuk exhorted them to a renewal of righteousness and prayed the
Lord to be merciful to them. But the downward tendency was inherent
within them and the record of man is one long record of sin and
unfaithfulness....
"From time to time, owing to the wickedness of the people, it became
necessary to visit punishment and destruction upon them. And many
sacrifices were offered to God for the sins of the people. Lambs were
slain and offered upon consecrated altars; goats and bullocks were
sacrificed and altars ran red with the blood that was shed to wash away
the still more crimson stain of men's sins. But there came a time when
a long-suffering God could not thus be appeased; there came a time my
friends, my brothers, _there came a time_ when the blood of goats and
bullocks was not sufficient to wash away the sins of man; was not
sufficient to appease the wrath of Almighty God. When this time came,
the only begotten Son was given into the hands of men to be
crucified....
"A child, a little, helpless child, was cradled in a manger and
ministered to by His Virgin mother. No man has trod nor can ever tread
the pathway of pain and suffering that lay before this child, given to
die for the sins of men. No man can drink the cup that He drank, or
suffer the anguish that He suffered. He must die upon a cross, scorned
and reviled by the world He came to save.... In the blood of His own
beloved Son God wiped out the sins of the world, and so great is the
corruption in which the children of men are steeped, that had one drop
in the bitter cup, one sigh of anguish in the Garden, one nail that
pierced the defenseless hand of the Christ been spared, the God of
righteousness and justice would not have been appeased. This, then,
this sacrifice sealed in blood, is the price of your salvation and mine,
and there is no other way under heaven whereby men may be saved. Our
pardon has been bought with the innocent blood of a crucified Savior."
Mrs. Thorpe felt her breath coming in short, quick gasps. Her cheeks
were a scarlet flame and a white line was drawn about her mouth. How
could men live and praise and exult under this carnage of blood! Where
should she fly--how escape? Was there no way out of this--_this_--THIS!
Was it inevitable, irrevocable, that she must reap the benefit of this
awful carnage, this slaughter of a world's Redeemer? Who had at her
birth, yea, before she was born, laid upon her sins for which another
was called to suffer--who had dared to do this? If a blood sacrifice
was required for her conscious sins, then her blood it should be--not
another's--not innocent blood for culpable sin!
But the acme of her suffering lay in the thought that the God of the
world had decreed this thing, in His own heart He had conceived it, from
the beginning He had foreseen it--premeditated it. What wonder that
chaos reigns in His world? What wonder that the children of His
creation have from the beginning gone astray? What wonder that envy and
hatred, strife, bitterness and despair live and flourish? Can man rise
above his conception of his Creator? Can he consistently worship a God
who had planned and caused to be done a thing from which the
compassionate human heart must shrink and human hand must stay? Is not
the whole story of the Creation, the Fall, the Sacrifice, the
Redemption, as we have heard it in all its harrowing details, absurd,
deplorable, culpable? Can we in sincerity acknowledge ourselves guilty
of a sin for which we are not responsible, and grateful to a Creator
who, possessing absolute power, fashioned men free in will and action,
and then forced upon them the blood of His own innocent Son to save them
from the consequences of their freedom?
Yet, bewildered and entangled as Mrs. Thorpe felt herself to be, in this
labyrinth of doubt and rebellion, she was aware that other thoughts than
these were tapping at the door of her consciousness; tapping and
pleading for admission. Deep in her heart soil a grain of truth was
throwing out its penetrating rootlets and struggling toward the light.
But so completely would these thoughts, if admitted and accepted, uproot
every preconceived idea, so entirely would they cast out and destroy
that which all her life she had been taught to believe, that their
pleading for admittance but increased the confusion of her thoughts and
rendered her mental state more chaotic.
When the service was over Mrs. Thorpe became aware that many eyes,
curious and sympathetic, were upon her; yet few of her friends spoke to
her, for there was an unwritten law that no one should go out of the way
to speak to another and that little demonstration should be made inside
the church. All was orderly and dignified and befitting the house of
the Lord. Strangers came and went; newcomers felt the chill of
propriety that pervaded the atmosphere, and the old members felt it,
too, and gloried in it.
In her fertile brain Mrs. Thorpe beheld them all, the old members and
the new, and the strangers among them, as in a vision, and all were
trying to climb the mountains of ice, trying to reach Heaven over a
pathway of cold indifference and fixed and rigid form.
Mr. Thorpe joined his wife near the church door and he put his arm
protectingly about her as she descended the church steps. He felt that
the Lord had been specially kind to give her strength to be present at
this service.
Pauline preceded them and was already in the kitchen overseeing the
dinner when they arrived. Mrs. Thorpe went directly to her room and,
removing her wraps, sank down in her easy chair. Her eyes were dry and
bright, but she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders
quivered as if beneath a load.
"Never again," she moaned, "never again can I trust myself to hear his
voice from the pulpit."
The admission wrung her heart and hurt her as hearts are wrung and hurt
when some dear one passes from view of mortal sight.
Pauline tapped at the door and announced dinner. Mrs. Thorpe arose and
stood for a moment before her fire.
"If there were a God," she whispered, "if there were a God, loving and
strong and powerful--oh, a God who cares for His own, how passionately
would I beseech Him to be with me now, to help and uphold me!" She
walked over and opened her door. "There really should be such a
God--Friend--Father," she continued in an undertone, "for we need Him
so!"