Thorpe, who was never lacking in the small courtesies of the home,
seated her at the table and took his place opposite.
"I am glad to see that the exertion of the morning has not overtried
your strength, my dear," he said. "Your face in the congregation is an
inspiration to me. I hope you will be able to attend regularly
hereafter."
Pauline, whose insight was keener than the pastor's, divined that all
was not well with Mrs. Thorpe, and broached another subject.
"The church was well filled this morning," she remarked.
"Yes," said Mr. Thorpe. "There seems to be something about the
Christmas season that touches all hearts. And I think the Savior's
birth means more to the world every year."
"Is this because men's hearts are changing," asked Mrs. Thorpe, "or do
we understand Christ's mission better?"
"I think the religious world realizes as it never has before the
greatness of the sacrifice that has been made for humanity," replied Mr.
Thorpe. "We may call it Christ's mission if we like, but I prefer the
term sacrifice in connection with Him who was born to die that we might
live."
The flow of talk continued, but as it often happened, Pauline and Mr.
Thorpe kept up the conversation. Mrs. Thorpe did not venture another
remark, and after the meal went directly to her room. Her husband
followed her and seated himself before her open fire. Neither spoke for
a few moments, and the pastor reached for a book that lay on a stand
nearby. Mrs. Thorpe saw the movement and moved as though to intercept
him; but the book was in his hand. It was a small volume bound in white
and gold.
Mrs. Thorpe lay back in her chair and her face framed with her dark hair
seemed drawn and white as it lay against the scarlet cushion.
"What have you here, my dear? What are you reading nowadays?" asked Mr.
Thorpe in a full, smooth voice. And something in the tone caused Mrs.
Thorpe's heart to vibrate as to a well-loved melody. How she loved this
man; bowed to him, reverenced him. She did not answer him now, she did
not stir nor turn her head.
Mr. Thorpe opened the little book at random and his eyes fell upon the
following: "God is a spirit and they who worship Him must worship him in
spirit and in truth.
"It is difficult to understand how the idea of God as a personal being
of power and wrath has taken so strong a hold upon men's minds. Not
until this idea is eliminated, totally overcome and cast out, can we
know our God as He is, and understand the divine mission that Christ
came to perform....
"The Son of God became incarnate on the earth--not to die for men's
sins--albeit a cruel and misguided people crucified Him--but by His life
to teach the Truth of Life. Not to die the death of a martyr, not to
offer a human sacrifice to a God of love, but to teach the children of
God's creation to live."
Mr. Thorpe closed the book with his forefinger at the place. Mrs.
Thorpe felt, rather than saw, his eyes upon her and she turned and
looked into his face.
"Evelyn," he said, "what have you here? Where did you get this--this
absurd book?"
Mrs. Thorpe did not answer him; instead she sank back into her chair and
closed her eyes.
Mr. Thorpe regarded her for a moment, then he opened the book again and
ran his eyes down the page. He halted at this paragraph:
"It may be true that the reluctance with which men change their
conception of God, their propensity to cling to the creed and doctrines
which have been handed down to them, serves to keep their hearts
reverent and worshipful; nevertheless that which is false, all that is
erroneous and misleading must die. The world to-day is demanding the
truth about the deep hidden things of God.
"No matter how sacred a teaching or belief may have been to our
forefathers, nor how efficacious it seemed to meet their needs, we must
know that while the immortal Truth changes not, the ideas of men
concerning it have changed with the process of the ages. Does anyone
believe that while we are progressing in every line of industry, art and
science, that to be Christian we must continue to stand in our religious
convictions where our forefathers stood?"
Mr. Thorpe glanced at his wife. She had not changed her position, but
he noticed a twitching of her eyelids and that the color had rushed into
her face, burning her cheeks to a scarlet flame. He did not speak, but
continued the next paragraph.
"Let us, then, with all reverence yet unafraid, seek the saving truth of
God, strip it of creed and form, remove the tattered garment of
prejudice and bigotry, lay low the orthodox beliefs which, while
claiming to house and shelter this divine Truth, have hedged it about
and endeavored to limit it to that which mortal hands have bound upon
church altars."
Mr. Thorpe closed the book sharply, then opened it again and looked for
the writer's name. It was a new name to him. He laid the book back on
the stand and stepped to his wife's side. He laid his hand gently on
her hair.
"Evelyn," he said, "how came you by that book?"
She looked full into his face and answered directly: "I found it in a
book-store, down town."
"And you bought it, Evelyn?"
"Yes."
Mr. Thorpe went back to the table, and he saw there another book, one
that he had not noticed before. This one was bound in black leather and
stamped in gilt. On the cover there was stamped a circle of gilt, and
around the circle were these words: "Heal the sick, raise the dead,
cleanse the lepers, cast out demons." Inside the circle was a cross and
a crown. Mr. Thorpe recognized this book, he knew it by sight. He did
not touch it now, however, but pointing to it he addressed his wife:
"And this book, is this one yours, too, Evelyn?"
"No," she replied, "that is one Mrs. Vane let me take."
Mr. Thorpe resumed his seat by the fire.
"If I believed it necessary to warn you against this sort of reading,"
he said, "or to caution you against these distortions of the Scripture,
I hope I should not hesitate in doing my duty; but I feel that any such
warning or caution would imply a lack of faith in your honor, and in
your fidelity to your church vows. I have confidence in your judgment,
Evelyn, and faith in your sincerity, but I request you to return Mrs.
Vane's book at your earliest convenience."
"I had intended to do so," she said, "and shall attend to it to-morrow."
Her voice was not quite steady.
She took the offending volumes and laid them on a shelf in the curtained
alcove. She felt a sickening sensation creep over her, a sense of
dishonor and of disloyalty to her husband.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*STRANDED*
Mrs. Thorpe sat in her room one morning, a piece of needlework in her
hands. It was a beautiful piece of work and she held it from her and
looked at it critically.
"You are my sedative," she said. "When a heart cries for God and cannot
find Him; when a sacrilegious questioner tries to solve some of the
problems of this life, or to learn the cause of this great world's
woe--when one is so lacking in judgment as to try to do this, serious
trouble is likely to follow and then one must have something, really
must have something to distract the mind for a time." She gave an odd
little laugh and drew her work to her.
A phantasm of her imagination had caused her to discard her books.
Whenever she opened a book and prepared to read, a phantom form, sable
and somber, peered over her shoulder and read with her.
Then she resolved to read no more books and to think as little as
possible about those she had read; and to this end she had taken up
needlework. She knew what her condition was physically, and realized
that it was only by the exertion of her will power that her mind, too,
was not a wreck. She had a curious habit of looking at her mind and
brain as something apart from herself, and as another personality she
studied their condition.
[Illustration: "HE TOOK HER IN HIS ARMS AS THOUGH SHE WERE A LITTLE
CHILD" (page 97)]
When she discarded her books, the phantom disappeared for a time, and
she believed that she had exorcised it. But after a time she saw that
she was mistaken in this, for it returned at intervals, more grim and
determined than before. It never made a sudden impression on her, and
it never startled her; but always when she became aware of its presence
she felt that it had been with her all the time--always, only she had
not recognized it. Then silently it would jeer at her blindness and
dullness of perception, and triumphantly assert that no one on whom it
fixed its choice ever eluded it.
Mrs. Thorpe had begun sorting her silks for her work when her attention
was attracted by a song that Pauline was singing:
"Is not this the land of Beulah,
Blessed, blessed land of light
Where the flowers bloom forever
And the sun is always bright?"
The words of the song caused her unrest to burn within her.
"The land of Beulah--blessed land of light," Pauline could sing of this;
while she--why had she failed? Had she not worked and watched and
prayed--yet the blackness of darkness was about her.
"I am dwelling on the mountains
Where the golden sunlight gleams,
O'er a land whose wondrous beauty
Far exceeds my fondest dreams."
The low, sweet strain continued. Pauline often sang at her work, and
the song bubbled forth as though the full heart could not contain it.
"I am drinking at the fountain
Where I ever would abide,
For I've tasted life's pure river
And my soul is satisfied."
Mrs. Thorpe dropped her work and clasped her hands over her mouth, for
she felt that she must shriek aloud.
"_Satisfied_! My soul is satisfied! Was it possible that this was
vouchsafed to some, while every hope of hers was gone, every longing
unfulfilled?"
When she took up her work again she placed stitch after stitch with
careful deliberation.
"I must adhere to my resolutions," she thought. "I have no quarrel with
the world. I am not responsible for its woes. I cannot fight its
wrongs. I will live simply and contentedly, live for my husband and my
home." But she refrained from looking over her shoulder, for the black
wings of her phantom hovered there.
A few moments later Pauline came into the room. "Mrs. Mayhew is in the
parlor and wishes to see you," she said.
Mrs. Thorpe greeted her friend cordially. "I am so glad to see you,"
she said; "I was feeling a bit down-hearted this morning and longing for
a congenial friend."
"Then my plan is opportune," said Mrs. Mayhew. "I came in the carriage
to take you home with me for the day. Mr. Thorpe will come to tea and
spend the evening, I hope. My brother, Professor Vane, is spending a
few days with us, and he and Mr. Thorpe are congenial spirits, you
know."
"I am sure that Mr. Thorpe will be pleased to meet your brother again.
I had a letter from Mrs. Vane a few days ago. She mentioned that the
Professor meant to visit you before long."
"I am glad to know that your friendship with Mrs. Vane ripened into a
correspondence."
"We do not correspond regularly. I had a book of hers, one which she
let me take last summer. I returned it not long ago and received a
letter from her saying that it had arrived safely."
Mrs. Thorpe accepted her friend's invitation for the day and as they
drove through the bracing atmosphere her unhappy fancies seemed to fall
away from her. There was something in Mrs. Mayhew's personality,
wholesome and practical, yet winsome as well, that had a tendency to
arouse Mrs. Thorpe out of her troubled dreams and dispel the visions of
her morbid imagination.
Yet when they were seated in Mrs. Mayhew's parlor, each with her bit of
work, the first topic of conversation plunged her troubled mind again
into a sea of doubt and despair.
Mrs. Mayhew drew her chair a little nearer to the grate, rested
comfortably in its cushioned depths and let her work lay idle in her
hands.
"They tell me," she said, "that there is a great deal of suffering among
the poor people on the Flat this winter. The Ladies' Benevolent Society
is doing what it can to help them, but cannot reach them all. Geraldine
went over to the Flat with some of the ladies yesterday. She tells me
that the condition of some of the homes they visited is dreadful to
behold."
It is needless to say that Mrs. Mayhew did not know the effect that her
words would have upon her friend. She knew that Mrs. Thorpe was often
inclined to take other people's burdens sadly to heart, but she was far
from knowing the state of mind that her words had wrought in her now.
She, too, was often troubled about the state of affairs on the Flat, but
her outlook was very different from Mrs. Thorpe's. She saw in these
miserable homes and destitute, unfortunate people, isolated cases of
suffering, and their condition she looked upon as something that only
the effort of the individual concerned could remedy. By his own effort
and endeavor he must extricate himself from this class and advance to
one higher. This always left those who remained the same privilege as
that of the one who had escaped. Mrs. Mayhew believed this to be the way
of the world, and she had learned never to analyze nor to question the
world's ways.
Mrs. Thorpe did not interrogate the individual nor consider the class;
her mind overreached these and went directly to the overruling Law--that
which has created, and which does, or should, control. What greater
folly than for man to endeavor to undo what the Lord has done? An
overruling, unalterable, unrelenting Law lay over and made helpless and
absolutely powerless the puny efforts of man.
She would share her porridge with a hungry neighbor, yes, go hungry
herself to relieve a needy one; she would divide her garments to the
last shred with those who had none. But while doing so, while trying to
defeat the decree of the Ruler, would she prostrate herself before him,
bow down and worship him?
"It is not only on Bolton Flat that people are suffering and miserable
and destitute and without a God," she said. "The world is circled with
woe; the cry of suffering echoes wherever the feet of men have trod. In
the still watches of the night when all was quiet and peaceful about me
I have heard the moaning of children. And on the street when all was
bustle and confusion I have heard the agonized cry of lost souls; and I
knew that those about me heard it, yet they paid not the slightest
attention, and I, too, went unheeding on my way. Yet men and women
everywhere are talking of a Christ--proclaiming a message! Their voices
are musical, even as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal; their
phraseology--long prayers in the market place; the border of their
garments and the broadness of their phylacteries proclaim their
devotion!"
Her words ceased, but her thoughts, which she had long held in
subjection, were now beyond her control. The fire of her spirit, that
had leaped within her earlier in the day, now flamed up and consumed
her. Throughout the length and breadth of the land God's men and women
were going to a death more horrible than even her wildest hallucinations
could picture--wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth! Children were
born into an environment that handicapped them at birth; women and young
girls were obliged to sell their souls in order to keep the pitiful life
in their bodies; men made a legal, licensed business of crazing their
fellow men with drink. And those who professed to follow the world's
Redeemer, comfortably housed, with rich garments and sumptuous fare,
wrapped themselves in their righteousness and sang songs of praise in
costly churches and gave thanks that they were not as other men.
The enormity of the thing was to her a blow straight from a powerful
shoulder, a blow that staggered her and left her white with passion.
And she felt that in all this world there was nothing so heartrending as
the injustice of God. More to herself than to her friend, she said:
"If God is all powerful He is responsible for the conditions resulting
from His creation; if He is not all powerful He is not God."
Her limitations were such that she could not know that these things
which were so grievous to her were but a foul and tattered garment with
which human kind has covered the great heart of God. Pride, vain-glory,
uncharitableness, ostentation--from these she shrank in righteous
revolt; and without the slightest realization that she had allowed them
to become as a bandage about her eyes, blinding her to the overruling
Love of the Creator and to the priceless thing in the hearts of her
fellow men.
Something of this Mrs. Mayhew was able to understand. She felt that her
friend's heresy was not so much a thing of the heart as a distortion of
her too finely wrought sensibilities; and she wondered that a hand so
exquisitely refined and sensitive should reach out into this bleeding
world and touch and handle its ghastly sin-stained burdens.
"My dear friend," she said; "you say that if God is God He is
responsible for these things, yet He may be working in a way that you
and I know nothing about. It has always been a comforting thought to me
that there may be a wideness and a mercy in His plans that our finite
minds are not able to grasp. But be this as it may, you have thrown the
responsibility back upon Him, then why do you not let it rest there? Why
do you fret and worry yourself about it? My dear, I am afraid you are
allowing these things to weigh upon you and make you unhappy."
"Unhappy! Mrs. Mayhew I am wretched, tormented, ill, I fear I shall
be--mad!"
"Mrs. Thorpe, what has happened to your life? What has brought about all
this questioning and unrest?"
"Oh, my friend, if you knew the weary way that I have
gone--alone--alone--I have no God!"
"But why have you cut yourself off from these things which the world has
accepted? I cannot understand what has caused you to renounce your
faith in God. Are you not afraid to stand thus alone?"
"There was a time when I was afraid, when I believed that I must believe
that which I could not believe. It was a gruesome part of the way; yet
there was no other part that I was so reluctant to leave. While living
in fear I believed, most surely, that the first step out of it would be
over a precipice; but this conception of what will follow is all that
fear really is. Freed from this, my burden became lighter, but the
darkness is none the less black."
"But why do you feel that you must go this troubled way alone? The
world has accepted a religion. Why do you reject it?"
"The world has accepted a cleverly devised plan whereby men expect to be
saved from their sins; they have woven into it the story of the Cross,
the tale of the Christ. From the most beautiful life and tragic death
that the world has ever known men have gleaned the harrowing, sordid
details and fashioned them into form and creed and call it Religion.
This thing I do reject. Could a completer foil be devised for mankind
than that the nailing of a Christ to the Cross is to save them from the
consequences of their iniquitous and selfish living?"
"I believe, have always believed, and my torment is that I must continue
to believe that there is a God of justice some place--some how, some
where--_He lives_! I have lain in my bed at night and heard the voice
of the wind and it has whispered to me: 'There is a God;' I have seen
the tender grass come forth in the spring and every tiny blade
proclaimed Him; I have seen the rush of the storm, black, ominous,
fearful, and behind it I have seen His face; and all the stars at night
have broken into a song of praise to Him. And after this can I bow down
to a conception, a mere idea of God? Can I worship simply because
others have worshiped? Our Bible and our Christ tell us of a wonderful
life; a great Heart touched with the feeling of our infirmities; One in
whom the great, throbbing heart of the universe, the secret of all
things, is embodied. Where is this great Master-Spirit, drawing all men
to Him, healing their infirmities and cleansing them from sin? Have you
seen Him in the hearts of those who attend our church, living in comfort
and luxury--while over on the Flat--Mrs. Mayhew--over on the Flat--can
you bear to think of it? Have you seen aught of His healing power? How
many can you count among the members of our church who are suffering
from some infirmity? How many are every whit whole?
"I have longed for the touch, the presence, the realization of the _God
that lives_ as I have never longed for earthly possessions. I have
prayed in my heart that I might be deprived of every earthly joy, every
pleasure, every comfort, that I might be an outcast on the face of the
earth, that I might know the anguish in the Garden, that I might feel
the nails in my hands, if by this means I might have in my life and soul
a realization of the Infinite, might feel and know the Divine presence."
Mrs. Thorpe's face was white and drawn and a red light was in her eyes.
Mrs. Mayhew was by her side, her cool hand on her brow.
"Geraldine," she said as her niece passed the door, "bring me a glass of
water, please, Mrs. Thorpe has become faint."
With the first return of consciousness Mrs. Thorpe thought of her
husband. Had she not compromised his honor? Put to hazard his
position, perhaps? She looked into Mrs. Mayhew's face:
"I have betrayed my weakness," she said; "I have shown you my
unworthiness. It was not my intention to do this; over and over I have
promised myself that no word that might cast dishonor on my husband's
calling or cause him pain should ever pass my lips."
Mrs. Mayhew with quick intuition, understood all that her friend did not
say, quite as well as that which she uttered. She read the story of
repression and self-subjugation, and the heroism that hid her trouble
and despair rather than cause another pain. And she also had a glimpse
of the love this woman bore her husband, and of the fineness of her
nature that even for the sake of this love, could not tamper with her
soul's conception of truth. Her face was warm with sympathy:
"Dear troubled soul," she said, "I am your friend, not to distress and
embarrass you, but if I can, to aid and comfort you."
During the remainder of the day Mrs. Mayhew endeavored to keep the
conversation free from all topics that might distress her guest, and to
limit the flow of talk to a circle of light and pleasant thought.
Mr. Thorpe came in time for dinner. Between him and Professor Vane
there was much of common interest. Professor Vane was a teacher in a
theological seminary; and the two men discussed the world of theology,
the Church and its mission, the seminary and its work.
"I cannot account for the diversity of opinion I find among theological
students," Professor Vane said. "There are scarcely two of them who see
the questions of creed and doctrines in the same light. What the
outcome of all of these new lines of thought will be it is difficult to
predict."
There was a spirit of resentment, righteous he believed it to be, in Mr.
Thorpe's mind toward these new lines of religious thought. He believed
that the Leviathan of doubt, and the subtle Serpent of false belief had
threatened the sanctity of his own home. And he was strong in the
belief that it was time for men of integrity and conviction to strike
these monsters, to crush and destroy them.
"It is my opinion that these digressions and irregularities must prove
disastrous," he said. "We must have a creed and a doctrine, and I do
not hesitate to say, that men who cannot conform to them have no call to
preach the Gospel."
Professor Vane did not answer at once, and Mrs. Thorpe who had listened
in silence, waited anxiously for his reply.
Mrs. Mayhew believed she knew what was in her brother's mind. She
recalled a frail little woman tortured with pain, whom her brother used
to carry in his arms, and lift from one position to another. This woman,
his wife had been restored to health and strength, and the joy of
living, by a digression from accepted creeds and doctrines. A system of
Christian healing had restored her.
"How far we have a right to judge another's conception of God is a
mooted question," Professor Vane said thoughtfully. "If I err I hope it
may be on the side of charity."
"On the side of charity, yes," said Mr. Thorpe; "but I can see little
love or justice in allowing doubts and fallacies to intrench themselves
in the consciousness of another." He could not quibble over this
question, nor fail to express himself fearlessly, even though he should
strike a blow nearer Professor Vane's heart then the students under his
care. He was strong in the belief of his own just purpose.