NEW LINES OF WORK.
BUT Alice hesitated. The subject, whatever it was that she wanted to
talk about, evidently had its embarrassing side. Now that Claire sat
in expectant silence, she grew silent too, and looked down, and toyed
with the fringe of her wrap, her face in a frown that indicated either
perplexity or distrust.
"I don't know why I should come to you," she said, at last, speaking
half-angrily; "I suppose I am a simpleton, and shall get little thanks
for any interference, yet it certainly seems to me as though something
ought to be done, and as though you might do it."
"If there is any way in which I can help you," Claire said, "you hardly
need to have me say how glad I shall be to do so."
"Would you, I wonder? Would you help in a perplexity that seems to
me to be growing into a downright danger, and which I more than half
suspect you could avert?"
There was something so significant in her tone, that Claire looked at
her in wonderment for a moment, then said, choosing her words with care:
"You surely know that I would be only too glad to help you in any way
that was right, and of course you would not ask me to do anything that
I thought wrong."
"Oh, I'm not so sure of that. You have such peculiar ideas of right and
wrong. They are not according to my standard, I presume. How I wish I
knew, without telling you, just what you would think right; it would
settle several questions for me, or else it would unsettle me, for I
might not want to do what was right, you see, any more than you would
want to do what was wrong."
"I am not a witch," said Claire, lightly, "and I confess that I have no
more idea what you mean than if you were speaking in Sanscrit. Suppose
you speak English for a few minutes, my friend, and enlighten me."
"I will, presently. I want to ask you a few general questions first,
which have nothing special to do with the question at hand. Would you
marry a man who was not a Christian?"
"No," said Claire, wondering, startled yet nevertheless prompt enough
with her answer; "that is, I do not now see how I could. In the first
place, I would not be likely to have the opportunity; for I could
not be sufficiently interested in a man who had no sympathy with me
in these vital questions, to ever reach the point as to my possible
opportunities and duties."
"Oh, well, that doesn't materially enlighten me. You see I am talking
about people who _could_ become sufficiently interested to reach a
great many questionings, and not know what to do with them. Let me
suppose a case. We will say the people live in China, and become
deeply interested in each other. In the course of time one of them
goes to the Fiji Islands for instance, and meets a missionary, and
comes somewhat under her influence--enough, we will say, to make her
uncomfortable and to make her suspect that she is a good deal of a
heathen herself, though she was a member in good and regular standing
of a church in China. To make the circumstances more interesting you
may suppose that one of the converted heathen begins to interest
himself in her, and to enlighten her as to the power of genuine
religion over the heathen heart and mind to such an extent that she
is almost sure she knows nothing about it experimentally; and at the
same time has a yearning desire to know and to receive the mysterious
_something_ which she discovers in this one. We will also suppose that
she receives letters from China occasionally, which show her that the
other party has met neither missionary nor heathen to impress him in
any way, and that his plans and determinations are all of the earth
and decidedly earthy, and yet that he is disposed to think that the
lady ought to be thinking about returning to China, and joining him
in his effort to have a good time. What, in your estimation, ought the
half-awakened Fiji resident to do?"
"Alice, is some not very distant city representing China? and is South
Plains Fiji? and is Bud the converted heathen?"
"There is enough witch about you to have secured you a very warm
experience in the olden days. Never mind translating, if you please;
this was not to be in English. What ought the Fiji to do?"
"I should think there could be no question. A half-awakened person
would still be in danger of dropping back into darkness, and should, as
surely as she believes in the petition, 'lead me not into temptation,'
guard against anything that would be a contradiction to that prayer."
"Well, but suppose this half-awakened person were married to the party
in China--what then?"
"That would be a very different matter. The irrevocable vows would have
been taken before the world; the 'until death do you part' would have
been accepted, and there would be no liberty of choice."
"I don't see the reasoning clearly. Suppose a person should take a
vow to commit murder, and announce her determination before the world
to do so, with as solemn a vow as you please, ought her conscience
to hold her? Not," she added, with a slight and embarrassed laugh,
"that I would put the idea of murder as a parallel case with the other
imagining. I don't mean anything, you know, by all this, I am simply
dealing with some imaginary people in China."
But Claire did not smile, and held herself carefully to the analogy of
the illustration:
"You are supposing a moral impossibility, Alice. No one would be
allowed to take a public and solemn oath to commit murder. The very
oath would be a violation of the laws of God and of the land; but in
the other case, the oath taken professes to be in keeping with God's
revealed will and with the demands of respectable society. Surely, you
see what an infinite difference this would make."
"Ah, yes, of course. Well, I'll suppose one thing more. For purposes of
convenience, let us have these two people engaged to each other, but
the pledge not consummated before the public--what then?"
But over this question Claire kept a troubled silence.
"I do not know," she said, at last; "I am not sure how that ought to
be answered. Perhaps it is one of the things which each individual is
called upon to answer for himself, or herself, taking it to God for
special light. A betrothal seems to me a very solemn thing, not to be
either entered into, or broken, lightly, and yet I can conceive of
circumstances wherein it would be right to break the pledge--where it
was wrong ever to have made it--and two wrongs cannot make a right,
you know. But Alice, this is dangerous ground. I am almost inclined to
think it is ground where a third party, on the human side, should not
intermeddle; at least, unless it is one who has far more wisdom than I.
It is not possible for me to advise you in this."
"You _have_ advised me," Alice said, with exceeding gravity. "All I
wanted was your individual opinion, and that you have given plainly,
though you may not be aware of it. When one knows one is doing a thing
that is wrong, I suppose the time has come to draw back."
"If the drawing back can right the wrong."
"It can help toward it. These people--who live in China, remember--are
perhaps among those who ought never to have made the pledge. However,
let us drop them. I want to talk to you about a more important matter."
Still she did not talk, but relapsed again into troubled silence, and
Claire, not knowing what to say, waited, and said nothing.
"Would you marry a man, if you thought you might possibly be the means
of saving his soul?"
Claire was startled and a trifle disturbed to think that the
conversation was still to run in a channel with which she was so
unfamiliar. Still, this first question was comparatively easy to deal
with.
"That might depend on whether I could do so without assuming false
vows. I could not promise a lie for the sake of saving any soul.
Besides, it being wrong in itself, I would have no reason to hope that
it would be productive of any good, for God does not save souls by
means which are sinful. Why do you ask me all these questions, Alice?
I have no experience, and am not wise. I wish you would seek a better
counselor."
"Never mind, I have all the counsel I desire. I am not talking about
those people in China any more, though you think I am. I was thinking
of you, and of somebody who is in danger, and whom I believe you could
save, but I know you won't--at least not in that way. Claire Benedict,
I am troubled about my brother. Tell me this, do you know that he is in
danger?"
"Yes," said Claire, her voice low and troubled.
"Do you know from what source I mean?"
"I think I do."
"I thought you did else I am not sure that my pride would have allowed
me to open my lips. Well, do you know there is something you might do
to help him?"
"Alice."
"No, you are not to interrupt me. I don't mean anything insulting.
There are ways of which I would be more sure, and they are connected
with you, but I know they are out of the question. I am not going to
talk of them. But there is something I want you to do. I want you to
talk with mamma. It is of no use for me to say a word to her. There are
family reasons why she is specially vexed with me just now, and will
not listen reasonably to anything that I might say. But she respects
you, and likes you, and you have more or less influence over her. Are
you willing to use it for Louis' sake?"
"But, my dear Alice, I do not understand you in the least. What could I
say to your mother that she does not already know? and in any case, how
could she materially help your brother? He needs the help of his own
will."
"That is true, but there are ways in which mamma might help him,
if she would. I can tell you of some. In the first place, you are
mistaken as to her knowledge. She knows, it is true, that he takes more
wine occasionally than is good for him, and has violent headaches in
consequence; but she does not know that two nights in a week, at least,
he comes home intoxicated! Isn't that a terrible thing to say of one's
brother? What has become of the Ansted pride, when I can say it to
almost a stranger?"
"Why does not your mother know?"
"Partly because she is blind, and partly because I have promised Louis
not to tell her, and partly because there are reasons why it would
be especially hard on my mother to have this knowledge brought to
her through me. You see there are reasons enough. Now for what she
could do. Claire, she fairly drives him into temptation. There is a
certain house in the city which she is very anxious to see united to
ours. She contrives daily pretexts for sending Louis there, and it is
almost impossible for him to go there without coming home the worse
for liquor. I _wish_ I could talk more plainly to you. I will tell you
this. There is a brother as well as a sister in that house, and it has
been a pet dream of my mother to exchange the sons and daughters. It
is a romantic, Old World scheme, grown up with the families from their
early days; and mamma, who has never been accustomed to having her
plans thwarted, is in danger of seeing all of these come to naught, and
more than half believes that I am plotting against it for Louis, having
first shown myself to be an undutiful and ungrateful daughter. Do you
see how entirely my tongue is silenced? I wonder if you do understand?"
"I understand, my dear friend, and I thank you for your confidence;
but I do not see how a stranger can help, or indeed, can interfere in
any way, without being guilty of gross rudeness. How could I hope to
approach your mother on such subjects as these, without having her feel
herself insulted?"
Alice made a gesture of impatience.
"You _can not_," she said, "if you think more of the irritable words
that a troubled mother may say to you than you do of a soul in peril;
but I did not think you were of that sort."
Claire waited a moment before replying.
"I think I may be trusted to try to do what seems right, even though
it were personally hard," she said at last, speaking very gently;
"but, Alice, I do not understand how words of mine could do other than
mischief."
"I can show you. This family, I have told you, is a continual snare
to Louis. He simply can not go there without being led into great
temptation, and mamma is responsible for the most of his visits. It
would not be difficult for Louis to remain away, if mamma did not make
errands for him. He would go abroad with the Husons next week, and
be safe from this and many other temptations, or he would go to the
Rocky Mountains with Harold Chessney--and he could not be in better
society--if mamma would give her consent, and she would, if she could
be made to realize his peril--if she knew that outsiders were talking
about it. Don't you see?
"Now, who is going to enlighten her? I am not in favor--less so just
at present than ever before; the girls, poor young things, do not know
of our disgrace, and would have no influence with mamma if they did,
and papa would like the alliance from a business point of view as well
as mamma would from a romantic and fashionable one. Do you see the
accumulation of troubles? and do you imagine, I wonder, what it is to
_me_, when I have humbled myself to tell it all to you?"
"And this young lady?" said Claire, ignoring the personal questions.
"Do you feel sure that there is no hope of help from that source? Is
not her interest deep enough and her influence strong enough to come to
the rescue if she fully understood?"
There was again that gesture of extreme impatience.
"That young lady! She has no more character than a painted doll! Claire
Benedict, she is in as great danger to-day as Louis is, and from the
same source! She dances every night, and buoys up her flagging strength
by stimulants every day. I have seen her repeatedly when she was so
excited with wine that I knew she did not know what she was saying."
"Is it possible!" This was Claire's startled exclamation.
"It is not only possible, but is an almost daily occurrence. And she
fills the glass with her own silly little hand, which trembles at the
moment with the excitement of wine, and holds it to my brother, and he,
poor, foolish boy! accepts it because he knows that he likes it better
than anything else in the world--at least, that is attainable. Claire,
if my mother could be prevailed upon to urge Louis to go away with
Harold Chessney, I believe he might be saved."
"Who is Harold Chessney?"
"He is one of God's saints, made for the purpose of showing us what a
man might be, if he would. Claire Benedict, will you try?"