THE CHURCH PARADE
It was raining hard when I climbed into the dog-cart and rattled away into
the darkness, while somewhat to my surprise Robert the Devil, or Devilish
Bob, as those who had the care of him called the bay horse, played no
antics on the outward journey, which was safely accomplished. So leaving
him at the venerable "Swan," I hurried through the miry streets toward the
church. They were thronged with pale-faced men and women who had sweated
out their vigor in the glare of red furnace, dye-shop, and humming mill,
but there was no lack of enthusiasm. I do not think there are any cities
in the world with the same public spirit and pride in local customs that
one may find in the grimy towns of Lancashire. The enthusiasm is, however,
part of their inhabitants' nature, and has nothing to do with the dismal
surroundings.
A haze of smoke had mingled with the rain; yellow gas jets blinked through
it, though it would not be dark for an hour or so yet; and the grim,
smoke-blackened houses seemed trickling with water. Still every one
laughed and chattered with good-humored expectancy, even the many who had
no umbrellas. It was hard work to reach the church, though I opined that
all the multitude did not intend to venture within, and when once I saw my
uncle with a wand in his hand I carefully avoided him. Martin Lorimer was
a power and well liked in that town, but I had not driven ten miles to
assist him. Then I waited among the jostling crowd in a fever of
impatience, wondering whether Miss Carrington had yet gone in, until at
last I saw the Colonel marching through the throng, which--and knowing the
temperament of our people I wondered at it--made way for him. There were
others of the party behind, and my heart leaped at the sight of Grace. She
was walking beside Captain Ormond, who smiled down at her.
Then, just as the Colonel passed within, a burst of cheering broke out,
and in the mad scramble for the entrance Grace, who turned a moment to
recover the cloak she dropped, was separated from her companion. He was
driven forward in the thickest part of the stream of excited human beings,
and fortune had signally favored me. Squeezing through from behind a
pillar I reached her side, and grew hot with pride when she slipped her
arm through mine, and we were borne forward irresistibly by the surging
crowd. Once I saw Ormond vainly trying to make his way back in search of
his companion, and I stood so that he could not see her. Half-way down the
aisle we met an official who recognized me as a nephew of Martin Lorimer.
"I'll find you and the lady seats in the chancel. It will be the only good
place left," he said.
I did not care where we went, as long as Grace went with me, and when he
ensconced us under an oaken canopy among the ancient carved stalls I
longed that the service might last a century, while Grace's quiet "Thank
you, I am so interested," filled me with ecstasy.
The church was interesting. There are many cathedrals that could not
compare with it; and it was very old. The damp haze had entered the
building, and obscuring half the clearstory it enhanced its stateliness,
for the great carved pillars and arches led the wandering eye aloft and
lost it in a mystery, while far up at the western end above the organ a
gilded Gloria caught a stray shaft of light and blazed out of the gloom.
I saw Grace's eyes rest on it, and then I followed them down across the
sea of faces, along the quaint escutcheons, and over two marble tombs,
until she fixed them on her father, who with his party sat in a
high-backed pew. The crash of music outside ceased, and with a steady
tramp of feet, file by file, men in scarlet uniform moved up the aisle;
while before them, led by the sword and gilded mace, came a little homely
man, who seemed burdened by his glittering chain, and most uncomfortable.
As I knew, he commenced his business career with ten pounds' capital, and
could hardly speak plain English, while now his goods were known in every
bazaar from Cairo to Singapore. This knowledge fostered a vague but daring
hope within me.
I remember little of the service beyond Grace's voice ringing high and
clear in the "Magnificat," while for perhaps the first time I caught a
glimmer of its full significance, and her face, clean-cut against the
shadow where a fretted pinnacle allowed one shaft of light to pass it,
looking, I thought, like that of a haloed saint. The rest was all a
blurred impression of rolling music, half-seen faces, and gay uniforms,
until a tall old man of commanding personality stood high aloft in the
carved pulpit, and proclaimed a doctrine that seemed strangely out of
place in the busy town. Honest labor brought its own reward in the joy of
diligent toil, he said, and the prize of fame or money was a much slighter
thing. I could not quite understand this then, for there were many in that
district whose daily toil wore body and soul away, so that none of them
might hope to live out half of man's allotted span, while a prize for
which I would have given my life sat close beside me, and twice that
evening the calm proud eyes had smiled gratefully into mine.
Still, there was one drawback. As chance would have it, Minnie Lee, who
operated the typewriter in the mill offices, sat just opposite, and would
cast mischievous glances toward me. We were good friends in a way, for
during two years I had talked to her on business matters every day, and
sometimes also indulged in innocent badinage. She was fair-haired and
delicately pretty, and was said to be aware of it; but now of all times I
did not want those playful smiles directed toward me. However, I hoped
that Grace did not see them; and not knowing what else to do, for I could
not frown at her, I sought refuge in what proved to be a bewildering
chapter of genealogy, until the building trembled as the vast assembly
joined in the closing hymn. Long afterward, out on the lone prairie when
the stars shone down through the bitter frost, I could hear in fancy
Grace's voice rising beside me through the great waves of sound. Then I
would remember the song of the speckled thrush singing at sunset after a
showery April day through the shadow of a copse.
We reached the street safely, though in that press there was no hope of
finding Colonel Carrington, even if I wished it, which I certainly did
not, so after some demur and the discussing of other expedients, Grace
accepted my offer to drive her home. "I am afraid it can't be helped," she
said, I thought with quite unnecessary cruelty.
The dog-cart was ready, and Robert the Devil went well. The long streets
rolled behind us, and were lost in the rain; then with a rhythmic drumming
of hoofs and a constant splashing from under the whirring wheels, we swept
out into the blackness of a treeless plain. I knew the road and did not
take the shortest one; and it was rapture to draw the rugs and apron round
Grace's waist, and feel the soft furs she wore brushing against me. The
ten miles passed in what seemed to be scarcely as many minutes, and the
rush through the damp air--for the rain had ceased at last--raised my
companion's spirits, and she chatted merrily; then, just as we reached
the crest of a steep dip into the Starcross valley, the Devil must take
fright at a colored railway light that he had often seen before.
I knew we were in for a struggle, and got both hands on the reins; but two
men would hardly have held him. The next moment, with a mad rattle of
wheels and red sparks flashing under the battering hoofs, we went flying
into the long dark hollow, while I think I prayed that the Devil might
keep his footing on the loose stones of a very bad road. One lurch flung
Grace against the guard-rail, the next against my shoulder, and I remember
feeling when the little hand fastened on my arm, that I would gladly have
done battle with ten wild horses were she also not in jeopardy. Fresh
drizzle lashed our faces, the wind screamed past, the wheels seemed to
leave the ground alternately, and a light rushed up toward us from below,
while with my teeth hard set I wondered what would happen when we reached
the sharp bend at the bottom.
I got the Devil around it somehow, and then breathed easier, for the steep
slope of Starcross Brow rose close ahead, and I knew no horse was ever
foaled which could run away up that. So, trusting to one hand, I slipped
my arm round Grace's waist, and, thrilled at the touch of her damp hair on
my neck, "I'll hold you safe; we are near the end, and the danger will
soon be past," I said.
It turned out so, for though Robert the Devil charged the hill gallantly,
Starcross Brow proved too much for him, and, with a sigh of relief, Grace
drew herself away. "I must thank you, Mr. Lorimer. You drive well," she
said.
Then I thought that if she had been like Minnie, or even cousin Alice, I
might have ventured to replace the protecting arm, but there was something
about Grace Carrington that made one treat her, as it were, with
reverence. When we drew up in front of Starcross House a carriage with
flashing lamps stood in the drive; I had seen those lights coming down the
opposite side of the valley. After Grace had thanked me with a quiet
friendliness as I helped her down, a group turned to meet us at the door.
The first was a tall, thin-faced man of commanding presence with a long
gray moustache, and he stared hard at me with a haughtiness that I fancied
was tinctured with contempt, while Captain Ormond stood behind him,
smiling languidly and lifted a warning finger unobserved to Grace. There
was something forbidding about Colonel Carrington, and to the last few men
liked him. I remember Harry Lorraine once comparing him to
Coriolanus--"Steeped in pride to the backbone," said Harry, "but it's a
clean pride, and there's a good deal of backbone about him."
"I am glad to see you safe, Grace," he commenced. "We were rather anxious
about you. But where have you been, and how did we pass you?"
I never saw Grace either confused or taken by surprise, and when she
explained quietly her father looked down at me from the top step as he
said, "I thank you, sir, but I did not catch the name. May I ask who it is
to whom we are so much indebted? Neither do I quite understand yet how we
got here before you."
There was nothing in the words, but the glance and tone conveyed the idea
that he regretted the debt, while the whimsical look on Ormond's face
aided in stirring me, for we had democratic notions in that part of
Lancashire.
"Ralph Lorimer, assistant cashier in the Orb Mill," I said. "It was a
slight service, and I did not consider the shortest way best;" while
before the Colonel could answer I raised my hat to Grace, and, taking
Robert the Devil's head, turned him sharply around. Still, as I climbed
into the dog-cart I saw that the burly master of Starcross House was
chuckling at something, and I drove away feeling strangely satisfied with
myself, until I began to wonder whether after all to walk twice off the
field defiantly before the enemy was not another form of cowardice. Alice
met me on the threshold--for she heard the wheels--with a query as to why
the Satanic Robert was in such a state; but for several reasons I did not
fully enlighten her.
My uncle did not return that night, and I left for town the next morning.
In the afternoon I sought an interview with him in his private office. It
was with some trepidation that I entered, because Martin Lorimer was frank
of speech and quick in temper, and I knew he was then busy with the
details of a scheme that might double the output of his mill. He thrust
the papers away and leaned forward on his desk, a characteristic specimen
of his race, square in jaw and shoulder, with keenness and power stamped
on his wrinkled face.
"Well, Ralph, what is it now?" he asked. "Johnson of Starcross has been
telling me some tale about your running away with an heiress and giving
his answer to Colonel Carrington. I'm not altogether sorry. I do not like
that man. There is also a reason why he doesn't like me."
"It has nothing to do with that, sir," I answered awkwardly. "You know I
have never asked questions about the family money; and you have been very
kind to me. But the fact is I can't stand the mill, and I'm thinking of
asking for whatever remains of my share and going out to Canada."
Martin Lorimer smote the desk suddenly with his fist, and there was angry
bewilderment in his eyes.
"Hast gone mad altogether, lad?" he asked.
I met his gaze steadily. "No," I answered. "I can't help longing for a
life in the open air; and there is room in Canada for poor people like
me."
Then, thrusting his square jaw forward, he said: "Thy father left four
hundred pounds in all. It is now five, under my stewardship. Shall I ask
the cashier to make out a statement? Thy father had whims and fancies, or
it would have been four thousand. Tom Lorimer could never see which side
of his bread was buttered. He was born a fool, like thee."
Flinging back my head I rose facing him. But he thundered, "Stop! You
ought to know my meaning. He was an open-handed gentleman, and my
well-loved brother. If you take your share of the five hundred, what is
going to educate your brother Reggie and your sister Aline? I presume you
know the fees they charge at both those schools? And did you ever ask
whether I had plans for thee?"
I was silent a moment. For the first time it struck me with sudden shame
that Martin Lorimer had already most generously done his best to start his
brother's orphans well in life. Then I answered slowly:
"I beg your pardon. I recognize your goodness; but I know I should never
be successful in the mill. I'm sorry, but that is only the simple truth.
Let Reggie and Aline keep all, except enough for a third-class passage to
Winnipeg. This is not a rash whim. It has taken me three years to make up
my mind."
"Then there's an end of the matter," said Martin Lorimer. "Stubbornness is
in the family, and you are your father's son. An archangel would hardly
have moved poor Tom! Well, lad, you shall not go penniless, nor
third-class, if it's only for the credit of the name; and you can't go
until spring. I thank thee for telling me; but I'm busy, and we'll talk
again. Hast told thy cousin Alice about it?"
His eyes had lost their angry flash before I went out, and something in
his change of tone revealed the hard bargain-maker's inner self.
Minnie Lee smiled over the typewriter as I passed her room, and I went in
to tell her about it. I felt I must talk to some one; and, if not gifted
with much sense, she was a sympathetic girl. She listened with a pretty
air of dismay, and said petulantly, "So I shall lose my only friend in
this dreary mill! Don't they pay high wages for my work in Montreal and
Winnipeg? Well, if you hear of a situation you can send straight back for
me."
Then a door slammed, and I saw a frown on my uncle's face as, perhaps
attracted by the sound of voices, he glanced into the room on passing.
Still, it was some time afterward before I learned that he had heard the
last words; and, remembering them eventually when recalled by events,
Minnie's careless speech proved an unfortunate one for both of us.