After Helen had gone, John Ward went back to the parsonage, dazed and
stupefied by the exhaustion of the moral conflict which for nearly a
month had strained every fibre of his soul.
The house seemed dark and empty. His face brightened a moment, as he sat
wearily down at his writing-table and saw the prairie rose in the slender
vase. He leaned his head on his hand, and drew the flower towards him,
touching it with gentle fingers, as though he caressed the bloom of
Helen's cheek. Then he pushed it in front of her picture which stood
always on the same table, and thought vaguely that he would leave it
there until she put a fresh one in its place.
And so his thoughts came heavily back to the old grief and anxiety. He
went over all the arguments he had used, and saw new points and reasons
which he had neglected to give, and he even drew his pen and paper
towards him, and began to make some notes. He would send them to her;
and, away from him, surely what he should say would have an added force.
Yet he could not fix his mind upon his subject. He found himself heavily
conscious of the silence of the house; and by and by he rose and went
up-stairs to their bedroom, standing drearily in the centre of the floor,
and looking about at his own loneliness. He lifted a bit of lace upon her
dressing-table, and smoothed it between his fingers, noting the faint
scent of orris which it held. Again that strange, unreasonable fear of
her absence seized him, and he was glad to go out and find some pressing
occupation to forget it.
When he started (as he had had to do of late), alone, for prayer-meeting,
his mind was dulled by its own pain of anxiety, and he went absently
through the services, saying little, and "opening" the meeting as soon as
he could. After that, he sat with head bent and arms folded, scarcely
hearing what was said.
Just before he pronounced the benediction, however, Elder Dean rose, and,
stepping with elaborate quiet to the pulpit, handed him a note, and sat
down again, covering his face with a big horny hand, and swinging one
foot nervously. John opened the folded paper, and held it up to one of
the tall lamps beside his desk, for the writing was dim and crabbed, and
the light poor, and then read a call that the Session should meet
immediately after the prayer-meeting. No object for consideration was
named, and the paper was signed by Mr. Dean and another elder. John put
it down, and, noticing that his four elders sat together on one of the
bare settees, omitted the usual request that they should all remain.
The little congregation gradually dispersed. Then Elder Dean arose, and,
creaking heavily down the aisle, closed and locked the front door, and
put out four of the lamps in the back of the room for economy's sake.
After that he sat down again on the settee beside the three other elders,
and the lecture-room was silent.
John looked up, and waited for some one to speak, then, suddenly
recalling his duty of moderator, he called the Session to order, and
asked the reason for meeting.
Mr. Johnson, who was the youngest elder in the church, shuffled his feet
under the bench, coughed slightly, and looked at his colleagues. Mr. Bent
and Mr. Smith kept their eyes upon the ground, and Mr. Dean folded and
unfolded his arms several times.
"Brethren," said the preacher, "we have asked the blessing of God upon
the deliberations of this Session; it now remains to bring the business
before it."
Mr. Dean poked Mr. Smith furtively, who replied in a loud whisper, "It is
your place, Brother Dean."
The elder's face turned a dull mottled red; he felt John's surprised
eyes upon him. Under cover of blowing his nose violently, he rose, and,
shifting from one foot to the other, he glanced imploringly at his
companions. But no one spoke.
"Brother Ward," he began at last, opening and shutting his mouth until
his upper lip looked like a hooked beak, "this Session has been called
for the consideration of--of the spiritual condition of this church. The
duties of the elders of a church are heavy, and painful--and--and--large.
But they are discharged,--they are always," said Mr. Dean, inflating his
chest, and raising one hand, "discharged! The church expects it, and the
church is not disappointed. Yet it is most terribly painful,
sometimes--most awful, and--unpleasant."
Here Mr. Dean stopped, and coughed behind his hand. Mr. Johnson crossed
his legs, and glanced back at the door as though calculating his chances
of escape. The other two men did not look up. Elder Dean had no reason to
fear that he had not the attention of the moderator. John was watching
him with burning eyes.
"Proceed," he said.
"Well," he continued, "as we always perform our painful, most painful
duties, we are here to-night. We are here to-night, Mr. Moderator, to
consider the spiritual welfare of the church, and of one especial soul
connected with the church. This soul is--is far from grace; it is in a
lost condition; a stranger to God, an alien from the commonwealth of
Israel. But that is not all. No. It is--ah--spreading its own disease of
sin in the vitals of the church. It is not only going down to hell
itself, but it is dragging others along with it. It is to consider the
welfare of that soul, Brother Ward, that this Session has been convened.
It is a very difficult task which is set before us, but we are sustained
by duty,--by duty, sir! We will not have to reproach ourselves for
neglect of an immortal soul. We wish to summon"--
"Do you refer," said John Ward, rising, his hands clenched upon the
pulpit rail, his face rigid and his teeth set,--"do you refer to my
wife?"
The three men on the bench started as though they had received a galvanic
shock. Elder Dean, with his lips parted, looked at his minister in
silence.
"Answer me," said John Ward.
"Mr. Moderator," replied the elder in a quavering voice, "if I do refer
to your wife, that is not the way it is to be considered. I refer to a
sin-sick soul. I refer to a--a cause of falling from grace, in this
church. I refer to a poor neglected sinner, who must be saved; yes, sir,
saved. If she happens to be your wife, I--I--am sorry."
The room was very silent. The flaring lamps shone on the bare,
whitewashed walls and on the shamed faces of the four men; the shadows
in the corners pressed upon the small centre of light. One of the lamps
smoked, and Mr. Bent rose to turn it down, and a deeper gloom settled
upon the group. Mr. Johnson nervously opened a hymn-book, and began to
turn the pages. For a moment the rustle of the paper was the only sound
that broke the quiet.
John Ward, appalled and angry, humiliated that his most sacred grief was
dragged from his heart to be gazed at and discussed by these men, was yet
silenced by his accusing conscience.
"There is no need," he said at last, with painful slowness, and breathing
hard, "to bring this matter before the Session. As preacher of this
church, I prefer to deal with that soul according to the wisdom God gives
me. I neither ask nor desire your advice."
Elder Dean turned to his companions, and raised his hands slightly. Mr.
Smith responded to his look by rising and saying, still gazing fixedly
upon the floor, "This ain't the way, Brother Ward, to consider this
matter. Your wisdom ain't enough, seein' that it has allowed things to
get to this pass. All we desire is to deal with Mrs. Ward for her own
good. Brother Dean speaks of the evil in the church,--ain't it our duty
to check that? It appears, sir, that, preacher of this church or not,
you've allowed her sin of unbelief to remain unreproved, and the
consequence is its spread in the church: that's what we're responsible
for; that's our duty. If you've neglected your duty, we ain't a-goin' to
neglect ours." He wagged his head emphatically, and then sat down.
John Ward was too entirely without self-consciousness to feel the change
in the tone of these men. Their old sincerely felt admiration and awe of
their preacher was gone. The moment they became his critics, they ceased
to feel his superiority. Disapproval was power, and their freedom from
the trammels of respect made them cruel. But the outcry of John's
conscience made him deaf to smaller things. He sat bending forward, his
hands locked together, and the vein in his forehead standing out like
whip-cord; his lips were white and compressed.
Mr. Dean got on his feet again, with much less embarrassment in his
manner. Mr. Smith's share in the responsibility was a great relief.
"It is exactly as Brother Smith says," he said. "If it was just--just
her, we wouldn't, perhaps, meddle, though I ain't sure but what it would
be our duty. But the church,--we have got to protect it. We would wish to
summon her, and see if we can bring her to a realizing sense of her
condition before proceeding to any extreme measure. If she remained in a
hardened state, it would then be our duty to bring charges and proof. And
we should do it, bein' supported by a sense of duty--and by the grace of
God."
Here Mr. Johnson rose, rather noisily, and Mr. Dean looked at him
impatiently.
"He'll spoil it all," he muttered, as he sat down between Mr. Smith and
Mr. Bent.
"I just want to say," said Mr. Johnson, in a quick, high voice, "that I'm
not in sympathy with this meeting."
John looked at him eagerly.
"It is my idea that these sort of things never do. The day has passed for
forcing people into believing things,--yes, sir,--and it doesn't do any
good, anyhow. Now, my advice would be, don't disturb things, don't break
up the peace. I'm for peace and quiet and a happy life, before anything
else. Just let's not say anything about it. There's nothing, brethren,
like argument for disturbing a church or a home. I know it; I'm a married
man. And I just advise you to keep quiet. Use your influence in a quiet,
easy way, but nothing else. May be it will come out all right, after
all."
He sat down again, and Mr. Dean and Mr. Smith began to whisper to him
with evident indignation.
But the preacher's face was full of doubt and grief. "No," he said at
last, moving his dry lips with a visible effort, "we cannot conquer sin
by hiding it or forgetting it, and I believe that this Session has the
welfare of the church sincerely at heart; but I do not believe the plan
you propose will profit either the church or the soul of whom you speak.
Her absence at present would, at all events, make it necessary to defer
any action. In the mean time, I believe that the Lord will teach me
wisdom, and will grant grace and peace to her whose welfare is the
subject of your prayers. If I reach any conclusion in the matter which
you ought to know, I will communicate with you. If there is no further
motion, this meeting is adjourned."
The elders rose, and with the exception of Mr. Johnson, retreated in
embarrassed haste. They ducked their heads, and made a guttural noise in
their throats, as though to say good-night; but they were ashamed to
speak to him, though Mr. Bent said as he turned his back on the preacher,
"We'll--ah--pray for her."
Mr. Johnson stopped to justify his presence, and say again, "Don't notice
it, Mr. Ward. I'd just gently like bring her round some time; keep on
prayin', an' all that, but don't force it. It will only make trouble for
you."
John hurried away from him, stung to the quick. This, then, was his own
real attitude; this was what his plea of wisdom had meant this last year.
His own deceit loomed up before his soul, and the sky of faith grew
black. One by one, the accusations of the elders repeated themselves to
him, and he made no protest. His assenting conscience left him absolutely
defenseless.