The day had been fine, with a rather fierce sun shining until late in
the afternoon, and long white clouds lying motionless in a deep blue
sky, like celestial sand-banks in a celestial sea. But the tender and
tempered splendour of the evening had come at length, with the sun gone
over the housetops to the northwest, and its solemn afterglow spreading
round, like the wings of angels sweeping down. London was unusually
quiet after the roar and turmoil of the day. The great city lay like a
tired ocean. And like an ocean it seemed to sleep, full of its living as
well as its dead.
In a little square which stands on the fringe of the slums of
Westminster, and has a well-worn church in the middle, and tenement
houses, institutions, and workshops around its sides, a strange crowd
had gathered. It consisted for the greater part of persons who are
generally thought to be beyond the sympathies of life--the “priestesses
of society,” who are the lowest among women. But they stood there for
hours in silence, or walked about with dazed looks, glancing up at the
window of a room on the second story which glittered with the rays of
the dying day. Their friend and champion was near to his death in that
room, and they were waiting for the last news of him.
The Prime Minister had kept his promise. Walking across from Downing
Street his face had been clouded, as if he was thinking out the riddles
of the inscrutable Power which stood to him for God. But when he came to
the square, and looked round at the people, his eyes brightened and he
went on with resignation and even content. The women made way for him
with whispered explanations of who he was, and he walked through them to
the room upstairs.
The room was nearly full already, for the Father Superior had come,
bringing lay brother Andrew along with him, and Aggie was sitting in a
corner, and Mrs. Pincher was moving about, and there was also a stranger
present. And though the little place was so mean and poor, it was full
of soft radiance from the sky, and people walked about in it with a glow
upon their faces.
Glory was by the bedside, standing erect and saying nothing. Her
eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and sometimes her mouth was
twitching. John Storm was conscious and very quiet. Holding Glory's
hand as if he could not part with it, he was looking around with the
expression of the soldier who has done the fearful, perhaps the foolish
and foolhardy thing and scaled the walls of the enemy. He is lying with
the enemy's shot in his breast now, and with death in his eyes, but
he is smiling proudly for all that, because he knows that the army is
coming on. The Superior had brought from the Brotherhood the picture of
the head of Christ in its crown of thorns to hang on the wall at the end
of the bed, and the light from the window made flickering gleams on the
glass, and they were reflected on to his face.
Hardly anybody spoke. As soon as the Prime Minister arrived he took a
paper from his pocket and gave it to the stranger, who glanced at it and
bowed. Then they all gathered about the bed, and the Superior opened a
book which he had carried in his hands, and in solemn accents began to
read:
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God----”
Brother Andrew, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed, whined like
a dog, and some women on the landing, who were peering in at the open
door, whispered among themselves: “It's the Holy Communion! Hush!”
John's power did not fail him. He made his responses in a clear voice,
although his last strength was thrilling along the thread of life. And
Glory, when her turn came, was brave, too. There was just a touch of the
old hoarseness in her glorious voice, a slight quivering of the lids of
her glistening eyes, and then she went on to the end without faltering.
“_I, GLORY_--
“I, GLORY--
“--_take thee, JOHN_--
“--take thee, JOHN--
“--_to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward_--
“....to have and to hold from this day forward--
“--_for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in
health_--
“....in sickness and in health--
“--_to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part_--
“....till death us do part----
“....AMEN!”
* * * * *
_AUTHOR'S NOTE_.
_It will be seen that in writing this book I have sometimes used
the diaries, letters, memoirs, sermons, and speeches of recognisable
persons, living and dead. Also, it will be seen that I have frequently
employed fact for the purposes of fiction. In doing so, I think I am
true to the principles of art, and I know I am following the precedent
of great writers. But being conscious of the grievous: danger of giving
personal offence, I would wish to say that I have not intended to paint
anybody's portrait, or to describe the life of any known Society or
to indicate the management of any particular Institution. To do any of
these things would be to wrong the theory of fiction as I understand
it, which is not to offer mock history or a substitute for fact, but to
present a thought in the form of a story, with as much realism as the
requirements of idealism will permit. In presenting the thought which
is the motive of “The Christian” my desire has been to depict, however
imperfectly, the types of mind and character, of creed and culture, of
social effort and religious purpose which I think I see in the life of
England and America at the close of the nineteenth century. For such a
task my own observation and reflection could not be enough, and so I am
conscious that in many passages of this book I have often been merely as
the mould through which the metal has passed from the fires kept burning
round about._
_HALL CAINE_.
_Greeba Castle, Isle of Man, 1897_.