THE GLORY DEPARTS.
All attempts to secure a suitable successor to Galbraith failed. The
scandal caused by the disaster, which had befallen the pastor, his
mysterious disappearance, and that of Mrs. Lamport, deterred some;
others were unwilling to leave their present posts; and of the one or
two who would have taken charge of the flock, the sheep would have
none of them. The law-suit with the Jain temple had, moreover, so
impoverished the funds of the tabernacle that it was out of the
question to send over the seas for a new spiritual guide. In the
meantime the feelings of the community began to find vent in the
columns of the Bombay Bouncer. Attacks were made against both Bullin
and Bunny, and each attributed the attacks on themselves to the other.
Bullin, in his headstrong way, openly charged Bunny with the offence
of attacking him through the press. The latter denied it hotly, and
replied with a countercharge. The result was a division of the
community into two parties, and the beginning of the end as far as the
existence of the tabernacle was concerned. About this time Sarkies
begged for readmission into the fold. He was supported by Bunny; but
Bullin, regarding this as a personal affront, strained every nerve,
and secured at a general meeting a verdict confirming the former
sentence of excommunication. It was at this meeting that the elder,
amid much confusion, charged Bunny with having got Halsa Lamport out
of the way to avoid inquiry. It was with the greatest difficulty that
Bunny's friends prevented a physical struggle between the two leaders.
Bunny and his following, however, left the church, where the meeting
was held, leaving Bullin in possession of the field. It was thought at
first that the matter would have gone before the law-courts; but this
was somehow prevented, and the Bunny party, throwing off all
allegiance to their former church, sought food for the soul from the
Rev. Mr. MacGoggin, of the Free Kirk, and sat at his feet for
evermore. Bullin, now left with undisputed power, conducted the
services himself, and so great was his influence with the new council,
practically creatures of his own, that he absolutely prevented any
fresh nomination to the pastorship. In a brief period, however, his
intolerance and bigotry outraged his own followers. In a few weeks his
sermons, or rather lectures, were given to benches where the only
audience consisted of his unfortunate daughters. At this time, too, an
incident happened which fairly broke down the old man, and the
congregation, at a great general meeting, finally dissolved
themselves. The church was sold by auction. The worshippers scattered
themselves elsewhere, and the history of the tabernacle was ended.
Great was the rejoicing in the Jain temple. In honour of the occasion
the eremite Mahendra, the terrible Swami, whose history will some day
be written, swung himself for a whole afternoon by the simple process
of fixing two iron hooks under his shoulder-blades, gaining thereby
much credit and renown. An enterprising Parsee purchased the property.
He called the manse "The Retreat," and lived there himself. He
imported lime and orange trees in green tubs, and set them in rows
about the garden. He may be seen among his plants any morning, clad in
the whitest of coats and sheeniest of silken nether garments. Over the
main entrance of the whilom chapel swings his signboard. It informs
the public that Muncherjee Cheesecake is a general merchant. The
flaring poster of an American cigarette manufacturer is pasted on each
of the pillars of the gates. The cigarettes may be had from
Muncherjee. They are very good.
What happened was this. Sarkies, smarting under the indignity of the
second expulsion from the church, held a family council with his
mother and aunt. It was about this time that an epidemic of going over
to Rome had set in, and the accounts of the perversion or conversion
of several very great people in the British Isles filled the
newspapers. Sarkies determined to be in the fashion, and in a few days
the whole family were received into the broad bosom of the eternal
church. They placed themselves under the guidance of an Irish priest,
and, after the first plunge was over, Sarkies began to consider the
confessional as a most excellent institution. _Presto!_ a wave of the
hand, a benediction, and the sins of the past had joined the past. He
got it all out about Lizzie, and was confident that he could bring her
over to the church. The Rev. Father Faly was not unwilling to help
him. Life was very dull under the cocoa palms. He informed Sarkies
that the Roman Catholic ritual permitted a priest to unite a minor in
marriage without the guardian's consent, and watched Sarkies go away
with resolve on his face.
Under ordinary circumstances nothing would have induced Lizzie to
listen to Sarkies's proposals of flight, but circumstances favoured
the Armenian. The girl had some spirit in her, and the eternal
bullying of the elder was beginning to tell. Besides, notwithstanding
the undignified, not to say uncomfortable, position from which Sarkies
was compelled to plead his cause, the young man had a somewhat silken
tongue, and then he had got to love Lizzie, and love always finds
words. So the old, old story was repeated; and Lizzie, flinging over a
few of her belongings in a bundle, was assisted by Sarkies over the
wall, and, entering the buggy, drove off with her lover. This was done
in the middle of the day. Sarkies knew that it was the occasion of the
great and final meeting at the chapel, and that the coast would be
clear. He did not reckon, however, on its being a half-holiday, and
that he should meet Master Edward Bunny on his way back from school.
The old Arab was urged to his fastest pace; but Eddy took in the
situation at a glance.
"My!" he exclaimed, "there's Jimmie Sarkies bolting with
Lizzie--_youps!_"
He had a shot at the buggy with his catapult; and it is worthy of
record that on this occasion he missed his mark, and found that in his
excitement he had used as a pellet his favourite marble, well known by
the title of "Aunty." This in itself was a terrible disaster, and Eddy
boiled with wrath. An opportunity for vengeance was at hand, however,
for he had hardly gone a quarter of a mile when he met the elder
returning home. The meeting had ended. The little community had ceased
to exist, and with it the best part of the old man's life. He was
walking under the shadow of the palms, his carriage following him
slowly. His heavy eyebrows were bent in a frown, and his lips were
twitching nervously.
"Morning, Mr. Bullin!" exclaimed Eddy as he approached. The elder
looked at him without making any answer, and passed on. But Eddy was
not to be put off in this manner. He followed the old man, and,
catching him up, remarked, "You'll be sorry when you hear it. I fired
my catapult after them."
"Go away, boy!" exclaimed Bullin.
"Go away--oh, yes! I'm going--and so's Lizzie and Jim Sarkies. I saw
them going off in the bug--oh!--hoo!--boo--ooh!"
It was too much for Bullin. He darted forward at Eddy's speech and
seized him by the arm. The next moment there was a cuffing and a
ringing of ears that Eddy remembers to this day, notwithstanding that
he is in a fair way to succeed to his father's appointment, and has a
small Eddy of his own. When he had finished with the boy and flung him
from him, the elder jumped into his carriage and bade the coachman
drive home. Laura's scared face as she met him at the door, confirmed
his worst fears.
"Are they gone?" he asked. "Answer me, woman! Don't stand staring
there."
Laura burst into tears, and the elder with a hissing cry of rage
re-entered his carriage and drove to the Sarkies's house. There was no
one there. A sudden thought struck him. "To the Catholic Church," he
shouted; and the coachman needed no bidding to drive fast. He arrived
in time to meet Faly stepping out of the door. "Where's my daughter?"
inquired Bullin, furiously shaking his fist in the priest's face.
"I presume you are Mr. Bullin?" asked Faly in reply.
"Yes--I'm Mr. Bullin; and I want to know what you've done with my
daughter--you and that blackguard Sarkies?"
"Gently, sir," was the reply. "Your daughter, I believe, is now on the
way to the railway station with her husband. If I mistake not, her
mother-in-law and another relative accompany the bride on the
honeymoon trip. I presume even you will think that sufficient
punishment?"
Bullin attempted to speak, but in vain. His face was purple with rage,
and his hands moved convulsively up and down.
Faly was a little touched. "I don't think you need take on so, Mr.
Bullin," he said. "Mr. Sarkies will make a most excellent husband."
But here the elder found tongue. "Damn you!" he shrieked with a
half-articulate voice, "I shall have the law on you and your brood of
snakes. May God's curse follow----"
Faly laid his hand upon the old man's arm. "Halt, sir!" he said; "you
have said enough. Go to the law. If redress is your due, you will get
it there. Go to the law, I say; but also go from here. This is no
place for you."
The elder stared at him for a moment, and then turning entered his
carriage, and bade the coachman drive home.
A week later he flung a letter across the table to Laura. They were at
breakfast.
"Send that woman her belongings," he said; "and mind you--forget from
this day that she was ever your sister."
And Laura bowed her head meekly to hide the tears that filled her
eyes.