"An invitation to Professor Joliette's," and Isabelle tossed a
gilt-edged card across the table to Marion; "Wednesday evening. It's not
a very long invitation. What dress will you wear?"
"But you are engaged, Marion," said Evadne; "Wednesday evening, you
know."
"Yes," said Marion with a sigh, "it is awkward. I do wish they would
choose some other night for prayer meeting. Wednesday seems such a
favorite with everybody."
"What a little prig you are getting to be, Evadne!" said Isabelle with a
sneer. "Your only diversion seems to be prayer meeting and church. You
are as bad as Aunt Marthe."
"Aunt Marthe a prig! Oh, that is too funny!" and Evadne gave one of her
low, sweet laughs. "Besides, does keeping one's engagements constitute a
prig, Isabelle? You wouldn't think so if you were invited to the
President's reception."
"The President's reception! What does get into the child! I don't see
much analogy between the two cases. No one considers prayer meeting a
binding engagement, and I'm sure we go as often as we can."
"Not binding!" echoed Evadne. "So Christ is not of as much importance as
the President of the United States!"
"You do have such a way of putting things, Evadne!" said Marion
thoughtfully. "I expect we had better refuse, Isabelle."
"Refuse,--nonsense!" said Isabelle sharply. "You always meet the best
people at the Joliettes',--besides, why should we run the risk of
offending them?"
"Why should they run the risk of offending you, by choosing a night they
know you cannot come?" asked Evadne.
"Ridiculous! What do they care about our church concerns? The Joliettes
are foreigners. People in polite society do not give religion such an
unpleasant prominence as you delight in, Evadne. For my part, I consider
it very bad form."
"Breakers ahead, Evadne," said Louis with his cynical laugh. "Good form
is Isabelle's fetich. Woe betide the unlucky wight who dares to hold an
opinion of his own."
"But," said Evadne, the old puzzled look coming into her eyes, "I wish I
could understand. Are Christians ashamed of the religion of Jesus?"
"That's about the amount of it, little coz. It is a sort of kedge anchor
which they keep on board in case of danger. For my part I think it is
better to sail clear. It is only an uncomfortable addition which spoils
the trim of the ship."
"Oh, Louis, don't!" exclaimed Marion with a sigh. "It is so hard to know
what is right! Sometimes I wish I were a nun, shut up in a convent, and
then I should have nothing else to do."
"Doubtless the Lord would appreciate that sort of faithfulness," said
Louis gravely, "although I notice Christianity seems to be a sort of
Sing-Sing arrangement with the majority. Everything is done under a
sense of compulsion, and the air is lurid with trials and lamentations
and woe. It is not an alluring life, and, in my opinion, the jolly old
world shows its sense in steering clear of it."
"Your irreverence is shocking, Louis," said Isabelle severely, "and you
are as much of an extremist as Evadne. No one could live such a life as
you seem to expect. Religion has its proper place, of course, but I do
not think it is wise to speak of the deep things of life on all
occasions."
"'I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and
him crucified,'" quoted Evadne. "Was Paul mistaken then?"
"Certainly, my dear coz," said Louis, as he prepared to leave the room.
"The greatest men are subject to that infirmity. The only one who has
never been mistaken is Isabelle."
* * * * *
"It is so provoking that we cannot have the carriage," grumbled
Isabelle, as, when Wednesday evening came, they waited for Louis in the
dining-room. "At the Joliettes' of all places! I am sure I don't see,
Papa, why you cannot insist upon Pompey's taking some other night off
when we need him on Wednesdays. It is horribly awkward!"
Her father shook his head as he slowly peeled an orange. "Because I have
given him my word, my dear. The only stipulation he made when I engaged
him was that he should not be required to drive on Sundays and Wednesday
evenings, and, when I hear people complaining about their surly,
incapable coachmen, I consider it is a light price to pay. Pompey is as
sober as a church and as pleasant-tempered in a rain storm as a
water-spaniel,--no matter what hour of the night you keep him waiting;
so it is the least we can do to let the poor fellow be sure of one
evening to himself;" and the Judge opened his Times and began to study
the money market.
"Well," said Isabelle crossly. "I, for one, don't believe in allowing
servants to have such cast-iron rules. It savors too much of socialism."
"Exactly so," said Louis from the doorway, where he stood leisurely
buttoning his gloves. "You will never pose as the goddess of liberty,
_ma belle soeur_. It is a good thing that Lincoln got the Emancipation
bill signed before you came into power, or dusky millions might still be
weeping tears of blood."
Isabelle swept past him with an indignant toss of her head, and the
front door closed after the trio with a metallic clang.
"I don't wonder the poor child is annoyed," said Mrs. Hildreth as she
played with her grapes. "It is very embarrassing when people know that
we keep a carriage; and the Joliettes are such sticklers in the matter
of etiquette. It is a ridiculous fad of yours, Lawrence, to be so
punctilious."
"But, my dear, I gave him my word of honor!"
"What if you did? There are exceptions to every rule."
"Not in the Hildreth code of honor, Kate."
"Nonsense! What does a colored coachman understand about that! Why,
Evadne, you cannot go to prayer meeting alone!" she exclaimed, as Evadne
came into the room with her hat on. "Your uncle is busy and I am too
tired, so there is no way for you to get home."
"I am going to Dyce's church, Aunt Kate. Pompey will bring me home."
"Among a lot of shouting negroes! You must be crazy, child!"
"Their souls are white, Aunt Kate, and there is no color line on the
Rock of Ages."
"Oh, well, tastes differ," said her aunt carelessly, "but it is a
strange fancy for Judge Hildreth's niece. Next thing you will suggest
going to board with Pompey."
"I might fare a good deal worse," said Evadne with her soft laugh. "Dyce
keeps her rooms like waxwork and she is a capital cook."
"Really, Evadne, I am in despair! You have not an iota of proper pride.
How are you going to maintain your position in society?"
"I don't believe I care to test the question, Aunt Kate; but I think my
position will maintain itself."
"Well said, Evadne," said her uncle, looking up from his paper. "You
will never forget you are a Hildreth, eh?"
"Higher than that, uncle," said Evadne softly. "I am a sister of Jesus
Christ."
"I don't know what to make of the child," said Mrs. Hildreth
discontentedly, as the door closed behind her. "I believe she would
rather associate with such people than with those of her own class. She
has a bowing acquaintance with the most _outré_ looking individuals I
ever saw. I really don't think Dr. Jerome is wise setting young girls to
visit in the German quarter. It doesn't hurt Marion, now. She only does
it as a disagreeable duty and is immensely relieved when her round of
visits is made for the month, but Evadne takes as much interest in them
as if they were her relations. Next thing we know, she will be wanting
to take up slum work. I hope she won't come to any harm down among those
crazy blacks. They always seem to get possessed the moment they touch
religion."
"I do not think Evadne will ever come to any harm," the Judge said
slowly. "The Lord takes pretty good care of his own."
His wife looked at him with a puzzled expression. "I fully intended
going to prayer meeting myself to-night," she said, "but it gets to be a
great tax,--an evening out of every week,--and I do dread the night air
so much."
Mrs. Judge Hildreth dipped her jeweled fingers into the perfumed water
of her finger glass and dried them on her silk-fringed napkin. "Oh,
Lawrence, don't forget Judge Tracer's dinner to-morrow night. You will
have to come home earlier than usual, for it is such a long drive, and
it will never do to keep his mulligatawny waiting. And, by the way, I
made a new engagement for you to-day. Mrs. General Leighton has invited
us to join the Shakespearean Club which she is getting up. It is to be
very select. Will meet at the different houses, you know, with a choice
little supper at the close. She says the one she belonged to in Atlanta
was a brilliant affair. She comes from one of Georgia's first families,
you remember."
"A Shakespearean Club!" and Judge Hildreth smiled incredulously. "Why,
my dear, I never knew you and the immortal Will had much affinity for
each other!"
"Oh, of course it is more for the prestige of the thing. Mrs. Leighton
said the General assured her you would never find leisure for it, but I
said I would promise for you. It is only one evening a week you know.
She thinks we Americans retire far too early from the enjoyments of
life in favor of our children, and I believe she is right. I certainly
do not feel myself in the sere and yellow," and Mrs. Judge Hildreth
regarded herself complacently in the long mirror before which she stood.
"You will manage to make the time, Lawrence?"
"What other answer but 'yes' can Petruchio make to 'the prettiest Kate
in Christendom'?" replied the Judge, bowing gallantly to the face in the
mirror as he came up and stood beside his wife. It was a handsome face
but there was a hardness about it, and the lines around the mouth which
bespoke an indomitable will, had deepened with the years.
"Only one evening a week, Kate, but you thought that too much of a tax
just now."
"How absurd you are, Lawrence! When shall I make you understand that
there are sacrifices that must be made. We owe a duty to society. We
cannot afford to let ourselves drop wholly out of the world."
A little later Judge Hildreth entered his library with a heavy sigh. He
had attained the ends he had striven for, he was respected alike in the
church and the world, he held a high and lucrative position, he had a
well appointed home, over which his handsome wife presided with dignity
and grace, and yet, as he took his seat before his desk in the lofty
room whose shelves were lined with gems of thought in fragrant, costly
bindings, life seemed to have missed its sweetness to Lawrence Hildreth.
Evadne's words haunted him, and, like an accusing angel, the letter
which still lay hidden under the mass of papers in the drawer which he
never opened, seemed to look at him reproachfully.
"A sister of Jesus Christ." Sisters and brothers lived together. Was it
possible that Jesus Christ could be in this house,--this very room? The
idea was appalling. He was familiar with the truism that God was
everywhere, but he had never really believed it; and, as the years
passed, he had found it convenient to remove him to a shadowy distance
in space, less likely to interfere with modern business methods. Jesus
Christ, enshrined in a far off glory among his angels, appealed to the
decorum of his religious sentiment; but Jesus Christ, face to face, to
be reckoned with in the practical details of honesty and fair dealing;
that was a different matter. And this was the violation of a dead man's
trust, who had put everything in his power because he had faith in him!
He saw again the young brother, handsome, easy-going to a fault, but
with a sense of honor so fine as to shrink in indignation from the
slightest breath of shame; read again the closing words of the farewell
letter which he had read for the first time on the day now so long ago,
which he would have given worlds to recall, and which, from out the
shadowy recesses of eternity, laughed at his futile wish.
"So, my dear brother," the letter ran, "I am giving you this
responsibility as only a brother can. I have left Evadne absolutely
untrammelled. I have no fear that my little girl will abuse the trust.
She is wise beyond her years, with a sense of honor as keen as your
own."
The Judge's head sank upon his hands. It was for Evadne's good he had
persuaded himself. She was too much of a child,--and now,--the letter
could not be delivered. It meant disgrace and shame. It was his duty as
a father to shield his family from that. How well he could picture
Evadne's look of bewildered, incredulous surprise, and then the pain,
tinged with scorn, which would creep into the clear eyes. And Jesus
Christ! The Judge's head sank lower as he heard the voice which has rung
down through the ages in scathing denunciation of all subterfuge and
lies.
"Woe unto you ... hypocrites! for ye tithe mint and anise and cummin,
and have left undone the weightier matters of the law, justice and
mercy and faith."
"Woe unto you ... hypocrites! for ye cleanse the outside of the cup and
of the platter, but within they are full from extortion and excess."
"Woe unto you ... hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres
which outwardly appear beautiful, but inwardly are full of dead men's
bones."
Lower and lower sank the Judge's head, until at last it rested upon the
desk with a groan.
* * * * *
They were singing when Evadne reached the humble church which Dyce and
Pompey called their spiritual home. The walls were white-washed and the
seats were hard, for the "Disciples of Jesus" possessed but little of
this world's goods. Two prayers followed, full of rich imagery and
fervid passion, and then a young girl with a deep contralto voice began
to sing,--
"Steal away, steal away,
Steal away to Jesus!
Steal away, steal away home,
We ain't got long to stay here."
The soft, deep notes of the weird melody ended in a burst of triumph,
and Evadne bent her head while her tired heart thrilled with joy. When
she looked up again Dyce was speaking.
"I've ben thinkin', friens," she said, "that we don't get the sweetness
of them words inter our hearts ez we should. We'se too much taken up wid
de thought of de heavenly manshuns to 'member dat de King's chillen hez
an inheritance on de earth. We'se not poor, lonesome people widout a
home! De dear Christ promised, 'I will not leave youse orphans, I will
come to youse,' an' he who hez de Lord Jesus alongside, hez de best of
company. 'Pears like we don't let our Father's message go any deeper dan
de top of our heads. Ef we believes we'se preshus in his sight,--an' de
Bible sez we is,--we'll hev no occashun fer gettin discouraged, fer de
dear Lord's boun ter do de best fer his loved ones. Ef we'se keepin'
company wid Jesus we'se no call ter want de worl's invitashuns, an ef
we'se hidden away in Christ's heart dere's no need fer us ter be
frettin' about de little worriments of earth. Satan don't hev no chance
where Jesus is. Ef we'se tempted, friens, an' fall inter sin, it's
'cause we'se not livin' close ter de Saviour.
"I knows we allers tinks of a home as a place where dere is good times,
an' dere don't seem much good times goin' for some of us in dis worl',
but dere ain't no call fer us ter spec' ter be better off dan our Lord,
an ef we'se feedin' on de Lord Jesus all de time we won't min' ef de
worl's bread is scarce; de soul ain't dependin' on dem tings fer
nourishmen' an' de Lord Jesus makes de hard bed easy an' de coarse food
taste good.
"'Tain't good management fer us ter be allers groanin' in dis worl'
while we 'spect ter be singin' de glory song up yonder. De best singers
is dem dat's longes' trainin' an' I'se feared some of us'll find it
drefful hard ter git up ter de proper concert pitch in heaven ef we
sings nuthin but lamentashuns on earth. De dear Lord don't seem ter hev
made any sort of pervishun for fault findin'. He 'low dere'll be
trubble, but he tells us ter be of good cheer on account of hevin' him
ter git de victry fer us, an' ef we keep singin' all de time, dere ain't
no time fer sighs. Let us keep a-whisperin' to our Father, my friens.
It's a beautiful worl' he's put us in, an' dere ain't no combine ter
keep us back from enjoyin' de best tings in it. De sky belong ter us ez
much as to de rich folks, an' de grass an' de trees an' de birds an' de
flowers; de rollin rivers an' de mighty ocean belongs ter us. De only
priviluge de rich folks hez is dat dey kin sail on deir billows while
we hez ter stan' alongside,--but dey's powerfu' unhappy sometimes when
dey hez so much ter look after, an' we kin enjoy lookin' at deir fine
houses widout hevin' any of de care.
"We'se not payin' much complimen' ter Jesus, friens, when we 'low dat de
good tings of dis worl' kin make people happier dan he kin, an' 'pears
like we ought ter be 'shamed of ourselves. De Bible sez we'se ter 'live
an' move an' hev our bein' in God,' an' it don't 'pear becomin' when we
hev such a home pervided fer us, ter be allers grumblin' 'cause we can't
live in de brown stone fronts an' keep a kerridge. We don't begin ter
understan' how ter live up ter our privilegus, friens, an' I'se bowed in
shame as I tink how de dear Lord's heart must ache as he sees how little
we'se appresheatin' his lovin' kindness."
The tender, pleading voice ceased and then Dyce lifted her clasped
hands,--"Oh, Lord Jesus, help us ter glorify thee before de worl'. Help
us ter understan' an 'preciate de wonderful honor thou hez put upon us.
Make us used ter dwellin' wid thee on de earth, so as we won't feel like
strangers in heaven. Oh, blessed Jesus, by de remembrance of de thorn
marks an' de nail prints an' de woun' in thy side forgive thy
ungrateful chillen. We'se ben a' lookin' roun on de perishin' tings of
earth fer our comfort, an' a' seekin' our homes in this worl'. Lord,
help us ter find our real home in thee! Help us ter steal away ter
Jesus, when de storm cloud hangs low and de billows roar about our
heads. Dere's no shadows in de home thou makes, fer 'de light of de
worl' is Jesus,' an' ebery room is full of de sunshine of thy love.
Dere's no harm kin cum to us ef we'se inside de fold, fer thou art de
door, Lord Jesus; dere's no danger kin touch us ef we'se hidden in de
cleft of de rock. Lord, make us abide in de secret place of de Almighty
an' hoi' us close forever under de shadow of thy wing."
Then the congregation dispersed to the humble homes, glorified now by
the possibility of being made the dwelling-place of the King of kings.