By eight o'clock next morning Mrs. Edgar was in the church. Von Gelhorn
preceded her by five minutes; he was walking up the aisle when she
entered, impatient for her appearing, eager to be gone,--wondering,
boy-like, that she came not.
He has performed a prodigious amount of labor since they last met. His
pictures were all removed to the Odeon, he said. His studio, haunt of
dreams, beloved of fame so long, stripped and barren, looked like any
other four-walled room,--and he, a freeman, stood equipped for service.
Yes, an hour would see him speeding to the capital. In less time than it
had taken him to perfect his arrangements he should be at the
head-quarters of the commander-in-chief,--to be made a drummer-boy of,
as he said before, or serve wherever there should be room for him.
He stood there so bright, so ready, eager, daring, was capable of so
much! What had _she_ done to usurp the functions of conscience, and
assume the voice of duty? She had done what she could not revoke, and
yet could not contemplate without a sort of terror,--as if to atone, to
make amends for disloyalty, which, coming even as from herself, a crime
in which she had chief concernment, was not to be atoned for by
repentance merely, nor by any sacrifices less than the costliest. She
had sought her husband's peer,--deemed that she had found
him,--therefore would despatch him to the battle-field, by valor to meet
the valiant. But now the light by which she had hurried forward to that
deed was gone, and she stood as a prophetess may, who, deserted of the
divinity, doubts the testimony of her hour of exaltation.
While they talked,--both apparently standing at an elevation of serene
courage above the level of even warring men and heroic women, but one
causing such misgiving in her heart as to fix her in that mood, and
forbid an extrication,--Fate led a lady down the street, who, passing by
the church and seeing the door ajar, went in. She should find in the
choir some written music, used in yesterday's services, which she had
forgotten to bring away. Out of the pure, bright sunshine she stepped
into the dark, cold shadows, and had come to the choir before she heard
the voices speaking there. Shrined saints that hold your throne-like
niches in the old stone walls! gilded cherubim that hover round the
organ's burnished pipes! what sight do you look down upon? She walked up
quietly,--it was her way, a noiseless, gliding way,--there stood the
organist and Adam von Gelhorn! As if hell had made a revelation, she
stood looking at those two. And both saw her, and neither of the three
uttered one word, or essayed a motion, till she, quietly, it seemed,
though it was with utmost violence, turned to go again.
Then--soft the voice sounded, but to her who spoke there was thunder in
it--the organist called after her, "Sybella!"
She, however, did not turn to answer, neither did she falter in going.
Departure was the one thing of which she was capable,--and what could
have hindered her going? What checks Vesuvius, when the flood says, "Lo,
I come!"? Or shall the little bird that perches and sings on a post in
the Dismal Swamp prevent the message that sweeps along the wire for a
thousand miles?
Von Gelhorn, disturbed by her coming and departure, in that so slight
vibration of air caused by her advance and her retreat, swayed as a reed
in the wind, stood for a moment seeking equipoise. Vain endeavor!
Not with inquiry, neither for direction, his eyes fell on Julia Edgar.
"Go," she said.
She said it aloud; no utterance could have been more distinct. He strode
after Sybella.
She heard him come, but did not pause, or turn, or falter. He came
faster, gained upon, and overtook her. It was just there by the
church-door. And then he spoke. But not like a warrior. It was a hoarse
whisper she heard, and her name in it. At _that_ call she turned. When
she saw his face, she stood.
Why avert her face, indeed, or why go on?
"I am going away,--in search of death, perhaps. I don't know. But to
battle. Will you not come back and listen one moment?"
She stood as if she could stand. Why did he plead but for one moment?
Battle! before that word she laid down her weapons. Under that glare of
awful fire the walls of ice melted, as never iceberg under tropic sun.
Battle! One out of the world who had been so long out of _her_ world!
Out of her world? So is beauty dead and past all resurrection of a
surety, when the dismal winds of March howl over land and sea!
"Yesterday," he said, "I came to church. Not to hear you, but I heard
you. You conquered me. I was giving a word for you to your friend and
mine, when God led you in here. Do not try to thwart Him. We have tried
it long enough. If you should go into my studio,--no, there's no such
place now, but if you went into the Odeon, you would see some faces
there that would tell you who has haunted my dreams and my heart these
years. Forgive me now that I'm going away. Let me hear you speak the
very word, Sybella."
How long must sinner call on God before he sees the smile of Love making
bright the heavens, glad the earth, possible all holiness, probable all
blessing? For He has built no walls, fastened no bars and bolts, blasted
no present, cursed no future. If Love be large, rich, free, strong
enough, it brings itself with one swift bound into the Heavenly Kingdom
where the Powers of Darkness have almost prevailed.
When Mrs. Edgar saw these two coming up the aisle together, she
understood, and, turning full towards them, sang a song such as was
never heard before within those old gray walls.