LOVE TEACHING ETHICS
On reaching the farmhouse I went directly to my room, and I wished that
I might stay there the rest of the day; but I was soon summoned to
dinner. In Miss Warren's eyes still lingered the evidences of her deep
feeling, but her expression was quiet, firm, and resolute. The effect
of the sermon upon her was just what I anticipated in case my hope had
any foundation--it had bound her by what seemed the strongest of
motives to be faithful to the man who she believed had the right to her
fealty.
"Well," I thought bitterly, "life might have brought her a heavier
cross than marrying a handsome millionaire, even though considerably
her senior. I'm probably a conceited fool for thinking it any very
great burden at all. But how, then, can I account--? Well, well, time
alone can unravel this snarl. One thing is certain: she will do nothing
that she does not believe right; and after what Mrs. Yocomb said I
would not dare to wish her to do wrong."
Mrs. Yocomb did not come down to dinner, and the meal was a quiet one.
Mr. Yocomb's eyes glistened with a serene, happy light, but he ate
sparingly, and spoke in subdued tones. He reminded me of the quaint old
scripture--"A man's wisdom maketh his face to shine." Whatever might be
said against his philosophy, it produced good cheer and peace. Adah,
too, was very quiet; but occasionally she glanced toward Miss Warren as
if perplexed and somewhat troubled. Mr. Hearn seemed wrought up into
quite a religious fervor. He was demonstratively tender and sympathetic
toward the girl at his side, and waited on her with the effusive manner
of one whose feelings must have some outlet. His appetite, however, did
not flag, and I thought he seemed to enjoy his emotions and his dinner
equally.
"Mr. Morton," he said impressively, "you must have liked that sermon
exceedingly."
"Indeed, sir," I replied briefly, "I have scarcely thought whether I
liked it or not."
Both he and Miss Warren looked at me in surprise; indeed all did except
Reuben.
"I beg your pardon, but I thought Mrs. Yocomb expressed herself
admirably," he said, with somewhat of the air of championship.
"She certainly expressed herself clearly. The trouble with me is that
the sermon is just what Mrs. Yocomb would call it--a message--and one
scarcely knows how to dodge it. I never had such a spiritual blow
between the eyes before, and think I'm a little stunned yet."
A smile lighted up Miss Warren's face. "Mrs. Yocomb would like your
tribute to her sermon, I think," she said.
"What most bewilders me," I resumed, "is to think how Mrs. Yocomb has
been waiting on me and taking care of me. I now feel like the peasant
who was taken in and cared for by the royal family."
"I think our friend Mr. Morton is in what may be termed 'a frame of
mind,'" said Mr. Hearn a little satirically.
"Yes, sir, I am," I replied emphatically. "I believe that adequate
causes should have some effects. It does not follow, however, that my
frame of mind is satisfactory to any one, least of all to Mrs. Yocomb."
"Your contact with the truth," said Mr. Hearn, laughing, "is somewhat
like many people's first experience of the ocean--you are much stirred
up, but have not yet reached the point of yielding to the mysterious
malady."
I was disgusted, and was about to reply with a sarcastic compliment
upon the elegance of his illustration, when a look of pain upon Miss
Warren's face checked me, and I said nothing. Lack of delicacy was one
of Mr. Hearn's gravest faults. While courtly, polished, and refined in
externals, he lacked in tact and nicety of discrimination. He often
said things which a finer-fibred but much worse man would never have
said. He had an abundance of intellect, great shrewdness, vast will
force, and organizing power, but not much ideality or imagination. This
lack rendered him incapable of putting himself in the place of another,
and of appreciating their feelings, moods, and motives. The most
revolting thought to me of his union with Miss Warren was that he would
never appreciate her. He greatly admired and respected her, but his
spiritual eyes were too dim to note the exquisite bloom on her
character, or to detect the evanescent lights and shades of thought and
feeling of which to me her mobile face gave so many hints. He would
expect her to be like the July days now passing--warm, bright,
cloudless, and in keeping with his general prosperity.
"They will disappoint each other inevitably," I thought, "and it's
strange that her clear eyes cannot see it when mine can. It is perhaps
the strongest evidence of her love for him, since love is blind. Still
she may love and yet be able to see his foibles and failings clearly;
thousands of women do this. But whether the silken cord of love or the
chain of supposed duty binds her to him now, I fear that Mrs. Yocomb's
sermon has made her his for all time."
Her manner confirmed my surmise, for she apparently gave me little
thought, and was unobtrusively attentive and devoted to him. He had the
good taste to see that further personal remarks were not agreeable; and
since his last attempted witticism fell flat, did not attempt any more.
Our table-talk flagged, and we hastened through the meal. After it was
over he asked:
"Emily, what shall we do this afternoon?"
"Anything you wish," she replied quietly.
"That's the way it will always be," I muttered as I went dejectedly to
my room. "Through all his life it has been 'anything you wish,' and now
it would seem as if religion itself had become his ally. There is
nothing to me so wonderful as some men's fortune. Earth and heaven seem
in league to forward their interests. But why was she so moved at the
meeting-house? Was it merely religious sensibility? It might have been
we were all moved deeply. Was it my imagination, or did she really
shrink from him, and then glance guiltily at me? Even if she had, it
might have been a momentary repulsion caused by his drowsy, heavy
aspect at the time, just as his remark at dinner gave her an unpleasant
twinge. These little back eddies are no proof that there is not a
strong central current.
"Can it be that she was sorrowful in the meeting-house for my sake
only? I've had strong proof of her wonderful kindness of heart. Well,
God bless her anyway. I'll wait and watch till I know the truth. I
suppose I'm the worst heathen Mrs. Yocomb ever preached to, but I'm
going to secure Emily Warren's happiness at any cost. If she truly
loves this man, I'll go away and fight it out so sturdily that she need
not worry. That's what her sermon means for me. I'm not going to pump
up any religious sentiment. I don't feel any. It's like walking into a
bare room to have a turn with a thumb-screw; but Mrs. Yocomb has hedged
me up to just this course. Oh, the gentle, inexorable woman! Satan
himself might well tremble before her. There is but one that I fear
more, and that's the woman I love most. Gentle, tender-hearted as she
is, she is more inexorable than Mrs. Yocomb. It's a little strange, but
I doubt whether there is anything in the universe that so inspires a
man with awe as a thoroughly good, large-minded woman."
I could not sleep that afternoon, and at last I became so weary of the
conflict between my hope and fear that I was glad to hear Miss Warren
at the piano, playing softly some old English hymns. The day was
growing cool and shadowy, but I hoped that before it passed I might get
a chance to say something to her which would give a different aspect to
the concluding words of Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. I had determined no
longer to avoid her society, but rather to seek it, whenever I could in
the presence of others, and especially of her affianced. They had
returned from a long afternoon in the arbor, which I knew must occasion
Miss Warren some unpleasant thoughts, and the banker was sitting on the
piazza chatting with Adah.
I strolled into the parlor with as easy and natural a manner as I could
assume, and taking my old seat by the window, said quietly: "Please go
on playing, Miss Warren."
She turned on me one of her swift looks, which always gave me the
impression that she saw all that was in my mind. Her color rose a
little, but she continued playing for a time. Then with her right hand
evoking low, sweet chords, she asked, with a conciliatory smile:
"Have you been thinking over Mrs. Yocomb's words this afternoon?"
"Not all the time--no. Have you?"
"How could I all the time?"
"Oh, I think you can do anything under heaven you make up your mind to
do," I said, with a slight laugh. The look she gave now was a little
apprehensive, and I added hastily: "I've had one thought that I don't
mind telling you, for I think it may be a pleasant one, though it must
recall that which is painful. The thought occurred to me when Mrs.
Yocomb was speaking, and since, that your brother had perfect peace as
he stood in that line of battle."
She turned eagerly toward me, and tears rushed into her eyes.
"You may be right," she said, in a low, tremulous tone.
"Well, I feel sure I'm right. I know it, if he was anything like you."
"Oh, then I doubt it. I'm not at all brave as he was. You ought to know
that."
"You have the courage that a veteran general most values in a soldier.
You might be half dead from terror, but you wouldn't run away.
Besides," I added, smiling, "you would not be afraid of shot and shell,
only the noise of a battle. In this respect your brother, no doubt,
differed from you. In the grand consciousness of right, and in his
faithful performance of duty, I believe his face was as serene as the
aspect of Mr. Yocomb when he looked at the coming storm. As far as
peace is concerned, his heaven began on earth. I envy him."
"Mr. Morton, I thank you for these words about my brother," she said
very gently, and with a little pathetic quaver in her voice. "They have
given me a comforting association with that awful day. Oh, I thank God
for the thought. Remembering what Mrs. Yocomb said, it reconciles me to
it all, as I never thought I could be reconciled. If Herbert believed
that it was his duty to be there, it was best he should be there. How
strange it is that you should think of this first, and not I!"
"Will you pardon me if I take exception to one thing you say? I do not
think it follows that he ought to have been there simply because he
felt it right to be there."
"Why, Mr. Morton! ought one not to do right at any and every cost? That
seemed to me the very pith of Mrs. Yocomb's teaching, and I think she
made it clear that it's always best to do right."
"I think so too, most emphatically; but what is right, Miss Warren?"
"That's too large a question for me to answer in the abstract; but is
not the verdict of conscience right for each one of us?"
"I can't think so," I replied, with a shrug. "About every grotesque,
horrible act ever committed in this world has been sanctioned by
conscience. Delicate women have worn hair-cloth and walked barefooted
on cold pavements in midnight penance. The devil is scarcely more cruel
than the Church, for ages, taught that God was. It's true that Christ's
life was one of self-sacrifice; but was there any useless, mistaken
self-sacrifice in it? If God is anything like Mrs. Yocomb, nothing
could be more repugnant to him than blunders of this kind."
She looked at me with a startled face, and I saw that my words had
unsettled her mind.
"If conscience cannot guide, what can?" she faltered. "Is not
conscience God's voice within us?"
"No. Conscience may become God's worst enemy--that is, any God that I
could worship or even respect."
"Mr. Morton, you frighten me. How can I do right unless I follow my
conscience?"
"Yes," I said sadly, "you would, in the good old times, have followed
it over stony pavements, in midnight penance, or now into any thorny
path which it pointed out; and I believe that many such paths lead away
from the God of whom Mrs. Yocomb spoke to-day. Miss Warren, I'm a man
of the world, and probably you think my views on these subjects are not
worth much. It's strange that your own nature does not suggest to you
the only sure guide. It seems to me that conscience should always go to
truth for instructions. The men who killed your brother thought they
were right as truly as he did; but history will prove that they were
wrong, as so many sincere people have been in every age. He did not
suffer and die uselessly, for the truth was beneath his feet and in his
heart."
"Dear, brave, noble Herbert!" she sighed. "Oh, that God had spared him
to me!"
"I wish he had," I said, with quiet emphasis. "I wish he was with you
here and now."
Again she gave me a questioning, troubled look through her tears.
"Then you believe truth to be absolutely binding?" she asked, in a low
voice.
"Yes. In science, religion, ethics, or human action, nothing can
last--nothing can end well that is not built squarely on truth."
She became very pale; but she turned quietly to her piano as she said:
"You are right, Mr. Morton; there can be no peace--not even
self-respect--without truth. My nature would be pitiful indeed did it
not teach me that."
She had interpreted my words in a way that intensified the influence of
Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. To be false to the trust that she had led her
affianced to repose in her still seemed the depth of degradation. I
feared that she would take this view at first, but believed, if my hope
had any foundation, she would think my words over so often that she
would discover a different meaning.
And my hope was strengthened. If she loved Mr. Hearn, why did she turn,
pale and quiet, to her piano, which had always appeared a refuge to
her, when I had seemingly spoken words that not only sanctioned but
made the course which harmonized with her love imperative? Even the
possibility that in the long days and nights of my delirium I had
unconsciously wooed and won her heart, so thrilled and overcame me that
I dared not trust myself longer in her presence, and I went out on the
piazza--a course eminently satisfactory to Mr. Hearn, no doubt. I think
he regarded our interview as becoming somewhat extended. He had glanced
at me from time to time, but my manner had been too quiet to disturb
him, and he could not see Miss Warren's face. The words he overheard
suggested a theological discussion rather than anything of a personal
nature. It had been very reassuring to see Miss Warren turn from me as
if my words had ceased to interest her, and my coming out to talk with
Adah confirmed the impression made by my manner all along, that we were
not very congenial spirits. It also occurred to me that he did not find
chatting with Adah a very heavy cross, for never had she looked
prettier than on that summer evening. But now that Miss Warren was
alone he went in and sat down by her, saying so loudly that I could not
help hearing him, as I stood by the window:
"I think you must have worsted Mr. Morton in your theological
discussion, for he came out looking as if he had a great deal to think
about that was not exactly to his taste; but Miss Adah will--" and then
his companion began playing something that drowned his voice.