"Then possibly I did,--I wasn't sure. I--I didn't think of it much,
but, Jimmy, I don't want to be married just now. You've been splendid
ever since we met--and really I didn't want you to say what you did."
"Perhaps not in the way I said it." Belding's face became suddenly
rigid. "And perhaps now I know why. You see it's hard for me to
compete with my own chief," he added grimly.
"That's not fair," she burst out, her cheeks flaming. "If you really
cared you wouldn't say it."
"I only want to know where I stand," he replied with sudden dignity.
"If you'll tell me that, I will be satisfied--for to-night."
Her mood changed in a flash. "That sounds better, but, Jimmy, must you
know to-night? It's hard for me to tell you."
"Why?" he demanded. He wanted his answer, fraught with whatever fate.
"Because I don't just know myself," she said softly. "I wonder if I
can explain. I am fond of you, Jimmy, more than you know, but I want
to be fair to you and I want to be fair to myself as well. Have you
never been in a state in which you were conscious that the world was
full of things you had dreamed of but never expected to find actually?"
He stared at her with the swift intuition that there had been a season
not long ago when he felt just like this. But now he was getting used
to it.
"Yes," his voice was quite steady, "I know what you mean."
"It's that way with me now, and I'm just finding out about myself."
Her eyes were fixed on the white line of the rapids. "I don't know
what sort of a woman I'm going to be,--that sounds queer but it's true.
I'm going to want something more than love," she added under her breath.
Belding did not stir and there drifted down to them the deep, hollow
monotone that pervades St. Marys when the wind comes in from the west.
The young man scanned the innumerable lights beside the rapids,--he
could place each one of them. Then slowly the moon came up with a soft
gleam that laid a silver path across the river and touched the girl
into an unearthly beauty.
"I want you, Elsie," he pleaded.
She looked at him with eyes like stars. "Perhaps I want you, Jimmy,"
she breathed, "but I don't know yet. Supposing I said 'yes' and then
it was all wrong--for each of us?"
"You said you asked for more than love; perhaps I have no more--in your
mind."
Clark's name was hammering in his brain, but he kept it down.
Followed a little silence. "Do you want to do something for me?" she
said presently. Her lips were tremulous.
"I've always wanted that."
"Then give me time to find myself--I'm trying hard now."
Belding moved restlessly. "I'm afraid that some one else will find
you."
She glanced at him startled. "If that happens, Jimmy, it means that I
haven't spoilt your life."
"I want you to spoil it."
"You haven't answered my question; will you give me time?"
Belding got up, put his hands on her slim straight shoulders and stared
into the beautiful, troubled face.
"Elsie, if any one else does come between us--"
She was seized with strange and sudden fear. "No, no, you don't know
what you are saying."
He relented instantly. "I'm sorry, I was talking nonsense. Now I've
got to go and see the bishop about the new church--won't you come?"
The shadow passed from her eyes. "Yes, I'd love to see him, if you
won't get on that subject again."
"What subject?"
"You know," she laughed, once more light hearted.
"I promise, but for to-day only."
They walked slowly down the long straight street that led past Filmer's
house, which was surrounded by trees, and reached the corner where
Fisette's cottage marked the turn up to the bishop's residence.
Fisette was on his front doorstep with small people around him, and
waved gayly as they passed.
"He's very happy now, isn't he?" said Elsie.
Belding nodded. He found it hard to join in the happiness of another
man whose children's arms were about his neck. Elsie's eyes turned to
the figure of the bishop, who was on his wide veranda, a large straw
hat on the back of his head. Manuscript lay on the floor beside him
but at the moment he was absorbed in a large green leaf that spread
across his knees. It was piled with strawberries. As the gate clicked
he signaled hospitably.
"Come along, children--just in time. Mr. Belding, can you pick fruit
by moonlight? Elsie, come here and talk to me. To tell the truth I
wasn't thinking just now of any of my flock, but I'd much sooner see a
lamb like you than some of the old ewes who will always insist on being
serious and respectful. What you observe on the floor is a book I
would have written if I'd not been a bishop." He rambled on till
Belding reappeared with a hat full of berries.
"Here they are, sir, and I've got another offering as well."
"You don't say so, what is it?"
"Do you remember, a year or so ago, talking to me about a
pro-cathedral?"
"Very distinctly. But I was afraid that the press of work had made the
thing impossible so far as you were concerned, so I let the matter
stand."
"Well, it isn't impossible, and that church is going to be built."
The bishop drew a long breath. "I am delighted to hear it, because I
haven't got any money yet. It has all gone in salaries of
missionaries, and your friend Mr. Clark has put me to a lot of extra
expense. I knew he would the minute I saw him."
"But this church," said Belding with a little lift in his voice, "is
going to be built without money. Peterson, the masonry contractor at
the works, will give the stone, and his masons will donate the labor.
Borthwick, another contractor, will give the lumber and his carpenters
will put it together. Windows--plain glass of course--and the various
fittings are all taken care of by different people, and there was just
one thing I found a little difficult, and now that's all right."
"And what was it?" The bishop was leaning forward, his large,
expressive eyes very bright.
"Cement, sir. No one seemed to have any to spare. Finally I went to
Ryan--I don't know whether he has met you."
"Yes, an excellent type--one of my own countrymen. I like Ryan, a
strong Romanist, isn't he?"
"Yes, but finally I ran him down and told him I wanted enough cement to
build a Protestant church."
"But---"
"But, listen! Ryan thought it over for a minute, then his eyes began
to twinkle and he pointed to his storehouse and said that if it would
cement the Protestant church together I might take the pile."
Elsie laughed, while the bishop relapsed into deep body-shaking mirth.
"Splendid! Fine chap that Ryan. He's from Maynooth and I'm from
Lurgan and who says the Irish don't hang together? So it's all
settled?"
"Yes, when can we start work?"
"At once if it's possible. How long will it take?"
"Three months would finish it. The job will be swarming with men."
"Good, and we hope that Ryan's cement will hold the church together.
I'm reminded of another Romanist friend who was approached for a
similar Protestant object. He wouldn't help to build the new church
but he did contribute toward tearing down the old one. And now," here
this good and kindly man paused and looked affectionately at the two
young people beside him, "it's my turn to make a suggestion."
Elsie glanced up with uncomfortable intelligence.
"I'd like the first wedding in the new church to be yours if possible.
And if you like, I'll officiate myself." He patted the girl's hand
softly.
"That's dear of you," she stammered, "but--it's a long way off."
The bishop looked up sharply and saw that Belding's eyes were fixed on
Fisette's cottage. "By the way, how's my friend Mr. Clark?" he put in
hastily.