"Then every evil word I had spoken once,
And every evil thought I had thought of old,
And every evil deed I ever did.
Awoke and cried, `This Quest is not for thee.'
And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself
Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns,
And I was thirsty even unto death."
_The Holy Grail_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The depression of spirit which fell upon David Stephens after leaving
Faith was deepened by a number of other circumstances, which seemed to
choose the saddest moment of his life to cast their separate troubles at
him. When he reached home it was to learn that one of the most
influential members of his body, in whose hands a sum of money had been
gradually accumulated by means of the most painful labour and
self-denial, had gone off to a Mormon settlement, carrying the money
with him. And on the following day, David, hastening back at
dinner-time to the prodigal whom he was sheltering and yearning over,
found the little room empty, and the boy gone. The landlady, who had
been in a heat of lofty indignation since Nat Wills was first brought to
her house, would give no information; and David, tired and sick at
heart, sat down on his bed, forcing his mind, by the strongest coercion
he could bring to bear, to travel wearily along the probable roads by
which the lad was setting forth again upon his downward journey, that so
he might go after him and bring him back,--no matter what it cost him.
But although his resolution was no less supported by an iron
determination than it had been a few days ago on almost the same errand,
the spring which had then made it comparatively easy had lost its power.
His face was haggard and worn as if with a long illness. His hands
moved restlessly from one thing to another. He turned with loathing
from the food on the table, which, frugal as it was, was more than he
would have ordered if he had not provided for the guest who had left
him. Never in his life had such an unconquerable gloom seized him as
that which held him now in an ever-tightening grasp.
It appeared to him and he believed that he was looking dispassionately
at what he judged, that all his attempts had resulted in failure. He
had prepared himself for it in some sort, but not as it had met him,
lull of crushing pain, a pain which had grown into his eyes, never to
leave them again, and perhaps gave them some of the strange power which
people noticed when he spoke. His aim had been the highest. Blame him
as you will, his faults had been the falling short of that aim, his
manner of striving towards it, his wilfulness in its pursuit, not the
forgetting of it, or turning aside to something lower. He had yearned
for the poor souls about him, the force of his love-making every
shortcoming towards them horrible in his sight, so that out of his very
pitiful compassion there grew actual injustice. Then he had seemed to
gain many, his burning words having in them a compelling force which
frightened and attracted the souls they touched. Against pride in this
success, against the pride of which some who were jealous of his
eloquence accused him, he had prayed intensely and passionately. He had
not sought worldly advancement, riches, or fame, the only use of these
things in his sight being as means by which he might have scope for the
work, the desire of which possessed his soul. Men who have such
longings are apt to believe that the very purity and nobility of their
aims must needs put what they want within their reach, not perceiving
that it is the very height at which they grasp which causes what they
call failure. For, evermore, as we toil and climb we learn our
littleness, and something of the glory of that which lies beyond; until
with the struggle there comes the knowledge that here is not the end,
nor the crown, nor the fulfilment.
But to David at this moment the end seemed to have been within his reach
and to have been missed. The power which he believed himself to have
attained over some of the minds, or rather the affections of those with
whom he had been brought in contact, directly it was touched by the test
of self-interest, even in its basest form, failed. He told himself
bitterly that if a passing emotion led them to ask how they might flee
from the wrath to come, with something of the spirit which urged the
Ephesians to burn their books, the Florentines to cast aside their
vanities at the bidding of Savonarola,--when the emotion passed, the
older selfishness reasserted its sway. As for himself, what was he to
them? A humpbacked preacher, to whom novelty would attract them, but
for whom not one would turn out of his way to send after him so much as
a kindly word. The sense of desolation which surged up in his heart as
he thought this was so terrible that great drops stood on his forehead
and his limbs trembled. In spite of himself, he had never lost the hope
that Faith might have faced his lot, and clung to him: but Faith had
given him up; the boy for whom he had been pinching himself had run
away; the man whom he called friend had crushed his last hopes of
gaining what he believed absolutely necessary to the success of his
work. Everything was against him. Men clung to the wreck from which he
would have dragged them, hurt him with hard words, turned their faces
from him; and standing there, solitary, in a room heavy with the
remembrance of the boy who had shared and left it, David cried out in
the anguish of his heart as though some one had smitten him a deadly
blow. Yet with it all there was no faltering of his resolution, no
holding back of his hand. He would go out again that evening, walk all
the night if it were necessary, once more to bring back the last lost.
As he passed along the street to the office, the boys jeered at him.
"Thyur's another pracher for the Mormuns!"
"Wann be'm going, Jim?"
"Doan't 'ee know? Whay, wann thyur's a lot more money scraped up for to
build a chapel." Although David walked along without paying any
apparent regard, each word fell like a lash on his sore heart, on which
the burden of the other man's deeds seemed to be heaped.
He went through his work dully and mechanically, but without failing in
any point of its routine. He was, however, detained at the office until
a later hour than usual, owing to a delay on the line, and he made up
his mind, in the intervals during which he allowed his mind to dwell on
the subject, to search for Nat Wills in Underham itself before going
farther; thinking it not unlikely, from some words the boy had let drop,
that he would find a hiding-place there.
When he left the office it was quite dark, and long ago the glory of the
setting sun had faded out of the heavens. For an hour or two he went,
as he had determined, from house to house in the black courts where vice
and misery huddle together, nearer us oftener than we think in our
contentedness. And even here he was scourged by the other man's sin.
Women taunted him with it, every taunt carrying a fresh sting. Some of
them in moments of emotion had given him their pence for the object he
had at heart, and cast this in his teeth again, or reproached him with
mute white faces which were more intolerable. No one could tell what it
cost him to feel that the work he had believed to be in progress lay all
unravelled and useless in his hand, the stone which infinite labour had
pushed upwards had dropped back an inert mass. The solitude, too, of a
sectarian creed was upon him. He felt alone among these people. When
he came out at last into a wider street, the light from a lamp hard by
falling on his face showed it intensified with a look of such pain as a
man cannot endure long and live.
The purpose in his heart was, however, as strong as ever, and he moved
slowly along the street towards another quarter in which it was possible
that Nat might have found refuge. Just as he reached a corner Anthony
Miles came round it on his way from the Bennetts'. It was not a happy
time for him to meet David, after the talk of the night before, and when
the evening had been such as we know. He stopped abruptly, and David
stopped also.
"That's you, Stephens, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr Bennett has been telling me of the rascally manner in which that
man Higgins has made off. I should think that ought to show you the set
of fellows you're getting mixed up with. But if you will run your head
against a wall there's another thing I've got to say. I understand you
are still trying for a bit of land in Thorpe, and you may as well know
that I've not changed my mind, and that I shall fight you through thick
and thin before you get it."
"I know that, sir," said David, with a concentrated forlornness in his
voice of which Anthony was immediately aware. "You've done it with all
your might up to now, but you won't need to trouble yourself much
longer."
"Have you changed your opinions, then?" said Anthony, softened by the
thought of concession.
"Have I given up my faith, do you mean?" Stephens said bitterly. "Can
I put my religion on and off as easy as you your glove? No, Mr Miles,
if there's no more left to me, there's that, at any rate. What I mean
to say is that since the money has gone there's a further hindrance put
in the way of the gospel, and that if there's any who can triumph over
the working of another man's sin, they may do it now."
In spite of his irritation at the man's meaning, Anthony could not
repress some sort of pity for the deep dejection with which he spoke.
It was impossible to doubt his earnestness, although he had no sympathy
for his efforts.
"There are different ways of preaching the gospel, Stephens," he said
more kindly, "without taking other men's duties upon ourselves. Well,
good-night to you. I wished to give you that warning. If I were you I
should shake myself clear of the Higgins lot."
Each figure went its separate way in the darkness, little thinking how
soon they were to meet again. For the first time for some weeks a fresh
alarm awoke in Davids conscience, perhaps caused by the touch of change
in Mr Miles's manner, perhaps by the end of those hopes which had
influenced his conduct towards him. He had succeeded in persuading
himself that Anthony had been a persecutor of religion, and that his own
silence had been caused by no mere personal grudge; now, wounded by the
scorn and disappointment of the last two days, he began to realise what
he had permitted to fall on the other man. What if he, more than
Anthony, had been the persecutor? What if here were a sin which he had
nursed until God would have patience no longer, and had smitten him and
his labour to the earth?
He groaned aloud, and stretched out his hands towards heaven and the
stars which were shining softly. A woman who passed noticed a dart
figure leaning against a house, and fled in terror. David never saw
her. The anguish which he had carried with him all the day reached its
crisis, and almost overwhelmed him. His soul, struck with a sense of
its own weakness, swallowed up by a terrified horror, was crying out for
help, for teaching, in a new-found passion of humility. He sank down on
his knees in the road, and, taught by the spiritual experience of his
life to crave for and to obey sudden impulses, had almost resolved to
follow Anthony at once, and to tell him all he knew. The recollection
of Nat Wills withheld him; and as if he would lose no more time in
finding him, and thus becoming free to follow his design, he staggered
to his feet, and hurried along towards the water.