IF GOD WOULD ONLY GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!
“Poor creature! Poor creature!” said Mr. Ayrton. He had just returned
from the room to which they had carried Ella. Phyllis was lying on the
sofa with her face down to the pillow. “Poor creature! No one could have
had any idea that she was so attached to him! She will be one of the
richest women in England. He fell down in the club between nine and ten.
His heart. Sir Joseph was not surprised. He said he had told him a short
time ago that he had not six months to live. He cannot have let his wife
know. Well, well, perhaps it was for the best. His man came to me in a
terrible state. How was it to be broken to her? I just managed to catch
the last train. He must have been worth over a million. She will be
one of the richest women in England. Even in America a woman with
three-quarters of a million is reckoned moderately well off. Poor
creature! Ah! the shorn lamb!--the wind is tempered. ‘In the midst of
life--’ Dear Phyllis! you must not allow yourself to break down. Your
sympathetic nature is hard to control, I know, but still--oh, my child!”
But Phyllis refused to be comforted. She lay sobbing on the pillow, and
when her father put his arm about her and raised her, she put her head
on his shoulder, crying:
“He is gone from me forever--he is gone from me forever! Oh, I am the
cruelest woman on earth! It is not for her terrible blow that I am
crying, it is because I have lost him--I see it--I have lost him!”
Her father became frightened. What in the world could she mean by
talking about the man being gone from her? He had never heard of a
woman’s sympathy extending to such limits as caused her to feel a
personal deprivation when death had taken another woman’s husband.
“Oh, I am selfish--cruel--heartless!” sobbed Phyllis. “I thought of
myself, not of her. He is hers; he will be given back to her as she
prayed--she prayed so to me before you appeared at the door, papa. ‘Give
him back to me! Give him back to me!’ that was her prayer.”
“My dearest child, you must not talk that way,” said the father. “Come,
Phyllis, your strength has been overtaxed. You must go to bed and try to
sleep.”
She still moaned about her cruelty--her selfishness, until the doctor
who had been sent for and had been with Ella in her room, appeared in
order to let them know that Mrs. Linton had regained consciousness. The
blow had, of course, been a terrible one: but she was young, and Nature
would soon reassert herself, he declared, whatever he meant by that. He
thought it strange, he said, that Mrs. Linton had not been aware of
her husband’s weakness. To him, the physician, the condition of the
unfortunate gentleman had been apparent from the first moment he had
seen him. He had expected to hear of his death any day. He concluded by
advising Phyllis to go to bed and have as long a sleep as possible.
He would return in the morning and see if Mrs. Linton might travel to
London.
Phyllis went to her room, and her father went to the one which had been
prepared for him. For a minute or two he remained thoughtful. What could
his daughter have meant by those self-accusations? After a short time,
however, he smiled. The poor thing had been upset by the shocking news
of the death of the husband of her dearest friend. She was sympathetic
to quite a phenomenal degree. That sympathy which felt her friend’s loss
as though it were wholly her own was certainly not to be met with every
day.
In the morning Phyllis showed traces of having spent a bad night. But
she spoke rationally and not in the wild way in which she had spoken
before retiring, and her father felt that there was no need for him to
be uneasy in regard to her condition. He allowed her to go to the side
of her friend, Ella, and as he was leaving them together in each other’s
arms, he heard Ella say:
“Ah, Phyllis, I know it now. He was the man who had all my
love--all--all! Ah, if God would only give me another chance--one more
chance!”
Mr. Ayrton had heard that passionate appeal for another chance upon more
than one previous occasion. He had heard the husband who had tortured
his wife to death make a passionate appeal to God to give him another
chance. He knew that God had never given him another chance with the
same wife; but God had given him another wife in the course of time--a
wife who was not made on the spiritual lines of those who die by
torture; a wife who was able to formulate a list of her own rights, and
the rights of her sisters, and who possessed a Will.
The man who wanted another chance had no chance with such a woman.
He had heard the wife, who had deserted her husband in favor of the
teetotal platform, cry out for another chance, when her husband had died
away from her. But God had compassion upon the husband. She did not get
him back.
He pitied with all his heart the poor woman who would be one of the
richest women in England in the course of a day or two, and he said so
to Mr. Courtland when he called early in the morning. Mr. Courtland did
not remain for long in the house. It might have been assumed that
so intimate a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Linton’s would be an acceptable
visitor to the widow; but Mr. Courtland knew better. He hurried away to
town without even asking to see her. He only begged of Mr. Ayrton to let
him know if he could be of any use in town--there were details--ghastly;
but he would take care that there was no inquest.
Phyllis went up to town with poor Ella, and remained by her side in that
darkened house through all the terrible days that followed. Mr. Linton’s
death had an appreciable influence upon the quarter’s revenue of the
country. The probate duty paid by the executors was a large fortune in
itself, and Ella was, as Mr. Ayrton had predicted she would be, one of
the richest women in England. The hundred thousand pounds bequeathed to
some unostentatious charities--charities that existed for the cause of
charity, not for the benefit of the official staff--made no difference
worth speaking of in the position of Mrs. Linton as one of the richest
women in England.
But the codicil to the will which surprised most people was that which
placed in the hands of Mrs. Linton and the Rev. George Holland as
joint trustees the sum of sixty thousand pounds, for the building and
endowment of a church, the character and aims of which would be in
sympathy with the principles recently formulated by the Rev. George
Holland in his book entitled “Revised Versions,” and in his magazine
article entitled “The Enemy to Christianity,” the details to be decided
by the Rev. George Holland and Mrs. Linton as joint trustees.
The codicil was, of course, a very recent one; but it was executed in
proper form; it required two pages of engrossing to make the testator’s
desires plain to every intelligence that had received a thorough
training in legal technicalities. It was susceptible of a good deal of
interpretation to an ordinary intelligence.
When it was explained to Mrs. Linton, she also was at first a good deal
surprised. It read very like a jest of some subtlety: for she had no
idea that her husband had the slightest feeling one way or another on
the subject of the development of one Church or another; and as for the
establishment of an entirely new Church--yes, it struck her at first
that her solicitor was making a bold and certainly quite an unusual
attempt to cheer her up in her bereavement by bringing under her notice
a jest of the order _pachydermato_.
But soon it dawned upon her that her husband meant a good deal by this
codicil of his.
“I am getting to understand him better every day,” she said to Phyllis.
“He knew that I loved him and him only. He has given me this work to do,
and with God’s help I will do it thoroughly. You did not believe in
the value of George Holland’s doctrines. Neither did I: I never thought
about them. I will accept my husband’s judgment regarding them, and
perhaps I may think about them later on. Our Church will be the most
potent influence for good that the century has yet seen. Yes, I will
throw myself heart and soul into the work. After all, it must be
admitted that the Church has never done its duty as a Church.”
Phyllis said nothing.
But the Rev. George Holland had a good deal to say on the subject of the
codicil, when he was alone with Mrs. Linton, a few days later. He had
by no means made up his mind to sever his connection with the dear old
mother Church, he said. He could not see that there was any need for
his taking so serious a step--an irrevocable step. It was his feeling at
that moment, he declared, that he might be able to effect the object
of his life--which was, of course, the reform of the Church--better by
remaining within its walls than by severing himself from it. He must
take time to consider his position.
He left Mrs. Linton greatly disappointed. It had been her belief that
Mr. Holland would jump at the chance--that was the phrase which she
employed in expressing her disappointment to Phyllis--of becoming the
founder of a brand-new religion.
She was greatly disappointed in Mr. Holland. If Buddha or Edward Irving,
or some of the other founders of new religions had had such a chance
offered to them in early life, would they not have embraced it eagerly?
she asked.
And it was to be such a striking Church! She had made up her mind to
that. It was to be a lasting memorial to the largeness of soul of her
husband--to his appreciation of the requirements of the thinking men and
women of the age. She had made up her mind already as to the character
of the painted windows. The church would itself, of course, be the
purest Gothic. As for the services, she rather thought that the
simplicity of the Early Church might be effectively combined with some
of the most striking elements of Modern Ritualism. However, that would
have to be decided later on.
But when the bishop heard of the codicil he had another interview with
George Holland, and imparted to that young cleric his opinion that he
should avail himself of the opportunity offered to him of trying what
would undoubtedly be a most interesting experiment, and one to the
carrying out of which all true churchmen would look forward most
hopefully. Who could say, he inquired, if the larger freedom which would
be enjoyed by an earnest, sincere, and highly intellectual clergyman,
not in immediate contact with the Establishment, might not avail him to
perfect such a scheme of reform as would eventually be adopted by the
Church?
That interview was very helpful to George Holland in making up his mind
on the subject of the new Church. He resigned his pastorate, greatly to
the regret of the churchwardens; though no expression of such regret was
ever heard from the bishop.
But then a bishop is supposed to have his feeling thoroughly under
control.
This happened three weeks after the death of Stephen Linton, and during
these weeks Herbert Courtland had never once asked to see Ella Linton.