“It was a first-rate match, and we were fairly beaten; it was their
forward turned the scale. I had two hacks from him myself”--the captain
of the Glasgow Football Club nursed the tender spots. “It's a mercy
to-morrow's Sunday and one can lie in bed.”
“Olive oil is not bad for rubbing. You deserve the rest, old man. It
was a stiff fight. By-the-way I saw Rutherford of St Bede's there. He
cheered like a good'un when you got that goal. He's the best parson
going in Glasgow.”
“Can't bear the tribe nor their ways, Charlie, they're such hypocrites,
always preaching against the world and that kind of thing and feathering
their own nests at every turn. Do you know I calculated that six of them
in Glasgow alone have netted a hundred and twenty thousand pounds by
successful marriages. That's what sickens a fellow at religion.”
“Well, you can't say that against Rutherford, Jack, for he's not
married, and works like a coal-heaver. He's the straightest man I've
come across either in the pulpit or out of it, besides being a ripping
preacher. Suppose you look me up to-morrow about six, and we'll hear
what he's got to say.”
His friends said that Rutherford was only thirty-four years of age, but
he looked as if he were near fifty, for his hair had begun to turn gray,
and he carried the traces of twenty years' work upon his face. No one
would have asked whether he was handsome, for he had about him an air
of sincerity and humanity that at once won your confidence. His subject
that evening was the “Sanctifying power of love,” and, as his passion
gradually increased to white heat, he had the men before him at his
mercy. Women of the world complained that he was hard and unsympathetic;
some elderly men considered his statements unguarded and even unsound;
but men below thirty heard him gladly. This evening he was stirred for
some reason to the depths of his being, and was irresistible. When he
enlarged on the love of a mother, and charged every son present to repay
it by his life and loyalty, a hundred men glared fiercely at the roof,
and half of them resolved to write home that very night. As he thundered
against lust, the foul counterfeit of love, men's faces whitened,
and twice there was a distinct murmur of applause. His great passage,
however, came at the close, and concerned the love of a man for a maid:
“If it be given to any man in his fresh youth to love a noble woman
with all his heart, then in that devotion he shall find an unfailing
inspiration of holy thoughts and high endeavours, a strong protection
against impure and selfish temptations, a secret comfort amid the
contradictions and adversities of life. Let him give this passion full
play in his life and it will make a man of him and a good soldier in the
great battle. And if it so be that this woman pass from his sight or be
beyond his reach, yet in this love itself shall he find his exceeding
reward.” As he spoke in a low, sweet, intense voice, those in the
gallery saw the preacher's left hand tighten on the side of the pulpit
till the bones and sinews could be counted, but with his right hand he
seemed to hold something that lay on his breast “Look here, Charlie”--as
the two men stood in a transept till the crowd passed down the main
aisle--“if you don't mind I would like... to shake hands with the
preacher. When a man takes his coat off and does a big thing like that
he ought to know that he has... helped a fellow.”
“I'll go in too, Jack, for he's straightened me, and not for the first
time. You know how I used to live... well, that is over, and it was
Rutherford saved me.”
“He looks as if he had been badly hit some time. Do you know his
record?”
“There's some story about his being in love with a poor girl and
being determined to marry her, but 'Iron Warrants' got round her and
persuaded her that it would be Rutherford's ruin; so she disappeared,
and they say Rutherford is waiting for her to this day. But I don't give
it as a fact.”
“You may be sure every word of it is true, old man; it's like one of
Thompson's tricks, for I was in his office once, and it's just what that
man in the pulpit would do; poor chap, he's served his time... I say,
though, suppose that girl turns up some day.”
They were near the vestry door and arranging their order of entrance
when a woman came swiftly down the empty aisle as from some distant
corner of the church and stood behind them for an instant.
“Is this Mr. Rutherford's room, gentlemen”--with a delicate flavour of
Highland in the perfect English accent--“and would it be possible for me
to see him... alone?”
They received a shock of delight on the very sight of her and did
instant homage. It was not on account of her magnificent beauty--a
woman in the height of her glory--nor the indescribable manner of good
society, nor the perfection of her dressing, nor a singular dignity of
carriage. They bowed before her for the look in her eyes, the pride of
love, and, although both are becoming each day her more devoted slaves,
yet they agree that she could only look once as she did that night.
It was Charlie that showed her in, playing beadle for the occasion that
this princess might not have to wait one minute, and his honour obliged
him to withdraw instantly, but before the door could be closed he heard
Rutherford cry--“At last, Magdalen, my love!”
“Do you think, Charlie...?”
“Rutherford has got his reward, Jack, and twenty years would not have
been too long to wait.”