Constance Forbes had been one of the students who found a haven on the
free benches at St. Stephen's. Almost at once Mr. Prentiss noticed her
and, struck by her interesting face, he sent the church deaconess, Mrs.
Hammond, to visit her at her lodgings. She was invited to join a Bible
class of young women of her own age, and welcomed to the social parlor
in the vestry provided for girls who, like herself, were strangers in
Benham. Here there were magazines, writing materials, and afternoon
tea. While availing herself of these privileges, Constance frequently
met her rector. He inquired sympathetically concerning her work and
aspirations, and showed afterward that he kept her distinctly in mind.
She felt that she could freely consult him if she were in need of
advice; once or twice she did consult him about her reading; and she
was gratified by the interest which he took in her marriage.
Consequently, the idea of not attending morning service was distressing
to her. She felt sure that Mr. Prentiss would notice it and be
disappointed. Yet, what were Mr. Prentiss and his feelings in
comparison with her obligation to her husband? Emil's Sundays were
spoiled because she would not accompany him to the country instead of
going to church. His attitude was unreasonable and absurd, but the
fact remained that he did not go alone, and lounged at home instead.
After all, she was no longer a girl, and her religious faith would not
be imperilled were she to miss church now and then. Moreover, though
she held fast to her creed and deplored Emil's radical views, she knew
in her heart that she was more critical than formerly of what she heard
in church, and that she was sometimes driven by her doubts as to the
possibility of supernatural happenings to seek refuge behind the
impenetrable fortress of a righteous life. There she was safe and
happy, and free, it seemed to her, from the responsibility of harassing
her young housewife's brains with non-essentials. Might it not be for
her own advantage to take a respite from religious functions?
Certainly her companionship to Emil seemed more important at the moment
than her own habit of public worship.
She began by staying away from church occasionally. Emil expressed
delight at her reasonableness and carried out with zest his plan of a
Sunday outing. It was a simple matter on their bicycles, or by a few
minutes in the train, to reach country air and sylvan scenes, and he
was entirely satisfied to spend the day in tramping through the woods
and fields, stopping to fish or to lie in the sun as the humor seized
him. The working-man's Sabbath, he termed it. The programme was
restful and alluring to Constance also. Her husband on these occasions
seemed less at odds with the world, and willing to enjoy himself
without rancor or argument. After their luncheon he would smoke
complacently for awhile and then take up his fiddle and practise upon
it with genuine content for an hour or more, while she sat with her
back against a tree or a bank, reading. He still drank his bottles of
beer, but if he slumbered, it was only for a brief period. He never
neglected his fiddle, and its influence appeared, as it were, to soothe
his savage breast, and to make him good-humored and agreeably
philosophic. He was too fond of theorizing to neglect altogether these
opportunities for the enunciation of his grievances against
civilization, but he was lively instead of bitter, a distinction which
meant much to his wife.
When their first baby was born, these Sunday excursions were
temporarily discontinued; but Constance was eager to renew them, for
Emil, after going alone a few times, relapsed into his old habits.
Accordingly, as soon as the little one was able to toddle, a child's
wagon was procured, which Emil was ready to draw, and by avoiding
fences and other barriers, the difficulties presented by this new tie
were overcome. By the time the child was a year and a half old,
Constance realized that she had been to church but once in the last
twelve months.
This had been partly due to the action of the rector of St. Stephen's,
for Constance knew within a few weeks of her first absences from church
that her conduct had been noticed. The curate, Mr. Starkworth,
inquired at the door if there had been illness in the family. Later
the deaconess made a call of friendly observation, in the course of
which it transpired that Mr. Prentiss had observed that Mrs. Stuart no
longer occupied her seat. The culprit did not attempt to explain, and
within a fortnight she received a visit from the rector himself. No
one could have been more affable and reassuring. He established
himself in an easy chair and accepted graciously the cigar which Emil
proffered him. He was a large man of dignified mien and commanding
person, clerical as to his dress and visage, but with a manner of
conversation approximating that of men of the world--an individual
manifestation which was intended to reveal a modern spirit. He was
clearly a person with whom liberties could not be taken, and yet
evidently one who desired to divest his point of view of cant, and to
put religion on a man to man, business basis so far as was consistent
with his sacred calling. He asked genial questions concerning their
domestic welfare, and the progress of the new lumber firm, spoke
shrewdly of local politics in which he supposed that Stuart was
engaged, and sought obviously to give the impression that he was an
all-round man in his sympathies, and that he took an active interest in
temporal matters. When at last there was a favorable pause in the
current of this secular conversation, Mr. Prentiss laid his hands on
his knees, and, bending forward and looking from one to the other in a
friendly way, said with decision:
"I have missed you two young people at church lately."
[Illustration: "I have missed you two young people at church lately."]
Constance winced at the inquiry, and her eyes fell beneath the
clergyman's searching gaze. She could not deny the impeachment, which
was embarrassing. At the same time the color had scarcely mounted to
her cheeks before she felt the force of her defence rising to her
support, and she looked up. She appreciated that it was incumbent on
her, as the active church member, to respond, and she became suddenly
solicitous lest Emil might, and so make matters worse. In truth,
Emil's first impulse had been toward anger. It was one of his maxims
not to submit to browbeating. But what he regarded as the humor of the
proceeding changed his wrath into scorn, and he closed his teeth on his
pipe with the dogged air of a master of the situation willing to be
amused withal. Mr. Prentiss divined in a flash, from the insolence of
this expression, that he had to deal with a hopeless case--so far as
the human soul can ever seem hopeless to the missionary--a contemptuous
materialist, and his own countenance grew grave as he turned back to
the wife.
"Yes, we have been very little, Mr. Prentiss. My husband, you know,
does not belong to your church. He went with me while we were engaged,
but--but now I think I can help him best by staying away for the
present."
"You go elsewhere, then?"
"No. We do not go to church. We spend our Sundays in the country--in
the fresh air, walking and resting. We take our luncheon, and my
husband brings his fiddle and his fishing rod."
Constance marvelled at her own boldness, and at the ardor with which
she delivered her plea of justification.
"I understand," said Mr. Prentiss. His tone was sober, but not
impatient. The argument for a day of rest and recreation for the tired
man of affairs was nothing new to him. Nor was Mr. Prentiss ignorant
of its plausible value. He wished to meet it without temper, as one
rational being discussing with another, notwithstanding eternal
verities were concerned.
"Supposing, Mrs. Stuart, that everyone were to reason in the same way,
what would become of our churches?"
"They would have to go out of commission," muttered Emil with delighted
brusqueness.
The rector saw fit to bear this brutality without offence. He ignored
the commentator with his eyes, as though to indicate that his mission
was solely to the wife, but he answered,
"They would, and the Christian faith would perish in the process. Are
you, Mrs. Stuart," he continued, "prepared to do without the offices of
religion, and to substitute for them a pagan holiday?"
"We pass the day very quietly and simply," said Constance. "We disturb
no one and interfere with no one."
"But you become pagans, utterly."
"I try to think that God hears my prayers in the open air no less than
in church, while I am keeping my husband company." It wounded her to
oppose her rector, yet the need of a champion for her husband's cause
supplied her with speech, and gave to her countenance quiet
determination. Constance possessed one of those lithe, nervous
personalities, so frequently to be met with in American women of every
class, the signal attribute of which is bodily and mental refinement.
Her hair was dark, her face thin, her eyes brown and wistful, her
figure tall and elastic; her pretty countenance had the charm of
temperament rather than mere flesh and blood, and its sympathetic,
intelligent comeliness suggested spiritual vigor.
Mr. Prentiss was not blind to these qualities. They had attracted him
at the beginning of their acquaintance, and he was the more solicitous
on account of them to reclaim her from error.
"God hears your prayers wherever you utter them, be assured of that.
But I ask you to consider whether the habit of neglecting public
worship is not a failure in reverence to the Christ who listens to our
supplications and without whose aid we are helpless to overcome sin."
Emil had been delighted by his wife's sturdy attitude. Now that a
question of doctrine was brought into the discussion, he felt that the
time had come for him to intervene again. "We who worship in the
presence of nature are not hampered by dogmas of that kind," he said.
"Temptation is temptation, and I for one have never been able to
understand why the man who gets the better of it isn't entitled to the
credit of his strength and sense. My wife looks at such things very
much as I do."
"Not altogether, Emil. You know I miss not going to church."
"I have never prevented you from going."
"But you have discountenanced it, man. It is to please you, and to
humor your views that your wife is sacrificing her most sacred
convictions," Mr. Prentiss exclaimed with a touch of sternness.
"You think church-going of the utmost importance; I do not. There's
where we differ. Everyone must decide those questions for himself--or
herself."
The rector resented the smug assurance of the retort by a frown and a
twist of his shoulders, as though he were sorry that he had
condescended to bandy words with this irreverent person.
"Yes, we all must," he said, addressing Constance. "'He that loveth
father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.'"
He regretted the next instant having indulged in this clerical formula,
which was foreign to his usual method.
Constance flushed at the words of Scripture, then she drew herself up
slightly and said:
"I am very sorry, indeed, to disappoint you, Mr. Prentiss, but I can't
promise to attend church regularly at present. Perhaps it is true, as
my husband says, that my opinions have changed somewhat in regard to
points of faith. I hope--I shall pray that after a time we may both
come back to you."
There was no mistaking the finality of this unequivocal but gently
uttered speech, and Mr. Prentiss knew that one of the signs of a man of
the world is the capacity to take a hint. Though it galled him to
leave this attractive member of his flock in the clutches of one so
apparently unfit to appreciate her bodily or spiritual graces, he
recognized that to press the situation at this point could result only
in separating her still further from the influence of the church. "You
shall have my prayers, too--both of you," he said, fervently. Then he
arose and resumed the demeanor of a friendly caller.
But Emil, now that he had shown clearly that he had the courage of his
convictions, felt the need of vindicating his character as a host. He
said jauntily, "I hope there's no offence in standing up for what one
believes to be true. It's one of the greatest poets, you know, who
wrote
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds."
"You young whipper snapper!" was Mr. Prentiss's unuttered comment, but
he did not relax his lay serenity of manner save by the slight vein of
sarcasm which his words contained. "No offence, certainly. But you
should also bear in mind, young man, that others no less mentally
qualified than yourself have pondered the problems of the universe and
come to very different conclusions. A man takes large responsibilities
upon himself in deciding to deprive his wife and children of the
comforts of religion."
"I am anxious that my children when they grow up may not be obliged, as
I was, to unlearn what they were taught to believe in their youth,"
Emil retorted with smiling effrontery. He was pleased with his wife
and with himself and he was glad to get in a final body blow on the
person of this officious slummer, as he subsequently described their
visitor.
"I am not unfamiliar with that line of argument," said Mr. Prentiss, in
the act of departure. "But I invite you to consider whether your
children, when they are old enough to think for themselves, will be
grateful for the substitute which you offer for doctrine. They ask for
bread, and what do you give them? A stone."
Emil laughed. He was content to let the parson have the last word. He
stood for a moment on the door-step watching him march down the street.
He felt that he had turned the tables on him completely and had thereby
won a victory for clear thinking and freedom of thought. He exclaimed
exultantly as he re-entered the parlor, "I guess that'll teach the old
duck to stay in his own barn-yard and not come waddling down here to
try to get us to believe that the world was made in seven days and
Jonah was swallowed by the whale."
Constance, who had fallen into troubled reverie, looked up and
exclaimed with emphasis, "Mr. Prentiss is a very reasonable man about
such matters, Emil. He used particularly to tell his Bible class that
the language of the Old Testament is sometimes metaphorical."
"Yes, I know how the clergy jump and change feet to avoid being
cornered. I'm aware they explain that the seven days were not our days
of twenty-four hours, but were symbolic terms for geological stretches
of time. Do you call that ingenuous?"
Constance winced. It happened that Mr. Prentiss had offered just this
explanation of holy writ, and somehow, now that Emil held it up to
scorn, the rector's commentary appeared flimsy. She sighed, then with
emotion said, "Emil, I wish you would tell me what you really do
believe."
"Believe?" He smiled indulgently as he echoed his wife's inquiry, but
his eyes snapped and his shock of hair seemed to stand up straighter.
His manner expressed a mixture of amused condescension and the tartness
of a dogged spirit suspicious of attack. "I believe, for one thing,
that the laws of nature are never violated, and that their integrity is
a grander attribute of divinity than the various sensational devices
which the orthodox maintain that an all-wise God employs to attract the
attention of men to Himself. I believe also that you in your secret
soul entirely agree with me."
Constance was silent a moment. "And yet you haven't answered my
question, Emil. You haven't told me what you do believe. Why isn't
religion just as real and true a part of man as any other instinct of
his being? It has been a constantly growing attribute."
"And the nonsense is being gradually squeezed out of it. Why should I
accept the dogma of that reverend father in God that a man can do
nothing by his own efforts? Isn't it a finer thought that we grow by
virtue of our struggles and that the free and independent soul wins the
battle of life by making the most of itself?"
Emil spoke with fierce rhetoric. To his wife's ear he seemed to be
pointing out besides that his own soul was fighting this battle and
that he was willing to be judged by the results regardless of doctrine.
Constance had long ago convinced herself that his bark was worse than
his bite; that he believed more than he really admitted of the
essentials of religion; that he acknowledged his responsibility to God
and was devoting his days to advancing the useful work of the world,
and incidentally providing for her happiness at the same time. His
plea for credit to the independent soul which overcame temptation and
obstacles was, at least, manly, and a sign of courage. She scarcely
heeded the quotation from the "Rubaiyat," which he was murmuring as a
corollary to his apostrophe to free and noble endeavor.
O thou who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the path I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with predestined evil round
Enmesh and then impute my fall to sin?
She had heard him quote these lines and others of like import before,
and she had learned some of them by rote. She recognized their charm
and cleverness and to a certain extent their plausibility; but she had
not the slightest impulse to revolutionize her own faith. Her
absorbing thought, for the moment, was how to be true to her husband
without being false to the church. Mr. Prentiss, in spite of his
appeal, had left her conscience unconvinced, and now her clear-headed,
fearless Emil had suddenly given her soul the cue to expression. Her
brown eyes kindled rapturously and trustfully as she said:
"It's the life after all which counts, isn't it? Everything else is of
secondary importance."
"Of course," said Emil. "And when it comes to that," he added,
"there's no one in the world who can pick a flaw in yours, you little
saint."
"You mustn't say things like that," Constance murmured. Nevertheless,
so far as it was a manifestation of confidence from the man she loved,
it was pleasant to hear.
From this time her attendance at church was very infrequent. She did
not cease to go altogether, but almost every Sunday was spent in
expeditions in the open air. The cares resulting from the birth of two
children necessarily interfered with her going regularly to service
while they were infants, and as soon as they were able to walk, the
Sunday outings were resumed with the little boy and girl as companions.
Mr. Prentiss did not revisit the house, but on each of the two or three
occasions when Constance occupied her old seat in St. Stephen's, she
felt that the rector had noticed her. He had apparently left her to
her devices, but his glance told her that she was not forgotten.