CHAPTER IVSHADOWS AT THE PARSONAGEMr. Thorpe was called to his old home by the death of his brother. This brother had gone to California the year before for his health, had died there and was brought home for burial.During their school days and college life, spent together, the boys had been very near to each other. There was a bond between them other than the bond of blood. A similarity of tastes and ambitions had brought about a congeniality and comradeship such as many times fails to develop between the offspring of the same parents. Both men had studied for the ministry and entered into the work at about the same time. But when George, the elder, was in the prime of his manhood a fatal malady had fixed itself upon him; a malady inherited, it was said, from his mother, who had laid down her burdens in the prime of her womanhood.It was now nearly two years since Maurice Thorpe with his bride had left the home of his youth. It was a sad return. Among familiar scenes, old memories, well remembered faces, he bowed his head in grief and sorrow, and saw the clods close in upon the narrow earth-bed of this loved one, this gentle man of God, whose life had been dedicated to humanity. Something valued, something prized and loved was gone from life. Whatever the years might hold hereafter, this dear one was gone; his God had taken him. But there were no doubts or sacrilegious questionings in Mr. Thorpe's mind. His God was his sovereign, supreme of will, infallible in justice. Nor did the thought ever penetrate the well-kept fabric of his belief that there could be aught of ignorance in his conception of God; or that the Infinite in its length and breadth and depths was not wholly within the compass of his vision.When he returned home, the marks of his grief were upon him, and Pauline believed that she detected a change in his health. His somewhat slender figure seemed more spare, his shoulders a trifle more stooped, and his chest contracted. Alarming symptoms, these. She had seen the first approach of the malady in his brother's case, and she could not mistake its advances. She took it upon herself to see that Maurice took proper care of himself. He was not allowed to sit in a draught, nor to go out unless properly protected from damp and cold. At the slightest alarm, a cough or failing appetite, she was ready with remedies and decoctions calculated to guard against and ward off all forms of the dread disease that was always pictured in her mind.And now a great fear that had long lain dormant in Mrs. Thorpe's heart sprang into life. What reason had she to believe that her husband would be spared this fatality, this mysterious thing that had transmitted itself from one generation to another, and was free to lay its hand on its victims as it chose; sparing where its fickle fancy dictated, or clutching its death fingers into the heart, and refusing to relax its hold until the lifeless body lay before it, if so its ghoulish will desired? And no man could say it nay! Brooking no restraint, gaunt, mocking, stalking abroad at noonday, in the land which the Lord God had created!The hot restlessness of heart which never wholly left her now flamed up and burned, and caused her to writhe as one in mortal pain. Questions of the gravest importance fraught with meanings she could not measure nor weigh confronted her wherever she turned. And the depth of her ignorance--humanity's ignorance--concerning the most vital things of life, seemed to her deplorable and reprehensible.From sheer necessity she dropped the greater burden of her work. And always fond of reading, she now read incessantly and without discrimination whatever work she could find bearing on that one great problem, Life, and that other all-absorbing question, Religion. And over and over, and again and again, she pondered the meaning of it all. What does it mean--this life of man, with all of its pleasures and pain, its stress and strife, its joy and sorrow, its good and evil--for what is it given? She had been taught to believe that it is a preparatory state, a test or trial to ascertain how many are deserving of eternal bliss hereafter. And although she struggled against it and refused to look upon it, a picture persisted in painting itself upon her mental vision. This was the picture of a father who placed his children, the weak and the strong together, in an open field, and compelled them to till the soil and to dig and delve in the ground. And at times he sent punishment upon them, torment and torture and physical pain; while they, the children, toiled on in blind and stupid ignorance, never knowing what it was that had caused the father's wrath to descend upon them. And the father sat calmly at a safe distance and stoically observed their conduct. At the end of a certain period he intended to reward those who had been very good and patient, and very submissive to his will, with a beautiful home, while the others, those who had rebelled or complained, or fallen by the wayside, he would drive into another field and inflict punishment yet more dire upon them.She never fully consented to look upon this picture, and she tried always to blot it from her vision, to erase and destroy it, and yet as often as she tried to do this she was horrified to find that by some strange machination of her mind she was condemning, repudiating the whole of creation, the scheme of the universe.Her purpose in life was too honest, too sincere, her desires too pure to admit of her taking any halfway ground on these questions that confused and perplexed her. Her reading and research led her into many strange and unfrequented byways--hazardous, she thought them sometimes, black with peril--destruction, perhaps. And yet she had come to the place where she must know--she for herself must know the truth. And while with a trembling hand she shattered her old beliefs--graven images of doctrine--she found nothing to take their place. The sincerity of her life was crowding her off her old footing--but where? Over a precipice? She felt it to be so, and then--what then? There were days when her mind refused to act, when her mental faculties were in a state of paralysis. Sometimes she fell into the old trick of her childhood, day dreaming.At the close of one painful, troubled day she sat before her open fire, her head against a pillow at the back of her chair. Her eyes were upon the fire at her feet. The flames leaped fitfully from time to time, and again fluttered among the embers. Slowly the gulf of the centuries was bridged and she witnessed the creation of the first man--no great task it appeared, for the dust of the earth furnished sufficient material. In our human wisdom, finite though it is, we do not permit our children to use edged tools--her eyes were on the red embers at her feet, and she saw, glowing there, the thing which infinite wisdom gave to man; that which was at once his glory and his undoing, a two-edged sword, deadly keen--good and evil. It developed that this keen edged sword was hardly the thing with which to prune and keep in order the luxurious garden set apart for man on one corner of the footstool.The unselfishness of Woman dates back to the Garden. No sooner had Eve broken open the luscious apple and tasted its flavor than she offered to divide it. And it was not within the nature of man to refuse so dainty a morsel from a fair hand.Then man began to wander over the face of the earth, footsore and sinstained, and in due course of time came the great Sacrifice--the spilling of blood--the Golgotha.The smouldering fire shot into tiny tongues of flame and licked the stones on the hearth--and yet what has the great Sacrifice accomplished? Wherein is the efficacy? Hoping, fearing, faithless--ignorant, suffering, despairing--this is Life. Men and women parade before us and flaunt to the world that they are saved--saved from what? Or for what? The shame and moral degradation, the pain and the anguish date back to the Garden. Christ came to check it, but wherein are we better? The poison is in our blood and the canker in our hearts; the flesh rots from the bones and the soul reeks in iniquity; the senses long for the fleshpots of Egypt, and with one accord we gather about the board, at the feast of Belshazzer!The flames died down, and the embers burned with a dull glow. Now a hush fell over the room and the stillness of the place folded itself about the woman motionless in her chair. The minutes slipped by and time flowed on without a break or ripple to mark its passing. The great calm stillness! Not only did it fill the room and lay like a garment about the dreamer, it filled her heart and entered her soul, and as a mother broods over her child and stills its restless wailing, it brooded over her and stilled all her tumultuous, unholy pain, and the spell of her turbulent, unwarrantable dream held her no longer.Now the dull red coals turned to ashes and lay crumbling in the grate. And into the waiting stillness, into the majesty of the silence there breathed something divine. It radiated in the soft white light and filled the room with its presence; and in sweet devotion before it knelt Humility and Meekness and Loving-kindness; and all power was in its hands of shining light, and all wisdom was in its star-pierced crown, and all truth in the stillness of its utterance. Into the soft white stillness, into the holy of holies, breathed this rarest gift of God--Love. The mystic glory of it hung about the dreamer, and quivered in the air, and throbbed and pulsed through the universe, and all things fell into place and became part of the endless plan of the Creator.Every unholy thought and every vagary of false belief fell away. The iniquity of the ages, and all the crime and passion and suffering of men became a cloud of vapor, like the misty foam on the ocean waves; but beneath the foam-flecked waves lies the mighty volume of the sea, and above them the limitless reach of the heavens. Now the mortal dream of the Dust man and his short-lived Eden and subsequent suffering receded into a shadowy delusion, and the reality of Life, and the substance of eternal things unfolded and encompassed all creation.Mrs. Thorpe stirred in her chair and felt the yielding of its cushioned depths and the pressure of the pillow at her head. She heard the door open and Pauline come into the room. She sat erect in her chair and drew her hand across her forehead."Have you been asleep, dear?" Pauline asked."Perhaps, asleep and dreaming--it was a dream--yes, a dream, it was all a dream." She brushed the hair from her temples, and again: "Was it all a dream?"CHAPTER VDR. ELDRIGE JR.Dr. Eldrige Jr. was a very different man from Dr. Eldrige his father. What the elder man lacked in courtesy and kindness was abundantly present in the son. He had studied under his father, practiced and consulted with him; yet in the finer issues of life, its amenities and its culture, their lives might be likened to the branches of a stream: one followed a gorge of clay between banks of rocks and barren soil; the other flowed quietly between green banks, over white sand and shining pebbles.The elder man had been known to remark that the rub and wear of life, actual life as he had seen it, would change the color of his son's views. If any man could practice medicine as many years as he had practiced it, and not pronounce the whole human race a disgusting sham and a blasted humbug, he pitied that man, for there must be considerable of the fool in his make-up.The son, however, was well content to go his way, seeing life as it appeared to him, and doing what lay in his power to make rough places smooth and ease the sufferings of humanity. He never undertook to modify his father's views, and on all occasions when it was possible for him to do so, he evaded crossing swords with him.It was late one night when Dr. Eldrige Jr. left a poor home where he had been attending a patient. A wretched, ill-kept home it was, whose inmates seemed a thing apart from the divine creation. He stepped out into the night, bared his head and breathed deep of the fresh, sweet air. Above him was the tent of night, jeweled with stars, and at his feet the dew-wet grass, the dwelling place of tiny dumb creatures that cling to the earth's damp mold, and before him, like a blemish on Nature's canvas, the home built and fashioned and kept by man.He was a reverent man, with no inclination to shift the responsibility of humanity's ignominious burden back upon the Maker. He had no solution to offer for the problem of human sin and woe, and he did not undertake to place the iniquity of existing conditions. His mission was to minister to those who needed his service, and this he did whether he found his patient in a palace or in a hovel.Leaving the poor home where the sufferer lay, he came to the one pretentious street of the Flat. There had been some sort of a performance at the theatre, and the people were pouring out of the door. He was hurrying by, anxious to avoid the crowd, when his attention was attracted to a man and woman standing under the light of a lamp. The man was talking in a low, rapid manner, and the woman seemed but half inclined to agree to what he was saying. The doctor passed them directly under the lamplight; but neither of them noticed him or looked his way, he thought it very likely that they did not care to be seen by him. But as he went on his way a very tempest of rage burned within him."And that," he ejaculated to himself, "is Max Morrison, the man who is welcomed in the best homes in Edgerly! And Margaret, little Margaret, whom the children used to call 'Lassie'!" His mind went back to his boyhood days, when his father lived in a small village, and he and Margaret went to the same school. That was before Margaret's father died; he was the village blacksmith then, a hearty, whole-souled Scotchman. And what a laughing, rosy child the little Lassie was then. He remembered her temper, too, as did all who knew her at that time. He was a well-grown boy then and Margaret but a bit of a girl, but he had never forgotten her bright and winsome ways. Could this girl with the hard lines on her dark face ever have been the child that he recalled? He walked rapidly, his anger and indignation burning within him. He climbed the long hill that led from the Flat up to the church, and descended on the other side; past the parsonage with its sleeping inmates, and on to his own home. Here he again bared his head and stood quietly beneath the stars. The events of the evening oppressed him. That Margaret had been beguiled from her home was, he knew, an open secret in Edgerly. His face set in grim, hard lines."No one who cared to know," he was sure, "could be ignorant of the character of the man who had led her to her downfall."The next morning the doctor visited his poor patient again, and found his condition improved. The light of reason was again in his eyes, and it was evident that he clung to life with as much desire as the most favored prince of earth clings to it.On his return he passed the Mayhew home. A party of young people, with Mrs. Mayhew as chaperon, were starting for a day's outing among the hills. A carriage stood at the curb; he bowed to Max Morrison, who was holding the spirited horses. Geraldine Vane, who was ready to enter the carriage, greeted him pleasantly. He lifted his hat to her, and she looked into his face."Is not this a beautiful morning for a drive?" she said."It is indeed a beautiful morning," he replied, but there was a coldness in his voice and his brows were contracted. Yet, as he went on his way he was sure that Geraldine's pure white face was the fairest that God's sun ever shone upon. He watched the carriage as it turned a corner into a street that led to a country road; and all the heart within him cried out against the vision of those two, Max and Geraldine, drinking in the beauty of fields and byways, earth and sky--those two together!When he reached his office he found his father in a fit of ill-temper. This, however, was quite a chronic condition with the old doctor."You've been practicing among the Flat scrubs again," he said to his son. "Strange you cannot let the miserable curs die and the earth be rid of them."The son paid little heed to his father's coarse bluster."They may be scrubs," he replied in his smooth, even tones, "and they may be curs, in fact, I think you are right, father, they are scrubs and curs over on the Flat, and perhaps the earth would be better off without them; nevertheless they are men, and my work lies among men." And this quiet argument silenced the old doctor, if it did not stay his wrath.During the long, hot summer there was much sickness on the Flat, and Dr. Eldrige Jr. spent much of his time among the sufferers. The heat was intense, and the heavens withheld the rain, the earth became dry and parched, and the dust lay thick on the meagre foliage. The name of Dr. Eldrige Jr. became a magic word in that suffering district. Hard faces grew tender and harsh words died upon the lips when his name was spoken. And day by day he went quietly about his work, relieving pain and caring tenderly for neglected old age, hardened criminals and suffering children. And hardened men and careworn women felt the stirring of new emotions within them and knew that the world is not all bad, nor life altogether bitter.The summer days slipped by and the frost of autumn, Nature's tonic, came to aid the doctor in his efforts; and life, wretched at best, assumed its usual aspect on the Flat.On his return from his round of visits one day the young doctor was met by his father, who was in a towering rage."Spending your time in the Flat filth," he growled. "Haven't you brains enough to keep out of the cursed mire? Here you are, able to minister to the puppets in high places, who, for want of better employment, spend their time nursing their aches and pains, and are proud of the size of their doctors' bills. You can dope them and dupe them quite as well as I can. Now here's a message from the Reverend Maurice Thorpe. It came an hour ago. Mrs. Thorpe has another attack of headache. Whatever that woman does to bring on those cursed spells is more than I know. If it were not for the holy fool her husband is, I should think she quarreled with him. But whatever the trouble is, all the reverends and the chosen of the Lord could go into fits and the earth be rid of them while you are to your ears in Flat mire. Now make yourself presentable and go and give Mrs. Thorpe a dose of morphine."Dr. Eldrige Jr. hastened to do his father's bidding; not because of the old man's wrath and ire, but because he knew something of the severity of Mrs. Thorpe's attacks, and felt a very sincere sympathy for her. He found her walking to and fro in her room. She wore a crimson dressing gown, which fell loosely about her form. Her hair hung in disorder over her shoulders and rippled down her back; but she was all unconscious of her appearance. Her hands were clasped against her temples, and there was a frenzied look in her eyes, and dark blue marks lay beneath them. A white line, indicating intense pain, was drawn about her mouth.She recognized Dr. Eldrige Jr. when he entered the room, but the fact that it was his father instead whom she had expected to see, caused her to suffer a nervous shock. She faltered in her walking and swayed uncertainly. Pauline, who was with her, sprang to her assistance.Dr. Eldrige Jr. laid his hand on her shoulder and requested her to be seated. But she paid not the slightest attention to his request, and with eyes fixed on the floor, began again her restless walking."Perhaps she does not even hear you," said Pauline, "Sometimes when the pain is so intense we think she neither sees nor hears."The doctor laid his hand on her arm and pushed the loose sleeve up to her shoulder, and in a voice that she obeyed without conscious volition, he commanded her to be quiet; then dexterously injected a dose of morphine into the flesh of her upper arm.It was not long before her head drooped forward and her limbs seemed to grow weary, and then it was not difficult to place her comfortably upon a couch, where she soon fell into a troubled sleep. The doctor remained beside her for some time; then he prepared a powder to be given when she awoke, and took his departure.When he returned to his office he said to his father: "I see nothing unusual about the nature of Mrs. Thorpe's headache; the pain seemed more intense than ordinary, yet it appears very like a common megrim.""Megrim be blasted!" growled the doctor. "There's something more the matter with that woman than you or I know anything about. She's a brainy wench, and I have thought that perhaps she may be trying to find out the why and wherefore of some of the common-place things in this old world of ours. I tell you, my boy, when the Lord put Adam out of the Garden for fear he might take on too much knowledge, and set him working for his living, it showed mighty plain that there are a lot of things in this old world of ours that he never intended for man to find out. Mrs. Thorpe's mind is at the bottom of this trouble; she has let it get the upper hand of her. And I don't know but an over-dose of morphine would be the best thing for her now. It wouldn't sound bad to say that Mrs. Thorpe, wife of the Reverend Maurice Thorpe, died of heart failure during one of her nervous attacks."CHAPTER VIPHYSICIAN AND FRIENDThe next day a message came for Dr. Eldrige Jr. which took him past the parsonage. On his return he called on Mrs. Thorpe.Pauline answered his ring. "Mrs. Thorpe will be pleased to see you," she said. "She is feeling better to-day."Mrs. Thorpe received him cordially. "It is kind of you to call," she said. "I am quite myself again to-day. My headaches are usually of short duration. You doctors relieve me for the time; but I live in continual dread of the next attack. If only I could know what it is that causes this trouble there is nothing I would not do to eradicate it; for I believe if this could be overcome I should have my health again."Dr. Eldrige recalled what his father had said about the mental condition of this woman. Could he probe her inner life and ferret out the cause of her trouble? Under the circumstances would it be right for him to do so, if he could? With these questions in mind he engaged her in easy conventional conversation, and without a suspicion of the fact on her part, he studied her face and watched her movements with quiet intensity. He desired to do all that he could for his patient's physical welfare; and the heart and mind have so great an influence over the body, that just how far a physician has a right to seek and search becomes a finely balanced question. He resolved to give her an opportunity to be frank with him if she cared to do so, but if there was anything she desired to conceal he would not intrude upon her secrecy."The cause of your trouble, Mrs. Thorpe, may be beyond the reach of doctors' skill. There are many ills that a physician is able to alleviate, but there may be inducing causes that no physician is able to discover."She waited some moments before she spoke, and the doctor's eyes were upon her expectantly."The fate of the whole human race lies with you physicians," she said. "There is scarcely one on this earth who is every whit whole. And those for whom you cannot prescribe--?" She stopped short, and her eyes flashed abruptly into his.The doctor saw that she had missed the import of his words, and he believed that she attributed to them a meaning that could not fail to distress her, and he hastened to correct his mistake."I did not mean to intimate that your trouble is beyond a physician's reach, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. "Yours is what my father calls a 'case of nerves.'"She put out her hands as though to entreat him to desist. Always in her intercourse with the old doctor she had felt a reticence that made it impossible for her to talk with him, except on strictly professional topics; but there was something in this man's face, a plain, clear-cut face it was, and in his manner, kind and sympathetic, that inspired her confidence."I know," she said, "that mine is a nervous trouble, but must we admit that there is pain in this world for which there is no remedy? Maladies for which there is no physician? Must we admit the situation to be true, and stand helpless before it, that certain forms of suffering, deadly in their nature, have been laid upon humanity, for which no antidote has been given? It cannot be--this cannot be true, else what is the inference?""You have misunderstood my meaning, Mrs. Thorpe. You should have heard me out. I beg of you not to believe that I consider your trouble one for which there is no remedy. I meant only to call your attention to the fact that a great variety of causes may be responsible for nervous troubles. We look, naturally, for a physical cause, for a physical ailment; yet it is a mistake to believe that this must always be the case. It sometimes happens that the mind is largely responsible for the physical condition."She waited again before she spoke. Her hands lay idly in her lap, but the doctor noticed that she was not in a state of relaxation, but that there was a restrained energy in attitude and manner."I think that you in your turn have misunderstood me, Dr. Eldrige," she said. "I deplore my own condition, certainly, but a menace to human happiness lies in the fact that the whole race is heir to the sufferings of the individual. Mine is not an isolated case. I am but one of the great world-wide family that is bound on the altar of human suffering."Now the doctor saw that Mrs. Thorpe was discussing a subject broader than her own personal disability, and the first inkling of the truth came to him; and with it there came also an illumination of the woman's character. He saw her love for humanity and her compassion for its woes; and with keen perception he was able to understand something of her futile efforts toward an adjustment of existing conditions that might, to her own mind, seem fair and just. And great as was his concern for her physical condition, he now felt this to be of small importance compared to his desire to help her out of her mental dilemma. But the difficulty was as real to him as it was to her, yet there was this difference: it was a difficulty that he admitted, accepted, and dismissed from his thoughts, while with her he saw that it was rending the very fibre of her life and distorting her mental vision. But keenly as he realized the situation, he found no word of help to offer her, and so he said:"I fear we shall find our task an arduous one, and unprofitable as well, if we undertake to account for humanity's burden.""Whether we can account for it or not," she replied, "we, the children of a common Father, are sordidly indifferent to it. We go about our affairs during our waking hours with a sort of a pitiful gratitude toward the monster Disease, if by good fortune we have escaped him; we go to our rest at night, and if we are free from the fell hand, we sleep, while thousands and thousands of creatures, divinely made, are wrestling with mortal pain."The doctor's eyes were upon her; not a movement, nor an expression of her face escaped him. He saw that the pupils of her eyes were dilated, and that a peculiar light burned within them; and he noticed that it was necessary for her to make a greater effort in order to control the nervous energy that possessed her. There was a ring of reckless protest in her voice as she continued:"Is this a haphazard world, Dr. Eldrige, where men escape by chance, or are overwhelmed by circumstance? Is there no overruling power, no fixed law to which men may conform, and by which they may be governed and protected, even to the extent that our man-made laws govern and protect those who conform to them? I have been over this ground so many times; I have questioned and reasoned and studied, and yet I have learned--nothing at all."Her hands fell to her sides with a nervous movement, but her face was averted now, as though she would not have him see its expression.The doctor thought of what his father had said about the limitations the Lord has placed on human knowledge. He did not for a moment admit that there was a grain of truth in the theory, in fact he believed it to be one of his father's queer jests; yet the thought came to him that the woman before him seemed an actual demonstration of such a theory. But his answer was far from the thought and was intended to turn her mind to a more practical consideration of the subject."There are many laws of Nature that are intended to protect mankind. Our safety lies in obeying them; if we disobey, a penalty must be paid, and though the penalty may seem severe, or even, to us, unjust, this should but teach us to be the more obedient and circumspect.""Do you believe that physical disability is always the result of a broken law of Nature?" The question was direct, incisive, and her eyes were upon him, demanding the truth.He answered her truthfully, yet because of his own lack of knowledge, evasively:"Not a direct result always, perhaps; some maladies are constitutional, inherited from some ancestor, it may be.""Yes, it may be," she replied. She seemed quieter now, but there was an unmistakable accent of scorn in her voice."It may be. I have observed that where it comes to a question that concerns humanity high and low, the world over, it is very likely to be all guesswork with us."There was a moment's silence, and her ever-varying mood changed again, and when she spoke her words came rapidly and there was a gleaming fire in her eyes."And if we do inherit our diseases, to whom are we indebted for this heritage? We may say to some ancestor, and if there is any uncertainty about it we make him as remote as possible. But where did he get it, where did he get this thing that has been fought and battled through all the years of its existence, yet has proven itself invulnerable? Give me the origin of disease. Who conceived it? Who created it? What is its mission--? this thing that is stronger than man--stronger than his Maker--" Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper. "If there are two powers in this world, and this cruel, monstrous thing we call disease is the stronger of the two, what folly for man to struggle or resist. Oh, to know--toknow--if only one couldknow!" Her voice fell and broke in a gasping sob, and she covered her face with her hands.Dr. Eldrige did not betray by word or look that Mrs. Thorpe had disclosed to him the trouble that was preying on her mind, and he did not forget his professional duties. He had gained the knowledge that he desired to possess, yet the fact that this woman had allowed her mind to dwell on subjects of a religious nature until her health suffered and her reason was threatened was of no particular importance to him unless he could use his knowledge for her benefit; and now the question confronted him: had he the wisdom and tact to do this?"Mrs. Thorpe," he said, "you have allowed your mind to dwell too long on this subject. As your physician I advise you to put this thing wholly from you."But he saw her face grow white and her eyes dilate, and he thought best to change his tactics. He dropped his professional manner, or rather it seemed to slip from him. Before such need as this he felt that a mere physician must stand helpless and disarmed; but the man within him was ready to give in friendship's name all that could be given. Yet, the realization of his own lack of knowledge again arose before him and seemed almost to jeer and jest at his ignorance. But with scarcely a moment's hesitation, although fighting for the mastery of his own discordant thoughts, he decided to try once more to give this woman before him something practical and tangible for her mind to dwell upon."There are some things in this world that we cannot know," he said. "Perhaps it was intended that we should not know them. This we do know, that a pursuit of knowledge concerning them cannot benefit us, cannot fail to do us harm. And there is consolation, or at least exculpation, for us in the fact that this is God's world. He created it, he is responsible--we are not. We have only to take life as we find it, and make the best we can of it; we have no right to burden ourselves further."In thus making it appear as though it is the Infinite One, and not finite man, who is responsible for the world's discords, Dr. Eldrige Jr. did not express a sincere conviction, but he felt that it would be a great indiscretion to enter into any argument or discussion with Mrs. Thorpe at this time, and he sincerely hoped that she might catch some suggestion from his words that would tend to quiet her troubled mind. Yet, despite his good intentions, he was conscious of a haunting thought that for a deadly malady he was giving a medicine whose only virtue lay in its being smooth to the taste.Mrs. Thorpe saw the flaw in his logic, and to her distorted vision it seemed like a fault in the Infinite plan; but she said no more. She was already sick at heart over what she considered her indiscretion. And she felt guilty of a sort of infidelity to her husband for having given voice to heresies that she knew would displease and offend him, and a thousand troubled thoughts surged through her brain. The glow had left her face and it now appeared pale and cold, and her eyes that had burned with so bright a light seemed dull as though covered with mist. Her voice, too, had lost its life and ring."You have been very kind to me, Dr. Eldrige," she said, "and I thank you."The doctor arose to take his departure. "I have advised you both as a physician and a friend," he said, "to rid your mind of this unhappy train of thought, and I will add, find something to take up your time and attention; let it be amusing, entertaining, frivolous if you like, but give it your entire attention."Mrs. Thorpe had arisen and stood confronting him. She now extended her hand to him, and her unfathomable eyes looked into his."You are my friend, Dr. Eldrige," she said. There was the conviction of a statement in the words, yet a catch in her voice and the intonation made it seem almost a question.The doctor was quick of perception; instantly he understood her unworded request. He took her hand in his."I am your friend," he said, in a voice of utmost respect and sincerest sympathy. "And before God I will help you in any way that I can."After the doctor left her, Mrs. Thorpe stood at her window and looked out at the somber autumn day. A gray mist hung in the air and red and yellow leaves lay in heaps in the corners of the yard. With her old habit still strong upon her, Mrs. Thorpe fell into reverie."Nature nursed the tiny leaves into life," she mused; "gave them form and color and permitted them to sport in happy freedom through all the days of summer, and now at the approach of winter she has bedecked them in gorgeous array."And then the very subject that the doctor had so painstakingly warned her against presented itself to her in every form and shape that it was possible for it to assume."There is no pain nor suffering in this changing process," she thought; "even when disintegration sets in there is no reason to believe that a leaf or plant or flower feels the downward process to which it is subjected. This heritage of suffering, the realization of corruption and pollution, has been reserved for man--man, who of all the creatures of God's creation has been made the most susceptible to pain and woe. The vine flings its blood-colored leaves to the breeze, oblivious of time or change. The great trees reach their arms to the sky and stand secure in their native strength. How complete is the harmony between all growing things and Nature's laws that govern them."When thinking deeply Mrs. Thorpe often experienced the strange phenomenon of having her thoughts suddenly, and without her conscious will, revert to some irrelevant circumstance or event apparently forgotten. Vividly before her now there flashed the vision of a little girl, who in her childish mind firmly believed that there were two Gods, a good one and a bad one. She gave a low shriek and covered her face with her hands."I have been worshiping the bad God!" she whispered.Pauline, who was busy in an adjoining room, thought she heard a peculiar sound, and came into the room. She found Mrs. Thorpe reclining in an easy chair near the window."Are you feeling well, Evelyn?" she asked."As well as usual, I think," Mrs. Thorpe replied. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It was another bitter drop in her cup, the bitterest one of all, perhaps, that she could not prevent wild impulses and strange fancies from flitting through her brain. She might be obliged to yield her body to this unknown power that no man could explain or trace to its origin, but with all the force of her nature she fought against yielding her brain and will as well.There was with her a continual sense of discord and irritation; small, trivial things upset her mental balance and rendered her trying and exacting with those about her. Secretly, she resented the close companionship of Pauline; she chaffed over the way many small tasks were performed, and often felt hurt and miserable, and all sorts of unhappy fancies dwelt in her mind.Those were dark days at the parsonage. Daily the pastor knelt in prayer and implored the gracious Father to restore health and strength to the dear one suffering under His hand.Mrs. Thorpe grew more frail and her health continued to decline during the winter. She would sometimes sit for hours thinking or dreaming, her hands folded idly in her lap, her eyes on the glowing fire. But no hint of the trend of her thoughts ever escaped her. Whatever problems presented themselves to her, she found their solution alone or not at all; from whatever premise she reasoned, she reasoned alone, without a hint or help to guide her, and her conclusions were always the deductions of her own brain, but flavored and colored, no doubt, by the writers, ancient and modern, sacred and secular, whose convictions and beliefs she had read, measured and weighed.There were two reasons for her rigid silence. One of these was the natural proclivity from the days of her childhood to keep within her own heart the things that troubled and puzzled her. The other reason was much more complex, and added materially to the burden that she carried. Her husband, scholarly, thoughtful, gentle and reverent, was, she knew, flint and steel where the doctrines and dogmas of his church were concerned, and would, she believed, yield up his life as readily as any martyr of old had ever done, rather than yield one principle of his faith or compromise one conviction.Her domestic relations had been particularly happy; her husband's faith and confidence in her were complete. And dear to her as the breath to her nostrils was his love and approbation. And the more surely she felt the structure of her life, her aims and purposes, her hopes and aspirations falling in ruins about her, the more passionately she clung to this, the one thing that was left her, beautiful and unimpaired. What was all that she had suffered, or all that she could suffer while her husband's faith in her remained, compared to what must follow should he learn that she had withdrawn from him spiritually, forsaken the principles that were strong within him as the fibres of his life, repudiated the sacred tenets of his church? A sort of prayer had worded itself in her brain that she be not spared in bodily pain nor mental suffering, that no portion of the burden she bore be removed, if thereby, in life or death, her husband must know that she had proven faithless to the principles of his faith.CHAPTER VIIMRS. THORPE'S MOUNTAINSThe ice king reigned. Ice bound, snow covered, the world lay white and still in the embrace of winter. Nature had closed her laboratory and turned the key; all the wonderful things in her store-rooms were waiting and resting. The tiny rootlets were deaf to the moaning wind; the stern and sturdy trees tossed their branches to the sky and defied the storms in their rage to tear from them the life force which they guarded; the ice-locked lakes and rivers joined in the great white stillness.It was the time of year when the Star appeared in the East and wise men journeyed far to visit the Child; the time when the shepherds were aroused by the heavenly visitants, and angels proclaimed that the world's Redeemer was born and that the good tidings were for all men. Nevertheless, at this anniversary of the Redeemer's birth there were hearts in Edgerly in which rankled bitterness and envy, and where burned hatred and despair. Children, poorly clad, pale and thin, shivered along the streets of the city, and men and women faced the biting blast and dreamed of the return of the season that should warm and comfort them.But these things were not in Maurice Thorpe's mind when he prepared his Christmas sermon. His purpose was to give to his people at this most blessed season something that would comfort them and bring peace, even the peace that had been proclaimed to their hearts.The sweet hush of the Sabbath brooded over the church and lay like a benediction over the parsonage. The winter sunshine, warm and mellow, sifted through the windows and added to the warmth and glow of Mrs. Thorpe's apartment. In her clinging crimson gown, which brought into strong relief her white drawn face and luminous dark eyes, she appeared almost as though she might be a being from some other world."The morning is fine," said Mr. Thorpe, "and the air will do you good. It has been a long time since you attended church, Evelyn. Make yourself ready and go with me to-day."Mrs. Thorpe avoided her husband's eyes. Could she trust herself to go? Dare she trust herself to refuse? Mr. Thorpe overruled her excuse of illness and insisted that going out would do her good.Without further protest she yielded to his wishes and accompanied him. It was the Sunday before Christmas. The air was crisp and keen and brought a freshness and a bit of color to their faces as they climbed the incline to the church.The solemn strains of the organ began in a hushed minor key and increased in volume and tone until they rang and vibrated through the farthest corner of the room. The melody was now pleading and plaintive, like a voice filled with passionate longing, and again solemn and grand as the longing glided into fulfillment, and at last triumphant, victorious--"All is well with the world."Geraldine Vane, a little lower than the angels, her blue eyes like stars and her yellow hair like a halo of light, put her own heart-pulse into the music. In the anthem that followed, Max Morrison's strong, clear voice rang out the joyful message:"Peace on earth, good-will, good-will to men."The congregation joined in singing a song and the words burned themselves into Mrs. Thorpe's brain and caused her heart to quiver and her soul to writhe--"Not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain,Could give the guilty conscience peace, nor wash away the stain.But Christ the heavenly lamb takes all our sins away.A sacrifice of nobler name and richer blood than they.My soul looks back to see the burden Thou didst bearWhile hanging on the cursed tree, and knows his guilt was there."The Reverend Maurice Thorpe then stepped forward and gave the waiting audience his text:"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoso believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."The pastor's voice was musical and cultured and the words of the text as he uttered them met with a magnetic response from the audience. This silent applause, this outpouring of the commendation of his hearers was as manifest to Mr. Thorpe as though it had been demonstrated by visible signs or audible words; as manifest and more satisfactory, for the sense of exultation which it gave him was perceived by no one save himself.Sensitive and responsive, he always knew in what spirit his people received his text. He read their faces as an open book, and took his keynote from them. It was this intangible method of getting at the hearts of his people that made it possible for him to comfort and satisfy them, while preaching the most orthodox doctrine and restricted creed.Mrs. Thorpe's battle began with the text. She kept her eyes withdrawn from the pastor's face and she endeavored to keep her mind from dwelling wholly on what he was saying. She thought of the long line of snow-capped homes that led up to the church; and about her heart there clutched a hardness cold and unyielding as the frost king's embrace of the earth. Each building and frost-hung shrub and white-branched tree reared itself into a mountain of ice and snow. And Mrs. Thorpe felt that just such a range of ice-bound mountains, relentless, forbidding, impassable, lay between her and the love of God.The pastor, with nice discernment, was able to give his voice just the proper pitch and volume to cause it to fill the room; every word was carefully articulated, clear and distinct:"From the beginning, man, the crowning work of God's hand, manifested a disposition to disobey, and this disobedience plunged the world into a chaos of sin and disorder. From the earliest record we see man demonstrating his evil nature, his tendency to sin and all unrighteousness.... The priests of old endeavored to cleanse and purify from sin. Moses was chosen the deliverer of the Lord's ancient people; David in his day was called to rule over them; Solomon was given wisdom with which to direct them; Jeremiah threatened them with destruction; and Habakkuk exhorted them to a renewal of righteousness and prayed the Lord to be merciful to them. But the downward tendency was inherent within them and the record of man is one long record of sin and unfaithfulness...."From time to time, owing to the wickedness of the people, it became necessary to visit punishment and destruction upon them. And many sacrifices were offered to God for the sins of the people. Lambs were slain and offered upon consecrated altars; goats and bullocks were sacrificed and altars ran red with the blood that was shed to wash away the still more crimson stain of men's sins. But there came a time when a long-suffering God could not thus be appeased; there came a time my friends, my brothers,there came a timewhen the blood of goats and bullocks was not sufficient to wash away the sins of man; was not sufficient to appease the wrath of Almighty God. When this time came, the only begotten Son was given into the hands of men to be crucified...."A child, a little, helpless child, was cradled in a manger and ministered to by His Virgin mother. No man has trod nor can ever tread the pathway of pain and suffering that lay before this child, given to die for the sins of men. No man can drink the cup that He drank, or suffer the anguish that He suffered. He must die upon a cross, scorned and reviled by the world He came to save.... In the blood of His own beloved Son God wiped out the sins of the world, and so great is the corruption in which the children of men are steeped, that had one drop in the bitter cup, one sigh of anguish in the Garden, one nail that pierced the defenseless hand of the Christ been spared, the God of righteousness and justice would not have been appeased. This, then, this sacrifice sealed in blood, is the price of your salvation and mine, and there is no other way under heaven whereby men may be saved. Our pardon has been bought with the innocent blood of a crucified Savior."Mrs. Thorpe felt her breath coming in short, quick gasps. Her cheeks were a scarlet flame and a white line was drawn about her mouth. How could men live and praise and exult under this carnage of blood! Where should she fly--how escape? Was there no way out of this--this--THIS! Was it inevitable, irrevocable, that she must reap the benefit of this awful carnage, this slaughter of a world's Redeemer? Who had at her birth, yea, before she was born, laid upon her sins for which another was called to suffer--who had dared to do this? If a blood sacrifice was required for her conscious sins, then her blood it should be--not another's--not innocent blood for culpable sin!But the acme of her suffering lay in the thought that the God of the world had decreed this thing, in His own heart He had conceived it, from the beginning He had foreseen it--premeditated it. What wonder that chaos reigns in His world? What wonder that the children of His creation have from the beginning gone astray? What wonder that envy and hatred, strife, bitterness and despair live and flourish? Can man rise above his conception of his Creator? Can he consistently worship a God who had planned and caused to be done a thing from which the compassionate human heart must shrink and human hand must stay? Is not the whole story of the Creation, the Fall, the Sacrifice, the Redemption, as we have heard it in all its harrowing details, absurd, deplorable, culpable? Can we in sincerity acknowledge ourselves guilty of a sin for which we are not responsible, and grateful to a Creator who, possessing absolute power, fashioned men free in will and action, and then forced upon them the blood of His own innocent Son to save them from the consequences of their freedom?Yet, bewildered and entangled as Mrs. Thorpe felt herself to be, in this labyrinth of doubt and rebellion, she was aware that other thoughts than these were tapping at the door of her consciousness; tapping and pleading for admission. Deep in her heart soil a grain of truth was throwing out its penetrating rootlets and struggling toward the light. But so completely would these thoughts, if admitted and accepted, uproot every preconceived idea, so entirely would they cast out and destroy that which all her life she had been taught to believe, that their pleading for admittance but increased the confusion of her thoughts and rendered her mental state more chaotic.When the service was over Mrs. Thorpe became aware that many eyes, curious and sympathetic, were upon her; yet few of her friends spoke to her, for there was an unwritten law that no one should go out of the way to speak to another and that little demonstration should be made inside the church. All was orderly and dignified and befitting the house of the Lord. Strangers came and went; newcomers felt the chill of propriety that pervaded the atmosphere, and the old members felt it, too, and gloried in it.In her fertile brain Mrs. Thorpe beheld them all, the old members and the new, and the strangers among them, as in a vision, and all were trying to climb the mountains of ice, trying to reach Heaven over a pathway of cold indifference and fixed and rigid form.Mr. Thorpe joined his wife near the church door and he put his arm protectingly about her as she descended the church steps. He felt that the Lord had been specially kind to give her strength to be present at this service.Pauline preceded them and was already in the kitchen overseeing the dinner when they arrived. Mrs. Thorpe went directly to her room and, removing her wraps, sank down in her easy chair. Her eyes were dry and bright, but she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders quivered as if beneath a load."Never again," she moaned, "never again can I trust myself to hear his voice from the pulpit."The admission wrung her heart and hurt her as hearts are wrung and hurt when some dear one passes from view of mortal sight.Pauline tapped at the door and announced dinner. Mrs. Thorpe arose and stood for a moment before her fire."If there were a God," she whispered, "if there were a God, loving and strong and powerful--oh, a God who cares for His own, how passionately would I beseech Him to be with me now, to help and uphold me!" She walked over and opened her door. "There really should be such a God--Friend--Father," she continued in an undertone, "for we need Him so!"Mr. Thorpe and Pauline were awaiting her in the dining-room. Mr. Thorpe, who was never lacking in the small courtesies of the home, seated her at the table and took his place opposite."I am glad to see that the exertion of the morning has not overtried your strength, my dear," he said. "Your face in the congregation is an inspiration to me. I hope you will be able to attend regularly hereafter."Pauline, whose insight was keener than the pastor's, divined that all was not well with Mrs. Thorpe, and broached another subject."The church was well filled this morning," she remarked."Yes," said Mr. Thorpe. "There seems to be something about the Christmas season that touches all hearts. And I think the Savior's birth means more to the world every year.""Is this because men's hearts are changing," asked Mrs. Thorpe, "or do we understand Christ's mission better?""I think the religious world realizes as it never has before the greatness of the sacrifice that has been made for humanity," replied Mr. Thorpe. "We may call it Christ's mission if we like, but I prefer the term sacrifice in connection with Him who was born to die that we might live."The flow of talk continued, but as it often happened, Pauline and Mr. Thorpe kept up the conversation. Mrs. Thorpe did not venture another remark, and after the meal went directly to her room. Her husband followed her and seated himself before her open fire. Neither spoke for a few moments, and the pastor reached for a book that lay on a stand nearby. Mrs. Thorpe saw the movement and moved as though to intercept him; but the book was in his hand. It was a small volume bound in white and gold.Mrs. Thorpe lay back in her chair and her face framed with her dark hair seemed drawn and white as it lay against the scarlet cushion."What have you here, my dear? What are you reading nowadays?" asked Mr. Thorpe in a full, smooth voice. And something in the tone caused Mrs. Thorpe's heart to vibrate as to a well-loved melody. How she loved this man; bowed to him, reverenced him. She did not answer him now, she did not stir nor turn her head.Mr. Thorpe opened the little book at random and his eyes fell upon the following: "God is a spirit and they who worship Him must worship him in spirit and in truth."It is difficult to understand how the idea of God as a personal being of power and wrath has taken so strong a hold upon men's minds. Not until this idea is eliminated, totally overcome and cast out, can we know our God as He is, and understand the divine mission that Christ came to perform...."The Son of God became incarnate on the earth--not to die for men's sins--albeit a cruel and misguided people crucified Him--but by His life to teach the Truth of Life. Not to die the death of a martyr, not to offer a human sacrifice to a God of love, but to teach the children of God's creation to live."Mr. Thorpe closed the book with his forefinger at the place. Mrs. Thorpe felt, rather than saw, his eyes upon her and she turned and looked into his face."Evelyn," he said, "what have you here? Where did you get this--this absurd book?"Mrs. Thorpe did not answer him; instead she sank back into her chair and closed her eyes.Mr. Thorpe regarded her for a moment, then he opened the book again and ran his eyes down the page. He halted at this paragraph:"It may be true that the reluctance with which men change their conception of God, their propensity to cling to the creed and doctrines which have been handed down to them, serves to keep their hearts reverent and worshipful; nevertheless that which is false, all that is erroneous and misleading must die. The world to-day is demanding the truth about the deep hidden things of God."No matter how sacred a teaching or belief may have been to our forefathers, nor how efficacious it seemed to meet their needs, we must know that while the immortal Truth changes not, the ideas of men concerning it have changed with the process of the ages. Does anyone believe that while we are progressing in every line of industry, art and science, that to be Christian we must continue to stand in our religious convictions where our forefathers stood?"Mr. Thorpe glanced at his wife. She had not changed her position, but he noticed a twitching of her eyelids and that the color had rushed into her face, burning her cheeks to a scarlet flame. He did not speak, but continued the next paragraph."Let us, then, with all reverence yet unafraid, seek the saving truth of God, strip it of creed and form, remove the tattered garment of prejudice and bigotry, lay low the orthodox beliefs which, while claiming to house and shelter this divine Truth, have hedged it about and endeavored to limit it to that which mortal hands have bound upon church altars."Mr. Thorpe closed the book sharply, then opened it again and looked for the writer's name. It was a new name to him. He laid the book back on the stand and stepped to his wife's side. He laid his hand gently on her hair."Evelyn," he said, "how came you by that book?"She looked full into his face and answered directly: "I found it in a book-store, down town.""And you bought it, Evelyn?""Yes."Mr. Thorpe went back to the table, and he saw there another book, one that he had not noticed before. This one was bound in black leather and stamped in gilt. On the cover there was stamped a circle of gilt, and around the circle were these words: "Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons." Inside the circle was a cross and a crown. Mr. Thorpe recognized this book, he knew it by sight. He did not touch it now, however, but pointing to it he addressed his wife: "And this book, is this one yours, too, Evelyn?""No," she replied, "that is one Mrs. Vane let me take."Mr. Thorpe resumed his seat by the fire."If I believed it necessary to warn you against this sort of reading," he said, "or to caution you against these distortions of the Scripture, I hope I should not hesitate in doing my duty; but I feel that any such warning or caution would imply a lack of faith in your honor, and in your fidelity to your church vows. I have confidence in your judgment, Evelyn, and faith in your sincerity, but I request you to return Mrs. Vane's book at your earliest convenience.""I had intended to do so," she said, "and shall attend to it to-morrow." Her voice was not quite steady.She took the offending volumes and laid them on a shelf in the curtained alcove. She felt a sickening sensation creep over her, a sense of dishonor and of disloyalty to her husband.
CHAPTER IV
SHADOWS AT THE PARSONAGE
Mr. Thorpe was called to his old home by the death of his brother. This brother had gone to California the year before for his health, had died there and was brought home for burial.
During their school days and college life, spent together, the boys had been very near to each other. There was a bond between them other than the bond of blood. A similarity of tastes and ambitions had brought about a congeniality and comradeship such as many times fails to develop between the offspring of the same parents. Both men had studied for the ministry and entered into the work at about the same time. But when George, the elder, was in the prime of his manhood a fatal malady had fixed itself upon him; a malady inherited, it was said, from his mother, who had laid down her burdens in the prime of her womanhood.
It was now nearly two years since Maurice Thorpe with his bride had left the home of his youth. It was a sad return. Among familiar scenes, old memories, well remembered faces, he bowed his head in grief and sorrow, and saw the clods close in upon the narrow earth-bed of this loved one, this gentle man of God, whose life had been dedicated to humanity. Something valued, something prized and loved was gone from life. Whatever the years might hold hereafter, this dear one was gone; his God had taken him. But there were no doubts or sacrilegious questionings in Mr. Thorpe's mind. His God was his sovereign, supreme of will, infallible in justice. Nor did the thought ever penetrate the well-kept fabric of his belief that there could be aught of ignorance in his conception of God; or that the Infinite in its length and breadth and depths was not wholly within the compass of his vision.
When he returned home, the marks of his grief were upon him, and Pauline believed that she detected a change in his health. His somewhat slender figure seemed more spare, his shoulders a trifle more stooped, and his chest contracted. Alarming symptoms, these. She had seen the first approach of the malady in his brother's case, and she could not mistake its advances. She took it upon herself to see that Maurice took proper care of himself. He was not allowed to sit in a draught, nor to go out unless properly protected from damp and cold. At the slightest alarm, a cough or failing appetite, she was ready with remedies and decoctions calculated to guard against and ward off all forms of the dread disease that was always pictured in her mind.
And now a great fear that had long lain dormant in Mrs. Thorpe's heart sprang into life. What reason had she to believe that her husband would be spared this fatality, this mysterious thing that had transmitted itself from one generation to another, and was free to lay its hand on its victims as it chose; sparing where its fickle fancy dictated, or clutching its death fingers into the heart, and refusing to relax its hold until the lifeless body lay before it, if so its ghoulish will desired? And no man could say it nay! Brooking no restraint, gaunt, mocking, stalking abroad at noonday, in the land which the Lord God had created!
The hot restlessness of heart which never wholly left her now flamed up and burned, and caused her to writhe as one in mortal pain. Questions of the gravest importance fraught with meanings she could not measure nor weigh confronted her wherever she turned. And the depth of her ignorance--humanity's ignorance--concerning the most vital things of life, seemed to her deplorable and reprehensible.
From sheer necessity she dropped the greater burden of her work. And always fond of reading, she now read incessantly and without discrimination whatever work she could find bearing on that one great problem, Life, and that other all-absorbing question, Religion. And over and over, and again and again, she pondered the meaning of it all. What does it mean--this life of man, with all of its pleasures and pain, its stress and strife, its joy and sorrow, its good and evil--for what is it given? She had been taught to believe that it is a preparatory state, a test or trial to ascertain how many are deserving of eternal bliss hereafter. And although she struggled against it and refused to look upon it, a picture persisted in painting itself upon her mental vision. This was the picture of a father who placed his children, the weak and the strong together, in an open field, and compelled them to till the soil and to dig and delve in the ground. And at times he sent punishment upon them, torment and torture and physical pain; while they, the children, toiled on in blind and stupid ignorance, never knowing what it was that had caused the father's wrath to descend upon them. And the father sat calmly at a safe distance and stoically observed their conduct. At the end of a certain period he intended to reward those who had been very good and patient, and very submissive to his will, with a beautiful home, while the others, those who had rebelled or complained, or fallen by the wayside, he would drive into another field and inflict punishment yet more dire upon them.
She never fully consented to look upon this picture, and she tried always to blot it from her vision, to erase and destroy it, and yet as often as she tried to do this she was horrified to find that by some strange machination of her mind she was condemning, repudiating the whole of creation, the scheme of the universe.
Her purpose in life was too honest, too sincere, her desires too pure to admit of her taking any halfway ground on these questions that confused and perplexed her. Her reading and research led her into many strange and unfrequented byways--hazardous, she thought them sometimes, black with peril--destruction, perhaps. And yet she had come to the place where she must know--she for herself must know the truth. And while with a trembling hand she shattered her old beliefs--graven images of doctrine--she found nothing to take their place. The sincerity of her life was crowding her off her old footing--but where? Over a precipice? She felt it to be so, and then--what then? There were days when her mind refused to act, when her mental faculties were in a state of paralysis. Sometimes she fell into the old trick of her childhood, day dreaming.
At the close of one painful, troubled day she sat before her open fire, her head against a pillow at the back of her chair. Her eyes were upon the fire at her feet. The flames leaped fitfully from time to time, and again fluttered among the embers. Slowly the gulf of the centuries was bridged and she witnessed the creation of the first man--no great task it appeared, for the dust of the earth furnished sufficient material. In our human wisdom, finite though it is, we do not permit our children to use edged tools--her eyes were on the red embers at her feet, and she saw, glowing there, the thing which infinite wisdom gave to man; that which was at once his glory and his undoing, a two-edged sword, deadly keen--good and evil. It developed that this keen edged sword was hardly the thing with which to prune and keep in order the luxurious garden set apart for man on one corner of the footstool.
The unselfishness of Woman dates back to the Garden. No sooner had Eve broken open the luscious apple and tasted its flavor than she offered to divide it. And it was not within the nature of man to refuse so dainty a morsel from a fair hand.
Then man began to wander over the face of the earth, footsore and sinstained, and in due course of time came the great Sacrifice--the spilling of blood--the Golgotha.
The smouldering fire shot into tiny tongues of flame and licked the stones on the hearth--and yet what has the great Sacrifice accomplished? Wherein is the efficacy? Hoping, fearing, faithless--ignorant, suffering, despairing--this is Life. Men and women parade before us and flaunt to the world that they are saved--saved from what? Or for what? The shame and moral degradation, the pain and the anguish date back to the Garden. Christ came to check it, but wherein are we better? The poison is in our blood and the canker in our hearts; the flesh rots from the bones and the soul reeks in iniquity; the senses long for the fleshpots of Egypt, and with one accord we gather about the board, at the feast of Belshazzer!
The flames died down, and the embers burned with a dull glow. Now a hush fell over the room and the stillness of the place folded itself about the woman motionless in her chair. The minutes slipped by and time flowed on without a break or ripple to mark its passing. The great calm stillness! Not only did it fill the room and lay like a garment about the dreamer, it filled her heart and entered her soul, and as a mother broods over her child and stills its restless wailing, it brooded over her and stilled all her tumultuous, unholy pain, and the spell of her turbulent, unwarrantable dream held her no longer.
Now the dull red coals turned to ashes and lay crumbling in the grate. And into the waiting stillness, into the majesty of the silence there breathed something divine. It radiated in the soft white light and filled the room with its presence; and in sweet devotion before it knelt Humility and Meekness and Loving-kindness; and all power was in its hands of shining light, and all wisdom was in its star-pierced crown, and all truth in the stillness of its utterance. Into the soft white stillness, into the holy of holies, breathed this rarest gift of God--Love. The mystic glory of it hung about the dreamer, and quivered in the air, and throbbed and pulsed through the universe, and all things fell into place and became part of the endless plan of the Creator.
Every unholy thought and every vagary of false belief fell away. The iniquity of the ages, and all the crime and passion and suffering of men became a cloud of vapor, like the misty foam on the ocean waves; but beneath the foam-flecked waves lies the mighty volume of the sea, and above them the limitless reach of the heavens. Now the mortal dream of the Dust man and his short-lived Eden and subsequent suffering receded into a shadowy delusion, and the reality of Life, and the substance of eternal things unfolded and encompassed all creation.
Mrs. Thorpe stirred in her chair and felt the yielding of its cushioned depths and the pressure of the pillow at her head. She heard the door open and Pauline come into the room. She sat erect in her chair and drew her hand across her forehead.
"Have you been asleep, dear?" Pauline asked.
"Perhaps, asleep and dreaming--it was a dream--yes, a dream, it was all a dream." She brushed the hair from her temples, and again: "Was it all a dream?"
CHAPTER V
DR. ELDRIGE JR.
Dr. Eldrige Jr. was a very different man from Dr. Eldrige his father. What the elder man lacked in courtesy and kindness was abundantly present in the son. He had studied under his father, practiced and consulted with him; yet in the finer issues of life, its amenities and its culture, their lives might be likened to the branches of a stream: one followed a gorge of clay between banks of rocks and barren soil; the other flowed quietly between green banks, over white sand and shining pebbles.
The elder man had been known to remark that the rub and wear of life, actual life as he had seen it, would change the color of his son's views. If any man could practice medicine as many years as he had practiced it, and not pronounce the whole human race a disgusting sham and a blasted humbug, he pitied that man, for there must be considerable of the fool in his make-up.
The son, however, was well content to go his way, seeing life as it appeared to him, and doing what lay in his power to make rough places smooth and ease the sufferings of humanity. He never undertook to modify his father's views, and on all occasions when it was possible for him to do so, he evaded crossing swords with him.
It was late one night when Dr. Eldrige Jr. left a poor home where he had been attending a patient. A wretched, ill-kept home it was, whose inmates seemed a thing apart from the divine creation. He stepped out into the night, bared his head and breathed deep of the fresh, sweet air. Above him was the tent of night, jeweled with stars, and at his feet the dew-wet grass, the dwelling place of tiny dumb creatures that cling to the earth's damp mold, and before him, like a blemish on Nature's canvas, the home built and fashioned and kept by man.
He was a reverent man, with no inclination to shift the responsibility of humanity's ignominious burden back upon the Maker. He had no solution to offer for the problem of human sin and woe, and he did not undertake to place the iniquity of existing conditions. His mission was to minister to those who needed his service, and this he did whether he found his patient in a palace or in a hovel.
Leaving the poor home where the sufferer lay, he came to the one pretentious street of the Flat. There had been some sort of a performance at the theatre, and the people were pouring out of the door. He was hurrying by, anxious to avoid the crowd, when his attention was attracted to a man and woman standing under the light of a lamp. The man was talking in a low, rapid manner, and the woman seemed but half inclined to agree to what he was saying. The doctor passed them directly under the lamplight; but neither of them noticed him or looked his way, he thought it very likely that they did not care to be seen by him. But as he went on his way a very tempest of rage burned within him.
"And that," he ejaculated to himself, "is Max Morrison, the man who is welcomed in the best homes in Edgerly! And Margaret, little Margaret, whom the children used to call 'Lassie'!" His mind went back to his boyhood days, when his father lived in a small village, and he and Margaret went to the same school. That was before Margaret's father died; he was the village blacksmith then, a hearty, whole-souled Scotchman. And what a laughing, rosy child the little Lassie was then. He remembered her temper, too, as did all who knew her at that time. He was a well-grown boy then and Margaret but a bit of a girl, but he had never forgotten her bright and winsome ways. Could this girl with the hard lines on her dark face ever have been the child that he recalled? He walked rapidly, his anger and indignation burning within him. He climbed the long hill that led from the Flat up to the church, and descended on the other side; past the parsonage with its sleeping inmates, and on to his own home. Here he again bared his head and stood quietly beneath the stars. The events of the evening oppressed him. That Margaret had been beguiled from her home was, he knew, an open secret in Edgerly. His face set in grim, hard lines.
"No one who cared to know," he was sure, "could be ignorant of the character of the man who had led her to her downfall."
The next morning the doctor visited his poor patient again, and found his condition improved. The light of reason was again in his eyes, and it was evident that he clung to life with as much desire as the most favored prince of earth clings to it.
On his return he passed the Mayhew home. A party of young people, with Mrs. Mayhew as chaperon, were starting for a day's outing among the hills. A carriage stood at the curb; he bowed to Max Morrison, who was holding the spirited horses. Geraldine Vane, who was ready to enter the carriage, greeted him pleasantly. He lifted his hat to her, and she looked into his face.
"Is not this a beautiful morning for a drive?" she said.
"It is indeed a beautiful morning," he replied, but there was a coldness in his voice and his brows were contracted. Yet, as he went on his way he was sure that Geraldine's pure white face was the fairest that God's sun ever shone upon. He watched the carriage as it turned a corner into a street that led to a country road; and all the heart within him cried out against the vision of those two, Max and Geraldine, drinking in the beauty of fields and byways, earth and sky--those two together!
When he reached his office he found his father in a fit of ill-temper. This, however, was quite a chronic condition with the old doctor.
"You've been practicing among the Flat scrubs again," he said to his son. "Strange you cannot let the miserable curs die and the earth be rid of them."
The son paid little heed to his father's coarse bluster.
"They may be scrubs," he replied in his smooth, even tones, "and they may be curs, in fact, I think you are right, father, they are scrubs and curs over on the Flat, and perhaps the earth would be better off without them; nevertheless they are men, and my work lies among men." And this quiet argument silenced the old doctor, if it did not stay his wrath.
During the long, hot summer there was much sickness on the Flat, and Dr. Eldrige Jr. spent much of his time among the sufferers. The heat was intense, and the heavens withheld the rain, the earth became dry and parched, and the dust lay thick on the meagre foliage. The name of Dr. Eldrige Jr. became a magic word in that suffering district. Hard faces grew tender and harsh words died upon the lips when his name was spoken. And day by day he went quietly about his work, relieving pain and caring tenderly for neglected old age, hardened criminals and suffering children. And hardened men and careworn women felt the stirring of new emotions within them and knew that the world is not all bad, nor life altogether bitter.
The summer days slipped by and the frost of autumn, Nature's tonic, came to aid the doctor in his efforts; and life, wretched at best, assumed its usual aspect on the Flat.
On his return from his round of visits one day the young doctor was met by his father, who was in a towering rage.
"Spending your time in the Flat filth," he growled. "Haven't you brains enough to keep out of the cursed mire? Here you are, able to minister to the puppets in high places, who, for want of better employment, spend their time nursing their aches and pains, and are proud of the size of their doctors' bills. You can dope them and dupe them quite as well as I can. Now here's a message from the Reverend Maurice Thorpe. It came an hour ago. Mrs. Thorpe has another attack of headache. Whatever that woman does to bring on those cursed spells is more than I know. If it were not for the holy fool her husband is, I should think she quarreled with him. But whatever the trouble is, all the reverends and the chosen of the Lord could go into fits and the earth be rid of them while you are to your ears in Flat mire. Now make yourself presentable and go and give Mrs. Thorpe a dose of morphine."
Dr. Eldrige Jr. hastened to do his father's bidding; not because of the old man's wrath and ire, but because he knew something of the severity of Mrs. Thorpe's attacks, and felt a very sincere sympathy for her. He found her walking to and fro in her room. She wore a crimson dressing gown, which fell loosely about her form. Her hair hung in disorder over her shoulders and rippled down her back; but she was all unconscious of her appearance. Her hands were clasped against her temples, and there was a frenzied look in her eyes, and dark blue marks lay beneath them. A white line, indicating intense pain, was drawn about her mouth.
She recognized Dr. Eldrige Jr. when he entered the room, but the fact that it was his father instead whom she had expected to see, caused her to suffer a nervous shock. She faltered in her walking and swayed uncertainly. Pauline, who was with her, sprang to her assistance.
Dr. Eldrige Jr. laid his hand on her shoulder and requested her to be seated. But she paid not the slightest attention to his request, and with eyes fixed on the floor, began again her restless walking.
"Perhaps she does not even hear you," said Pauline, "Sometimes when the pain is so intense we think she neither sees nor hears."
The doctor laid his hand on her arm and pushed the loose sleeve up to her shoulder, and in a voice that she obeyed without conscious volition, he commanded her to be quiet; then dexterously injected a dose of morphine into the flesh of her upper arm.
It was not long before her head drooped forward and her limbs seemed to grow weary, and then it was not difficult to place her comfortably upon a couch, where she soon fell into a troubled sleep. The doctor remained beside her for some time; then he prepared a powder to be given when she awoke, and took his departure.
When he returned to his office he said to his father: "I see nothing unusual about the nature of Mrs. Thorpe's headache; the pain seemed more intense than ordinary, yet it appears very like a common megrim."
"Megrim be blasted!" growled the doctor. "There's something more the matter with that woman than you or I know anything about. She's a brainy wench, and I have thought that perhaps she may be trying to find out the why and wherefore of some of the common-place things in this old world of ours. I tell you, my boy, when the Lord put Adam out of the Garden for fear he might take on too much knowledge, and set him working for his living, it showed mighty plain that there are a lot of things in this old world of ours that he never intended for man to find out. Mrs. Thorpe's mind is at the bottom of this trouble; she has let it get the upper hand of her. And I don't know but an over-dose of morphine would be the best thing for her now. It wouldn't sound bad to say that Mrs. Thorpe, wife of the Reverend Maurice Thorpe, died of heart failure during one of her nervous attacks."
CHAPTER VI
PHYSICIAN AND FRIEND
The next day a message came for Dr. Eldrige Jr. which took him past the parsonage. On his return he called on Mrs. Thorpe.
Pauline answered his ring. "Mrs. Thorpe will be pleased to see you," she said. "She is feeling better to-day."
Mrs. Thorpe received him cordially. "It is kind of you to call," she said. "I am quite myself again to-day. My headaches are usually of short duration. You doctors relieve me for the time; but I live in continual dread of the next attack. If only I could know what it is that causes this trouble there is nothing I would not do to eradicate it; for I believe if this could be overcome I should have my health again."
Dr. Eldrige recalled what his father had said about the mental condition of this woman. Could he probe her inner life and ferret out the cause of her trouble? Under the circumstances would it be right for him to do so, if he could? With these questions in mind he engaged her in easy conventional conversation, and without a suspicion of the fact on her part, he studied her face and watched her movements with quiet intensity. He desired to do all that he could for his patient's physical welfare; and the heart and mind have so great an influence over the body, that just how far a physician has a right to seek and search becomes a finely balanced question. He resolved to give her an opportunity to be frank with him if she cared to do so, but if there was anything she desired to conceal he would not intrude upon her secrecy.
"The cause of your trouble, Mrs. Thorpe, may be beyond the reach of doctors' skill. There are many ills that a physician is able to alleviate, but there may be inducing causes that no physician is able to discover."
She waited some moments before she spoke, and the doctor's eyes were upon her expectantly.
"The fate of the whole human race lies with you physicians," she said. "There is scarcely one on this earth who is every whit whole. And those for whom you cannot prescribe--?" She stopped short, and her eyes flashed abruptly into his.
The doctor saw that she had missed the import of his words, and he believed that she attributed to them a meaning that could not fail to distress her, and he hastened to correct his mistake.
"I did not mean to intimate that your trouble is beyond a physician's reach, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. "Yours is what my father calls a 'case of nerves.'"
She put out her hands as though to entreat him to desist. Always in her intercourse with the old doctor she had felt a reticence that made it impossible for her to talk with him, except on strictly professional topics; but there was something in this man's face, a plain, clear-cut face it was, and in his manner, kind and sympathetic, that inspired her confidence.
"I know," she said, "that mine is a nervous trouble, but must we admit that there is pain in this world for which there is no remedy? Maladies for which there is no physician? Must we admit the situation to be true, and stand helpless before it, that certain forms of suffering, deadly in their nature, have been laid upon humanity, for which no antidote has been given? It cannot be--this cannot be true, else what is the inference?"
"You have misunderstood my meaning, Mrs. Thorpe. You should have heard me out. I beg of you not to believe that I consider your trouble one for which there is no remedy. I meant only to call your attention to the fact that a great variety of causes may be responsible for nervous troubles. We look, naturally, for a physical cause, for a physical ailment; yet it is a mistake to believe that this must always be the case. It sometimes happens that the mind is largely responsible for the physical condition."
She waited again before she spoke. Her hands lay idly in her lap, but the doctor noticed that she was not in a state of relaxation, but that there was a restrained energy in attitude and manner.
"I think that you in your turn have misunderstood me, Dr. Eldrige," she said. "I deplore my own condition, certainly, but a menace to human happiness lies in the fact that the whole race is heir to the sufferings of the individual. Mine is not an isolated case. I am but one of the great world-wide family that is bound on the altar of human suffering."
Now the doctor saw that Mrs. Thorpe was discussing a subject broader than her own personal disability, and the first inkling of the truth came to him; and with it there came also an illumination of the woman's character. He saw her love for humanity and her compassion for its woes; and with keen perception he was able to understand something of her futile efforts toward an adjustment of existing conditions that might, to her own mind, seem fair and just. And great as was his concern for her physical condition, he now felt this to be of small importance compared to his desire to help her out of her mental dilemma. But the difficulty was as real to him as it was to her, yet there was this difference: it was a difficulty that he admitted, accepted, and dismissed from his thoughts, while with her he saw that it was rending the very fibre of her life and distorting her mental vision. But keenly as he realized the situation, he found no word of help to offer her, and so he said:
"I fear we shall find our task an arduous one, and unprofitable as well, if we undertake to account for humanity's burden."
"Whether we can account for it or not," she replied, "we, the children of a common Father, are sordidly indifferent to it. We go about our affairs during our waking hours with a sort of a pitiful gratitude toward the monster Disease, if by good fortune we have escaped him; we go to our rest at night, and if we are free from the fell hand, we sleep, while thousands and thousands of creatures, divinely made, are wrestling with mortal pain."
The doctor's eyes were upon her; not a movement, nor an expression of her face escaped him. He saw that the pupils of her eyes were dilated, and that a peculiar light burned within them; and he noticed that it was necessary for her to make a greater effort in order to control the nervous energy that possessed her. There was a ring of reckless protest in her voice as she continued:
"Is this a haphazard world, Dr. Eldrige, where men escape by chance, or are overwhelmed by circumstance? Is there no overruling power, no fixed law to which men may conform, and by which they may be governed and protected, even to the extent that our man-made laws govern and protect those who conform to them? I have been over this ground so many times; I have questioned and reasoned and studied, and yet I have learned--nothing at all."
Her hands fell to her sides with a nervous movement, but her face was averted now, as though she would not have him see its expression.
The doctor thought of what his father had said about the limitations the Lord has placed on human knowledge. He did not for a moment admit that there was a grain of truth in the theory, in fact he believed it to be one of his father's queer jests; yet the thought came to him that the woman before him seemed an actual demonstration of such a theory. But his answer was far from the thought and was intended to turn her mind to a more practical consideration of the subject.
"There are many laws of Nature that are intended to protect mankind. Our safety lies in obeying them; if we disobey, a penalty must be paid, and though the penalty may seem severe, or even, to us, unjust, this should but teach us to be the more obedient and circumspect."
"Do you believe that physical disability is always the result of a broken law of Nature?" The question was direct, incisive, and her eyes were upon him, demanding the truth.
He answered her truthfully, yet because of his own lack of knowledge, evasively:
"Not a direct result always, perhaps; some maladies are constitutional, inherited from some ancestor, it may be."
"Yes, it may be," she replied. She seemed quieter now, but there was an unmistakable accent of scorn in her voice.
"It may be. I have observed that where it comes to a question that concerns humanity high and low, the world over, it is very likely to be all guesswork with us."
There was a moment's silence, and her ever-varying mood changed again, and when she spoke her words came rapidly and there was a gleaming fire in her eyes.
"And if we do inherit our diseases, to whom are we indebted for this heritage? We may say to some ancestor, and if there is any uncertainty about it we make him as remote as possible. But where did he get it, where did he get this thing that has been fought and battled through all the years of its existence, yet has proven itself invulnerable? Give me the origin of disease. Who conceived it? Who created it? What is its mission--? this thing that is stronger than man--stronger than his Maker--" Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper. "If there are two powers in this world, and this cruel, monstrous thing we call disease is the stronger of the two, what folly for man to struggle or resist. Oh, to know--toknow--if only one couldknow!" Her voice fell and broke in a gasping sob, and she covered her face with her hands.
Dr. Eldrige did not betray by word or look that Mrs. Thorpe had disclosed to him the trouble that was preying on her mind, and he did not forget his professional duties. He had gained the knowledge that he desired to possess, yet the fact that this woman had allowed her mind to dwell on subjects of a religious nature until her health suffered and her reason was threatened was of no particular importance to him unless he could use his knowledge for her benefit; and now the question confronted him: had he the wisdom and tact to do this?
"Mrs. Thorpe," he said, "you have allowed your mind to dwell too long on this subject. As your physician I advise you to put this thing wholly from you."
But he saw her face grow white and her eyes dilate, and he thought best to change his tactics. He dropped his professional manner, or rather it seemed to slip from him. Before such need as this he felt that a mere physician must stand helpless and disarmed; but the man within him was ready to give in friendship's name all that could be given. Yet, the realization of his own lack of knowledge again arose before him and seemed almost to jeer and jest at his ignorance. But with scarcely a moment's hesitation, although fighting for the mastery of his own discordant thoughts, he decided to try once more to give this woman before him something practical and tangible for her mind to dwell upon.
"There are some things in this world that we cannot know," he said. "Perhaps it was intended that we should not know them. This we do know, that a pursuit of knowledge concerning them cannot benefit us, cannot fail to do us harm. And there is consolation, or at least exculpation, for us in the fact that this is God's world. He created it, he is responsible--we are not. We have only to take life as we find it, and make the best we can of it; we have no right to burden ourselves further."
In thus making it appear as though it is the Infinite One, and not finite man, who is responsible for the world's discords, Dr. Eldrige Jr. did not express a sincere conviction, but he felt that it would be a great indiscretion to enter into any argument or discussion with Mrs. Thorpe at this time, and he sincerely hoped that she might catch some suggestion from his words that would tend to quiet her troubled mind. Yet, despite his good intentions, he was conscious of a haunting thought that for a deadly malady he was giving a medicine whose only virtue lay in its being smooth to the taste.
Mrs. Thorpe saw the flaw in his logic, and to her distorted vision it seemed like a fault in the Infinite plan; but she said no more. She was already sick at heart over what she considered her indiscretion. And she felt guilty of a sort of infidelity to her husband for having given voice to heresies that she knew would displease and offend him, and a thousand troubled thoughts surged through her brain. The glow had left her face and it now appeared pale and cold, and her eyes that had burned with so bright a light seemed dull as though covered with mist. Her voice, too, had lost its life and ring.
"You have been very kind to me, Dr. Eldrige," she said, "and I thank you."
The doctor arose to take his departure. "I have advised you both as a physician and a friend," he said, "to rid your mind of this unhappy train of thought, and I will add, find something to take up your time and attention; let it be amusing, entertaining, frivolous if you like, but give it your entire attention."
Mrs. Thorpe had arisen and stood confronting him. She now extended her hand to him, and her unfathomable eyes looked into his.
"You are my friend, Dr. Eldrige," she said. There was the conviction of a statement in the words, yet a catch in her voice and the intonation made it seem almost a question.
The doctor was quick of perception; instantly he understood her unworded request. He took her hand in his.
"I am your friend," he said, in a voice of utmost respect and sincerest sympathy. "And before God I will help you in any way that I can."
After the doctor left her, Mrs. Thorpe stood at her window and looked out at the somber autumn day. A gray mist hung in the air and red and yellow leaves lay in heaps in the corners of the yard. With her old habit still strong upon her, Mrs. Thorpe fell into reverie.
"Nature nursed the tiny leaves into life," she mused; "gave them form and color and permitted them to sport in happy freedom through all the days of summer, and now at the approach of winter she has bedecked them in gorgeous array."
And then the very subject that the doctor had so painstakingly warned her against presented itself to her in every form and shape that it was possible for it to assume.
"There is no pain nor suffering in this changing process," she thought; "even when disintegration sets in there is no reason to believe that a leaf or plant or flower feels the downward process to which it is subjected. This heritage of suffering, the realization of corruption and pollution, has been reserved for man--man, who of all the creatures of God's creation has been made the most susceptible to pain and woe. The vine flings its blood-colored leaves to the breeze, oblivious of time or change. The great trees reach their arms to the sky and stand secure in their native strength. How complete is the harmony between all growing things and Nature's laws that govern them."
When thinking deeply Mrs. Thorpe often experienced the strange phenomenon of having her thoughts suddenly, and without her conscious will, revert to some irrelevant circumstance or event apparently forgotten. Vividly before her now there flashed the vision of a little girl, who in her childish mind firmly believed that there were two Gods, a good one and a bad one. She gave a low shriek and covered her face with her hands.
"I have been worshiping the bad God!" she whispered.
Pauline, who was busy in an adjoining room, thought she heard a peculiar sound, and came into the room. She found Mrs. Thorpe reclining in an easy chair near the window.
"Are you feeling well, Evelyn?" she asked.
"As well as usual, I think," Mrs. Thorpe replied. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It was another bitter drop in her cup, the bitterest one of all, perhaps, that she could not prevent wild impulses and strange fancies from flitting through her brain. She might be obliged to yield her body to this unknown power that no man could explain or trace to its origin, but with all the force of her nature she fought against yielding her brain and will as well.
There was with her a continual sense of discord and irritation; small, trivial things upset her mental balance and rendered her trying and exacting with those about her. Secretly, she resented the close companionship of Pauline; she chaffed over the way many small tasks were performed, and often felt hurt and miserable, and all sorts of unhappy fancies dwelt in her mind.
Those were dark days at the parsonage. Daily the pastor knelt in prayer and implored the gracious Father to restore health and strength to the dear one suffering under His hand.
Mrs. Thorpe grew more frail and her health continued to decline during the winter. She would sometimes sit for hours thinking or dreaming, her hands folded idly in her lap, her eyes on the glowing fire. But no hint of the trend of her thoughts ever escaped her. Whatever problems presented themselves to her, she found their solution alone or not at all; from whatever premise she reasoned, she reasoned alone, without a hint or help to guide her, and her conclusions were always the deductions of her own brain, but flavored and colored, no doubt, by the writers, ancient and modern, sacred and secular, whose convictions and beliefs she had read, measured and weighed.
There were two reasons for her rigid silence. One of these was the natural proclivity from the days of her childhood to keep within her own heart the things that troubled and puzzled her. The other reason was much more complex, and added materially to the burden that she carried. Her husband, scholarly, thoughtful, gentle and reverent, was, she knew, flint and steel where the doctrines and dogmas of his church were concerned, and would, she believed, yield up his life as readily as any martyr of old had ever done, rather than yield one principle of his faith or compromise one conviction.
Her domestic relations had been particularly happy; her husband's faith and confidence in her were complete. And dear to her as the breath to her nostrils was his love and approbation. And the more surely she felt the structure of her life, her aims and purposes, her hopes and aspirations falling in ruins about her, the more passionately she clung to this, the one thing that was left her, beautiful and unimpaired. What was all that she had suffered, or all that she could suffer while her husband's faith in her remained, compared to what must follow should he learn that she had withdrawn from him spiritually, forsaken the principles that were strong within him as the fibres of his life, repudiated the sacred tenets of his church? A sort of prayer had worded itself in her brain that she be not spared in bodily pain nor mental suffering, that no portion of the burden she bore be removed, if thereby, in life or death, her husband must know that she had proven faithless to the principles of his faith.
CHAPTER VII
MRS. THORPE'S MOUNTAINS
The ice king reigned. Ice bound, snow covered, the world lay white and still in the embrace of winter. Nature had closed her laboratory and turned the key; all the wonderful things in her store-rooms were waiting and resting. The tiny rootlets were deaf to the moaning wind; the stern and sturdy trees tossed their branches to the sky and defied the storms in their rage to tear from them the life force which they guarded; the ice-locked lakes and rivers joined in the great white stillness.
It was the time of year when the Star appeared in the East and wise men journeyed far to visit the Child; the time when the shepherds were aroused by the heavenly visitants, and angels proclaimed that the world's Redeemer was born and that the good tidings were for all men. Nevertheless, at this anniversary of the Redeemer's birth there were hearts in Edgerly in which rankled bitterness and envy, and where burned hatred and despair. Children, poorly clad, pale and thin, shivered along the streets of the city, and men and women faced the biting blast and dreamed of the return of the season that should warm and comfort them.
But these things were not in Maurice Thorpe's mind when he prepared his Christmas sermon. His purpose was to give to his people at this most blessed season something that would comfort them and bring peace, even the peace that had been proclaimed to their hearts.
The sweet hush of the Sabbath brooded over the church and lay like a benediction over the parsonage. The winter sunshine, warm and mellow, sifted through the windows and added to the warmth and glow of Mrs. Thorpe's apartment. In her clinging crimson gown, which brought into strong relief her white drawn face and luminous dark eyes, she appeared almost as though she might be a being from some other world.
"The morning is fine," said Mr. Thorpe, "and the air will do you good. It has been a long time since you attended church, Evelyn. Make yourself ready and go with me to-day."
Mrs. Thorpe avoided her husband's eyes. Could she trust herself to go? Dare she trust herself to refuse? Mr. Thorpe overruled her excuse of illness and insisted that going out would do her good.
Without further protest she yielded to his wishes and accompanied him. It was the Sunday before Christmas. The air was crisp and keen and brought a freshness and a bit of color to their faces as they climbed the incline to the church.
The solemn strains of the organ began in a hushed minor key and increased in volume and tone until they rang and vibrated through the farthest corner of the room. The melody was now pleading and plaintive, like a voice filled with passionate longing, and again solemn and grand as the longing glided into fulfillment, and at last triumphant, victorious--
"All is well with the world."
"All is well with the world."
"All is well with the world."
Geraldine Vane, a little lower than the angels, her blue eyes like stars and her yellow hair like a halo of light, put her own heart-pulse into the music. In the anthem that followed, Max Morrison's strong, clear voice rang out the joyful message:
"Peace on earth, good-will, good-will to men."
"Peace on earth, good-will, good-will to men."
"Peace on earth, good-will, good-will to men."
The congregation joined in singing a song and the words burned themselves into Mrs. Thorpe's brain and caused her heart to quiver and her soul to writhe--
"Not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain,Could give the guilty conscience peace, nor wash away the stain.But Christ the heavenly lamb takes all our sins away.A sacrifice of nobler name and richer blood than they.My soul looks back to see the burden Thou didst bearWhile hanging on the cursed tree, and knows his guilt was there."
"Not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain,Could give the guilty conscience peace, nor wash away the stain.But Christ the heavenly lamb takes all our sins away.A sacrifice of nobler name and richer blood than they.My soul looks back to see the burden Thou didst bearWhile hanging on the cursed tree, and knows his guilt was there."
"Not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace, nor wash away the stain.
But Christ the heavenly lamb takes all our sins away.
A sacrifice of nobler name and richer blood than they.
My soul looks back to see the burden Thou didst bear
While hanging on the cursed tree, and knows his guilt was there."
The Reverend Maurice Thorpe then stepped forward and gave the waiting audience his text:
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoso believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
The pastor's voice was musical and cultured and the words of the text as he uttered them met with a magnetic response from the audience. This silent applause, this outpouring of the commendation of his hearers was as manifest to Mr. Thorpe as though it had been demonstrated by visible signs or audible words; as manifest and more satisfactory, for the sense of exultation which it gave him was perceived by no one save himself.
Sensitive and responsive, he always knew in what spirit his people received his text. He read their faces as an open book, and took his keynote from them. It was this intangible method of getting at the hearts of his people that made it possible for him to comfort and satisfy them, while preaching the most orthodox doctrine and restricted creed.
Mrs. Thorpe's battle began with the text. She kept her eyes withdrawn from the pastor's face and she endeavored to keep her mind from dwelling wholly on what he was saying. She thought of the long line of snow-capped homes that led up to the church; and about her heart there clutched a hardness cold and unyielding as the frost king's embrace of the earth. Each building and frost-hung shrub and white-branched tree reared itself into a mountain of ice and snow. And Mrs. Thorpe felt that just such a range of ice-bound mountains, relentless, forbidding, impassable, lay between her and the love of God.
The pastor, with nice discernment, was able to give his voice just the proper pitch and volume to cause it to fill the room; every word was carefully articulated, clear and distinct:
"From the beginning, man, the crowning work of God's hand, manifested a disposition to disobey, and this disobedience plunged the world into a chaos of sin and disorder. From the earliest record we see man demonstrating his evil nature, his tendency to sin and all unrighteousness.... The priests of old endeavored to cleanse and purify from sin. Moses was chosen the deliverer of the Lord's ancient people; David in his day was called to rule over them; Solomon was given wisdom with which to direct them; Jeremiah threatened them with destruction; and Habakkuk exhorted them to a renewal of righteousness and prayed the Lord to be merciful to them. But the downward tendency was inherent within them and the record of man is one long record of sin and unfaithfulness....
"From time to time, owing to the wickedness of the people, it became necessary to visit punishment and destruction upon them. And many sacrifices were offered to God for the sins of the people. Lambs were slain and offered upon consecrated altars; goats and bullocks were sacrificed and altars ran red with the blood that was shed to wash away the still more crimson stain of men's sins. But there came a time when a long-suffering God could not thus be appeased; there came a time my friends, my brothers,there came a timewhen the blood of goats and bullocks was not sufficient to wash away the sins of man; was not sufficient to appease the wrath of Almighty God. When this time came, the only begotten Son was given into the hands of men to be crucified....
"A child, a little, helpless child, was cradled in a manger and ministered to by His Virgin mother. No man has trod nor can ever tread the pathway of pain and suffering that lay before this child, given to die for the sins of men. No man can drink the cup that He drank, or suffer the anguish that He suffered. He must die upon a cross, scorned and reviled by the world He came to save.... In the blood of His own beloved Son God wiped out the sins of the world, and so great is the corruption in which the children of men are steeped, that had one drop in the bitter cup, one sigh of anguish in the Garden, one nail that pierced the defenseless hand of the Christ been spared, the God of righteousness and justice would not have been appeased. This, then, this sacrifice sealed in blood, is the price of your salvation and mine, and there is no other way under heaven whereby men may be saved. Our pardon has been bought with the innocent blood of a crucified Savior."
Mrs. Thorpe felt her breath coming in short, quick gasps. Her cheeks were a scarlet flame and a white line was drawn about her mouth. How could men live and praise and exult under this carnage of blood! Where should she fly--how escape? Was there no way out of this--this--THIS! Was it inevitable, irrevocable, that she must reap the benefit of this awful carnage, this slaughter of a world's Redeemer? Who had at her birth, yea, before she was born, laid upon her sins for which another was called to suffer--who had dared to do this? If a blood sacrifice was required for her conscious sins, then her blood it should be--not another's--not innocent blood for culpable sin!
But the acme of her suffering lay in the thought that the God of the world had decreed this thing, in His own heart He had conceived it, from the beginning He had foreseen it--premeditated it. What wonder that chaos reigns in His world? What wonder that the children of His creation have from the beginning gone astray? What wonder that envy and hatred, strife, bitterness and despair live and flourish? Can man rise above his conception of his Creator? Can he consistently worship a God who had planned and caused to be done a thing from which the compassionate human heart must shrink and human hand must stay? Is not the whole story of the Creation, the Fall, the Sacrifice, the Redemption, as we have heard it in all its harrowing details, absurd, deplorable, culpable? Can we in sincerity acknowledge ourselves guilty of a sin for which we are not responsible, and grateful to a Creator who, possessing absolute power, fashioned men free in will and action, and then forced upon them the blood of His own innocent Son to save them from the consequences of their freedom?
Yet, bewildered and entangled as Mrs. Thorpe felt herself to be, in this labyrinth of doubt and rebellion, she was aware that other thoughts than these were tapping at the door of her consciousness; tapping and pleading for admission. Deep in her heart soil a grain of truth was throwing out its penetrating rootlets and struggling toward the light. But so completely would these thoughts, if admitted and accepted, uproot every preconceived idea, so entirely would they cast out and destroy that which all her life she had been taught to believe, that their pleading for admittance but increased the confusion of her thoughts and rendered her mental state more chaotic.
When the service was over Mrs. Thorpe became aware that many eyes, curious and sympathetic, were upon her; yet few of her friends spoke to her, for there was an unwritten law that no one should go out of the way to speak to another and that little demonstration should be made inside the church. All was orderly and dignified and befitting the house of the Lord. Strangers came and went; newcomers felt the chill of propriety that pervaded the atmosphere, and the old members felt it, too, and gloried in it.
In her fertile brain Mrs. Thorpe beheld them all, the old members and the new, and the strangers among them, as in a vision, and all were trying to climb the mountains of ice, trying to reach Heaven over a pathway of cold indifference and fixed and rigid form.
Mr. Thorpe joined his wife near the church door and he put his arm protectingly about her as she descended the church steps. He felt that the Lord had been specially kind to give her strength to be present at this service.
Pauline preceded them and was already in the kitchen overseeing the dinner when they arrived. Mrs. Thorpe went directly to her room and, removing her wraps, sank down in her easy chair. Her eyes were dry and bright, but she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders quivered as if beneath a load.
"Never again," she moaned, "never again can I trust myself to hear his voice from the pulpit."
The admission wrung her heart and hurt her as hearts are wrung and hurt when some dear one passes from view of mortal sight.
Pauline tapped at the door and announced dinner. Mrs. Thorpe arose and stood for a moment before her fire.
"If there were a God," she whispered, "if there were a God, loving and strong and powerful--oh, a God who cares for His own, how passionately would I beseech Him to be with me now, to help and uphold me!" She walked over and opened her door. "There really should be such a God--Friend--Father," she continued in an undertone, "for we need Him so!"
Mr. Thorpe and Pauline were awaiting her in the dining-room. Mr. Thorpe, who was never lacking in the small courtesies of the home, seated her at the table and took his place opposite.
"I am glad to see that the exertion of the morning has not overtried your strength, my dear," he said. "Your face in the congregation is an inspiration to me. I hope you will be able to attend regularly hereafter."
Pauline, whose insight was keener than the pastor's, divined that all was not well with Mrs. Thorpe, and broached another subject.
"The church was well filled this morning," she remarked.
"Yes," said Mr. Thorpe. "There seems to be something about the Christmas season that touches all hearts. And I think the Savior's birth means more to the world every year."
"Is this because men's hearts are changing," asked Mrs. Thorpe, "or do we understand Christ's mission better?"
"I think the religious world realizes as it never has before the greatness of the sacrifice that has been made for humanity," replied Mr. Thorpe. "We may call it Christ's mission if we like, but I prefer the term sacrifice in connection with Him who was born to die that we might live."
The flow of talk continued, but as it often happened, Pauline and Mr. Thorpe kept up the conversation. Mrs. Thorpe did not venture another remark, and after the meal went directly to her room. Her husband followed her and seated himself before her open fire. Neither spoke for a few moments, and the pastor reached for a book that lay on a stand nearby. Mrs. Thorpe saw the movement and moved as though to intercept him; but the book was in his hand. It was a small volume bound in white and gold.
Mrs. Thorpe lay back in her chair and her face framed with her dark hair seemed drawn and white as it lay against the scarlet cushion.
"What have you here, my dear? What are you reading nowadays?" asked Mr. Thorpe in a full, smooth voice. And something in the tone caused Mrs. Thorpe's heart to vibrate as to a well-loved melody. How she loved this man; bowed to him, reverenced him. She did not answer him now, she did not stir nor turn her head.
Mr. Thorpe opened the little book at random and his eyes fell upon the following: "God is a spirit and they who worship Him must worship him in spirit and in truth.
"It is difficult to understand how the idea of God as a personal being of power and wrath has taken so strong a hold upon men's minds. Not until this idea is eliminated, totally overcome and cast out, can we know our God as He is, and understand the divine mission that Christ came to perform....
"The Son of God became incarnate on the earth--not to die for men's sins--albeit a cruel and misguided people crucified Him--but by His life to teach the Truth of Life. Not to die the death of a martyr, not to offer a human sacrifice to a God of love, but to teach the children of God's creation to live."
Mr. Thorpe closed the book with his forefinger at the place. Mrs. Thorpe felt, rather than saw, his eyes upon her and she turned and looked into his face.
"Evelyn," he said, "what have you here? Where did you get this--this absurd book?"
Mrs. Thorpe did not answer him; instead she sank back into her chair and closed her eyes.
Mr. Thorpe regarded her for a moment, then he opened the book again and ran his eyes down the page. He halted at this paragraph:
"It may be true that the reluctance with which men change their conception of God, their propensity to cling to the creed and doctrines which have been handed down to them, serves to keep their hearts reverent and worshipful; nevertheless that which is false, all that is erroneous and misleading must die. The world to-day is demanding the truth about the deep hidden things of God.
"No matter how sacred a teaching or belief may have been to our forefathers, nor how efficacious it seemed to meet their needs, we must know that while the immortal Truth changes not, the ideas of men concerning it have changed with the process of the ages. Does anyone believe that while we are progressing in every line of industry, art and science, that to be Christian we must continue to stand in our religious convictions where our forefathers stood?"
Mr. Thorpe glanced at his wife. She had not changed her position, but he noticed a twitching of her eyelids and that the color had rushed into her face, burning her cheeks to a scarlet flame. He did not speak, but continued the next paragraph.
"Let us, then, with all reverence yet unafraid, seek the saving truth of God, strip it of creed and form, remove the tattered garment of prejudice and bigotry, lay low the orthodox beliefs which, while claiming to house and shelter this divine Truth, have hedged it about and endeavored to limit it to that which mortal hands have bound upon church altars."
Mr. Thorpe closed the book sharply, then opened it again and looked for the writer's name. It was a new name to him. He laid the book back on the stand and stepped to his wife's side. He laid his hand gently on her hair.
"Evelyn," he said, "how came you by that book?"
She looked full into his face and answered directly: "I found it in a book-store, down town."
"And you bought it, Evelyn?"
"Yes."
Mr. Thorpe went back to the table, and he saw there another book, one that he had not noticed before. This one was bound in black leather and stamped in gilt. On the cover there was stamped a circle of gilt, and around the circle were these words: "Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons." Inside the circle was a cross and a crown. Mr. Thorpe recognized this book, he knew it by sight. He did not touch it now, however, but pointing to it he addressed his wife: "And this book, is this one yours, too, Evelyn?"
"No," she replied, "that is one Mrs. Vane let me take."
Mr. Thorpe resumed his seat by the fire.
"If I believed it necessary to warn you against this sort of reading," he said, "or to caution you against these distortions of the Scripture, I hope I should not hesitate in doing my duty; but I feel that any such warning or caution would imply a lack of faith in your honor, and in your fidelity to your church vows. I have confidence in your judgment, Evelyn, and faith in your sincerity, but I request you to return Mrs. Vane's book at your earliest convenience."
"I had intended to do so," she said, "and shall attend to it to-morrow." Her voice was not quite steady.
She took the offending volumes and laid them on a shelf in the curtained alcove. She felt a sickening sensation creep over her, a sense of dishonor and of disloyalty to her husband.