A Son of Perdition Part 53

On one side of the bed stood the Dark Master, on the other stood the White Master, and between, p.r.o.ne with anguish, lay the body which contained the soul for which the opposing forces of good and evil struggled. Alice clung to her father and Montrose knelt prayerfully by the bed. The room was charged with battling powers, but in that dread moment of choice the influence of both stood aloof from the soul, which had to make its choice by what knowledge it had garnered painfully through many incarnations. Enistor felt suddenly feeble, felt that he was in a dense gloom, p.r.i.c.ked here and there with wan lights, which represented all the good he had gained: and great indeed was the blackness of evil. Of himself he could do nothing, yet he knew intuitively that behind the gloom was a glorious and radiant Power of Love, which would dispel the evil when called upon. Narvaez offered him the kingdoms of the world, which rise and fall and pa.s.s away as a burning scroll: Eberstein offered him the glories of eternal good, which endure for ever and ever. He had in many lives tested the lower: now was the time to reach out to the higher. Yet so strong was the temptation of the flesh that the man paused, hesitated, faltered and held his peace.

Alice sensed the conflict, and strove to surrender her gain of good to him who had treated her so cruelly.

"If it is permitted, let what I can give go to help my father," she cried, and then the miracle happened.

Enistor felt an inrush of light, not very strong yet wholly pure, and it was sufficient to turn the scale in spite of the strong insistence of the evil darkness. Yet not in such strength could he conquer. Something greater was needed, but the aid of Alice gave him power to call upon the greater might. "Hear us, oh! Christ: graciously hear us, oh! Lord Christ," he cried, in the suddenly remembered words of the Litany, and in broken tones.

Narvaez retreated suddenly with a snarl of baffled rage, driven back by a glorious power, which flooded the being of his escaping victim with ineffable light. As by magic the darkness vanished, and the radiant tenderness of Perfect Love descended upon the weary soul. Enistor's face grew young and bright. With an expression of joyful awe, he stretched out imploring hands of surrender and remorse. What he beheld Eberstein saw, as his head was reverently bent, and Narvaez saw also, for he fell back slowly towards the door; driven into his self-created darkness by the overwhelming glory of the Cross. Alice, clinging to Montrose, murmured incoherently: "Do you see Him: do you see Him? There. With His hand on my father's head."

The Lord of the Dark Face had vanished: the Lord of Compa.s.sion had come in power. Like a child who is weary the dying man fell dead on the pillows, his soul pa.s.sing onward so gently that the two young people scarcely realised that all was over. A moment later, and the Presence was gone. The supernal light, visible to all save Douglas, faded away, and Eberstein stepped forward silently to close the tired eyes.

"May G.o.d lead him to a place of refreshment, light and peace," he said in solemn tones, and over the body he traced the holy emblem of salvation.

"Amen," murmured the two who knelt by the bedside.

And away into the night fled the Son of Perdition, baffled, broken and beaten, despoiled of his slave, who was lost to him for ever. And his was the eternal torment of self, which flies though no man pursueth.

CHAPTER XXIV

DAWN

For six months after the death of her father Alice travelled abroad, with Mrs. Sparrow as her chaperon and companion. The strain to which she had been subjected demanded removal from surroundings so intimately connected with the ordeal, and meanwhile Tremore could be safely left in charge of the housekeeper. It was with some reluctance that Montrose agreed to the Continental tour, which had been suggested by Eberstein, as it parted him for half a year from the girl he loved. But the doctor pointed out that absence would make Alice more self-reliant, since she would have to deal single-handed with her sorrow, unaided by her lover's sympathy and companions.h.i.+p. Each human being, he declared, must learn to become a centre of power, depending on G.o.d alone for help, since only in this way can such a one develop the necessary strength to act as a useful servant of Christ. It was a drastic training for the young people, at which they winced; but when Eberstein fully convinced them that the flesh must be dominated by the spirit at all costs, they agreed to the separation. It was a final test of their obedience, and a great one.

Alice selected Mrs. Sparrow to accompany her, for two reasons. First, she was sorry for the childish woman, who led so dull a life, and wished to brighten her grey existence. Secondly, the girl was immensely grateful to both the vicar and his wife for their champions.h.i.+p of Montrose in the face of strong evidence as to his guilt, and desired to give some tangible proof of her feelings. Indeed she asked Mr. Sparrow to come abroad also, but met with a refusal, since he could not see his way to leave his parish for so lengthy a period. However, Douglas induced the good man to pay him a few visits in London during his wife's absence, and these gave great pleasure to Mr. Sparrow, besides which they helped to widen his views. Therefore he was delighted to think that his better half should chaperon Miss Enistor, and took unselfish pleasure in the preparations for the great event.

As to Mrs. Sparrow, to journey abroad, and see with her own eyes very many things she had only read about, was like a glimpse of paradise, or a drink of water to a thirsty man. She left behind her a colourless life of sc.r.a.ping and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g, of cutting and contriving, to enjoy comfortable days of ample means and constant novelty. France, Switzerland, Italy, Germany: Mrs. Sparrow saw them all, and wrote daily letters to her husband concerning her experiences. Her being blossomed like a rose in the sunlight of prosperity, and she regained in a great measure the youth which had been crushed out of her by sordid cares.

Alice enjoyed the naive delight of her rejuvenated companion as much as she did the sights which brought forth such an expression of pleasure, and in this way, amongst others, was aided to forget her late trials.

The tour was a complete success, and when the two returned to England during the early blossoming of spring, they were bubbling over with the joy of life. And the end of the journey terminated in lovers meeting, which was fit and proper, according to the dictum of Shakespeare.

The sorely tried pair were married quietly in London. Mr. Sparrow came up to perform the ceremony, Mrs. Sparrow acted as the one and only bridesmaid, while Dr. Eberstein gave the bride away. Then came a pleasant wedding breakfast and the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Montrose to Eastbourne for a delightful honeymoon. Mrs. Barrast was annoyed that she had not been asked to the great event, since the wooing had taken place in her house, but she soon got over her pique, and sent a present to the happy pair, together with a letter in which she complained that Julian, exiled in Spain, took not the slightest notice of her. Douglas laughed over the characteristic selfishness of the b.u.t.terfly, and wondered openly what she would say if she really knew the weird truth. Alice replied that she would never believe it, which was extremely probable, considering Mrs. Barrast's limitations.

"And I only hope that Don Pablo will leave her alone," continued Mrs.

Montrose. "He is just the kind of man who would play her some malicious trick."

"I don't think he would be permitted to do that," rejoined Douglas thoughtfully. "Narvaez is a kind of super-human criminal, and will be kept within bounds by the Great Powers which control the world. Mrs.

Barrast is a frivolous little woman, who does no harm, even if she does no good, so she will be protected until she is strong enough to endure suffering."

"It seems rather cruel that if one gains strength and improves one's character, one should only grow better to invite sorrow."

"We cannot become G.o.ds in any other way, dear. The burden is always fitted to the bearer, and what is demanded from the strong is not asked from the weak. 'Whom G.o.d loveth, He chasteneth,' you know."

"I could never understand that text," objected Alice, raising her eyebrows.

"Eberstein explained it to me," replied her husband. "Through ignorance one acc.u.mulates bad Karma, life after life, which is gradually paid off in such a way as not to bear too hardly on those who have to suffer. And until that Karma, which is of our own making, is paid off, we are unprofitable servants working--so to speak--only for ourselves, since it is to get rid of the burdens which inconvenience us that we labour. But when any one vows himself or herself to the service of Christ and desires to work, as the Master did, for humanity at large, the evil Karma must be got rid of very speedily, so as to leave freedom for the work."

"Well?" asked Alice, when he paused, and still not seeing clearly.

"Cannot you understand? The quicker the Karma is paid off, the sooner will the servant of Christ be free to do what he or she wants in the service of the Master. Thus an appeal is made by the soul to G.o.d for such freedom, and it is answered by the payment of the evil being concentrated in three or four lives, whereas, ordinarily speaking, it would be spread over a hundred. Therefore at the soul's request, trouble after trouble descends without intermission, and the greater speed means the greater pain. Thus do we see many people of blameless lives suffering terribly and, humanly speaking, unjustly. But the chastening is only the love of G.o.d drawing them swiftly to Himself by allowing them--at their own request, mind you--to pay off the evil of past ignorance at one sweep--so to speak--instead of by instalments."

"I see. But Mrs. Barrast?"

"She is in the A B C cla.s.s. Only easy payments are demanded from her."

"What about ourselves? Are we free?"

"In a great measure I think we are--for this incarnation at least, since we have been so bitterly tried. But of course I cannot tell if we have discharged all the evil debts of the past. I don't much care. What is gained is well worth the pain."

Alice s.h.i.+vered. "The pain is very great."

"So is the gain. If one works for super-human things, one must be content to suffer more than the ordinary person. But don't distress yourself over such things, dear heart," added her husband, taking her in his arms. "We have pa.s.sed through the clouds and now stand in the suns.h.i.+ne, so what we have to do is to help others as we were helped."

"I have helped Mrs. Sparrow, and you have helped her husband," said Alice thankfully. "She is quite a different woman, so gay and bright and hopeful."

"And Sparrow is as happy as the day is long. As the living is in your gift, Alice, I have arranged to add to the income, so that the two may enjoy more of the good things of this life. And when we live at Tremore we can do much good in the parish."

"Yes! Yes!" Mrs. Montrose's face lighted up. "I am quite anxious to get back and begin some good work. But"--her face clouded--"it will not be pleasant to live in Tremore: it is such a gloomy house, and the atmosphere--ugh!" she shuddered at the memory.

Montrose laughed in an encouraging manner. "As you gave me permission to do what I liked with the house during your absence, I have made very great improvements," he said significantly; "also Dr. Eberstein is there at present."

"Why?" Alice was curious.

"Wait and see. I don't fancy you will find Tremore such a disappointing residence as you think it will be."

Try as Alice might, she could get no further satisfaction on this point, and consequently became desperately anxious to return and see what had taken place. Montrose resisted her desire to go back until he received a telegram from the doctor, and then agreed that they should start for Cornwall on the next day. During the journey from Eastbourne to London, and the journey from Paddington to Perchton, they talked hopefully about the future and made many agreeable plans, mainly concerned with asking less fortunate people to share the happiness and wealth which they enjoyed. For unlike ordinary mortals this bride and bridegroom looked to finding happiness in clothing the naked and feeding the hungry, in teaching the ignorant and comforting the desolate. Only the man who has had toothache can fully sympathise with the man who has it, and in a like manner what Douglas and Alice had suffered made them intensely anxious to save others if possible from the purgatory of pain. It was an astonis.h.i.+ngly unselfish att.i.tude for a happy pair returning from their honeymoon to adopt, since such people are usually wrapped up entirely in themselves. But then they had been fortunate enough to have the friends.h.i.+p of Eberstein and the enmity of Narvaez to bring them to such a pitch of n.o.ble resolve.

At Perchton, the bride and bridegroom were received by the vicar and his wife, a very different couple from what they had been some months previously. There was no greyness about the bright-faced woman: no stolid endurance of a dismal life about the genial man. Mr. Sparrow was cheery and helpful: Mrs. Sparrow smiled on one and all, beautifully dressed, and looking years younger.

They had learned to be optimistic, instead of giving themselves over to religious pessimism, and were able to enjoy the gracious beauty of the world without the rebuke of a morbid conscience. Sparrow preached more about the Loving Father of the New Testament, and dwelt less on the jealous and angry G.o.d of the Jewish theology. Alice and her husband had begun their work well, for they had humanised two people by helpful kindness, and had their reward when they saw the beaming looks of the couple.

"And Dr. Eberstein is at Tremore," said the vicar, when the motor-car was whirling across the long, white moorland road. "You will be pleased to see him, Mrs. Montrose."

"Of course, Mr. Sparrow. Dr. Eberstein is the best friend my husband and I ever had, or ever could have."

"I agree," said Mrs. Sparrow brightly. "He is a most delightful man."

"I think so myself, and I approve of him," remarked the vicar thoughtfully, "although his views are scarcely orthodox. He believes in the strange doctrine of Reincarnation; although I am bound to say he did not attempt to convert me to his way of thinking."

"Did you attempt to convert him?" asked Montrose, with twinkling eyes.

"Well, I did," confessed Mr. Sparrow, "as it seemed a pity such a man should be in error, and credit a pagan belief which has come down to us from the dark ages. But he merely smiled and declined to argue. It is a great pity," repeated the vicar regretfully, "as he does much good and possesses a really fine nature. However, we must not lose heart. He may yet change his views."

"I scarcely think he will," said Montrose dryly. "And as he is a servant of Christ as you are, what does it matter?"

"There is much to be said on that point," retorted Mr. Sparrow sententiously. "For you know that Christ said nothing about Reincarnation and----"

"Edgar," interrupted Mrs. Sparrow quickly, "this is not the time to talk of such things. Later, dear, later. Meanwhile, I am sure that Alice is anxious to know all that has taken place in Polwellin since she went away."