The Christian Part 78

"No," he said; "and for your sake I am sorry, very sorry. I thought of a great career for you, Glory. Not rescue work merely--others can do that.

There are many good women in the world--nearly all women are good, but Jew are great--and for the salvation of England, what England wants now is a great woman.... As for me--G.o.d knows best! He has his own way of weaning us from vanity and the snares of the devil. You were only an instrument in his hands, my child, hardly knowing what you were doing.

Perhaps he has a work of intercession for us somewhere--far away from here--in some foreign mission field--who can say?"

A feeling akin to terror caught her breath, and she looked up at him with tearful eyes.

"After all, I am glad that this has happened," he said. "It will help me to conquer self, to put self behind my back forever, to show the world, by leaving London, that self has not entered into my count at all, and that I am thinking of nothing but my work."

A warm flush rose to her cheeks as he spoke, and again she wanted to fling herself on his neck and cry. But he was too calm for that, too sad and too spiritual. When he rose to go she held out her hands to him, but he only took them and carried them to his lips, and kissed them.

As soon as she was alone she flung herself down and cried, "Oh, give me strength to follow this man, who mistakes his love of me for the love of G.o.d!" But even while she sat with bent head and her hands over her face the creeping sense came back as of another woman within her who was fighting for her heart. She had conquered again, but at what a cost!

The foreign mission field--what a.s.sociations had she with that? Only the memory of her father's lonely life and friendless death.

She was feeling cold and had begun to s.h.i.+ver, when the door opened and Rosa entered.

"So he _did_ come again?"

"Yes."

"I thought he would," and Rosa laughed coldly.

"What do you mean?"

"That when religious feelings take possession of a man he will stop at nothing to gain the end he has in view."

"Rosa," said Glory, flus.h.i.+ng crimson, "if you imply that my friend is capable of one unworthy act or thought I must ask you to withdraw your words absolutely and at once!"

"Very well, dear. I was only thinking for your own good. We working women must not ruin our lives or let anybody else ruin them. 'Duty,'

'self-sacrifice'--I know the old formulas, but I don't believe in them.

Obey your own heart, my dear, that is your first duty. A man like Storm would take you out of your real self, and stop your career, and----"

"Oh, my career, my career! I'm tired to death of hearing of it!"

"Glory!"

"And who knows? I may not go on with it, after all."

"If you have lost your sense of duty to yourself, have you forgotten your duty to Mr. Drake? Think what Mr. Drake has done for you!"

"Mr. Drake! Mr. Drake! I'm sick of that too."

"How strange you are to-night, Glory!"

"Am I? So are you. It is Mr. Drake here and Mr. Drake there! Are you trying to force me into his arms?"

"Is it you that says that, Glory--you? and to me, too? Don't you see that this is a different case altogether? And if I thought of my own feelings only--consulted my own heart----"

"Rosa!"

"Ah! Is it so very foolish? Yes, he is young and handsome, and rich and brilliant, while I--I am ridiculous."

"No, no, Rosa; I don't mean that."

"I do, though; and when you came in between us--young and beautiful and clever--everything that I was not, and could never hope to be--and he was so drawn to you--what was I to do? Nurse my hopeless and ridiculous love--or think of him--his happiness?"

"Rosa, my poor dear Rosa, forgive me! forgive me!"

An hour later, dinner being over, they had returned to the drawing-room.

Rosa was writing at the table, and there was no sound in the room except the scratching of her pen, the falling of the slips of "copy," and the dull reverberation of the bell of St. Clement's Danes, which was ringing for evening service. Glory was sitting at the desk by the window, with her head on her hands, looking down into the garden. Out of the dead load at her heart she kept saying to herself: "Could I do that? Could I give up the one I loved for his own good, putting myself back, and thinking of him only?" And then a subtle hypocrisy stole over her and she thought, "Yes I could, I could!" and in a fever of nervous excitement she began to write a letter:

"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and so with a woman's will. I can not go abroad with you, dear, because I can not allow myself to break up your life, for it _would_ be that--it would, it would, you know it would! There are ten thousand men good enough for the foreign mission field, but there is only one man in the world for your work in London.

This is one of the things hidden from the wise, and revealed to children and fools. It would be wrong of me to take you away from your great scene. I daren't do it. It would be too great a responsibility. My conscience must have been dead and buried when I suggested such a possibility! Thank G.o.d, it has had a resurrection, and it is not yet too late."

But when the letter was sealed and stamped, and sent out to the post, she thought: "I must be mad, and there is no method in my madness either. What do I want--to join his life in London?" And then remembering what she had written, it seemed as if the other woman must have written it--the visionary woman, the woman she was making herself into day by day.

XVII.

John Storm had left home early on Monday morning. It was the last day of his tenancy of the clergy-house, and there was much to do at Soho.

Toward noon he made his way to the church in Bishopsgate Street for the first time since he had left the Brotherhood. It was midday service, and the little place was full of business men with their quick, eyes and eager faces. The Superior preached, and the sermon was on the religious life. We were each composed of two beings, one temporal, the other eternal, one carnal, the other spiritual. Life was a constant warfare between these two nearly matched forces, and often the victory seemed to sway from this side to that. Our enemy with the chariots of iron was ourselves. There was a Judas in each one of us ready to betray us with a kiss if allowed. The l.u.s.ts of the flesh were the most deadly sins, absolute chast.i.ty the most pleasing to G.o.d of all virtues. Did we desire to realize what the religious life could be? Then let us reflect upon the news which had come from the South Seas. What was the word that had fallen that morning on all Christendom like a thunderclap, say, rather, like the blast of a celestial trumpet? Father Damien was dead! Think of his lonely life in that distant island where doomed men lived out their days. Cut off from earthly marriage, with no one claiming his affection in the same way as Christ, he was free to commit himself entirely to G.o.d and to G.o.d's afflicted children. He was truly married to Christ. Christ occupied his soul as Lord and spouse. Glorious life! Glorious death!

Eternal crown of glory waiting for him in the glory everlasting!

When the service ended John Storm stepped up to speak to the Father. His wide-open eyes were flaming; he was visibly excited. "I came to ask a question," he said, "but it is answered already. I will follow Father Damien and take up his work. I was thinking of the mission field, but my doubt was whether G.o.d had called me, and I had great fear of going uncalled. G.o.d brought me here this morning, not knowing what I was to do, but now I know, and my mind is made up at last."

The Father was not less moved. They went out into the courtyard together and walked to and fro, planning, scheming, contriving, deciding.

"You'll take the vows first, my son?"

"The vows?"

"The life vows."

"But--but will that be necessary?"

"It will be best. Think what a peculiar appeal it have for those poor doomed creatures! They are cut off from the world by a terrible affliction, but you will be cut off by the graciousness of a Christ-fed purity. They are lepers made of disease; you will be as a leper for the kingdom of heaven's sake."

"But, Father--if that be so--how much greater the appeal will be if--if a woman goes out also! Say she is young and beautiful and of great gifts?"

"Brother Andrew may go with you, my son."

"Yes, Brother Andrew as well. But holy men in all ages have been bound by ties of intimacy and affection to good women who have lived and worked beside them."

"Sisters, my son, elder sisters always."

"And why not? Sister, indeed, and united to me by a great and spiritual love."

"We are none of us invincible, my son; let us not despise danger."