"Your contact with the truth," said Mr. Hearn, laughing, "is somewhat like many people's first experience of the ocean--you are much stirred up, but have not yet reached the point of yielding to the mysterious malady."

I was disgusted, and was about to reply with a sarcastic compliment upon the elegance of his ill.u.s.tration, when a look of pain upon Miss Warren's face checked me, and I said nothing. Lack of delicacy was one of Mr. Hearn's gravest faults. While courtly, polished, and refined in externals, he lacked in tact and nicety of discrimination. He often said things which a finer-fibred but much worse man would never have said. He had an abundance of intellect, great shrewdness, vast will force, and organizing power, but not much ideality or imagination. This lack rendered him incapable of putting himself in the place of another, and of appreciating their feelings, moods, and motives. The most revolting thought to me of his union with Miss Warren was that he would never appreciate her. He greatly admired and respected her, but his spiritual eyes were too dim to note the exquisite bloom on her character, or to detect the evanescent lights and shades of thought and feeling of which to me her mobile face gave so many hints. He would expect her to be like the July days now pa.s.sing--warm, bright, cloudless, and in keeping with his general prosperity.

"They will disappoint each other inevitably," I thought, "and it's strange that her clear eyes cannot see it when mine can. It is perhaps the strongest evidence of her love for him, since love is blind. Still she may love and yet be able to see his foibles and failings clearly; thousands of women do this. But whether the silken cord of love or the chain of supposed duty binds her to him now, I fear that Mrs. Yocomb's sermon has made her his for all time."

Her manner confirmed my surmise, for she apparently gave me little thought, and was un.o.btrusively attentive and devoted to him. He had the good taste to see that further personal remarks were not agreeable; and since his last attempted witticism fell flat, did not attempt any more.

Our table-talk flagged, and we hastened through the meal. After it was over he asked:

"Emily, what shall we do this afternoon?"

"Anything you wish," she replied quietly.

"That's the way it will always be," I muttered as I went dejectedly to my room. "Through all his life it has been 'anything you wish,' and now it would seem as if religion itself had become his ally. There is nothing to me so wonderful as some men's fortune. Earth and heaven seem in league to forward their interests. But why was she so moved at the meeting-house? Was it merely religious sensibility? It might have been we were all moved deeply. Was it my imagination, or did she really shrink from him, and then glance guiltily at me? Even if she had, it might have been a momentary repulsion caused by his drowsy, heavy aspect at the time, just as his remark at dinner gave her an unpleasant twinge. These little back eddies are no proof that there is not a strong central current.

"Can it be that she was sorrowful in the meeting-house for my sake only? I've had strong proof of her wonderful kindness of heart. Well, G.o.d bless her anyway. I'll wait and watch till I know the truth. I suppose I'm the worst heathen Mrs. Yocomb ever preached to, but I'm going to secure Emily Warren's happiness at any cost. If she truly loves this man, I'll go away and fight it out so st.u.r.dily that she need not worry. That's what her sermon means for me. I'm not going to pump up any religious sentiment. I don't feel any. It's like walking into a bare room to have a turn with a thumb-screw; but Mrs. Yocomb has hedged me up to just this course. Oh, the gentle, inexorable woman! Satan himself might well tremble before her. There is but one that I fear more, and that's the woman I love most. Gentle, tender-hearted as she is, she is more inexorable than Mrs. Yocomb. It's a little strange, but I doubt whether there is anything in the universe that so inspires a man with awe as a thoroughly good, large-minded woman."

I could not sleep that afternoon, and at last I became so weary of the conflict between my hope and fear that I was glad to hear Miss Warren at the piano, playing softly some old English hymns. The day was growing cool and shadowy, but I hoped that before it pa.s.sed I might get a chance to say something to her which would give a different aspect to the concluding words of Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. I had determined no longer to avoid her society, but rather to seek it, whenever I could in the presence of others, and especially of her affianced. They had returned from a long afternoon in the arbor, which I knew must occasion Miss Warren some unpleasant thoughts, and the banker was sitting on the piazza chatting with Adah.

I strolled into the parlor with as easy and natural a manner as I could a.s.sume, and taking my old seat by the window, said quietly: "Please go on playing, Miss Warren."

She turned on me one of her swift looks, which always gave me the impression that she saw all that was in my mind. Her color rose a little, but she continued playing for a time. Then with her right hand evoking low, sweet chords, she asked, with a conciliatory smile:

"Have you been thinking over Mrs. Yocomb's words this afternoon?"

"Not all the time--no. Have you?"

"How could I all the time?"

"Oh, I think you can do anything under heaven you make up your mind to do," I said, with a slight laugh. The look she gave now was a little apprehensive, and I added hastily: "I've had one thought that I don't mind telling you, for I think it may be a pleasant one, though it must recall that which is painful. The thought occurred to me when Mrs.

Yocomb was speaking, and since, that your brother had perfect peace as he stood in that line of battle."

She turned eagerly toward me, and tears rushed into her eyes.

"You may be right," she said, in a low, tremulous tone.

"Well, I feel sure I'm right. I know it, if he was anything like you."

"Oh, then I doubt it. I'm not at all brave as he was. You ought to know that."

"You have the courage that a veteran general most values in a soldier.

You might be half dead from terror, but you wouldn't run away.

Besides," I added, smiling, "you would not be afraid of shot and sh.e.l.l, only the noise of a battle. In this respect your brother, no doubt, differed from you. In the grand consciousness of right, and in his faithful performance of duty, I believe his face was as serene as the aspect of Mr. Yocomb when he looked at the coming storm. As far as peace is concerned, his heaven began on earth. I envy him."

"Mr. Morton, I thank you for these words about my brother," she said very gently, and with a little pathetic quaver in her voice. "They have given me a comforting a.s.sociation with that awful day. Oh, I thank G.o.d for the thought. Remembering what Mrs. Yocomb said, it reconciles me to it all, as I never thought I could be reconciled. If Herbert believed that it was his duty to be there, it was best he should be there. How strange it is that you should think of this first, and not I!"

"Will you pardon me if I take exception to one thing you say? I do not think it follows that he ought to have been there simply because he felt it right to be there."

"Why, Mr. Morton! ought one not to do right at any and every cost? That seemed to me the very pith of Mrs. Yocomb's teaching, and I think she made it clear that it's always best to do right."

"I think so too, most emphatically; but what is right, Miss Warren?"

"That's too large a question for me to answer in the abstract; but is not the verdict of conscience right for each one of us?"

"I can't think so," I replied, with a shrug. "About every grotesque, horrible act ever committed in this world has been sanctioned by conscience. Delicate women have worn hair-cloth and walked barefooted on cold pavements in midnight penance. The devil is scarcely more cruel than the Church, for ages, taught that G.o.d was. It's true that Christ's life was one of self-sacrifice; but was there any useless, mistaken self-sacrifice in it? If G.o.d is anything like Mrs. Yocomb, nothing could be more repugnant to him than blunders of this kind."

She looked at me with a startled face, and I saw that my words had unsettled her mind.

"If conscience cannot guide, what can?" she faltered. "Is not conscience G.o.d's voice within us?"

"No. Conscience may become G.o.d's worst enemy--that is, any G.o.d that I could worship or even respect."

"Mr. Morton, you frighten me. How can I do right unless I follow my conscience?"

"Yes," I said sadly, "you would, in the good old times, have followed it over stony pavements, in midnight penance, or now into any th.o.r.n.y path which it pointed out; and I believe that many such paths lead away from the G.o.d of whom Mrs. Yocomb spoke to-day. Miss Warren, I'm a man of the world, and probably you think my views on these subjects are not worth much. It's strange that your own nature does not suggest to you the only sure guide. It seems to me that conscience should always go to truth for instructions. The men who killed your brother thought they were right as truly as he did; but history will prove that they were wrong, as so many sincere people have been in every age. He did not suffer and die uselessly, for the truth was beneath his feet and in his heart."

"Dear, brave, n.o.ble Herbert!" she sighed. "Oh, that G.o.d had spared him to me!"

"I wish he had," I said, with quiet emphasis. "I wish he was with you here and now."

Again she gave me a questioning, troubled look through her tears.

"Then you believe truth to be absolutely binding?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Yes. In science, religion, ethics, or human action, nothing can last--nothing can end well that is not built squarely on truth."

She became very pale; but she turned quietly to her piano as she said:

"You are right, Mr. Morton; there can be no peace--not even self-respect--without truth. My nature would be pitiful indeed did it not teach me that."

She had interpreted my words in a way that intensified the influence of Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. To be false to the trust that she had led her affianced to repose in her still seemed the depth of degradation. I feared that she would take this view at first, but believed, if my hope had any foundation, she would think my words over so often that she would discover a different meaning.

And my hope was strengthened. If she loved Mr. Hearn, why did she turn, pale and quiet, to her piano, which had always appeared a refuge to her, when I had seemingly spoken words that not only sanctioned but made the course which harmonized with her love imperative? Even the possibility that in the long days and nights of my delirium I had unconsciously wooed and won her heart, so thrilled and overcame me that I dared not trust myself longer in her presence, and I went out on the piazza--a course eminently satisfactory to Mr. Hearn, no doubt. I think he regarded our interview as becoming somewhat extended. He had glanced at me from time to time, but my manner had been too quiet to disturb him, and he could not see Miss Warren's face. The words he overheard suggested a theological discussion rather than anything of a personal nature. It had been very rea.s.suring to see Miss Warren turn from me as if my words had ceased to interest her, and my coming out to talk with Adah confirmed the impression made by my manner all along, that we were not very congenial spirits. It also occurred to me that he did not find chatting with Adah a very heavy cross, for never had she looked prettier than on that summer evening. But now that Miss Warren was alone he went in and sat down by her, saying so loudly that I could not help hearing him, as I stood by the window:

"I think you must have worsted Mr. Morton in your theological discussion, for he came out looking as if he had a great deal to think about that was not exactly to his taste; but Miss Adah will--" and then his companion began playing something that drowned his voice.

CHAPTER XV

"DON'T THINK OF ME"

Mrs. Yocomb appeared at supper, serene and cheerful; but she was paler than usual, and she still looked like one who had but just descended from a lofty spiritual height. No reference whatever was made to the morning. Mrs. Yocomb no longer spoke on religious themes directly, but she seemed to me the Gospel embodied, as with natural kindly grace she presided at her home table. Her husband beamed on her, and looked as if his cup was overflowing. Reuben's frank, boyish eyes often turned toward her in their simple devotion, while Zillah, who sat next to her, had many a whispered confidence to give. Adah's accent was gentle and her manner thoughtful. Miss Warren looked at her from time to time with a strange wistfulness--looked as if the matron possessed a serenity and peace that she coveted.

"Emily," said Mr. Yocomb, "thee doesn't think music's wicked, does thee?"

"No, sir, nor do you either."