The elder, for the first time in his life, showed that he was moved.

He had opposed Galbraith, quarrelled with him, and had spoken bitterly against his wife. He had thought that if some terrible sorrow overtook them it would be a righteous judgment, although he had never been able to explain to himself why this judgment should fall on them. And now that it had come, that it was staring him in all its hideous reality in the face, the elder was stirred to the deepest pity and compa.s.sion.

"G.o.d help them!" he exclaimed, pa.s.sing his handkerchief over his face to hide his emotion--"G.o.d help them!" When he had said this he remained silent, digging the end of his stout stick into a ha.s.sock which lay near his feet. The clerk interrupted the silence.

"Will there be service to-day?" he asked.

"Let everything go on as usual," replied the elder. "Mr. Bunny and myself will settle this when the time comes--and now, Bunny, a word with you."

The clerk took the hint and stepped back, and the two men, whose mutual jealousies had for some years past threatened to dissolve the community, walked arm-in-arm down the aisle between the grim rows of empty benches soon to be filled with Sabbath worshippers.

"Will he go?" asked the elder.

"Yes," replied Bunny, "and at once. I have advised this course. In his present state of mind there is nothing else for him to do."

"Very well," replied Bullin; "we had better see him to-day; there are a few things that must be done--we, as members of the council, can arrange this."

Bunny thanked him. "It is what I was going to propose myself,"

he said; "we will see him after the congregation has been dismissed--perhaps you had better do this--he wishes to go to-night."

Bullin agreed. "I suppose," he asked, "you have no news of his unfortunate wi----?" He stopped and looked somewhat awkwardly at Bunny.

"No," was the reply, "there has not been time; but I shall arrange about that if it can be done. In the meantime Galbraith must go."

As they spoke the church began to fill, and people entered in groups of twos and threes, or singly. Some, on entering, flung themselves devoutly on their knees and remained absorbed in prayer. Others made a pretence of kneeling. A few, a very few, young men put their faces into their hats, and probably examined the maker's name therein.

The clerk, who also officiated at the American harmonium, played the first bars of an old hymn; and, to the astonishment of the worshippers, Elder Bullin rose from his seat, and, ascending the pulpit, gave out the hymn to be sung. He led it off himself with a fairly good voice, and was accompanied by the whole congregation. At its conclusion, and when the long-drawn _Amen_ died away with the notes of the organ, the elder, in a few brief words, informed the people that, owing to a domestic affliction, their beloved brother and pastor was unable to attend that day, that the trouble was of so serious a nature that it was impossible that the regular service should be held that morning, and he begged that the congregation would disperse after a short prayer and the singing of another hymn. The prayer was then offered up by the elder, and the hymn sung. One by one the people arose, after a little decorous silence, and it was not until they had pa.s.sed out into the church enclosure that the full tide of their curiosity burst. Lizzie and Laura were besieged with questions, but they knew nothing, and the dread of the elder's wrath hurried them away. It became necessary for Mr. Bunny himself to go out and beg the congregation to disperse. He informed them that Galbraith was very ill, and that the kindest thing they could do was to go home.

This they did after some little time. After a last instruction to the clerk to hold his tongue for the present, Bunny and the elder pa.s.sed through the wicket-gate, and, walking slowly up the gravel path, entered the manse. The door of the study was slightly open, and Bunny knocked; there was no answer, and both he and the elder stepped in.

Galbraith was there, sitting at his table, his white drawn face showing all the signs of the terrible time he had pa.s.sed through.

There was a hunted look in his eyes, which shifted their glance from side to side. Bullin held out his hand without a word. Galbraith rose and shook it silently, and then, turning, walked to the window.

Bunny approached him and whispered in his ear, while the elder employed himself in smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve.

"Very well," said Galbraith; "you are right--the sooner the better."

What was wanted were some papers relating to the church. Galbraith opened a drawer of his writing-table. They were all there, tied in neat piles, with labels showing what they were. He shuddered as he saw the handwriting on these labels, and his hand shook like a leaf in the wind as he picked out the bundles one by one and handed them to the elder.

At last the necessary business was concluded, and Bullin rose. He attempted to speak, but was unable to do so; and gathering up the papers in his hands, stood for a moment as if irresolute.

"G.o.d help you!" he said suddenly, and turning went out of the room.

Bunny remained a few moments longer. "I will come back again," he said, "in an hour. It is not good for you to be left alone." He shook Galbraith by the hand, and followed the elder out.

When they had gone, Galbraith rose and wandered round the house.

Breakfast was ready. He had not touched it, and at the sight of his face the servant who was waiting stepped silently out of the room. The act was in itself sympathetic, and touched Galbraith. He had packed a bag with a few things, and it was lying half open on his bed. On the wall was a photograph of Halsa. He took it down, and, placing it in the bag, closed it and turned the key. He then went back into his room and waited. He knew what Bunny's absence meant, and he was burning with impatience for his return. On the table before him was a ma.n.u.script of his sermons. He seized it with a laugh, and began to turn over its pages. He had poured his heart into them. How had he not laboured? His was the voice that breathed consolation into many a stricken heart, and now that the time had come for him to need help, there was none there to give it. The Book of Books--it was lying there before him, leather bound, with gold-edged leaves--he knew it by heart; there was nothing in that that could help a sorrow like his.

Bit by bit he tore the ma.n.u.script into shreds, and strewed it about the floor; and when the last sc.r.a.p of paper had fluttered on to the carpet beside him, he felt that he had broken with the past forever.

Faith--had he not faith? But what faith could stand against the cruelty of his trial? And then the remains of his religion burned up within him, and he strove to pray, but the words he uttered with his lips were unmeaning, and he rose from his knees in despair.

It was somewhat late in the afternoon when Bunny returned. Galbraith was ready for him as he came into the house.

"Did you get a pa.s.sage?" he asked.

"Yes," said Bunny; "you sail with the tide to-night."

They entered a hired conveyance, and Bunny gave directions to drive to the quay. There was not much spoken as they drove through the streets.

At length they reached the quay, and Bunny would have entered the boat with Galbraith, but he denied him. "No," he said, "let me go alone."

Bunny regretfully agreed. "You will find a letter from me awaiting you at the Cape," he said as Galbraith shook him warmly by the hand.

"You will not fail to let me know if there is any news of her?"

"No," replied Bunny, "I will not."

Galbraith sprang into the boat, and Bunny watched it as it was rowed toward the great ship lying in the harbour, the blue-peter flying at her mast-head. Slowly the boat moved forward until it entered the broad band-of dazzling light on the waters, where the sun's rays were reflected back in a myriad of flashing colours. Shading his eyes with his hands, Bunny watched the boat until it was absorbed into that marvellous blaze of gold, and pa.s.sed from his sight.

At last he turned and drove back home. But from that day nothing was heard of John Galbraith.

CHAPTER XV.

THE GLORY DEPARTS.

All attempts to secure a suitable successor to Galbraith failed. The scandal caused by the disaster, which had befallen the pastor, his mysterious disappearance, and that of Mrs. Lamport, deterred some; others were unwilling to leave their present posts; and of the one or two who would have taken charge of the flock, the sheep would have none of them. The law-suit with the Jain temple had, moreover, so impoverished the funds of the tabernacle that it was out of the question to send over the seas for a new spiritual guide. In the meantime the feelings of the community began to find vent in the columns of the Bombay Bouncer. Attacks were made against both Bullin and Bunny, and each attributed the attacks on themselves to the other.

Bullin, in his headstrong way, openly charged Bunny with the offence of attacking him through the press. The latter denied it hotly, and replied with a countercharge. The result was a division of the community into two parties, and the beginning of the end as far as the existence of the tabernacle was concerned. About this time Sarkies begged for readmission into the fold. He was supported by Bunny; but Bullin, regarding this as a personal affront, strained every nerve, and secured at a general meeting a verdict confirming the former sentence of excommunication. It was at this meeting that the elder, amid much confusion, charged Bunny with having got Halsa Lamport out of the way to avoid inquiry. It was with the greatest difficulty that Bunny's friends prevented a physical struggle between the two leaders.

Bunny and his following, however, left the church, where the meeting was held, leaving Bullin in possession of the field. It was thought at first that the matter would have gone before the law-courts; but this was somehow prevented, and the Bunny party, throwing off all allegiance to their former church, sought food for the soul from the Rev. Mr. MacGoggin, of the Free Kirk, and sat at his feet for evermore. Bullin, now left with undisputed power, conducted the services himself, and so great was his influence with the new council, practically creatures of his own, that he absolutely prevented any fresh nomination to the pastorship. In a brief period, however, his intolerance and bigotry outraged his own followers. In a few weeks his sermons, or rather lectures, were given to benches where the only audience consisted of his unfortunate daughters. At this time, too, an incident happened which fairly broke down the old man, and the congregation, at a great general meeting, finally dissolved themselves. The church was sold by auction. The worshippers scattered themselves elsewhere, and the history of the tabernacle was ended.

Great was the rejoicing in the Jain temple. In honour of the occasion the eremite Mahendra, the terrible Swami, whose history will some day be written, swung himself for a whole afternoon by the simple process of fixing two iron hooks under his shoulder-blades, gaining thereby much credit and renown. An enterprising Pa.r.s.ee purchased the property.

He called the manse "The Retreat," and lived there himself. He imported lime and orange trees in green tubs, and set them in rows about the garden. He may be seen among his plants any morning, clad in the whitest of coats and sheeniest of silken nether garments. Over the main entrance of the whilom chapel swings his signboard. It informs the public that Muncherjee Cheesecake is a general merchant. The flaring poster of an American cigarette manufacturer is pasted on each of the pillars of the gates. The cigarettes may be had from Muncherjee. They are very good.

What happened was this. Sarkies, smarting under the indignity of the second expulsion from the church, held a family council with his mother and aunt. It was about this time that an epidemic of going over to Rome had set in, and the accounts of the perversion or conversion of several very great people in the British Isles filled the newspapers. Sarkies determined to be in the fashion, and in a few days the whole family were received into the broad bosom of the eternal church. They placed themselves under the guidance of an Irish priest, and, after the first plunge was over, Sarkies began to consider the confessional as a most excellent inst.i.tution. _Presto!_ a wave of the hand, a benediction, and the sins of the past had joined the past. He got it all out about Lizzie, and was confident that he could bring her over to the church. The Rev. Father Faly was not unwilling to help him. Life was very dull under the cocoa palms. He informed Sarkies that the Roman Catholic ritual permitted a priest to unite a minor in marriage without the guardian's consent, and watched Sarkies go away with resolve on his face.

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances nothing would have induced Lizzie to listen to Sarkies's proposals of flight, but circ.u.mstances favoured the Armenian. The girl had some spirit in her, and the eternal bullying of the elder was beginning to tell. Besides, notwithstanding the undignified, not to say uncomfortable, position from which Sarkies was compelled to plead his cause, the young man had a somewhat silken tongue, and then he had got to love Lizzie, and love always finds words. So the old, old story was repeated; and Lizzie, flinging over a few of her belongings in a bundle, was a.s.sisted by Sarkies over the wall, and, entering the buggy, drove off with her lover. This was done in the middle of the day. Sarkies knew that it was the occasion of the great and final meeting at the chapel, and that the coast would be clear. He did not reckon, however, on its being a half-holiday, and that he should meet Master Edward Bunny on his way back from school.

The old Arab was urged to his fastest pace; but Eddy took in the situation at a glance.

"My!" he exclaimed, "there's Jimmie Sarkies bolting with Lizzie--_youps!_"

He had a shot at the buggy with his catapult; and it is worthy of record that on this occasion he missed his mark, and found that in his excitement he had used as a pellet his favourite marble, well known by the t.i.tle of "Aunty." This in itself was a terrible disaster, and Eddy boiled with wrath. An opportunity for vengeance was at hand, however, for he had hardly gone a quarter of a mile when he met the elder returning home. The meeting had ended. The little community had ceased to exist, and with it the best part of the old man's life. He was walking under the shadow of the palms, his carriage following him slowly. His heavy eyebrows were bent in a frown, and his lips were twitching nervously.

"Morning, Mr. Bullin!" exclaimed Eddy as he approached. The elder looked at him without making any answer, and pa.s.sed on. But Eddy was not to be put off in this manner. He followed the old man, and, catching him up, remarked, "You'll be sorry when you hear it. I fired my catapult after them."

"Go away, boy!" exclaimed Bullin.

"Go away--oh, yes! I'm going--and so's Lizzie and Jim Sarkies. I saw them going off in the bug--oh!--hoo!--boo--ooh!"

It was too much for Bullin. He darted forward at Eddy's speech and seized him by the arm. The next moment there was a cuffing and a ringing of ears that Eddy remembers to this day, notwithstanding that he is in a fair way to succeed to his father's appointment, and has a small Eddy of his own. When he had finished with the boy and flung him from him, the elder jumped into his carriage and bade the coachman drive home. Laura's scared face as she met him at the door, confirmed his worst fears.

"Are they gone?" he asked. "Answer me, woman! Don't stand staring there."

Laura burst into tears, and the elder with a hissing cry of rage re-entered his carriage and drove to the Sarkies's house. There was no one there. A sudden thought struck him. "To the Catholic Church," he shouted; and the coachman needed no bidding to drive fast. He arrived in time to meet Faly stepping out of the door. "Where's my daughter?"

inquired Bullin, furiously shaking his fist in the priest's face.