"For when ye were the servants of sin, ye were free from righteousness. But now being made free from sin, and become servants to G.o.d, ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life."

Then the minister, having finished his discourse, came down before the altar and commenced the services; but Mr. Murray sat motionless, with his countenance concealed by his hand. Mr. Hammond approached and touched him, and, as he rose, led him to the altar, and presented him as a candidate for ordination.

There, before the shining marble pulpit which he had planned and built in the early years of his life, for the idol of his youth, stood St. Elmo; and the congregation, especially those of his native village, looked with involuntary admiration and pride at the erect, powerful form, clad in its suit of black--at the n.o.bly proportioned head, where gray locks were visible.

"But if there be any of you who knoweth any impediment or crime, for the which he ought not to be received into this holy ministry, let him come forth, in the name of G.o.d, and show what the crime or impediment is."

The preacher paused, the echo of his words died away, and perfect silence reigned. Suddenly St. Elmo raised his eyes from the railing of the altar, and, turning his face slightly, looked through the eastern window at the ivy-draped vault where slept Murray and Annie.

The world was silent, but conscience and the dead accused him. An expression of intolerable pain crossed his handsome features, then his hands folded themselves tightly together on the top of the marble bal.u.s.trade, and he looked appealingly up to the pale Jesus staggering under his cross.

At that instant a spotless white pigeon from the belfry found its way into the church through the open doors, circled once around the building, fluttered against the window, hiding momentarily the crown of thorns, and, frightened and confused, fell upon the fluted pillar of the pulpit.

An electric thrill ran through the congregation; and as the minister resumed the services, he saw on St. Elmo's face a light, a great joy, such as human countenances rarely wear this side of the grave.

When Mr. Murray knelt and the ordaining hands were laid upon his head, a sob was heard from the pew where his mother sat, and the voice of the preacher faltered as he delivered the Bible to the kneeling man, saying:

"Take thou authority to preach the word of G.o.d, and to administer the holy sacraments in the congregation."

There were no dry eyes in the entire a.s.sembly, save two that looked out, coldly blue, from the pew where Mrs. Powell sat like a statue, between her daughter and Gordon Leigh.

Mr. Hammond tottered across the altar, and knelt down close to Mr.

Murray; and many who knew the history of the pastor's family, wept as the gray head fell on the broad shoulder of St. Elmo, whose arm was thrown around the old man's form, and the ordaining minister, with tears rolling over his face, extended his hands in benediction above them.

"The peace of G.o.d, which pa.s.seth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of G.o.d, and of His Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of G.o.d Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be among you, and remain with you alway."

And all hearts and lips present whispered "Amen!" and the organ and the choir broke forth in a grand "Gloria in excelsis."

Standing there at the chancel, purified, consecrated henceforth unreservedly to Christ, Mr. Murray looked so happy, so n.o.ble, so worthy of his high calling, that his proud, fond mother thought his face was fit for an archangel's wings.

Many persons who had known him in his boyhood, came up with tears in their eyes, and wrung his hand silently. At last Huldah pointed to the white pigeon, that was now beating its wings against the gilded pipes of the organ, and said, in that singularly sweet, solemn, hesitating tone, with which children approach sacred things:

"Oh, Mr. Murray! when it fell on the pulpit, it nearly took my breath away, for I almost thought it was the Holy Ghost."

Tears, which till then he had bravely kept back, dripped over his face, as he stooped and whispered to the little orphan:

"Huldah, the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, came indeed; but it was not visible, it is here in my heart."

The congregation dispersed. Mrs. Murray and the preacher and Huldah went to the carriage; and, leaning on Mr. Murray's arm, Mr. Hammond turned to follow, but observing that the church was empty, the former said:

"After a little I will come."

The old man walked on, and Mr. Murray went back and knelt, resting his head against the beautiful glittering bal.u.s.trade, within which he hoped to officiate through the remaining years of his earthly career.

Once the s.e.xton, who was waiting to lock up the church, looked in, saw the man praying alone there at the altar, and softly stole away.

When St. Elmo came out, the churchyard seemed deserted; but as he crossed it, going homeward, a woman rose from one of the tombstones and stood before him--the yellow-haired Jezebel, with sapphire eyes and soft, treacherous red lips, who had goaded him to madness and blasted the best years of his life.

At sight of her he recoiled, as if a cobra had started up in his path.

"St. Elmo, my beloved! in the name of other days stop and hear me.

By the memory of our early love, I entreat you!"

She came close to him, and the alabaster face was marvelously beautiful in its expression of penitential sweetness.

"St. Elmo, can you never forgive me for the suffering I caused you in my giddy girlhood?"

She took his hand and attempted to raise it to her lips; but shaking off her touch, he stepped back, and steadily they looked in each other's eyes.

"Agnes, I forgive you. May G.o.d pardon your sins, as He has pardoned mine!"

He turned away, but she seized his coat-sleeve and threw herself before him, standing with both hands clasping his arm.

"If you mean what you say, there is happiness yet in store for us.

Oh, St. Elmo! how often have I longed to come and lay my head down on your bosom, and tell you all. But you were so stern and harsh I was afraid. To-day when I saw you melted, when the look of your boyhood came dancing back to your dear eyes, I was encouraged to hope that your heart had softened also toward one, who so long possessed it. Is there hope for your poor Agnes? Hope that the blind, silly girl, who, ignorant of the value of the treasure, slighted and spurned it, may indeed be pardoned, when, as a woman realizing her folly, and sensible at last of the n.o.bility of a nature she once failed to appreciate, she comes and says--what it is so hard for a woman to say--'Take me back to your heart, gather me up in your arms, as in the olden days, because--because I love you now; because only your love can make me happy.' St. Elmo, we are no longer young; but believe me when I tell you that at last--at last-- your own Agnes loves you as she never loved any one, even in her girlhood. Once I preferred my cousin Murray to you; but think how giddy I must have been, when I could marry before a year had settled the sod on his grave? I did not love my husband, but I married him for the same reason that I would have married you then. And yet for that there is some palliation. It was to save my father from disgrace that I sacrificed myself; for money entrusted to his keeping--money belonging to his orphan ward--had been used by him in a ruinous speculation, and only prompt repayment could prevent exposure. Remember I was so young, so vain, so thoughtless then! St.

Elmo, pity me! love me! take me back to your heart! G.o.d is my witness that I do love you entirely now! Dearest, say, 'Agnes, I will forgive all, and trust you and love you as in the days long past.'"

She tried to put her arms up around his neck and to rest her head on his shoulder; but he resisted and put her at arm's length from him.

Holding her there, he looked at her with a cold scorn in his eyes, and a heavy shadow darkening the brow that five minutes before had been so calm, so bright.

"Agnes, how dare you attempt to deceive me after all that has pa.s.sed between us? Oh, woman! In the name of all true womanhood I could blush for you!"

She struggled to free herself, to get closer to him, but his stern grasp was relentless; and as tears poured down her cheeks, she clasped her hands and sobbed out:

"You do not believe that I really love you! Oh! do not look at me so harshly! I am not deceiving you; as I hope for pardon and rest for my soul--as I hope to see my father's face in heaven--I am not deceiving you! I do--I do love you! When I spoke to you about Gertrude, it cost me a dreadful pang; but I thought you loved her because she resembled me; and for my child's sake I crushed my own hopes--I wanted, if possible, to save her from suffering. But you only upbraided and heaped savage sarcasms upon me. Oh, St. Elmo! if you could indeed see my poor heart, you would not look so cruelly cold. You ought to know that I am terribly in earnest when I can stoop to beg for the ruins of a heart, which in its freshness I once threw away, and trampled on."

He had seen her weep before, when it suited her purpose, and he only smiled and answered: "Yes, Agnes, you ruined and trampled it in the mire of sin; but I have rebuilt it, and, by the mercy of G.o.d, I hope I have purified it. Look you, woman! when you overturned the temple, you crumbled your own image that was set up there; and I long, long ago swept out and gave to the hungry winds the despised dust of that broken idol, and over my heart you can reign no more! The only queen it has known since that awful night twenty-three years ago, when my faith, hope, charity were all strangled in an instant by the velvet hand I had kissed in my doting fondness--the only queen my heart has acknowledged since then, is one who, in her purity soars like an angel above you and me, and her dear name is--Edna Earl."

"Edna Earl!--a puritanical fanatic! Nay, a Pharisee! A cold prude, a heartless blue! A woman with some brain and no feeling, who loves nothing but her own fame, and has no sympathy with your nature. St.

Elmo, are you insane! Did you not see that letter from Estelle to your mother, stating that she, Edna, would certainly be married in February to the celebrated Mr. Manning, who was then on his way to Rome to meet her? Did you see that letter?"

"I did."

"And discredit it? Blindness, madness, equal to my own in the days gone by! Edna Earl exists no longer; she was married a month ago.

Here, read for yourself, or you will believe that I fabricate the whole."

She held a newspaper before his eyes and he saw a paragraph, marked with a circle of ink, "Marriage in Literary Circles":

"The very reliable correspondent of the New York--writes from Rome that the Americans now in that city are on the qui vive concerning a marriage announced to take place on Thursday next at the residence of the American Minister. The very distinguished parties are Miss Edna Earl, the gifted and exceedingly popular young auth.o.r.ess, whose works have given her an enviable reputation, even on this side of the Atlantic, and Mr. Dougla.s.s G. Manning, the well-known and able editor of the--Magazine. The happy pair will start, immediately after the ceremony, on a tour through Greece and the Holy Land."

Mr. Murray opened the paper, glanced at the date, and his swarthy face paled as he put his hands over his eyes.

Mrs. Powell came nearer, and once more touched his hand; but, with a gesture of disgust, he pushed her aside.

"Away! Not a word--not one word more! You are not worthy to take my darling's name upon your lips! She may be Manning's wife--G.o.d forbid it!--or she may be in her grave. I have lost her, I know; but if I never see her dear angel face again in this world, it will be in consequence of my sins, and of yours; and with G.o.d's help I mean to live out the remainder of my days, so that at last I shall meet her in eternity! Leave me, Agnes! Do not make me forget the vows I have to-day taken upon myself, in the presence of the world and of my Maker. In future, keep out of my path, which will never cross yours; do not rouse the old hate toward you, which I am faithfully striving to overcome. The first time I went to the communion-table, after the lapse of all those dreary years of sin and desperation, I asked myself, 'Have I a right to the sacrament of the Lord's Supper?--can I face G.o.d and say I forgive Agnes Powell?' Finally, after a hard struggle, I said, from the depths of my heart, 'Even as I need and hope for forgiveness myself, I do fully forgive her.' Mark you, it was my injuries that I pardoned, your treachery that I forgave. But recollect there is a mournful truth in those words--THERE IS NO PARDON FOR DESECRATED IDEALS! Once, in the flush of my youth, I selected you as the beau ideal of beautiful, perfect womanhood; but you fell from that lofty pedestal where my ardent, boyish love set you for worship, and you dragged me down, down, almost beyond the pale of G.o.d's mercy! I forgive all my wrongs, but 'take you back, love you?' Ah! I can never love anyone, I never, even in my boyhood, loved you, as I love my pure darling, my own Edna! Her memory is all I have to cheer me in my lonely work. I do not believe that she is married; no, no, but she is in her grave. For many days past I have been oppressed by a horrible presentiment that she has gone to her rest in Christ--that the next steamer will bring me tidings of her death. Do not touch me, Agnes! If there be any truth in what you have to-day a.s.serted so solemnly (though I can not believe it, for if you ridiculed and disliked me in my n.o.ble youth, how can you love the same man in the melancholy wreck of his hopes?), if there be a shadow of truth in your words, you are indeed to be pitied. Ah! you and I have learned at a terrible price the deceitfulness of riches, the hollowness of this world's pleasures; and both have writhed under the poisonous fangs that always dart from the dregs of the cup of sin, which you and I have drained. Experience must have taught you, also, what I was so long in learning--the utter hopelessness of peace for heart and soul save only through that religion, which so far subdues even my sinful, vindictive, satanic nature, that I can say to you--you who blasted all my earthly happiness--I forgive you my sufferings, and hope that G.o.d will give you that pardon and comfort which after awful conflicts I have found at last. Several times you have thrust yourself into my presence; but if there remains any womanly delicacy in your nature you will avoid me henceforth when I tell you that I loath the sight of one whose unwomanliness stabbed my trust in womanhood, and sunk me so low that I lost Edna Earl. Agnes, go yonder--where I have spent so many hours of agony--yonder to the graves of your victims as well as mine. Go down on your knees yonder, and pray for yourself, and may G.o.d help you!"

He pointed to the gray vault and the slab that covered Annie and Murray Hammond; and disengaging her fingers, which still clutched his sleeve, he turned quickly and walked away.