The Stumbling Shepherd E-Book

H. A. Cody

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Thanks to the main character, readers will be able to understand the value of books. It all starts with the fact that he finds an amazing book. The writings of the early fathers of the Church in their gloomy bindings occupied the lowest shelf. Above them, rank by rank, were collected church stories, ancient, modern and medieval. All the articles on his desk were organized according to his preferences.

Leseprobe

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Chapter XXXIV

Chapter I

THE NIGHT CALL

His trouble seemed to begin the evening he found that book out of its place. It startled him as he sat before the bright wood-fire. He had not noticed it at first, so intent was he upon watching the flames and enjoying the big comfortable chair after his long drive. But as his eyes turned at length to his beloved books, and he noticed that one of them was out of its usual position, he rose to his feet and stepped swiftly forward.

The other volumes stood like perfectly-trained soldiers on dress-parade. They were a goodly collection, chosen through long years with considerable care. Writings of the early Fathers of the Church in their sombre bindings occupied the lowest shelf. Above them, rank upon rank, were marshalled Church histories, ancient, modern, and medieval, with homiletics, apologetics, dogmatics, and liturgics. There was nothing light or frivolous in the entire array. They were all grim and stern weapons in the armory of him whose hands had placed them there, and whose eyes had studied their pages with the master’s keen interest and delight.

But one was askew, and the man wondered as he pushed it back until it was in line with its companions. He was worried.

“I am getting careless. I must have left it that way while preparing my sermon last night. I am certain that no one else here would have occasion to use my Greek dictionary. Yes, I must have done it myself. It is most unusual.”

He glanced about the room as if to find any other sign of his carelessness. But everything in that study was in its proper place. All the articles on his writing-table were arranged according to his liking. Paper, pens and ink were in mathematical order. The few books on the centre-table were lying just as he had left them. Nothing could be observed to cause him the least worry. He gave a sigh of relief as he once again sat down before the fire. The tongs and poker immediately attracted his attention. Rachel must have moved them while lighting the fire. When he had straightened them up he felt more satisfied. But not entirely, for the thought of that book was still in his mind, and several times his brow wrinkled in annoyance.

Complete system and order were vital factors to the Reverend Daniel Landrose, Rector of Green Mount. They formed part of his nature, and after forty years in the Ministry they were most deeply rooted.

“Order is one of God’s great laws,” he always argued. “He delights in it, and sets us the example. If the inanimate things around us obey His behest, should not we who are made in His image?”

And this idea he applied not only to his own life but to his dealings with the members of his flock, and in his instructions concerning the one great Cause in which he was so earnestly engaged.

At the sound of a small bell he left the fire and went to the dining-room. The table was neatly set, and his eyes shone with pleasurable anticipation at the supper his housekeeper had prepared.

“This is very nice,” he praised, after he had bent his head in a silent grace and taken his seat at the table. “It is good of you, Rachel, to light that fire for me in the study. It is unusually raw for this time of the year, and I was quite chilled after my long drive.”

A slight smile of amusement overspread the woman’s face at these words of commendation. They were most familiar to her, as she had heard them so often before. There had not been an evening for months past that she had not had the fire lighted for him upon his return home. She always heard him as he drove into the stable, and knew almost to the minute when he would enter the house after he had stabled his horse. It was his systematic habit of years.

As the parson ate his supper, Rachel busied herself in the kitchen, coming in occasionally to attend to his wants.

“By the way, Rachel,” he said as she came back for the third time, “was anybody in the study to-day besides yourself?”

“Why, no, sir, not to my knowledge. What makes you think there was?”

“Because I found one of my books, my Greek dictionary, to be more exact, removed from its accustomed place. Are you sure you did not do it?”

Rachel thought for a minute, and then her face brightened to a smile as she noticed the worried expression in the parson’s eyes and surmised its meaning.

“I believe I did move several of those books this morning,” she at length acknowledged.

“You did!” There was an eagerness in the old man’s voice, and the anxious look vanished. “Are you sure?”

“I am, sir. I was chasing a moth and it alighted on top of one of those books, and I had to take down several before I could catch it. I may have left one somewhat out of place.”

Parson Dan gave a deep sigh of relief as he folded his napkin and placed it in its ring.

“You have lifted a weight from my mind, Rachel. Forgetfulness in little things has always given me much worry, as you well know. It not only tells of negligence, but it is sometimes a sign of mental decay. I would not like to think that the latter condition applies to me. Although I have been a long time in the Ministry I feel physically as strong as ever. I also believe that my mental faculties are unimpaired, and, in fact, are in their prime. I have heard that old men are not wanted in the Ministry, and that only young men can do effective work. That is wrong. I am sure that I can give better service to-day than forty years ago. Surely my long experience, knowledge and study should far outweigh the advantages of youth about which so many prate. I never had the least doubt until I found that book partly removed from its place. I then feared that I had been laboring under a delusion, and that mental decay had already set in. Your explanation has lifted a weight from my mind. I was not forgetful, after all.”

“If you were not, then I am,” Rachel replied. “I have forgotten to deliver the message which came for you this evening. How stupid of me! You are wanted at the hotel as soon as possible. A sick woman is anxious to see you.”

“At the hotel!” the parson exclaimed in surprise. “I did not know it was open yet for visitors, as it is too early for them to come here.”

“I know it is, but an old woman and her daughter came there a few days ago. Mrs. Wickham told me about them when she brought the message. Susie Wickham is working at the hotel, so she told her mother about the old woman.”

“What is her name, Rachel?”

“I cannot remember, although Mrs. Wickham told me. I am getting very forgetful.”

“Never mind about her name, Rachel. I suppose it wouldn’t mean anything to me if I did hear it. What did Susie say about her? I like to be somewhat prepared when I call upon a stranger.”

“She is very odd and worries her grand-daughter almost to death, so Susie said. Until she was taken suddenly ill yesterday, she asked many questions about this parish. She seems greatly interested in you, too.”

“In me!” the parson gasped. “Why should she be interested in me? What did she want to know about an old parson?”

“How long you have been here, and what you look like.”

“Ho, ho! She must think I am a curiosity. Perhaps that is why she wishes to see me. Does she expect to find me a dried up fossil or a curio of some sort such as tourists are always seeking? Is it possible that my long years here have made me a special attraction? I have half a mind not to go.”

“But she is very ill now, so Mrs. Wickham said,” Rachel reminded. “Our own doctor has been to see her, and another has been up from the city for special consultation. She is very wealthy, so Susie told her mother.”

“Well, if she is ill it is my duty to go, Rachel. I have never refused such a request yet, and I am too old to begin now. But I do not like to go merely to satisfy a morbid curiosity.”

The clergyman rose slowly from the table, and Rachel noticed that he was very weary.

“It is too bad that you have to go out again to-night, sir.”

“Do not say that, Rachel. Although I am somewhat tired, and the study is very alluring, yet I must let nothing interfere with my duty. I cannot consider anything ‘too bad’ in my Master’s service. I have learned through long years of experience that there is a purpose in everything. What we consider a nuisance, or ‘too bad’ as you say, often turns out for the best. I have never known it to fail yet, and I am sure it will not to-night.”

Rachel helped him on with his overcoat and handed him his cane. After she had closed the door behind him, she went back into the dining-room and began to clear off the table. She was in a thoughtful mood and twice she paused in her work.

“I wonder how much longer that good man can go on like this?” she asked herself. “He has aged greatly during the last year, and he tires so easily. He never spares himself, but is at the beck and call of every one. And yet his people are not satisfied, but want a young man. They are only waiting for some excuse to get rid of him. He knows nothing about this, and it will almost break his heart when he does hear. Poor man! I pity him.”

Chapter II

AFTER MANY YEARS

The Maples was situated upon a gentle elevation overlooking the broad and noble Saint John River. It was one in a chain of hotels about to be built for tourists during the summer months. Its location was ideal. Excellent boating and bathing, trout fishing in the many lakes and brooks back in the hills, and an expansive golf course which had been laid out brought people of wealth to the place. Three years had passed since the building had been opened, and the prospects for this season were better than ever.

Parson Dan looked upon the hotel as a menace to his work in the community. The presence of so many strangers at Green Mount proved most disturbing. The seclusion of the village as he had known it for so many years was gone. The indifference of most of the people to the sacredness of the Day of Rest was hard for him to endure. Many of his flock, especially the young, were strongly affected and influenced by the new and careless mode of living, and the attendance at the church services was steadily declining. He was no longer able to hold his people together as in former days. Although he tried his best to win the wandering ones back during the winter months, he met with but scanty success. And now another summer was here when more harm would be done.

He sighed as he thought of all this while walking along the road through a fine grove of maples from which the hotel had received its name. The place was almost deserted now, but soon it would be teeming with life, with the quietness and mystic charm gone. He felt unusually weary and discouraged this night. He had worked hard through long years, but all his efforts now seemed in vain. The changing conditions of the parish made his task more difficult, and he did not feel equal to the burden of responsibility. Perhaps he should retire and allow another to take his place, a young man who would be more in touch with modern thought and ways.

These gloomy ideas vanished, however, as he reached the hotel and was ushered by Susie Wickham up a winding stairway. The girl had been awaiting his arrival with considerable interest. She longed to know more about the sick woman and her grand-daughter, and why the former had asked so many questions about the Rector of Green Mount.

“Are you working here all the time, Susie?” Mr. Landrose asked as he followed her slowly up the stairs.

“I have been on night duty, sir, since the old woman took sick,” the girl replied. “She needs a lot of attention, and I seem to be the only one who can suit her. She won’t have anyone else.”

“That speaks well for you, Susie. You were always very capable.”

“Oh, it’s not that, sir, that makes her want me. It’s because I know so much about this place, and can answer most of her questions. Until she took to her bed she was a terrible nuisance.”

Susie did not like to confess that nearly all of the invalid’s questions had been about the clergyman himself and his work in the parish. But she had told her mother, and they had often discussed it together. So now with the rector’s arrival, she was hoping to learn something to satisfy her steadily-increasing curiosity.

“This is the room,” she whispered, when they had ascended the stairs and walked a short distance along the hallway and stopped at one of the doors.

Giving a gentle tap, the door was almost immediately opened by a young woman who evidently had been waiting for them.

“Here he is at last, Miss,” Susie announced. “I thought he would never come.”

“And so did I,” was the low reply. “Granny is very impatient. Come in, Mr. Landrose,” she invited. “Thank you, Susie. You may go now.”

This dismissal was not altogether to Susie’s liking. She was very anxious to learn more about the sick woman and her grand-daughter. That there was some mystery connected with their presence at the hotel she felt certain. She stood for a few minutes outside the door hoping to hear something of importance. She even listened for a while at the key-hole. But hearing nothing, she reluctantly left and went downstairs.

Parson Dan found himself in a comfortably-furnished room. A large shaded lamp, suspended from the ceiling, cast its soft glow around the room. Pictures adorned the walls, while a profusion of photographs, mostly of young people, were displayed on the mantlepiece over the fireplace. All this the parson noted in one swift glance while the girl was dismissing the maid. Then when she stood before him, erect and defiant, he became somewhat embarrassed. He never felt at ease in the presence of young women, notwithstanding his long years in the Ministry. They always seemed to him to be creatures apart from his world of knowledge and experience. With men and elderly women he was on more familiar ground, and felt perfectly at home. He could enter readily into conversation with them, being more in harmony with their thoughts and feelings. But with the young women it was different. He had often endeavored to overcome his diffidence when in their presence, but all in vain. Long ago he had come to the conclusion that he did not understand them and that they did not understand him.

And he felt this now more than ever before as he stood there, hat in hand, waiting for the girl to speak. He would have been more than human had his heart not quickened at the fascinating picture she presented with the light falling upon her dark wavy hair, and touching with a soft gentle radiance her face of more than ordinary beauty. Her present attitude of defiance seemed foreign and unnatural to her. Such eyes as she possessed were intended to sparkle with joy and animation, and those compressed lips were made to part in happy wreathing smiles. What was the cause of her hostile attitude toward him? he wondered. And as he waited those lips parted.

“You have come to see my grandmother, I suppose, Mr. Landrose?”

Her voice was low and musical, but icily formal.

“She sent for me, I understand,” the clergyman replied.

“This way, please,” and the girl moved toward a door on the right.

She paused, however, when part way across the room, and turned to the clergyman.

“Granny is very low,” she whispered. “I am sure she is dying. You must be very careful not to overtax–”

“Doris, Doris,” a wailing voice interrupted from the adjoining room.

“Yes, Granny,” the girl replied, hurrying forward. “What is it?”

“What are you talking so much about, Doris? Has Mr. Landrose come? He is so late.”

“He is here now, Granny, so don’t worry.”

Parson Dan was again the parish priest, intent only upon ministering to the sick woman. Intuitively his hand moved to his pocket for his “Pastor In Parochia”, the little manual of prayers and comforting words of Scripture which for years had been his constant companion. At once an expression of consternation passed over his face. The book was not there! Forgotten was everything else as he tried to think what had become of it. He had used it that very afternoon while praying by the side of bed-ridden old Mrs. Brown. He must have left it there. What carelessness! His mind turned to that misplaced book in his study. Had Rachel really moved it? Perhaps he had left it that way himself. Was this second lapse of memory, then, another proof of his failing mental powers?

These thoughts passed through his mind with lightning rapidity as he stood just outside the bed-room. How could he minister to the sick woman without his manual of devotions? He had never done so before, and how could he do it now? He was groping for some way out of his perplexity when he felt a light touch upon his arm. He started from his reverie and looked absent-mindedly at the girl.

“Granny is waiting for you, sir,” she reminded, wondering somewhat at the clergyman’s peculiar manner.

“Excuse me,” he apologized, “but I have forgotten my ‘Pastor In Parochia.’ Have you a Prayer Book? It will have to do instead.”

“Granny has one. I shall get it for you.”

With a sigh of relief, Parson Dan followed his fair guide. As he entered the little chamber his eyes rested at once upon the white and shrunken face of the sick woman. Her hair, too, was white, as white as the pillow upon which her head reposed. Her wide staring eyes were turned toward the door in a mute appeal. Seeing the clergyman, she made a faint effort to rise, but sank back again exhausted.

“You must not do that, Granny,” the girl reproved. “You are too weak.”

“But I want to see him, Doris. Is it really Mr. Landrose? Are you sure. My sight is poor. What is the matter with the light?”

“Hush, hush, dear. You must not talk so much. Yes, it is Mr. Landrose, and he will have prayers with you.”

“Oh, I am so glad. You can go now, Doris, for I wish to see him alone. You need some fresh air. But mind, do not stay too long.”

The girl, however, hesitated. But seeing that the invalid was becoming agitated, she did as she was ordered. The sick woman listened with strained attention, and when at last she heard the outer door close, she turned her eyes full upon the clergyman’s face.

“Daniel, don’t you know me?”

“Startled beyond measure, Parson Dan took a quick step forward and peered down keenly upon the woman lying before him.

“Martha!” He merely gasped the word, so great was his agitation.

“Ah, you know me now. I have changed greatly, and so have you.”

Taking her thin outstretched hand in his, the clergyman knelt by her side. Emotions which had been hidden in his heart for years were strongly stirred, and memories of other days came in like a flooding tide.

“And you forgive me, Daniel?” the woman asked in a low voice.

“Yes, yes, I forgave you long ago. But what are you doing here, Martha?”

“I came to be near you, and to look upon your face once more before I die.”

“Why, I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

“No, no. You have been in my mind ever since that last–”

She ceased abruptly, and a slight expression of fear came into her eyes.

“Daniel, I am a great sinner. Can I ever hope for forgiveness?”

“Certainly. The Lord is ever ready to forgive. He can save even to the uttermost.”

“But will He, do you think?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Why, then, doesn’t the Church forgive me? Why has it hounded me for so many years?”

“In what way?”

“Don’t you know? Wasn’t I excommunicated by the Bishop? Didn’t you and all the other clergymen receive orders not to give me the Holy Communion?”

“Yes, yes, Martha, I remember now. I had almost forgotten.”

“But I have never forgotten. I did wrong, I admit, in divorcing my first husband and marrying another man whose wife was living. Oh, my life has been a terrible failure, and the Church will not help me now.”

“Have you ever asked to be forgiven, Martha? I am sure that the Bishop would be willing to consider your request.”

“No, I have never asked him.”

“Why not do it, then?”

“It is too late, Daniel. I am a dying woman, and have but a short time to live.”

“Suppose I write to the Bishop on your behalf?”

“The time is too short, I tell you, and I want the Communion now. Will you give it to me?”

The clergyman started at these words, and his face turned pale. This the woman noticed, and again made an effort to rise.

“Daniel! Daniel!” she cried. “Don’t refuse me! For old times’ sake, for Martha Benson’s sake, do not deny my dying request!”

Parson Dan was in a great quandary. He rose to his feet and stood looking down upon the troubled woman. The years vanished and they were both together again, dreaming and planning of the future. How fair Martha Benson was then, and what love had filled their hearts. He had often thought of this during the years of his Ministry, but the vision had never been so real as now. And this was Martha lying before him. How could he refuse her dying request? But what would the Bishop say should he give her the Communion? Would he be true to his sacred Office? A spirit of rebellion welled suddenly up in his heart. Why should he not give this woman the Communion? What right had he to refuse? Christ was always merciful when on earth to the sinning ones who repented. But what about the Church’s command? The perspiration came out upon his forehead as he stood there fighting his lone battle.

“Daniel, will you do it?”

The weak voice aroused him. How white and frail Martha looked. Suppose she should die while thus pleading with him? Could he ever forgive himself?

“For my sake, Daniel, won’t you do it? For the love that you once had for me. Give me the Journey Food.”

“Martha, I must think this over. I shall go home now, and come again with my answer.”

“Don’t go! Don’t!”

“But I must. If I give you the Communion, I shall need my robes and the sacred vessels. I shall return as soon as possible.”

He turned abruptly and left the room. Following him was the sound of the invalid’s voice, weakly pleading for him to make haste.

Chapter III

THE STRUGGLE

When once outside the hotel Parson Dan regained his former self-possession. The night air cooled his hot brow, enabling him to think more calmly. He then realized the full force of the temptation that had come to him, and how he had almost given way to the pleading of the sick woman. Why had he been so weak? he asked himself. Not for a second should he have hesitated in the line of rectitude. Martha had been excommunicated. The Church had given the order, and it was his duty to obey. All through his long Ministry not a shadow of a doubt concerning the rightness of the Church had ever entered his mind. His trust had been complete. She was the body of Christ, and when she spoke through the Apostolic line of Bishops it was with divine authority. This had always been a great comfort and a tower of strength in his daily tasks.

As he walked slowly along the road this night he did not feel altogether contented. His former trust was not so strong now. That doubt which had come to him while standing by Martha’s side was subtly affecting his soul. It came to him again. Was it right for the Church to forbid a dying woman the Holy Communion, no matter how great had been her sin? He tried to banish the idea, to force himself to feel that the Church was right in what she did. But the more he reasoned so much more the doubt grew.

Pausing beneath a large tree, he took off his hat and wiped his brow upon which beads of perspiration had again gathered. He was fighting his fierce battle alone there in the darkness with silence all around him.

“God help me!” he murmured. “What am I to do? How can I refuse to give Martha the Journey Food? And yet I must be true to the vows I took at my ordination. I must obey the Bishop.”

And as he stood there, two young people, a man and a woman, came toward him, walking slowly side by side. Their voices were low, and so intent were they with their talk that they did not notice the dim silent form beneath the tree until they were almost at his side. Then they gave a slight start and quickened their steps toward the hotel. At length they paused and looked back, but the clergyman was no longer visible.

“It must be Mr. Landrose,” the girl whispered. “He is the man I was telling you about. I wonder why he is standing there, John?”

“Planning, no doubt, how he is going to manage you, Doris,” was the laughing reply. “He will have some job ahead of him, if I am not mistaken.”

“Indeed he will if he agrees to Granny’s crazy plan. I can’t understand her at all. She has talked so much to me about that old clergyman that I almost hate him. I found it hard to be civil to him when he came to see Granny to-night.”

“But you must be civil, Doris. There is a great deal at stake, remember. If you annoy the old fellow, it is hard to tell what might happen. Get on the good side of him, and be extra nice until we have tried out our scheme. If it works, as I think it will, he will be only too glad to get you off his hands in a short time.”

“I shall do the best I can, John. But I am sure it is going to be most difficult as I have taken such a strong dislike to him already.”

Leaving the dark shade of the tree, Mr. Landrose again moved homeward, utterly unconscious that he was the subject of the earnest conversation but a short distance away. He had hardly noticed the young people as they passed, so engrossed was he with his own worry. And this worry instead of lessening, increased. He could not get Martha out of his mind. No matter how much he thought about his duty, a vision of her as he had known her years before would return clearer than ever.

In the midst of this perplexity he came to the store at the corner of the main highway and the road leading to the hotel. The storekeeper’s house was nearby, and from the open window came the sound of a gramophone. At first the clergyman paid little heed to the music so intent was he with his serious thoughts. But presently he stopped abruptly as a singer’s voice welled forth in the opening verse of a familiar hymn.

There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold, But one was out on the hills away Far off from the gates of gold; Away on the mountains wild and bare, Away from the Shepherd’s tender care.”

Never before had Mr. Landrose been so stirred by any words. He had always disapproved of hymns of this nature, considering them too sentimental and savoring of revival meetings. He favored the dignified hymns, especially the ones with a distinctly Church tone and teaching. But now it was different, and he stood silently on the road listening eagerly until the singing ended. It was his thought of Martha that caused this change. She was like that sheep, away from the fold. Surely the Good Shepherd had such a one in His mind when He spoke that beautiful parable. And what would Christ do now were He on earth? Would He refuse to grant a dying woman’s request? No, certainly not. Would He not have gone to seek her long ago to bring her back to the fold? Would He not heed her pleadings for mercy and gladly take her back to Himself?

These thoughts brought a new thrill to the clergyman’s heart. He quickened his steps and hurried along the road. He had the Great Master’s words and example, and he would follow Him, no matter what the cost.

Reaching at last the rectory, he opened the door and entered. His housekeeper was nowhere to be seen, and for this he was most thankful. He was in no mood for any questions she might ask about the sick woman at the hotel. And, besides, he could not altogether suppress the guilty feeling that stole into his heart, and he was afraid that Rachel’s keen eyes might detect something amiss. The glamor of that hymn was not so strong upon him now, and he did not feel so sure of himself. After many years of strict rectitude in the line of duty, it was not easy for him to remain long under the power of a sudden emotion.

As he passed into his study he began to waver in his resolution. Everything there was in accord with his firm settled mode of life and thought. The atmosphere of the room was in harmony with his habits of years and affected him now most strongly. He stood in the middle of the room and gazed around with a strange bewildering sense. It did not seem possible that he was the same man who had left it barely two hours before. Yet in that space of time a new force had taken possession of him which was on the verge of causing him to be disloyal to his Church. He glanced toward his writing-desk and saw lying there the first page of his sermon he had been preparing for next Sunday. Quickly he stepped forward and peered down upon the text he had chosen: “Rejoice with me, for I have found the sheep which I had lost.” His body trembled as he read these words, and a feeling of awe swept upon him. How strange that his text should be the same theme as the hymn which had affected him so strongly that night. Was not this more than a coincidence? he asked himself. Was it not divinely ordered? He had chosen the text that he might prove to his people the great joy of the Father over the wandering ones, such as heretics and others, when brought into the fold of the Church. The sin of heresy and schism was what he had in his mind then. This was a favorite subject upon which he had preached many sermons in the past. But now he had a revulsion of feeling. Reaching swiftly out, he seized the sheet of paper in his hands, tore it into several pieces and threw them into the waste-basket at the side of the table. Furtively he glanced around, and his face flushed. He then sank down into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

“What is the matter with me?” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “I am beside myself. But I could not finish that sermon as I began. I have seen Martha since, and have listened to her voice pleading for the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ. She has sinned, and for such a one Christ gave that parable. I see things in a new light.”

For a few minutes he remained silently there with his white head bowed upon his hands. At length he rose to his feet, looked around the room, and carefully drew down the window-blinds. This done, he returned to the table, brought forth a bunch of keys from his pocket, and selecting one, unlocked a drawer on the right. With trembling hands he lifted out a small black tin box and laid it upon his writing-pad. This he unlocked, and as he raised the cover, he paused and gazed thoughtfully upon the contents. They were merely a little package of old letters tied together with a string, and a folded envelope lying by itself. Again he glanced around the room, especially at the windows. Feeling sure that no prying eyes could see, he drew forth a small photograph of a girl in the full flush and beauty of radiant youth. For years he had not looked upon that picture, although he had often been tempted to do so. Memories crowded thick and fast upon him as he sat there. Forgotten was everything else as he thought of Martha Benson as he had known and loved her in olden days.

At length he closed, locked the box and replaced it in the drawer. He then rose to his feet, crossed the room and opened the door of a little closet. Here hung his robes, and on a shelf was a small private Communion case. It took him but a minute to fold up his surplice and stole and place them in a grip nearby. He then opened the case, lifted out the little round silver bread-box and carried it with him to the pantry off the kitchen. Here he cut a small portion from a loaf of bread, prepared it to his liking, and deposited it into the box. Although he had often done this before, he now listened somewhat nervously lest Rachel should be near. He did not wish her to see him just then, as he did not want to explain where he was going. He felt unusually guilty and his hands trembled as he placed the box back into the case and closed the cover. Never before had he experienced such a feeling. It had always been a joy to prepare the bread and wine, and the fair white linen cloth ere hastening off to some sick or dying person. Now, however, it was different. He knew that he should be loyal to the command of his Church. And yet there was something drawing him irresistibly in another direction. It was the plant of love, deeply rooted in the past, which, although kept under subjection through the years, had at last enmeshed his heart with its subtle, tendril-like influence. Through ever-recurring thought of Martha Benson, and through countless prayers on her behalf, he had steadily nourished his love for her which only needed an occasion such as this to test its overmastering power.

Chapter IV

THE STRENGTH OF LOVE

“Drink this in remembrance that Christ’s blood was shed for thee.” Slowly and impressively Mr. Landrose uttered these words as he held the chalice to the lips of the invalid woman. He knew that he had now crossed the Rubicon and that there could be no turning back. Calmly and in a low voice he continued the service to the end. After he had pronounced the benediction, he knelt and remained longer than usual upon his knees, so long, in fact, that he was at last aroused by the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. Looking quickly up, he saw the woman leaning toward him with a new expression in her eyes.

“Daniel,” she whispered, “why don’t you speak?”

Rising to his feet, he removed his surplice and stole, carefully folded them up, drew a chair close to the bed and sat down.

“Why should I speak, Martha? Has not this deed of mine spoken louder than words?”

“That you care for me–love me still?”

“Have you any doubt of it now?”

“No, no.” The woman gave a deep sigh of contentment as she sank back upon the pillow. “It is wonderful.”

“In what way?”

“That you should do this for me. It is a certain proof of your love.”

“But it has caused me to commit a great sin, Martha. How can I ever face my Bishop after what I have done to-night?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Daniel. You need not tell him.”

“I must, and just as soon as possible. My conscience would give me no peace if I keep this from him.”

“And what will that mean?”

“That remains to be seen. However, the deed is done, so I must bear my punishment no matter what that may be.”

The clergyman rose from his chair, lifted his surplice and placed it back into the grip.

“Daniel!”

He started and looked around, so intense was the sound of the woman’s voice.

“What is it, Martha?”

“Don’t leave me yet, Daniel. I have something to say to you.”