Part 50 (1/2)

”You are a preacher,”--went on Helmsley--”You are a teacher of the Gospel. Do you find anything in the New Testament that gives men licence to ride rough-shod over the hearts and emotions of their fellow-men? Do you find there that selfishness is praised or callousness condoned? In those sacred pages are we told that a sparrow's life is valueless, or a child's prayer despised? Sir, if you are a Christian, teach Christianity as Christ taught it--_honestly_!”

Arbroath turned livid.

”How dare you--!” he began--when Mary quietly rose.

”I would advise you to be going, sir,”--she said, quite courteously--”The old man is not very strong, and he has a trouble of the heart. It is little use for persons to argue who feel so differently. We poor folk do not understand the ways of the gentry.”

And she held open the door of her cottage for him to pa.s.s out. He pressed his slouch-hat more heavily over his eyes, and glared at her from under the shadow of its brim.

”You are harbouring a dangerous customer in your house!” he said--”A dangerous customer! It will be my duty to warn the parish against him!”

She smiled.

”You are very welcome to do so, sir! Good-morning!”

And as he tramped away through her tiny garden, she quickly shut and barred the door after him, and hurried to Helmsley in some anxiety, for he looked very pale, and his breath came and went somewhat rapidly.

”David dear, why did you excite yourself so much over that man!” she said, kneeling beside him as he sank back exhausted in his chair--”Was it worth while?”

He patted her head with a tremulous hand.

”Perhaps not!” And he smiled--”Perhaps not, Mary! But the cold-blooded way in which he said that a money compensation might have been offered to poor Tom o' the Gleam for his little child's life--my G.o.d! As if any sort of money could compare with love!”

He stroked her hair gently, and went on murmuring to himself--

”As if all the gold in the world could make up for the loss of one loving heart!”

Mary was silent. She saw that he was greatly agitated, and thought it better to let him speak out his whole mind rather than suppress his feelings.

”What can a man do with wealth!” he went on, speaking more to himself than to her--”He can buy everything that is to be bought, certainly--but if he has no one to share his goods with him, what then? Eh, Mary? What then?”

”Why then he'd be a very miserable man, David!” she answered, smiling--”He'd wish he were poor, with some one to love him!”

He looked at her, and his sunken eyes flashed with quite an eager light.

”That's true!” he said--”He'd wish he were poor with some one to love him! Mary, you've been so kind to me--promise me one thing!”

”What's that?” and she patted his hand soothingly.

”Just this--if I die on your hands don't let that man Arbroath bury me!

I think my very bones would split at the sound of his rasping voice!”

Mary laughed.

”Don't you worry about that!” she said--”Mr. Arbroath won't have the chance to bury you, David! Besides, he never takes the burials of the very poor folk even in his own parishes. He wrote a letter in one of the countryside papers not very long ago, to complain of the smallness of the burial fees, and said it wasn't worth his while to bury paupers!”

And she laughed again. ”Poor, bitter-hearted man! He must be very wretched in himself to be so cantankerous to others.”

”Well, don't let him bury _me_!” said Helmsley--”That's all I ask. I'd much rather Twitt dug a hole in the seash.o.r.e and put my body into it himself, without any prayers at all, than have a prayer croaked over me by that clerical raven! Remember that!”