Part 23 (1/2)

When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room.

”Good morning, Thurston,” Mr. Strathmore greeted him. ”I shall be ready to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore.”

The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together.

”I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday,” Thurston responded. ”She thinks that she can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch.”

”He has just been here,” Strathmore said smiling. ”He told me in so many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs.

Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him.”

”It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for him,” Thurston declared with some heat. ”I never had any confidence in him.”

”Oh, he acts according to his nature,” was the good-humored response, ”and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active part in this matter there are others she can influence.”

”Yes,” the colleague said. ”I thought that she was too much taken up with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way.”

”He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it,” Mr.

Strathmore answered quietly. ”The worst that he could bring about would be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in opposition to the spirit of the age.”

”It undoubtedly is,” a.s.sented the young man eagerly.

”The gravest harm that he could do in the church,” pursued the other, ”would be to encourage the subst.i.tution of form for spirit. The more religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent and deadly peril of the church to-day.”

”It certainly is,” confirmed the colleague.

”Besides,” Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, ”the deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in sympathy with the tendencies of the time.”

”You put it admirably,” the other murmured.

Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden thought behind the words.

”It is time for us to go,” he said in his usual genial tone.

The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her.

”You were so kind to me,” she said. ”I have been thinking of all you said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden better. I want to thank you with all my heart.”

”There is nothing to thank me for,” he answered with grave tenderness.

”The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you.”

”But there was no one else,” she said, tears springing in her eyes, ”that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized.

It was like talking to a brother.”

He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and un.o.btrusive, yet which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head.

”Thurston,” Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, ”do you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?”

”I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car.”