Part 21 (1/2)

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 wors.h.i.+ppers.

”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 wors.h.i.+ppers, 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 s.h.i.+fted 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.