Part 25 (1/2)
I remarked upon his apparent apathy, and in reply he said--
”I regret that I left London. All my interests were centred there. It was only my health which compelled me to give it up. But I suppose I shall go back some day,” and he sighed and resumed the briar pipe he had been smoking when I entered.
On the table was a blotting-pad and some ma.n.u.script. He had tried that day to write his sermon, but was unable. He had been smoking and meditating instead.
”And as soon as you have got strong again you mean to leave us and go back to a London paris.h.!.+” I exclaimed. ”That's too bad. I hear you are getting on famously here.”
”Getting on!” he repeated wearily. ”Yes, and that's about all. My work lies in London. I'm not fitted for a country parson, because I can't be idle. I feel as if I must be always energetic; and too much energy on the part of a country curate generally causes his vicar annoyance. Many vicars think energy undignified.”
”But, my dear fellow,” I exclaimed, ”if you're not well--and I see you're not well by your face and manner--why don't you take things easily? You need not kill yourself, surely! London seems to have a remarkable attraction for you. Surely life is much healthier here.”
”Yes, you're right,” he answered in a clear voice. ”There is an attraction for me in London,” and he looked into my face with a curious expression.
”An attraction outside your work?” I suggested. He hesitated. Then, suddenly, he answered--
”Yes. Why need I conceal it from you, Clifton? It is a woman.”
”And you are in love?” I exclaimed.
”Yes,” he responded, in a low tone. ”But, hus.h.!.+ Not so loud. No one must know it here.”
”Of course not. If you wish, it shall remain a secret with me,” I said.
”Are you engaged?”
”Oh no!” he exclaimed. ”I love her, but have not yet spoken. I will tell you the truth; then you can advise me,” and he paused. At last, continuing, he said: ”When I joined the Church I made a solemn vow to G.o.d of celibacy; not because I hated women, but because I considered that my work, if done conscientiously, as I intended to do it, should be my sole thought. Mine is perhaps a rather extreme view, but I cannot think that a man can work for his Master with that thoroughness if he has a woman to love and cherish as when he is a bachelor and alone.
Some may say that woman's influence upon man is softening and humanising; but I hold that the man who is single can apply himself more devoutly to his fellow-creatures than he who has home ties and family affairs. Well, I took Holy Orders and set myself to work. I know I am not a brilliant preacher, nor have I that gift of self-advertis.e.m.e.nt which some men cultivate by lecturing with limelight views; but I do know that I strove to act as servant to the Master I had elected to serve, and the thanks of the grateful poor and the knowledge that more than one person had been brought to repentance by my words, were more than sufficient repayment for my efforts. Time went on, and I became deeply absorbed in my work in those foetid slums, until one day I chanced to meet a woman who in an instant entranced me by her beauty.
She gave me but a pa.s.sing glance, but her eyes kindled in my soul the fire of love. We men are, indeed, frail creatures, for in a moment all my good resolutions fell to the ground, and I felt myself devoted to her. We met again, and again. I admired her. I saw how beautiful she was, and then found myself thinking more of her than of the Master whom I was serving. True it is, as it is written, `No man can serve two masters,'” and he sighed heavily, and sat dejected, his chin upon his breast.
”And then?” I inquired.
”Some months went by,” he said. ”She was aware how deeply I had the welfare of the poor in my parish at heart, and in order, I suppose, to please me, she enrolled herself as a helper. Instead of pleasing me, however, this action of hers caused me loathing. I saw that she had only done this in order to be nearer me; that her pretence of religious fervour was feigned, in order that her actions might not appear irregular to the outside world. Ours was a mutual love, yet no word of affection had ever pa.s.sed our lips. But I could not bear to be a party to this masquerade. A woman who took up arduous duties like she did, merely because `slumming,' as it was called, happened to be the fas.h.i.+onable craze of the moment, was in no way fitted to become the wife of one whose duty lay ever in the homes of the suffering and needy. I tried to shake off her acquaintance, to discourage her, to frighten her by exaggerated stories of infectious disease, but she would not listen.
She was determined, she declared, `to work for the Church,' and encouraged by the vicar, continued to do so. I strove to live down my increasing admiration for her, but could not. Time after time I treated her with unpardonable rudeness, but she merely smiled, and was more tenacious than ever, until at last, in sheer desperation, I resigned, and came here. Now you know all the truth, Clifton,” he added, in a lower tone. ”I came down here to escape her!”
”And yet you are ready to again return to London--you want to get back again,” I observed.
”Ah! yes!” he sighed, the dark look still upon his face. ”It is my test. I have to choose between love and duty.”
”And you choose the latter?”
”I am trying to do so. With G.o.d's help I hope to succeed,” he answered, in a hoa.r.s.e voice. ”If love proves too strong, then I fall back to the level from which I have striven to rise--the level of the ordinary man.”
”But are you certain you were not mistaken in the object of the lady in joining the work in which you were engaged? May not she have been determined to become self-sacrificing in the holy cause, just as you were?”
”No,” he answered very decisively, ”I cannot believe it. There were facts which were suspicious.”
”What kind of facts?”
”In various ways she betrayed her insincerity of purpose,” he answered.
”Her friends were wealthy, and the vicar was acute enough to see that if she were encouraged she would bring additional funds to the church. But the poor themselves, always quick to recognise true sincerity, very soon discerned that she visited them without having their welfare at heart, and consequently imposed upon her.”