Part 56 (1/2)
Outside one of the cafes, as the carriage turned to the station, some Italians were singing ”_O Soli Mio_” to the accompaniment of guitars and a harp, with mellow, pa.s.sionate voices.
The long green train rolled into the gla.s.s-roofed station, the bra.s.s-work of the carriage doors covered thick with oily dust from the Italian tunnels through which it had pa.s.sed. The conductor of the sleeping-car portion found the two women their reserved compartment.
Their luggage was already registered through to Charing Cross and they had only dressing bags with them.
As the train started again Mrs. Daly pulled the sliding door into its place, the curtains over it and the windows which looked out into the corridor. Then she switched on the electric light in the roof and also the lamp which stood on a little table at the other end.
”There, my dear,” she said, ”now we shall be quite comfortable.”
She sat down by Mary, took her hand in hers and kissed her.
”I know what you are experiencing now,” she said in her low rich voice, ”and it is very bitter. But the separation is only for a short, short time. G.o.d wants her, and we shall all be in heaven together soon, Mrs.
Lothian. And you're leaving her with her husband. It is a great mercy that he has come at last. They are best alone together. And see how brave and cheery he is!--There's a real man, a Christian soldier and gentleman if ever one lived. His wife's death won't kill him. It will make him live more strenuously for others. He will pa.s.s the short time between now and meeting her again in a high fever of righteous works and duty. There is no death.”
Mary held the firm white hand.
”You comfort me,” she said. ”I thank G.o.d that you came to me in my affliction. Otherwise I should have been quite alone till Harold came.”
”I'm real glad that dear good Morton Sims asked me to call. Edith Sims and I are like” ... She broke off abruptly. ”Like sisters,” she was about to say, but would not.
Mary smiled. Her friend's delicacy was easy to understand. ”I know,”
she answered, ”like sisters! You needn't have hesitated. I am better now. All you tell me is just what I am _sure_ of and it is everything.
But one's heart grows faint at the moment of parting and the rea.s.suring voice of a friend helps very much. I hope it doesn't mean that one's faith is weak, to long for a sympathetic and confirming voice?”
”No, it does not. G.o.d has made us like that. I know the value of a friend's word well. Nothing heartens one so. I have been in deep waters in my time, Mary. You must let me call you Mary, my dear.”
”Oh, do, do! Yes, it is wonderful how words help, human living words.”
”Nothing is more extraordinary in life than the power of the spoken word. How careful and watchful every one ought to be over words.
Spoken, they always seem to me to have more lasting influence than words in a book. They pa.s.s through mind after mind. Just think, for instance, how when we meet a man or woman with a sincere intellectual belief which is quite opposed to our own, we are chilled into a momentary doubt of our own opinions--however strongly we may hold them.
And when it is the other way about, what strength and comfort we get!”
”Thank you,” Mary said simply, ”you are very helpful. Dr. Morton Sims”--she hesitated for a moment--”Dr. Morton Sims told me something of your life. And of course I know all about your work, as the whole world knows. I know, dear Mrs. Daly, how much you have suffered. And it is because of that that you help me so, who am suffering too.”
There was silence for a s.p.a.ce. The train had stopped at Cannes and started again. Now it was winding and climbing the mountain valleys towards Toulon. But neither of the two women knew anything of it. They were alone in the quiet travelling room that money made possible for them. Heart was meeting heart in the small luxurious place in which they sat, remote from the outside world as if upon some desert island.
”Dear Morton Sims,” the American lady said at length. ”The utter sane goodness of that man! My dear, he is an angel of light, as near a perfect character as any one alive in the world to-day. And yet he doesn't believe in Jesus and thinks the Church and the Sacraments--I've been a member of the Episcopalian Church from girlhood--only make-believe and error.”
”He is the finest natured man I have ever met,” Mary answered. ”I've only known him for a short time, but he has been so good and friendly.
What a sad thing it is that he is an infidel. I don't use the word in the popular reprehensible sense, but as just what it means--without faith.”
”It's a sad thing to us,” Mrs. Daly said briskly, ”but I have no fears for him. G.o.d hasn't given him the gift of Faith. Now that's all we can say about it. In the next world he will have to go through a probation and learn his catechism, so to speak, before he steps right into his proper place. But he won't be a catechumen long. His pure heart and n.o.ble life will tell where hearts and wills are weighed. There is a place by the Throne waiting for him.”
”Oh, I am sure. He is wonderfully good. Indeed one seems to feel his goodness more than one does that of our clergyman at home, though Mr.
Medley is a good man too!”
”Brains, my dear! Brains! Morton Sims, you see, is of the aristocracy.
Your clergyman probably is not.”