THE INSIDE OF THE CUP

By Winston Churchill

Volume 6. 

XX. THE ARRAIGNMENTXXI. ALISON GOES TO CHURCHXXII. WHICH SAY TO THE SEERS, SEE NOT!

CHAPTER XX

THE ARRAIGNMENT

I

Looking backward, Hodder perceived that he had really come to themomentous decision of remaining at St. John's in the twilight of anevening when, on returning home from seeing Kate Marcy at Mr. Bentley'she had entered the darkening church. It was then that his mission hadappeared to him as a vision. Every day, afterward, his sense andknowledge of this mission had grown stronger. 

To his mind, not the least of the trials it was to impose upon him, andone which would have to be dealt with shortly, was a necessary talk withhis assistant, McCrae. If their relationship had from the beginning beenunusual and unsatisfactory, adjectives would seem to defy what it hadbecome during the summer. What did McCrae think of him? For Hodder had, it will be recalled, bidden his assistant good-by--and then had remained. At another brief interview, during which McCrae had betrayed no surprise, uttered no censure or comment, Hodder had announced his determination toremain in the city, and to take no part in the services. An announcementsufficiently astounding. During the months that followed, they had met, at rare intervals, exchanged casual greetings, and passed on. And yetHodder had the feeling, more firmly planted than ever, that McCrae wasawaiting, with an interest which might be called suspense, theculmination of the process going on within him. 

Well, now that he had worked it out, now that he had reached hisdecision, it was incumbent upon him to tell his assistant what thatdecision was. Hodder shrank from it as from an ordeal. His affectionfor the man, his admiration for McCrae's faithful, untiring, andunrecognized services had deepened. He had a theory that McCraereally liked him--would even sympathize with his solution; yet heprocrastinated. He was afraid to put his theory to the test. It was notthat Hodder feared that his own solution was not the right one, but thatMcCrae might not find it so: he was intensely concerned that it shouldalso be McCrae's solution--the answer, if one liked, to McCrae's mute andeternal questionings. He wished to have it a fruition for McCrae as wellas for himself; since theoretically, at least, he had pierced the hardcrust of his assistant's exterior, and conceived him beneath to be allsuppressed fire. In short, Hodder wished to go into battle side by sidewith McCrae. Therein lay his anxiety. 

Another consideration troubled him--McCrae's family, dependent on arather meagre salary. His assistant, in sustaining him in the strugglehe meant to enter, would be making even a greater sacrifice than himself. For Hodder had no illusions, and knew that the odds against him wereincalculable. Whatever, if defeated, his own future might be, McCrae'swas still more problematical and tragic. 

The situation, when it came, was even more difficult than Hodderhad imagined it, since McCrae was not a man to oil the wheels ofconversation. In silence he followed the rector up the stairs and intohis study, in silence he took the seat at the opposite side of the table. And Hodder, as he hesitated over his opening, contemplated in no littleperplexity and travail the gaunt and non-committal face before him:

"McCrae, " he began at length, "you must have thought my conduct thissummer most peculiar. I wish to thank you, first of all, for theconsideration you have shown me, and to tell you how deeply I appreciateyour taking the entire burden of the work of the parish. "

McCrae shook his head vigorously, but did not speak. 

"I owe it to you to give you some clew to what happened to me, " therector continued, "although I have an idea that you do not need muchenlightenment on this matter. I have a feeling that you have somehowbeen aware of my discouragement during the past year or so, and of thecauses of it. You yourself hold ideals concerning the Church which youhave not confided to me. Of this I am sure. I came here to St. John'sfull of hope and confidence, gradually to lose both, gradually to realisethat there was something wrong with me, that in spite of all my effortsI was unable to make any headway in the right direction. I becameperplexed, dissatisfied--the results were so meagre, so out of proportionto the labour. And the very fact that those who may be called our chiefparishioners had no complaint merely added to my uneasiness. That kindof success didn't satisfy me, and I venture to assume it didn't satisfyyou. "

Still McCrae made no sign. 

"Finally I came to what may be termed a double conclusion. In the firstplace, I began to see more and more clearly that our modern civilizationis at fault, to perceive how completely it is conducted on thematerialistic theory of the survival of the fittest rather than that ofthe brotherhood of man, and that those who mainly support this churchare, consciously or not, using it as a bulwark for the privilege theyhave gained at the expense of their fellow-citizens. And my conclusionwas that Christianity must contain some vital germ which I had somehowmissed, and which I must find if I could, and preach and release it. That it was the release of this germ these people feared unconsciously. I say to you, at the risk of the accusation of conceit, that I believedmyself to have a power in the pulpit if I could only discover the truth. "

Hodder thought he detected, as he spoke these words, a certain relaxationof the tension. 

"For a while, as the result of discouragement, of cowardice, I may say, of the tearing-down process of the theological structure--built of debrisfrom many ruins on which my conception of Christianity rested, I lost allfaith. For many weeks I did not enter the church, as you yourself mustknow. Then, when I had given up all hope, through certain incidents andcertain persona, a process of reconstruction began. In short, through novirtue which I can claim as my own, I believe I have arrived at thethreshold of an understanding of Christianity as our Lord taught it andlived it. And I intend to take the pulpit and begin to preach it. 

"I am deeply concerned in regard to yourself as to what effect my coursemay have on you. And I am not you to listen to me with a view that youshould see your way clear to support me McCrae, but rather that youshould be fully apprised of my new belief and intentions. I owe this toyou, for your loyal support in the pest. I shall go over with you, later, if you care to listen, my whole position. It may be called theextreme Protestant position, and I use protestant, for want of a betterword, to express what I believe is Paul's true as distinguished from thefalse of his two inconsistent theologies. It was this doctrine of Paul'sof redemption by faith, of reacting grace by an inevitable spiritual law--of rebirth, if you will--that Luther and the Protestant reformersrevived and recognized, rightly, as the vital element of Christ'steachings, although they did not succeed in separating it wholly from thedross which clung to it. It is the leaven which has changed governments, and which in the end, I am firmly convinced, will make true democracyinevitable. And those who oppose democracy inherently dread itsworkings. 

"I do not know your views, but it is only fair to add at this time that Ino longer believe in the external and imposed authority of the Church inthe sense in which I formerly accepted it, nor in the virgin birth, norin certain other dogmas in which I once acquiesced. Other clergymen ofour communion have proclaimed, in speech and writing, their disbelief inthese things. I have satisfied my conscience as they have, and I mean tomake no secret of my change. I am convinced that not one man or womanin ten thousand to-day who has rejected Christianity ever knew whatChristianity is. The science and archaic philosophy in whichChristianity has been swaddled and hampered is discredited, and theconclusion is drawn that Christianity itself must be discredited. "

"Ye're going to preach all this?" McCrae demanded, almost fiercely. 

"Yes, " Hodder replied, still uncertain as to his assistant's attitude, "and more. I have fully reflected, and I am willing to accept all theconsequences. I understand perfectly, McCrae, that the promulgationalone of the liberal orthodoxy of which I have spoken will bring me intoconflict with the majority of the vestry and the congregation, and thatthe bishop will be appealed to. They will say, in effect, that I havecheated them, that they hired one man and that another has turned up, whom they never would have hired. But that won't be the whole story. If it were merely a question of doctrine, I should resign. It's deeperthan that, more sinister. " Hodder doubled up his hand, and laid it onthe table. "It's a matter, " he said, looking into McCrae's eyes, "offreeing this church from those who now hold it in chains. And the twoquestions, I see clearly now, the doctrinal and the economic, are sointerwoven as to be inseparable. My former, ancient presentation ofChristianity left men and women cold. It did not draw them into thischurch and send them out again fired with the determination to bringreligion into everyday life, resolved to do their part in the removal ofthe injustices and cruelties with which we are surrounded, to bringChristianity into government, where it belongs. Don't misunderstand meI'm not going to preach politics, but religion. "

"I don't misunderstand ye, " answered McCrae. He leaned a little forward, staring at the rector from behind his steel spectacles with a glancewhich had become piercing. 

"And I am going to discourage a charity which is a mockery ofChristianity, " Hodder went on, "the spectacle of which turns thousandsof men and women in sickening revolt against the Church of Christ to-day. I have discovered, at last, how some of these persons have made theirmoney, and are making it. And I am going to let them know, since theyhave repudiated God in their own souls, since they have denied theChristian principle of individual responsibility, that I, as the vicar ofGod, will not be a party to the transaction of using the Church as ameans of doling out ill-gotten gains to the poor. "

"Mr. Parr!" McCrae exclaimed. 

"Yes, " said the rector, slowly, and with a touch of sadness, "since youhave mentioned him, Mr. Parr. But I need not say that this must go nofarther. I am in possession of definite facts in regard to Mr. Parrwhich I shall present to him when he returns. "

"Ye'll tell him to his face?"

"It is the only way. "

McCrae had risen. A remarkable transformation had come over the man, --he was reminiscent, at that moment, of some Covenanter ancestor goinginto battle. And his voice shook with excitement. 

"Ye may count on me, Mr. Hodder, " he cried. "These many years I'vewaited, these many years I've seen what ye see now, but I was not theman. Aye, I've watched ye, since the day ye first set foot in thischurch. I knew what was going on inside of ye, because it was justthat I felt myself. I hoped--I prayed ye might come to it. "

The sight of this taciturn Scotchman, moved in this way, had anextraordinary effect on Hodder himself, and his own emotion was soinexpressibly stirred that he kept silence a moment to control it. This proof of the truth of his theory in regard to McCrae he foundoverwhelming. 

"But you said nothing, McCrae, " he began presently. "I felt all alongthat you knew what was wrong--if you had only spoken. "

"I could not, " said McCrae. "I give ye my word I tried, but I just couldnot. Many's the time I wanted to--but I said to myself, when I looked atyou, 'wait, it will come, much better than ye can say it. ' And ye havemade me see more than I saw, Mr. Hodder, --already ye have. Ye've got thewhole thing in ye're eye, and I only had a part of it. It's becauseye're the bigger man of the two. "

"You thought I'd come to it?" demanded Hodder, as though the full forceof this insight had just struck him. 

"Well, " said McCrae, "I hoped. It seemed, to look at ye, ye'r truenature--what was by rights inside of ye. That's the best explaining Ican do. And I call to mind that time ye spoke about not making the menin the classes Christians--that was what started me to thinking. "

"And you asked me, " returned the rector, "how welcome some of them wouldbe in Mr. Parr's Pew. "

"Ah, it worried me, " declared the assistant, with characteristicfrankness, "to see how deep ye were getting in with him. "

Hodder did not reply to this. He had himself risen, and stood looking atMcCrae, filled with a new thought. 

"There is one thing I should like to say to you--which is very difficult, McCrae, but I have no doubt you see the matter as clearly as I do. Inmaking this fight, I have no one but myself to consider. I am a singleman--"

"Yell not need to go on, " answered McCrae, with an odd mixture ofsternness and gentleness in his voice. "I'll stand and fall with ye, Mr. Hodder. Before I ever thought of the Church I learned a trade, as a boyin Scotland. I'm not a bad carpenter. And if worse comes to worse, I'vean idea I can make as much with my hands as I make in the ministry. "

The smile they exchanged across the table sealed the compact betweenthem. 

II

The electric car which carried him to his appointment with the financiershot westward like a meteor through the night. And now that the hour wasactually at hand, it seemed to Hodder that he was absurdly unprepared tomeet it. New and formidable aspects, hitherto unthought of, rose in hismind, and the figure of Eldon Parr loomed to Brobdingnagian proportionsas he approached it. In spite of his determination, the life-blood ofhis confidence ebbed, a sense of the power and might of the man who hadnow become his adversary increased; and that apprehension of the impactof the great banker's personality, the cutting edge with the vastachievements wedged in behind it, each adding weight and impetus to itsmomentum the apprehension he had felt in less degree on the day of thefirst meeting, and which had almost immediately evaporated--surged upin him now. His fear was lest the charged atmosphere of the banker'spresence might deflect his own hitherto clear perception of true worth. He dreaded, once in the midst of those disturbing currents, a bunglingpresentation of the cause which inspired him, and which he knew to berighteousness itself. 

Suddenly his mood shifted, betraying still another weakness, and he sawEldon Parr, suddenly, vividly--more vividly, indeed, than ever before--inthe shades of the hell of his loneliness. And pity welled up, drowningthe image of incarnate greed and selfishness and lust for wealth andpower: The unique pathos of his former relationship with the manreasserted itself, and Hodder was conscious once more of the dependencewhich Eldon Parr had had on his friendship. During that friendship he, Hodder, had never lost the sense of being the stronger of the two, ofbeing leaned upon: leaned upon by a man whom the world feared and hated, and whom he had been enable to regard with anything but compassion andthe unquestionable affection which sprang from it. Appalled by thistransition, he alighted from the car, and stood for a moment alone in thedarkness gazing at the great white houses that rose above the duskyoutline of shrubbery and trees. 

At any rate, he wouldn't find that sense of dependence to-night. And itsteeled him somewhat to think, as he resumed his steps, that he wouldmeet now the other side, the hard side hitherto always turned away. Hadhe needed no other warning of this, the answer to his note asking for anappointment would have been enough, --a brief and formal communicationsigned by the banker's secretary. . . 

"Mr. Parr is engaged just at present, sir, " said the servant who openedthe door. "Would you be good enough to step into the library?"

Hardly had he entered the room when he heard a sound behind him, andturned to confront Alison. The thought of her, too, had complicatedinfinitely his emotions concerning the interview before him, and thesight of her now, of her mature beauty displayed in evening dress, of herwhite throat gleaming whiter against the severe black of her gown, madehim literally speechless. Never had he accused her of boldness, and nowleast of all. It was the quality of her splendid courage that was bornein upon him once more above the host of other feelings and impressions, for he read in her eyes a knowledge of the meaning of his visit. 

They stood facing each other an appreciable moment. 

"Mr. Langmaid is with him now, " she said, in a low voice. 

"Yes, " he answered. 

Her eyes still rested on his face, questioningly, appraisingly, as thoughshe were seeking to estimate his preparedness for the ordeal before him, his ability to go through with it successfully, triumphantly. And in hermention of Langmaid he recognized that she had meant to sound a note ofwarning. She had intimated a consultation of the captains, a council ofwar. And yet he had never spoken to her of this visit. This proof ofher partisanship, that she had come to him at the crucial instant, overwhelmed him. 

"You know why I am here?" he managed to say. It had to do with theextent of her knowledge. 

"Oh, why shouldn't I?" she cried, "after what you have told me. Andcould you think I didn't understand, from the beginning, that it meantthis?"

His agitation still hampered him. He made a gesture of assent. 

"It was inevitable, " he said. 

"Yes, it' was inevitable, " she assented, and walked slowly to the mantel, resting her hand on it and bending her head. "I felt that you would notshirk it, and yet I realize how painful it must be to you. "

"And to you, " he replied quickly. 

"Yes, and to me. I do not know what you know, specifically, --I havenever sought to find out things, in detail. That would be horrid. ButI understand--in general--I have understood for many years. " She raisedher head, and flashed him a glance that was between a quivering smile andtears. "And I know that you have certain specific information. "

He could only wonder at her intuition. 

"So far as I am concerned, it is not for the world, " he answered. 

"Oh, I appreciate that in you!" she exclaimed. "I wished you to know it. I wished you to know, " she added, a little unsteadily, "how much I admireyou for what you are doing. They are afraid of you--they will crush youif they can. "

He did not reply. 

"But you are going to speak the truth, " she continued, her voice low andvibrating, "that is splendid! It must have its effect, no matter whathappens. "

"Do you feel that?" he asked, taking a step toward her. 

"Yes. When I see you, I feel it, I think. " . . . 

Whatever answer he might have made to this was frustrated by theappearance of the figure of Nelson Langmaid in the doorway. He seemedto survey them benevolently through his spectacles. 

"How are you, Hodder? Well, Alison, I have to leave without seeinganything of you--you must induce your father not to bring his businesshome with him. Just a word, " he added to the rector, "before you go up. "

Hodder turned to Alison. "Good night, " he said. 

The gentle but unmistakable pressure of her hand he interpreted as thepinning on him of the badge of her faith. He was to go into battlewearing her colours. Their eyes met. 

"Good night, " she answered . . . . 

In the hall the lawyer took his arm. 

"What's the trouble, Hodder?" he asked, sympathetically. 

Hodder, although on his guard, was somewhat taken aback by the directnessof the onslaught. 

"I'm afraid, Mr. Langmaid, " the rector replied, "that it would take melonger to tell you than the time at your disposal. "

"Dear me, " said the lawyer, "this is too bad. Why didn't you come to me?I am a good friend of yours, Hodder, and there is an additional bondbetween us on my sister's account. She is extremely fond of you, youknow. And I have a certain feeling of responsibility for you, --I broughtyou here. "

"You have always been very kind, and I appreciate it, " Hodder replied. "I should be sorry to cause you any worry or annoyance. But you mustunderstand that I cannot share the responsibility of my acts with anyone. "

"A little advice from an old legal head is sometimes not out of place. Even Dr. Gilman used to consult me. I hope you will bear in mind howremarkably well you have been getting along at St. John's, and what asuccess you've made. "

"Success!" echoed the rector. 

Either Mr. Langmaid read nothing in his face, or was determined to readnothing. 

"Assuredly, " he answered, benignly. "You have managed to pleaseeverybody, Mr. Parr included, --and some of us are not easy to please. I thought I'd tell you this, as a friend, as your first friend in theparish. Your achievement has been all the more remarkable, following, as you did, Dr. Gilman. Now it would greatly distress me to see thatstate of things disturbed, both for your sake and others. I thought Iwould just give you a hint, as you are going to see Mr. Parr, that heis in rather a nervous state. These so-called political reformers haveupset the market and started a lot of legal complications that's why I'mhere to-night. Go easy with him. I know you won't do anything foolish. "

The lawyer accompanied this statement with a pat, but this time he didnot succeed in concealing his concern. 

"That depends on one's point of view, " Hodder returned, with a smile. "I do not know how you have come to suspect that I am going to disturbMr. Parr, but what I have to say to him is between him and me. "

Langmaid took up his hat from the table, and sighed. 

"Drop in on me sometime, " he said, "I'd like to talk to you--Hodder hearda voice behind him, and turned. A servant was standing there. 

"Mr. Parr is ready to see you, sir, " he said. 

The rector followed him up the stairs, to the room on the second floor, half office, half study, where the capitalist transacted his businesswhen at home. 

III

Eldon Parr was huddled over his desk reading a typewritten document; buthe rose, and held out his hand, which Hodder took. 

"How are you, Mr. Hodder? I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, butmatters of some legal importance have arisen on which I was obliged tomake a decision. You're well, I hope. " He shot a glance at the rector, and sat down again, still holding the sheets. "If you will excuse me amoment longer, I'll finish this. "

"Certainly, " Hodder replied. 

"Take a chair, " said Mr. Parr, "you'll find the evening paper besideyou. "

Hodder sat down, and the banker resumed his perusal of the document, hiseye running rapidly over the pages, pausing once in a while to scratchout a word or to make a note on the margin. In the concentration of theman on the task before him the rector read a design, an implication thatthe affairs of the Church were of a minor importance: sensed, indeed, the new attitude of hostility, gazed upon the undiscovered side, thedangerous side before which other men had quailed. Alison's wordsrecurred to him, "they are afraid of you, they will crush you if theycan. " Eldon Parr betrayed, at any rate, no sign of fear. If his mentalposture were further analyzed, it might be made out to contain anintimation that the rector, by some act, had forfeited the rightto the unique privilege of the old relationship. 

Well, the fact that the banker had, in some apparently occult manner, been warned, would make Hodder's task easier--or rather less difficult. His feelings were even more complicated than he had anticipated. Themoments of suspense were trying to his nerves, and he had a shrewd notionthat this making men wait was a favourite manoeuvre of Eldon Parr's; norhad he underrated the benumbing force of that personality. It wasevident that the financier intended him to open the battle, and he was--as he had expected--finding it difficult to marshal the regiments of hisarguments. In vain he thought of the tragedy of Garvin . . . . Thething was more complicated. And behind this redoubtable and sinisterEldon Parr he saw, as it were, the wraith of that: other who had onceconfessed the misery of his loneliness. . . . 

At last the banker rang, sharply, the bell on his desk. A secretaryentered, to whom he dictated a telegram which contained these words:"Langmaid has discovered a way out. " It was to be sent to an address inTexas. Then he turned in his chair and crossed his knees, his handfondling an ivory paper-cutter. He smiled a little. 

"Well, Mr. Hodder, " he said. 

The rector, intensely on his guard, merely inclined his head inrecognition that his turn had come. 

"I was sorry, " the banker continued, after a perceptible pause, --thatyou could not see your way clear to have come with me on the cruise. "

"I must thank you again, " Hodder answered, "but I felt--as I wrote you--that certain matters made it impossible for me to go. "

"I suppose you had your reasons, but I think you would have enjoyed thetrip. I had a good, seaworthy boat--I chartered her from Mr. Lieber, thepresident of the Continental Zinc, you know. I went as far as Labrador. A wonderful coast, Mr. Hodder. "

"It must be, " agreed the rector. It was clear that Mr. Parr intended tothrow upon him the onus of the first move. There was a silence, brief, indeed, but long enough for Hodder to feel more and more distinctly thegranite hardness which the other had become, to experience a rising, reenforcing anger. He went forward, steadily but resolutely, on thecrest of it. "I have remained in the city, " he continued, "and I have hadthe opportunity to discover certain facts of which I have hitherto beenignorant, and which, in my opinion, profoundly affect the welfare of thechurch. It is of these I wished to speak to you. "

Mr. Parr waited. 

"It is not much of an exaggeration to say that ever since I came hereI have been aware that St. John's, considering the long standing of theparish, the situation of the church in a thickly populated district, isnot fulfilling its mission. But I have failed until now to perceive thecauses of that inefficiency. "

"Inefficiency?" The banker repeated the word. 

"Inefficiency, " said Hodder. "The reproach, the responsibility islargely mine, as the rector, the spiritual, head of the parish. Ibelieve I am right when I say that the reason for the decision, sometwenty years ago, to leave the church where it is, instead of selling theproperty and building in the West End, was that it might minister to thepoor in the neighbourhood, to bring religion and hope into their lives, and to exert its influence towards eradicating the vice and misery whichsurround it. "

"But I thought you had agreed, " said Mr. Parr, coldly, "that we were toprovide for that in the new chapel and settlement house. "

"For reasons which I hope to make plain to you, Mr. Parr, " Hodderreplied, "those people can never be reached, as they ought to be reached, by building that settlement house. The principle is wrong, the day ispast when such things can be done--in that way. " He laid an emphasis onthese words. "It is good, I grant you, to care for the babies andchildren of the poor, it is good to get young women and men out of thedance-halls, to provide innocent amusement, distraction, instruction. But it is not enough. It leaves the great, transforming thing in thelives of these people untouched, and it will forever remain untouched solong as a sense of wrong, a continually deepening impression of anunchristian civilization upheld by the Church herself, exists. Such anundertaking as that settlement house--I see clearly now--is a palliation, a poultice applied to one of many sores, a compromise unworthy of thehigh mission of the Church. She should go to the root of the disease. It is her first business to make Christians, who, by amending their ownlives, by going out individually and collectively into the life of thenation, will gradually remove these conditions. "

Mr. Parr sat drumming on the table. Hodder met his look. 

"So you, too, have come to it, " he said. 

"Have come to what?"

"Socialism. "

Hodder, in the state of clairvoyance in which he now surprisingly foundhimself, accurately summed up the value and meaning of the banker's sigh. 

"Say, rather, " he replied, "that I have come to Christianity. We shallnever have what is called socialism until there is no longer anynecessity for it, until men, of their owe free will, are ready torenounce selfish, personal ambition and power and work for humanity, for the state. "

Mr. Parr's gesture implied that he cared not by what name the thing wascalled, but he still appeared strangely, astonishingly calm;--Hodder, with all his faculties acute, apprehended that he was dangerously calm. The man who had formerly been his friend was now completely obliterated, and he had the feeling almost of being about to grapple, in mortalcombat, with some unknown monster whose tactics and resources wereinfinite, whose victims had never escaped. The monster was in EldonParr--that is how it came to him. The waxy, relentless demon wasaroused. It behooved him, Hodder, to step carefully . . . . 

"That is all very fine, Mr. Hodder, very altruistic, very Christian, I've no doubt-but the world doesn't work that way. " (These were thewords borne in on Hodder's consciousness. ) "What drives the world is themotive furnished by the right of acquiring and holding property. If wehad a division to-day, the able men would come out on top next year. "

The rector shook his head. He remembered, at that moment, HoraceBentley. 

"What drives the world is a far higher motive, Mr. Parr, the motivewith which have been fired the great lights of history, the motive ofrenunciation and service which is transforming governments, which isgradually making the world a better place in which to live. And we areseeing men and women imbued with it, rising in ever increasing numbers onevery side to-day. "

"Service!" Eldon Parr had seized upon the word as it passed and held it. "What do you think my life has been? I suppose, " he said, with a touchof intense bitterness, "that you, too, who six months ago seemed asreasonable a man as I ever met, have joined in the chorus ofdenunciators. It has become the fashion to-day, thanks to yoursocialists, reformers, and agitators, to decry a man because he is rich, to take it for granted that he is a thief and a scoundrel, that he has nosense of responsibility for his country and his fellow-men. The glory, the true democracy of this nation, lies in its equal opportunity for all. They take no account of that, of the fact that each has had the samechance as his fellows. No, but they cry out that the man who, by thesweat of his brow, has earned wealth ought to divide it up with the lazyand the self-indulgent and the shiftless. 

"Take my case, for instance, --it is typical of thousands. I came to thiscity as a boy in my teens, with eight dollars in my pocket which I hadearned on a farm. I swept the floor, cleaned the steps, moved boxes andran errands in Gabriel Parker's store on Third Street. I wasindustrious, sober, willing to do anything. I fought, I tell you everyinch of my way. As soon as I saved a little money I learned to use everyounce of brain I possessed to hold on to it. I trusted a man once, and Ihad to begin all over again. And I discovered, once for all, if a mandoesn't look out for himself, no one will. 

"I don't pretend that I am any better than any one else, I have had totake life as I found it, and make the best of it. I conformed to therules of the game; I soon had sense enough knocked into me to understandthat the conditions were not of my making. But I'll say this formyself, " Eldon Parr leaned forward over the blotter, "I had standards, and I stuck by them. I wanted to be a decent citizen, to bring up mychildren in the right way. I didn't squander my money, when I got it, onwine and women, I respected other men's wives, I supported the Church andthe institutions of the city. I too even I had my ambitions, my ideals--and they were not entirely worldly ones. You would probably accuse me ofwishing to acquire only the position of power which I hold. If you hadaccepted my invitation to go aboard the yacht this summer, it was myintention to unfold to you a scheme of charities which has long beenforming in my mind, and which I think would be of no small benefit to thecity where I have made my fortune. I merely mention this to prove to youthat I am not unmindful, in spite of the circumstances of my own life, of the unfortunates whose mental equipment is not equal to my own. "

By this "poor boy" argument which--if Hodder had known--Mr. Parr hadused at banquets with telling effect, the banker seemed to regainperspective and equilibrium, to plant his feet once more on therock of the justification of his life, and from which, by a somewhatextraordinary process he had not quite understood, he had been partiallyshaken off. As he had proceeded with his personal history, his mannerhad gradually become one of the finality of experience over theory, of the forbearance of the practical man with the visionary. Like mostsuccessful citizens of his type, he possessed in a high degree thefaculty of creating sympathy, of compelling others to accept--temporarily, at least--his point of view. It was this faculty, Hodderperceived, which had heretofore laid an enchantment upon him, and it wasnot without a certain wonder that he now felt himself to be released fromthe spell. 

The perceptions of the banker were as keen, and his sense of security wasbrief. Somehow, as he met the searching eye of the rector, he was unableto see the man as a visionary, but beheld--and, to do him justice--felt atwinge of respect for an adversary worthy of his steel. 

He, who was accustomed to prepare for clouds when they were mere speckson his horizon, paused even now to marvel why he had not dealt with this. Here was a man--a fanatic, if he liked--but still a man who positivelydid not fear him, to whom his wrath and power were as nothing! A new andstartling and complicated sensation--but Eldon Parr was no coward. If hehad, consciously or unconsciously, formerly looked upon the clergyman asa dependent, Hodder appeared to be one no more. The very ruggedness ofthe man had enhanced, expanded--as it were--until it filled the room. And Hodder had, with an audacity unparalleled in the banker's experiencearraigned by implication his whole life, managed to put him on thedefensive. 

"But if that be your experience, " the rector said, "and it has becomeyour philosophy, what is it in you that impels you to give these largesums for the public good?"

"I should suppose that you, as a clergyman, might understand that mymotive is a Christian one. "

Hodder sat very still, but a higher light came into his eyes. 

"Mr. Parr, " he replied, "I have been a friend of yours, and I am a friendstill. And what I am going to tell you is not only in the hope thatothers may benefit, but that your own soul may be saved. I mean thatliterally--your own soul. You are under the impression that you are aChristian, but you are not and never have been one. And you will not beone until your whole life is transformed, until you become a differentman. If you do not change, it is my duty to warn you that the sorrow andsuffering, the uneasiness which you now know, and which drive you on, insearch of distraction, to adding useless sums of money to your fortune--this suffering, I say, will become intensified. You will die in theknowledge of it, and live on after, in the knowledge of it. "

In spite of himself, the financier drew back before this unexpectedblast, the very intensity of which had struck a chill of terror in hisinmost being. He had been taken off his guard, --for he had supposed theday long past--if it had ever existed--when a spiritual rebuke wouldupset him; the day long past when a minister could pronounce one withany force. That the Church should ever again presume to take herselfseriously had never occurred to him. And yet--the man had denounced himin a moment of depression, of nervous irritation and exasperation againsta government which had begun to interfere with the sacred liberty of itscitizens, against political agitators who had spurred that government on. The world was mad. No element, it seemed, was now content to remain inits proper place. His voice, as he answered, shook with rage, --all thegreater because the undaunted sternness by which it was confronted seemedto reduce it to futility. 

"Take care!" he cried, "take care! You, nor any other man, clergyman orno clergyman, have any right to be the judge of my conduct. "

"On the contrary, " said Holder, "if your conduct affects the welfare, theprogress, the reputation of the church of which I am rector, I have theright. And I intend to exercise it. It becomes my duty, howeverpainful, to tell you, as a member of the Church, wherein you havewronged the Church and wronged yourself. "

He didn't raise his tone, and there was in it more of sorrow than ofindignation. The banker turned an ashen gray . . A moment elapsedbefore he spoke, a transforming moment. He suddenly became ice. 

"Very well, " he said. "I can't pretend to account for these astoundingviews you have acquired--and I am using a mild term. Let me say this:(he leaned forward a little, across the desk) I demand that you bespecific. I am a busy man, I have little time to waste, I have certainmatters--before me which must be attended to to-night. I warn you thatI will not listen any longer to vague accusations. "

It was Holder's turn to marvel. Did Eldon Purr, after all; have no senseof guilt? Instantaneously, automatically, his own anger rose. 

"You may be sure, Mr. Parr, that I should not be here unless I wereprepared to be specific. And what I am going to say to you I havereserved for your ear alone, in the hope that you will take it to heart, while it is not yet too late, said amend your life accordingly. "

Eldon Parr shifted slightly. His look became inscrutable, was riveted onthe rector. 

"I shall call your attention first to a man of whom you have probablynever heard. He is dead now--he threw himself into the river thissummer, with a curse on his lips--I am afraid--a curse against you. Afew years ago he lived happily with his wife and child in a little houseon the Grade Suburban, and he had several thousand dollars as a result ofcareful saving and systematic self-denial. 

"Perhaps you have never thought of the responsibilities of a great name. This man, like thousands of others in the city, idealized you. He lookedup to you as the soul of honour, as a self-made man who by his ownunaided efforts--as you yourself have just pointed out--rose from a poorboy to a position of power and trust in the community. He saw you aprominent layman in the Church of God. He was dazzled by the brilliancyof your success, inspired by a civilization which--gave suchopportunities. He recognized that he himself had not the brains for suchan achievement, --his hope and love and ambition were centred in his boy. "

At the word Eldon Parr's glance was suddenly dulled by pain. Hetightened his lips. 

"That boy was then of a happy, merry disposition, so the mother says, andevery summer night as she cooked supper she used to hear him laughing ashe romped in the yard with his father. When I first saw him this summer, it was two days before his father committed suicide. The child waslying, stifled with the heat, in the back room of one of those desolatelodging houses in Dalton Street, and his little body had almost wastedaway. 

"While I was there the father came in, and when he saw me he was filledwith fury. He despised the Church, and St. John's above all churches, because you were of it; because you who had given so generously to it hadwrecked his life. You had shattered his faith in humanity, his ideal. From a normal, contented man he had deteriorated into a monomaniac whomno one would hire, a physical and mental wreck who needed care andnursing. He said he hoped the boy would die. 

"And what had happened? The man had bought, with all the money he hadin the world, Consolidated Tractions. He had bought it solely becauseof his admiration for your ability, his faith in your name. It wasinconceivable to him that a man of your standing, a public benefactor, asupporter of church and charities, would permit your name to be connectedwith any enterprise that was not sound and just. Thousands like Garvinlost all they had, while you are still a rich man. It is furtherasserted that you sold out all your stock at a high price, with theexception of that in the leased lines, which are guaranteed heavydividends. "

"Have you finished?" demanded Eldon Parr. 

"Not quite, on this subject, " replied the rector. "Two nights afterthat, the man threw himself in the river. His body was pulled out by menon a tugboat, and his worthless stock certificate was in his pocket. Itis now in the possession of Mr. Horace Bentley. Thanks to Mr. Bentley, the widow found a temporary home, and the child has almost recovered. "

Hodder paused. His interest had suddenly become concentrated upon thebanker's new demeanour, and he would not have thought it within the rangeof possibility that a man could listen to such a revelation concerninghimself without the betrayal of some feeling. But so it was, --Eldon Parrhad been coldly attentive, save for the one scarcely perceptible tremorwhen the boy was mentioned. His interrogatory gesture gave the verytouch of perfection to this attitude, since it proclaimed him to havelistened patiently to a charge so preposterous that a less reasonable manwould have cut it short. 

"And what leads you to suppose, " he inquired, "that I am responsible inthis matter? What leads you to infer that the Consolidated TractionsCompany was not organized in good faith? Do you think that business menare always infallible? The street-car lines of this city were at sixesand sevens, fighting each other; money was being wasted by poormanagement. The idea behind the company was a public-spirited one, togive the citizens cheaper and better service, by a more modern equipment, by a wider system of transfer. It seems to me, Mr. Hodder, that you putyourself in a more quixotic position than the so-called reformers whenyou assume that the men who organize a company in good faith arepersonally responsible for every share of stock that is sold, and forthe welfare of every individual who may buy the stock. We force no oneto buy it. They do so at their own risk. I myself have thousands ofdollars of worthless stock in my safe. I have never complained. "

The full force of Hodder's indignation went into his reply. 

"I am not talking about the imperfect code of human justice under whichwe live, Mr. Parr, " he cried. "This is not a case in which a court oflaw may exonerate you, it is between you and your God. But I have takenthe trouble to find out, from unquestioned sources, the truth about theConsolidated Tractions Company--I shall not go into the details atlength--they are doubtless familiar to you. I know that the legal geniusof Mr. Langmaid, one of my vestry, made possible the organization of thecompany, and thereby evaded the plain spirit of the law of the state. I know that one branch line was bought for two hundred and fifty thousanddollars, and capitalized for three millions, and that most of the otherswere scandalously over-capitalized. I know that while the comingtransaction was still a secret, you and other, gentlemen connected withthe matter bought up large interests in other lines, which you proceededto lease to yourselves at guaranteed dividends which these lines do notearn. I know that the first large dividend was paid out of capital. Andthe stock which you sold to poor Garvin was so hopelessly watered that itnever could have been anything but worthless. If, in spite of thesefacts, you do not deem yourself responsible for the misery which has beencaused, if your conscience is now clear, it is my duty to tell you thatthere is a higher bar of justice. "

The intensity of the fire of the denunciation had, indeed, a momentaryyet visible effect in the banker's expression. Whatever the emotionsthus lashed to self-betrayal, anger, hatred, --fear, perhaps, Hodder couldnot detect a trace of penitence; and he was aware, on the part of theother, of a supreme, almost spasmodic effort for self-control. Theconstitutional reluctance of Eldon Parr to fight openly could not havebeen more clearly demonstrated. 

"Because you are a clergyman, Mr. Hodder, " he began, "because you arethe rector of St. John's, I have allowed you to say things to me whichI would not have permitted from any other man. I have tried to takeinto account your point of view, which is naturally restricted, yourpardonable ignorance of what business men, who wish to do their duty byChurch and State, have to contend with. When you came to this parish youseemed to have a sensible, a proportional view of things; you werecontent to confine your activities to your own sphere, content not tomeddle with politics and business, which you could, at first hand, knownothing about. The modern desire of clergymen to interfere in thesematters has ruined the usefulness of many of them. 

"I repeat, I have tried to be patient. I venture to hope, still, thatthis extraordinary change in you may not be permanent, but merely theresult of a natural sympathy with the weak and unwise and unfortunate whoare always to be found in a complex civilization. I can even conceivehow such a discovery must have shocked you, temporarily aroused yourindignation, as a clergyman, against the world as it is--and, I may add, as it has always been. My personal friendship for you, and my interestin your future welfare impel me to make a final appeal to you not to ruina career which is full of promise. "

The rector did not take advantage of the pause. A purely psychologicalcuriosity hypnotized him to see how far the banker would go in hisapparent generosity. 

"I once heard you say, I believe, in a sermon, that the Christianreligion is a leaven. It is the leaven that softens and ameliorates thehard conditions of life, that makes our relations with our fellow-menbearable. But life is a contest, it is war. It always has been, andalways will be. Business is war, commerce is war, both among nations andindividuals. You cannot get around it. If a man does not exterminatehis rivals they will exterminate him. In other days churches were builtand endowed with the spoils of war, and did not disdain the money. To-day they cheerfully accept the support and gifts of business men. I do not accuse them of hypocrisy. It is a recognition on their partthat business men, in spite of hard facts, are not unmindful of thespiritual side of life, and are not deaf to the injunction to helpothers. And when, let me ask you, could you find in the world's historymore splendid charities than are around us to-day? Institutions endowedfor medical research, for the conquest of deadly diseases? libraries, hospitals, schools--men giving their fortunes for these things, thefruits of a life's work so laboriously acquired? Who can say that themodern capitalist is not liberal, is not a public benefactor?

"I dislike being personal, but you have forced it upon me. I dislike torefer to what I have already done in the matter of charities, but Ihinted to you awhile ago of a project I have conceived and almostperfected of gifts on a much larger scale than I have ever attempted. "The financier stared at him meaningly. "And I had you in mind as one ofthe three men whom I should consult, whom I should associate with myselfin the matter. We cannot change human nature, but we can betterconditions by wise giving. I do not refer now to the settle ment house, which I am ready to help make and maintain as the best in the country, but I have in mind a system to be carried out with the consent and aidof the municipal government, of play-grounds, baths, parks, places ofrecreation, and hospitals, for the benefit of the people, which willput our city in the very forefront of progress. And I believe, as apractical man, I can convince you that the betterment which you and I soearnestly desire can be brought about in no other way. Agitation canonly result in anarchy and misery for all. "

Hodder's wrath, as he rose from his chair, was of the sort that appearsincredibly to add to the physical stature, --the bewildering spiritualwrath which is rare indeed, and carries all before it. 

"Don't tempt me, Mr. Parr!" he said. "Now that I know the truth, I tellyou frankly I would face poverty and persecution rather than consent toyour offer. And I warn you once more not to flatter yourself thatexistence ends here, that you will, not be called to answer for everywrong act you have committed in accumulating your fortune, that whatyou call business is an affair of which God takes no account. WhatI say may seem foolishness to you, but I tell you, in the words of thatFoolishness, that it will not profit you to gain the whole world and loseyour own soul. You remind me that the Church in old time accepted giftsfrom the spoils of war, and I will add of rapine and murder. And theChurch to-day, to repeat your own parallel, grows rich with moneywrongfully got. Legally? Ah, yes, legally, perhaps. But that will notavail you. And the kind of church you speak of--to which I, to my shame, once consented--Our Lord repudiates. It is none of his. I warn you, Mr. Parr, in his Name, first to make your peace with your brothers before youpresume to lay another gift on the altar. "

During this withering condemnation of himself Eldon Parr sat motionless, his face grown livid, an expression on it that continued to haunt Hodderlong afterwards. An expression, indeed, which made the banker almostunrecognizable. 

"Go, " he whispered, his hand trembling visibly as he pointed towards thedoor. "Go--I have had enough of this. "

"Not until I have said one thing more, " replied the rector, undaunted. "I have found the woman whose marriage with your son you prevented, whomyou bought off and started on the road to hell without any sense ofresponsibility. You have made of her a prostitute and a drunkard. Whether she can be rescued or not is problematical. She, too, is inMr. Bentley's care, a man upon whom you once showed no mercy. I leaveGarvin, who has gone to his death, and Kate Marcy and Horace Bentley toyour conscience, Mr. Parr. That they are representative of many others, I do not doubt. I tell you solemnly that the whole meaning of life isservice to others, and I warn you, before it is too late, to repent andmake amends. Gifts will not help you, and charities are of no avail. "

At the reference to Kate Marcy Eldon Parr's hand dropped to his side. He seemed to have physical difficulty in speaking. 

"Ah, you have found that woman!" He leaned an elbow on the desk, he seemed suddenly to have become weary, spent, old. And Hodder, as he watched him, perceived--that his haggard look was directed towardsa photograph in a silver frame on the table--a photograph of PrestonParr. At length he broke the silence. 

"What would you have had me do?" he asked. "Permit my son to marry awoman of the streets, I suppose. That would have been Christianity, according to your notion. Come now, what world you have done, if yourson had been in question?"

A wave of pity swept over the rector. 

"Why, " he said, why did you have nothing but cruelty in your heart, andcontempt for her? When you saw that she was willing, for the love of theson whom you loved, to give up all that life meant to her, how could youdestroy her without a qualm? The crime you committed was that yourefused to see God in that woman's soul, when he had revealed himself toyou. You looked for wile, for cunning, for self-seeking, --and they werenot there. Love had obliterated them. When you saw how meekly sheobeyed you, and agreed to go away, why did you not have pity? If youhad listened to your conscience, you would have known what to do. 

"I do not say that you should not have opposed the marriage--then. Marriage is not to be lightly entered into. From the moment you went tosee her you became responsible for her. You hurled her into the abyss, and she has come back to haunt you. You should have had her educated andcared for--she would have submitted, to any plan you proposed. And if, after a sensible separation, you became satisfied as to her character anddevelopment, and your son still wished to marry her, you should havewithdrawn your objections. 

"As it is, and in consequence of your act, you have lost your son. Heleft you then, and you have no more control over him. "

"Stop!" cried Eldon Parr, "for God's sake stop! I won't stand any moreof this. I will not listen to criticism of my life, to strictures on myconduct from you or any other man. " He reached for a book on the cornerof his desk--a cheque book. --"You'll want money for these people, Isuppose, " he added brutally. "I will give it, but it must be understoodthat I do not recognize any right of theirs to demand it. "

For a moment Holder did not trust himself to reply. He looked downacross the desk at the financier, who was fumbling with the leaves. 

"They do not demand it, Mr. Parr, " he answered, gently. "And I havetried to make it plain to you that you have lost the right to give it. I expected to fail in this. I have failed. "

"What do you mean?" Eldon Parr let the cheque book close. 

"I mean what I said, " the rector replied. "That if you would save yoursoul you must put an end, to-morrow, to the acquisition of money, anddevote the rest of your life to an earnest and sincere attempt to makejust restitution to those you have wronged. And you must ask theforgiveness of God for your sins. Until you do that, your charities areabominations in his sight. I will not trouble you any longer, except tosay that I shall be ready to come to you at any time my presence may beof any help to you. "

The banker did not speak . . . . With a single glance towards thelibrary Holder left the house, but paused for a moment outside to gazeback at it, as it loomed in the darkness against the stars. 

CHAPTER XXI

ALISON GOES TO CHURCH

I

On the following Sunday morning the early light filtered into Alison'sroom, and she opened her strong eyes. Presently she sprang from her bedand drew back the curtains of the windows, gazing rapturously into thecrystal day. The verdure of the Park was freshened to an incrediblebrilliancy by the dew, a thin white veil of mist was spread over themirror of the waters, the trees flung long shadows across the turf. 

A few minutes later she was out, thrilled by the silence, drawing indeep, breaths of the morning air; lingering by still lakes catching theblue of the sky--a blue that left its stain upon the soul; as the sunmounted she wandered farther, losing herself in the wilderness of theforest. 

At eight o'clock, when she returned, there were signs that the city hadawakened. A mounted policeman trotted past her as she crossed a graveldrive, and on the tree-flecked stretches, which lately had been empty asEden, human figures were scattered. A child, with a sailboat thatlanguished for lack of wind, stared at her, first with fascination andwonder in his eyes, and then smiled at her tentatively. She returned thesmile with a start. 

Children had stared at her like that before now, and for the first timein her life she asked herself what the look might mean. She had neverreally been fond of them: she had never, indeed, been brought much incontact with them. But now, without warning, a sudden fierce yearningtook possession of her: surprised and almost frightened, she stoppedirresistibly and looked back at the thin little figure crouched besidethe water, to discover that his widened eyes were still upon her. Herown lingered on him shyly, and thus for a moment she hung in doubtwhether to flee or stay, her heart throbbing as though she were on thebrink of some unknown and momentous adventure. She took a timid step. 

"What's your name?" she asked. 

The boy told her. 

"What's yours?" he ventured, still under the charm. 

"Alison. "

He had never heard of that name, and said so. They deplored the lack ofwind. And presently, still mystified, but gathering courage, he askedher why she blushed, at which her colour deepened. 

"I can't help it, " she told him. 

"I like it, " the boy said. 

Though the grass was still wet, she got down on her knees in her whiteskirt, the better to push the boat along the shore: once it driftedbeyond their reach, and was only rescued by a fallen branch discoveredwith difficulty. 

The arrival of the boy's father, an anaemic-looking little man, put anend to their play. He deplored the condition of the lady's dress. 

"It doesn't matter in the least, " she assured him, and fled in a mood shedid not attempt to analyze. Hurrying homeward, she regained her room, bathed, and at half past eight appeared in the big, formal dining-room, from which the glare of the morning light was carefully screened. Herfather insisted on breakfasting here; and she found him now seated beforethe white table-cloth, reading a newspaper. He glanced up at hercritically. 

"So you've decided to honour me this morning, " he said. 

"I've been out in the Park, " she replied, taking the chair opposite him. He resumed his reading, but presently, as she was pouring out the coffee, he lowered the paper again. 

"What's the occasion to-day?" he asked. 

"The occasion?" she repeated, without acknowledging that she hadinstantly grasped his implication. His eyes were on her gown. 

"You are not accustomed, as a rule, to pay much deference to Sunday. "

"Doesn't the Bible say, somewhere, " she inquired, "that the Sabbath wasmade for man? Perhaps that may be broadened after a while, to includewoman. "

"But you have never been an advocate, so far as I know, of women takingadvantage of their opportunity by going to Church. "

"What's the use, " demanded Alison, "of the thousands of working womenspending the best part of the day in the ordinary church, when their feetand hands and heads are aching? Unless some fire is kindled in theirsouls, it is hopeless for them to try to obtain any benefit fromreligion--so-called--as it is preached to them in most churches. "

"Fire in their souls!" exclaimed the banker. 

"Yes. If the churches offered those who might be leaders among theirfellows a practical solution of existence, kindled their self-respect, replaced a life of drudgery by one of inspiration--that would be worthwhile. But you will never get such a condition as that unless yourpulpits are filled by personalities, instead of puppets who are all castin one mould, and who profess to be there by divine right. "

"I am glad to see at least that you are taking an interest in religiousmatters, " her father observed, meaningly. 

Alison coloured. But she retorted with spirit. 

"That is true of a great many persons to-day who are thinking on thesubject. If Christianity is a solution of life, people are demanding ofthe churches that they shall perform their function, and show us how, andwhy, or else cease to encumber the world. "

Eldon Parr folded up his newspaper. 

"So you are going to Church this morning, " he said. 

"Yes. At what time will you be ready?"

"At quarter to eleven. But if you are going to St. John', you will haveto start earlier. I'll order a car at half past ten. "

"Where are you going?" She held her breath, unconsciously, for theanswer. 

"To Calvary, " he replied coldly, as he rose to leave the room. "But Ihesitate to ask you to come, --I am afraid you will not find a religionthere that suits you. "

For a moment she could not trust herself to speak. The secret which, ever since Friday evening, she had been burning to learn was disclosed. . . Her father had broken with Mr. Hodder!

"Please don't order the motor for me, " she said. "I'd rather go in thestreet cars. "

She sat very still in the empty room, her face burning. 

Characteristically, her father had not once mentioned the rector of St. John's, yet had contrived to imply that her interest in Hodder wasgreater than her interest in religion. And she was forced to admit, withher customary honesty, that the implication was true. 

The numbers who knew Alison Parr casually thought her cold. They admireda certain quality in her work, but they did not suspect that that qualitywas the incomplete expression of an innate idealism capable of beingfanned into flame, --for she was subject to rare but ardent enthusiasmswhich kindled and transformed her incredibly in the eyes of the few towhom the process had been revealed. She had had even a longer list ofsuitors than any one guessed; men who--usually by accident--had touchedthe hidden spring, and suddenly beholding an unimagined woman, hadconsequently lost their heads. The mistake most of them had made (forsubtlety in such affairs is not a masculine trait) was the failure torecognize and continue to present the quality in them which had awakenedher. She had invariably discovered the feet of clay. 

Thus disillusion had been her misfortune--perhaps it would be moreaccurate to say her fortune. She had built up, after each invasion, herdefences more carefully and solidly than before, only to be againastonished and dismayed by the next onslaught, until at length thequestion had become insistent--the question of an alliance for purposesof greater security. She had returned to her childhood home to considerit, frankly recognizing it as a compromise, a fall . . . . 

And here, in this sanctuary of her reflection, and out of a quarter onwhich she had set no watch, out of a wilderness which she had believed tohold nothing save the ruined splendours of the past, had come one who, like the traditional figures of the wilderness, had attracted her by hisvery uncouthness and latent power. And the anomaly he presented in whatmight be called the vehemence of his advocacy of an outworn orthodoxy, in his occupation of the pulpit of St. John's, had quickened at once hercuriosity and antagonism. It had been her sudden discovery, or ratherher instinctive suspicion of the inner conflict in him which had set herstandard fluttering in response. Once more (for the last time--somethingwhispered--now) she had become the lady of the lists; she sat on herwalls watching, with beating heart and straining eyes, the closed helmof her champion, ready to fling down the revived remnant of her faith asprize or forfeit. She had staked all on the hope that he would not lowerhis lance. . . . . 

Saturday had passed in suspense . . . . And now was flooding in onher the certainty that he had not failed her; that he had, with a sublimeindifference to a worldly future and success, defied the powers. Withindifference, too, to her! She knew, of course, that he loved her. A man with less of greatness would have sought a middle way . . . . 

When, at half past ten, she fared forth into the sunlight, she was filledwith anticipation, excitement, concern, feelings enhanced and not soothedby the pulsing vibrations of the church bells in the softening air. Theswift motion of the electric car was grateful. . . But at length thesight of familiar landmarks, old-fashioned dwellings crowded in betweenthe stores and factories of lower Tower Street, brought backrecollections of the days when she had come this way, other Sundaymornings, and in a more leisurely public vehicle, with her mother. Was it possible that she, Alison Parr, were going to church now? Herexcitement deepened, and she found it difficult to bring herself to therealization that her destination was a church--the church of herchildhood. At this moment she could only think of St. John's as thesetting of the supreme drama. 

When she alighted at the corner of Burton Street there was thewell-remembered, shifting group on the pavement in front of the churchporch. How many times, in the summer and winter, in fair weather andcloudy, in rain and sleet and snow had she approached that group, as sheapproached it now! Here were the people, still, in the midst of whom herearliest associations had been formed, changed, indeed, -but yet the same. No, the change was in her, and the very vastness of that change came as ashock. These had stood still, anchored to their traditions, while she--had she grown? or merely wandered? She had searched, at least, and seen. She had once accepted them--if indeed as a child it could have been saidof her that she accepted anything; she had been unable then, at any rate, to bring forward any comparisons. 

Now she beheld them, collectively, in their complacent finery, asrepresenting a force, a section of the army blocking the heads of thepasses of the world's progress, resting on their arms, but ready at theleast uneasy movement from below to man the breastworks, to fling downthe traitor from above, to fight fiercely for the solidarity of theirorder. And Alison even believed herself to detect, by somethingindefinable in their attitudes as they stood momentarily conversingin lowered voices, an aroused suspicion, an uneasy anticipation. Herimagination went so far as to apprehend, as they greeted her unwontedappearance, that they read in it an addition to other vague anddisturbing phenomena. Her colour was high. 

"Why, my dear, " said Mrs. Atterbury, "I thought you had gone back to NewYork long ago!"

Beside his mother stood Gordon--more dried up, it seemed, than ever. Alison recalled him, as on this very spot, a thin, pale boy in shorttrousers, and Mrs. Atterbury a beautiful and controlled young matronassociated with St. John's and with children's parties. She waswonderful yet, with her white hair and straight nose, her erect figurestill slight. Alison knew that Mrs. Atterbury had never forgiven her forrejecting her son--or rather for being the kind of woman who could rejecthim. 

"Surely you haven't been here all summer?"

Alison admitted it, characteristically, without explanations. 

"It seems so natural to see you here at the old church, after all theseyears, " the lady went on, and Alison was aware that Mrs. Atterburyquestioned--or rather was at a loss for the motives which had led such anapostate back to the fold. "We must thank Mr. Hodder, I suppose. He'svery remarkable. I hear he is resuming the services to-day for the firsttime since June. "

Alison was inclined to read a significance into Mrs. Atterbury's glanceat her son, who was clearing his throat. 

"But--where is Mr. Parr?" he asked. "I understand he has come back fromhis cruise. "

"Yes, he is back. I came without--him---as you see. "

She found a certain satisfaction in adding to the mystification, to thedisquietude he betrayed by fidgeting more than usual. 

"But--he always comes when he is in town. Business--I suppose--ahem!"

"No, " replied Alison, dropping her bomb with cruel precision, "he hasgone to Calvary. "

The agitation was instantaneous. 

"To Calvary!" exclaimed mother and son in one breath. 

"Why?" It was Gordon who demanded. "A--a special occasion there--abishop or something?"

"I'm afraid you must ask him, " she said. 

She was delayed on the steps, first by Nan Ferguson, then by theLaureston Greys, and her news outdistanced her to the porch. CharlottePlimpton looking very red and solid, her eyes glittering with excitement, blocked her way. 

"Alison?" she cried, in the slightly nasal voice that was a Goreinheritance, "I'm told your father's gone to Calvary! Has Mr. Hodderoffended him? I heard rumours--Wallis seems to be afraid that somethinghas happened. "

"He hasn't said anything about it to me, Charlotte, " said Alison, inquiet amusement, "but then he wouldn't, you know. I don't live here anylonger, and he has no reason to think that I would be interested inchurch matters. "

"But--why did you come?" Charlotte demanded, with Gore naivete. 

Alison smiled. 

"You mean--what was my motive?"

Charlotte actually performed the miracle of getting redder. She wasafraid of Alison--much more afraid since she had known of her vogue inthe East. When Alison had put into execution the astounding folly (tothe Gore mind) of rejecting the inheritance of millions to espouse aprofession, it had been Charlotte Plimpton who led the chorus of ridiculeand disapproval. But success, to the Charlotte Plimptons, is its ownjustification, and now her ambition (which had ramifications) was to haveAlison "do" her a garden. Incidentally, the question had flashed throughher mind as to how much Alison's good looks had helped towards hertriumph in certain shining circles. 

"Oh, of course I didn't mean that, " she hastened to deny, although it wasexactly what she had meant. Her curiosity unsatisfied--and not likely tobe satisfied at once, she shifted abruptly to the other burning subject. "I was so glad when I learned you hadn't gone. Grace Larrabbee's gardenis a dream, my dear. Wallis and I stopped there the other day and thecaretaker showed it to us. Can't you make a plan for me, so that I maybegin next spring? And there's something else I wanted to ask you. Wallis and I are going to New York the end of the month. Shall you bethere?"

"I don't know, " said Alison, cautiously. 

"We want so much to see one or two of your gardens on Long Island, andespecially the Sibleys', on the Hudson. I know it will be late in theseason, --but don't you think you could take us, Alison? And I intend togive you a dinner. I'll write you a note. Here's Wallis. "

"Well, well, well, " said Mr. Plimpton, shaking Alison's hand. "Where'sfather? I hear he's gone to Calvary. "

Alison made her escape. Inside the silent church, Eleanor Goodrich gaveher a smile and a pressure of welcome. Beside her, standing behind therear pew, were Asa Waring and--Mr. Bentley! Mr. Bentley returned to St. John's!

"You have come!" Alison whispered. 

He understood her. He took her hand in his and looked down into herupturned face. 

"Yes, my dear, " he said, "and my girls have come Sally Grover and theothers, and some friends from Dalton Street and elsewhere. "

The news, the sound of this old gentleman's voice and the touch of hishand suddenly filled her with a strange yet sober happiness. Asa Waring, though he had not overheard, smiled at her too, as in sympathy. Hisaustere face was curiously illuminated, and she knew instinctively thatin some way he shared her happiness. Mr. Bentley had come back! Yes, itwas an augury. From childhood she had always admired Asa Waring, and nowshe felt a closer tie . . . . 

She reached the pew, hesitated an instant, and slipped forward on herknees. Years had gone by since she had prayed, and even now she made noattempt to translate into words the intensity of her yearning--for what?Hodder's success, for one thing, --and by success she meant that he mightpursue an unfaltering course. True to her temperament, she did not lookfor the downfall of the forces opposed to him. She beheld himpersecuted, yet unyielding, and was thus lifted to an exaltation thatamazed. . . If he could do it, such a struggle must sorely have anultimate meaning! Thus she found herself, trembling, on the borderlandof faith. . . 

She arose, bewildered, her pulses beating. And presently glancing about, she took in that the church was fuller than she ever remembered havingseen it, and the palpitating suspense she felt seemed to pervade, as itwere, the very silence. With startling abruptness, the silence wasbroken by the tones of the great organ that rolled and reverberated amongthe arches; distant voices took up the processional; the white choirfiled past, --first the treble voices of the boys, then the deeper notesof the--men, --turned and mounted the chancel steps, and then she sawHodder. Her pew being among the first, he passed very near her. Did heknow she would be there? The sternness of his profile told her nothing. He seemed at that moment removed, set apart, consecrated--this was theword that came to her, and yet she was keenly conscious of his presence. 

Tingling, she found herself repeating, inwardly, two, lines of the hymn

 "Lay hold on life, and it shall be Thy joy and crown eternally. "

"Lay hold on life!"

The service began, --the well-remembered, beautiful appeal and prayerswhich she could still repeat, after a lapse of time, almost by heart; andtheir music and rhythm, the simple yet magnificent language in which. They were clothed--her own language--awoke this morning a racial instinctstrong in her, --she had not known how strong. Or was it something inHodder's voice that seemed to illumine the ancient words with a newmeaning? Raising her eyes to the chancel she studied his head, and foundin it still another expression of that race, the history of which hadbeen one of protest, of development of its own character and personality. Her mind went back to her first talk with him, in the garden, and she sawhow her intuition had recognized in him then the spirit of a peoplestriving to assert itself. 

She stood with tightened lips, during the Apostles' Creed, listening tohis voice as it rose, strong and unfaltering, above the murmur of thecongregation. 

At last she saw him swiftly crossing the chancel, mounting the pulpitsteps, and he towered above her, a dominant figure, his white surplicesharply outlined against the dark stone of the pillar. The hymn diedaway, the congregation sat down. There was a sound in the church, expectant, presaging, like the stirring of leaves at the first breath ofwind, and then all was silent. 

II

He had preached for an hour--longer, perhaps. Alison could not have saidhow long. She had lost all sense of time. 

No sooner had the text been spoken, "Except a man be born again, hecannot see the Kingdom of God, " than she seemed to catch a fleetingglimpse of an hitherto unimagined Personality. Hundreds of times shehad heard those words, and they had been as meaningless to her as toNicodemus. But now--now something was brought home to her of themagnificent certainty with which they must first have been spoken, of the tone and bearing and authority of him who had uttered them. Was Christ like that? And could it be a Truth, after all, a truthonly to be grasped by one who had experienced it?

It was in vain that man had tried to evade this, the supreme revelationof Jesus Christ, had sought to substitute ceremonies and sacrifices forspiritual rebirth. It was in vain that the Church herself had, from timeto time, been inclined to compromise. St. Paul, once the strict Phariseewho had laboured for the religion of works, himself had been reborn intothe religion of the Spirit. It was Paul who had liberated that messageof rebirth, which the world has been so long in grasping, from the narrowbounds of Palestine and sent it ringing down the ages to the democraciesof the twentieth century. 

And even Paul, though not consciously inconsistent, could not rid himselfcompletely of that ancient, automatic, conception of religion which theMaster condemned, but had on occasions attempted fruitlessly to unite thenew with the old. And thus, for a long time, Christianity had beenwrongly conceived as history, beginning with what to Paul and the Jewswas an historical event, the allegory of the Garden of Eden, the fall ofAdam, and ending with the Jewish conception of the Atonement. This was arationalistic and not a spiritual religion. 

The miracle was not the vision, whatever its nature, which Saul beheld onthe road to Damascus. The miracle was the result of that vision, the manreborn. Saul, the persecutor of Christians, become Paul, who spent therest of his days, in spite of persecution and bodily infirmities, journeying tirelessly up and down the Roman Empire, preaching the risenChrist, and labouring more abundantly than they all! There was nomiracle in the New Testament more wonderful than this. 

The risen Christ! Let us not trouble ourselves about the psychologicalproblems involved, problems which the first century interpreted in itsown simple way. Modern, science has taught us this much, at least, that we have by no means fathomed the limits even of a transcendentpersonality. If proofs of the Resurrection and Ascension were demanded, let them be spiritual proofs, and there could be none more convincingthan the life of the transformed Saul, who had given to the modern, western world the message of salvation . . . . 

That afternoon, as Alison sat motionless on a distant hillside of thePark, gazing across the tree-dotted, rolling country to the westward, sherecalled the breathless silence in the church when he had reached thispoint and paused, looking down at the congregation. By the subtletransmission of thought, of feeling which is characteristic at dramaticmoments of bodies of people, she knew that he had already contrived tostir them to the quick. It was not so much that these opening wordsmight have been startling to the strictly orthodox, but the added factthat Hodder had uttered them. The sensation in the pews, as Alisoninterpreted it and exulted over it, was one of bewildered amazement thatthis was their rector, the same man who had preached to them in June. Like Paul, of whom he spoke, he too was transformed, had come to his own, radiating a new power that seemed to shine in his face. 

Still agitated, she considered that discourse now in her solitude, whatit meant for him, for her, for the Church and civilization that aclergyman should have had the courage to preach it. He himself hadseemed unconscious of any courage; had never once--she recalled--beensensational. He had spoken simply, even in the intensest moments ofdenunciation. And she wondered now how he had managed, without strippinghimself, without baring the intimate, sacred experiences of his own soul, to convey to them, so nobly, the change which had taken place in him. .. . 

He began by referring to the hope with which he had come to St. John's, and the gradual realization that the church was a failure--a dismalfailure when compared to the high ideal of her Master. By her fruits sheshould be known and judged. From the first he had contemplated, with aheavy heart, the sin and misery at their very gates. Not three blocksdistant children were learning vice in the streets, little boys of sevenand eight, underfed and anaemic, were driven out before dawn to sellnewspapers, little girls thrust forth to haunt the saloons and beg, whiletheir own children were warmed and fed. While their own daughters wereguarded, young women in Dayton Street were forced to sell themselves intoa life which meant slow torture, inevitable early death. Hopelesshusbands and wives were cast up like driftwood by the cruel, resistlessflood of modern civilization--the very civilization which yielded theirwealth and luxury. The civilization which professed the Spirit ofChrist, and yet was pitiless. 

He confessed to them that for a long time he had been blind to the truth, had taken the inherited, unchristian view that the disease which causedvice and poverty might not be cured, though its ulcers might bealleviated. He had not, indeed, clearly perceived and recognized thedisease. He had regarded Dalton Street in a very special sense as areproach to St. John's, but now he saw that all such neighbourhoods werein reality a reproach to the city, to the state, to the nation. TrueChristianity and Democracy were identical, and the congregation of St. John's, as professed Christians and citizens, were doubly responsible, inasmuch as they not only made no protest or attempt to change agovernment which permitted the Dalton Streets to exist, but inasmuch alsoas, --directly or indirectly, --they derived a profit from conditions whichwere an abomination to God. It would be but an idle mockery for them togo and build a settlement house, if they did not first reform theirlives. 

Here there had been a decided stir among the pews. Hodder had not seemedto notice it. 

When he, their rector, had gone to Dalton Street to invite the poor andwretched into God's Church, he was met by the scornful question: "Are theChristians of the churches any better than we? Christians own the grimtenements in which we live, the saloons and brothels by which we aresurrounded, which devour our children. Christians own the establishmentswhich pay us starvation wages; profit by politics, and take toll from ourvery vice; evade the laws and reap millions, while we are sent to jail. Is their God a God who will lift us out of our misery and distress? Aretheir churches for the poor? Are not the very pews in which they sit asclosed to us as their houses?"

"I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot. I would thou wertcold or hot. "

One inevitable conclusion of such a revelation was that he had notpreached to them the vital element of Christianity. And the very factthat his presentation of religion had left many indifferent ordissatisfied was proof-positive that he had dwelt upon non-essentials, laid emphasis upon the mistaken interpretations of past ages. Therewere those within the Church who were content with this, who--like thePharisees of old--welcomed a religion which did not interfere with theircomplacency, with their pursuit of pleasure and wealth, with theirspecial privileges; welcomed a Church which didn't raise her voiceagainst the manner of their lives--against the order, the Golden Calfwhich they had set up, which did not accuse them of deliberatelyretarding the coming of the Kingdom of God. 

Ah, that religion was not religion, for religion was a spiritual, not a material affair. In that religion, vainly designed by man as acompromise between God and Mammon, there was none of the divinediscontent of the true religion of the Spirit, no need of the rebirth ofthe soul. And those who held it might well demand, with Nicodemus andthe rulers of the earth, "How can these things be?"

And there were others who still lingered in the Church, perplexed andwistful, who had come to him and confessed that the so-called catholicacceptance of divine truths, on which he had hitherto dwelt, meantnothing to them. To these, in particular, he owed a special reparation, and he took this occasion to announce a series of Sunday evening sermonson the Creeds. So long as the Creeds remained in the Prayer Book it washis duty to interpret them in terms not only of modern thought, but inharmony with the real significance of the Person and message of JesusChrist. Those who had come to him questioning, he declared, were athousand times right in refusing to accept the interpretations of othermen, the consensus of opinion of more ignorant ages, expressed in anancient science and an archaic philosophy. 

And what should be said of the vast and ever increasing numbers of thosenot connected with the Church, who had left it or were leaving it? and ofthe less fortunate to whose bodily wants they had been ministering in theparish house, for whom it had no spiritual message, and who never enteredits doors? The necessity of religion, of getting in touch with, ofdependence on the Spirit of the Universe was inherent in man, and yetthere were thousands--nay, millions in the nation to-day in whose heartswas an intense and unsatisfied yearning, who perceived no meaning inlife, no Cause for which to work, who did not know what Christianity was, who had never known what it was, who wist not where to turn to find out. Education had brought many of them to discern, in the Church's teachings, an anachronistic medley of myths and legends, of theories of schoolmenand theologians, of surviving pagan superstitions which could not betranslated into life. They saw, in Christianity, only the adulterationsof the centuries. If any one needed a proof of the yearning people felt, let him go to the bookshops, or read in the publishers' lists to-day theannouncements of books on religion. There was no supply where there wasno demand. 

Truth might no longer be identified with Tradition, and the day was pastwhen councils and synods might determine it for all mankind. The era offorced acceptance of philosophical doctrines and dogmas was past, andthat of freedom, of spiritual rebirth, of vicarious suffering, of willingsacrifice and service for a Cause was upon them. That cause wasDemocracy. Christ was uniquely the Son of God because he had lived andsuffered and died in order to reveal to the world the meaning of thislife and of the hereafter--the meaning not only for the individual, butfor society as well. Nothing might be added to or subtracted from thatmessage--it was complete. 

True faith was simply trusting--trusting that Christ gave to the worldthe revelation of God's plan. And the Saviour himself had pointed outthe proof: "If any man do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak for myself. " Christ hadrepeatedly rebuked those literal minds which had demanded materialevidence: true faith spurned it, just as true friendship, true lovebetween man and man, true trust scorned a written bond. To paraphraseSt. James's words, faith without trust is dead--because faith withouttrust is impossible. God is a Spirit, only to be recognized in theSpirit, and every one of the Saviour's utterances were--not of the flesh, of the man--but of the Spirit within him. "He that hath seen me hathseen the Father;" and "Why callest thou me good? none is good save one, that is, God. " The Spirit, the Universal Meaning of Life, incarnate inthe human Jesus. 

To be born again was to overcome our spiritual blindness, and then, and then only, we might behold the spirit shining in the soul of Christ. That proof had sufficed for Mark, had sufficed for the writer of thesublime Fourth Gospel, had sufficed for Paul. Let us lift this wondrousfact, once and for all, out of the ecclesiastical setting and incorporateit into our lives. Nor need the hearts of those who seek the Truth, whofear not to face it, be troubled if they be satisfied, from the Gospels, that the birth of Jesus was not miraculous. The physical never couldprove the spiritual, which was the real and everlasting, which nodiscovery in science or history can take from us. The Godship of Christrested upon no dogma, it was a conviction born into us with the newbirth. And it becomes an integral part of our personality, our verybeing. 

The secret, then, lay in a presentation of the divine message which wouldconvince and transform and electrify those who heard it to action--apresentation of the message in terms which the age could grasp. That iswhat Paul had done, he had drawn his figures boldly from the customs ofthe life of his day, but a more or less intimate knowledge of theseancient customs were necessary before modern men and women couldunderstand those figures and parallels. And the Church must awaketo her opportunities, to her perception of the Cause. . . . 

What, then, was the function, the mission of the Church Universal? Onceshe had laid claim to temporal power, believed herself to be the soleagency of God on earth, had spoken ex cathedra on philosophy, history, theology, and science, had undertaken to confer eternal bliss and to damnforever. Her members, and even her priests, had gone from murder tomass and from mass to murder, and she had engaged in cruel wars andpersecutions to curtail the liberties of mankind. Under that conceptionreligion was a form of insurance of the soul. Perhaps a common, universal belief had been necessary in the dark ages before the sublimeidea of education for the masses had come; but the Church herself--through ignorance--had opposed the growth of education, had set herface sternly against the development of the individual, which Christ hadtaught, the privilege of man to use the faculties of the intellect whichGod had bestowed upon him. He himself, their rector, had advocated acatholic acceptance, though much modified from the mediaeval acceptance, --one that professed to go behind it to an earlier age. Yes, he mustadmit with shame that he had been afraid to trust where God trusted, hadfeared to confide the working out of the ultimate Truth of the minds ofthe millions. 

The Church had been monarchical in form, and some strove stubbornlyand blindly to keep her monarchical. Democracy in government wasoutstripping her. Let them look around, to-day, and see what washappening in the United States of America. A great movement was going onto transfer actual participation in government from the few to the many, --a movement towards true Democracy, and that was precisely what wasabout to happen in the Church. Her condition at present was one ofuncertainty, transition--she feared to let go wholly of the old, shefeared to embark upon the new. Just as the conservatives and politiciansfeared to give up the representative system, the convention, so was sheafraid to abandon the synod, the council, and trust to man. 

The light was coming slowly, the change, the rebirth of the Church bygradual evolution. By the grace of God those who had laid thefoundations of the Church in which he stood, of all Protestantism, hadbuilt for the future. The racial instinct in them had asserted itself, had warned them that to suppress freedom in religion were to suppress itin life, to paralyze that individual initiative which was the secret oftheir advancement. 

The new Church Universal, then, would be the militant, aggressive body ofthe reborn, whose mission it was to send out into the life of the nationtransformed men and women who would labour unremittingly for the Kingdomof God. Unity would come--but unity in freedom, true Catholicity. Thetruth would gradually pervade the masses--be wrought out by them. Eventhe great evolutionary forces of the age, such as economic necessity, were acting to drive divided Christianity into consolidation, and thestarving churches of country villages were now beginning to combine. 

No man might venture to predict the details of the future organization ofthe united Church, although St. Paul himself had sketched it in broadoutline: every worker, lay and clerical, labouring according to his gift, teachers, executives, ministers, visitors, missionaries, healers of sickand despondent souls. But the supreme function of the Church was toinspire--to inspire individuals to willing service for the cause, theCause of Democracy, the fellowship of mankind. If she failed to inspire, the Church would wither and perish. And therefore she must revive againthe race of inspirers, prophets, modern Apostles to whom this gift wasgiven, going on their rounds, awaking cities and arousing wholecountry-sides. 

But whence--it might be demanded by the cynical were the prophets tocome? Prophets could not be produced by training and education; prophetsmust be born. Reborn, --that was the word. Let the Church have faith. Once her Cause were perceived, once her whole energy were directedtowards its fulfilment, the prophets would arise, out of the East and outof the West, to stir mankind to higher effort, to denounce fearlessly theshortcomings and evils of the age. They had not failed in past ages, when the world had fallen into hopelessness, indifference, and darkness. And they would not fail now. 

Prophets were personalities, and Phillips Brooks himself a prophet--haddefined personality as a conscious relationship with God. "All truth, "he had said, "comes to the world through personality. " And down the ageshad come an Apostolic Succession of personalities. Paul, Augustine, Francis, Dante, Luther, Milton, --yes, and Abraham Lincoln, and PhillipsBrooks, whose Authority was that of the Spirit, whose light had so shonebefore men that they had glorified the Father which was in heaven; thecurrent of whose Power had so radiated, in ever widening circles, as tomake incandescent countless other souls. 

And which among them would declare that Abraham Lincoln, like Stephen, had not seen his Master in the sky?

The true prophet, the true apostle, then, was one inspired and directedby the Spirit, the laying on of hands was but a symbol, --the symbol ofthe sublime truth that one personality caught fire from another. Let theChurch hold fast to that symbol, as an acknowledgment, a reminder of asupreme mystery. Tradition had its value when it did not deteriorateinto superstition, into the mechanical, automatic transmissioncharacteristic of the mediaeval Church, for the very suggestion of whichPeter had rebuked Simon in Samaria. For it would be remembered thatSimon had said: "Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost. "

The true successor to the Apostles must be an Apostle himself. 

Jesus had seldom spoken literally, and the truths he sought to impressupon the world had of necessity been clothed in figures and symbols, --forspiritual truths might be conveyed in no other way. The supreme proof ofhis Godship, of his complete knowledge of the meaning of life was to befound in his parables. To the literal, material mind, for example, theparable of the talents was merely an unintelligible case of injustice. .. . What was meant by the talents? They were opportunities for service. Experience taught us that when we embraced one opportunity, oneresponsibility, the acceptance of it invariably led to another, and sothe servant who had five talents, five opportunities, gained ten. Theservant who had two gained two more. But the servant of whom only onelittle service was asked refused that, and was cast into outer darkness, to witness another performing the task which should have been his. Hell, here and hereafter, was the spectacle of wasted opportunity, and there isno suffering to compare to it. 

The crime, the cardinal sin was with those who refused to serve, who shuttheir eyes to the ideal their Lord had held up, who strove to compromisewith Jesus Christ himself, to twist and torture his message to suit theirown notions as to how life should be led; to please God and Mammon at thesame time, to bind Christ's Church for their comfort and selfishconvenience. Of them it was written, that they shut up the Kingdom ofHeaven against men; for they neither go in themselves, neither sufferthem that are entering to go in. Were these any better than the peoplewho had crucified the Lord for his idealism, and because he had notbrought them the material Kingdom for which they longed?

That servant who had feared to act, who had hid his talent in the ground, who had said unto his lord, "I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hadst not sown, " was the man without faith, theatheist who sees only cruelty and indifference in the order of things, who has no spiritual sight. But to the other servants it was said, "Thouhalt been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over manythings. Enter thou into the joy of thy lord. "

The meaning of life, then, was service, and by life our Lord did not meanmere human existence, which is only a part of life. The Kingdom ofheaven is a state, and may begin here. And that which we saw around uswas only one expression of that eternal life--a medium to work through, towards God. All was service, both here and hereafter, and he that hadnot discovered that the joy of service was the only happiness worthliving for could have no conception of the Kingdom. To those who knew, there was no happiness like being able to say, "I have found my place inGod's plan, I am of use. " Such was salvation . . . . 

And in the parable of the Prodigal Son may be read the history of whatare known as the Protestant nations. What happens logically when theindividual is suddenly freed from the restraint of external authorityoccurred when Martin Luther released the vital spark of Christianity, which he got from Paul, and from Christ himself--the revelation ofindividual responsibility, that God the Spirit would dwell, by grace, inthe individual soul. Ah, we had paid a terrible yet necessary price forfreedom. We had wandered far from the Father, we had been reduced tothe very husks of individualism, become as swine. We beheld around us, to-day, selfishness, ruthless competition, as great contrasts betweenmisery and luxury as in the days of the Roman Empire. But should we, forthat reason, return to the leading-strings of authority? Could we if wewould? A little thought ought to convince us that the liberation of theindividual could not be revoked, that it had forever destroyed the powerof authority to carry conviction. To go back to the Middle Ages would beto deteriorate and degenerate. No, we must go on. . . . 

Luther's movement, in religion, had been the logical forerunner ofdemocracy, of universal suffrage in government, the death-knell of thatmisinterpretation of Christianity as the bulwark of monarchy andhierarchy had been sounded when he said, "Ich kann nicht anders!" The newRepublic founded on the western continent had announced to the world theinitiation of the transfer of Authority to the individual soul. God, thecounterpart of the King, the ruler in a high heaven of a flat terrestrialexpanse, outside of the world, was now become the Spirit of a millionspheres, the indwelling spirit in man. Democracy and the religion ofJesus Christ both consisted in trusting the man--yes, and the woman--whomGod trusts. Christianity was individualism carried beyond philosophyinto religion, and the Christian, the ideal citizen of the democracy, wasfree since he served not because he had to, but because he desired to ofhis own will, which, paradoxically, is God's will. God was in politics, to the confusion of politicians; God in government. And in some greaterand higher sense than we had yet perceived, the saying 'vox populi voxdei' was eternally true. He entered into the hearts of people and movedthem, and so the world progressed. It was the function of the Church tomake Christians, until--when the Kingdom of God should come--the blendingshould be complete. Then Church and State would be identical, since allthe members of the one would be the citizens of the other . . . . 

"I will arise and go to my father. " Rebirth! A sense of responsibility, of consecration. So we had come painfully through our materialisticindividualism, through our selfish Protestantism, to a glimpse of thetrue Protestantism--Democracy. 

Our spiritual vision was glowing clearer. We were beginning to perceivethat charity did not consist in dispensing largesse after making afortune at the expense of one's fellow-men; that there was somethingstill wrong in a government that permits it. It was gradually becomingplain to us, after two thousand years, that human bodies and soulsrotting in tenements were more valuable than all the forests on all thehills; that government, Christian government, had something to do withthese. 

We should embody, in government, those sublime words of the Master, "Suffer little children to come unto me. " And the government of thefuture would care for the little children. We were beginning to do it. Here, as elsewhere, Christianity and reason went hand in hand, for thechild became the man who either preyed on humanity and filled the prisonsand robbed his fellows, or else grew into a useful, healthy citizen. Itwas nothing less than sheer folly as well as inhuman cruelty to let thechildren sleep in crowded, hot rooms, reeking with diseases, and run wildthroughout the long summer, learning vice in the city streets. And westill had slavery--economic slavery--yes, and the more horrible slaveryof women and young girls in vice--as much a concern of government as theproblem which had confronted it in 1861 . . . . We were learning thatthere was something infinitely more sacred than property . . . . 

And now Alison recalled, only to be thrilled again by an electricsensation she had never before experienced with such intensity, the lookof inspiration on the preacher's face as he closed. The very mists ofthe future seemed to break before his importuning gaze, and his eyesseemed indeed to behold, against the whitening dawn of the spiritual agehe predicted, the slender spires of a new Church sprung from thefoundations of the old. A Church, truly catholic, tolerant, whoseportals were wide in welcome to all mankind. The creative impulse, he had declared, was invariably religious, the highest art but theexpression of the mute yearnings of a people, of a race. Thus had oncearisen, all over Europe, those wonderful cathedrals which still casttheir spell upon the world, and art to-day would respond--was responding--to the unutterable cravings of mankind, would strive once more toexpress in stone and glass and pigment what nations felt. Generationafter generation would labour with unflagging zeal until the artsculptured fragment of the new Cathedral--the new Cathedral of Democracy--pointed upward toward the blue vault of heaven. Such was his vision--God the Spirit, through man reborn, carrying out his great Design . . . 

CHAPTER XXII

"WHICH SAY TO THE SEERS, SEE NOT"

I

As Alison arose from her knees and made her way out of the pew, it wasthe expression on Charlotte Plimpton's face which brought her back oncemore to a sense of her surroundings; struck her, indeed, like a physicalblow. The expression was a scandalized one. Mrs. Plimpton had movedtowards her, as if to speak, but Alison hurried past, her exaltationsuddenly shattered, replaced by a rising tide of resentment, of angryamazement against a materialism so solid as to remain unshaken by thewords which had so uplifted her. Eddies were forming in the aisle asthe people streamed slowly out of the church, and snatches of theirconversation, in undertones, reached her ears. 

"I should never have believed it!"

"Mr. Hodder, of all men. . . "

"The bishop!"

Outside the swinging doors, in the vestibule, the voices were raised alittle, and she found her path blocked. 

"It's incredible!" she heard Gordon Atterbury saying to little EverettConstable, who was listening gloomily. 

"Sheer Unitarianism, socialism, heresy. "

His attention was forcibly arrested by Alison, in whose cheeks brightspots of colour burned. He stepped aside, involuntarily, apologetically, as though he had instinctively read in her attitude an unaccountabledisdain. Everett Constable bowed uncertainly, for Alison scarcelynoticed them. 

"Ahem!" said Gordon, nervously, abandoning his former companion andjoining her, "I was just saying, it's incredible--"

She turned on him. 

"It is incredible, " she cried, "that persons who call themselvesChristians cannot recognize their religion when they hear it preached. "

He gave back before her, visibly, in an astonishment which would havebeen ludicrous but for her anger. He had never understood her--suchhad been for him her greatest fascination;--and now she was lesscomprehensible than ever. The time had been when he would cheerfullyhave given over his hope of salvation to have been able to stir her. He had never seen her stirred, and the sight of her even now in thiscondition was uncomfortably agitating. Of all things, an hereticalsermon would appear to have accomplished this miracle!

"Christianity!" he stammered. 

"Yes, Christianity. " Her voice tingled. "I don't pretend to know muchabout it, but Mr. Hodder has at least made it plain that it is somethingmore than dead dogmas, ceremonies, and superstitions. "

He would have said something, but her one thought was to escape, to bealone. These friends of her childhood were at that moment so distastefulas to have become hateful. Some one laid a hand upon her arm. 

"Can't we take you home, Alison? I don't see your motor. "

It was Mrs. Constable. 

"No, thanks--I'm going to walk, " Alison answered, yet something in Mrs. Constable's face, in Mrs. Constable's voice, made her pause. Somethingnew, something oddly sympathetic. Their eyes met, and Alison saw thatthe other woman's were tired, almost haggard--yet understanding. 

"Mr. Hodder was right--a thousand times right, my dear, " she said. 

Alison could only stare at her, and the crimson in the bright spots ofher cheeks spread over her face. Why had Mrs. Constable supposed thatshe would care to hear the sermon praised? But a second glance put herin possession of the extraordinary fact that Mrs. Constable herself wasprofoundly moved. 

"I knew he would change, " she went on, "I have seen for some time that hewas too big a man not to change. But I had no conception that he wouldhave such power, and such courage, as he has shown this morning. It isnot only that he dared to tell us what we were--smaller men might havedone that, and it is comparatively easy to denounce. But he has thevision to construct, he is a seer himself--he has really made me seewhat Christianity is. And as long as I live I shall never forgetthose closing sentences. "

"And now?" asked Alison. "And now what will happen?"

Mrs. Constable changed colour. Her tact, on which she prided herself, had deserted her in a moment of unlooked-for emotion. 

"Oh, I know that my father and the others will try to put him out--butcan they?" Alison asked. 

It was Mrs. Constable's turn to stare. The head she suddenly andimpulsively put forth trembled on Alison's wrist. 

"I don't know, Alison--I'm afraid they can. It is too terrible to thinkabout. . . . And they can't--they won't believe that many changes arecoming, that this is but one of many signs. . . Do come and see me. "

Alison left her, marvelling at the passage between them, and that, of allpersons in the congregation of St. John's, the lightning should havestruck Mrs. Constable. . . 

Turning to the right on Burton Street, she soon found herself walkingrapidly westward through deserted streets lined by factories andwarehouses, and silent in the Sabbath calm . . . . She thought ofHodder, she would have liked to go to him in that hour . . . . 

In Park Street, luncheon was half over, and Nelson Langmaid was at thetable with her father. The lawyer glanced at her curiously as sheentered the room, and his usual word of banter, she thought, was ratherlame. The two went on, for some time, discussing a railroad suit inTexas. And Alison, as she hurried through her meal, leaving the dishesalmost untouched, scarcely heard them. Once, in her reverie, herthoughts reverted to another Sunday when Hodder had sat, an honouredguest, in the chair which Mr. Langmaid now occupied . . . . 

It was not until they got up from the table that her father turned toher. 

"Did you have a good sermon?" he asked. 

It was the underlying note of challenge to which she responded. 

"The only good sermon I have ever heard. "

Their eyes met. Langmaid looked down at the tip of his cigar. 

"Mr. Hodder, " said Eldon Parr, "is to be congratulated. "

II

Hodder, when the service was over, had sought the familiar recess in therobing-room, the words which he himself had spoken still ringing in hisears. And then he recalled the desperate prayer with which he hadentered the pulpit, that it might be given him in that hour what to say:the vivid memories of the passions and miseries in Dalton Street, thesudden, hot response of indignation at the complacency confronting him. His voice had trembled with anger . . . . He remembered, as he hadpaused in his denunciation of these who had eyes and saw not, meeting theupturned look of Alison Parr, and his anger had turned to pity for theirblindness--which once had been his own; and he had gone on and on, striving to interpret for them his new revelation of the message of theSaviour, to impress upon them the dreadful yet sublime meaning of lifeeternal. And it was in that moment the vision of the meaning of theevolution of his race, of the Prodigal turning to responsibility--ofwhich he once had had a glimpse--had risen before his eyes in itscompleteness--the guiding hand of God in history! The Spirit in thesecomplacent souls, as yet unstirred . . . . 

So complete, now, was his forgetfulness of self, of his future, of theirrevocable consequences of the step he had taken, that it was onlygradually he became aware that some one was standing near him, andwith a start he recognized McCrae. 

"There are some waiting to speak to ye, " his assistant said. 

"Oh!" Hodder exclaimed. He began, mechanically, to divest himself of hissurplice. McCrae stood by. 

"I'd like to say a word, first--if ye don't mind--" he began. 

The rector looked at him quickly. 

"I'd like just to thank ye for that sermon--I can say no more now, " saidMcCrae; he turned away, and left the room abruptly. 

This characteristic tribute from the inarticulate, loyal Scotchman lefthim tingling . . . . He made his way to the door and saw the peoplein the choir room, standing silently, in groups, looking toward him. Some one spoke to him, and he recognized Eleanor Goodrich. 

"We couldn't help coming, Mr. Hodder--just to tell you how much we admireyou. It was wonderful, what you said. "

He grew hot with gratitude, with thankfulness that there were some whounderstood--and that this woman was among them, and her husband . . . Phil Goodrich took him by the hand. 

"I can understand that kind of religion, " he said. "And, if necessary, I can fight for it. I have come to enlist. "

"And I can understand it, too, " added the sunburned Evelyn. "I hope youwill let me help. "

That was all they said, but Hodder understood. Eleanor Goodrich's eyeswere dimmed as she smiled an her sister and her husband--a smile thatbespoke the purest quality of pride. And it was then, as they made wayfor others, that the full value of their allegiance was borne in uponhim, and he grasped the fact that the intangible barrier which hadseparated him from them had at last been broken down: His look followedthe square shoulders and aggressive, close-cropped head of Phil Goodrich, the firm, athletic figure of Evelyn, who had represented to him an entireclass of modern young women, vigorous, athletic, with a scorn of cant inwhich he secretly sympathized, hitherto frankly untouched by spiritualinterests of any sort. She had, indeed, once bluntly told him thatchurch meant nothing to her . . . . 

In that little company gathered in the choir room were certain members ofhis congregation whom, had he taken thought, he would least have expectedto see. There were Mr. And Mrs. Bradley, an elderly couple who hadattended St. John's for thirty years; and others of the sameunpretentious element of his parish who were finding in modern life anincreasingly difficult and bewildering problem. There was little MissTallant, an assiduous guild worker whom he had thought the most orthodoxof persons; Miss Ramsay, who taught the children of the Italian mothers;Mr. Carton, the organist, a professed free-thinker, with whom Hodder hadhad many a futile argument; and Martha Preston, who told him that he hadmade her think about religion seriously for the first time in her life. 

And there were others, types equally diverse. Young men of the choir, and others whom he had never seen, who informed him shyly that they wouldcome again, and bring their friends . . . . 

And all the while, in the background, Hodder had been aware of a familiarface--Horace Bentley's. Beside him, when at length he drew near, was hisfriend Asa Waring--a strangely contrasted type. The uncompromising eyesof a born leader of men flashed from beneath the heavy white eyebrows, the button of the Legion of Honour gleaming in his well-kept coat seemedemblematic of the fire which in his youth had driven him forth to fightfor the honour of his country--a fire still undimmed. It was he whospoke first. 

"This is a day I never expected to see, Mr. Hodder, " he said, "for it hasbrought back to this church the man to whom it owes its existence. Mr. Bentley did more, by his labour and generosity, his true Christianity, his charity and his wisdom, for St. John's than any other individual. It is you who have brought him back, and I wish personally to expressmy gratitude. "

Mr. Bentley, in mild reproof, laid his hand upon the t, shoulder of hisold friend. 

"Ah, Asa, " he protested, "you shouldn't say such things. "

"Had it not been for Mr. Bentley, " Hodder explained, "I should not behere to-day. "

Asa Waring pierced the rector with his eye, appreciating the genuinefeeling with which these words were spoken. And yet his look containeda question. 

"Mr. Bentley, " Hodder added, "has been my teacher this summer. "

The old gentleman's hand trembled a little on the goldheaded stick. 

"It is a matter of more pride to me than I can express, sir, that you arethe rector of this church with which my most cherished memories areassociated, " he said. "But I cannot take any part of the credit you giveme for the splendid vision which you have raised up before us to-day, foryour inspired interpretation of history, of the meaning of our own times. You have moved me, you have given me more hope and courage than I havehad for many a long year--and I thank you, Mr. Hodder. I am sure thatGod will prosper and guide you in what you have so nobly undertaken. "

Mr. Bentley turned away, walking towards the end of the room . . . . Asa Waring broke the silence. 

"I didn't know that you knew him, that you had seen what he is doing--what he has done in this city. I cannot trust myself, Mr. Hodder, tospeak of Horace Bentley's life. . . I feel too strongly on thesubject. I have watched, year by year, this detestable spirit of greed, this lust for money and power creeping over our country, corrupting ourpeople and institutions, and finally tainting the Church itself. Youhave raised your voice against it, and I respect and honour and thank youfor it, the more because you have done it without resorting to sensation, and apparently with no thought of yourself. And, incidentally, you haveexplained the Christian religion to me as I have never had it explainedin my life. 

"I need not tell you you have made enemies--powerful ones. I can seethat you are a man, and that you are prepared for them. They will leaveno stone unturned, will neglect no means to put you out and disgrace you. They will be about your ears to-morrow--this afternoon, perhaps. I neednot remind you that the outcome is doubtful. But I came here to assureyou of my friendship and support in all you hope to accomplish in makingthe Church what it should be. In any event, what you have done to-daywill be productive of everlasting good. "

In a corner still lingered the group which Mr. Bentley had joined. AndHodder, as he made his way towards it, recognized the faces of some ofthose who composed it. Sally Grower was there, and the young women wholived in Mr. Bentley's house, and others whose acquaintance he had madeduring the summer. Mrs. Garvin had brought little Dicky, incrediblychanged from the wan little figure he had first beheld in the stiflingback room in Dalton Street; not yet robust, but freckled and tanned bythe country sun and wind. The child, whom he had seen constantly in theinterval, ran forward joyfully, and Hodder bent down to take his hand. .. . 

These were his friends, emblematic of the new relationship in which hestood to mankind. And he owed them to Horace Bentley! He wondered, ashe greeted them, whether they knew what their allegiance meant to him inthis hour. But it sufficed that they claimed him as their own. 

Behind them all stood Kate Marcy. And it struck him for the first time, as he gazed at her earnestly, how her appearance had changed. She gavehim a frightened, bewildered look, as though she were unable to identifyhim now with the man she had known in the Dalton Street flat, in therestaurant. She was still struggling, groping, wondering, striving toaccustom herself to the higher light of another world. 

"I wanted to come, " she faltered. "Sally Grower brought me. . . "

Hodder went back with them to Dalton Street. His new ministry had begun. And on this, the first day of it, it was fitting that he should sit atthe table of Horace Bentley, even as on that other Sunday, two yearsagone, he had gone to the home of the first layman of the diocese, Eldon Parr. 

III

The peace of God passes understanding because sorrow and joy are mingledtherein, sorrow and joy and striving. And thus the joy of emancipationmay be accompanied by a heavy heart. The next morning, when Hodderentered his study, he sighed as his eye fell upon the unusual pile ofletters on his desk, for their writers had once been his friends. Theinevitable breach had come at last. 

Most of the letters, as he had anticipated, were painful reading. And the silver paper-cutter with which he opened the first had been aChristmas present from Mrs. Burlingame, who had penned it, a lady ofsignal devotion to the church, who for many years had made it her task tosupply and arrange the flowers on the altar. He had amazed and woundedher--she declared--inexpressibly, and she could no longer remain at St. John's--for the present, at least. A significant addition. He droppedthe letter, and sat staring out of the window . . . Presently arousinghimself, setting himself resolutely to the task of reading the rest. 

In the mood in which he found himself he did not atop to philosophizeon the rigid yet sincere attitude of the orthodox. His affection formany of them curiously remained, though it was with some difficulty hestrove to reconstruct a state of mind with which he had once agreed. If Christianity were to sweep on, these few unbending but faithful onesmust be sacrificed: such was the law. . . Many, while repudiating hisnew beliefs--or unbeliefs!--added, to their regrets of the change in him, protestations of a continued friendship, a conviction of his sincerity. Others like Mrs. Atterbury, were frankly outraged and bitter. Thecontents of one lilac-bordered envelope brought to his eyes a faintsmile. Did he know--asked the sender of this--could he know theconsternation he had caused in so many persons, including herself?What was she to believe? And wouldn't he lunch with her on Thursday?

Mrs. Ferguson's letter brought another smile--more thoughtful. Her incoherent phrases had sprung from the heart, and the picture rosebefore him of the stout but frightened, good-natured lady who had neveraccustomed herself to the enjoyment of wealth and luxury. Mr. Fergusonwas in such a state, and he must please not tell her husband that she hadwritten. Yet much in his sermon had struck her as so true. It seemedwrong to her to have so much, and others so little! And he had made herremember many things in her early life she had forgotten. She hoped hewould see Mr. Ferguson, and talk to him. . . . 

Then there was Mrs. Constable's short note, that troubled and puzzledhim. This, too, had in it an undercurrent of fear, and the memory cameto him of the harrowing afternoon he had once spent with her, when shewould have seemed to have predicted the very thing which had now happenedto him. And yet not that thing. He divined instinctively that a maturerthought on the subject of his sermon had brought on an uneasiness as thefull consequences of this new teaching had dawned upon her consequenceswhich she had not foreseen when she had foretold the change. And heseemed to read between the lines that the renunciation he demanded wastoo great. Would he not let her come and talk to him? . . . 

Miss Brewer, a lady of no inconsiderable property, was among those whotold him plainly that if he remained they would have to give up theirpews. Three or four communications were even more threatening. Mr. Alpheus Gore, Mrs. Plimpton's brother, who at five and forty had managedto triple his share of the Gore inheritance, wrote that it would be hisregretful duty to send to the bishop an Information on the subject of Mr. Hodder's sermon. 

There were, indeed, a few letters which he laid, thankfully, in a pile bythemselves. These were mostly from certain humble members of his parishwho had not followed their impulses to go to him after the service, orfrom strangers who had chanced to drop into the church. Some wereautobiographical, such as those of a trained nurse, a stenographer, a hardware clerk who had sat up late Sunday night to summarize what thatsermon had meant to him, how a gray and hopeless existence had taken on anew colour. Next Sunday he would bring a friend who lived in the sameboarding house . . . . Hodder read every word of these, and all werein the same strain: at last they could perceive a meaning to religion, an application of it to such plodding lives as theirs . . . . 

One or two had not understood, but had been stirred, and were coming totalk to him. Another was filled with a venomous class hatred. . . . 

The first intimation he had of the writer of another letter seemed fromthe senses rather than the intellect. A warm glow suffused him, mountedto his temples as he stared at the words, turned over the sheet, and readat the bottom the not very legible signature. The handwriting, by nomeans classic, became then and there indelibly photographed on his brain, and summed up for him the characteristics, the warring elements in AlisonParr. "All afternoon, " she wrote, "I have been thinking of your sermon. It was to me very wonderful--it lifted me out of myself. And oh, I wantso much to believe unreservedly what you expressed so finely, thatreligion is democracy, or the motive power behind democracy--the serviceof humanity by the reborn. I understand it intellectually. I am willingto work for such a Cause, but there is something in me so hard that Iwonder if it can dissolve. And then I am still unable to identify thatCause with the Church as at present constituted, with the dogmas andceremonies that still exist. I am too thorough a radical to have yourpatience. And I am filled with rage--I can think of no milder word--oncoming in contact with the living embodiments of that old creed, who holdits dogmas so precious. 'Which say to the seers, See not; and to theprophets, Prophesy not unto us right things, speak unto us smooth things, prophesy deceits. '"

"You see, I have been reading Isaiah, and when I came to that paragraphit seemed so appropriate. These people have always existed. And willthey not always continue to exist? I wish I could believe, wholly andunreservedly, that this class, always preponderant in the world, could bechanged, diminished--done away with in a brighter future! I can, atleast, sympathize with Isaiah's wrath. 

"What you said of the longing, the yearning which exists to-day amongstthe inarticulate millions moved me most--and of the place of art inreligion, to express that yearning. Religion the motive power of art, and art, too, service. 'Consider the lilies of the field. ' You have madeit, at least, all-comprehensive, have given me a new point of view forwhich I can never be sufficiently grateful--and at a time when I neededit desperately. That you have dared to do what you have done has beenand will be an inspiration, not only to myself, but to many others. This, is a longer letter, I believe, than I have ever written in my life. But I wanted you to know. "

He reread it twice, pondering over its phrases. "A new point of view. .. . At a time when I needed it desperately. " It was not until then that herealized the full intensity of his desire for some expression from hersince the moment he had caught sight of her in the church. But he hadnot been prepared for the unreserve, the impulsiveness with which she hadactually written. Such was his agitation that he did not heed, at first, a knock on the door, which was repeated. He thrust the letter inside hiscoat as the janitor of the parish house appeared. 

"There is a gentleman to see you, sir, in the office, " he said. 

Hodder went down the stairs. And he anticipated, from the light yetnervous pacing that he heard on the bare floor, that the visitor was noneother than his vestryman, Mr. Gordon Atterbury. The sight of thegentleman's spruce figure confirmed the guess. 

"Good morning, Mr. Atterbury, " he said as he entered. 

Mr. Atterbury stopped in his steps, as if he had heard a shot. 

"Ah--good morning, Mr. Hodder. I stopped in on my way to the office. "

"Sit down, " said the rector. 

Mr. Atterbury sat down, but with the air of a man who does so underprotest, who had not intended to. He was visibly filled and almostquivering with an excitement which seemed to demand active expression, and which the tall clergyman's physical calm and self-possession seemedto augment. For a moment Mr. Atterbury stared at the rector as he satbehind his desk. Then he cleared his throat. 

"I thought of writing to you, Mr. Hodder. My mother, I believe, has doneso. But it seemed to me, on second thought, better to come to youdirect. "

The rector nodded, without venturing to remark on the wisdom of thecourse. 

"It occurred to me, " Mr. Atterbury went on, "that possibly some things Iwish to discuss might--ahem be dispelled in a conversation. That I mightconceivably have misunderstood certain statements in your sermon ofyesterday. "

"I tried, " said the rector, "to be as clear as possible. "

"I thought you might not fully have realized the effect of what you said. I ought to tell you, I think, that as soon as I reached home I wrote out, as accurately as I could from memory, the gist of your remarks. And Imust say frankly, although I try to put it mildly, that they appear tocontradict and controvert the doctrines of the Church. "

"Which doctrines?" Hodder asked. 

Gordon Atterbury sputtered. 

"Which doctrines?" he repeated. "Can it be possible that youmisunderstand me? I might refer you to those which you yourself preachedas late as last June, in a sermon which was one of the finest and mostscholarly efforts I ever heard. "

"It was on that day, Mr. Atterbury, " replied the rector, with a touch ofsadness in his voice, "I made the discovery that fine and scholarlyefforts were not Christianity. "

"What do you mean?" Mr. Atterbury demanded. 

"I mean that they do not succeed in making Christians. "

"And by that you imply that the members of your congregation, those whohave been brought up and baptized and confirmed in this church, are notChristians?"

"I am sorry to say a great many of them are not, " said the rector. 

"In other words, you affirm that the sacrament of baptism is of noaccount. "

"I affirm that baptism with water is not sufficient. "

"I'm afraid that this is very grave, " Mr. Hodder. 

"I quite agree with you, " replied the rector, looking straight at hisvestryman. 

"And I understood, --" the other went on, clearing his throat once more, "I think I have it correctly stated in my notes, but I wish to be quiteclear, that you denied the doctrine of the virgin birth. "

Hodder made a strong effort to control himself. 

"What I have said I have said, " he answered, "and I have said it in thehope that it might make some impression upon the lives of those to whom Ispoke. You were one of them, Mr. Atterbury. And if I repeat and amplifymy meaning now, it must be understood that I have no other object exceptthat of putting you in the way of seeing that the religion of Christ isunique in that it is dependent upon no doctrine or dogma, upon noexternal or material sign or proof or authority whatever. I am utterlyindifferent to any action you may contemplate taking concerning me. Readyour four Gospels carefully. If we do not arrive, through contemplationof our Lord's sojourn on this earth, of his triumph over death, of hismessage--which illuminates the meaning of our lives here--at that innerspiritual conversion of which he continually speaks, and which alone willgive us charity, we are not Christians. "

"But the doctrines of the Church, which we were taught from childhood tobelieve? The doctrines which you once professed, and of which you havenow made such an unlooked-for repudiation!"

"Yes, I have changed, " said the rector, gazing seriously at the twitchingfigure of his vestryman, "I was bound, body and soul, by those verydoctrines. " He roused himself. "But on what grounds do you declare, Mr. Atterbury, " he demanded, somewhat sternly, "that this church is fetteredby an ancient and dogmatic conception of Christianity? Where are you tofind what are called the doctrines of the Church? What may be heresy inone diocese is not so in another, and I can refer to you volumes writtenby ministers of this Church, in good standing, whose published opinionsare the same as those I expressed in my sermon of yesterday. The verycornerstone of the Church is freedom, but many have yet to discover this, and we have held in our Communion men of such divergent views as Dr. Pusey and Phillips Brooks. Mr. Newman, in his Tract Ninety, which wassincerely written, showed that the Thirty-nine Articles were capable ofalmost any theological interpretation. From what authoritative sourceare we to draw our doctrines? In the baptismal service the articles ofbelief are stated to be in the Apostles' Creed, but nowhere--in thisChurch is it defined how their ancient language is to be interpreted. That is wisely left to the individual. Shall we interpret the Gospels bythe Creeds, which in turn purport to be interpretations of the Gospels?Or shall we draw our conclusions as to what the Creeds may mean to us bypondering on the life of Christ, and striving to do his will?'The letter killeth, but the Spirit maketh alive. '"

Hodder rose, and stood facing his visitor squarely. He spoke slowly, andthe fact that he made no gesture gave all the more force to his words. 

"Hereafter, Mr. Atterbury, " he added, "so long as I am rector of thischurch, I am going to do my best to carry out the spirit of Christ'steaching--to make Christians. And there shall be no more compromise, so far as I can help it. "

Gordon Atterbury had grown very pale. He, too, got to his feet. 

"I--I cannot trust myself to discuss this matter with you any further, Mr. Hodder. I feel too deeply--too strongly on the subject. I do notpretend to account for this astonishing transformation in your opinions. Up to the present I have deemed St. John's fortunate--peculiarlyfortunate, in having you for its rector. I am bound to say I think youhave not considered, in this change of attitude on your part, those whohave made St. John's what it is, who through long and familiarassociation are bound to it by a thousand ties, --those who, like myself, have what may be called a family interest in this church. My father andmother were married here, I was baptized here. I think I may go so faras to add, Mr. Hodder, that this is our church, the church which acertain group of people have built in which to worship God, as was theirright. Nor do I believe we can be reproached with a lack of hospitalityor charity. We maintain this parish house, with its clubs; and at nosmall inconvenience to ourselves we have permitted the church to remainin this district. There is no better church music in this city, and wehave a beautiful service in the evening at which, all pews are free. Itis not unreasonable that we should have something to say concerning thedoctrine to be preached here, that we should insist that that doctrine bein accordance with what we have always believed was the true doctrine asreceived by this Church. "

Up to this point Mr. Atterbury had had a feeling that he had not carriedout with much distinction the programme which he had so carefullyrehearsed on the way to the parish house. Hodder's poise had amazed andbaffled him--he had expected to find the rector on the defensive. Butnow, burning anew with a sense of injustice, he had a sense at last ofputting his case strongly. 

The feeling of triumph, however, was short lived. Hodder did not replyat once. So many seconds, indeed, went by that Mr. Atterbury began oncemore to grow slightly nervous under the strange gaze to which he wassubjected. And when the clergyman' spoke there was no anger in hisvoice, but a quality--a feeling which was disturbing, and difficult todefine. 

"You are dealing now, Mr. Atterbury, " he said, "with the things ofCaesar, not of God. This church belongs to God--not to you. But youhave consecrated it to him. His truth, as Christ taught it, must not bepreached to suit any man's convenience. When you were young you were nottaught the truth--neither was I. It was mixed with adulterations whichobscured and almost neutralized it. But I intend to face it now, and topreach it, and not the comfortable compromise which gives us the illusionthat we are Christians because we subscribe to certain tenets, andpermits us to neglect our Christian duties. 

"And since you have spoken of charity, let me assure you that there is nosuch thing as charity without the transforming, personal touch. It isn'tthe bread or instruction or amusement we give people vicariously, but theeffect of our gift--even if that gift be only a cup of cold water--inilluminating and changing their lives. And it will avail any churchlittle to have a dozen settlement houses while her members acquiesce ina State which refuses to relieve her citizens from sickness and poverty. Charity bends down only to lift others up. And with all our works, ourexpenditure and toil, how many have we lifted up?"

Gordon Atterbury's indignation got the better of him. For he was thelast man to behold with patience the shattering of his idols. 

"I think you have cast an unwarranted reflection on those who have builtand made this church what it is, Mr. Hodder, " he exclaimed. "And thatyou will find there are in it many--a great many earnest Christians whowere greatly shocked by the words you spoke yesterday, who will nottolerate any interference with their faith. I feel it my duty to speakfrankly, Mr Hodder, disagreeable though it be, in view of our formerrelations. I must tell you that I am not alone in the opinion that youshould resign. It is the least you can do, in justice to us, in justiceto yourself. There are other bodies--I cannot call them churches--whichdoubtless would welcome your liberal, and I must add atrophying, interpretation of Christianity. And I trust that reflection willconvince you of the folly of pushing this matter to the extreme. Weshould greatly deplore the sensational spectacle of St. John's beinginvolved in an ecclesiastical trial, the unpleasant notoriety into whichit would bring a church hitherto untouched by that sort of thing. And Iought to tell you that I, among others, am about to send an Informationto the bishop. "

Gordon Atterbury hesitated a moment, but getting no reply save aninclination of the head, took up his hat. 

"Ahem--I think that is all I have to say, Mr. Hodder. Good morning. "

Even then Hodder did not answer, but rose and held open the door. As hemade his exit under the strange scrutiny of the clergyman's gaze thelittle vestryman was plainly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat oncemore, halted, and then precipitately departed. 

Hodder went to the window and thoughtfully watched the hurrying figureof Mr. Atterbury until it disappeared, almost skipping, around the corner. . . . The germ of truth, throughout the centuries, had lost nothingof its dynamic potentialities. If released and proclaimed it was stillpowerful enough to drive the world to insensate anger and opposition. .. . 

As he stood there, lost in reflection, a shining automobile drew up atthe curb, and from it descended a firm lady in a tight-fitting suit whomhe recognized as Mrs Wallis Plimpton. A moment later she had invaded theoffice--for no less a word may be employed to express her physicalaggressiveness, the glowing health which she radiated. 

"Good morning, Mr. Hodder, " she said, seating herself in one of thestraight-backed chairs. "I have been so troubled since you preached thatsermon yesterday, I could scarcely sleep. And I made up my mind I'd cometo you the first thing this morning. Mr. Plimpton and I have beendiscussing it. In fact, people are talking of nothing else. We dinedwith the Laureston Greys last night, and they, too, were full of it. "Charlotte Plimpton looked at him, and the flow of her words suddenlydiminished. And she added, a little lamely for her, "Spiritual mattersin these days are so difficult, aren't they?"

"Spiritual matters always were difficult, Mrs. Plimpton, " he said. 

"I suppose so, " she assented hurriedly, with what was intended for asmile. "But what I came to ask you is this--what are we to teach ourchildren?"

"Teach them the truth, " the rector replied. 

"One of the things which troubled me most was your reference to moderncriticism, " she went on, recovering her facility. "I was brought up tobelieve that the Bible was true. The governess--Miss Standish, you know, such a fine type of Englishwoman--reads the children Bible stories everySunday evening. They adore them, and little Wallis can repeat themalmost by heart--the pillar of cloud by day, Daniel in the lions' den, and the Wise Men from the East. If they aren't true, some one ought tohave told us before now. "

A note of injury had crept into her voice. 

"How do you feel about these things yourself?" Holder inquired. 

"How do I feel? Why, I have never thought about them very much--theywere there, in the Bible!"

"You were taught to believe them?"

"Of course, " she exclaimed, resenting what seemed a reflection on theGore orthodoxy. 

"Do they in any manner affect your conduct?"

"My conduct?" she repeated. "I don't know what you mean. I was broughtup in the church, and Mr. Plimpton has always gone, and we are bringingup the children to go. Is that what you mean?"

"No, " Hodder answered, patiently, "that is not what I mean. I askwhether these stories in any way enter into your life, become part ofyou, and tend to make you a more useful woman?"

"Well--I have never considered them in that way, " she replied, a littleperplexed. 

"Do you believe in them yourself?"

"Why--I don't know, --I've never thought. I don't suppose I do, absolutely--not in those I have mentioned. "

"And you think it right to teach things to your children which you do notyourself believe?"

"How am I to decide?" she demanded. 

"First by finding out yourself what you do believe, " he replied, with atouch of severity. 

"Mr. Hodder!" she cried in a scandalized voice, "do you mean to say thatI, who have been brought up in this church, do not know what Christianityis. "

He looked at her and shook his head. 

"You must begin by being honest with yourself, " he went on, not heedingher shocked expression. "If you are really in earnest in this matter, I should be glad to help you all I can. But I warn you there is noachievement in the world more difficult than that of becoming a, Christian. It means a conversion of your whole being something which youcannot now even imagine. It means a consuming desire which, --I fear, --inconsideration of your present mode of life, will be difficult toacquire. "

"My present mode of life!" she gasped. 

"Precisely, " said the rector. He was silent, regarding, her. There wasdiscernible not the slightest crack of crevice in the enamel of thiswoman's worldly armour. 

For the moment her outraged feelings were forgotten. The man hadfascinated her. To be told, in this authoritative manner, that she waswicked was a new and delightful experience. It brought back to her thereal motive of her visit, which had in reality been inspired not only bythe sermon of the day before, but by sheer curiosity. 

"What would you have me do?" she demanded. 

"Find yourself. "

"Do you mean to say that I am not--myself?" she asked, now completelybewildered. 

"I mean to say that you are nobody until you achieve conviction. "

For Charlotte Plimpton, nee Gore, to be told in her own city, by therector of her own church that she was nobody was an event hithertoinconceivable! It was perhaps as extraordinary that she did not resent. It. Curiosity still led her on. 

"Conviction?" she repeated. "But I have conviction, Mr. Hodder. Ibelieve in the doctrines of the Church. "

"Belief!" he exclaimed, and checked himself strongly. "Convictionthrough feeling. Not until then will you find what you were put in theworld for. "

"But my husband--my children? I try to do my duty. "

"You must get a larger conception of it, " Hodder replied. 

"I suppose you mean, " she declared, "that I am to spend the rest of mylife in charity. "

"How you would spend the rest of your life would be revealed to you, "said the rector. 

It was the weariness in his tone that piqued her now, the intimationthat he did not believe in her sincerity--had not believed in it fromthe first. The life-long vanity of a woman used to be treated withconsideration, to be taken seriously, was aroused. This extraordinaryman had refused to enter into the details which she inquisitively craved. 

Charlotte Plimpton rose. 

"I shall not bother you any longer at present, Mr. Hodder, " she saidsweetly. "I know you must have, this morning especially, a great deal totrouble you. "

He met her scrutiny calmly. 

"It is only the things we permit to trouble us that do so, Mrs. Plimpton, " he replied. "My own troubles have arisen largely from a lackof faith on the part of those whom I feel it is my duty to influence. "

It was then she delivered her parting shot, which she repeated, with muchsatisfaction, to her husband that evening. She had reached the door. "Was there a special service at Calvary yesterday?" she asked innocently, turning back. 

"Not that I know of. "

"I wondered. Mr. Parr was there; I'm told--and he's never been knownto desert St. John's except on the rarest occasions. But oh, Mr. Hodder, I must congratulate you on your influence with Alison. When she has beenout here before she never used to come to church at all. "