A Face Illumined Part 22

In her sweet, low, yet penetrating voice, that now had a pathos which melted every heart, she sang the following words, which, like the perfume of crushed violets, have risen in prayer from many bruised and broken sprits:

"My G.o.d, my father, while I stray Far from my home on life's rough way, Oh teach me from my heart to say, Thy will be done.

What though in lonely grief I sigh For friends beloved no longer nigh; Submissive still would I reply, Thy will be done.

Renew my will from day to day; Blend it with Thine, and take away Whate'er now makes it hard to say, Thy will be done.

Then when on earth I breathe no more, The prayer oft mixed with tears before, I'll sing upon a happier sh.o.r.e, Thy will be done."

Stanton, warm-hearted and genuine with all his faults, retired well into the shadow of the hallway and looked at the singer through the lenses of sympathetic tears.

"Poor orphan girl," he muttered. "What a villain a man would be who could purpose harm to you!"

Van Berg, in accordance with his cooler and less demonstrative nature, kept his position at her side, but he regarded her with an expression of respect and interest that caused Ida Mayhew, who was watching from her covert near, a sense of pain and envy that surprised her by its keenness.

With a sudden longing which indicated that the wish came direct from from her heart, she sighed:

"What would I not give to see him look at me with that expression on his face!"

Then, startled by her own thought, so vivid had it been, she looked around as if in fear it was apparent to her companion.

His eyes were in truth bent upon her, and in the dusk they seemed like livid coals. A moment later, as with a shrinking sense of fear she furtively looked at him again, his eyes suggested those of some animal of prey that is possessed only with the wolfish desire to devour, caring for the victim only as it may gratify the ravenous appet.i.te.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear:

"Miss Ida, you do not know how strangely, how temptingly beautiful you are to-night. One might well peril his soul for such beauty as yours."

"Hush," she said imperiously, and with a repelling gesture, she stepped further into the light towards the singers.

"Then, when on earth I breathe no more," sang Miss Burton.

The thought was to the heart of the unhappy listener like the touch of ice to the hand. There was a kindling light of hope in Miss Burton's face, and something in her tone that indicated the courage of an unfaltering trust as she sang the closing lines:

"I'll sing upon a happier sh.o.r.e, Thy will be done."

But the words brought a deeper despondency to Ida Mayhew. In bitterness she asked herself, "What chance is there for me to reach 'that happier sh.o.r.e,' with the tempter at my side and everything in the present and past combining to drag me down?"

"There, thank heaven 'meetin's over,'" whispered Sibley, as Miss Burton rose from the piano. "I'm sick of all this pious twaddle, and would a thousand-fold rather listen to the music of your voice out under the trees."

"You 'thank heaven'!" she repeated with a reckless laugh. "I'm inclined to think, Mr. Sibley, from the nature of your words, you named the wrong locality."

The answering look he gave her indicated that she puzzled him.

She had not seemed to-day like the shallow girl who had hitherto accepted of his more innocent compliments as if they were sugar-plums, and merely raised her finger in mock warning at such as contained a spice of wickedness and boldness. There seemed a current of thought in her mind which he could not fathom, and whether it were carrying her away or toward him he was not sure. He understood and welcomed the element of recklessness, but did not like the way in which she looked at Van Berg, nor did it suit his purposes that she should hear so much of what he characterized as "pious twaddle."

He whispered again bolder words than he had ever spoken to her before.

"I wish no better heaven than the touch of your hand and the light of your eyes. See, the moon is rising; come with me, for this is the very witching hour for a ramble."

She turned upon him a startled look, for he seemed the very embodiment of temptation. But she only said coldly:

"Hus.h.!.+ Mr. Van Berg is about to sing," and she stepped so far into the lighted room that the artist saw her.

When Miss Burton rose from the piano she did not return to her seat in the parlor, but stood in the shadow of the door-way leading into the hall. The thought of her hymn had come so directly from her heart, that her eyes were slightly moist with an emotion that was more plainly manifest on many other faces. The old gentleman who had asked her to sing had taken off his spectacles and was openly wiping his eyes.

Stanton, ashamed to have her see the feeling she had evoked, turned his back upon her and slowly walked down the corridor. She misunderstood his act and thought it caused by indifference or dislike for the sentiment she had expressed. He had seemed to her thus far only a superficial man of the world, and this act struck her as characteristic. But beyond this pa.s.sing impression she did not give him a thought, and turned, with genuine interest, to listen to Van Berg who had said to her:

"I remember a few simple verses which have no merit save that they express what I wish rather than what I am."

With much more feeling, and therefore power, than was his custom, he sang as follows:

"I would I knew Thee better-- That trust could banish doubt; I wish that from 'the letter'

Thy Spirit might s.h.i.+ne out.

I wish that heaven were nearer-- That earth were more akin To the home that should be dearer Than the one so marred by sin.

I wish that deserts dreary Might blossom as the rose, That souls, despairing, weary, Might smile and find repose."

Before singing the next stanza he could not forbear looking to see if Miss Mayhew were listening, and thus it happened that his glance gave peculiar emphasis to the thought expressed. She was looking at him with an intensity of expression that he did not understand.

Nothing that he did escaped her, and the quick flash of his eyes in her direction unintentionally gave the following words the force and pointedness of an open rebuke;

"I wish that outward beauty Were the mirror of the heart, That purity and duty Supplanted wily art."

He did not see that with a sudden flame of scarlet in her face she stepped back on the dusky piazza as abruptly as if she had received a blow. Had he done so, he might not have sung as effectively the remaining verses. After the first confused moment of shame and resentment pa.s.sed, she paused only long enough to note with a sense of relief that others had not seen or made any such application of his words as she believed he had intended, and then she took Mr.

Sibley's arm and walked away, leaving the remaning two verses unheard--

"I wish that all were better And nearer to their G.o.d-- That evil's broken fetter Were buried with His rod;

That love might last forever, And we, in future, find There is no power to sever The strong and true in mind."

As he sang the last verse there was also a rapid change in the expression of Miss Burton's face. There was something of her old pallor that has been mentioned before. She looked at him questioningly a moment as if to see if he were consciously making an allusion that touched her very nearly, and then, seemingly overcome by some sudden emotion that she would gladly hide, she quickly vanished down the dimly lighted hallway, and was seen no more until she came down to breakfast the following morning, as smiling and cheery as ever.

"Confound you, Van," said Stanton, as the artist escaped from the thanks of the audience into the hall, "What did you put in that last verse for? You made her think of seeing her dead friends again, and so she was in no mood to speak to us poor mortals who are still plodding on in this 'vale of tears.' I'd give my ears for a quiet chat with her to-night. By Jove, I never was so stirred up before, and could turn Christian, Mohammedan, Buddhist, or anything else, if she asked me to."

"In either case, Ik," said Van Berg, "your wors.h.i.+p would be the same, I imagine, and would never rise higher than the priestess."

"Curse it all," exclaimed Stanton impetuously, "I feel to-night as if that were higher than I can ever rise. I never was afraid of a woman before; but no 'divinity' ever 'hedged a king' like that which fills me with an indescribable awe when I approach this una.s.suming little woman who usually seems no more formidable than a flickering sunbeam. I agree with you now. She has evidently had some deep experience in the past that gives to her character a power and depth that we only half understand. I wish I knew her better."

"Good-night," said Van Berg, a little abruptly; "I think that after this evening's experience, neither of us is in the mood for further talk."