A Face Illumined Part 29

"My gracious! You might as well turn me out of your room."

"Mother, I wish to be alone," said Ida, pa.s.sionately.

"A pretty life I lead of it between you and your father," sobbed Mrs. Mayhew, retreating to her own apartment.

"A hateful, wretched life we all three shall lead to the end of time, for aught that I can see," Ida groaned as she restlessly paced her room; "but I have no better resource than to follow father's example."

She took an opiate, and so escaped from thought for a time in the deep lethargy it brought.

Chapter XXV. Half-truths.

A church bell was ringing in a neighboring village the following morning when Ida awoke. The sunlight streamed in at the open window through the half-closed blinds, flecking the floor with bars of light. Birds were singing in the trees without, and a southern breeze rustled through the foliage as a sweet low accompaniment.

Surely it was a bright pleasant world on which her heavy eyes were opening.

Poor child! she was fast learning now that the darkest clouds that shadow our paths are not the vapors that rise from the earth, but the thoughts and memories of an unhappy and a sinful heart.

The sunlight mocked her; and her spirit was so out of tune that the sweet sounds of nature made jarring discord.

But the church bell caught her attention. How natural and almost universal is the instinct which leads us when in trouble to seek the support of some Higher power. No matter how wayward the human child may have been, how hardened by years of wrong, or arrogantly entrenched in some phase of rational philosophy, when the darkness of danger or sorrow blots out the light of earthly hopes, or hides the path which was trodden so confidently, then, with the impulse of frightened children whom night has suddenly overtaken, there is a longing for the Father's hand and the Father's rea.s.suring voice.

If there is no G.o.d to love and help us, human nature is a lie.

Thus far Ida Mayhew had no more thought of turning Heavenward for help than to the philosophy of Plato. Indeed, religion as a system of truth, and Greek philosophy were almost equally unknown to her.

But that church-bell reminded her of the source of hope and help to which burdened hearts have been turning in all the ages, and with the vague thought that she might find some light and cheer that was not in the suns.h.i.+ne, she hastily dressed and went down in time to catch one of the last carriages. When she reached the church, she found her mother had preceded her, and that her cousin Ik Stanton was also there; but she correctly surmised that the only devotion to which he was inclined had been inspired by Miss Burton, who sat not far away. She was soon satisfied that Van Berg was not present.

As a general thing, when at church, Ida had given more consideration to the people and the toilets about her than to either the service or the sermon; but to-day she wistfully turned her thoughts to both, in the hope that they might do her good, although she had as vague an idea as to the mode or process as if both were an Indian incantation.

But she was thoroughly disappointed. Her thoughts wandered continually from the services. With almost the vividness of bodily presence, three faces were looking upon her--her father's with an infinite reproach; Sibley's, with smiling lips and wolfish eyes; and Van Berg's, first coolly questioning and exploring in its expression, and then coldly averted and scornful in consequence of what he had discovered. Not houses, but minds are haunted.

The clergyman, however, was an able, forcible speaker, and held her attention from the first. His sermon was topical rather than textual in its character; that is, he enlarged on what he termed "the irreconcilable enmity between G.o.d and the world," taking as his texts the following selections:

"The carnal mind is enmity against G.o.d."

And again, "Whosoever, therefore, will be a friend of the world, is the enemy of G.o.d."

The sermon was chiefly an argument; and the point of it was that there could be no compromise between these contending powers--G.o.d on one side, the world on the other--and he insisted that his hearers must be, and were with one party or the other. The trouble was, that in concentrating his thoughts on the single point he meant to make, he took too much for granted--namely, that all his hearers understood sufficiently the character of G.o.d, and the sense in which the Bible uses the term "world," not to misapprehend the nature of his "enmity." To seasoned church-goers the sermon was both true and very satisfactory.

But when the minister reached the conclusion of his argument with the words, "So then, they that are in the flesh cannot please G.o.d,"

poor Ida drew a long dreary sigh, and wished she had remained at home. She was certainly "in the flesh," if any one were; and in addition to the fact that she neither pleased herself nor any one else that she respected and loved, she was now given the a.s.surance, apparently fortified by Holy Writ, that she could not "please G.o.d."

The simple and divine diplomacy by which this "enmity" is removed was unknown to her.

She turned to note how Miss Burton received a message that was so unwelcome to herself, and saw that she was not listening. There was a dreamy far-away look in her eyes that clearly was not inspired by the thought of "enmity."

"She is probably thinking of the artist and the ideal future that he can give her. How foolish it is in poor Ik there to try to rival HIM! It was an unlucky day for us both, cousin of mine, when we came to this place!"

More disheartened and despondent than ever, she rode homeward with her mother, answering questions only in monosyllables. All that religion had said to her that morning was: "Give up the world--all with which you have hitherto been familiar, and have enjoyed." G.o.d was an infinite, all-powerful, remote abstraction, and yet for His sake she must resign everything which would enable her to forget, or at least disguise the pain and jealousy which were at times almost unendurable; and she knew of no subst.i.tute with which to replace "the world" she was asked to forego.

This religion of mere negation, expulsion, and restraint is too often presented to the mind. d.y.k.es and levees are very useful, and in some places essential; but if low malarial sh.o.r.es could be lifted up into breezy hills and table-lands, this would be better.

This is not only possible, but it is the true method in respect to the human soul; and one should seek to grow better not by sedulous effort to keep out an evil world, but rather to fill up his heart with a good pure world such as G.o.d made and blessed.

The sermon Ida heard that morning, therefore, only added to the burden that was already too heavy to be carried much longer.

Chapter XXVI. Sunday Table-talk.

To the relief of all save Mrs. Mayhew, Sibley dined with a couple of young, fast men, who enforced their invitation by the irresistible attraction of a bottle of wine.

"There is too much starch and dignity at that table to suit me, any way," he remarked. "There are those two model saints, who led our devotions last Sunday evening, flirting with ponderous gravity with that deep little school-ma'am, who has turned both their heads, but can't make up her mind which of them to capture, both being such marvellously good game for one of her cla.s.s. Cute Yankee as she believes herself to be, she's a fool to think that either of them is more than playing with her. By Jupiter! but it would be sport to cut 'em both out; and I could do it if I were up here a week. Those who know the world know that such women cipher out these matters in the spirit of New England thrift, and you have only to mislead them with sufficient plausible data to capture them body and soul." And Sibley complacently sipped his wine as if he had stated all there was to be said on the subject. Few men prided themselves more on a profound knowledge of the world than he.

Ida's despondency while at dinner was so great she could not throw it off. Listlessly and wearily she barely tasted of the different courses as they were pa.s.sed to her. She consciously made only one effort, and that was to appear utterly indifferent to Van Berg; and both circ.u.mstances and his contemptuous neglect made but little feigning necessary. The evening before had a.s.sociated her so inseparably in his mind with Sibley, that he was beginning to regard her with aversion.

"Trivial natures are disturbed by trivial causes," he thought; "and she looks as if the world had turned black because Sibley has been lured from her side for an hour by a bottle of wine. He'll revive her again before supper."

"How wintry that old gentleman looks who is just entering!" Stanton remarked. "It makes one s.h.i.+ver to think of becoming as frosty and white as he."

"Oh, don't speak of being old!" cried Mrs. Mayhew. "Remember there are some at the table who are in greater danger of that final misfortune than you young people."

"Do you dread being old, Miss Burton?" Van Berg asked.

"No; but I do the process of growing old."

"For once we think alike, Miss Burton," said Ida abruptly. "To think of plodding on through indefinite dreary years toward the miserable conclusion of old age! and yet it is said nothing is so sweet as life."

"Really, Cousin, your advance down the ages reminds one more of a quickstep than of 'plodding,'" remarked Stanton.

"The step matters little," she retorted, "as long as you feel as if you were going to your own funeral. I agree with Miss Burton, that growing old is worse than being old, thought Heaven knows that both are bad enough."

"I'm not sure that Heaven would agree with either of us," said Miss Burton, gently.

"I fear the sermon did not do you much good, Coz," said Stanton, maliciously.

"No; it did not. It did me harm, if such a thing were possible,"

was the reckless reply.

"Human nature is generally regarded as capable of improvement,"

remarked Stanton, sententiously.