Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 45

My face crimsoned, but I looked up bravely into the honest eyes watching me.

"Must I confess even my thoughts to you, Mr. Winthrop? I have had to ask that question before?"

"Not necessarily. But I have a fancy just now to know what else you were thinking of."

I hesitated a moment, and then said bravely: "I was looking at your face, and it occurred to me that in some faces there was the same power to thrill one's soul that there is in splendid music, or poems that can never die."

"You were in a very imaginative and sentimental mood to trace such a.n.a.logies. It is not wise to see so much in a common human face."

"Do we not sometimes get glimpses of G.o.d in that way?" I asked.

"Are you always thinking such high thoughts, Medoline?"

"Oh, no, indeed. When I have nothing to inspire them, my thoughts are very commonplace. The brook cannot rise higher than its source; it needs artificial help to scale mountain tops."

He looked at me kindly as he said: "You are not fashioned after the regulation models of the woman of to-day."

"I think I have heard that idea expressed in varying phrases a good many times since I came to America."

"It does not displease you?"

"It used to at first. Possibly I am getting used to it now. I see there is so much genuine unhappiness in the world, I am not going to grieve over the mild criticisms of my friends."

"A very philosophic conclusion to come to. But does it not occur to you that other meanings than unkindly ones may be taken from these chance remarks we let fall?"

"It would please me if I could," I said, looking at him with pleased eagerness. Mrs. Flaxman entered the room then, ready for church. My head was aching severely, and a distressing giddiness occasionally seized me; but I was so eager for this long coveted privilege, I kept silent about my feelings. Sickness and I were such strangers to each other, I scarcely understood its premonitory warnings.

CHAPTER XXV.

BEECH STREET WORSHIPPERS.

As we neared the Beech Street Church, we found a crowd of persons hurrying in the same direction. Mrs. Flaxman expressed her astonishment; since she supposed Mr. Lathrop's flock to be small in number, and humble in its cla.s.s of adherents. When we reached the door, a glance inside revealed the fact that it was already comfortably filled, and where all the approaching throng were to be bestowed was a mystery. Daniel Blake was one of the ushers. His face brightened at sight of us. Nodding respectfully to Mr. Winthrop, he led us to one of the best seats in the house. I glanced around at the large congregation, and was impressed by the solemn hush pervading the place, and the expectant look on the faces of the worshippers. Mr. Bowen was sitting near and I wanted Mr. Winthrop to see and know him; so I took out my pencil and wrote on the leaf of my hymn book directing his attention to my friend. He looked keenly at the pale, rapt face, and then with a scarce perceptible smile turned to me.

The church kept filling; and while yet the people were streaming in, the minister arose, and after a brief, but exceedingly solemn invocation, gave out the hymn. In an alcove just behind the preacher's stand was a cabinet organ, and some half dozen singers, male and female; but once the singing had got well under way, organ and choir were as though they were not; nearly every one in the house was singing save myself and Mr.

Winthrop. I kept silent the more keenly to enjoy the heavy volume of sound which impressed me as more reverent praise than any church music I had ever heard. I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He too was looking over the dense ma.s.s of humanity with a curious intentness, as if here were some entirely new experience. When the hymn was ended there was a moment's hush after the congregation had bowed in reverent act of worship and then the preacher's voice rose in earnest pleading. I noticed it was better modulated than at Mrs. Blake's funeral, possibly the effort to make himself heard by the scattered groups on that occasion caused the difference. My eyes filled with tears, and a strange trembling seized me as the pet.i.tions grew more earnest; the prayer was short, yet so much was comprehended in it. The Scripture lesson was read in very natural, but also solemn manner, without any attempt at rhetorical display, yet bringing out the subtle meanings of the pa.s.sage in a peculiarly realistic way. The sermon was delivered in much the same manner; but in every word and gesture there seemed a reserve power and dignity, while the thoughts were strong and original; and better than all, they made one wish to be purer, more unselfish, in fact Christ-like.

The place seemed pervaded by some mysterious influence never experienced by me before in any church. The sermon was ended at last; the Judgment Day was the theme; all the old horror that used haunt me in childhood, when I thought upon this awful period in my soul's future, came back to me as the preacher with a power scarce short of inspiration pictured that day. I could hear Mrs. Flaxman's subdued weeping while in every part of the house, tears and low sobs added to the solemnity of the scene. Mr.

Winthrop sat with folded arms and set stern face, apparently unmoved; but the intent watchfulness of his face as he followed the preacher a.s.sured me that the sermon was making an impression. A hymn was sung when the sermon was ended, and then all who wished to remain to the after-meeting were a.s.sured of a welcome, no matter to what church they belonged, or if aliens from all.

I scarce dared lift my eyes to Mr. Winthrop lest he might be preparing to leave; but to my relief he sat calmly down along with nearly the entire congregation, and then the other meeting began first with a number of prayers, afterward with speaking by men and women all over the house.

When Mr. Bowen prayed, there was a solemn hush as if the people were almost holding their breath lest some word might be missed. I could not wonder that men's hearts were melted by the power and tenderness of his utterances. Strange that G.o.d should hide such gifts away for years when the world was in such need of workers. Along through the meeting there were occasional s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, deep, resonant melody that uplifted the heart as it welled up from glad, thankful souls. Men and women rose, for the most part with modest calmness, and told what G.o.d had done for them, and what they still expected from our Father as loving as He is rich. I listened spellbound. Some of them had a story to tell so like my own that my heart was thrilled at times. I wanted to tell what G.o.d had done for me, but before that crowded house, and worse than all, in presence of Mr. Winthrop, I found it impossible; but just at the close the minister, with a kindly thoughtfulness for which I blessed him said: "There may be some one here who loves Christ but has not courage to tell us so. If they are willing to witness for Him we extend them the privilege of doing this by merely rising to their feet."

My heart beat painfully and my head swam, but forgetful of my guardian's displeasure, and the concentrated gaze of some hundreds of eyes, I stood up. I heard a heartfelt "praise G.o.d," from the direction of Mr. Bowen's pew, and then there was a gentle rustle in every part of the house, and scores stood up, Mrs. Flaxman among the rest. The meeting closed quietly, and in the same solemn hush the people departed.

Mr. Winthrop stood, waiting for the crowd to leave, not seeing the many curious glances bent our way. Presently the minister was pa.s.sing our pew; he paused uncertainly, wishing to speak, I knew from the expression of his face, but waiting for Mr. Winthrop first to make some sign of recognition. I stood near enough to reach my hand; my act speedily followed by Mrs. Flaxman; and then with rare grace and courtesy Mr.

Winthrop extended his hand, saying: "I have to thank you for your very faithful sermon. I did not know the present generation of preachers dared talk so plainly to their hearers."

"Perhaps you do not go in the way of hearing them; the race of heroes is not yet extinct. Not that I reckon myself a hero," he added, with an amused smile at the slip of tongue.

"The rack and flames are not necessary to prove one a hero or martyr. I dare say many who do not choose to live for their religion would die for it if it came in their way to do so."

"Yourself among the number, I believe, Mr. Winthrop," the minister said, with a penetrating look, that Mr. Winthrop returned in kind.

"I would take it as a favor if you would dine with us some day soon, and give me an evening of your society. We might have some topics in common to discuss," Mr. Winthrop said, to the surprise of each of us, Mr.

Lathrop included. "Possibly you do not make such engagements on the Sabbath. Pardon me, I had forgotten you were a conscientious man," he said, after a short pause, seeing Mr. Lathrop hesitate.

"It is not my usual custom, but nevertheless, I accept your invitation with pleasure."

Mr. Bowen was waiting to speak with his minister, it may be hoping to exchange greeting with us as well. I whispered softly to Mr. Winthrop:

"Would you like to speak to Mr. Bowen?"

"If it is your desire, I will do so."

"I would like you to speak with him very much."

I made my way quickly to Mr. Bowen's side. He was standing a little way down the aisle from us. The grasp of his hand and glance of his eye were like a benediction.

"I was glad to see you here," he said, in his quiet way, which meant more than extravagant protestations from others. "There was bread for you, I think."

"Yes, and wine; better far than human lips ever quaffed."

"The new wine of our Father's Kingdom," he said, softly, with such a glad light in his eyes reminding me of some spiritual illumination the flesh could not wholly conceal.

Mr. Winthrop soon joined us, and never did I feel more grateful to my guardian than when I watched his gracious bearing towards my friend. If he had been some noted literary gentleman, he could not have been more genial and polite.

"My ward has talked so much about you that, out of pure curiosity, I came to see and hear you to-night," he said, as they walked side by side towards the door. A faint flush pa.s.sed over Mr. Bowen's face, but he made no reply. I was much better pleased than if he had exclaimed against his own poor abilities, as some would have done, or rhapsodized over his indebtedness to me. I knew from the expression of Mr. Winthrop's face that he was pleased with him, and on our way home, he said: "You are like a magnet, Medoline. You draw the best types of humanity to you as the lodestone does the steel."

"You like Mr. Bowen, then?"

"I do not know him well enough yet for that; but he has genius. Da Vinci would have taken him for a model for the beloved disciple if he had lived in his day. I never saw a more spiritual face in any human being."

"He is like the disciple whom Jesus loved in one thing--he loves the Christ best of all."

"Was not that a wonderful meeting, Mr. Winthrop?" Mrs. Flaxman asked, after we had seated ourselves cosily by the bright fire in the drawing-room.

"I do not profess to be a judge in such matters."

"I think a heathen would have felt some before unknown spiritual influence there to-night, if he had understood our language," I exclaimed.

"Heathen and Christian alike are not so susceptible to spiritual influences as you, Medoline; so in harmony with the unseen and unknowable as you are getting to be."

"Religion cannot be cla.s.sed with the unknowable. G.o.d only leaves us in uncertainty when we wilfully close our eyes to his teachings."