第16章

IX

Shewasawakenedbythescreamofanengine，andlookedaroundheramazed。Herneckhadfallensidewayswhilesheslept，andfelthorridlystiff;herheadached，andshewasshivering。Shesawbytheclockthatitwaspastfive。’IfonlyIcouldgetsometea！’shethought。’AnywayIwon’tstayhereanylonger！’Whenshehadwashed，andrubbedsomeofthestiffnessoutofherneck，thetearenewedhersenseofadventurewonderfully。Hertraindidnotstartforanhour;shehadtimeforawalk，towarmherself，andwentdowntotheriver。Therewasanearlyhaze，andalllookedalittlemysterious;butpeoplewerealreadypassingontheirwaytowork。

Shewalkedalong，lookingatthewaterflowingupunderthebrightmisttowhichthegullsgaveasortofhoveringlife。ShewentasfarasBlackfriarsBridge，andturningback，satdownonabenchunderaplane—tree，justasthesunbrokethrough。Alittlepastywomanwithapinchedyellowishfacewasalreadysittingthere，sostill，andseemingtoseesolittle，thatNoelwonderedofwhatshecouldbethinking。Whileshewatched，thewoman’sfacebeganpuckering，andtearsrolledslowly，down，tricklingfrompuckertopucker，till，summoninguphercourage，Noelsidlednearer，andsaid:

"Oh！What’sthematter？"

Thetearsseemedtostopfromsheersurprise;littlegreyeyesgazedround，patientlittleeyesfromaboveanalmostbridgelessnose。

"I’adababy。It’sdead……itsfather’sdeadinFrance……Iwasgoin’inthewater，butIdidn’tlikethelookofit，andnowIneverwill。"

That"NowIneverwill，"movedNoelterribly。Sheslidherarmalongthebackofthebenchandclaspedtheskinniestofshoulders。

"Don’tcry！"

"Itwasmyfirst。I’mthirty—eight。I’llnever’aveanother。Oh！

Whydidn’tIgointhewater？"

Thefacepuckeredagain，andthesqueezed—outtearsrandown。’Ofcourseshemustcry，’thoughtNoel;’cryandcrytillitfeelsbetter。’Andshestrokedtheshoulderofthelittlewoman，whoseemotionwasdisengagingthescentofoldclothes。

"ThefatherofmybabywaskilledinFrance，too，"shesaidatlast。

Thelittlesadgreyeyeslookedcuriouslyround。

"Was’e？’Aveyougotyourbabystill？"

"Yes，oh，yes！"

"I’mgladofthat。It’urtssobad，itdoes。I’dratherloseme’usbandthanmebaby，anyday。"Thesunwasshiningnowonacheekofthatterriblypatientface;itsbrightnessseemedcruelperchingthere。

"CanIdoanythingtohelpyou？"Noelmurmured。

"No，thankyou，miss。I’mgoin’’omenow。Idon’tlivefar。Thankyoukindly。"Andraisinghereyesforonemoreofthosehalf—

bewilderedlooks，shemovedawayalongtheEmbankmentwall。Whenshewasoutofsight，Noelwalkedbacktothestation。Thetrainwasin，andshetookherseat。Shehadthreefellowpassengers，allinkhaki;verysilentandmoody，asmenarewhentheyhavetogetupearly。Onewastall，dark，andperhapsthirty—five;thesecondsmall，aridaboutfifty，withcropped，scantygreyhair;thethirdwasofmediumheightandquitesixty—five，withalongrowoflittlecolouredpatchesonhistunic，andabald，narrow，well—shapedhead，greyhairbrushedbackatthesides，andthethin，collectedfeaturesanddroopingmoustacheoftheoldschool。ItwasathimthatNoellooked。Whenheglancedoutofthewindow，orotherwiseretiredwithinhimself，shelikedhisface;butwhenheturnedtotheticket—

collectororspoketotheothers，shedidnotlikeithalfsomuch。

Itwasasiftheoldfellowhadtwoselves，oneofwhichheusedwhenalone，theotherinwhichhedressedeverymorningtomeettheworld。

TheyhadbeguntotalkaboutsomeTribunalonwhichtheyhadtosit。

Noeldidnotlisten，butawordortwocarriedtohernowandthen。

"Howmanyto—day？"sheheardtheoldfellowask，andthelittlecroppedmananswering:"Hundredandfourteen。"

Freshfromthesightofthepoorlittleshabbywomanandhergrief，shecouldnothelpasortofshrinkingfromthattrimoldsoldier，withhisthin，regularface，whoheldthefateofa"Hundredandfourteen"inhisfirm，narrowgrasp，perhapseveryday。Wouldheunderstandtheirtroublesorwants？Ofcoursehewouldn’t！Then，shesawhimlookingathercriticallywithhiskeeneyes。Ifhehadknownhersecret，hewouldbethinking:’Aladyandactlikethat！

Oh，no！Quite—quiteoutofthequestion！’Andshefeltasifshecould，sinkundertheseatwithshame。Butnodoubthewasonlythinking:’Veryyoungtobetravellingbyherselfatthishourofthemorning。Prettytoo！’Ifheknewtherealtruthofher——howhewouldstare！Butwhyshouldthisutterstranger，thisolddisciplinarian，byacasualglance，bythemereformofhisface，makeherfeelmoreguiltyandashamedthanshehadyetfelt？Thatpuzzledher。Hewas，mustbe，anarrow，conventionaloldman;buthehadthispowertomakeherfeelashamed，becauseshefeltthathehadfaithinhisgods，andwastruetothem;becausesheknewhewoulddiesoonerthandepartfromhiscreedofconduct。Sheturnedtothewindow，bitingherlips—angryanddespairing。Shewouldnever——nevergetusedtoherposition;itwasnogood！Andagainshehadthelongingofherdream，totuckherfaceawayintothatcoat，smellthescentofthefrieze，snugglein，beprotected，andforget。’IfIhadbeenthatpoorlonelylittlewoman，’shethought，’andhadlosteverything，Ishouldhavegoneintothewater。Ishouldhaverushedandjumped。It’sonlyluckthatI’malive。Iwon’tlookatthatoldmanagain:thenIshan’tfeelsobad。’

Shehadboughtsomechocolateatthestation，andnibbledit，gazingsteadilyatthefieldscoveredwithdaisiesandthefirstofthebuttercupsandcowslips。Thethreesoldiersweretalkingnowincarefullyloweredvoices。Thewords:"women，""undercontrol，"

"perfectplague，"cametoher，makingherearsburn。Inthehypersensitivemoodcausedbythestrainofyesterday，herbrokennight，andtheemotionalmeetingwiththelittlewoman，shefeltasiftheywereincludingheramongthose"women。"’Ifwestop，I’llgetout，’shethought。Butwhenthetraindidstopitwastheywhogotout。ShefelttheoldGeneral’skeenveiledglancesumherupforthelasttime，andlookedfullathimjustforamoment。Hetouchedhiscap，andsaid:"Willyouhavethewindowupordown？"

andlingeredtodrawithalf—wayup。’Hispunctiliousnessmadeherfeelworsethanever。Whenthetrainhadstartedagainsheroamedupanddownheremptycarriage;therewasnomoreawayoutofherpositionthanoutofthisrollingcushionedcarriage！AndthensheseemedtohearFort’svoicesaying:’Sitdown，please！’andtofeelhisfingersclaspherwrist，Oh！hewasniceandcomforting;hewouldneverreproachorremindher！Andnow，probably，shewouldneverseehimagain。

Thetraindrewupatlast。ShedidnotknowwhereGeorgelodged，andwouldhavetogotohishospital。Sheplannedtogetthereathalfpastnine，andhavingeatenasortofbreakfastatthestation，wentforthintothetown。Theseasidewasstillwrappedintheearlyglamourwhichhauntschalkofabrightmorning。Butthestreetswereverymuchalive。Herewasrealbusinessofthewar。Shepassedhouseswhichhadbeenwrecked。Trucksclangedandshunted，greatlorriesrumbledsmoothlyby。Sea——andAir—planesweremovinglikegreatbirdsfarupinthebrighthaze，andkhakiwaseverywhere。ButitwastheseaNoelwanted。Shemadeherwaywestwardtoalittlebeach;and，sittingdownonastone，openedherarmstocatchthesunonherfaceandchest。Thetidewasnearlyup，withthewaveletsofabluebrightsea。Thegreatfact，thegreatestfactintheworld，exceptthesun;vastandfree，makingeverythinghumanseemsmallandtransitory！Itdidhergood，likeatranquillisingfriend。Theseamightbecruelandterrible，awfulthingsitcoulddo，andawfulthingswerebeingdoneonit;butitswidelevelline，itsnever—

endingsong，itssanesavour，werethebestmedicineshecouldpossiblyhavetaken。SherubbedtheShellysandbetweenherfingersinabsurdecstasy;tookoffhershoesandstockings，paddled，andsatdryingherlegsinthesun。

Whensheleftthelittlebeach，shefeltasifsomeonehadsaidtoher:

’Yourtroublesareverylittle。There’sthesun，thesea，theair;

enjoythem。Theycan’ttakethosefromyou。’

AtthehospitalshehadtowaithalfanhourinalittlebareroombeforeGeorgecame。

"Nollie！Splendid。I’vegotanhour。Let’sgetoutofthiscemetery。We’llhavetimeforagoodstretchonthetops。Jollyofyoutohavecometome。Tellusallaboutit。"

Whenshehadfinished，hesqueezedherarm。348

"Iknewitwouldn’tdo。YourDadforgotthathe’sapublicfigure，andmustexpecttobedamnedaccordingly。Butthoughyou’vecutandrun，he’llresignallthesame，Nollie。"

"Oh，no！"criedNoel。

Georgeshookhishead。

"Yes，he’llresign，you’llsee，he’sgotnoworldlysense;notagrain。"

"ThenIshallhavespoiledhislife，justasif——oh，no！"

"Let’ssitdownhere。Imustbebackateleven。"

Theysatdownonabench，wherethegreencliffstretchedoutbeforethem，overaseaquiteclearofhaze，fardownandveryblue。

"Whyshouldheresign，"criedNoelagain，"nowthatI’vegone？He’llbelostwithoutitall。"

Georgesmiled。

"Found，mydear。He’llbewhereheoughttobe，Nollie，wheretheChurchis，andtheChurchmenarenot——intheair！"

"Don’t！"criedNoelpassionately。

"No，no，I’mnotchaffing。There’snoroomonearthforsaintsinauthority。There’suseforasaintlysymbol，evenifonedoesn’tholdwithit，butthere’snomortaluseforthosewhotrytohavethingsbothways——tobesaintsandseersofvisions，andyettocomethepracticalandworldlyandruleordinarymen’slives。Saintlyexampleyes;butnotsaintlygovernance。You’vebeenhisdeliverance，Nollie。"

"ButDaddyloveshisChurch。"

Georgefrowned。"Ofcourse，it’llbeawrench。Aman’sboundtohaveacoseyfeelingaboutaplacewherehe’sbeenbosssolong;andthereissomethingaboutaChurch——thedrone，thescent，thehalfdarkness;there’sbeautyinit，it’sapleasantdrug。Buthe’snotbeingaskedtogiveupthedrughabit;onlytostopadministeringdrugstoothers。Don’tworry，Nollie;Idon’tbelievethat’seversuitedhim，itwantsathickerskinthanhe’sgot。"

"Butallthepeoplehehelps？"

"Noreasonheshouldn’tgoonhelpingpeople，isthere？"

"Buttogoonlivingthere，without——Motherdiedthere，youknow！"

Georgegrunted。"Dreams，Nollie，allroundhim;ofthepastandthefuture，ofwhatpeopleareandwhathecandowiththem。Ineverseehimwithoutaskirmish，asyouknow，andyetI’mfondofhim。ButI

shouldbetwiceasfond，andhalfaslikelytoskirmish，ifhe’ddropthehabitsofauthority。ThenIbelievehe’dhavesomerealinfluenceoverme;there’ssomethingbeautifulabouthim，Iknowthatquitewell。"

"Yes，"murmuredNoelfervently。

"He’ssuchaqueermixture，"musedGeorge。"Cleanoutofhisage;

chalksabovemostoftheparsonsinaspiritualsenseandchalksbelowmostofthemintheworldly。AndyetIbelievehe’sintherightofit。TheChurchoughttobeaforlornhope，Nollie;thenweshouldbelieveinit。Insteadofthat，it’sasortofbusinessthatnoonecantaketooseriously。Yousee，theChurchspiritualcan’tmakegoodinthisage——hasnochanceofmakinggood，andsointhemainit’sgivenitupforvestedinterestsandsocialinfluence。

YourfatherisasymbolofwhattheChurchisnot。Butwhataboutyou，mydear？There’saroomatmyboarding—house，andonlyoneoldladybesidesmyself，whoknitsallthetime。IfGracecangetshiftedwe’llfindahouse，andyoucanhavethebaby。They’llsendyourluggageonfromPaddingtonifyouwrite;andinthemeantimeGracie’sgotsomethingsherethatyoucanhave。"

"I’llhavetosendawiretoDaddy。"

"I’lldothat。Youcometomydiggingsathalfpastone，andI’llsettleyouin。Untilthen，you’dbetterstayuphere。"

Whenhehadgonesheroamedalittlefarther，andlaydownontheshortgrass，wherethechalkbrokethroughinpatches。Shecouldhearadistantrumbling，verylow，travellinginthatgrass，thelongmutteroftheFlandersguns。’Iwonderifit’sasbeautifuladaythere，’shethought。’Howdreadfultoseenogreen，nobutterflies，noflowers—notevensky—forthedustoftheshells。Oh！won’titever，everend？’Andasortofpassionfortheearthwelledupinher，thewarmgrassyearthalongwhichshelay，pressedsoclosethatshecouldfeelitwitheveryinchofherbody，andthesoftspikesofthegrassagainsthernoseandlips。Anachingsweetnesstorturedher，shewantedtheearthtocloseitsarmsabouther，shewantedtheanswertoherembraceofit。Shewasalive，andwantedlove。Notdeath——notloneliness——notdeath！Andoutthere，wherethegunsmuttered，millionsofmenwouldbethinkingthatsamethought！

X

Piersonhadpassednearlythewholenightwiththerelicsofhispast，therecordsofhisstewardship，thetokensofhisshortmarriedlife。Theideawhichhadpossessedhimwalkinghomeinthemoonlightsustainedhiminthatmelancholytaskofdocketinganddestruction。

Therewasnotnearlysomuchtodoasonewouldhavesupposed，for，withallhisdreaminess，hehadbeenoddlyneatandbusinesslikeinallparishmatters。Butahundredtimesthatnighthestopped，overcomebymemories。Everycorner，drawer，photograph，paperwasathreadinthelong—spunwebofhislifeinthishouse。Somephaseofhiswork，somevisionofhiswifeordaughtersstartedforthfromeachbitoffurniture，picture，doorway。Noiseless，inhisslippers，hestoleupanddownbetweenthestudy，diningroom，drawing—room，andanyoneseeinghimathisworkinthedimlightwhichvisitedthestaircasefromabovethefrontdoorandtheupper—passagewindow，wouldhavethought:’Aghost，aghostgoneintomourningfortheconditionoftheworld。’Hehadtomakethisreckoningto—night，whiletheexaltationofhisnewideawasonhim;hadtorummageouttheverydepthsofoldassociation，sothatonceforallhemightknowwhetherhehadstrengthtoclosethedooronthepast。Fiveo’clockstruckbeforehehadfinished，and，almostdroppingfromfatigue，satdownathislittlepianoinbrightdaylight。Thelastmemorytobesethimwasthefirstofall;hishoneymoon，beforetheycamebacktoliveinthishouse，alreadychosen，furnished，andwaitingforthem。TheyhadspentitinGermany——thefirstdaysinBaden—baden，andeachmorninghadbeenawakenedbyaChoraleplayeddowninthegardensoftheKurhaus，agentle，beautifultune，toremindthemthattheywereinheaven。Andsoftly，sosoftlythatthetunesseemedtobebutdreamshebeganplayingthoseoldChorales，oneafteranother，sothatthestillysoundsfloatedout，throughtheopenedwindow，puzzlingtheearlybirdsandcatsandthosefewhumanswhowereabroadasyet……

HereceivedthetelegramfromNoelintheafternoonofthesameday，justashewasabouttosetoutforLeila’stogetnewsofher;andcloseonthetopofitcameLavendie。Hefoundthepainterstandingdisconsolateinfrontofhispicture。

"Mademoisellehasdesertedme？"

"I’mafraidweshallalldesertyousoon，monsieur。"

"Youaregoing？"

"Yes，Iamleavinghere。IhopetogotoFrance。"

"Andmademoiselle？"

"Sheisattheseawithmyson—in—law。"

Thepainterranhishandsthroughhishair，butstoppedthemhalf—

way，asifawarethathewasbeingguiltyofill—breeding。

"Mondieu！"hesaid:"Isthisnotacalamityforyou，monsieurlecure？"ButhissenseofthecalamitywassopatentlylimitedtohisunfinishedpicturethatPiersoncouldnothelpasmile。

"Ah，monsieur！"saidthepainter，onwhomnothingwaslost。"Commejesuisegoiste！Ishowmyfeelings;itisdeplorable。Mydisappointmentmustseemabagatelletoyou，whowillbesodistressedatleavingyouroldhome。Thismustbeatimeofgreattrouble。Believeme;Iunderstand。Buttosympathisewithagriefwhichisnotshownwouldbeanimpertinence，woulditnot？YouEnglishgentlefolkdonotletusshareyourgriefs;youkeepthemtoyourselves。"

Piersonstared。"True，"hesaid。"Quitetrue！"

"IamnojudgeofChristianity，monsieur，butforusartiststhedoorsofthehumanheartstandopen，ourownandothers。Isupposewehavenopride——c’esttres—indelicat。Tellme，monsieur，youwouldnotthinkitworthyofyoutospeaktomeofyourtroubles，wouldyou，asIhavespokenofmine？"

Piersonbowedhishead，abashed。

"Youpreachofuniversalcharityandlove，"wentonLavendie;"buthowcantherebethatwhenyouteachalsosecretlythekeepingofyourtroublestoyourselves？Manrespondstoexample，nottoteaching;yousettheexampleofthestranger，notthebrother。Youexpectfromotherswhatyoudonotgive。Frankly，monsieur，doyounotfeelthatwitheveryrevelationofyoursoulandfeelings，virtuegoesoutofyou？AndIwilltellyouwhy，ifyouwillnotthinkitanoffence。Inopeningyourheartsyoufeelthatyouloseauthority。

Youareofficers，andmustneverforgetthat。Isitnotso？"

Piersongrewred。"Ihopethereisanotherfeelingtoo。Ithinkwefeelthattospeakofoursufferingsor，deeperfeelingsistoobtrudeoneself，tomakeafuss，tobeself—concerned，whenwemightbeconcernedwithothers。"

"Monsieur，aufondweareallconcernedwithself。Toseemselflessisbutyourparticularwayofcultivatingtheperfectionofself。

Youadmitthatnottoobtrudeselfisthewaytoperfectyourself。

Ehbien！Whatisthatbutadeeperconcernwithself？Tobefreeofthis，thereisnowaybuttoforgetallaboutoneselfinwhatoneisdoing，asIforgeteverythingwhenIampainting。But，"headded，withasuddensmile，"youwouldnotwishtoforgettheperfectingofself——itwouldnotberightinyourprofession。SoImusttakeawaythispicture，mustInot？Itisoneofmybestworks:Iregretmuchnottohavefinishedit。"

"Someday，perhaps——"

"Someday！Thepicturewillstandstill，butmademoisellewillnot。

Shewillrushatsomething，andbehold！thisfacewillbegone。No;

Iprefertokeepitasitis。Ithastruthnow。"Andliftingdownthecanvas，hestooditagainstthewallandfoldeduptheeasel。

"Bonsoir，monsieur，youhavebeenverygoodtome。"HewrungPierson’shand;andhisfaceforamomentseemedalleyesandspirit。

"Adieu！"

"Good—bye，"Piersonmurmured。"Godblessyou！"

"Idon’tknowifIhavegreatconfidenceinHim，"repliedLavendie，"butIshalleverrememberthatsogoodamanasyouhaswishedit。

Tomademoisellemydistinguishedsalutations，ifyouplease。Ifyouwillpermitme，Iwillcomebackformyotherthingsto—morrow。"Andcarryingeaselandcanvas，hedeparted。

Piersonstayedintheolddrawing—room，waitingforGratiantocomein，andthinkingoverthepainter’swords。Hadhiseducationandpositionreallymadeitimpossibleforhimtobebrotherly？Wasthisthesecretoftheimpotencewhichhesometimesfelt;thereasonwhycharityandlovewerenotmorealiveintheheartsofhiscongregation？’GodknowsI’venoconsciousnessofhavingfeltmyselfsuperior，’hethought;’andyetIwouldbetrulyashamedtotellpeopleofmytroublesandofmystruggles。CanitbethatChrist，ifhewereonearth，wouldcountusPharisees，believingourselvesnotasothermen？ButsurelyitisnotasChristiansbutratherasgentlementhatwekeepourselvestoourselves。Officers，hecalledus。Ifear——Ifearitistrue。’Ah，well！Therewouldnotbemanymoredaysnow。Hewouldlearnouttherehowtoopentheheartsofothers，andhisown。Sufferinganddeathlevelledallbarriers，madeallmenbrothers。HewasstillsittingtherewhenGratiancamein;

andtakingherhand，hesaid:

"NoelhasgonedowntoGeorge，andIwantyoutogettransferredandgotothem，Gracie。I’mgivinguptheparishandaskingforachaplaincy。"

"Givingup？Afterallthistime？IsitbecauseofNollie？"

"No，Ithinknot;Ithinkthetimehascome。Ifeelmyworkhereisbarren。"

"Oh，no！Andevenifitis，it’sonlybecause——"

Piersonsmiled。"Becauseofwhat，Gracie？"

"Dad，it’swhatI’vefeltinmyself。Wewanttothinkanddecidethingsforourselves，wewanttoownourconsciences，wecan’ttakethingsatsecond—handanylonger。"

Pierson’sfacedarkened。"Ah！"hesaid，"tohavelostfaithisagrievousthing。"

"We’regainingcharity，"criedGratian。

"Thetwothingsarenotopposed，mydear。"

"Notintheory;butinpracticeIthinktheyoftenare。Oh，Dad！

youlooksotired。Haveyoureallymadeupyourmind？Won’tyoufeellost？"

"Foralittle。Ishallfindmyself，outthere。"

ButthelookonhisfacewastoomuchforGratian’scomposure，andsheturnedaway。

Piersonwentdowntohisstudytowritehisletterofresignation。

Sittingbeforethatblanksheetofpaper，herealisedtothefullhowstronglyhehadresentedthepubliccondemnationpassedonhisownfleshandblood，howmuchhisactionwastheexpressionofapurelymundanechampionshipofhisdaughter;ofamundanemortification。

’Pride，’hethought。’OughtItostayandconquerit？’Twicehesethispendown，twicetookitupagain。Hecouldnotconquerit。Tostaywherehewasnotwanted，onasortofsufferance——never！Andwhilehesatbeforethatemptysheetofpaperhetriedtodothehardestthingamancando——toseehimselfasothersseehim;andmetwithsuchsuccessasonemightexpect——harkingatoncetotheverdicts，notofothersatall，butofhisownconscience;andcomingsoontothatperpetualgnawingsensewhichhadpossessedhimeversincethewarbegan，thatitwashisdutytobedead。Thisfeelingthattobealivewasunworthyofhimwhensomanyofhisflockhadmadethelastsacrifice，wasreinforcedbyhisdomestictragedyandthebitterdisillusionmentithadbrought。Asenseofhavinglostcasteweighedonhim，whilehesattherewithhispastrecedingfromhim，dustyandunreal。Hehadthequeerestfeelingofhisoldlifefallingfromhim，droppingroundhisfeetliketheoutwornscalesofaserpent，rungafterrungoftasksanddutiesperformeddayafterday，yearafteryear。Hadtheyeverbeenquitereal？Well，hehadshedthemnow，andwastomoveoutintolifeilluminedbythegreatreality—death！Andtakinguphispen，hewrotehisresignation。

XI

ThelastSunday，sunnyandbright！Thoughhedidnotaskhertogo，GratianwenttoeveryServicethatday。Andthesightofher，afterthislonginterval，intheiroldpew，whereoncehehadbeenwonttoseehiswife’sface，anddrawrefreshmenttherefrom，affectedPiersonmorethananythingelse。Hehadtoldnooneofhiscomingdeparture，shrinkingfromthefalsityandsuppressionwhichmustunderlieeveryallusionandexpressionofregret。Inthelastminuteofhislastsermonhewouldtellthem！Hewentthroughthedayinasortofdream。Trulyproudandsensitive，underthissocialblight，heshrankfromallalike，madenoattempttosingleoutsupportersoradherentsfromthosewhohadfallenaway。Heknewtherewouldbesome，perhapsmany，seriouslygrievedthathewasgoing;buttotryandrealisewhotheywere，toweightheminthescalesagainsttherestandsoforth，wasquiteagainsthisnature。Itwasallornothing。Butwhenforthelasttimeofallthosehundreds，hemountedthestepsofhisdarkpulpit，heshowednotraceoffinality，didnotperhapsevenfeelityet。Forsobeautifulasummereveningthecongregationwaslarge。Inspiteofallreticence，rumourwasbusyandcuriositystillrife。Thewritersoftheletters，anonymousandotherwise，hadspentaweek，notindeedinproclaimingwhattheyhaddone，butinjustifyingtothemselvesthesecretfactthattheyhaddoneit。AndthiswasbestachievedbyspeakingtotheirneighboursoftheseriousandawkwardsituationofthepoorVicar。

Theresultwasvisibleinabetterattendancethanhadbeenseensincesummer—timebegan。

Piersonhadneverbeenagreatpreacher，hisvoicelackedresonanceandpliancy，histhoughtbreadthandbuoyancy，andhewasnotfreefrom，thesing—songwhichmarstheutteranceofmanywhohavetospeakprofessionally。Buthealwaysmadeanimpressionofgoodnessandsincerity。OnthislastSundayeveninghepreachedagainthefirstsermonhehadeverpreachedfromthatpulpit，freshfromthehoneymoonwithhisyoungwife。"Solomoninallhisglorywasnotarrayedlikeoneofthese。"Itlackednowthehappyfervourofthatmosthappyofallhisdays，yetgainedpoignancy，comingfromsowornafaceandvoice。Gratian，whoknewthathewasgoingtoendwithhisfarewell，wasinachokeofemotionlongbeforehecametoit。

Shesatwinkingawayhertears，andnottillhepaused，forsolongthatshethoughthisstrengthhadfailed，didshelookup。Hewasleaningalittleforward，seemingtoseenothing;buthishands，graspingthepulpit’sedge，werequivering。TherewasdeepsilenceintheChurch，forthelookofhisfaceandfigurewasstrange，eventoGratian。Whenhislipspartedagaintospeak，amistcoveredhereyes，andshelostsightofhim。

"Friends，Iamleavingyou;thesearethelastwordsIshalleverspeakinthisplace。Igotootherwork。Youhavebeenverygoodtome。Godhasbeenverygoodtome。IpraywithmywholeheartthatHemayblessyouall。Amen！Amen！"

Themistclearedintotears，andshecouldseehimagaingazingdownather。Wasitather？Hewassurelyseeingsomething——somevisionsweeterthanreality，somethinghelovedmoredearly。Shefellonherknees，andburiedherfaceinherhand。Allthroughthehymnsheknelt，andthroughhisclearslowBenediction:"ThepeaceofGod，whichpassethallunderstanding，keepyourheartsandmindsintheknowledgeandloveofGod，andofhisSonJesusChristourLord;andtheblessingofGodAlmighty，theFather，theSon，andtheHolyGhost，beamongstyouandremainwithyoualways。"Andstillsheknelton;tillshewasaloneintheChurch。Thensheroseandstolehome。Hedidnotcomein;shedidnotexpecthim。’It’sover，’shekeptthinking;’allover。MybelovedDaddy！Nowhehasnohome;

NollieandIhavepulledhimdown。AndyetIcouldn’thelpit，andperhapsshecouldn’t。PoorNollie！……’

2

Piersonhadstayedinthevestry，talkingwithhischoirandwardens;

therewasnohitch，forhisresignationhadbeenaccepted，andhehadarrangedwithafriendtocarryontillthenewVicarwasappointed。

WhentheyweregonehewentbackintotheemptyChurch，andmountedtotheorgan—loft。Alittlewindowuptherewasopen，andhestoodleaningagainstthestone，lookingout，restinghiswholebeing。

Onlynowthatitwasoverdidheknowwhatstresshehadbeenthrough。Sparrowswerechirping，butsoundoftraffichadalmostceased，inthatquietSundayhouroftheeveningmeal。Finished！

Incrediblethathewouldnevercomeuphereagain，neverseethoseroof—lines，thatcornerofSquareGarden，andhearthisfamiliarchirpingofthesparrows。Hesatdownattheorganandbegantoplay。Thelasttimethesoundwouldrolloutandecho’roundtheemptiedHouseofGod。Foralongtimeheplayed，whilethebuildingdarkenedslowlydowntherebelowhim。Ofallthathewouldleave，hewouldmissthismost——therighttocomeandplayhereinthedarkeningChurch，toreleaseemotionalsoundinthisdimemptyspacegrowingevermorebeautiful。Fromchordtochordhelethimselfgodeeperanddeeperintothesurgeandswellofthosesoundwaves，losingallsenseofactuality，tillthemusicandthewholedarkbuildingwerefusedinonerapturoussolemnity。AwaydowntherethedarknesscreptovertheChurch，tillthepews，thealtar—allwasinvisible，savethecolumns;andthewalls。HebeganplayinghisfavouriteslowmovementfromBeethoven’sSeventhSymphony——kepttotheend，forthevisionsiteverbroughthim。Andacat，whichhadbeenstalkingthesparrows，creptinthroughthelittlewindow，andcrouched，startled，staringathimwithhergreeneyes。Heclosedtheorgan，wentquicklydown，andlockeduphisChurchforthelasttime。Itwaswarmeroutsidethanin，andlighter，fordaylightwasnotquitegone。Hemovedawayafewyards，andstoodlookingup。

Walls，buttresses，andspirewereclothedinmilkyshadowygrey。Thetopofthespireseemedtotouchastar。’Goodbye，myChurch！’hethought。’Good—bye，good—bye！’Hefelthisfacequiver;clenchedhisteeth，andturnedaway。