ndcrtow 
 
 By ROBERT E.KNOWLES
 
 412D
 
 By ROBERT E. KNOWLES 
 
 loth Edition 
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 A PARISH ROMANCE 
 
 NEW YORK Mail 
 
 " Mr. Knowles has a sense of humor that 
 sparkles in these pages, a genuine love of 
 humanity, gentle patience with its weakness, 
 and a fine recognition of its noble qualities. 
 The book is very human." 
 
 BOSTON Herald 
 
 "The book breathes a spirit of tenderness 
 and nobility, which is refreshing and inspiring. 
 Some of the characters deserve a special setting 
 so lovingly has this big-hearted, whole-souled 
 man written them." 
 
 LONDON, Daily Chronicle 
 
 " Charming, full of pawky Scots humour and 
 that subtle pathos which seems a part of Scots 
 humour and life. . . . There is many a smile 
 to be brought from these pages, and not a 
 few tears. Mr. Knowles is a new writer who 
 promises to be a light in the literary firmament." 
 
 EDINBURGH, Scotsman 
 
 "It would be difficult to praise too highly this 
 new work. There is very little indeed in the 
 ever-growing literature of that school which can 
 excel Mr. Knowles' sketches of the life and do- 
 ings in a Scot's kirk and a Scot's community."
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 ROBERT E. KNOWLES 
 Author of "St. Cuthbert's" 
 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 Fleming H. Revel I Company 
 
 London and Edinburgh
 
 Copyright, 1906, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue 
 Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
 London: 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
 
 TO ALL 
 
 BY LIFE'S UNDERTOW BESET 
 WHO ARE YET BRAVELY STRUGGLING ON 
 
 AND ALREADY TASTING 
 THE VICTORY OF THE SHORE. 
 
 222S427
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. THE VALEDICTORIAN . 
 
 II. THE LAST OF THE MORTGAGE 
 
 III. HIRAM STIRS THE POOL 
 
 IV. THE OLD SCHOOL AND THE NEW 
 
 V. IN THE FURNACE TWICE 
 
 VI. THE SCHOLAR LEAVES FOR ENGLAND 
 
 VII. LONDON'S PREACHER-ACTOR 
 
 VIII. THE METROPOLIS BY LAMPLIGHT 
 
 IX. A PEARL OF PRICE 
 
 X. ITS CASKET FOR A NIGHT . 
 
 XI. HATTIE AND THE COMMANDER 
 
 XII. THE CHURCH OF THE COVENANT . 
 
 XIII. A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW . 
 
 XIV. A HUMBLE RIVAL 
 
 XV. THE GENERAL AND THE WAR . 
 
 XVI. THE DUEL IN HYDE PARK . 
 
 XVII. AN EDINBURGH VOICE . . 
 
 XVIII. PURSUING THE PRECIOUS PEARL . 
 
 XIX. OLD SCENES AND OLD STRUGGLES 
 
 XX. HIRAM'S PRIEST . . 
 
 XXI. A DOUBLE LIFE 
 
 XXII. HATTIE AND HIRAM MEET 
 
 XXIII. GATHERING CLOUDS . 
 
 7
 
 8 CONTENTS 
 
 XXIV. THE GRIP OF THE UNDERTOW . . . .301 
 
 XXV. ASHES ON THE HEARTH . . . 314 
 
 XXVI. THE BREAKING OF THE DAY . . .324. 
 
 XXVII. " AND Go UNTO MY FATHER " . . 334 
 
 XXVIII. THE PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE . . . 340 
 
 XXIX. LONDON AND THE CHASE . . . -354 
 
 XXX. THE WAY OF THE CROSS . . . .381 
 
 XXXI. THE NEW COVENANT .... 399
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 
 
 " A ND now it is my privilege to award the 
 / \ highest academic honour of the year, the 
 JL JL Gilchrist medal, to go to the best all round 
 scholar of the graduating class. The struggle has 
 been close and the examiners have had no little diffi- 
 culty; but it has been fairly won by a student 
 whose honours are already thick upon him. I must 
 ask Mr. Stephen Wishart to come to the platform 
 once more." 
 
 The Chancellor's kindly eyes are turned toward 
 the quarter of the hall from which the prizeman 
 had more than once emerged, smiling as the familiar 
 form starts slowly up the aisle. A storm of cheers 
 sweeps through the Convocation Hall, before which 
 the advancing scholar's head is bowed. Out of the 
 silence that followed the ovation a solemn voice 
 floated over the audience : 
 
 " They knew that in the coming time 
 
 Great things would he achieve ; 
 They thought his name should sort of rhyme 
 And so they called him Steve." 
 
 The audience turned and looked up to the gallery, 
 9
 
 io THE UNDERTOW 
 
 where they saw a stalwart figure in gown and cap, 
 gravely performing his laureate task. 
 
 This poetic outburst provoked fresh billows of ap- 
 plause, amid which the triumphant made his way to 
 the platform, the master of ceremonies greeting him 
 with some words of eulogy that were swallowed up 
 as soon as launched, like toy boats in a storm. 
 
 When the demonstration had subsided, Stephen 
 Wishart looked first at the gallery, thronged with 
 his fellow students ; then turned his pale face to the 
 Chancellor, the latter less formidable than the others. 
 
 The students hush each other into silence, for it is 
 evident that the man on the dais has something he 
 wants to say. Still Stephen stands, gazing at the 
 gallery. 
 
 " Speech, Steve." 
 
 " Come away, Wishart let us have it ; turn on 
 the eloquence." 
 
 " Shut up, he's going to sing like the lark at the 
 diggings," cried still another student, who was well 
 up on Dickens, though he had failed on Homer. 
 
 The Chancellor held his hand up towards the 
 gallery. 
 
 " You will excuse Mr. Wishart just now, gentle- 
 men. He is to deliver the valedictory a little later, 
 as you know." 
 
 But Stephen interrupted boldly, finding his tongue 
 at last. 
 
 " Mr. Chancellor," he began in a very shaky voice, 
 silence settling as he spoke, " a word is all I want to 
 say. I do not deserve this medal. It isn't rightly
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN n 
 
 mine. It ought to go to one who is a better scholar 
 and a better man ; to one who would have had it in 
 his hand this minute, if a feeble frame and an attack 
 of sickness had not handicapped him." And stepping 
 to the edge of the platform and pointing at a white- 
 faced lad whose pallour changed to scarlet as all eyes 
 were turned on him, " Every one of us knows who he 
 is. Mr. Chancellor, I might take the medal, but the 
 honour is his and I wish he might have both." 
 The speaker paused as if astonished at what he had 
 done and hurriedly regained his seat amid such a 
 salvo of cheers and clapping as the old hall had 
 never heard before. 
 
 The graduating exercises were resumed, proceed- 
 ing a little tamely after the tension that Stephen 
 Wishart's renouncement had created, even the gal- 
 lery sails flapping in the waning breeze. 
 
 But they soon swelled again, !:he wind returning 
 when it was announced that the hero of the evening 
 would now deliver the valedictory address. Some- 
 thing like seriousness came over the students' faces, 
 especially of the men graduating in theology, as their 
 spokesman ascended the steps to discharge the duty 
 they had entrusted to him ; for they vaguely recog- 
 nized the solemn significance of it all, their very mirth 
 bearing the pathos of its last boisterous shout. Even 
 amid the hilarity of the night, they could hear the 
 slowly opening gate that led to another lock in life's 
 long canal ; could hear the dull scraping of that 
 gangway by which they must embark, leaving the 
 land-locked bay for the shoreless sea beyond.
 
 12 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Splendid was the type of manhood represented in 
 Stephen Wishart as he stood before them. Tall and 
 athletic, in the strong joy of perfect health, hand- 
 some of face as he was commanding of form, the in- 
 tellectual power that nature had bestowed and culture 
 had enriched, was enhanced by great physical vigour 
 and pronounced magnetic charm. 
 
 Great strength marked his face. And struggle 
 too ; struggle and peril, the very peril that belongs to 
 a certain kind of strength, and the very struggle 
 that loftier natures are ever doomed to know. For 
 there is a kind of strength that others feel more than 
 the man who bears it, and those who admire know 
 not at what a price it is enjoyed. 
 
 Stephen Wishart's power was of the emotions, 
 and a discerning eye could tell that his face was the 
 highway for their intensest action. Affection, poetic 
 feeling, glowing ardour, flowing sympathy, all min- 
 gled in his nature, bringing their peril with their 
 charm. The mystic gift of a creative fancy, the very 
 thing that Israel's sweet singer found at once his 
 solace and his snare, was Stephen's birthright. This, 
 joined with rare mental ability, was his jewel gift ; 
 and, like other jewels, endangered the very life that 
 it enriched. 
 
 His voice, rich of tone and deep of feeling, had 
 yet a note of sadness, as though it knew a secret 
 path to some hidden grave. Those who had ears to 
 hear could have told, as his stately speech flowed on, 
 that there had been conflict in the past, still more of 
 conflict in the days to come.
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 13 
 
 His valedictory is nearly over, the audience thrilled 
 by its chaste and glowing eloquence. 
 
 " And now," he said at length, " we bid you all 
 farewell as we buckle on the armour and go forth 
 to life's long battle. Life's battle, I say, whose stern- 
 est struggle shall be, not against outward foes or 
 opposing circumstances, but against secret enemies, 
 against ghostly adversaries, against principalities and 
 powers, against some festering memory, some beset- 
 ting sin, some traitor of our own heart's household 
 who sits with us at the board and eats in defiant tri- 
 umph the very bread we eat in tears." 
 
 Deep stillness reigned over the student throng, so 
 boisterous before, for they felt that Stephen was deal- 
 ing with the very realities of life. 
 
 " My next and closing word," went on the valedic- 
 torian, " is a far different one from the last that I 
 have spoken, but one that should be uttered too. It 
 is a word of tribute to the scores of nameless ones, the 
 fruit of whose unselfish labours is gathered in this 
 hall to-night. How many a fellow, now before me, 
 is finishing his course with joy, equipped the better 
 for life's great struggle because of the heroic toil, the 
 uncomplaining sacrifice, of some hidden one whose 
 name is unknown in College annals, to fame destined 
 never to be known. 
 
 " I know of one whose name I speak reverently 
 in my silent heart, engrossed this very night in homely 
 toil upon a distant farm, that toil to which he has 
 given his ungrudging hand for years. And for 
 what ? For this supremely, that a brother, less
 
 I 4 'THE UNDERTOW 
 
 worthy far than he, might scan the ample page of 
 knowledge, rich with the spoils of time, entering into 
 the labours of that humble worker whose only re- 
 quital is the secret joy of the unselfish soul. I 
 know of one who would lay his laurels at that 
 brother's feet." 
 
 The responsive spirits of the gallery were not slow 
 to catch the significance of his words, nor less tardy 
 to acclaim. 
 
 Long and loud and lusty was the volley that 
 marked the close of his address, the students turning 
 one to the other the while, wondering if the tribute to 
 these unnamed benefactors were founded on his own 
 experience. The desired information was soon forth- 
 coming. 
 
 " Of course he means his own brother," one of the 
 theologues assured. " I visited at his father's farm 
 last Christmas and he has described his elder brother 
 to a nicety he's a brick, too." 
 
 " You don't say so, what's his name ? " cried the 
 poet. 
 
 "Reuben," answered the informant; "they call 
 him Rube." 
 
 Armed with which, and waiting till the din had 
 fallen, the poet rose to his feet and called to the ex- 
 cited crowd, 
 
 " I say, boys, I know his name his name is Rube, 
 that pure gold fellow on the farm. Three cheers 
 for Rube, I say for all the Rubes, everywhere three 
 cheers, hip, hip " 
 
 And the collegians did the rest, arts men and
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 15 
 
 theologues, science men and medicals lending their 
 stoutest lungs to the echoing panegyric. 
 
 The Chancellor cleared his throat, for the dust 
 was flying; when he broke the silence that came 
 at last, his voice still bore a huskiness that some- 
 thing else had caused. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," he began, " the rhetoric of 
 your gifted valedictorian, charming as it was, is still 
 less eloquent than the generous action that we all 
 admired ; and his genius has been worthily loaned to 
 the great tribute which closed his speech. I love 
 you all for your noble response to it, and I say : 
 ' God bless the Rubes ' (isn't that the name ?) I came 
 from the farm myself and my heart echoes every 
 word of Mr. Wishart's. God bless the Rubes ; " and 
 the gentle teacher paused, awaiting the answering 
 artillery from the gallery. 
 
 As the scattering throng, the exercises of the 
 evening over, was filing slowly out of the hall, many 
 admiring eyes were turned toward the young divin- 
 ity student who had thus closed his college course 
 with such signal distinction. But the interest cen- 
 tering in Stephen Wishart was soon transferred to 
 others, for he had given his arm to an elderly lady 
 whose resemblance to himself at once announced 
 her as his mother. Sweet and tender was the face 
 which she turned towards her brilliant son, marked 
 by suffering and giving evidence of the bodily weak- 
 ness which necessitated her full dependence on the 
 strong arm he had extended. The beauty of peace 
 looked out from her gentle eyes, mingling with the
 
 16 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 purity and power which marked a devout and 
 prayerful soul. 
 
 And just behind, stooping with the growing weight 
 of years, his face strong and thoughtful, his whole 
 bearing lending an impression of simplicity and 
 goodness, came Stephen Wishart's father, his glance, 
 like the mother's, resting proudly on his accom- 
 plished and distinguished son. 
 
 The garb of both these elder folk was plain and 
 simple, contrasting strangely with the rich apparel of 
 many in the aisle beside them, but none could fail 
 to catch the fragrance and the dignity with which 
 high and honourable hearts can clothe the humblest. 
 
 They had walked some distance along the street 
 when his mother said : 
 
 " Canna we gang some way that'll no hae sae 
 mony folk, Stephen ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, I think we can ; there's a short cut 
 to your hotel through this street here. But it's rather 
 dark." 
 
 " I'd sooner hae it dark. Come, faither, we'll gang 
 this ither way." 
 
 They had proceeded but a little farther when the 
 woman paused, turning her face upward to her 
 son's. 
 
 " Stephen, my laddie, kiss me oh, Stephen, my 
 heart's ower full to speak. I cudna keep frae fearin' 
 ye were slippin' awa' frae me, wi' a' the graun things 
 they were sayin' aboot ye but I'm yir mither, and 
 I'm sae prood o' ye ; kiss me, my laddie," and her 
 arm stole about his neck in the darkness, holding
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 17 
 
 him close in jealous love, breathing out her pride 
 and her devotion. 
 
 " Come, come," the father interrupted from be- 
 hind, " sic like daein's on a city street they'll be 
 takkin ye baith till the lockup. But yon was graun, 
 Stephen, my son ; yir highest honour the nicht was 
 when ye would have yon puir laddie tak the medal. 
 I was feart the folk wad see me greetin' and yir 
 mither askit me for my kerchief; she said she wantit 
 to wave wi't. Oh, mither, I'll tell the minister on 
 ye, tryin' to mak me believe a lee like that, wi' the 
 tears rinnin' doon yir cheeks a' the time. Ye're a 
 sly yin, Jean, my wumman." 
 
 " That's not worth speaking of," their son replied, 
 disclaiming the eulogy ; " it was no more than the 
 right thing to do. Rube would have done it and 
 never thought of it." 
 
 " Oh, wasna that fair graun aboot Reuben, faither ? 
 To think oor Reuben had his name cried oot afore 
 a' thae great folk at the college. But it was nae mair 
 as he deserved, the guid kind laddie as he is." 
 
 " Aye," agreed her husband, " it's no aften a laddie 
 like Reuben gets a degree like yon, and him sittin' 
 in the kitchen, takkin aff his boots wi' the bootjack 
 that verra minute, mebbe. It pleased yon Moderator 
 fine, yon Chancellor, as they call him. Will ye come 
 ben Stephen it's no' ower late ; " for by this time 
 they had reached the hotel. 
 
 " They smirkit at me when I was comin' oot wi' 
 yir mither," his father continued as they went up the 
 steps, " but they'll ken wha I am noo, I'll hold ye.
 
 i8 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 They'll ken wha's faither I am, onyvvay we can 
 grow mair than turnips on oor land, can't we, mither ? 
 and he belongs till us baith, even if we dinna wear 
 as fine claes as some folk ; " and the old man swelled 
 with necessary pride as he passed into the hall, look- 
 ing with the eye of a proprietor on the gracious form 
 that leaned so fondly on her tall and handsome son. 
 
 Stephen tarried but a few minutes with his parents, 
 for the hour was late, and the homeward journey 
 awaited them on the morrow. He bade them good- 
 night at the door of their room, his father's voice fol- 
 lowing him down the hall. 
 
 " Ye'll be hame to help us burn the mortgage, 
 Stephen. Yir mither and me'll get oor degrees that 
 nicht and I'll juist gie them the valedictory mysel. 
 Guid nicht, my son." 
 
 The old man turned and reentered his room. His 
 wife was seated on the bed, and her husband looked 
 at her fondly for a moment, then went over and took 
 her face in his hands. 
 
 " Ye're tired, Jean, ye're tired clean oot, are ye 
 no' ? " He sat down beside her and she laid 
 her head on his shoulder, her hand finding its well- 
 known way into the hard palm that had had so much 
 of toil. 
 
 " I'm ower happy, Robert, I'm fearin'," she an- 
 swered, looking up into his face. " Oh, faither, it 
 seems wunnerfu', does it no', that oor ain bairnie 
 should hae sae muckle honour ; he's sae clever, faither, 
 and sae learned. But I'm mair upliftit that he's 
 to be a minister o' the Everlastin' Gospel. We've
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 19 
 
 toiled sair, faither, but the reward is bonnie, is it 
 no' ? " 
 
 The rough hand stroked the gray locks with amaz- 
 ing tenderness. 
 
 " Aye, mither, God's been guid. We've had 
 muckle joy in baith oor bairns. Mebbe we're no 
 sae prood o' Reuben as his brither Reuben micht 
 hae been a wee thing smarter, nae doot, but ye 
 canna hae " 
 
 But the mother's face, flushed a little, is lifted now 
 from her husband's shoulder, her protest foreshad- 
 owed on it. 
 
 " Dinna say that, Robert, dinna say that. Reuben's 
 mebbe no' sae quick wi' the learnin' as his brither ; 
 he was aye slower wi' the buiks, nae doot. But he 
 can read gey weel, and he's handy wi' the pen 
 forbye, he never had a chance. Ye ken weel, 
 faither, how Reuben bided hame frae the school ; an' 
 he aye said Stephen was to hae the learnin', bein' 
 quicker nor himsel', he said. And oh, faither" 
 Jean's voice is trembling now " he's been sae guid 
 an' faithfu' ; he's been sae true, faither, an' sae 
 unselfish. Stephen's no' sae unselfish as his brither, 
 an' " 
 
 " What's that, Jean, my wumman ? " cried her hus- 
 band, his eyebrows lifted and a queer quizzing smile 
 in the eyes beneath them, " what's that ye're sayin' ? " 
 
 " Ye unnerstan' me, Robert ; I dinna mean naethin' 
 against the laddie we're sae prood o' the nicht. But 
 he's no' sae self-forgettin' by nature as oor Reuben, 
 day in an' day oot, I'm meanin'. Naebody is an'
 
 20 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 I'm juist as prood o' Reuben as the ither. I thocht 
 o' Reuben the nicht when Stephen walkit up the aisle 
 wi' the folk a' cheerin' him. I thocht o' Reuben 
 workin' i' the fields frae the day licht till the gloamin' 
 an' a' the laddie's pride for his clever brither. 
 It'll be the day o' Reuben's life when he sees Stephen 
 i' the pulpit in oor ain kirk at hame, will it no', 
 Robert? " 
 
 Her husband paused, then shook his head and 
 answered slowly, 
 
 " I'm hopin' he'll no* preach the theology yon 
 Professor gied us in his prayer the nicht." 
 
 " Whatever are ye meanin', faither ? " 
 
 " Ye mebbe didna tak notice till him, Jean ; but 
 I'm fearin' he isna soond. I'm sure o't. And 
 Stephen thinks it's richt eneuch he tell't me that 
 afore. An' he said he'd like fine to gang till Edin- 
 burgh to get the latest learnin'." 
 
 " What's that ye' re sayin', Robert ? The laddie 
 maunna leave us noo. What wasna soond, faither ? " 
 
 " Never mind, Jean," her husband answered gently ; 
 " it's mebbe only a notion o' my ain ; we're auld 
 fogies, ye ken, mither. An' noo we'll gang to rest ; 
 ye're tired, mither." 
 
 "Aye, Robert, I'm tired sair; an' times, I think 
 it'll no' be lang till I'm haein the rest I'm needin' 
 pit yir hand on my heart, faither." 
 
 Jean lifted the furrowed palm and it rested ten- 
 derly on her bosom for a moment, a troubled look in 
 the old man's face. 
 
 " Dinna vex yirsel', my lassie ; it's the same auld
 
 The VALEDICTORIAN 21 
 
 faithfu' heart that's cheered my ain sae lang. I 
 wadna trade it for ony i' the land ; God bless ye, 
 mither, for a' it's been to me. Come, my bonnie, 
 we'll leave it in oor Faither's keepin'," as he gently 
 drew her down beside the bed, their hearts together 
 stealing into the pavilion of eternal love. 
 
 The following day was fading into twilight as two 
 eager faces peered from the window of the train. 
 
 " Look, mither, look, there's Burnetts' place. 
 There's their windmill an' the stack, yonner, see 
 an' that's Bessie there, see, wi' the flowers in her 
 hand. She's a sonsy lassie, is she no' ? She canna 
 see us. Bessie an' oor Rube '11 mak a bonnie pair 
 some day, eh, mither ? " 
 
 Jean Wishart smiled : " I'm hopin' an' I wadna 
 say it to onybody else but I canna keep frae thinkin', 
 faither, that Bessie's awfu' ta'en up wi' Stephen. 
 Mebbe I'm wrang, but " 
 
 " Hoots, Jean, ye're aye sair feart for Reuben ; 
 it's naethin' but her admiration for a scholar laddie. 
 Noo we're at the station I see yir treasure, mither; 
 Reuben's got Prince by the heid Prince canna bide 
 the cars." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, the setting sun clothed three 
 happy home-goers in its dying rays, old Prince 
 jogging as slowly along the country road as though 
 no rude alarms of genius had ever disturbed his 
 peace. The father and mother sat erect, sniffing the 
 sweet country air, belauding the flowers and blossoms
 
 22 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 that enriched it, defining the atmosphere of the city 
 they have left behind in terms of frank ingratitude. 
 
 And before them sat the stalwart form of their 
 first-born son, his face suffused with happiness as he 
 listened to the composite narrative of his brother's 
 high distinction, the parental tongues flying in fervid 
 eulogy, the son's eyes beaming with delight. The 
 pale cast of thought was not upon his brow, but the 
 light of a pure and earnest life was there instead, a 
 life whose highest attainments had been those of an 
 unselfish heart. 
 
 He turned his head towards his mother as they 
 passed in the gate. 
 
 " I drove Steve out that very gate when he first 
 started to the college," he said proudly, " and I'll 
 drive him in again. I always said he'd cut a swath 
 when it came to learning ; I knew they couldn't beat 
 our Steve."
 
 II 
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 
 
 " TT"AWAS maist awfu' kind o' the Duke ! A 
 
 hundred pounds that's five times as 
 
 JL mony dollars maist five hundred dol- 
 
 lars ! And it looks bonny to see the Kelso post- 
 
 mark again ! I wonder did the Duke post it himsel' 
 
 wi' his ain hands. A hundred pounds, it's a lot o' 
 
 siller ! " 
 
 " What way did he come to send it, faither, div ye 
 think ? " 
 
 " What way, Jean ? What way ? Read the letter 
 frae the Duke himsel'. It's his sixtieth birthday, and 
 it was my faither that drawed him oot o' the burn 
 when he was a laddie in petticoats and him like to 
 drown ! And my faither did him mony a guid turn 
 forbye that. He served on the estate long years ; and 
 so did his faither afore him. That's the way he came 
 to send it, Jean, ma wumman no ither way," answered 
 Jean's radiant husband, his strong face glowing be- 
 neath the frosting locks. 
 
 " Whatever will ye dae wi't a', faither?" resumed 
 the good wife, settling herself by the fire for the deli- 
 cious conference. 
 
 A smiling blaze broke forth from the old fireplace 
 as Jean's familiar form drew closer to it. The back 
 log seemed to feel her influence and stimulated its 
 
 23
 
 24 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 sullen vassals into a sudden conspiracy of welcome ; 
 her gentle presence had often inflamed it thus before. 
 The room it warmed and beautified was the sitting- 
 room of the cheerful rustic house built in the centre 
 of the land which Robert Wishart's father had 
 selected as his homestead, exchanging the peaceful 
 servitude of Scotland for the struggling freedom of 
 the Western world. 
 
 About this hospitable fire, strong men had gathered 
 on many a wintry night, fellow fighters of the forest, 
 the common peril and the mutual dependence making 
 neighbours into friends, such friends as the pioneer 
 alone can know. Here had they been wont to meet, 
 the day's hard conflict with heavy logs or stubborn 
 stumps ending in merry song and genial chat, many a 
 reminiscence of old Scotland, or the long sea voyage, 
 or the first days of forest hardship, mingling with the 
 cheery blaze. 
 
 And this very night it was to be the willing agent 
 in the crowning ceremony ; toil and sacrifice were to 
 have their coronation at its glowing hands the 
 mortgage was to be burned, long the cumberer of 
 their fruitful acres and the disturber of their peace. 
 
 " Whatever will ye dae wi't a", faither ? " Jean asked 
 again, more eagerly than before ; for her husband was 
 still gazing into the leaping blaze. 
 
 " What'll I dae wi't ? " he answered meditatively. 
 " I've been thinkin' o' that. The first thing I'll dae is 
 to take the bit o' paper to the bank in the village and 
 get the siller for it. I want to see it and hear it and 
 feel it in my hand. No' siller exactly, mebbe
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 25 
 
 but money onyway bills, ye ken twenty dollar 
 bills I think I'll hae, and I'll hae twenty-five o' them. 
 Twenty-five o' them and a' oor ain ! Bless me, but it 
 was maist awfu' kind o' the Duke ! " 
 
 Robert Wishart settled back in his chair, the same 
 in which his father had settled back when life's long 
 fever was spent and gone. He spread the magic 
 paper out anew upon his knee, adjusted his trusty 
 glasses, unchanging with his changing sight, read the 
 wondrous message over again, then turned smiling 
 towards his wife : 
 
 " Is't no' wonderful the power o' a bit o' paper 
 when a Duke taks a notion to pit his hand till't ? I 
 dinna like to gie up the signature ; but the siller'll be 
 a sair comfort." 
 
 " Ye'll write and thank him and ye'll get his name 
 in answer till't," suggested the canny Jean. 
 
 " Hoots, wumman ! what's the maitter wi" us ? We 
 hae his name at the foot o' the letter he sent us and 
 he wrote, it himsel'. We'll aye keep that, ye may be 
 sure ; but I'll write and thank him the morn, for a' 
 that." 
 
 " Stephen'll gie ye a hand at the writin' : he's bonny 
 wi' the pen. But ye didna tell me what ye're minded 
 to dae wi' the money, faither. Ye'll no' leave it in 
 the bank, will yv ? " 
 
 " Na, na," answered her husband promptly. " I'll 
 no dae that none o' yir new fangled ways for me. 
 A man's ain hoose is the place for his siller. And 
 concernin' what I'll dae wi't after I get it I've been 
 thinkin' aboot that, as I tell't ye. It's no' to be
 
 56 -THE UNDERTOW 
 
 scattered foolishly. I'm thinkin' some o' gi'en a 
 pickle o't to Stephen he's wantin' mair. He's 
 mindit to gang till Edinburgh, as I tell't ye ; but it'll 
 no' be scattered foolishly, an' that's a' I can say the 
 noo." 
 
 He stopped, for footsteps could be heard without 
 the door; which, opening suddenly, admitted a 
 comely form upon whom the eyes of both fell with a 
 distinct tenderness of affection. It was Reuben, 
 whose glowing cheeks and brawny arms confirmed 
 the suggestion of his homely garb, that the stern 
 toil of the farm and its rich rewards were his. 
 His eye beamed with the light of honour and con- 
 tentment, beautifully blent, his face enriched with 
 much of nature's kindliest gift. This was now in- 
 tensified by the smile of happiness which played 
 upon it, as became the bearer of good tidings. 
 
 " Steve's home," he said quietly, as he closed the 
 door. 
 
 " That's guid news," cried the father, " he promised 
 me he'd be here the nicht. Where is he, Reuben ? " 
 
 " I left him at the gate," answered the elder son ; 
 "he was talking to Mr. Shearer. I drove him from 
 the station. Of course he'll be coming in, father ; 
 who should be the first to rejoice ,vith those who 
 rejoice, if it isn't the minister ? And there'll be many 
 more. I can see some of them from the window the 
 Elliotts, the Douglases, the Gillespies, they're all on 
 the way and that gray team just turning in the gate, 
 that must be the Olivers. It's a grand time we're 
 going to have to-night."
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 27 
 
 " Div ye ken, Reuben," said the father, " what I 
 canna help but think o' when I see the teams drivin' 
 sae canty to the door ? " 
 
 " Indeed I don't," the son replied. " What is it, 
 father?" 
 
 " I canna but think how easy it is noo, and how 
 different frae my faither's time, when he had nocht 
 but a blazed trail to guide him hame. It's a far cry 
 since then, but I mind it weel the deep snaw and 
 the bitter cauld i' the winter time, and the hard work 
 fellin' the michty trees, and siller sair scarce forbye 
 but thae days were happy days for a' that, and nae 
 man wanted leal hearts aboot him, and a' the neebours 
 was knit wi' love and kindness. And the guid Lord 
 set His seal to the labours o' their hands, and He has 
 done as muckle for us tae, has He no', mither ? " 
 
 This reminiscent hymn was checked before the 
 mother's voice was heard, for feet were stamping at 
 the door. It opened in a moment and the good man 
 of the house hurried forward to welcome the ap- 
 proaching guests. 
 
 " Guid-nicht and welcome, Mr. Shearer ; it's wel- 
 come ye are the nicht ; come in ; draw up to the 
 fire, we're lucky to hae a chilly nicht for this time o' 
 the year. Weel, Stephen, my laddie, is this you ? 
 You're welcome hame, my son. Reuben tells me ye 
 twa hae been tryin' a bit argyment aboot theology 
 that's aye the thing to sharpen the wits, as my faither 
 used to say the bigger the grind-stone, the better 
 the blade, that was his way o' puttin' it. Tak him, 
 mither, he's as muckle yir ain as ever."
 
 28 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The woman caressed her son with unwonted ten- 
 derness, jealous, as all mothers are, of widening hori- 
 zons, and enlarging spheres, and diverging paths. 
 
 " It is always lovely to get home, mother ; there is 
 only one home and only one mother and only one 
 supper worth the eating," he concluded, " no matter 
 how many fine dinners you attend in what they call 
 high society." 
 
 His mother flushed with pleasure, touched with 
 pride. " High society," and her own son a sharer in 
 it ! Jean was quite feminine enough to feel the 
 thrill of pride that this reflection wakened. 
 
 " Whenever you want ' high society/ Stephen, I 
 advise you to come home. I have seen a little of all 
 kinds myself, and my estimate puts these old folks at 
 the top. I think we have some of the true nobility 
 right here beside us and I see a few of them coming 
 to the door." 
 
 Thus spoke Mr. Shearer, whose quick eye detected 
 much pertaining to both the outward and the in- 
 ward life. His observation of the former was evi- 
 dently accurate enough, for in a moment a light rap 
 fell upon the door, and its opening revealed a group 
 of the honest yeomanry who had come to swell, and 
 to share, the gladness of the hour. The nobility of 
 character with which the minister's kindly thought 
 had clothed them was- obvious almost at a glance ; 
 for their stalwart frames, their genial countenances, 
 their soulful eyes, all spoke of simple tastes and 
 hardy toil and sweet content. 
 
 The picturesque hoods of the women, a bonnet
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 29 
 
 here and there, and the light shawls which wrapped 
 the willowy forms or the wavy hair of many a win- 
 some maiden, lent a pleasing variety to the interest- 
 ing group. 
 
 The cordial welcome of Robert Wishart and his 
 wife was as cordially accepted and only a few mirth- 
 ful minutes had passed before the whole company 
 was seated at the hospitable board, the host abdi- 
 cating the seat of honour to the minister, as was the 
 custom of that place and time. The Divine blessing 
 having been lengthily invoked, and the provocations 
 to human gratitude recounted in detail, the good 
 man led the way, his cheerful parishioners joining 
 heartily in the chase, pursuing to its lair and its de- 
 struction every toothsome thing that Jean Wishart's 
 culinary genius had called to being. 
 
 The cheerful supper done, the company returned 
 to the fireplace. Pipes were filled and lighted with 
 solemn interest, the several streams of smoke finding 
 their confluence at the chimney mouth, joining hands 
 and disappearing with a sudden bound, like children 
 escaping through a schoolroom door. One after an- 
 other of the worthy farmers gave a final tap to adjust 
 the new-lighted weed, snapped the ashy fire from the 
 fingers, and planted heavy hob-nailed boots upon 
 the trusty fender, settling themselves before the sym- 
 pathetic flame with a guttural murmur of content. 
 
 Then the conversation, hitherto worthy of Babel, 
 suddenly began to flag ; for the company, sensitive 
 to the significance of the hour, would thus afford 
 their host his opportunity.
 
 30 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Will we hae the cider first, faither, or after ? " 
 asked Jean in an undertone. Robert paused a 
 moment. It was the habit of his life to answer no 
 question, however trifling it might seem to be, with- 
 out due reflection. 
 
 " It'll be better by and by. We'll hae oor bit 
 word noo." 
 
 Robert cleared his throat, whereupon the minister 
 rose and laid his pipe upon the mantel, a signal to 
 come to order that was immediately recognized by 
 his fellow guests and almost as immediately obeyed. 
 
 Then their host arose and began to speak, not 
 without obvious embarrassment : 
 
 " My freens, I bid ye a' welcome to Rosehill Farm 
 the nicht. Ye've been a' here afore, mony a time, in 
 baith joy and sorrow. When the day was bricht, ye 
 were wi" us oftentimes ; and when the mirk was sair, 
 ye were oftener. Some o' ye helpit to build the 
 hoose itsel' ; and ye hae aye keepit it bricht wi' yir 
 kindness and yir love. We hae warstled through 
 thegither ; and noo we're rejoicin' because there's 
 nocht o' debt upon the auld place ony mair. I've 
 lived and prayed and workit for this hour, and noo 
 the land my faither settled on, and cleared, and tilled, 
 the land that holds his restin' form, it's oor ain, wi' 
 naethin' against it and the guid wife has done it 
 maistly a' dinna look doon like that, Jean, ma 
 wumman ; ye ken I'm but tellin' the truth and baith 
 Jean and me thank ye frae our hearts." 
 
 The old farmer paused for a moment, his hand 
 forthgoing to the breast pocket of his Sabbath coat,
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 31 
 
 a fine garment of black that he prized all the more 
 because it had been his father's. He produced there- 
 from a bulky document, almost as new and unfrayed 
 as when his father first had signed it ; for its contents 
 had- not afforded enjoyable reading to the Wishart 
 household since it became their own. 
 
 " It's the mortgage," Robert said simply as he 
 drew it forth, unfolding it the while and adjusting his 
 spectacles. Quick glances from his friends to the 
 paper and from the paper back to his friends, light 
 and shade alternating in his eyes, denoted Robert 
 Wishart's confidence in the one and his suspicion of 
 the other. 
 
 " There's naethin' to dae but this, I suppose," he 
 said at last, " and that's no' difficult to dae. I'll dae 
 it noo," he concluded simply ; and with a final and 
 radiant glance around the attentive circle, he tossed 
 the once malignant thing, now robbed of its venomed 
 tongue, into the eager fire, which wrought its quick 
 revenge upon it, swallowing it up in the twinkling of 
 an eye and crackling merrily as though it knew the 
 completeness of its triumph. 
 
 Robert resumed his chair, Reuben finding a place 
 upon the arm of it, his glance meeting his father's in 
 mute rejoicing. The latter, unaccustomed to the 
 role of chairman, nodded towards Mr. Shearer ; 
 who rose to his feet, extending his hand as he 
 did so. 
 
 " Mr. Wishart, we rejoice with you to-night," said 
 the minister ; " we congratulate you on this reward 
 of your faithful labours. But you have won more
 
 32 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 than your broad acres you have won the respect 
 and the love of your neighbours, of every man who 
 rejoices with you to-night, and of all the countryside. 
 May your father's God keep and bless you and your 
 dear wife, and all who are so dear to you, and to her, 
 and to Him. And may the eventide be very bright 
 about you ! " 
 
 One or two of the others followed the minister ; 
 but their words were as halting as they were kindly, 
 for public speaking was not in common vogue among 
 these stalwart toilers. They concluded with the 
 hearty proffer of hardened palms, as heartily gripped 
 by their neighbour and his rejoicing wife, well equipped 
 for this exercise by the long practice of a native gift. 
 As each man returned to his chair, he lifted his pipe 
 from the mantel, and soon the separate rills of 
 smoke were finding again their outlet to the ocean 
 blue. 
 
 Jean's keen instinct scented the proper moment. 
 w Noo'll be the time for the cider, faither and the 
 cake." Her husband nodded assent, and both of the 
 aforementioned were speedily produced. 
 
 " Here's a toast to ye, guid freens," cried Andrew 
 Telfer suddenly, holding his glass aloft. " A toast 
 to Robert Wishart and his wife, I say ; and I bid ye 
 a' drink hearty ! Guid health and mony years to 
 them baith! Half o' what they deserve is guid 
 enough for onybody ! " 
 
 More palatable than speech-making was this fashion 
 of friendship's pledge to these earnest men, who 
 accepted the challenge with a stifled cheer, springing
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 33 
 
 to their feet at the word, and draining their glasses 
 with equal goodwill to their hosts and satisfaction to 
 themselves. 
 
 " Gie us a song, Jock Sudden gie us Bonny 
 Doon,' " called one of the stalwarts, whose great- 
 grandfather had drunk many a toast with Burns 
 himself, unconscious that his boon companion was 
 one of the Immortals. " Gie us ' Bonny Doon,' " 
 he cried again. 
 
 " This is no time for ony song but yin," responded 
 Jock ; " I'm thinkin' o' the loggin', and the plowin', 
 and the reapin', the cold and the heat we've stood 
 thegither wi' these true freens o' ours. I canna for- 
 get a' the joys and the sorrows o' the years that's 
 ahint us. And there's only ae song that's fittin' 
 and it's aye fittin' for a time like this. Where's yir 
 fiddle, Reuben ? " 
 
 Jean knew well its resting-place; and almost as 
 Jock uttered his request she was on her knees before 
 the old settee. Drawing it forth, she handed it to 
 Reuben, who needed no urging to his task. " What'll 
 it be, Jock ? " he said, as he imprisoned it beneath 
 his chin. 
 
 " Dinna be puttin' on ony airs, Reuben. Ye ken 
 fine, Rube ! What wad we sing the nicht, forbye the 
 song I'm thinkin' o' ? " 
 
 Reuben smiled, drew his bow across the strings, 
 sounded the undying strain, and every ploughman's 
 heart heard again the voice of the mightiest of their 
 craft. Music was wedded now to love, which alone 
 reveals the former as a queen and brings her
 
 34 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 into her stately kingdom. Stern lips took up the 
 words, gently caressing them while they sang, every 
 face glowing with tender light. The fire-gleam fell 
 laughingly upon the earnest throng, the same gleam 
 as had lightened their days of darkness and now en- 
 hanced their hour of almost solemn joy. The sturdy 
 frames blended in the firelight, moving closer the one 
 to the other, the same faithful frames as had stood 
 shoulder to shoulder in pioneer toil and peril ; heavy 
 feet kept time lightly on the oaken floor as the great 
 lines came in unison from their lips : 
 
 " We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 
 Frae mornin' sun till dine," 
 
 soft glances interflowing from eyes that were not 
 used to moistness. Robert Wishart's glance never 
 turned from his wife's beaming face, and hers saw no 
 other but his own; for the long struggle had afforded 
 them a battle-tent, unentered by any but their own 
 two faithful hearts. 
 
 " Dinna tak yin anither's hands till the second 
 verse," sang out Jock, an extra breath devoted to the 
 order for some of the ardent youthful hands were 
 anticipating the climax of this great carol of the 
 heart. 
 
 The fiddle bore them on and its liquid stream 
 laved the mighty promontory : 
 
 " So gie's a hand, my trusty freen 
 And here's a hand o' mine," 
 
 whereat hard hands and tender hearts, both alike
 
 The LAST of The MORTGAGE 35 
 
 mellowed by the rich summer of a life-long toil, went 
 forth to meet and to cling to hands and hearts as 
 tender as their own. 
 
 During much of the evening, Stephen had stood 
 aloof, his face alone denied its share of the almost 
 unshadowed glow that wreathed the happy farmhouse 
 in its genial light. Most of the company had been 
 the friends of his early youth ; but, whether due to ; 
 their shyness toward the young student, or to the 
 embarrassment that even brief absence will sometimes 
 bring to sensitive natures, he had stood all the evening 
 on the shore, watching the flow of happy hearts, 
 rather than mingling with its joyous tide. 
 
 His mother's watchful eye had been the first to 
 note the jarring circumstance, but no word passed her 
 lips, nor any glance of eye marked her disquietude. 
 When, however, the happy circle had framed itself in 
 obedience to Jock's cheery summons, and Stephen 
 was not within it, she could forbear no longer. 
 
 " Come awa', my laddie," she called gently, " come 
 awa' wi' the ithers. Let's lilt Auld Lang Syne the- 
 gither." 
 
 Stephen arose, compelling a responsive smile, and 
 drew near to the waiting ring. His mother moved 
 slightly to make room for him beside her, but Stephen 
 either saw her not, or pretended that he did not see ; 
 and passed quickly to the side of another member of 
 the group. This other was a girl of about nineteen 
 years of age, who turned and looked at Stephen as if 
 much surprised when he chose his place beside her. 
 But the glowing cheek seemed to indicate that sur-
 
 )6 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 t 
 prise was not altogether unmingled with emotion, 
 
 and the kindling eye confirmed the thought in at 
 least one heart of those about her. 
 
 Tall and sinewy, endowed with that peculiar out- 
 ward grace which culture cannot simulate, Bessie 
 Burnett might well have called to herself the worth- 
 iest hands in any circle that wreathed itself for song. 
 Gentle tides of health found their pathway in her 
 cheek, sweet and fair with the health-giving flow ; 
 her fair hair hung in artless tresses about her brow, or 
 fell in untrained beauty upon white throat and bosom 
 exposed in girlish innocence. Beauty, rather than 
 character, marked her face. 
 
 It was beside this winsome maiden that Stephen 
 chose his place. He had not been careful to remark 
 whose place he had supplanted, or whom it was he 
 had almost pushed aside by his impulsive choice ; and 
 it was only when the singers began to proffer mutual 
 hands that he turned to see. And behold ! the face 
 that met his own was his brother Reuben's, paler now 
 than Stephen had ever seen it before ; and the eyes 
 had in them a strange admixture of challenge and 
 appeal as they fell on Stephen's ardent gaze. 
 
 " So gie's a hand my trusty freen 
 And here's a hand o' mine." 
 
 Thus rolled the song from every honest heart, and 
 it was swelled by Stephen's robust voice, by Bessie's 
 trembling lips, by Reuben's faltering note. Into 
 Stephen's strong hand stole Bessie's fluttering palm, 
 while Reuben's, expectant of a different trust, hung
 
 The LASr of The MORTGAGE 37 
 
 limp and cold within his brother's. Stephen vainly 
 sought, by cordial pressure, to prompt it to a warmer 
 grasp for a temporary victory affords the victor 
 temporary grace.
 
 Ill 
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 
 
 THE next morning Stephen was early astir. 
 No one was about, evidently no one up, as 
 he went down-stairs and wended his way 
 outward to the barn, the scene alike of work and 
 play in the days he rejoiced to think were now be- 
 hind forever. He stroked the faces of the soft-eyed 
 horses, outstretched to him above their mangers, the 
 faithful brutes recognizing no necessity for change. 
 They sounded their breakfast call as they had been 
 wont to do, and Stephen passed on to the bin, return- 
 ing amid the din of stamping feet and hungry whin- 
 nying, to pour their oats before them. He was re- 
 warded by that ever comfortable sound of horses 
 amid-meal, munching in manifest delight. 
 
 Then he turned his steps toward the mow, still 
 snugly filled with hay ; and memory brought before 
 him many a scene of romping merriment and many 
 a theatre of skill and daring in the days that were 
 now gone by. Yonder had they leaped from the 
 topmost rafter into the billowy straw, feigning the 
 heroic plunge from deck to ocean there had swung 
 and swayed the swing, of blessed memory ; higher 
 still, from beam to beam, they had laid the slender 
 pole which only the daring would undertake to walk, 
 and they only when inspired by awestruck eyes and 
 
 38
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 39 
 
 bated breath of gentle forms, chief among which he 
 recalled one whose golden tresses they were wont to 
 deck with crown of fragrant clover. 
 
 Whereat the stream of memory flowed down, down 
 and back till it paused at the very night before, the 
 night on which this morn had risen. He shook him- 
 self from the tangled meshes of his dream as a swim- 
 mer strives to hurl the seaweed from his arms. Upon 
 the scene that prompted it he turned his back, walk- 
 ing slowly out to the barnyard. 
 
 " Good-morning, Stephen you are out early I 
 reckon study isn't good for sleeping." 
 
 He turned quickly and encountered an engaging 
 face, that of a man about his own age. Hiram 
 Barker had come a youth from England and had at- 
 tached himself to the place some years before, indif- 
 ferent to wage, asking only to learn the farmer's art. 
 Vague rumours were afloat concerning his superior 
 connections in the old world, though these had never 
 been substantiated. His manners were worthy of the 
 highest station, marked by every evidence of refine- 
 ment ; and his mental habits were as vigorous, and 
 their outcome as fruitful, almost, as Stephen's own. 
 
 " Good-morning, Hiram," answered Stephen, the 
 vision of the man's tranquil countenance evidently 
 affording him as little pleasure as the sound of his 
 suggestive voice. " It's a fine morning," he con- 
 tinued ; " I've fed the horses their grain." 
 
 " Much obliged to you, Stephen seems like old 
 times," the man rejoined familiarly, " not every horse 
 gets its feed from a preacher's hand."
 
 40 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Stephen flushed with irritation as he noticed the 
 derisive tone and caught the gibe so noticeable in the 
 words. He started onward to the house. 
 
 But Hiram had no intention that the interview 
 should end so abruptly. 
 
 " Don't be in such a hurry, Steve ; can't you wait 
 a minute for old sake's sake ? I'm uncommon proud 
 of my old chum. It did me good to see you last 
 night, a college bred man like you, among all those 
 hayseeds, even if you didn't exactly join in with 
 them." 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Hiram ; I don't understand what 
 you're talking about. And I'll have you to under- 
 stand that I don't want my parents or my friends 
 described that way," answered Stephen, disgust with 
 the man, and fear of him, both mingling in his 
 voice. 
 
 " Don't be so crusty, Steve. I meant no harm ; but 
 I couldn't help feeling last night that my old friend 
 had outgrown me, swum away on ahead, you under- 
 stand. You used to be the life of every company 
 like that we had last night. But ytm seemed so 
 changed and distant that I couldn't help feeling my 
 old chum wasn't there at all. I changed my mind, 
 however it was something you did yourself that 
 changed it." And Hiram smiled right knowingly. 
 
 "What was that?" Stephen asked quickly, 
 prompted by an impulsive curiosity. " I didn't do 
 anything specially remarkable that I know of." 
 
 " Nothing very remarkable, Stephen, as you say 
 but it gave you back to me again. It was when you
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 41 
 
 broke in between Rube and Bessie. By jove, didn't 
 she look stunning last night ? And you made 
 straight for her, Steve oh, yes, you made straight 
 for her and the old light was in your eye, and I 
 said to myself: ' That's my old Steve back again, 
 preacher or no preacher, that's my old Steve sure 
 enough.' You always had an eye for the fair ones, 
 Stephen, and the pulpit isn't going to put it out, I'm 
 afraid." And Hiram laughed aloud till the fowl in 
 the barnyard echoed back the strain. 
 
 Stephen's face was crimson with shame and anger. 
 " Your insults are lost on me," he retorted hotly. 
 " Nobody but a fool could understand you, for you 
 talk the language of a fool. What has anything you 
 saw last night got to do with you, or the light in my 
 eye, or any of my past that you know anything 
 about ? " he cried, conscious of the medley of his 
 words, yet avoiding a directer question. 
 
 The laughter vanished from the face of his tor- 
 mentor as he turned his eyes upon Stephen, and 
 serious disdain could be seen within them. 
 
 " Don't try any heroics on with me," he said at 
 length, in lower tones than either of them had used 
 before ; " there's no reason why you and I should 
 quarrel. All I want is that we should understand 
 each other. I don't forget so easily, Steve Wishart. 
 You know what I mean you've done meaner for me 
 than you ever did for Rube ! You remember Li 
 but I needn't mention names. You are no more 
 likely to forget than I am. That was before you were 
 ' called,' as you say, to the ministry."
 
 42 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " You may taunt me as you please," answered the 
 unhappy Stephen, " and I don't make out everything 
 I did to be right. But remember one thing, Hiram, 
 it was you who first taught me the ways of sin you 
 taught me to take sin by the hand, and God knows 
 the whole warfare of my life is to put out the fire that 
 no one kindled but yourself." 
 
 " Yes," broke in the other passionately, not wait- 
 ing for his companion to conclude. " I taught you, 
 I know, as I was taught by others ; and I have had my 
 punishment. You know how I loved her and never 
 
 loved anybody else Yes, I've been punished, 
 
 as I said. The Bible that you're going to preach 
 says : ' Your sin will find you out,' and you have my 
 permission to say it's true. I'll help you preach that 
 much, Steve. If any of your hearers doubt it, refer 
 them to Hiram Barker, Rosehill Farm he knows it's 
 true he'll give them chapter and verse for it all 
 right." 
 
 " There's something truer still than that, Hiram 
 the grace of God can " 
 
 " Bah ! " broke in the other derisively, " don't try 
 your preaching on with me, Steve. What do you 
 know about the grace of God? You go to your 
 preaching and I'll go to my ploughing ; but don't let 
 either of us talk about that kind of thing at least 
 not to each other. But you'll need it yet, Steve, 
 you'll need it and who knows but you'll get it too ? 
 Who knows ? " he repeated almost musingly. 
 
 Suddenly he fixed his eyes again on Stephen's 
 face.
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 43 
 
 " Steve, you know I've got no love for you, don't 
 you ? And you know I've got good cause to hate 
 you, don't you ? " pursued the man, the dark shade of 
 anger clouding his face again. 
 
 " I don't acknowledge " 
 
 " All right, never mind about acknowledging. As 
 long as you have your memory, I can afford to care 
 nothing for your acknowledgments. But now I'm 
 coming to the point. Do you know what my worst 
 
 wish for you is, Steve ? It's a cruel, savage 
 
 wish the devil couldn't wish you worse. Guess 
 what it is." 
 
 Stephen gazed wonderingly, fearfully, at the face 
 that peered into his own, and his tongue seemed to 
 refuse to speak. For even the humblest enemy is 
 mighty when the Past is in his hand. 
 
 " You would never guess, Steve, what I'm going to 
 wish you. You wouldn't think I'm religious enough 
 to wish you this but I'm more religious than you 
 think for. And if I get my wish which I think I 
 will I'll get my revenge all right ; I mean, you will 
 suffer enough to satisfy all the enemies you ever 
 had." 
 
 " Let me pass," broke out his listener, extending 
 his arm as if to brush Hiram aside. 
 
 "All right, Steve, you may pass on you go. 
 And my wish for you is this, that you'll go on into the 
 ministry, without the grace of God. Understand, 
 Wishart ? You're to go on into the ministry with- 
 out the grace of God. That's my wish cruel 
 enough, I'll admit, but that's my wish for you. A
 
 44 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 preacher without his papers secret papers, you 
 know. Go on, Steve, run your mill by hand no 
 steam, no water, nothing but your own hands ; and 
 make folks believe you've got a different power. 
 That's my wish for you, Wishart, and even God Al- 
 mighty can't disappoint me unless He does a heap of 
 surgery on you ; and either one'll suit me all right. 
 Good-morning to you. Good-morning to you, 
 Reverend Stephen Wishart, minister of the Gospel 
 of the grace of God." 
 
 Hiram bowed low, raising his hat, then picked up 
 the pail he had been carrying and went on his way, 
 the sinister eyes flashing as he went. 
 
 Stephen answered not a word, but hurried forward 
 to the house. He encountered his mother at the door. 
 
 " Guid-mornin', laddie. It's a brichtsome day. 
 Ye rested weel, I hope. Come ben to your break- 
 fast. I was juist gaein' to ca" ye. The parritch is 
 lifted and yir faither's waitin'," said the faithful woman, 
 looking proudly on the son whose gifts and promise 
 were her greatest joy. 
 
 " Thank you, mother, but don't wait breakfast for 
 me. I slept poorly last night too much of your 
 good cooking, I'm afraid," and Stephen commanded 
 a faint smile as he spoke, " so I think I'll see if I can't 
 rest a little I'm not feeling extra well." 
 
 " Puir laddie," responded his mother, " it's ower 
 hard studyin' wi' the books that's no' guid for ye, but 
 tak ye a wee bit rest and ye'll mebbe feel mair like 
 yir breakfast after that. Let doon the blinds and 
 ye'll rest the better."
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 45 
 
 Stephen did let down the blinds, and on the softest 
 of pillows he laid his weary head. But there are 
 blinds invisible which we cannot draw at will, and the 
 unshielded soul that craves them, conscious of other 
 larger eyes than ours that search it through and 
 through, looks and longs in vain for the shelter that 
 is denied. Such a soul was Stephen Wishart's, vainly 
 searching for its cover and rinding no pillow worthy 
 of its weariness. The past, with its every turgid 
 tide, its every muddy tributary, surged about him 
 where he lay ; and the voice of Hiram Barker echoed 
 in his soul like the voice of doom. And now he 
 lives over again the hour of defeat which Hiram's 
 words recalled. Deep and sincere was the penitence 
 he felt, earnest and true his desire to redeem his sin 
 by a life of devoted service ; and plaintive indeed 
 was his secret cry for a regenerated heart that might 
 justify the life-work he had dared to choose. 
 
 He was still pondering the past, now sallying into 
 the days that were gone, now fluttering fearfully for- 
 ward toward their darker descendants yet to come, 
 when a sound from the kitchen below attracted his 
 attention. It was a note of music, roughly but ac- 
 curately uttered by his father's voice, evidently in 
 quest of a tune. Stephen understood at once they 
 were beginning family worship, always opened with a 
 psalm. He had often found it wearisome enough, 
 but it seemed strangely interesting now and wel- 
 come too for it had the subtle charm of reality about 
 it, like his mother's substantial fare, compared with 
 the confectioneries of nimbler hands.
 
 46 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 He partly rose, leaning his head on his hand, and 
 listening intently. Once or twice his father cleared 
 his throat, pursuing the note again; then a slight 
 murmur of satisfaction with his search and the psalm 
 began. Up into his room floated the stately words, 
 his father's voice clearly in the lead, followed by his 
 mother's quavering tones, Reuben joining with a rich 
 and mellow bass : 
 
 " Behold Thou in the inward parts 
 
 With truth delighted art 
 And wisdom Thou shalt make me know 
 
 Within the hidden part." 
 
 Stephen's soul went down before the mighty num- 
 bers ; his spirit seemed caught into the current of the 
 noble prayer and he tried to join the singing. But 
 his voice was choked in tears. The vision of the 
 great lives beneath him, whose shoe-latchets he knew 
 himself unworthy to unloose their simple faith, their 
 unstained purity, their loyalty to God and the 
 mingling vision of his own warring heart, his treach- 
 erous will, his tarnished life, lent to the words a power 
 and to the prayer a beauty that melted his soul within 
 him. 
 
 Still listening, he could catch the murmur of words, 
 but too low to be heard distinctly evidently the 
 reading from the Book. A few minutes more, and a 
 shuffling of chairs, followed by deep quietness, be- 
 tokened that they had sought the Presence whose 
 reality Stephen knew was the power of his parents' 
 lives. Only two phrases did he hear. Once he caught 
 the words : Help us to live true lives before Thee
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 47 
 
 this day " and the contrite heart coveted the answer 
 for its own. Again he heard : " Give him a great 
 secret for his great work," and the listening son knew 
 well for whom his father prayed. 
 
 He rose from the bed, his whole soul bathed in 
 purpose. Kneeling low, he poured out his heart in 
 penitence, while resolve and entreaty mingled in pas- 
 sionate petition. 
 
 " Oh, God, save me from the past," he cried. " I 
 was young and I was caught into the torrent before 
 I knew its danger. Oh, God, give me a clean heart 
 and make me hate sin make me hate sin, oh, my 
 Father," he repeated, " and let me love Thy will 
 and Thy work." Then, one by one, he sought to 
 bring the sins of his youth forward for forgiveness ; 
 but his mind threatened to linger on them and the 
 stain menaced his heart anew. He forbore, con- 
 cluding with a repetition of his former cry, struggling 
 back to the shore like one whose garments are wet 
 with the torrent's spray. 
 
 Still struggling, he walked to the open window and 
 looked out. The morning sun, far on its calm jour- 
 ney now, was shriving all it touched with holy light. 
 The tranquil purity of all around him seemed to 
 soothe the tumult in Stephen's soul, speaking to him 
 with its silent voice. New life was manifest in herb 
 and flower and leaf, bud and blossom faintly heralding 
 the regeneration of the year. Recovery and whole- 
 ness and triumph seemed about him on every hand 
 and the instinct of life seemed to throb with victory, 
 numbness and decay retreating with ever-hastening
 
 48 THE UNDERrOW 
 
 steps. May not the soul have its spring-time too ? 
 thought Stephen Wishart. 
 
 Suddenly he heard the sound of voices but no- 
 body was visible. 
 
 " I can't wait, Reuben," he heard a familiar voice 
 say. " I only came to get the glass pitcher that 
 mother loaned for last night and I must hurry back. 
 Father's shearing the sheep and mother'll be needing 
 me. It's churning day." 
 
 " Never mind the churning, Bessie," Reuben 
 answered. " Hiram's going to the post and I told 
 him to drop in and give your mother a hand at 
 anything she was at. I knew your father was at the 
 creek. I want to speak to you. Let us sit here by 
 the well." 
 
 Stephen, obedient to a sudden impulse of honour, 
 stepped noiselessly back and sat upon the bed. He 
 knew their words were not for him, but the words 
 followed him only a few random fugitives did he 
 catch, but they were enough to provide his conscience 
 with a hinge. 
 
 " Why would you go away, Reuben ? Your 
 father and mother surely need you here and lots of 
 folks would miss you." 
 
 " You know, Bessie, you know why I want to go 
 away," answered Reuben's voice. 
 
 Then some words followed which were too low for 
 Stephen's ears. " For my sake," Bessie cried in 
 answer, " for my sake, Reuben ! Why go away for 
 me ? No, I didn't say I'd miss you I won't say 
 anything about that. You can decide about that your-
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 49 
 
 self I guess you know. But what would your 
 going away have to do with me ? " 
 
 " You know well enough, Bessie why should you 
 ask me to tell you ? You know I'm only a rough 
 uneducated farmer, nothing but a clodhopper and 
 not likely to be anything better while I stay here. 
 And I can see you aren't satisfied. Here I am with 
 no prospects but a farm and it not free from debt 
 till lately ; and no money amongst us except that 
 windfall that father got from Scotland. I don't 
 blame you, Bessie. You want somebody with edu- 
 cation, or money, or both somebody with fine man- 
 ners, who has seen something of the world, some- 
 body that you can be proud of. That's the kind of 
 man you want or ought to want." 
 
 Bessie's voice trembled as she answered : " I 
 want something more than that, Reuben every girl 
 wants more than that." 
 
 " What is it, Bessie ? tell me what is it ? " urged 
 Reuben. 
 
 Bessie's answer was low, so low that Stephen could 
 not hear, but the last words were plain enough : " A 
 true heart that will never change, never, never at all, 
 but get truer and truer the longer they both live 
 that's what every girl wants." 
 
 " I know, Bessie. I know all that but you want 
 something more besides. Something I can never 
 get or give you here. You know you are beautiful, 
 and you are meant for lovely things, and high 
 society, and educated people, even if you do live on 
 a farm like myself. You are meant for somebody
 
 5 o THE UNDERTOW 
 
 like that somebody like Stephen," he concluded, 
 and his voice was different, faltering as he spoke the 
 name. 
 
 " Stephen wouldn't think of me " the girl's voice 
 was trembling " we used to be such friends but 
 I've got sense enough to know about Stephen now. 
 You remember that paper he sent us about that re- 
 ception and the description of all the fine dresses 
 and things you remember ? " 
 
 Reuben did remember, for his soul had secretly 
 exulted over it ; but he noticed the look of longing 
 pain in the girl's eyes and a shadow crept across 
 his own. 
 
 " Steve's too noble a fellow to be influenced by 
 such things as those," he replied. " Steve's almost a 
 minister now, and he loves souls for their own sakes ; 
 the rich and the poor'll all be alike to him. I don't 
 think worldly attractions, society things, I mean, 
 have any charm for Stephen." 
 
 The girl did not fail to note the shade upon his 
 face and it lent music to his generous words, the love 
 he bore his brother struggling to hold its own against 
 the great supplanter. 
 
 Divine authority there was, and Reuben knew it, 
 for the desertion that forsakes a brother to cleave to 
 that same supplanter but Reuben would cleave yet 
 a while to both. 
 
 Stephen was the younger, and the more delicate. 
 A violent sickness in early boyhood had well-nigh 
 borne him off; after he was convalescent, he had 
 been much in Reuben's care; and the latter had
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 51 
 
 shielded him by day, and had wakened all through 
 the wintry nights to assure himself that the little in- 
 valid was covered up and warm. Thus the protection 
 of his brother had become the habit of his life and 
 almost the deepest passion of his heart. 
 
 " What is Stephen going to do now, Reuben ? " 
 Bessie asked. " Has he got a call to a kirk ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Bessie he hasn't told me. But 
 he wants to study in Scotland ; I know he asked 
 father for the money," answered Stephen's brother. 
 
 Then Reuben's voice dropped lower and Stephen 
 could hear but little of what he said. What 
 he did hear, however, was enough to let him know 
 that he was no longer the subject of his brother's 
 pleading. The poor hungry heart was speaking for 
 itself now. He was speaking louder than before. 
 
 " I can never hope to be clever like him, but happi- 
 ness isn't in being clever, Bessie ; it's in being happy 
 and that's an entirely different thing. Won't you 
 bid me go, Bessie? And won't you promise to 
 write to me, and cheer me on, and wait for me and 
 let me feel all through the fight that your heart is 
 helping me to try and be worthy of you ? I'll try 
 so hard and I know I can succeed." 
 
 " But Reuben, if you could be happy anywhere 
 if both of us could be happy anywhere," and the 
 blush of ardent innocence gave beauty to the words, 
 " there's no better place than just here where every- 
 body else seems to be happy too. Everything is 
 pure and lovely here but don't ask me, Reuben 
 don't urge me so. I admire you so, Reuben no-
 
 52 
 
 UNDERTOW 
 
 body in the whole world admires you like I do. I 
 think you are so good ; everybody does and father 
 says you could be an elder." 
 
 " I don't want to be an elder," the other broke in 
 abruptly, " and I don't want to be admired ; I don't 
 care whether anybody admires me or not. I want to 
 be oh, Bessie, Bessie " and the listener above them 
 trembled like a leaf at the great stillness that fol- 
 lowed, broken by no voice of words, but only by the 
 old, old rhetoric of passion's movement, that semi- 
 savage, semi-heavenly, music of a man's tender over- 
 powering and woman's surrendering resistance. 
 
 " Oh, Reuben, Reuben," he heard at last, " you 
 mustn't we mustn't some one's calling me," and 
 in a moment the graceful form could be seen hurry- 
 ing across the sward. But Stephen knew from their 
 very sound that those lips had been touched by 
 kindred coals of flame and his own were parched 
 and white. He watched the girl's lithe frame as it 
 retreated in the distance, the golden hair tossed in 
 the morning wind ; and he saw, too, or thought he 
 saw, the heaving bosom and the burning cheek 
 but all were beautiful, marked more by beauty than 
 by strength, he knew. 
 
 He walked across the room and threw himself 
 upon the bed; in a moment he is up again and 
 pacing the floor. 
 
 He strides to the window again and looks at the 
 morning's majestic purity, unnoticed now. A man's 
 form is visible, appearing above a distant hill. He 
 gazes at it a minute as it plods heavily on, and sees
 
 HIRAM STIRS The POOL 53 
 
 it to be Hiram, returning from his errand. Then 
 doors of ebony fly open wide, and ghostly memories, 
 black-robed, rush in, the very memories he had fore- 
 sworn forever, upon his knees surrendering them to 
 the destructive custody of God. He bids them be- 
 gone back, still back he bids them go ; and all are 
 driven forth save one, one only, that had long been 
 the favourite of his heart. It lingers and soon the 
 door is open wide again, and all the banished return 
 rejoicing to the room that hath been swept and 
 garnished all unresisted now. 
 
 Stephen turns from the window, his back turned 
 upon the light; the room is strangely dark after 
 looking at the meadows and the sun; but not un- 
 pleasantly so to his ardent eyes. A robin is voicing 
 its pure note from a tree beside the window as Stephen 
 turns away ; but he hears it only for an instant, dis- 
 missing the sweet suggestion.
 
 IV 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 
 
 " "" 'VE been thinkin' it ower to mysel', Stephen, 
 and I talkit to yir mither aboot it an' I dinna 
 
 JL ken weel juist what to dae." 
 
 It was Robert Wishart's voice ; and he was seated 
 again in the familiar kitchen seat. 
 
 Jean was over at the Burnetts', holding high con- 
 ference upon the high proceedings of the social gath- 
 ering whose story has been already told. Reuben 
 was still employed with the varied duties of the byre, 
 through whose open doors came the sound of many 
 a bovine vesper song. 
 
 " I don't know either," answered Stephen. " May 
 I ask a plain question, father ? Have you any money 
 except what they sent you from the old country ? 
 Don't think I'm prying into your affairs ; but when 
 I spoke to you about sending me abroad to study, I 
 thought perhaps you had a little laid by in all these 
 years." Stephen's rather embarrassed face was turned 
 towards the door as he asked the question, fearing 
 interruption. 
 
 " Ye're no' interfering Stephen no, there's nae- 
 body there ; Reuben's attendin' to the cattle for the 
 nicht. Ye're no' interferin', as I said. We'll no' 
 begin now to hae ony secrets among us. But about 
 the money I hae nae mair, forbye a pickle that I'll 
 gie to Hiram when the month comes round. There's 
 
 54
 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 55 
 
 no' been muckle money in farmin' these late years. 
 I mind the time o' the war in Russia wheat was gey 
 high then twa dollars a bushel for months on end, 
 and glad to get it, tae. It's but three-quarters o' a 
 dollar now. But I'm no' complainin' war's a wae- 
 some thing to mak money oot o'." 
 
 " Didn't you lend some money to Archie Gourlay, 
 father ? " Stephen asked after a short pause, his mind 
 still fixed on Edinburgh and all possible assets 
 thereto assisting. 
 
 " Aye, I loaned him a wee pickle puir Airchie, 
 he had aye the manners o' a Duke when he was 
 wantin' siller. I mind how he held the gate open 
 when I started ben the hoose to get it for him but 
 'twas sair different when I wantit it back. I had to 
 open a' the gates mysel'," and Robert Wishart in- 
 dulged himself in a low gurgle of laughter. " He 
 was ceevil eneuch for a' that ; I mind he told me he 
 wadna ask the note afore he paid the money on't," 
 and the kindly creditor laughed again. 
 
 " Did he ever pay you ? " Stephen asked. 
 
 " Na, he never did and he died a twalmonth syne, 
 as ye ken. And a fortnicht later his horse was killed 
 wi' lichtnin' and the stirkie was droon'd and his 
 puir widow bocht a lichtnin' rod frae a scoun'rel that 
 cam' round and that's waur nor buyin' a farm itsel'. 
 Sae I cudna be ower hard ; and I never pressed her 
 mair. The body seems gratefu', nae doot ; says she 
 aye gies me her vote for an elder. And I aye cry 
 back it's a sair pity she canna gie me the fitness, 
 tae," and the old farmer smiled, ending with a sigh.
 
 5 6 'THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Where is the note ? " Stephen ventured. 
 
 His father paused a moment ; then nodding his 
 head forward he replied : " It's in there." 
 
 " In there ! Where ? " said Stephen, " in the Bible 
 do you mean ? " for the sacred volume was often the 
 receptacle of cherished manuscripts ; and within its 
 hallowed pages was many a Scotchman wont to read 
 his title clear. 
 
 " Na, it's no' in the Buik. I never mix thae things 
 thegither. Though ma faither did he aye keepit 
 his marriage lines at the thirteenth o' First Corin- 
 thians, and his mither's funeral card at the four- 
 teenth o' St. John. Guid bits, tae, baith o' them," 
 he added, his mind evidently more engrossed with 
 these tender thoughts than with the matter in hand. 
 
 " But where did you say the Gourlay note was ? " 
 Stephen renewed, for he was in no antiquarian mood 
 just then. 
 
 " Oh, the note," said his father, reclaiming his 
 thoughts with a start, " it's in there where I tell't ye." 
 
 " In where ? " pursued the son, " I don't see any- 
 where where it can be ; there's nothing there but the 
 wall." 
 
 " It's i' the fire," the head of the house gravely 
 averred. " It oucht to be there, onyway. That's 
 where I saw it last and it's the place for a' such 
 things wi' neebours, to my way o' thinkin' I'll never 
 hae anither." 
 
 Stephen gazed intently into the fire, his mental at- 
 titude prompting the stare. 
 
 " Ye canna see't," the old man interposed, a
 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 57 
 
 solemn smile playing about his lips. " It's i' the 
 fire, nae doot, but its indiveeduality is gone, ye ken,"' 
 he concluded, undertaking a word as large as the 
 generous action which had necessitated it ; " but the 
 fire's seemed to me to burn brichter ever since," he 
 added, " and it'll no' dae the widow's fire ony harm 
 forbye." 
 
 " Oh, I see," Stephen mused abstractedly. 
 
 " Aye," responded the other, " that's what I think 
 mysel'." Then silence, that greatest arbitrator, took 
 the ill matched argument into her keeping, judgment 
 to be reserved. 
 
 Robert Wishart was the first to renew the conver- 
 sation : " Mebbe we'd better be takin' up that mait- 
 ter o' business again ways and means hae their ain 
 place, as my faither used to say. Aboot yir gaein' to 
 the auld country, Stephen I dinna ken weel juist 
 what ye oucht to dae, as I was sayin'. I've gied ye 
 a guid schulin', and pit ye through for the ministry ; 
 and I was hopin', mebbe, that ye'd sune be daein' 
 for yirsel'. It's ta'en a heap o' siller not that I'm 
 grudgin' it, Stephen, far frae that but yir mither's 
 needin' a new gown, and I'd like Reuben to hae a 
 bit thing or twa a watch mebbe ; and we're needin' 
 a new carriage ; and I was thinkin' o' takin' yir 
 mither for a wee bit holiday. She's far frae weel, as 
 ye ken yirsel'. Her heart's ailin', the doctor says, 
 and she maun hae rest, he says tae." Brooding 
 seriousness sat on Robert Wishart's brow. 
 
 Stephen's face paled, and he poked the fire medi- 
 tatively. " I understand, father, and I don't want to
 
 58 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 be selfish I hope I'm not selfish," he continued 
 gravely, his gaze averted from his father's, so stead- 
 fastly set upon him. " You've certainly been kind to 
 me but it does seem too bad not to give my educa- 
 tion the finishing touch, now that we've gone so far. 
 You see, father, this country is very new and very 
 raw so far as its culture is concerned, at least, espe- 
 cially in theology ; one really doesn't get the latest 
 thought in theology this side of Germany. But I 
 don't think of Germany. I can learn to read the 
 German books and I will. But in Edinburgh they 
 have some grand theologians, thoroughly modern, 
 up to date, men, who are familiar with the new the- 
 ology, and that is what a fellow needs for the min- 
 istry in these days. You have to keep abreast of the 
 times if you would succeed." 
 
 Stephen would have continued, but his father 
 turned and looked at him, wonder in his face. 
 
 " What's that yir say in', Stephen ? What's that 
 yir sayin' ? ' the latest thocht ' whaur wad a min- 
 ister o' the gospel get the latest thocht if it isna frae 
 Almichty God? And I'm thinkin' He micht be 
 found this side o' Germany, or Edinburgh either, for 
 that maitter. ' A new theology ! a new theology ! ' 
 that is summat new, I'll grant ye. Some o' thae new 
 professors'll be wantin' a new sun i' the heavens soon ; 
 and the yin's as reasonable as the ither. 
 
 " Whatever div ye mean, my laddie ? Tell me, noo, 
 wad ye like a new mither ? Or a new way o' 
 thinkin' aboot a mither's love? Wad ye, laddie, 
 wad ye, noo ? Dinna shake yir heid like that
 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 59 
 
 they're the same ; and ye maun learn aboot them the 
 same way by the heart, ye ken. 
 
 " Ye canna learn aboot the flowers that blaw beside 
 the burn, oot o' a bulk. Ye canna, ye maun learn 
 them wi' yir heart tae. An auld country and a new 
 theology ! God forbid ! " and the student's father 
 caressed the Book that lay beside him, his cheek 
 glowing with an unwonted colour, and his eyes some- 
 what dim as they rested on the precious volume ; for 
 his father before him had pillowed there his weary 
 heart when the evening shadows fell. 
 
 " But father, listen to me a moment," cried his son, 
 almost overborne as he was by the elder's vehemence ; 
 he was dimly conscious of the great power that so 
 often reposes in great hearts like these, breaking at 
 long intervals into geyser speech. " Listen to me a 
 moment," he said again ; and his father essayed to do 
 so, settling himself resolutely within his chair. 
 
 " It's like this," Stephen went on, " it's like this 
 new theories come with new light ; and it's our duty 
 to welcome truth, come from what quarter it may. 
 Our views of many things change with the years, 
 even though they may be challenged. You remem- 
 ber Copernicus ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " said the old man, suddenly. " Remember 
 wha ? " 
 
 " Copernicus," repeated Stephen, " Copernicus and 
 the sun, you know." 
 
 " I canna mind on him," said the father, ransack- 
 ing his memory in vain " but I'm no' sae guid at 
 mindin' names as I used to be. And of course I
 
 60 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 wadna ken the son ; a man at my age isna sae ready 
 at takin' up wi' the young folk. What like a man 
 was he ? Did they gang till oor kirk ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, you misunderstand me I'm speaking 
 of Copernicus, a famous name in science one of the 
 ancients " 
 
 " Oh," broke in the other, " it's oot o' the Bible ye 
 mean? It'll be Capernaum ye' re thinkin' o'. I ken 
 Capernaum fine was readin' aboot it this vera 
 mornin'. That's the place as had a bonny chance wi' 
 the Maister's michty works but they didna tak them 
 to their souls ; they didna hae ' the latest thocht ' or 
 mebbe they got it when it was too late ; " and the 
 venerable disputant smiled genially upon his son, his 
 lifted eyebrows betokening the conviction that he had 
 fairly scored. 
 
 " No, father, of course I don't mean Capernaum," 
 said Stephen, a shade of irritation mingling with his 
 smile " I'm speaking of a man, not of a place a 
 man who had new views about the sun ; and the peo- 
 ple ridiculed his ideas. Well " 
 
 " Div ye mean the Son o' God ? " his father inter- 
 rupted earnestly, evidently glad that they were com- 
 ing to close range at last. 
 
 " No, certainty not, certainly not. I'm talking 
 about the sun in the heavens he was an astrono- 
 mer." 
 
 " Then he has naeth.n' to dae wi' the case," the old 
 man retorted triumphantly " it's foreign till the ar- 
 gyment a' thegither. What has astronomy to dae 
 wi' a minister that has eternal life to preach ?
 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 61 
 
 What's yon vanished sun, black oot half the time, com- 
 pared wi' the Sun o' Righteousness? It's naethin', 
 simply naethin'. I dinna see as yon Capernaum 
 man has ony bearin' on theology at a'." 
 
 " Oh, I'm only using that as an illustration, father. 
 I'm only speaking of the unjust suspicion with which 
 men are regarded when they discover new truths 
 path-finders you might call them, to change the 
 figure." 
 
 " Aye, ye'd better change yir figure," and a note of 
 scorn was in his father's voice ; " ye'd better change it 
 again it'll stand it. That path-findin', as ye ca' it, 
 may do weel eneuch for maitters o' the intellect ; but 
 I'm tellin' ye there's nae path-finder for the guilty 
 soul but yin an' He's the Shepherd o' the soul. 
 We've got to tak the bairns' place, and we've got to 
 hae the bairns' trustfu' heart, or there's nae new 
 path, I'm tellin' ye. Dauvit found the path fine, and 
 sae did Peter, and sae did the prodigal son when 
 they lookit for it wi' a broken heart. There's nae 
 eye sees sae far as the eye that's greetin'," and the 
 old Scotchman sat erect in his chair as he spoke, like 
 one who felt he was set for the defense of the gospel. 
 
 " I don't mean those personal matters, father not 
 at all I mean opinions about truths, doctrines, and 
 matters of that kind. For instance these men have 
 given us new theories of the creation, and of author- 
 ship the book of Isaiah, for instance and a more 
 modern interpretation of the Atonement. It's 
 only " 
 
 But now Robert Wishart was on his feet, for vague
 
 62 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 rumours of this very feature of the new theology had 
 already reached him ; " Did I understand ye richt ? 
 the Atonement ; the Atonement,' Stephen ! Has it 
 gone sae far ben as that? Wad they fumble wi' the 
 heart o' God Himsel' ? Wad they play hide and seek 
 i' the garden o' Gethsemane ? My God, laddie, keep 
 yir hands aff the Cross ; it's a' I hae; and I'm anauld 
 man, near the grave and the Judgment Seat, and a' 
 the world has naethin' left forbye the Cross. Oh, 
 Stephen ! My son, my son, Stephen ! " 
 
 The quivering voice is broken now and hot tears 
 are coursing down the simple believer's cheeks. His 
 strong frame shakes with the emotion of his heart, for 
 he felt as if his own son had snatched at the only 
 pillow his weary head could know. He walked a 
 minute about the room, while his gaze still fondly 
 turned, resting on the Book that had lain beside him, 
 then passing in melting tenderness to rest upon the 
 bowed head his hand had so often touched in blessing. 
 
 He stopped before a grandfather clock, stately and 
 sympathetic as only its kind can be, holding its 
 historic place against the whitened wall. His father's 
 father had been its first possessor, and it had borne 
 them both out to sea, marking off the years as they 
 had passed, well pleased with the simple ways and 
 simpler faith that had served them to the end. Per- 
 haps his fond look into its face recalled with intenser 
 vividness the undisturbed pavilion of those peaceful 
 days whose tranquillity was nothing more or less than 
 rest in God. 
 
 He put forth his hand to the substantial key and
 
 The OLD SCHOOL AND The NEW 63 
 
 began to slowly wind it. The familiar sound seemed 
 to compose him ; he closed the tall door softly, al- 
 most caressingly, while his faithful friend, its voice 
 subdued in consequence, pressed cheerfully on its un- 
 tiring way. Then he came and stood at the back of 
 Stephen's chair, his hand laid gently on his son's 
 partly bended head. Through the father's mind 
 there passed the swift thought that here the hands of 
 ordaining grace would soon be laid. An exultant 
 sense of a father's priestly place possessed his heart 
 and his hand rested more firmly than before. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, my son," he said at length, " I 
 canna help thinkin' o' yir grandfaither the nicht. 
 He died in yonner chair, when his day's hard work 
 was done. And his latest thocht was this, Stephen 
 his latest thocht was this that he was the chief o' 
 sinners. Na, na, I'm wrang he had a later thocht 
 than that it was this, that the chief o' sinners had a 
 Saviour and I'm dootin' he's had nae later thocht 
 than that, for a' he's where the Licht is clearer. Oh, 
 Stephen, will ye no' come back ? Come back, my 
 laddie, to yir faither's heart."
 
 In The FURNACE TWICE 
 
 STEPHEN passed out the farmhouse door 
 through the creaking gate, and turned the 
 corner of the barn towards the familiar copse 
 whose shadowy outline was discernible through the 
 deepening dark. 
 
 Soon he reached the outer edge of the little fringe 
 of wood, and a silvery disc was visible on the horizon. 
 The moon was rising, and Stephen hailed the omen. 
 All things make for light, he thought, to the heart 
 that truly seeks it. 
 
 This reverie was interrupted before it had well 
 begun, by a sound of distant barking. Soon the 
 youth heard a human voice mingling with the dog's, 
 evidently chiding it, or pretending to chide it. 
 Stephen took his seat upon a fallen tree. Soon a 
 merry voice was heard : 
 
 " Don't make such a noise, Tonko ; look, the 
 moon's peeping out to see what's the matter and 
 you'll waken all the little birdies in their nests." 
 Then followed another peal of canine repartee. 
 
 " I'll never bring you out again at night, you 
 naughty dog all good doggies should be in bed by 
 now." 
 
 Often is it said, and ever justly, that a voice owes 
 64
 
 In The FURNACE TWICE 65 
 
 much to words that it is but their poor dependent. 
 But mere truly may it be said that words are the 
 debtors unto voice, which is life-giver to them all. 
 What joy there is in trifling speeches if they but 
 employ those lips that thrill us ! Which Stephen 
 Wishart proved that night beneath the timid moon ; 
 for this bantering speech was from the dewy lips of 
 Bessie Burnett, and no rounded period from Chry- 
 sostom's golden mouth could so have stirred his soul. 
 He sprang to his feet in impulsive movement. 
 Whereupon the maiden stood trembling in the path, 
 while the unsympathetic Tonko bloomed into brist- 
 ling vehemence, low growls signifying that he had 
 good cause for the outburst. 
 
 " All right, Tonko that's a good dog. Don't 
 you know me, Bessie ? You know who it is." 
 
 With a reassuring word, the girl laid her hand 
 upon the dog, whose armour instantly disappeared. 
 Bessie stepped forward and Stephen was already at 
 her side, his face more eager than her own. 
 
 " Where have you been, Bessie ? It must be eight 
 o'clock or after," he said. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, you frightened me so," Bessie an- 
 swered. " I couldn't imagine who it was. I took over 
 some currant jelly to the Gourlays' Mrs. Gourlay's 
 sick. I saw the light in your house at home and I 
 supposed you were there with your folks. Where 
 were you going ? " 
 
 " Nowhere," rejoined Stephen, " I was only out for 
 a little walk. Let's sit down a minute, Bessie ; it's 
 such a lovely night. It's the first real warm night
 
 66 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 we've had. And then you will let me walk home 
 with you after." 
 
 " They'll be looking for me home and I'm afraid 
 there's dew," said the girl. 
 
 " Oh, no, there's none to speak of; and they'll 
 think you are just lingering a little at the Gourlays'. 
 Come, Bessie, I have hardly seen anything of you 
 since I came home and I'm going away again very 
 soon." 
 
 " Going away ! " exclaimed Bessie, surrendering 
 with the words, and letting Stephen bear her on : 
 " going away ! What are you going for ? Where 
 are you going ? I thought you were going to make 
 us a long visit, now that your college work is done." 
 
 " No," said the other, " I'm going very soon 
 next week, perhaps. And it may be I'll go tar 
 away away across the ocean." 
 
 " Will you be gone long, Stephen ? " she asked, 
 the slightest throb noticeable in her voice. 
 
 " I don't know but it's likely I will perhaps a 
 year. But even a year soon goes by." 
 
 " Sometimes it does," Bessie said, very femininely. 
 
 " I know," Stephen went on, " that I shall often 
 think of the old place and the old friends and I hope 
 they will sometimes think of me." 
 
 Bessie stirred in her seat, the fire kindling in her 
 bosom. She thought of Reuben, brave, honest, faith- 
 ful Reuben, and the flame flickered lower for a mo- 
 ment. But it was only for a moment ; Stephen's 
 hand moved carelessly, resting on her own. Tonko's 
 head was on Bessie's knee, restlessly thrusting about,
 
 In The FURNACE TWICE 67 
 
 the devoted creature looking up at quick intervals to 
 his mistress's face, impatient of the strange delay. 
 
 " Oh, Bessie," Stephen said softly, " Bessie, come 
 closer to me." 
 
 " Don't, Stephen, don't," Bessie's trembling voice 
 made answer, " don't make it harder for me, Stephen. 
 I can't I must not." 
 
 " I can't say all I would, Bessie the time will 
 come but you know, you know ; and, before I go 
 away " 
 
 " Stephen, Stephen Wishart, I'm promised, I'm 
 nearly promised to another, and you are altogether 
 promised to God and you ought to help me. You 
 can't tell me what you mean ; and I shouldn't hear it 
 if you could and yet oh, Stephen." 
 
 Her companion was now upon his feet, and a no- 
 bler light glowed upon his face. " You're right, Bes- 
 sie," he exclaimed, his voice ringing with its purpose. 
 " Your love belongs to Rube, and I'm not worthy to 
 unloose his shoe-latchet. Forgive me, forgive me, 
 Bessie ; this is a kind of madness on my part I'm 
 going home, I'm going back, and I won't see you any 
 more, Bessie. Only I want you to pray for me, for 
 I really want to conquer, Bessie I really do. And I 
 shall always wish the very best for you and Rube, 
 dear old faithful Rube. I'm going home," and with- 
 out further word or token of farewell, he turned from 
 the wondering girl and started toward his father's 
 house. 
 
 " Steve," she called gently," wait one minute, Steve." 
 But he seemed not to hear, quickening his pace and
 
 68 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 pressing on, his heart rejoicing in the battle, but won- 
 dering the while at the strange fever that so easily 
 possessed it ; for he knew, knew well, the disordered 
 nature of the impulse that had so well-nigh mastered 
 him, and the thought of it clothed him with humilia- 
 tion. Again and again he cursed this dark current 
 of his soul, again and again beseeching the healing 
 stream. 
 
 Thus employed, he has soon outdone the distance 
 that separated him from the ever brightening light in 
 the window beyond. The door opened before 
 Stephen reached it, for his footsteps had been heard. 
 In the streaming light stood Reuben. 
 
 " Is that you, Stephen ? I've been often to the 
 door looking for you. Where have you been ? We 
 were wondering what could have happened you." 
 
 " I've been having a little walk," his brother an- 
 swered. " I didn't know it was so late. What are 
 you doing, father ? " he asked as he entered. 
 
 " I'm dae'in' what I haena had to dae for mony a 
 year," the old man responded ; " I haena had to med- 
 dle wi't since yir grandfaither died. All that it needed 
 yir mither could dae easy eneuch. It's no' troubled 
 wi' the feckless ways o' the clocks they're makin' 
 nowadays." 
 
 His father was standing by the trusty timepiece, 
 taller somewhat than himself, a bulky screw-driver in 
 one hand and a candle in the other. This luminary 
 was never called into service, save for this self-same 
 duty, or to display to admiring visitors what its proud 
 owner called the " innerts " of the faithful horologe.
 
 In 'The FURNACE TWICE 69 
 
 " Yir mither kens mair aboot it as I dae mysel'," 
 Robert Wishart said, recalling his tongue from afar 
 to utter the tribute ; for he was at a critical point just 
 now ; and at every crisis this lingual banner was wont 
 to be displayed. 
 
 " Where is mother, then ? " Stephen asked, looking 
 around the room. 
 
 " She's no' sae weel and she gaed to her bed," ex- 
 plained her husband. " She'd sune set it richt if she 
 wasna ailin' hersel'." 
 
 A voice was heard from the adjoining room, " I'm 
 no' ailin' no' sae bad as that. Gie't ile, faither; 
 that's what it's needin'. And Stephen, get ye a ban- 
 nock for yirsel' frae the pantry shelf and a jug o' 
 milk. I put them by for ye. Ye maun be hungry, 
 laddie." 
 
 " Thank you, mother," answered her son ; " you 
 may be sure I'll find them. It was just like your 
 thoughtfulness. You'll be better in the morning, 
 won't you, mother ? " 
 
 " Aye, Stephen, I'll be a' richt the morn. Ye'll 
 find anither quilt at the foot o' yir bed. The nichts 
 is cold, ye ken." 
 
 He thanked her again, his eyes intent upon his 
 father, the muffled thump of an oil can, prompted at 
 the base by a vigorous thumb, betokening the old 
 man's conjugal obedience. 
 
 Robert Wishart emerged presently from the oaken 
 case. 
 
 " I've gied her ile eneuch for the Sabbath-schule 
 at Christmas," he said, " but she doesna answer.
 
 70 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Mebbe it'll no' tak effect till the morn," and he turned, 
 well pleased with his playfulness. 
 
 " Weel, weel," he added abruptly, " we'll no' 
 bother wi' her mair the nicht. We'll gang to oor 
 rest and fit oorsels for the Creator's will the morn. 
 The nicht'll gang, if the clock willna' " and the pious 
 philosopher pushed his armchair close to the fire's 
 cheerful blaze. 
 
 This was the familiar signal, immediately obeyed 
 by Reuben and Stephen, who drew their chairs nearer 
 to their father's, settling themselves for the solemnities 
 that no hurry was ever permitted to curtail nor duty 
 to supplant. 
 
 Carefully was the psalm selected. With mature 
 deliberation, as though this were the rarest ceremony, 
 Robert Wishart turned over the pages of the book, 
 pausing here and there to adjust a leaf that long 
 usage had disengaged. There were many claims 
 for his favour, and some were with difficulty set 
 aside. 
 
 Stephen was curiously interested in the process. 
 His nature had inherited the tinge of superstition 
 that so strongly marks the race from which he sprung ; 
 and he had a sort of sub-conscious feeling that his 
 father was wont to choose the psalm under higher 
 guidance than his own. 
 
 " ' What time my heart is overwhelmed/ that's a 
 grand yin we'll sing that the morn if we're spared," 
 he said in an undertone," we'll sing this yin the nicht, 
 the twenty-fourth." 
 
 Slowly arose the stately words, according well with
 
 In The FURNACE TWICE 71 
 
 the strong voice and earnest soul of the man who 
 poured them forth : 
 
 " Who is the man that shall ascend into the hill of God 
 Or who within His holy place shall have a firm abode ? " 
 
 When the first verse was finished, he turned to 
 Stephen : 
 
 " What way are ye no' singin', Stephen ? They're 
 michty words ; and they're weel fittin' for a minister. 
 Did they no' sing it often at the college ? " 
 
 Stephen made some inarticulate reply, lifting his 
 book from his knee and holding it intently before 
 him. But his lips were numb and dry, the outward 
 emblem of an inward drought. 
 
 Before his father could push out again into the 
 swelling current, his son interrupted him : 
 
 " This tune is so difficult, father. Let us sing some- 
 thing easier. I'm fond of the hymns and they sing 
 them nearly altogether at the college. ' Whiter than 
 snow,' that's always suitable," he suggested. 
 
 But the old man readjusted his glasses relentlessly, 
 his eyes still upon his book. 
 
 " Na, Stephen, na. Gin I start a hymn, I'll follow 
 it to the end ; but I'll no' lay by a psalm for nae- 
 body. Sing the second verse," wherewith he cleared 
 his throat sonorously, like some vessel's horn that 
 warns all intruders from the track, repaired the key- 
 note thus disturbed, and launched again into the 
 stream. 
 
 " Whose hands are clean, whose heart is pure, and unto vanity 
 Who hath not lifted up his soul, nor sworn deceitfully."
 
 72 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The psalm concluded, Robert Wishart took up the 
 big ha' Bible from the chair beside him and selected 
 a portion from the Eternal Word with even more 
 mature deliberation than before. 
 
 " We'll read the sixty-eighth psalm," he said at 
 last ; " 'twas grand to the Covenanters and it's a 
 grand yin yet. ' Let God arise, let His enemies be 
 scattered,' " he began. But again an interruption 
 stopped him. It was Jean this time. 
 
 " Faither, that's a grand bit, nae doot, but I'm 
 wantin" anither piece the nicht. It's for the Cove- 
 nanters tae but it's the new covenant. Wull ye no' 
 read that bonny bit aboot the mony mansions and 
 the troubled heart ? " 
 
 " Vera weel, Jean. I'll read it for ye," answered 
 her husband " it's sweeter ilka time I turn to it. 
 Here it's," and the wondrous music began to issue 
 from his lips : " Let not your heart be troubled. 
 ... In my Father's house are many mansions ; if 
 it were not so I would have told you." 
 
 All hail! Immortal spring whose living waters 
 have quenched the thirst of time ! All hail ! Im- 
 mortal path that leadest to that blessed tide ! Trod- 
 den by weary feet innumerable hast thou been ; but 
 no flower hath been crushed, no pitfall worn, on all 
 thy radiant way ! The living have drunk and been 
 refreshed at thine eternal fount ; the dying have 
 gently sipped, and pressing on, have caught the lights 
 of home ! Oh, wondrous words, the far flung lullaby 
 for the world's orphaned soul, the unwasting balm for 
 the world's broken heart ! Taught beside the moth-
 
 In The FURNACE "TWICE 73 
 
 er's knee, but learned amid the din"of battle or among 
 the waves of death, thine are the accents that prove 
 those lips Divine. 
 
 " The Lord bless to us the readin' o' His holy 
 word," Robert Wishart said reverently as he fin- 
 ished, the formula unfrayed by decades of incessant 
 use : " Let us pray." 
 
 They knelt, the priest-like father and the sons whom 
 he had taught to pray. On simple words, with many 
 a quaint expression, with many a phrase bequeathed 
 from lips now mingling with the dust, with many an 
 aid from the great language of the Book, but always 
 in the new born ritual of a heart that seeks its Lord 
 by virgin paths of penitence and need, plying its 
 noble plaint as an eagle cleaves the ether with its 
 wing, the soul of Robert Wishart went upward to its 
 God. 
 
 They rise from their knees and are all standing now. 
 
 " We'll gang to oor beds, my laddies ; the fire's low 
 and the clock'll no' need windin' the nicht." 
 
 "Good-night, father," they said together, and 
 started to leave the room. 
 
 " Guid-nicht ; but ye'll no' gang wi'oot a word to 
 yir mither. Mebbe she's restin'. I'll let ye ken. 
 He passed into the room, their unchanged room since 
 he had brought her there rejoicing as his bride. 
 Reuben and Stephen waited for a moment, but he 
 did not reappear. 
 
 " I guess she's sleeping," said Reuben, " we'll 
 go on." 
 
 They heard a ound, not articulate or intelligible,
 
 74 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 but they knew it was their father ; they lingered at 
 the door beneath the stair. A minute passed, silent 
 still. 
 
 " Let us see," said Stephen, and the brothers turned 
 together to the room. The lamp was burning dimly, 
 almost out, and they could detect the odour of the 
 burning wick. Yet there was light enough to show 
 them a bending form, the same beside which they 
 had knelt in the room without. It was their father's, 
 low bowed, and his hands were clasped, and pressed 
 against his cheek. They looked closer, and observed 
 that another hand was between his own, tightly held. 
 
 " That's mother's hand he's holding," Reuben 
 whispered. " I wonder if she's worse," for they were 
 both amazed, demonstrations of tenderness before 
 other eyes being rare in such lives as theirs. They 
 moved closer and looked intently ; but their father 
 seemed unconscious of their presence. 
 
 " Get the other lamp, Stephen," Reuben said, his 
 voice changed strangely from that of a moment be- 
 fore. Stephen obeyed, and returned in an instant 
 with the light. 
 
 Reuben took it from his hands, holding it closer to 
 the peaceful face upon the pillow. Peaceful indeed 
 it was for the long strife was over ; and the gentle 
 smile, such as every broken lad beholds on his dead 
 mother's face, betokened that the new-found rest was 
 sweet. 
 
 He placed the lamp upon the table, looking long 
 into his brother's face ; for kinship is never really 
 known till such an hour brings the great illumination.
 
 In The FURNACE TWICE 75 
 
 Then he laid his hand upon his father's head, never 
 thus laid before. The father moved, and turned his 
 face upward toward his sons. 
 
 " Yir mither's restin', as I told ye," he said softly ; 
 and a wonderful light looked out upon them from his 
 eyes. " She aye tell't me she'd gang hame like this 
 some day but I never thocht 'twad be sae easy. It's 
 hame onyway and it's beautiful. Luik at yir mith- 
 er's face." 
 
 They did look, but tears soon stopped their gaze ; 
 and they turned to leave the room. 
 
 " Come away, father," they whispered to the kneel- 
 ing man. 
 
 " Na, na," he answered, looking up, " what way 
 would I gang awa' ? She's my ain Jean and the 
 room's sweet wi' the Saviour's presence. He cam' 
 again and receivit her to Himsel' tak the lamp wi' 
 ye. I willna need it." 
 
 They went out, carrying the lamp with them as he 
 wished, and sat silently in the room. 
 
 " Shouldn't we go and call some of the neigh- 
 bours ? " said Stephen, presently. " We'll need some 
 one." 
 
 " Not now," answered his brother. " We'll wait 
 till father's through." 
 
 A little later, they went together across the room, 
 looking in at the open door. Their father was still 
 bowed beside the precious dead. 
 
 " Sleep on, my Jean," they heard him murmur. 
 " Sleep sweet, my lassie ; yir rest is won, weel won, 
 my bonny."
 
 76 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Whereat they took one long look into each other's 
 face, and then the elder brother drew Stephen gently 
 to himself, his arm encircling him with a tenderness 
 like to that they were to know no more. The tears 
 were gushing from his eyes, but he still sought to 
 staunch the flow of his brother's grief, caressing him 
 as he had been wont to do in the days that were now 
 so far behind them. 
 
 " I want my mother," Stephen suddenly cried out, 
 the eternal childlike wailing through his voice. 
 
 " Come, Stephen, come," whispered Reuben. 
 " Our mother is with God and father." 
 
 " Let us go back, Rube," he sobbed again. " Let 
 us go back : father's all alone." 
 
 " Come, Stephen, come away ; our father's not 
 alone he's with them both."
 
 VI 
 
 The SCHOLAR LEASES for ENGLAND 
 
 THE morning sun arose serene and bright, to 
 greet with wondering eye the old surprise 
 of sin and struggle, of death and desolate- 
 ness, caressing each as best he could with his un- 
 broken calm. 
 
 The day rolled by on silent hinges, radiant to the 
 last, every hour counted precious by those whose 
 silent treasure was to be borne from them on the 
 morrow. Stephen could not but marvel at his father's 
 calmness ; for he moved among them like one girded 
 with a panoply they might not make their own. 
 
 Throughout the day, he passed in and out as 
 usual, overlooking the necessary duties that must not 
 be neglected, accepting with grave dignity the kindly 
 words of sympathetic neighbours, responding with 
 tribute to the dead in terms of chaste reserve. 
 
 The next day came, whose afternoon was to cast 
 its unretreating shadow over all the evening of his 
 life. This was her burial day, who had come thither 
 as his bride, the fragrance of her coming destined to 
 grow sweeter with the years. 
 
 Its morning Robert Wishart spent alone with his 
 beloved and Another. He emerged at noon, passing 
 to the door and gazing at the rising slope before 
 him ; but from that hour his eyes were never to be 
 
 77
 
 78 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 withdrawn from a richer green upon far other peaks 
 on which they three had looked together. 
 
 When Mr. Shearer came, the countryside had al- 
 ready gathered, sitting voiceless, the great anthem of 
 silence arising from the heart of loneliness. They 
 had all known her. 
 
 Then Robert Wishart motioned to his sons, in- 
 viting the minister too, as his simple courtesy sug- 
 gested, to enter with them. Mr. Shearer took a 
 quick, longing look at the gentle visage, then imme- 
 diately withdrew and closed the door behind him. 
 
 Four or five of the neighbours, denied admission 
 to the crowded house, were standing by the window, 
 unconscious that the moment of the great farewell 
 had come. 
 
 The father called gently to one of them : 
 
 " Ye'll no' mind if I ask ye to gang awa' a meenit, 
 Weelum tak the ithers wi' ye. It's the last time 
 we'll be a' thegither here." 
 
 " Aye, Robert, aye ; we should hae thocht o't," 
 the other answered in hushed tones, and the group 
 moved quickly out of view. 
 
 They stood together, together looking down on the 
 unanswering face. Theirs was the old, old struggle, 
 so oft repeated, of those who would look enough 
 to last the yearning years, the years whose vision 
 shall be mocked and thwarted by the grave. Who 
 amongst us that has not vainly striven thus to lay up 
 treasure against this famine of the heart ? 
 
 A low moan escaped Reuben's lips. Stephen was 
 trembling.
 
 The SCHOLAR LEA YES for ENGLAND 79 
 
 " Dinna my sons, dinna ! " their father pleaded. 
 " She had a gran' hame gaein' and she was lang 
 spared to us and she's happy the nicht an', an' it's 
 the will o' God," he added, his hands tightly clasped, 
 and drawn to his full height " it's the will o' God," 
 he repeated, finding precious to his soul the shelter 
 of that great pavilion. 
 
 And when he opened the door and came forth to 
 the people, the downcast eyes of his neighbours, had 
 they been suddenly upraised, would have seen the 
 glory of God upon the bridegroom's face. 
 
 When the evening was come, Stephen and his 
 father were sitting in their accustomed places, Reu- 
 ben without, and busy as before. 
 
 " Put on yir cap, Stephen ; let's tak a bit walk 
 thegither the evenin's fine." 
 
 They strolled out, passing the barn, which gave 
 forth its wonted noises ; they could hear Reuben's 
 voice within as he moved among them. 
 
 '' "ir gaein' awa', Stephen," his father said sud- 
 denly, concluding a long silence. " Yir gaein' awa', 
 and I'll no' hae ye wi' me ; but it'll aye rest yir heart 
 to ken how guid an' faithfu' Reuben is. That's no' 
 to say, mind ye, that ye're no' guid and faithfu' tad 
 But ye're called awa' ye're to preach the gospel, and 
 ye canna bide at hame, like Reuben." 
 
 Steph an started. He wondered if his father's words 
 had the meaning they would seem to convey. 
 
 " Why do you say I'm going away, father ? Or
 
 8o THE UNDERTOW 
 
 what do you mean by that ? Going where ? " he 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 " I thocht ye'd ask me that," his father replied, 
 smiling slightly, " and that's the verra thing I was 
 wantin' to tell ye. I've decided aboot yon maitter 
 you and me was talkin' aboot." 
 
 " What have you decided, father ? " asked the son, 
 though he knew well what the decision was ; nor did 
 it seem so sweet as he had dreamed. 
 
 " I've decided for to gie ye the money I got frae 
 the Duke," said the old man very quietly, " and 
 ye'll gang till the great college in Edinburgh. And 
 I'll trust ye aboot the new the51ogy, my son. I 
 wadna wunner if it wad cure ye athegither, gaein' 
 richt to the fountain head ' a hair frae the hide o" 
 the hound that bit ye,' my faither aye used to say. 
 Ye'll mebbe find it's like thae new kinds o' parritch ye 
 hear aboot they aye come back to the auld oatmeal, 
 they tell me." 
 
 Stephen interrupted him. " The old oatmeal's 
 good enough for me, father. Only one might fand 
 it purer free from shells, you know." 
 
 His father smiled. " I'll risk the shells," he said 
 simply. " I've been riskin' them since afore ye was 
 born; and sae did my faither -and yir mither, 
 Stephen, yir mither found it pure eneuch. But ye'll 
 try the great college, as I said to ye. My mind's made 
 up * mak a spoon or spile a horn,' as my faither used 
 to say." 
 
 " I want to tell you, father, how greatly I appreciate 
 your kindness," Stephen ventured, a little later. " I
 
 The SCHOLAR LEA YES for ENGLAND 81 
 
 value that more than I do the money and I'll try to 
 make a wise use of it." 
 
 " There's no needcessity for thankin' me ; I'm yir 
 faither. And it's no' me as should be thankit, ony- 
 how. There's summat I ought to tell ye. Are ye 
 listenin', Stephen ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, I'm listening ; what is it ? " answered 
 Stephen, for he knew the significance of his father's 
 tone. 
 
 " There's twa things I'm wantin' to tell ye," the 
 old man went on ; " the yin's aboot yir mither and 
 the ither's aboot Reuben. It's to them alane ye're 
 owin' yir trip to Edinburgh. The vera nicht yir 
 mither died ye was oot haein' yir bit walk she 
 ca'd me into the room ; and what div ye think she 
 said?" 
 
 " How could I tell, father ? Something kind and 
 good, I'm sure," said her son. 
 
 " Aye, 'twas baith kind and guid ' father, ye'd 
 better let the laddie gang ' that was what she said. 
 Then she said as how Reuben had asked her to plead 
 wi' me to let ye gang and Reuben spoke to me 
 himsel'." 
 
 What ? " interrupted Stephen, " Reuben what? " 
 
 " Reuben spoke to me himsel' 'twas fair noble o f 
 the laddie. He said we a' had eneuch to dae us here ; 
 an' if Stephen wantit mair learnin' we ought to let 
 him gang where he cud get it. There was naethin' 
 he wantit for himsel 1 , he said. And there was some- 
 thing mair, but I dinna ken if I ought to tell't." And 
 the voice that spoke the words seemed husky now.
 
 82 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " What was it, father ? Do tell me. I know it 
 was worthy of him." 
 
 The one thus importuned was silent for a minute, 
 seating himself upon a stone, the better to give him- 
 self up to the necessary meditation. 
 
 " Aye, 'twas worthy 'twas worthy, I'm thinkin'," 
 he said at length, " and I'll tell ye what it was yell 
 no' forget it. He said, if I'd gie ye the money, he'd 
 aye bide wi' me to the end. He was thinkin' o' gaein' 
 awa' before, ye ken. But he said he'd bide wi' me to 
 the end which I'm hopin' '11 no' be ower lang," his 
 voice trembling as he spoke. 
 
 " That was noble of him, noble of him, father," 
 Stephen said, struggling with emotion. 
 
 " 'Twas fair beautiful," returned the other, " and ye 
 can hae the money, Stephen and yir faither's 
 blessin' wi't. If Reuben doesna need it, I dinna need 
 it mysel'. I tell't ye, when ye spoke to me afore, that 
 I was thinkin' to tak yir mither for a wee bit holiday 
 but she's gone on ahead o' me," and the trembling 
 voice was now choked with tears, the struggling face 
 turned from his son, gazing at a distant window 
 through the bitter mist. 
 
 Stephen scarce knew what to do. The heavenly 
 art of comfort had not yet been learned by him, 
 especially toward his father. His own eyes were 
 dim, and he laid his hand helplessly on his father's 
 arm. The latter shook himself slightly, resolved to 
 finish bravely what he had begun to say. 
 
 " Sae she'll no' be needin' it, Stephen and I'll no' be 
 needin' it I hae treasure itherwhere. An' I'll gie it
 
 The SCHOLAR LEA YES for ENGLAND 83 
 
 to ye I'll gie it to ye when we gang back to the 
 hoose. Let's gang noo." 
 
 He linked the action to the word, rising as he 
 spoke, slowly followed by his wondering son, upon 
 whose mind the greatness of his father's life was 
 slowly dawning. 
 
 They came to the house, to find Reuben drawing 
 from his faithful violin the strains of the Land of the 
 Leal. Stephen moves to light the lamp, but his fa- 
 ther's hand restrains him till the last strain has died 
 away. 
 
 " Ye can licht the lamp noo, Stephen," he said. 
 
 This done, he rises and takes it from his son ; then 
 he turns toward the room in which he had stood but 
 a few hours before. Returning in a moment, he 
 holds in his hand a well-worn wallet, stoutly filled. 
 
 " 'Twas my faither's," he said abstractedly, " but 
 he never had sae muckle in't. But he had ither 
 treasure, tae, that nae human hand cud hold. It's a 
 lot o' money, this," he added, reverting to the earthly. 
 
 One by one he counted out the bills, placing them 
 in Stephen's palm, intoning the increasing figures 
 with a solemn voice till the grand total was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 " There ye are, Stephen," he exclaimed, when the 
 operation was complete, " ye hae it a'. My hand's 
 empty, an' yir hand's fu' mebbe it's the same wi' 
 oor heids," he appended in an undertone ; but a cer- 
 tain smile that illumined the strong features indicated 
 that he had his " doots" concerning this, as he would 
 have said himself.
 
 84 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Stephen was clothed with embarrassment, though 
 he knew not why. Alas ! He knew not why. He 
 held the money between his thumb and finger for a 
 moment, then bore it toward his pocket. This may 
 have impressed him as unseemly too hasty burial 
 after death. In any case he recalled the motion, 
 sitting with the unfamiliar sheaf still enclosed as 
 before. He moved uneasily, and the rustle of its 
 foliage could be heard, that foliage which poor man- 
 kind accounts as the very fruitage of the tree of life. 
 At length he spoke. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know how to thank you, father. 
 I shall never forget your generosity. And I'm sure 
 I'll try to make a good use of the money ; and 
 and the lamp's smoking, father," he concluded hast- 
 ily, hailing the pillar of cloud as gladly as did ever 
 bewildered Israelite of old. 
 
 The father sprang quickly to set it right, for it was 
 smoking heartily, doubtless overcome by the un- 
 wonted spectacle. 
 
 " I know it, Stephen, I know it," his father cried ; 
 but whether referring to the lamp or to the lan- 
 guage could not be told, " and I hope ye'll aye be 
 carefu' wi' money. A minister that doesna look 
 weel to his affairs is a puir cratur. They maun 
 soar, nae doot but they should aye keep their feet 
 on the solid ground aneath them." 
 
 Stephen felt he should say something more : " And 
 I'm more than thankful to you, Reuben, for the un- 
 selfish part you have taken. After all your hard 
 work on the farm and "
 
 The SCHOLAR LEAVES for ENGLAND 85 
 
 " Oh, don't, Steve please don't," Reuben inter- 
 rupted ; " you're needing it, and I'm not and it's no 
 more than right. Please don't say a word, Steve." 
 
 " And there's ae thing mair, Stephen," broke in the 
 father, evidently aware that speech was difficult to 
 the others, " when ye gang till the auld country, ye 
 maun gang to see the Duke. I want ye to thank 
 him yirsel'. Ye'll find him juist a man, like ither 
 men. Dinna be feart o' him he likes an honest 
 man, if he's his faither's son. He'll ask ye to hae 
 supper wi' him, nae doot an' mebbe to bide the 
 nicht. Ye'll find the hoose a grand yin." 
 
 " Where does he live ? " asked Stephen. 
 
 " At Kelso ye ken where Kelso is. It's no' far 
 frae Jedboro, where mony o' yir forbears is buried 
 at the Abbey. An' it's no' muckle mair nor an hour 
 or twa frae Edinburgh itsel'. My faither used to drive 
 the sheep to the market at Auld Reeky mony a 
 time." 
 
 " At Kelso ! " repeated Stephen. " I'd better mark 
 that down ; " with which he rummaged in his breast 
 pocket, finding no tablet, but taking opportunity to 
 deposit the money. 
 
 " Here's a bit leaf oot o' the almanac," said his 
 father as he handed it to him, observing the fruitless- 
 ness of his search "write it doon on that. Ye'll 
 call the Duke ' His Grace ' when ye're talkin' to him, 
 mind a strange kind o' a name for a man, tae," he 
 mused, " but it's what he aye gets and his faither 
 afore him. He has yin servant to lace his boots, an* 
 anither yin to tie them, my faither said. The old
 
 86 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Duke had the like o' that aboot him but they could 
 gie him naethin' at the last but a grave to himsel', 1 ' 
 and the philosopher looked out from serious eyes. 
 
 " Where is he buried, father ? " Reuben asked, his 
 simple life far removed from the ways of great- 
 ness. 
 
 " In the chaipel, Reuben the chaipel at the castle," 
 his father answered " but it's in the ground, for a' 
 that," he added sententiously ; " and the man wha 
 laced his shoon and the ither yin wha tied them 
 they're buried no' far frae there. An' they hae a 
 grave apiece. Weel, laddies, the nicht is wi' us ; let's 
 mak ready for oor rest." 
 
 Preparations for Stephen's long journey were soon 
 completed. His trunk was ready, prepared by other 
 hands than those whose benediction, far carrying, 
 hath ever rested on the tender toil. The felicitations 
 and admonitions of his old-time friends and neigh- 
 bours had been duly received and acknowledged. 
 Introductions, messages, addresses, had been duly 
 entrusted to the departing one, duly forgotten or 
 ignored, as it has ever been since the foundation of 
 the world. A sleeting rain marred the morning 
 of his departure, and Robert Wishart announced that 
 he had abandoned his original purpose of going to 
 the station. 
 
 " I'll stand at the door," he said, " and wave ye as 
 far as I can see. I want yir last sight o' the auld 
 place to be mixed wi' yin o' the auld folks an' I'll
 
 The SCHOLAR LEAVES for ENGLAND 87 
 
 bide here till ye come back, if it's the will o' God 
 that we're to meet again." 
 
 He wrung his son's hand when the parting hour 
 came ; but no tear, no breaking voice, could be de- 
 tected. 
 
 " Mind ye yir mither, Stephen," he said in the lowest 
 of tones, " ye ken what made her life sae beautiful, 
 and what made the valley bricht. Yir mither's God 
 gang \vi' ye." 
 
 Then he turned and went into the house, reappear- 
 ing to wave a dainty kerchief that Stephen's heart 
 knew well. 
 
 The brothers drove to the station in almost un- 
 broken silence. When a distant wreath of smoke be- 
 tokened the approaching train, Reuben drew Stephen 
 aside. 
 
 " Take this, Stephen," he said, trying to thrust 
 something soft into his hand. " It's not much it's 
 only eleven dollars. I saved it from the wood rcpney 
 to get a dress for mother and she's " 
 
 " Reuben, I can't I won't." 
 
 " Do, Steve, do," the other said again, " please 
 take it. Get some books with it, Steve and write 
 her name in them. Good-bye ! Good-bye ! " 
 
 But with the memory of Reuben's greater sacrifice 
 still before him, Stephen pushed back his brother's 
 pleading hand. " No, Rube, you keep it and buy 
 something for Bessie. Good-bye. God bless you, 
 Rube." 
 
 An instant later the train was off, bearing with it 
 a strangely troubled heart, swelling with many
 
 88 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 thoughts. The memory of his mother, the exalted 
 vision of his father, the warm tide of his brother's un- 
 selfish love all these united to stir the tumult of his 
 mind. 
 
 His hand is before his face. " Make me true, oh, 
 God," he cries half-aloud ; and answering purpose 
 fills his soul. His glance roams through the window, 
 and he sees familiar fields ; for the iron road leaves 
 this peaceful neighbourhood by a long and slowly 
 rounding curve. A familiar house flashes on his view. 
 He knows it well, and his heart leaps with a new 
 emotion. Still gazing, he sees a maiden's figure be- 
 neath a familiar thorn, already whitening with its 
 spreading blossoms. Golden tresses hang about the 
 wistful face, turned in sad eagerness toward him as 
 though she knew his place. A branch, broken from 
 the tree, is in her hand, and she is waving it in gentle 
 silence toward the departing train. 
 
 A moment, and the scene has vanished from his 
 view ; the train rushes on but an old tenant has en- 
 tered Stephen's heart to find it swept and garnished 
 once again ; and conflict rages like a flood.
 
 VII 
 
 LONDON'S PREACHER-ACrOR 
 
 " "W" ET us take an observatory, Mather." 
 
 " Take what, Wishart whatever are you 
 
 JL J talking about ? " 
 
 "An observatory a bus, I mean; surprised I 
 have to explain so." 
 
 " Oh, I understand not bad, either. All right. 
 No, that one's no good for us here we are, this is 
 for the Strand : room on top, too two seats beside 
 the driver. Come along." 
 
 And in a moment, swaying and rocking along the 
 passage, the two companions had gained their places, 
 the vantage points of all London, the right hand 
 and the left of a genial driver of a London bus. 
 
 Stephen Wishart has the right-hand seat, looking 
 with all his eyes, and listening with all his ears, en- 
 chanted by the magic of the world's metropolis. 
 
 And his companion, Ernest Mather, was a student 
 and prospective minister like himself; on the broad 
 Atlantic these two had met, and there their friendship 
 had been formed. Mather had arrived in London 
 somewhat earlier than the other ; his sojourn in the 
 great city was almost at an end. 
 
 "This bus takes us to the Lyceum, does it not, 
 driver ? " asked Stephen of the man beside him. 
 
 " Right you are, guv'nor ; that's what it does. 
 89
 
 90 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Leastways, it'll set you down at Wellington, an' that's 
 'arf a stone's-throw. You'll be after 'Enry Hirving, 
 I reckon ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's what we're after," Mather agreed. 
 Would you tell us whereabouts in the theatre 
 we should take our tickets ? My friend and I aren't 
 very familiar with such things." 
 
 " That's accordin' to 'ow you feels," returned the 
 Londoner, his face a battle-field whereon a grin was 
 tasting victory. " That's accordin' to 'ow you feels ; 
 a box is a helegant place if you feels that way ; don't 
 care for 'em myself too hexposed draughty too, 
 don't you know. I allus takes the dress circle my- 
 self when I takes the kiddies, upper gallery, front 
 row only seven bob apiece," and the driver winked at 
 all the Strand. A few minutes' drive, enlivened by 
 further comment from the Jehu, brought the sight- 
 seers to their destination, and they were soon settled 
 in such seats as they found it possible to secure. 
 Delicious twilight clothed the great playhouse in its 
 suggestive shades, and the seductive strains of soft 
 music stole about the expectant pair who settled 
 themselves for an experience of unrehearsed enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Soon the music sank to silence, the curtain rolled 
 slowly upward, and the great dialogue began, the 
 actors on the stage calling to the silent actors beyond 
 the footlights, each answering according to the 
 measure of tragedy or comedy that life's great play 
 had brought him. Hired hands they are that on the 
 stage hold the mirror before us, but eager eyes
 
 LONDON'S PREACHER-ACTOR 91 
 
 peer into the glass to find the reflection of their own 
 chequered lives. Nor do they gaze in vain. Com- 
 monplace and plain though they affirm life to be, 
 here is it clothed with romantic interest as they gaze 
 upon it from without, its pathos and its humour cast- 
 ing a subtle charm they have failed to find in the 
 reality. What they have deemed life's drudgery all 
 the day is now the wizardry of the night ; and life's 
 old story takes its sweet revenge on those who had 
 yesterday maligned it and who to-morrow will de- 
 spise. 
 
 " Oh, Wishart, look, look ! There he is there he 
 is at last that tall one there that is Mathias ! " 
 
 A storm of welcome rolled through the Lyceum, 
 the scene of so many of his triumphs, as the great 
 actor came upon the stage, a panoply of power, the 
 unearned gift of heaven, about him as he came. 
 
 With intensifying flame the play burned on. It 
 was that modern passion play, " The Bells," on 
 which the mighty actor first entered like a conqueror 
 into the great citadel of his fame, through the 
 shadowy gates of human conscience. Stephen sat, 
 sometimes thrilling, sometimes trembling, but in an 
 unbroken thrall till the last dread scene released him. 
 The murder amid the falling snow, the remorse, the 
 exultation over the ill-gotten gain, the awful stain 
 upon the gold, the haunted merriment, the ghostly 
 interruption of the accursed bells, the skeleton at the 
 feast, the handwriting on the wall, the marriage 
 dance and its awful music from afar, the frightful 
 waking dream all these blended in the dreadsome
 
 92 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 message which the great actor's eyes and lips com- 
 bined to utter with such tremendous power that the 
 shadow of the Judgment Day seemed to have al- 
 ready fallen. Stephen felt a strange tightening about 
 the throat as the writhing actor struggled for es- 
 cape ; and his despairing cry : " Take this rope 
 from my neck ; take this rope from my neck, I say," 
 had a ghostly echo in Stephen's heart. 
 
 The actor's choking cry was soon stifled by Lon- 
 don's all conquering voice as Stephen Wishart and 
 his friend wended their way back to the hotel at 
 which the latter had made his home during his brief 
 visit to the mighty city. 
 
 They walked slowly along the Strand, enjoying 
 its myriad sights and sounds, mingling with the 
 surging throng; for the theatres everywhere have 
 turned their inmates out, and the streets keep Vanity 
 Fair. 
 
 " Wasn't it glorious ? " Mather said at length. 
 
 " Wonderful," answered Stephen, regaining his 
 friend after a moment's separation in the crowd, 
 " let us go back by the Embankment ; it's so much 
 quieter there. This street leads down to it." 
 
 They were soon upon that noble river-walk, its 
 quietness refreshing them like music, while the 
 hurrying lights on the murmuring Thames gleamed 
 before them. 
 
 " Yes, it was really wonderful," Stephen renewed. 
 " I never heard a sermon that impressed me more," 
 at which declaration he felt some measure of satis-
 
 LONDON'S PREACHER-ACTOR 93 
 
 faction like a man who has paid a debt. " An 
 actor might do almost as much good as a minister," 
 he added, " for he has a great chance to appeal to 
 the human heart." 
 
 " Yes, that is, if he's a good man himself," his 
 companion suggested. " By the way, it must be 
 terrible to be a minister and an actor at the same 
 time. I mean, a minister that is merely acting 
 sometimes all their lives must seem like one long 
 play. And then they must be so afraid that some 
 one will see behind the scenes. When I heard the 
 great preacher at the Temple last Sunday, I felt that 
 any one might see behind and they would find it 
 just as beautiful as it was in front." 
 
 " Whom did you hear ? " Stephen asked, a hot 
 flush on his cheek. Mather mentioned the name of 
 one of London's, one of the world's greatest preachers, 
 whereupon Stephen expressed his purpose to hear 
 him at the earliest opportunity. 
 
 " It's strange," Mather resumed, " but, do you 
 know, that play impressed me to-night just the same 
 way it did you." 
 
 " How ? " asked the other. 
 
 " Like a sermon there seemed to be an awful 
 lesson running all through it; and I thought of a 
 text that it might have been preached from." 
 
 " What was it ? " Stephen said, deep interest in his 
 voice ; for his own mind, too, had been busy with 
 a text. 
 
 " It's that one in the Old Testament," said Mather, 
 " that one that always seems to sound like a voice
 
 94 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 coming from somewhere you can't see : ' Be sure 
 your sin will find you out.' And yet I'm sure it 
 wasn't mentioned all through the play." 
 
 " No, I don't believe it was," said Stephen, " but I 
 thought of the very same text." 
 
 " Wasn't that strange ? But then I suppose you 
 and I are always thinking of texts. And I believe 
 that was why they listened so intently the people 
 all listened as if they were in church. Strange, too, 
 isn't it ; for I suppose they went there for pleasure. 
 Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Yes, I presume they did," Stephen answered, 
 " but I shouldn't wonder if most people have some- 
 thing in their past lives that makes them listen to a 
 sermon of that kind whether they want to or not 
 it's like turning back to some page with a stain on 
 it; and that has a dreadful fascination for nearly 
 everybody." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Mather earnestly. 
 
 " I don't know but I shouldn't wonder if God 
 has something to do with it," Stephen replied after a 
 pause. 
 
 In silence they walked on, both pondering a com- 
 mon theme. Mather was the first to speak. 
 
 " Well, I guess we'll have to say good-bye, old 
 man ; here's my hotel will you come in ? No ? 
 Well, perhaps it is a little late. When may I hope 
 to see you again ? " 
 
 " I'm hoping we'll meet in Edinburgh," replied 
 Stephen Wishart, and, making their farewells again, 
 each went his separate way.
 
 LONDON'S PREACHER-ACTOR 95 
 
 Stephen had gone but a little distance when the rich 
 sights and sounds of one of London's great hostelries 
 beguiled him. He remarked the name, recalled that 
 it was the resort of some transatlantic friends of his 
 and stepped within. The names he sought were not 
 upon the register, and he turned idly to look about 
 him. 
 
 Then he passed through the rotunda, marvelling at 
 its grandeur, weaving swift fancies about the forms, 
 richly cloaked, that floated in one by one. The 
 glance they cast on him as they passed seemed to 
 chill him with its haughtiness. Yet the very flavour of 
 the place enchanted him. This was life, and this the 
 vision of the world, so often outlined in ambitious 
 dreams ! He took a place on one of the richly up- 
 holstered couches, drinking in the scene. His seat was 
 in a secluded corner and he could see, while he him- 
 self was almost hidden. 
 
 How poor and small, after all, he thought, had been 
 his former life, college-taught though it was, so lus- 
 tre-lacking when compared with this glittering life 
 and its far-off bright horizon ! 
 
 Two or three gentlemen emerged from the lift, ob- 
 sequiously greeted by a liveried lackey who led the 
 way to the curb, his whistle reechoing the while. A 
 slamming door resounded, the pavement rang with 
 hurrying hoofs ; and the lackey turned, tossing a coin 
 before him.
 
 VIII 
 The METROPOLIS by LAMPLIGHT 
 
 STEPHEN rose hastily from his seat and met 
 the returning lackey in the vestibule. " Can 
 you give me some information ? " he ventured. 
 
 " I'm just the boy that can do that, sir," said the 
 lackey, scenting another tip. " I just gave some val- 
 uable information to them gay sports," he remarked 
 significantly. 
 
 " Where do you suppose they're going this time of 
 night ? " Stephen asked, glad to find a directory 
 available. 
 
 The lackey turned and looked at him contempla- 
 tively. Such virgin innocence was rare in his exper- 
 ience ; for he was a Londoner, and carefully versed. 
 
 " Putting up in the house ? " he queried. 
 
 " No," answered Stephen. " I'm not stopping 
 here." 
 
 " Oh," said his companion, looking him up and 
 down, " where do you stop ? " 
 
 " Up near the British Museum," answered Stephen. 
 " At a lodging house in Bedford Square." 
 
 " That's a good quiet part an awful good part 
 Nuthin" to hurt you there. 'Tain't far from the Or- 
 phanage, nuther the Bloomsbury Orphanage, you 
 know," he added with a grin. 
 
 " How're you goin' home after you leave here ? " 
 96
 
 The METROPOLIS by LAMPLIGHT 97 
 
 " I don't exactly know," said Stephen, glad to be 
 enlightened. " The Underground wouldn't take me 
 there, would it ? " 
 
 " No, you bet it won't," answered the guide ; 
 " won't take nobody there don't go itself. Tup- 
 peny Tube ain't no good, 'cept for the places it goes 
 to itself," he added seriously ; " bus, of course you 
 could take a bus, but it's dangerous all sorts of bad 
 uns climbs up on to 'em sits right down aside you 
 and tells you where they lives." 
 
 " I don't want a bus," Stephen interrupted, " don't 
 fancy them this hour of the night." 
 
 " Ain't that jest what I'm tellin' you ? I've been 
 in 'em always used to take one goin' to Sunday- 
 school but never take 'em now wasn't good for 
 my insides. Then there's a 'ansom. You could take 
 one of 'em but they're so onreasonable expects 
 you to pay 'em, you see. Never takes 'em myself 
 bad for your outsides. Terrible bad place, Lunnon 
 is, every way you take it. You better walk." 
 
 " I guess I had. Then you're on the ground and 
 it seems safer than too far below it, or too far above it. 
 Besides, I'll enjoy the walk," and Stephen smiled 
 amiably. " Which streets ought I to take ? " he in- 
 terrogated, beginning to button up his coat. 
 
 The director meditated. " Well, you could go 
 along the Strand " 
 
 " I know the Strand," broke in his listener " went 
 along it to the theatre to-night." 
 
 " You could go along the Strand," pursued the 
 authority, looking across the rotunda and despising
 
 98 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 the irrelevant digression, " up Chancery Lane to 'Ol- 
 born then follow 'Olborn to Southampton Row, and 
 that'll take you there." 
 
 " Say that again," said Stephen, unfamiliar with 
 navigation. 
 
 " No, I won't," rejoined the other solemnly, " 'tain't 
 the best way after all too tame you're here for 
 sightseein', ain't you ? " 
 
 " Well," said Stephen reflectively, " of course 
 that is " 
 
 " Exactly," said his counsellor and friend, " that's 
 what I said you're here to see life you ain't here 
 for your health, are you now ? " 
 
 Stephen's silence was enough. 
 
 " Exactly," broke in the other " I knowed that 
 the minute I seen you. You ain't here for your 
 health, as I was a sayin' you're here to see life. 
 And when I say life, I mean LIFE, see? What's 
 your business when you're 'ome ? " 
 
 Stephen hesitated a little. " Well, you see, I'm a 
 well, really, it's kind of hard to say. My father's a 
 farmer. I'm a I'm a kind of a student. But, as I 
 was saying " this with evident relief " as I was 
 saying, or going to say, I came over here to study 
 but not to study books altogether, you see. You 
 know what I mean," he concluded. 
 
 " Yes, I see ; I know what you mean," the other 
 responded in a confidential tone ; " you're meanin' 
 to see life ain't that what I jest told you ? " 
 
 " Yes," amended Stephen. " Life in its broad 
 sense human nature, you know."
 
 The METROPOLIS by LAMPLIGHT 99 
 
 " Exactly," approved the other, evidently well 
 pleased to find that after all their minds had but a 
 single thought. " Exactly ! And there ain't no life 
 in its broad sense on Chancery Lane nor any 
 human nature, nuther not the kind you're lookin' 
 for." 
 
 " Of course, it's dark," Stephen suggested ; " one 
 way would be about as good as another at night, I 
 should think." 
 
 " That's jest where you're wrong," said his sa- 
 gacious friend " there ain't no real human nature 
 nowhere till it's dark certainly not in its broad sense 
 but there ain't none on Chancery Lane no time. 
 Your best way home is Piccadilly there ain't no 
 spot in Lunnon where there's so much human nature 
 in its broad sense that's what you said you was 
 after as you'll get in Piccadilly. There ain't no 
 place can tetch it," he affirmed fervently, after due 
 reflection. 
 
 It did not take the adept long to instruct the novice 
 how to find the way. Such bearings are easily 
 taken ; for our first parents, pathfinders they, 
 sketched that rough chart of which their every de- 
 scendant has a copy. 
 
 Following which, amplified as it is by the triumphs 
 of such modern discoverers as the one he had just 
 left behind, Stephen was soon walking up Northum- 
 berland Avenue. In a moment his senses were 
 thrilled, and indeed almost overwhelmed, by this 
 planet's central place, its mightiest focus, Trafalgar 
 Square, whose glowing vastness unfolded itself slowly
 
 ioo THE UNDERTOW 
 
 on his sight He had seen the mighty Square be- 
 fore ; but not when the mystic night, retreating before 
 a brighter light than marked the day, had invested it 
 with significance and beauty. Flashing hansoms and 
 ponderous carriages still gleamed here and there ; 
 varied human currents flowed swiftly in and out of 
 this greatest eddy in the world ; the lion faces looked 
 out upon the human tide with a tranquil patience 
 that well became such sentinels as have the centuries 
 before them ; while above it all, in immortal silence, 
 brooded the mighty hero's face, the victor's kingdom 
 his forever. 
 
 The conquered and overthrown were also there 
 in ragged homelessness they wandered aimlessly be- 
 neath, their battle still unfinished ; while, sometimes 
 idly sauntering, sometimes swiftly hurrying on imag- 
 inary errand, the despairing wrecks of womanhood 
 could be seen, their skirts fluttering in the chilly 
 wind. 
 
 Stephen looked upon the wondrous picture, the 
 moral stimulus of the uplifted Conqueror entering his 
 soul ; upward he gazed at the serenity that was dimly 
 visible above; and the world-flung message of the 
 great soldier thrilled his heart. 
 
 Then he cast his eyes earthward again and marked 
 the stains of sin and sorrow upon the mighty 
 canvas. 
 
 A broken man of sixty, having noticed his upward 
 look, approached him with the mendicant's appeal of 
 which he was a master. 
 
 " My grandfather held Nelson in his arms when he
 
 The METROPOLIS by LAMPLIGHT 101 
 
 was shot," he averred at last, after several less ro- 
 mantic facts had been recited. " An' he could tell 
 you his last words," he added as conclusive evidence ; 
 for the poor creature was not without poetic imagi- 
 nation, which plain living is supposed to foster. 
 
 Up Pall Mall he walked, past its glowing clubs and 
 kindled palaces ; and soon the rising street brought 
 him to the Mecca which the fervid lackey had bidden 
 him farewell in blessing. It broke upon him in a 
 crash of light. Leicester Square stretched before 
 him like a lane of constellations ; glowing crescents 
 and arcs and squares poured down their lustrous 
 melody. The Spatenberg, the Trocadero, the 
 Monico, the Criterion, all turned their glowing faces 
 toward the throng, plying their radiant rivalry of 
 fascination and appeal. 
 
 In this magnetic centre, Regent Street and all its 
 lesser brethren found their rest at last, pouring their 
 burdens into its willing bosom, as streams unload 
 their waters in the sea. 
 
 Blessed and blessing in its emblem, a fountain 
 claimed the very centre as its own, its rippling waters 
 competing in modest hopefulness with the clanging 
 babel of the myriad voices that promised refreshment 
 to the weary. For sedatives to every passion, 
 draughts for every thirst, breads for every hunger, 
 are offered here. But the untiring fountain, bearing 
 the name of the noble dead and mindful of the uni- 
 versal thirst, still called to all to partake freely of its 
 treasure, forsaking alien springs. 
 
 Stephen threaded his way across the street, taking
 
 102 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 his position beneath the Swan at the apex of the tri- 
 angle whose head it marks. 
 
 Looking about him, he remarked a constant stream 
 of wayfarers mostly women, he noted wonderingly. 
 Round and round they floated, reappearing at stated 
 intervals, till he became sure that the same faces were 
 in evidence again and again. He was perplexed ; 
 for the hour was late and the night not particularly 
 genial. He moved along the street from which the 
 Circus takes its name, crossed to the other side, and 
 stood gazing back towards the spot he had deserted.
 
 IX 
 
 A PEARL of PRICE 
 
 THE significant procession still swam before 
 him. Richly robed, with flashing diamonds 
 and gleaming pendants, the beautiful pag- 
 eantry passed by, its participants casting arch 
 glances, slacking as they might their mincing pace. 
 
 Stephen's first impression had been one of distinct 
 admiration for what appeared to be beauty, richly 
 decked. But it was not long till the painted perjury 
 broke upon him and his spirit filled with loathing. 
 His thought flew to his mother for she too was of 
 womankind, as were most of these ; and the vision of 
 the simple white in which she rested amid the chill 
 purity of the grave seemed to bathe his soul. 
 
 He thought of Bessie, too ; and her image recalled 
 the fragrance of that far-off fringe of woods and the 
 sweet cisterns of the evening air. But it recalled, 
 too, the flame that had threatened them both and 
 his fluttering fancy found again its shelter by the side 
 of her who bore him. 
 
 He turned to look again upon the siren throng. 
 And, portentous in the telling for a man's foes are 
 they of his own household, and the heart's great 
 peril is in its undertow they did not seem so dread- 
 some as before. 
 
 103
 
 104 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 But Stephen was by no means numb to the mem- 
 ory of a moment gone ; and he checked his growing 
 conciliation with a word. Which word was that im- 
 mortal name, the mystic friend, in every age, of the 
 youth who is far from home, casting out devils with 
 its love-bright sound. Nor was the struggle hard. 
 Vermillion vice is nauseous to the soul and drapery 
 is the dread device of the Prince of the Power of the 
 Air. 
 
 " I'll go home," he thought ; and he started across 
 the street. 
 
 Then he looked back, as Christian turned his gaze 
 upon the city of destruction, contempt gathering as 
 he looked. 
 
 "How shall I get back to Bedford Square?" he 
 mused; for the servitor's additional directions had 
 long since taken flight. Ah, me ! If informants 
 such as he could but point the further paths ! 
 
 He is still standing undecided on the pavement, 
 when a cabman draws in to its edge and casts a line. 
 
 " 'Ave a little drive about, sir ? 'Orse nice and 
 fresh ; 'aven't 'ad but three fares the whole bloomin' 
 day," he volunteered in a pathetic voice. 
 
 " Drive where ? " said Stephen. " I want to go 
 home." 
 
 " Oh. All right, sir ; I'll drive you 'ome only I 
 thought as 'ow you might like to drive about a bit 
 an' see summat of the town." 
 
 " I understand," answered Stephen " it's pretty 
 late." 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is that's wot I meant, sir 'tain't no
 
 A PEARL of PRICE 105 
 
 use goin' w'en they're 'arvin' afternoon tea now is 
 it, sir ? " he appealed, chuckling at his wit. 
 
 " When who are ? Where do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, anywheres at all. Whitechapel's right hin- 
 terestin'. I hoften drives Hamerican gentlemen down 
 there of an hevenin'," said the cabman beguilingly. 
 
 " Whitechapel ! " echoed Stephen. " I've often 
 heard of Whitechapel. Wasn't that where the awful 
 murders were ? " 
 
 " Right you are," endorsed the other, " that's the 
 place for 'em that's where John the Surgeon done 
 some stunts most Hamerican gentlemen likes to see 
 his hoperatin' room." 
 
 " But is it safe ? " enquired the sightseer. 
 
 Well that is, certainly, you're safe as a church 
 along o' me. Turrible wickit place but I'll fetch 
 you back right as a trivet. Never 'ad no haccident 
 yet. My missus has a huncle on the force." This 
 last was intimated with the air of one who held the 
 constabulary of London in the hollow of his hand. 
 
 "An uncle on what?" repeated Stephen. 
 
 " On the force, I said the perlice force, don't you 
 know? He's a peeler. Better fix the rug round 
 your knees, sir Lunnon's jolly cold at night." 
 
 The night was undoubtedly cool enough, but 
 Stephen's eager curiosity, spiced with a sense of risk 
 and danger, thrilled him with a sensation he had 
 never known before. It was like one's first glimpse 
 of the ocean. Indeed, this very metaphor suggested 
 itself to Stephen's mind as the hansom rolled quickly 
 towards Charing Cross.
 
 io6 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The stately steeple of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields 
 broke into melody as he passed, its sweet chime float- 
 ing down to him through the midnight air, pure and 
 other-worldly as the song of herald angels long ago. 
 Stephen drank in the delicious notes, his mind in- 
 stinctively turning to that of which they spoke. He 
 wondered what church it was, and who might be its 
 minister. " I should love to be a London minister," 
 thought Stephen ; " how splendid it must be, in this 
 great city, to be a soldier righting against the vice 
 and sin that abound on every hand. 'Twould call 
 out the very best that's in a man," he mused, con- 
 trasting with this the poor stimulus of some torpid 
 country parish. But he would endeavour, he thought, 
 to carry to his field of labour, wherever it might be, 
 the inspiration he would surely gather from this great 
 human ocean. And it is wise, he further thought, to 
 see it in all its phases the dark as well as the light. 
 For what is more useless than an unsophisticated 
 minister, one who has never seen the shady side, and 
 knows nothing of the dark temptations against which 
 some people have to fight? How could a man fit- 
 tingly rebuke sin, if he had never seen it? Mr. 
 Shearer, for instance, their minister at home sup- 
 pose he should be called to a church where young 
 men were wont to congregate, how could his sheltered 
 life and innocent inexperience render him fit to point 
 out the pitfalls, or to denounce the sins, that beset the 
 feet, and attack the hearts, of youth ? 
 
 It did not occur to him for the carriage wheels 
 were flying fast down Fleet Street's easy slope that
 
 A PEARL of PRICE 107 
 
 a mother-hen, however unfamiliar, knows when the 
 hawk is near, by the shadow that it casts ; nor was it 
 borne in upon him that the starting doe will recog- 
 nize, trembling as it hears, the baying of far-off 
 hounds never heard before. Nor did he recall, what 
 a minister surely must have known, that it was a 
 Lamb without spot or blemish who laid bare, as 
 stainful lips have never done, the darkest devisings 
 of the human heart. 
 
 Across Ludgate Circus and up Ludgate Hill he 
 rode, on toward the Mansion House and its all 
 gathering vortex, the mighty dome of England's 
 noblest vane pouring its shadow on him as he passed. 
 Its frown was all unheeded ; for the hansom onward 
 rolled, Stephen already looking eagerly for the first 
 sign of the dread locality whose darksome deeds had 
 often mingled with his youthful dreams. 
 
 It was not long till the locality was reached. The 
 shabby houses, the noxious odours, the protruding 
 substitutes for panes, the plaintive cries of neglected 
 children, the aroma of cheap liquors, the echo of 
 drunken laughter all these defined the neighbour- 
 hood they had reached. Staggerers passed them in 
 groups of two or three, each seeking to aid the other, 
 all equally eligible to assistance. 
 
 The cabby has slowed his horse to a walk, the 
 better to enable Stephen to prosecute his studies. 
 
 The little window above the latter's head is sud- 
 denly uplifted : " Tumble spot this, sir lots o' fel- 
 lows has catched it 'ere, sir halright, sir, don't be 
 honeasy I'll look arter you."
 
 io8 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The window closes again, Stephen peering cau- 
 tiously out to see the desperadoes. Everything 
 seems quiet enough. An unhappy child of fourteen 
 or so is helping her mother home, the latter carrying 
 a can as carefully as her condition will permit. But 
 Stephen can discern no peril there. 
 
 They pass into another street, kindred to the one 
 they have left behind. Suddenly the window goes 
 up again : " This 'ere's what they call ' The Bloody 
 'Ole,' sir 'orful place, sir. That 'ere last one I 
 showed you was a little Sunday-school, sir, alongside 
 o' this. That's halright, sir don't be honeasy. I've 
 got my heye hout for 'em, sir we'll soon be hout 
 of it." 
 
 Stephen looked eagerly again, this time leaning 
 forward a little, his fears less vivid than before. He 
 sees nothing but an almost deserted street, sunk in 
 the same sodden wretchedness as the other ; but with 
 no signs of recent or impending slaughter. 
 
 They have not gone far when he hears the window 
 lifted again; and a sepulchral voice calls down: 
 " Set in the middle o' the seat, sir, right in the middle 
 that's it it's the safest place there. See how that 
 'orse's ears is cocked, an' 'is tail agoin' of itself, sir ? 
 That's halright, sir, I'll look arter you, sir. Don't be 
 honeasy only my missus' huncle very near shot ten 
 men right 'ere, wonst, sir." 
 
 This time Stephen thrust his head boldly out, even 
 venturing to disturb the equilibrium on which so 
 much depended. A man was plodding unsteadily 
 along the street, carrying in his arms a spaniel dog ;
 
 A PEARL of PRICE 109 
 
 the animal appeared unappreciative of the honour, 
 and the man's progress seemed impeded not more 
 by the outward burden than by the inward cargo. 
 The man in the hansom was beginning to despise 
 Whitechapel. " I want to see a storm," the swift- 
 retiring say when they first go to sea. But the upper 
 air was troubled enough; for the wooden flap is 
 raised again. 
 
 " 'Ang on to your watch 'ere, sir. And you better 
 put your money and your wallyables inside your 
 shirt, sir. This 'ere's the worsest place in Lunnon, 
 sir. That's halright don't be honeasy ! " 
 
 By this time Stephen was finding it easy enough 
 to obey the familiar admonition, and, tiring of the 
 experience, he abruptly ordered the cabman to drive 
 him home by way of Holborn. The man was noth- 
 ing loath, and soon Stephen was looking out upon a 
 region much superior to that which the driver's fancy 
 had peopled with its divers perils. Suddenly the 
 hansom drew up to the pavement, coming to a stand- 
 still. Wondering what this variation meant, he heard 
 the driver alight ; in a moment his ruddy face was 
 presented at the window. 
 
 " You don't mind a man 'avin' a beer, sir ? " he 
 enquired earnestly. " This 'ere's a place what's al- 
 ways hopen if you knows 'ow to get in." 
 
 Stephen had no objections, though rigid teetotal- 
 ism was his doctrine and his rule. 
 
 " All right ! But I think you'd be better without 
 it," he answered. 
 
 " That's halright," rejoined the cabby ; " used to
 
 no THE UNDERTOW 
 
 belong to the Band of 'Ope myself. But a man 
 knows 'is own insides best, sir; and I've 'ad a hawful 
 .strain. Look at that 'orse's 'ead and tail, sir a man 
 takes 'is life in 'is 'and, when he drives that 'ere last 
 street, he do." 
 
 " It was kind of you," said Stephen, thinking he 
 .should make some acknowledgment to the hero. 
 
 " I never does it, only for Hamericans," the cabby 
 went on, " and they always gives me the price of a 
 beer, sir always does it 'andsome, too, sir." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Stephen. 
 
 " Yes, sir," agreed the pilot. Wherewith the former 
 put his hand in his pocket, extracting a threepenny 
 bit which he handed to the other. The other looked 
 slightly disappointed. 
 
 " You won't be long," called Stephen, as the man 
 turned towards a lane. 
 
 " No, sir," replied the cabman in a dejected voice ; 
 " I shan't be long, sir. You seen wot you guv me, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Stephen. 
 
 " I seen it, too," said the cabman, " and I shan't be 
 long, sir don't be honeasy." 
 
 Thus left alone, Stephen looked about him at the 
 almost silent street. Cramped with long sitting, and 
 weary with the intentness of his vigil, he stepped 
 down from the hansom to the pavement, moving 
 about for the relief of his tired limbs. 
 
 Suddenly a woman's figure glided around the 
 corner of an adjacent street and began moving slowly 
 toward him. Stephen stared at her ; and she came
 
 A PEARL of PRICE in 
 
 on, till she was almost opposite. Then she paused 
 and turned her face toward his. 
 
 " Could you help me, sir ? " she began in a trem- 
 bling voice. " I'm all alone and helpless and I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 " What ? " said Stephen, scanning the face before 
 him. 
 
 " I'm all alone and I've had such a bitter day. 
 And I have to ask somebody I haven't any home 
 now. And I knew I'd have to ask and trust 
 some one," and even as she spoke, the gentle figure 
 straightened itself with a kind of despairing dignity 
 that stamped her words with truth and pathos. 
 
 Stephen was still gazing into the pleading eyes, 
 something in their expression engaging him with no 
 common interest. 
 
 " I'm so ashamed, sir," the girl went on, her eyes 
 dropping before his own " but I've not had any- 
 thing since eleven o'clock this morning." 
 
 The voice which spoke the words was worthy of 
 the face that was now timidly turned away. Stephen 
 was still intent upon his scrutiny. 
 
 The girl was perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, 
 but sorrow had left its mark more distinctly than the 
 years. The face was hungry, but not pinched and 
 the hunger was evidently not that of mere want 
 alone. For her face bore the signs of a tender spirit, 
 and a rich spiritual beauty rested on it. The very 
 fragrance of a sweet and tender nature, over-trustful, 
 perhaps, but due to unstained innocence, seemed to 
 come from the half-parted, trembling lips. Her
 
 H2 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 mouth was significant of purity, her eyes soft and 
 docile. Yet, as a light fell upon them, something of 
 sorrow seemed to burn within, as if some great sur- 
 prise had touched their laughter with eternal serious- 
 ness. 
 
 Her neck was surrounded by a strong slender 
 chain of steel and Stephen noted in amazement that 
 this ended in a tiny brazen cross, almost hidden by a 
 piece of faded lace. 
 
 " Where do you live? " asked Stephen. 
 
 " Nobody cares where I live don't let's speak 
 about that," she retorted quickly ; " won't you help 
 me a little just a very little ? I'm so unhappy." 
 
 " How do you come to have that cross there ? " 
 he asked ; " won't you tell me why ? " 
 
 The girl looked down at it, then lifted her eyes 
 quickly, and answered : " It would be hard for me 
 to tell you I've not told anybody yet ; " and Stephen 
 could not but notice a tremour in her voice that 
 spoke of an emotion he was at a loss to under- 
 stand. 
 
 At this juncture they were interrupted by the 
 returning cabman, his gait suggesting that he had 
 invested the threepenny bit to fine advantage. 
 
 " I met an old pard in there," he explained, " a 
 pard I 'adn't seen since Dizzy died," his mind revert- 
 ing to the great obsequies they had observed to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Lord ! You've run acrost one yourself ! " he 
 exclaimed, his eye falling on the girl. 
 
 " I've never met this lady before," Stephen made
 
 A PEARL of PRICE 113 
 
 haste to avow. " But I'm not going farther with 
 you," he continued, " I'm not going on I have 
 that is, I've a duty to attend to," he concluded, not 
 without embarrassment. 
 
 " Halright, I understand you, sir," replied the 
 cabby gravely. " Hawful glad I was of 'elp to a 
 gent, a-doin' of his dooty." The significance of his 
 voice could not be misunderstood. 
 
 " I would have you know, sir, I'm a minister," 
 Stephen affirmed in a heightened tone " I've a duty 
 to perform here." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " broke out the cabman ; " Jerry, do 
 you hear that ? " he cried, turning toward the horse 
 and snatching the light blanket from its back. 
 
 " How much do I owe you ? " Stephen asked 
 sternly ; " I'll settle with you now." 
 
 " No time like the present," replied the cabby. 
 " But I does 'ate to take five bob off a poor parson 
 it 'urts me more nor you." 
 
 " Five what ? " said Stephen, confused by the 
 nomenclature. 
 
 " Five bob ! Five shillin' I've hearned it, too." 
 
 " Oh, five shillings, you mean, do you ? " said his 
 now enlightened fare ; " all right," and Stephen drew 
 from his pocket the wallet that contained his father's 
 noble gift, now converted into Bank of England 
 notes. " I've got some change here somewhere," he 
 muttered, fumbling among the rustling bills. 
 
 " The deacons must 'a' paid you up the salary just 
 afore you told 'em bye-bye," suggested the cabman, 
 denoting the purse with one eye, the other reserved
 
 H4 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 for a fitting operation toward the girl. " Must 
 be hawful devoted to their pastor," he added, repeating 
 the aforesaid ocular operation. 
 
 " Here it is," said the passenger at last. " That's 
 five isn't that right ? " 
 
 " Halright ; thank'ee sir and I'll leave you to 
 your dooty. Won't be preachin' in the Habbey next 
 Sunday, will you, sir ? " which was too near the high 
 water mark of humour to permit of further control. 
 The cabby abandoned himself for a minute to the 
 hilarity he felt had been too long delayed ; and noth- 
 ing but the honesty of Stephen's purpose could have 
 saved Stephen from its sting.
 
 X 
 
 ITS CASKET for A NIGHT 
 
 AS Stephen turned to the girl beside him, the 
 look with which he regarded her was not 
 without genuine pity. He was interested, 
 moreover, from the standpoint of his profession. 
 Here is the first fruit of my search, he thought ; and 
 here a golden opportunity to uplift the fallen, joining 
 in this far-pitched battle against London's sin and 
 sorrow. He even thought of the rich effectiveness of 
 such an incident, used as an illustration in some ser- 
 mon yet unborn. For no theme is so enthralling as 
 that of the prodigal, whom preachers so often seek 
 afield, going forth from Newcastle in their search for 
 coals. 
 
 " Where can we get something to eat ? " he asked 
 as he turned to her. " I will go with you." 
 
 " I noticed a place one street over from here," the 
 girl replied, her thought making a quick review 
 that only hunger could command, " and I fancy it's 
 open all night. We could go back there. But why 
 do you go too?" 
 
 " I will tell you later," Stephen replied. " Let us 
 go at once." 
 
 They retraced their steps, Stephen trusting himself 
 to the guidance of the girl. She walked with uncon- 
 scious haste ; for a pathetic stimulus urged her on. 
 
 "5
 
 Ii6 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 He could not but mark the plaintive candour of her 
 eager pace; and pity gathered in his heart. Her 
 carriage was erect and graceful, her hair, disheveled 
 somewhat, showed golden and wavy in the uncertain 
 light, the silken strands wandering over ear and 
 cheek and neck, all blending in a contour of strangely 
 delicate loveliness and charm. 
 
 " Aren't you ashamed too ? " The words broke in 
 upon his silent observations. 
 
 " Ashamed ? Ashamed of what ? " asked her 
 companion, remarking again the refinement of her 
 voice, " ashamed of what ? " 
 
 " Well, what made you tell the cabby such a 
 story ? " the girl returned. 
 
 Stephen started. He had forgotten. " Me ! A 
 story to the cabman ! " he exclaimed. " I don't know 
 what you mean I didn't tell him any story." 
 
 " No," she amended, " it wasn't exactly a story 
 it was a whopper " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Stephen renewed, a little 
 testily ; for philanthropy knows its rights. 
 
 " You told him you were a preacher why didn't 
 
 you tell him something he'd believe Here we 
 
 are that's the place I saw and there's a light in it 
 yet," she concluded rapidly, the moral swallowed up 
 of the material. 
 
 They pushed back the already half opened door 
 and entered the poor refectory. One or two belated 
 ones, just preparing to depart, were concluding their 
 repast, eking out the scanty fare to the uttermost 
 moment. Stephen led his companion to a table in a
 
 ITS CASKET for A NIGHT 117 
 
 corner of the room and the agile waiter had soon 
 departed with an order for a large double steak, a six- 
 pence from Stephen's hand accounting for the cheer- 
 ful speed that marked his exit. 
 
 Stephen was still thinking of the girl's last words 
 and their soft impeachment. 
 
 " But I'm just what I said I was," he resumed 
 when they were seated. 
 
 The other looked earnestly at him, the sweetness of 
 her expression in this clearer light striking Stephen 
 with surprise. 
 
 " I told him the truth," urged Stephen. " I told 
 him I was a minister and I am. You needn't smile 
 I am a minister." 
 
 The face that looked across at him was serious 
 enough. " Do you know I believe you at least I 
 almost believe you. Are you really a minister, sure 
 enough ? " she enquired earnestly. 
 
 For answer, Stephen drew a letter from his pocket 
 and threw it down before her. It was one of the 
 few that had been entrusted to him for purposes of 
 introduction. 
 
 " ' Reverend Stephen Wishart, M. A./ " the girl 
 read aloud, evidently impressed. 
 
 " You may look at the letter," said Stephen with a 
 glance toward it. She took the missive out and 
 read it through. It was to a Scottish friend, the 
 credential again in evidence. 
 
 Then she restored her attention to the envelope, 
 reading the address over once or twice. " ' M. A./ 
 I know what that means," she reflected presently.
 
 n8 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Do you ? " answered Stephen smiling. " What 
 does it mean, then ? " 
 
 " ' Master of Arts/ " the girl responded quickly, 
 Stephen wondering at the sound. " Our minister 
 was an M. A.," she pursued, Stephen's eyes wider 
 than before. 
 
 " Your minister ! " he exclaimed, gazing at the 
 girl and trying to realize the place and method of 
 their meeting. 
 
 " Yes," returned the other ; " he got his at Aber- 
 deen he was our minister before I was born. He 
 married my father and mother," she concluded, her 
 lips all a quiver. 
 
 " Here's the waiter at last," announced Stephen, 
 blithely assisting in the distribution of the homely 
 dishes. He dropped a fork beside her chair ; she 
 stooped to recover it and he slipped a portion of his 
 order on to her plate. Then he led the attack, bid- 
 ding his companion follow ; which she did right 
 heartily, yet with a modesty that explained the embar- 
 rassment of her downcast eyes. 
 
 She had spread upon her lap a dainty handker- 
 chief, sorely stained, it must be said but he marked 
 the refinement of the action. 
 
 He was wondering how he might best renew the 
 conversation, when the voice of the other suddenly 
 relieved him of that necessity. 
 
 " That was a whopper after all," she said, as she 
 looked up, the eyes glistening through the dew. 
 
 " What was a whopper ? What have you discov- 
 ered now ? "
 
 ITS CASKET for A NIGHT 119 
 
 " About what you told the cabby. You said you 
 were a minister and you didn't ask a blessing," she 
 charged. 
 
 " I asked it inside," said Stephen ; " they'd think 
 you were ill if they saw you asking it here any other 
 way, I should think though I was never in a place 
 like this before. But now let me cross-question you 
 you said your minister was an M. A., didn't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I said he got it in Aberdeen," she replied 
 seriously. 
 
 " Well then, what church does he belong to ? 
 Which is your church ? " for the vein struck him as 
 foreign and fascinating. 
 
 " It's the Church of Scotland," the girl answered 
 promptly. 
 
 " Isn't that strange, that's mine, too. But how do 
 I know you are not telling me a whopper, as you call 
 it ? Let me see I can tell by a question. Now, 
 you tell me something what do they call the men 
 in the session ? Their office, I mean ? " 
 
 The big eyes stared at him for a minute : " Oh, 
 you mean the Kirk Session why, they're elders, of 
 course. My father was one." 
 
 " Good, very good now I'm going to ask just one 
 more question," pursued her examiner ; " perhaps 
 it's a little harder than the other how does the 
 eighty-fourth psalm run ? That's a sure sign, if you 
 can tell that." 
 
 She pondered a moment : " I've learned them 
 nearly all we had to learn them on Sunday after-
 
 120 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 noons," she mused. " I can't just remember how 
 that one begins. But I think it has this in it : 
 
 1 Behold the sparrow findeth out 
 An house wherein to rest ' 
 
 I thought of it to-night when I was walking 
 around," she added in a voice he could barely hear, 
 her eyes hidden from him as her head bowed till it 
 rested on the heaving bosom, while scarlet clothed 
 her cheek : " Oh, sir, my heart is broken," she cried 
 at length, after a brief wild struggle for control. " I 
 don't want to eat any more," she sobbed, the tears flow- 
 ing fast now, unstaunched by the poor handkerchief 
 she had lifted from her lap. " Let us go out," she 
 sobbed, " I can't stop crying and that man's look- 
 ing at me ; " which very feminine complaint was 
 accompanied by a furious glance at the petrified 
 waiter, transfixed beside his green baize door. 
 
 " All right," whispered Stephen. " You go on 
 wait for me at the door." He hurriedly paid his bill, 
 the recovering waiter asking innocently : " Is your 
 missis sick, sir ? " for he knew they were not of the 
 usual class he was wont to serve at that hour. 
 
 Stephen made some unintelligible answer, moving 
 quickly toward the door through which his compan- 
 ion had disappeared ; but she was nowhere to be 
 seen, and Stephen's heart leaped with a strange eager- 
 ness to find her. He called out some word of gen- 
 eral salutation for he did not know her name. 
 Answer there was none. Then he ran quickly down
 
 ITS CASKET for A NIGHT 121 
 
 a near-by street, but his search was unrewarded. 
 Returning slowly, he peered into an alley ; and the 
 brightly burning light, London's great custodian, 
 revealed to him what he knew at once to be the 
 skirt of a woman's dress. Hurrying forward, he 
 found the companion of his humble meal seated on a 
 step, still sobbing violently. 
 
 " Go away, oh, please go away," she moaned, as 
 Stephen spoke to her. 
 
 " I won't I shan't leave you like this where are 
 you going to sleep to-night ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she sobbed, " I don't know and 
 it doesn't matter only please go away." 
 
 Suddenly a shadow darkened the entrance to the 
 alley and a burly form loomed above them. 
 
 " What's the matter here ? " and the policeman's 
 voice was stern " have to move out of this, and 
 quick about it." 
 
 The girl leaped quickly to her feet. " Sit down," 
 Stephen said in an undertone ; " stay where you are 
 I want to speak to him." 
 
 He motioned the officer aside and a few moments 
 sufficed to tell the story. 
 
 " Likely some poor girl from the country," the po- 
 liceman ventured, heart-tender as are nearly all his 
 kind ; " likely enough a thoroughly innocent girl, 
 too," he pursued. " No, sir, there's no hotel just 
 round about here. I'll tell you what you do. There's 
 an Army Home on Parrot Street there's a drinking 
 fountain three minutes this side of it. She can stay 
 there for the night comfortable enough, too."
 
 122 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " But won't she have to mix I mean, aren't 
 all " Stephen queried, deprecatingly. 
 
 " Oh, no, bless you no, not at all. They've beds 
 there up to six-pence mebbe a shilling. Lots of 
 the best take 'em. You pay it. That'll mean a bite 
 of breakfast, too. The very best thing you can do 
 try and get her to go there. And I'll just go on." 
 
 " How shall we get there ? " urged Stephen, anx- 
 iously ; " I don't know anything of the locations 
 here." 
 
 " Oh, simple enough. See that light there ? Well, 
 go down to that, turn to the right for two squares, 
 then turn to the left, and it's the third corner on the 
 right you'll find it easy enough. Good-night, sir." 
 
 The gust of anguish seemed to have subsided when 
 Stephen returned to his companion, and she was per- 
 suaded without serious difficulty to follow the course 
 commended by the officer. They walked on in 
 silence for a time. 
 
 " I hope to see you again," Stephen said at length ; 
 " you're to tell me yet where your home is, and all 
 about everything like that, you know." 
 
 No answer coming, he presently renewed : " You 
 will tell me all about it, won't you ? " 
 
 The girl looked at him with searching eyes ; " I'll 
 tell you everything, I think," she said quietly after a 
 moment, " I want to tell you everything." 
 
 " Here's the place. I guess this is where you ring. 
 Wait a minute what is your name ? " 
 
 " Hattie," she answered. 
 
 " Hattie who ? "
 
 ITS CASKET for A NIGHT 123 
 
 " Hattie Hastie. I suppose they thought it 
 sounded pretty when they gave it to me." 
 
 " It is a pretty name and I want to see you 
 again. And you may expect me to come here to- 
 morrow morning about ten o'clock. Promise me you 
 will wait till 1 come." 
 
 Hattie Hastie blushed ; and the rosy banner was 
 well pleasing to Stephen's eye : for is not the blush of 
 maidenhood the signal that God's sentinels still hold 
 the inner fort ? 
 
 " Promise me, promise me quick, here's the at- 
 tendant coming." 
 
 The girl suddenly raised her eyes, swimming in 
 the light as they were ; and a rich aroma distilled 
 through the lips that spoke : " I will wait for you 
 oh, God bless you, Mr. Wishart it was He who sent 
 you ; it was my mother's God," and the wonderful 
 eyes, radiant with tears, looked up to his in childlike 
 trust and innocence, the man quivering with emotion 
 as with a few earnest words he committed his new- 
 found charge to the kindly warder who now stood 
 before them.
 
 XI 
 HATriE And The COMMANDER 
 
 HATTIE HASTIE was asked no questions by 
 the attendant at the Army Home. And 
 very clean and comfortable was the little 
 bed to which she was guided by the kindly matron, 
 called from welcome slumber to duty more welcome 
 still. The apartment was comparatively small, some 
 eight or ten beds being beside her own. All their 
 inmates were evidently lost in sleep that truest 
 friend of the homeless and forlorn. Hattie undressed 
 quickly; and was soon stretched between the re- 
 freshing sheets, giving herself up to a review of the 
 eventful day. A quick gush of tears bedewed her 
 pillow, the fruit of an emotion the girl could scarcely 
 understand. 
 
 For a strange sense of humiliation and shame 
 mingled with a still more mysterious strain of joy ; 
 and of this latter she could not locate the source. 
 Yet she abandoned herself to it willingly enough ; for 
 something like the gladness of the spring was about 
 her heart. The magic sweetness that clothes life in 
 the hour of one's convalescence seemed to have come 
 to her. 
 
 With quick bounds, her mind flew from scene to 
 scene, covering the whole compass of her life. Aber- 
 deen and its golden twilight days; the removal to 
 
 124
 
 H ATT IE And The COMMANDER 125 
 
 their English home ; the unruffled happiness of open- 
 ing girlhood ; the gathering clouds ; the wasting of 
 her father's health ; the wail of her widowed mother ; 
 the bailiff-hand of poverty from one to the other, 
 her mind flitted, as she lay among the homeless, gath- 
 ering the bitter and the sweet. 
 
 Then it lingered longer amid darker memories 
 her mother's brush with death ; her recovery ; her 
 wounded health that soon surrendered ; her dying 
 prayer and her child's passionate promise, as dying 
 hands tied the little cross about her neck then the 
 sombre tunnel of her orphanhood. 
 
 Scenes darker still were visited on memory's wing 
 her dower of unconscious charm ; its recognition 
 by another who forgot that she was but a child, and 
 pressed his claim with the approval of her guardian 
 aunt ; her first response of love, slighted as soon as it 
 was won ; her aunt's increasing severity ; and her 
 own worse than homeless state. 
 
 Then, darker still, the sympathy of an almost un- 
 known girl who had prompted her to flight ; and her 
 half surrender to her companion's plea for London as 
 a city of refuge from her cruel lot. Her heart burned 
 within, her as she recalled the letters that had come 
 from the older girl who had gone on before to the 
 great metropolis. Their deepening tinge of colour, 
 their lavish promise of relief, and pleasure, and success 
 all so intelligible in the light of what had hap- 
 pened, but so misunderstood as she had read them 
 amid the pure fragrance of her country life of all 
 this she thought.
 
 126 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 And Hattie's face burned like fire as she recalled 
 the innocent joy, the simple hopefulness, with which 
 she had set out for London. Like molten gold it 
 glowed, as she recalled their meeting ; the momentary 
 shock as she read her companion's face the Gehenna 
 of her words and their dread suggestion. Again an 
 indescribable face seemed to look out at her through 
 some shadowy lattice ; and the mal-aroma of some 
 deadly nightshade seemed again to smite her to the 
 heart. 
 
 Then her mind leaped swiftly on, as if seeking 
 shelter from some phantom enemy ; and the lights of 
 home and the locking of a mighty door were 
 somehow commingled with the tender face which she 
 had last looked upon in the dark without ; she con- 
 fused her mother's voice with the tones that had 
 called her so tenderly by her childhood name. And 
 the memory of her mother's parting kiss sacra- 
 mental though it was blended with a different image ; 
 wherewith sweet drowsiness stole about her. Then 
 she surrendered her soul to God in a half uttered 
 prayer that lost itself in the blessed ocean of a dream- 
 less sleep. 
 
 When the girl had finished her simple breakfast 
 next morning, the matron took her into a private 
 room and closed the door behind her. 
 
 " I've got good news for you," she began, still 
 standing with her back to the door. " I knew, as 
 soon as I saw you last night that you were different, 
 so different from those that usually come in. And
 
 HAT-TIE And The COMMANDER 127 
 
 I've been telling all about you to the Commander 
 she happened to come down here this morning." 
 
 She stopped, smiling ; for reverence was meant to 
 mark the name. " The Commander wants to see you 
 herself," she continued radiantly, mentioning the 
 name of one of London's guardian angels, a near 
 relative of the great Administrator whose fame has 
 filled the earth as one of the most consecrated war- 
 riors that ever buckled on his armour. " She's going 
 to see you herself and you can trust her as you 
 would your own mother. You'll love her as soon as 
 you see her everybody does. Come, I'm going to 
 take you to her now." 
 
 Hattie followed her guide, and was soon shown 
 into an inner room, her eyes falling, as she entered, 
 upon one of the most gracious and winsome faces 
 that ever shone with love's mystic light. Her heart 
 seemed to leap toward the woman as she noticed the 
 compassion of her eyes and the simple sweetness of 
 her whole appearance. She was tastily attired, al- 
 most richly it would seem, though the credentials of 
 her office could be seen upon her dress. But, robed 
 though she had been as an oriental princess, the eager 
 compassion of her soul would still have been easily 
 perceived; her whole womanhood seemed touched 
 with the redemptive pity that looked out from great 
 lustrous eyes upon the homeless girl before her. 
 
 Like one who had found something she had long 
 sought in vain, she rose and came quickly toward 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Come away, come away in," she said, as if she
 
 128 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 were speaking to some friend for whom she had been 
 waiting. " Mrs. Yuill here has been telling me about 
 you," and, leading her to a couch, she sat down 
 beside her, taking Hattie's hands in hers. This tender- 
 ness, long familiar from hands that are hidden now, 
 seemed to awaken fountains of memory in the wan- 
 derer, who laid her tear-stained face on the willing 
 bosom of her new-found friend. 
 
 " Where are you going, my dear ? " the latter said 
 after a time. " Won't you tell me as much as you 
 can about yourself?" 
 
 " Oh," sobbed Hattie, " you're so good to me and 
 I don't know where I'm going." 
 
 " Can't you go home, child ? Or have you no 
 home ? " 
 
 " No, none," said Hattie, the blue eyes raised to 
 look out of the window a moment away past the 
 chimney pots of the houses about her. She was 
 thinking of the honeysuckle on the porch of what 
 had once been home; and her eyes were turned 
 toward the direction in which she thought it lay. 
 
 A graceful arm had stolen gently around the girl's 
 shoulders : " Tell me about your home." Whereupon 
 the reverie of the night became the narrative of the 
 day. 
 
 " I know I can trust you," Hattie said ; " and I 
 think it will help me to tell somebody, any way." 
 And, beginning with the bright and happy morning 
 of her life, she told the hours, one by one, keeping 
 back nothing that bore on all the sad heart-story. 
 
 " And that was how I came to come to London,"
 
 H ATT IE And The COMMANDER 129 
 
 she concluded, bolt upright now, turning around and 
 looking at the other with eyes that were aflame: 
 " that was how I came here she deceived me. She 
 told me I could get lots of money and pretty clothes 
 in London and I was so poor. And I thought I 
 would get a good home here ! Oh, I really thought 
 I would die when I found out what it all meant it 
 was awful, awful " and the silken tresses drooped 
 again, the face, hiding like a hunted thing, close to 
 the woman's loving heart. 
 
 " And the girl who induced you to come ? " asked 
 her protector, " where is she ? Does she know where 
 to find you ? " 
 
 " No, no she shall never see me again," Hattie 
 answered vehemently. " When I knew what she 
 meant, I turned and ran away ran as hard as I could 
 run. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't 
 care. It was at Charing Cross, I think, she called it 
 that I saw her last. But I'll never see her again as 
 long as I live never," and the girl's eyes flashed 
 with purpose and indignation. 
 
 " Poor little thing," the Commander whispered, 
 fondling her as she spoke ; " you never shall see her 
 again if we can help it." Then she asked her 
 another question in the lowest and tenderest of 
 tones. 
 
 The girl blushed furiously. " I don't know," she 
 answered, almost in the other's ear. " I try to forget 
 about him and I nearly have," a look of wistful 
 memory in her eyes. " I seem to have so much sad- 
 ness in my life. No, I don't know where he is he
 
 UNDERTOW 
 
 went to America shortly after, and I've never heard 
 of him since. I was only seventeen then." 
 
 Seventeen she might still have been thought her 
 friend beside her if one might judge by the sweet 
 complexion, pink and white after her refreshing sleep ; 
 and by the golden tresses that had the buoyancy of 
 girlhood still ; and by the big blue eyes that filled so 
 pitifully fast ; and by the dimpling mouth, and earnest 
 voice, and all the simple artlessness that had so 
 quickly won her heart. For the morning sun was 
 pouring in through the open window, caressing the 
 girlish form with soft and radiant hands, lighting her 
 face with its tender glow, glancing merrily at the 
 tapering fingers that every now and then were raised 
 to adjust the sunlit hair. 
 
 And as the Commander looked upon her, looked 
 again, gazing into the eyes that were so full of mean- 
 ing and emotion, she realized how rarely lovable was 
 this bloom from distant fields, borne by unfriendly 
 winds toward the awful peril of London's fiery flame. 
 
 " Tell me about your mother tell me more about 
 your mother," she said presently, the request follow- 
 ing naturally from her immovable confidence in the 
 goodness of the girl. The Commander felt an unal- 
 terable assurance that she was heart-true, and innocent, 
 and pure, however darkly circumstances had con- 
 spired against her. " Are you like her do you look 
 like her, I mean ? " she added, trying to make it easier 
 for her to go on. 
 
 " Yes, mother was fair she had hair like mine," 
 said Hattie, her hand resting on the other's. " She
 
 HATTIE And The COMMANDER 131 
 
 was an Aberdonian ; and father and she came to live 
 near Chester before I was born. The earliest thing 
 I can remember was looking over the great valley of 
 the Dee ; and mother used to sing : ' Mary, call the 
 cattle home' she had the sweetest voice I ever 
 heard, I think." 
 
 " I believe that, dear," the Commander said softly ; 
 " have you a picture of her ? " 
 
 Yes but it's in my box. Oh, what will I do 
 about my box?" she cried, suddenly remembering 
 " it's at that place that place that I went to first." 
 
 " Have you the address, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have the street ; and the number " and 
 the billowy crimson flowed again over neck and 
 cheek " but I can't go near it I shan't if I should 
 never get my box." 
 
 " Don't worry about that, Hattie. You see, I have 
 found out your name and you'll let me call you by 
 it. Don't bother about that you'll give me an order, 
 and I'll see that it's taken out for you. You'll let 
 me have it brought here in the meantime, won't you, 
 dear ? Let this be your home for a little. Now, let 
 us talk about the future. Is there anything you can 
 do any kind of employment, I mean? Did you 
 ever prepare to teach or sew or give music les- 
 sons or anything of that sort ? You say you don't 
 want to go back to the country." 
 
 "No, I couldn't go back to Chester I simply 
 couldn't. I never had a great deal of regular school- 
 ing. But mother was a scholar at least we thought 
 so. And she taught me mostly herself."
 
 132 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Did your mother ever say anything to you on 
 the subject ? I mean, about what you would likely 
 do when you were left alone ? " 
 
 No she thought I would live with Aunt Bar- 
 bara. But I can't now. Yes, she did speak to me 
 once about what would happen if I should be left 
 altogether alone." 
 
 " What did she say ? " 
 
 " She thought I might do something with my 
 voice she thought I sang sweetly. But I don't 
 think I do only I loved to sing to her. She asked 
 me to sing to her when she was dying and I did," 
 the trembling voice indicating how sacred was the 
 memory. 
 
 " What did you sing, dear ? " 
 
 " It was a hymn mother loved the hymns. Of 
 course we all belonged to the Scotch church so 
 father thought of nothing but the psalms. Mother 
 liked them too ; and we used to sing them at family 
 worship. But she loved some of the hymns just as 
 well, I think." 
 
 " What hymn was it you sang, Hattie ? " 
 
 " It was, ' When I survey the wondrous Cross ' 
 mother liked it better than any of the others. And 
 I love it too. I sang it to her just before she left 
 me and" the girl stopped, evidently doubtful as 
 to whether or not she should go on. 
 
 " And what, Hattie what then ? " 
 
 "Well, it was then she gave me this cross this 
 one that I wear I saw you looking at it." 
 
 " Yes," the Commander replied, deeply interested.
 
 H ATT IE And The COMMANDER 133 
 
 " I've been wondering about it ever since you came 
 in you say your mother gave it to you then ? " 
 
 " Yes, I'll tell you about it it has a history. A 
 poor woman near us was a great friend of mother's 
 and mother nursed her. Well, she used to be a 
 servant in Canon Kingsley's house it was Canon 
 Kingsley who wrote ' Mary call the cattle home ' ; 
 and when she left, he gave her this cross. He was 
 such a good man ! And when she was dying, she 
 gave it to mother. I had hardly ever seen it before 
 I guess father didn't like mother to have it very 
 much ; for the Scotch people mostly think it's like 
 the Catholics. So mother kept it away some place 
 by itself but she had it under her pillow when she 
 was dying. Mother's mother was a Catholic in the 
 Highlands ; but her father was a Presbyterian and 
 so was she, of course. But still she loved this little 
 cross, I know." 
 
 " And did she put it on your neck with her own 
 hands, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, she locked it on herself and the key was 
 in her poor thin hand when she was buried. She 
 has the key and I " 
 
 " Never mind, dear, never mind don't speak fur- 
 ther of it. I shouldn't have asked you don't cry, 
 dear " and the pure lips that gently touched the 
 girl's were as tender as those that mouldered in a dis- 
 tant grave. 
 
 " No, no " Hattie sobbed " only I remember 
 how the poor fingers touched my neck she was 
 coughing so and I want to tell you. She kept the
 
 134 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 key and I promised her I promised her," she went 
 on, controlling herself by a resolute struggle, " that I 
 would wear the little cross always, always as long 
 as " then the voice hushed to a whisper and the 
 rest was breathed into her listener's ear. " And I 
 have " she resumed almost violently " I have 
 and I always will always ! Oh, my mother, my 
 darling mother ! " and the sobbing form was folded 
 tight, passionately tight, in the loving arms of the 
 woman who was sobbing almost like herself. 
 
 " Thank God, my child " the older one mur- 
 mured low " thank God, my child He'll never let 
 you go and I won't either," she cried, holding her 
 closer still. 
 
 The spasm of lonely anguish soon spent itself as 
 Hattie nestled in the loving arms that had been the 
 first to enfold her since her mother died. 
 
 " I must go soon," she said presently, glancing at 
 a clock on the mantel. 
 
 " Go where, Hattie ? " asked the other ; " I thought 
 you were going to stay with us a while." 
 
 " So I am if you'll have me. But I promised to 
 keep an engagement at ten o'clock this morning ; it 
 was " 
 
 " An engagement ! " the Commander cried invol- 
 untarily. " Is it about a position ? " she added, as if 
 to atone for the amazement in her voice. 
 
 Hattie's face showed her embarrassment. " No," 
 she began, a little nervously, " it's to meet a a 
 friend." Her eyes turned full upon the Commander's
 
 H ATT IE And The COMMANDER 135 
 
 face, shining with confidence and candour. " I'll tell 
 you all about it. When I ran away from that girl 
 yesterday, I was so terrified I wouldn't speak to any- 
 body would hardly look at anybody. Only I tried 
 one or two places where I thought a girl might get 
 work just common work, you know but they 
 were all full ; and none of them needed anybody. 
 And that went on till it got dark ; and I was so 
 tired and so hungry I'd never been hungry before 
 like that and I waited and walked on looking 
 till I should see some face I thought I could trust. 
 And I tried at last. I really asked for something to 
 eat." And the wistful face looked up toward the 
 sweet face above her as if to ask absolution. 
 
 " Well, dear ? " and the smiling eyes were free from 
 the faintest symptom of reproach " how did the face 
 turn out ? Was it trustworthy ? " 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes," and her experienced listener 
 could not but note the warmth of her tone and the 
 significance of her heightening colour. " Oh, yes, 
 you could tell he was good to look at him he was 
 tall and dark and handsome ; at least his face had a 
 lot of kindness in it. And he was so good, so good 
 and kind and he wanted me to stay here till he 
 came this morning to see me. Oh, tell me " she 
 pleaded suddenly, the thought just occurring to her 
 " do you think I shouldn't ? Is it wrong ? He's a 
 minister, you know oh, yes," she protested, as the 
 other checked a smile " he's a minister I saw 
 his credentials ; and he is anyhow, without them but
 
 136 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 I won't see him if you don't want me to," she con- 
 cluded, slipping her hand into the strong soft palm 
 that returned its pressure. 
 
 " My child, do whatever you think is best. I trust 
 you absolutely and I know " 
 
 " I'll bring him to see you," Hattie interrupted 
 eagerly, as if the brightest of all ideas had suddenly 
 occurred to her " and then you'll be sure I'm right." 
 
 " Just as you like about that, Hattie I'll be glad 
 to see him. The best credentials after all are the 
 eyes and the voice. They hardly ever deceive, 
 Hattie," and she drew near to the girl in sudden 
 fondness, looking into the still glistening eyes, and 
 stroking the wayward hair. " Hattie, you have the 
 credentials but remember, dear, some cruel people, 
 some men and women, too they won't regard 
 them as anything but playthings for their cruelty. 
 I mean your eyes and your hair and those dimpled 
 cheeks. But how silly of me to be talking like this 
 only you are beautiful, Hattie ; and I shall always 
 pray that the great Captain will protect you." 
 
 Hattie's agitation, as she looked up and listened to 
 the portentous words, showed that their meaning was 
 not hidden from her. 
 
 " I know," she answered, her lip trembling " that 
 is I know what you mean ; oh, do pray for me. I 
 feel as if I had been drawn out of some awful stream 
 that was rushing toward a torrent. Oh, I love you 
 I do love you " and two arms were flung firmly 
 about the other's neck, two rosy lips telling out the 
 song of their deliverance.
 
 H ATT IE And The COMMANDER \yj 
 
 " And now, dear, if you are going to meet this 
 friend at ten, you'll have to go down to the waiting- 
 room," the Commander reminded as soon as she was 
 disengaged. " But there's just one thing I want you 
 to do for me before you go. I haven't forgotten 
 what you said about your singing and I must see 
 for myself or hear, rather. Come with me for just 
 a minute." 
 
 She led the way, amid many a servant's courtesy and 
 many a soldier's salute, to an adjoining room. 
 
 " Now let us try this," she said, seating herself on 
 a rude bench before a little organ " try that second 
 verse. I think it's the loveliest thing in the book." 
 
 She pressed the keys, played the prelude in part 
 and smiled her signal for Hattie to begin. Which 
 Hattie did, her voice trembling a little at first ; for the 
 transition from other scenes was sharp ; and the con- 
 trast inevitably flashed upon her mind. But in a 
 moment her voice had steadied itself and the rich 
 words blended with it : 
 
 " Other refuge have I none 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee." 
 
 She did not notice the almost startled air of her 
 companion as the quality of the girl's voice smote 
 her ear with a great surprise. The Commander said 
 nothing, but played on, quickly passing to the suc- 
 ceeding verse. When it was finished, she rose sud- 
 denly to her feet, a flushed cheek the only verdict. 
 
 " I want you to sing this night week," she said, in- 
 tensity in her tone " this night week at half past
 
 138 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 six or so, at our woman's meeting at the Poplar 
 barracks. I'll be down that night myself I'll take 
 you down. The room will be full of girls and 
 women and we'll have a little service, as they al- 
 ways do. I'll play for you myself now good-bye ; 
 I'll likely see you when you come back." 
 
 It was a few minutes after the appointed hour 
 when Hattie Hastie went down to the hallway of 
 what she really felt had been to her a house of God 
 and the gate of heaven. It was a plain bare hall- 
 way with a few seats down each side. Yet it seemed 
 thrice beautiful to her thankful gaze ; for it linked 
 her to the highest friend, as it had sheltered her from 
 the fiercest foe. She felt, too, though the thought 
 was not defined within her, that it had done more 
 that it had enlisted her on the victorious side in life's 
 spectral fight, vivid and actual as it had become to 
 her so suddenly beleaguered soul. 
 
 She had been there scarce a moment when her 
 eyes fell on Stephen, coming through the entrance. 
 He sees her too and has already started forward to 
 meet her. He can catch the new radiance upon her 
 face that face which the darkness of the night, with 
 the dark's suggestive guile, had half concealed and 
 half revealed. 
 
 Eager for a fuller verdict, he hurries toward her ; 
 for the fainter fascination of the night had merged 
 with the morning into a distincter interest, which 
 he would have been as reluctant to acknowledge as 
 he was unable to explain. 
 
 But if this interest in the girl was unjustified by
 
 HATriE And The COMMANDER 139 
 
 anything that had passed before, it was not without 
 good excuse for its existence now, as Stephen looked 
 anew upon the face that had not been absent from 
 his dreams. And if that face had claimed the chiefest 
 place in the visions of the night, it was less to be 
 remarked that its rivals were forgotten now, the 
 morning light attesting a beauty which the shadows 
 of the night could but suggest. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Hastie," said Stephen, tak- 
 ing her hand. " I'm glad to see you again. And I 
 needn't ask if you've had a good night's rest," he 
 averred, the manly face lit up with genuine pleasure. 
 
 " And I'm glad to see you " responded Hattie 
 " I wanted to thank you again and oh, I met such 
 a good lady in there." 
 
 " That's good ; I felt sure you would encounter 
 somebody worth while here," said Stephen. " Now 
 it isn't very cheerful just here. Suppose we step 
 across the street and take one of the seats in that 
 little park." The girl brought her hat and went as 
 cheerily as if to an outing, and in a moment they 
 were at the little oasis of green that could be seen 
 from the doorway of the house. " Isn't London 
 splendidly provided with places like this ? " said 
 Stephen. " They must be a haven of refuge for many 
 a weary one," he added, leading the way toward the 
 little seat. 
 
 " It's a poor haven," Hattie answered, sighing 
 " it needs something more than that." Stephen 
 made no reply ; and they took their places in silence 
 upon the bench.
 
 140 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The altogether significant feature of their inter- 
 view was the very silence of it : and Stephen, at any 
 rate, found it full of melody. The embarrassment 
 that seemed, half- conscious though it was, to keep 
 Hattie's eyes turned from his own, clothed her in new 
 sweetness ; and her shy silence he thought altogether 
 lovely. A sense of the chivalric, deeper than he had 
 ever felt before, thrilled him with soft gladness, his 
 heart going out to the girl in a spirit that sympathy 
 had enlisted, but which was fast changing to one of 
 distinct and cordial admiration. 
 
 By and by the stream of conversation began to 
 flow, the man groping, with womanly curiosity, for 
 the threads of his companion's life-story. Part of 
 which she told him all that was essential her 
 natural candour and innocence lending a sweet grace 
 to her words. Nor could he fail to realize that the 
 deepest and clearest note of all her being was the 
 spiritual, the spiritual in its simplest sense ; for her 
 nature was essentially religious, and the very atmos- 
 phere of her life was of trustfulness and hope. 
 
 Freer, and still more free, the shining words flowed 
 on, rippling sometimes, sometimes laughing on their 
 pebbly way, sometimes halting deep and troubled in 
 the shadow ; but always clear, always transparent, and 
 true, and full of mirror-charm, the pure stream found 
 its way. And as Stephen listened to the limpid 
 story, and gazed, when he might, into the eyes that 
 bore their evidence, sometimes dancing, sometimes 
 brimming, to that story's simple truth, he heard a 
 new voice calling in tones hitherto unknown, a soft
 
 H 'ATI IE And The COMMANDER 141 
 
 new hand fumbling with a golden key at the prison- 
 door that no hand had unlocked before. 
 
 Again did silence, deep-wooded silence, fall upon 
 them, broken only by those arbour-voices that even 
 London's roaring may not muffle. 
 
 " May I ask you now ? " he said, suddenly. " Will 
 you not tell me now ? " 
 
 " What ? ".Hattie asked, wondering. 
 
 " About that cross you know you nearly prom- 
 ised to tell me about it." 
 
 " Yes," Hattie answered, very quietly. " And 
 there's very little to tell. My mother gave it to me 
 just before she left me. And I promised her 
 always to wear it and always to be worthy of it : 
 that is all," and the big blue eyes looked up earnestly 
 to his own. 
 
 Whereat one of the noblest moods that God grants 
 to men fell upon Stephen Wishart ; and his speech in 
 turn flowed forth to the motherless girl in rich ac- 
 cents of sympathy and counsel. As she listened, his 
 whole manhood seemed to expand before her 
 in strength and tenderness. Vague, mysterious 
 glimpses she might have had before, of his limita- 
 tions, his unsophisticated self-confidence, his inclina- 
 tion to selfishness, his liability to passing impulse. 
 She may even have heard the faint din of that 
 shadowy conflict with which his strange nature filled 
 his life. But now she sees nothing but the glowing 
 sympathy, the strong gentleness, of a soul that 
 dumbly comforted her own by the very trust it re- 
 posed in her, seeking to soothe her sorrow, and to
 
 142 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 shelter her helplessness, with infinite tact and kind- 
 ness. The gift and the glory of words, too, were his, 
 and Hattie's heart beat the happiest of time to his 
 musical and flowing sentences. 
 
 " There's another thing I hope you'll pardon my 
 speaking about," he said at length " but it's neces- 
 sary. What are you going to do now ? I want to 
 help you in that, if I can. I hardly know anybody in 
 London except a man from America who is staying 
 at the Metropole but I could see a minister and 
 perhaps we could find something suitable. There are 
 always " 
 
 " That's so kind of you," interrupted Hattie " but 
 I'm engaged for a while yes, I've got a kind of a 
 position " she continued " I don't know what my 
 duties will be ; but I've got a kind of a position," she 
 repeated, smiling at his expression of surprise. 
 
 " Where, what at?" he asked quickly. 
 
 " I don't know at least, I don't know what at. 
 But I'm going back there," she avowed, indicating 
 the Army Home by a motion of her head. " The 
 Commander asked me to come back and I'm going. 
 Oh, I nearly forgot ; I'm going to sing a week from 
 to-night at a little meeting at Poplar. . . . You 
 didn't know I could sing, did you ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't. Can you ? And, oh, won't you 
 let me come too ? " 
 
 " No, I can't at least, I can't much ; but I'm going 
 to do my best a week from to-night. And do you 
 really want very much to come ? " 
 
 Stephen's assurance was quickly given, and her
 
 HATTIE And 'The COMMANDER 143 
 
 consent secured; but he pleaded gently that they 
 should meet at least once in the interval, and to this 
 at length Hattie gave assent. 
 
 " I can't tell you how glad I am that we'll meet 
 soon again. Good-bye for just a little while," he 
 said, and it thrilled him to see the responsive light 
 with which Hattie's face kindled at his words.
 
 XII 
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 
 
 THE upturned earth was breathing sweet in- 
 cense from its wounds as the ploughman 
 stopped his horses now and then to tramp 
 down a rebellious sod, or quickly adjusted it without 
 lessening his speed. One by one, the increasing fur- 
 rows were changing the surface of the fruitful acres ; 
 and Reuben glanced with satisfaction at the land- 
 ocean his steady industry had made behind him. He 
 was repeating to himself the " Lines to a Daisy," that 
 could have fallen from no pen but that of the won- 
 derful ploughboy with whom Jock's great-grandfather 
 had once made merry before Immortality had taken 
 that ploughboy's name into her keeping. 
 
 " Wee, modest, crimson-tippit flower," he repeated, 
 the rest flowing half inarticulately from his lips, till 
 an audible : " thy slender stem," betokened that the 
 end of the verse and of the furrow had been made 
 together. 
 
 The farther end of the new furrow had been al- 
 most reached ; and Reuben took a quick glance at 
 the descending sun, th toiler's sentinel and friend, 
 whose relaxing rays advised him that his labours for 
 the day were almost at an end. A gentle word to 
 the horses brought them to a standstill, for they were 
 
 144
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 145 
 
 accustomed to stop while the furrow was still incom- 
 plete ; there is more ploughing to be done on the 
 morrow, and it is easier to start in the open. Reuben 
 flung the rope-lines in different directions from his 
 hands and stooped to unhitch the clanging traces. 
 One chain had been released and thrown, resounding, 
 over the horse's back, when a voice broke in upon 
 him. 
 
 " Can you tell me where Mr. Wishart lives ? " 
 
 Looking up, Reuben saw that the question came 
 from a man whom he had never met before, a man 
 of about fifty years of age, whose general appearance 
 indicated considerable prosperity. He had come un- 
 heard across the field, following the path of Reuben's 
 latest furrow. 
 
 " Mr. Wishart ? Yes, sir," Reuben answered, sur- 
 veying the stranger as he spoke ; " he lives in that 
 house yonder, beyond that little bush he's my 
 father." 
 
 " Oh, I see have you a brother called Stephen 
 Wishart, the Reverend Stephen Wishart ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir but I don't think he's exactly a Rev- 
 erend yet," replied Reuben smiling ; " he hasn't been 
 ordained yet, you know." 
 
 " I see, I see," said the stranger. " I've met your 
 brother but he's practically that, being through his 
 college course. I would like to have an interview 
 with your brother. That's what I came here for." 
 
 " I'm very sorry, sir but my brother isn't at 
 home." 
 
 " What ! Away from home ? " said the other, evi-
 
 146 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 dently amazed. " Where is he ? Will he be back 
 soon ? " 
 
 " No, not very soon, I'm afraid he's in the old 
 country gone there to complete his studies," said 
 Reuben, terminating the existence of a horse-fly with 
 a resounding slap ; " he's going to study in Edin- 
 burgh," he concluded, brotherly pride mingling with 
 the words. 
 
 " Well, that's unfortunate," said the man. " I 
 came a good way to see him. I knew he was think- 
 ing of going to Europe, but I didn't imagine he was 
 going so soon." 
 
 " He's gone," said the ploughman, with the plain- 
 ness of his race, scraping the upper part of the plough- 
 share as he spoke. " What did you want to see him 
 about, might I ask ? " he ventured, looking up at the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, my name's Alger and I live in 
 Hamilton one of our city churches there is without 
 a minister the one to which I belong ; our minister 
 was called to New York and a couple of us have 
 been sent here to confer with your brother with a 
 view to giving him a call. Nothing technically com- 
 pleted yet, you know, but our congregation are 
 unanimous in wanting him. It certainly is disap- 
 pointing." 
 
 " Oh," enquired Reuben, " is yours the Church of 
 the Covenant, the one Steve used to go and preach 
 in sometimes ? " 
 
 " Yes, he supplied frequently for us when our last 
 minister was absent in the Orient and he made a
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 147 
 
 lasting impression. We were all so taken with his 
 culture and his eloquence." 
 
 " I've often heard Steve speak about your church," 
 said Reuben. 
 
 " Has your brother any idea we are thinking of 
 him, do you think ? " enquired the visitor, smiling at 
 Reuben. 
 
 " No, I shouldn't think so. At least, I never heard 
 him speak of it I've heard him say he could get a 
 call to Morven if he liked." 
 
 " Morven ! Where is Morven ? " 
 
 " It's up north up by the lake somewhere," an- 
 swered Reuben ; " you must have heard of it but it's 
 not a very big place," candour inclined him to append. 
 He gathered up the lines as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember it now. A hamlet, a mere 
 hamlet, a man up there used to buy goods from me 
 it's hardly likely your brother would consider 
 Morven. But about the matter that brought me 
 here," he resumed quickly, the business air strongly 
 in evidence, " I hardly know what to do. You think 
 your brother won't be back for some time ? " 
 
 " I'm sure he won't," said Reuben, giving the lines 
 another jerk backward ; for the hungry horses were 
 tired of the conversation. They could see the barn 
 beyond the point of woods. 
 
 " Your father's at home, you say ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, father's there." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what I'll do I'll go back to 
 the village and have supper ; then I'll bring the other 
 member of the committee and we'll come and talk
 
 148 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 matters over with your father. It won't do any harm 
 he can report to your brother ; though of course 
 we'll write to him direct." 
 
 " Very good," said Reuben, " father'll be glad to 
 see you." 
 
 " Good-bye just now ; I'll hope to see you a little 
 later," said the stranger as he turned to go his way. 
 
 Robert Wishart was waiting in the house for his 
 son when he came home. 
 
 " Weel, Reuben, yir day's work's by," said the 
 kindly voice ; " ye'll be through wi' yon field to-mor- 
 row, will ye no' ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, at least I think so but it looks like 
 rain a little." The last words were lost in another 
 deluge, splash after splash indicating the luxury after 
 the dusty toil. 
 
 " I've news for you to-night, father," the words 
 came from the recesses of a roller towel. 
 
 " News for me, my son ? I hope it's guid ; ye've 
 had a screed frae Stephen, mebbe." 
 
 " No, father, no word from Stephen but the news 
 is about him though and it's good, all right." 
 
 " Weel, let's hae't. Has the laddie gotten a schol- 
 arship ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly that," answered Reuben ; " and 
 yet I don't know but what you might call it that," he 
 added, smiling toward his father's eager face. " A 
 man from Hamilton was looking for him this after- 
 noon came up to me where I was ploughing and 
 asked me if I knew where Mr. Wishart lived. But 
 'twas Steve he meant. There's two of them, he said
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 149 
 
 he left the other man at the village. And what do 
 you think they wanted with Steve, father ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken ; how cud I ken ? It'll no' be aboot 
 a call ? " 
 
 " The very thing, father they've been sent by the 
 Church of the Covenant ; and they " 
 
 " What's that ye're tellin' me ? " his father broke in 
 excitedly ; " ye're no' meanin' to tell me he's gotten 
 a call to the Covenant kirk ? It canna be." 
 
 " Not exactly a call, father of course they couldn't 
 call him yet because he's not licensed yet." 
 
 " I ken that fine I've aye kenned that." 
 
 " Not exactly a call, as I said," Reuben resumed ; 
 " but it amounts to that. They have no minister and 
 the congregation's set on Steve. He often preached 
 for them last winter and it seems they took right to 
 him and these men were sent to approach him 
 about a call." 
 
 " They didna ken he was i' the auld country ? " 
 
 " No,, this gentleman* Mr. Alger's his name, he 
 said he was quite disappointed when I told him 
 that. But still, I thought he looked kind of pleased) 
 too. I suppose a church like that wants a man with 
 all the polish he can get." 
 
 The old man's face clouded a little : " I'm no' 
 much ta'en wi' their pole-ish these days," he re- 
 turned. " It's a' richt if it's frae a Higher Hand but 
 if it's frae the hand o' man it'll no' stick lang it'll 
 no' stand the fire ! It's the heart as needs pole-ishin' 
 no' the heid an' naethin' can mak that clean but 
 the blood o' Christ," he concluded solemnly, his face
 
 150 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 glowing with the thought, for the truth he spoke was 
 a reality to his soul. 
 
 " That's what I think myself, father. And I hope 
 Stephen will always preach that old truth just as 
 you've spoken it and I believe he will." 
 
 " I hope so, my son, I hope so," his father an- 
 swered gravely. " I'm aye prayin' for him. An' his 
 mither aye prayed the same ; an' I'm trustin' won- 
 nerfu' to his mither's prayers," he added, the voice 
 faltering perceptibly, for Robert Wishart's life was 
 very lonely now. 
 
 " Did ye say the men frae the city was gone 
 hame ? " he pursued, turning quickly from the more 
 tender vein. 
 
 " Oh, no, I forgot to tell you they're going back 
 on the express that leaves at half-past nine ; and Mr. 
 Alger said they'd be up after supper to talk things 
 over with you. I fancy they'll be here before long." 
 
 " That's guid," rejoined his father. " I'll be richt 
 glad to see them. But I wish yir mither had been 
 here she was better nor me at the counsellin'. Did 
 they seem to be speeritual-minded men, Reuben ? " 
 he enquired anxiously. 
 
 " Yes," Reuben answered slowly, " that is you 
 mightn't just think so of course, theirs is a different 
 way from ours. I only saw one of them, you know 
 the other didn't come." 
 
 " You maun be hungry, my son. Ye've had a 
 hard day but it aye maks the morsel guid to the 
 mouth, an' the pillow sweet to the head. What way 
 did ye no' bid the stranger hame to supper wi' ye?"
 
 The CHURCH of The COYENAN'T 151 
 
 " I thought of it, father, but I didn't like to. I 
 was afraid he'd find things rather plain. Mr. Alger 
 had a gold watch and he wore those boots that you 
 never need to polish." 
 
 " It's an awfu' time for pole-ish," and a smile lit up 
 the old man's face ; " there's mony a yin pole-ished at 
 that end that's no' ower bricht at the ither that's no' 
 to say Mr. Awlger is yin o' them, mind ye." 
 
 " I don't think he is, father he seemed a nice 
 sensible gentleman." 
 
 " Then ye should hae brocht him wi' ye to supper. 
 Mebbe he'd a' likit the change. Yir true gentleman 
 aye maks little o' appearances. Style's naethin', 
 onyway," the old man affirmed with considerable 
 contempt in his voice ; " onybody can hae thae shoon 
 that's aye shinin'. An' my faither had a hat as keepit 
 its pole-ish for forty year it's i' the room, ye ken 
 he aye wore it on the Sabbath day," and a gleam of 
 playful humour lighted up the noble countenance. 
 
 " They're coming, father I hear Collie barking," 
 Reuben said suddenly. 
 
 A minute later Robert Wishart opened the door 
 himself, welcoming the strangers warmly and bidding 
 them make themselves at home. 
 
 An hour or more had passed in discussion of the 
 matter under consideration when the master of the 
 house, warming to his guests, suggested that they 
 draw their chairs closer to the hearth. " The even- 
 in's cool an' a bit fire's heartsome ony time," he 
 said ; " sit doon, sir, and I'll bring anither stick."
 
 152 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 As he approached the hearth, a goodly pile of 
 hickory in his arms, Mr. Alger interrupted him : 
 " Pardon me, sir, but may I have the pleasure of re- 
 plenishing the fire? In the city we are unaccus- 
 tomed to these spacious fireplaces but I think they 
 are the very essence of luxury." 
 
 " Ye're richt," answered his host, " there's mair 
 music i' them than a piano, my faither used to say. 
 'Twas a guid freen to him i' the early days, mind ye. 
 Help yirsel', sir. Rax oot yir hand to the wood." 
 Whereupon Mr. Alger did put forth his hand, fling- 
 ing stick after stick upon the crackling flame. 
 
 " You see how generous I am," he laughed, " with 
 what isn't my own. It's easy to pitch on wood that 
 you didn't have to cut or carry yourself." 
 
 " Div ye ken the way my faither used to express 
 that ? " Robert Wishart asked him, gazing reminis- 
 cently into the blaze. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Alger, " how did your father put 
 it?" 
 
 " 'Twas the Scotch way," returned his host, " an' 
 no' a bad yin either. He wad say : ' A borrowed 
 horse, an' yir ain whip, maks short miles,' " and the 
 good man joined heartily in the laugh that followed. 
 
 " Very good, Mr. Wishart, very good indeed," said 
 Mr. Whitney, for such was the name of the other 
 whom Mr. Alger had brought with him. " Do you 
 know, sir, I'm much struck by the beauty and sen- 
 tentiousness of your Scotch language. I love to hear 
 it spoken." 
 
 " Are ye only findin' that oot noo ? " rejoined the
 
 7he CHURCH of The COVENANT 153 
 
 old Scotchman humorously. " I dinna ken aboot 
 that ither thing ye've mentioned but I ken it's beau- 
 tifu', a' richt." 
 
 " I suppose you consider it finer than the Eng- 
 lish ? " asked Mr. Whitney. 
 
 " Oh, I'm no' sayin' that," his host returned mod- 
 estly. " I aye use the English mysel' for fillin' in, 
 ye ken but the Scotch bits is like yon tufts o' green 
 ye'll find amang the wheat, mair rich and sweet, ye 
 ken a bit o' richer soil, ye unnerstand. But that's 
 no' to say a Scotchman's ony better than ithers 
 only he's Scotch, ye ken an' that's the Lord's daein', 
 an' nae credit to onybody," he concluded seriously. 
 
 Mr. Whitney and Mr. Alger cast amused glances 
 at each other. Their host went on presently, encour- 
 aged by the cheerful silence. 
 
 " English is a grand langidge, nae doot only it's 
 no' complete no' feenished like, ye ken." 
 
 " How do you make that out, Mr. Wishart ? " 
 asked Mr. Alger. " I thought the English language 
 capable of expressing any meaning one wanted to 
 convey." 
 
 " No," said the other thoughtfully, " it canna juist 
 dae that. I'm nae scholar ; but it canna juist dae 
 that that is, it canna dae it exactly, ye unnerstand ? 
 An' a langidge as canna dae that it's no' complete. 
 It can gie the meanin', mebbe ; but no' the shade o' 
 meanin', dae ye see ? " 
 
 "What, for instance?" asked Mr. Alger. "Give 
 us an example." 
 
 " Weel, tak the like o' this, for instance tak the
 
 154 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 word ' bonny ' that's a shade o' meanin' ye canna get 
 wi' the English. Or tak anither tak ' the gloamin' 
 'twixt the gloamin' an' the mirk' ye canna gie 
 me English for that." 
 
 " That is rather remarkable," interjected Mr. Whit- 
 ney thoughtfully, as he laid another knot on the fire. 
 " I never thought of that before." 
 
 " There's naethin' like the Scotch to mak a body 
 think," replied Robert Wishart, looking seriously 
 at his listeners ; " but I can gie ye a better yin 
 than ony o' the ithers," he pursued " there's ' Auld 
 Lang Syne ' noo, try yir hand on that ; " and he 
 settled back in the old armchair that had heard the 
 liquid language for well-nigh half a century. His 
 guests looked across at each other, pondering the 
 challenge. " You try it, Alger," said Mr. Whit- 
 ney. 
 
 " Well, I hardly feel equal to it," Mr. Alger said 
 slowly. " I suppose ' Old long since,' as far as I can 
 translate the words, is about the meaning of the 
 phrase." 
 
 The old man laughed pityingly, giving the fire a 
 vicious thrust with the wooden poker. " Tuts," he 
 exclaimed, " that's haverin' naebody kens what thae 
 words mean. Even a born Scotchman '11 find it taks 
 him a' his time. I'm dootin' if onybody kens what 
 thae words mean," he affirmed again. Then he 
 turned in his chair and looked triumphantly at the 
 beginners. 
 
 " Of course," Mr. Alger broke in, " of course, Mr. 
 Wishart, it must be borne in mind that the phrase
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 155 
 
 you have just tried us on is only an idiom. I'm not 
 sure that it's just a fair test. It's an idiom, you see ; 
 and that should be borne in mind, as I said." 
 
 The rural philologist looked at him very curiously 
 for a moment, the slightest flush noticeable on his 
 cheek. " I dinna ken juist what ye're meanin' by an 
 ' eediom,' as ye call it. But I suppose it's what an 
 eediot says," and the colour on his cheek was deeper. 
 " Noo, thae words aboot ' Auld Lang Syne,' thae was 
 sacred words to my faither an' there was nae eediot 
 aboot him, I'll hae ye unnerstand nor ony ' eedioms,' 
 forbye. That's anither thing as must be borne in 
 mind, as ye say," he concluded warmly enough ; for 
 the kindly hearth- fire could never scorch his cheek 
 like that. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Wishart, I didn't mean that for a 
 moment," Mr. Alger made haste to explain ; " the 
 word means something entirely different from that. 
 I only meant a characteristic phrase ; you understand, 
 I think the peculiar cast of a language " 
 
 " Aye, I thocht it was mysel'," the old man broke 
 in, appropriating the adjective to his comfort. " That 
 was what made me sae warm but it's a' ower, an* 
 we'll say nae mair aboot it. I'll gie ye anither. Try 
 this yin ' The land o' the leal ' let's hear ye gie us 
 the English for that." 
 
 " It's your turn, Whitney I'm through," said the 
 last translator. 
 
 " ' The land o' the leal ' let me see," pondered the 
 novice. " Of course it's easy enough to translate it, in 
 a way. There's only one word Scotch. ' Leal/ that
 
 156 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 means loyal, of course. ' The land of the loyal,' that's 
 about it, I suppose." 
 
 Robert Wishart withdrew his far-off gaze from the 
 fire, turning it toward the little room, hushed in 
 darkness as it was. 
 
 " Yon's blawsphemy," he said. 
 
 Silence prevailed for a time ; then the delegates re- 
 sumed the discussion of their case with Robert Wis- 
 hart. The size, strength, wealth, intelligence and 
 fashionableness of the Church of the Covenant were 
 not overlooked therein. Their listener marked it all. 
 His heart warmed more at the cordial terms in which 
 they referred to Stephen, praising his personal appear- 
 ance, his intellectual powers and his oratorical gifts. 
 
 " What kind o' man was yir last minister ? " he 
 suddenly enquired, "how long was he wi' ye?" 
 
 " Nearly three years, Mr. Wishart," replied Mr. 
 Alger. " And he was a very worthy man a little 
 old fashioned perhaps ; and our people grew rather 
 tired of him. You see, he fell a little behind the 
 times not much of a reader and we have a very 
 intellectual congregation. Dr. Mitchell wasn't what 
 you would call familiar with modern thought 
 preached the wrath of God a good deal ; and more 
 about future punishment than our people care for at 
 present and other things that are rather out of date. 
 So when he got a call elsewhere we didn't inter- 
 fere with what he thought to be his duty. But I 
 have no doubt he was a good man a very good 
 man," he concluded, repeating the baneful eulogy 
 " but a trifle narrow for our church."
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 157 
 
 A queer look was on Robert Wishart's face. " I 
 mind readin' somewhere 'twas in an old book," he 
 began, " as how the way was narrow and the gate was 
 straight, if it's life ye' re wantin' but I'm dootin' that's 
 oot o' date wi' the rest," he continued " an' sin's oot 
 o' date or gaein' oot fast. An' if they cud only put 
 death oot o' date, they'd hae it a' managed fine," and 
 he gazed into the fire, apparently unconscious of his 
 audience ; " but God aye keeps that in fashion," he 
 mused, glancing at the darkened room " an' it's a 
 wunnerfu' friend to the Cross." 
 
 The master-word must have awakened some 
 memory within him. " Reuben," he said impulsively, 
 " g an g ye to the drawer an' bring me the Record 
 it's lyin' on the top." 
 
 His son returned in a moment, handing him a 
 paper that showed signs of faithful reading. The 
 father held it out before his visitors. " Div ye see 
 thae marks beside that bit ? Thae marks was put 
 there by her that's lyin'," and he looked long and 
 earnestly at the wondering men ; they were unfamiliar 
 with the term, but could not mistake the significance 
 of the lonely words. 
 
 " It's a kirk paper frae Kelso," he went on 
 presently; "an' it's aboot an auld man tellin' his 
 daughter aboot the new theology. I'll read it to ye : 
 
 '"There's nae cross ava, noo, lassie, 
 They've gone cut doon the tree ; 
 There's none believes it noo, lassie, 
 But fules like you an' me ' 
 
 tak the paper back, Reuben," and folding it care-
 
 158 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 fully he handed it to his son, who in turn bore it to its 
 hiding place. 
 
 " May I ask ye a question or twa aboot yir kirk ? " 
 Robert Wishart ventured, breaking a long silence. 
 
 " We'll be glad to give you any information we 
 can," said Mr. Whitney, rising as he spoke. " I'm 
 afraid our time is almost up." 
 
 " Div ye teach the Shorter Catechism to the bairns 
 i' the Sabbath-schule ? " 
 
 " I think so. Of course the superintendent looks 
 after that. We're thinking of paying him a salary," 
 said Mr. Whitney. 
 
 " Hae ye a guid precentor for the psalms ? " pressed 
 the interrogator. 
 
 " No, we don't have a precentor," replied Mr. 
 Alger. " We have a paid quartette." 
 
 " Ye'll hae an organ tae ? " pursued Robert Wis- 
 hart. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a three-manual organ," replied the other 
 " it's run by water, you know." 
 
 " Water an' wind to praise the Lord ! " the host 
 muttered to himself. " How mony times a year do 
 ye hae the sacrament ? " he asked aloud. 
 
 " Every three months once a quarter," said Mr. 
 Whitney " we have the individual cups, of course." 
 
 " It's ower often it's no' helpfu' to reverence to 
 hae it sae often. Once a year was the way in my 
 faither's kirk in Kelso. An' I've heard o' thae ither 
 things thae cups ye speak o'. Ye'll be feart o' yin 
 anither's insides ? " he suggested, smiling grimly. 
 
 44 No, not exactly that, Mr. Wishart," the other
 
 The CHURCH of The COVENANT 159 
 
 rejoined, laughing as he spoke ; " but in these days 
 of advanced scientific " 
 
 " Do ye hae the fast-day afore the sacrament ? " 
 interrupted his examiner, not being in a scientific 
 mood. 
 
 " A fast-day ? I don't recognize the word. What 
 does it mean ? " 
 
 " It doesna maitter ye wadna unnerstand," re- 
 plied Robert Wishart. 
 
 Their host walked with them to the gate, the moon 
 shining bright upon his silvered head as he gravely 
 thanked them for the courtesy of their visit, assuring 
 them he would tell Stephen about it when he wrote. 
 
 " Onyway, I'm hopin' ye'll get a guid minister to 
 yirsels i' the Covenant Kirk," he went on in graver 
 vein. " A man that'll feed ye wi' the true bread o' 
 life a flock wi'oot a shepherd's a sair thing. Oor 
 kirk here has had but twa i' my day. Weel, I 
 mauna keep ye, haverin' awa' like this. Guid-nicht, 
 Mr. Whitney ; an' guid-nicht, Mr. Awlger. Thank 
 ye for yir veesit an' safe hame ! I'll write to 
 Stephen. Guid-nicht, again."
 
 XIII 
 
 A LIGHT in The WINDOW 
 
 THE visitors disappeared in the darkness, 
 Reuben leading the way across the fields. 
 " That old man's no fool, Whitney," said 
 Mr. Alger, in a low tone as they walked on to- 
 gether, Reuben being detained a moment to replace 
 some bars through which they had just passed. 
 
 " He's anything else but that," asserted the other ; 
 " I only hope he'll say as much for us when he 
 writes that letter he talks about. If the young fel- 
 low's a chip of the old block, I'm afraid he'll be no 
 easy one to manage. He hews to the line the old 
 man, I mean. He's not afraid to speak right out in 
 meeting, is he? " 
 
 " Not he but I don't think the son is like him. 
 At least I wouldn't judge so from what we saw of 
 him. He may hew to the line all right but I fancy 
 it's a very different line. He's not old fashioned, 
 like his father. You remember the sermon where he 
 told us Abraham only fancied he heard a voice tell- 
 ing him to kill his son ? The old man would have a 
 fit if he heard him say that, wouldn't he ? " 
 
 " He'd kill the son himself," declared the other 
 " voice or no voice the son would provide the voice 
 part, I'll warrant you." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 " Do you know, I was afraid of my life he was 
 1 60
 
 A LIGHT in The WINDOW 161 
 
 going to have family worship they have lots of it 
 in the country, you know. Wouldn't it have been 
 terrible if he had asked one of us to lead in prayer ? " 
 
 " Wouldn't it, though," answered his companion ; 
 " let's light a cigar, Alger," he suggested, feeling the 
 need of a restorative. 
 
 " We should have offered one to the old man," 
 said Mr. Alger, as they walked on, bright beacon 
 lights now burning before them both. " I know he 
 smokes ; for I saw a pipe on the mantel it looked 
 mighty old and strong." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; I smelled it as soon as I went in 
 it looked like an heirloom in the family. But our 
 friend wouldn't have touched a cigar too modern 
 for him as bad as the new theology. Nothing but 
 the old plug for him, I'll hold you the same as his 
 grandfather smoked." 
 
 Their analysis of the interesting character under 
 discussion was interrupted, their guide having now 
 rejoined them ; and they walked in semi silence to 
 their destination. 
 
 After Reuben had bidden them farewell, he hur- 
 ried to the post-office, finding its obliging head 
 in process of preparation for retiring. A swift de- 
 scent below, and a moment's search, brought forth 
 two papers and a letter bearing the Wishart name. 
 The indistinct postmark that the letter bore was 
 scanned in vain and by them both for the old 
 post-master took a personal interest in his clients, 
 more for his wife's sake than for theirs, it must be 
 told.
 
 162 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 He must hurry home, thought Reuben, for his 
 father would be waiting for him. Crossing the fields 
 again, he pressed his returning way, wondering at 
 the probable outcome of the visit that had so agi- 
 tated their uneventful life. 
 
 His eye descries a light in the distance and his 
 heart throbs with sudden ardour for he knows 
 whose hands have kindled it. It is not far out of 
 the way ; nor would it much detain him should he 
 turn his steps aside. Which he promptly does, and 
 is soon within a few yards of the window. The rest 
 of the house is hushed in darkness. A gauzy curtain 
 screens the window, but not sufficiently to prevent 
 his vision, which rests upon the face whose beauty 
 had long enthralled him. She is writing, he can see, 
 having evidently suspended her preparations for the 
 night to indulge in what is a pleasant duty, if rapt 
 attention and flushing cheek be any mark thereof. 
 Her hair, the crowning glory of her form, hangs 
 about her shoulders ; her eyes are fixed upon the 
 paper, diverted now and then to a letter beside her 
 which has evidently provoked her own. And once 
 he saw, torn with maddening tenderness at the sight 
 once he saw a quick gush of tears, quickly 
 staunched, as she turned again to her writing. 
 
 " Bessie," he called gently, " Bessie ! You know 
 who's calling, Bessie." 
 
 The girl started suddenly, wondering if she had 
 heard a voice. 
 
 " Bessie," he called again, more softly than before ; 
 " it's me it's Rube don't be afraid. Can you come
 
 A LIGHT iu The WINDOW 163 
 
 out a minute, Bessie? I've got something to tell 
 you." 
 
 In an instant the light was out and a sweet voice 
 called from the window, now partly raised : " Oh, 
 Rube, you gave me such a start. Is there anything 
 the matter? I'll come out just wait and I won't be 
 a minute." 
 
 Sweeter than cathedral bell, he hears the rattling 
 latch, the music of the creaking door. And no white- 
 robed priest and swinging censer were ever so beau- 
 tiful, and so fragrant, as the fluttering robe that 
 melted the darkness through which she passed as 
 she hurried to where he stood. 
 
 " Is there anything the matter, Rube ? I thought 
 you'd be in bed and asleep by this time." 
 
 " No, Bessie, nothing at all nothing wrong. I 
 wanted to see you oh, Bessie." 
 
 Emotion shook his frame ; for, though he knew it 
 not, all the strong forces of his nature were kindled 
 by the mystic torch that the night carries in her 
 shadowy hand. 
 
 " Bessie, my darling," he murmured, as he sought 
 to hold her close to him ; " come to me, Bessie why 
 do you hesitate, Bessie ? Aren't you my own, my 
 very own come, sweetheart" and he drew the 
 half-protesting form down beside him. They are 
 sitting on a rude garden seat ; and his arm is about 
 her in tenderness. " Won't you tell me plainly, 
 Bessie, that it's settled once for all ? Tell me you 
 love me and tell me that you'll " 
 
 But Bessie interrupted for she knew what he
 
 164 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 was about to plead. More of sorrow than of joy is 
 on her face. Oh ! the anguish of a maiden's heart 
 that knows whom she ought, and whom she strives, 
 to love ; yet knows another, whose face must first be 
 banished from her soul. 
 
 " Rube, oh, Rube, is this what you brought me 
 out to hear? I thought you wanted to tell me 
 something." 
 
 Dark though it was, she yet could not fail to see 
 the pallor that overspread his face at her words. " I 
 don't mean, Rube," she went on, playfully lifting the 
 hand that had fallen from her neck and holding it to 
 her cheek ; " I don't mean that it isn't sweet to hear 
 it, Rube but I was so busy and I thought you 
 had news for me." 
 
 " So I have I've got some news about Steve. 
 But I forgot about it when you came out to me 
 through the dark. Oh, Bessie, it's so hard to tell 
 what it means but to have any one you love com- 
 ing to you nearer always nearer coming on through 
 the dark ! " and Reuben's face glowed in the night, 
 illumined by a heart as pure as loving. 
 
 She moved slightly from him, turning to look into 
 his face. " Stephen ! " she said and her tone was 
 low " what news have you of Stephen ? " 
 
 A momentary disappointment cast its shadow over 
 Reuben's face; for he had thought she too would 
 have given first place to other thoughts than those 
 that were linked to tidings of another and he so far 
 away. But his pride in his brother was great and he 
 was well pleased that others should share it too.
 
 A LIGHT: in The WINDOW 165 
 
 " He's had a great honour Steve's been offered a 
 call to Hamilton to the Church of the Covenant. 
 Two of the officers of the church were at our house 
 this evening. I'm just on my way home from seeing 
 them to the station." 
 
 Bessie's eyes were shining. And poor Reuben 
 thought their light was all of pride alone. 
 
 " The Church of the Covenant ! Is Stephen to be 
 their minister ? I can hardly believe it I was there 
 once ; and I never saw such a lot of rich and fashion- 
 able people. It was when I was at the exhibition, a 
 year ago last autumn. It must be splendid to live 
 among such lovely folks does Stephen know ? " and 
 Bessie's face glowed with eager interest. 
 
 " No, I don't think he does," Reuben answered, 
 his joy in his brother heightened by the enthusiasm 
 of the girl. " They're going to give him a regular 
 call, I think ; but of course they'll write to him right 
 away." 
 
 " I'll tell him first " and Bessie's chin was elevated 
 after a deliciously feminine fashion " I'll be the first 
 to tell Stephen I'll put it in my letter ; " and invol- 
 untarily she glanced toward the window that a min- 
 ute ago she had plunged in darkness. 
 
 No less deep was the darkness that clouded 
 Reuben's brow as her last words fell upon his ears. 
 It was a moment before their full significance broke 
 upon him ; and the tingling gladness of a moment 
 before was now a tingling pain. 
 
 " You'll put it where, Bessie ? " he asked ; and his 
 tone foreshadowed the answer before it came.
 
 166 'THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " I'll put it in my letter, Reuben, as I said my 
 letter to Steve," she added, as bravely as she could ; 
 though her voice failed her a little, the pleading in 
 his honest eyes looking into eyes that longed to be 
 as honest as his own. 
 
 Her admiration of his distant brother and of his 
 latest triumph gave way for a moment before some- 
 thing like to reverence for the greatness of this strong 
 loving heart, whose love and strength were never 
 more apparent than now, when his yearning eyes 
 were fixed upon her own. Here, she knew, was a 
 pavilion-heart, holy in its unstained love, wherein 
 she might find shelter till all life's storm was past! 
 Here might a woman's soul soon learn, she thought, 
 to forget all its rival love to renounce all its am- 
 bitious dreams. And yet and yet ! 
 
 " Bessie," Reuben said in a moment, hoarseness in 
 his voice. " Bessie, were you writing to Steve when 
 I called you ? " 
 
 The girl's eyes fell before his own and no word 
 was needed. Nor was any spoken for a long, leaden 
 minute. 
 
 When Bessie looked shyly up at length, she saw 
 the moisture in Reuben's eyes ; and a new pity took 
 its place within her heart. 
 
 " Rube," she began, " he's your own brother," a 
 quick light on her face indicating her hope of this 
 tender plea. 
 
 But Reuben knew and the vision of the lighted 
 window was still before his mind. The inner strug- 
 gle was swift and stern, its issue soon decided.
 
 A LIGHT in The WINDOW 167 
 
 " Bessie," he began presently, his lip quivering as 
 he spoke " Steve's a far greater man than I am 
 and better too. But oh, Bessie, nobody loves you 
 like me but Steve's worthier ; and I don't blame 
 you, Bessie I don't blame you. And I'm going 
 home. Father'll be wanting me. Good-bye, Bessie 
 I'm going home." 
 
 He started, looking back as he went, still peering 
 through the dark into the pallid face, the big shining 
 orbs looking wistfully into his own. Suddenly he 
 turns his away, pressing resolutely forward, the dew 
 gleaming on the long grass as he went. 
 
 She can just hear his heavy footfall now. And to 
 another heart the struggle of a moment ago is trans- 
 ferred. 
 
 For Bessie has looked further into his soul than 
 she had ever looked before ; and his departure had 
 seemed to bring him near. 
 
 His shadowy form is almost lost in darkness, 
 denser than it was a moment ago ; the distance be- 
 tween them seems strangely great the ocean not 
 more wide and a different loneliness takes posses- 
 sion of her. 
 
 She starts, and runs a few steps in the direction he 
 has gone. She stops, still peering eagerly. Then 
 she tries to call his name but her voice refuses to 
 venture far, fearful of the night. 
 
 She knows he is almost beyond her call ; and the 
 voice is clearer now : 
 
 " Reuben, oh, Reuben," she cries, " come back f 
 Reuben." Then she waits, declaring to herself that
 
 168 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 he could not hear ; and that he would not answer if 
 he did. She starts violently, for a sudden noise has 
 fallen on her ear. It comes from a different quarter ; 
 and Bessie's first impulse is to fly to the door she has 
 left ajar behind her. But there is no time for the 
 sound is distincter now and she can make out some 
 fluffy thing, tearing toward her from the distant 
 barn with sharp yelps of recognition. It is Tonko, 
 welcome in the darkness and the girl pets him as 
 he leaps upon her ; " that's a good dog, Tonko good 
 old Tonko," she murmured, half caressing the re- 
 sponsive animal beside her. Then she fell to listen- 
 ing again, bidding the dog be still and her hand 
 trembles on his head ; for she thinks she can catch 
 the sound of distant footsteps. A moment longer 
 she listens and now she is sure sure that they are 
 hurrying too and the hot blood leaps to her face. 
 
 " Go home, Tonko," she orders suddenly ; " go 
 home, I say." 
 
 Bessie is alone, alone in the night, one hand tightly 
 held in the other as her eyes strain to detect the ob- 
 ject of her search. A momentary thought of Reuben's 
 glowing words about the darkness and about wait- 
 ing for another to come to you flits across her 
 mind ; and she herself marvels at the strange eager- 
 ness of her heart. 
 
 The footfall is distinct now and in a moment 
 Reuben emerges from the dark. He came right on 
 till he stood close beside her. And the great yearn- 
 ing eyes again sought her face. 
 
 " You called me, Bessie," he said quietly.
 
 A LIGHT in The WINDOW 169 
 
 " Yes, Reuben I called you," she answered ; " I 
 called you back. I wanted you to say good-bye, 
 Rube." 
 
 " To say good-bye ? " he repeated, wonderingly. 
 " I thought I did I'm sure I did, Bessie," he con- 
 cluded confidently. 
 
 Bessie unconsciously raised her hands a little, as if 
 to hold them forth but she remembered and they 
 hung by her side. Her gaze never wandered from 
 his face but her lips were still. 
 
 " I thought I said good-bye I know I did," 
 Reuben repeated, breaking the silence. " Was that 
 all you had to say to me, Bessie ? " 
 
 The girl still stood, looking up into his face. Then 
 she spoke : 
 
 " Rube, I want you to say good-bye to me I want 
 you to say good-bye to me, Reuben " and the great 
 illumination shone out from her glowing face. 
 
 The man felt the night growing bright about him as 
 he understood ; and a great wave of surging joy the 
 first he had ever tasted seemed rolling to his lips. 
 
 " Oh, Bessie, Bessie," he whispered, looking about 
 him one moment as if suspicious of the dark itself ; 
 " oh, Bessie, Bessie," and the unresisting form is 
 locked in the clinging arms, the fluttering heart 
 pressed closely to his own. The golden hair, pre- 
 pared for its neglected pillow, falls in fugitive strands 
 on his own neck ; and he feels, but does not under- 
 stand, the emotions it awakes within him. 
 
 " Bessie," he said at last ; " tell me, Bessie, my 
 darling was it for that you called me back ? "
 
 170 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 But his only answer was in the throbbing heart, 
 fluttering closer to the sheltering heart beside it. 
 
 " Tell me, Bessie," he pled again; " tell me you're 
 my own Bessie forever," he sought to hold her out 
 from him that he might look into her face ; but she 
 clung close, hiding her head upon his shoulder and 
 the answer was enough for Reuben's long hungering 
 heart. 
 
 " You are cold, my darling," he said after a little ; 
 for she was trembling in his arms. 
 
 " I'm not cold," she murmured " but I must go 
 in come with me, Reuben," and together they be- 
 gan the walk which Reuben's singing heart declared 
 should be the long, long walk, with no ending 
 evermore. 
 
 At the door, Bessie turned, burying her face in its 
 former hiding place. 
 
 " I won't send that letter, Reuben," she whispered ; 
 so faintly that he could hardly hear ; " I'll burn 
 it up." 
 
 " Don't," said Reuben " I trust you, Bessie ; or, 
 if you do, send another to Steve. It might hurt him 
 if you didn't Bessie, my darling ! " And again he 
 held her close. " Good- night, my dear one God 
 bless you, my Bessie." 
 
 Looking back across the field, he saw the light re- 
 kindled in the room. Still gazing, he sees another 
 blaze brighter than the first. It has died out in a 
 moment and he understands. Whereat a new flame 
 of rapture is kindled in Reuben's happy heart.
 
 XIV 
 A HUMBLE RIVAL 
 
 ROBERT WISHART was still waiting for his 
 son when the latter came in the farmhouse 
 door. Various duties had occupied a por- 
 tion of his time, the rest devoted to that shoreless 
 duty which furnished the comfort and inspiration of 
 his life. 
 
 The open Book beside him spoke its character. 
 
 " Ye're late, my laddie," he said as Reuben en- 
 tered " did the veesitors get awa' ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Reuben ; " at least, I suppose 
 they did. I left them before the train came in I've 
 been at the post-office," he added quickly ; for there 
 was much time to be accounted for. 
 
 " Oh," said the old man " and did ye get ony- 
 thing ? There wadna be ony word frae Stephen, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " No, there's nothing from Steve, father but 
 there's a letter, though. I couldn't make out the 
 postmark here it is." 
 
 " We'll soon find oot wha it's frae," his father said, 
 tearing the envelope open as he spoke. A long 
 silence ensued ; for the old man was not so nimble- 
 eyed as he once had been. 
 
 " It's frae Morven," he said, when he had finished, 
 171
 
 172 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 handing the letter to Reuben. " And it's for Stephen 
 and a wee bit note for me, askin' me to read it my- 
 sel' and send it furrit to him it's a grand letter," he 
 concluded. The younger man was not long in mak- 
 ing himself master of its contents ; and these were 
 soon the subject of eager discussion by them both. 
 
 " Seems kind of strange that both these invitations 
 should have come the same day," Reuben remarked ; 
 " the one from the big city church and the other 
 from the little country congregation I daresay it 
 won't take Stephen long to make up his mind which 
 to accept." 
 
 " I dinna ken aboot that," returned his father, nod- 
 ding towards the letter. " Ye're meanin' he'll tak the 
 Covenant Kirk ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should think it likely he will it seems to 
 have many advantages, at least, that one wouldn't 
 have at Morven. Don't you think he will ? " 
 
 " There's summat to be said aboot the Morven ad- 
 vantages tae " and his father took the letter in his 
 hand as he spoke ; " it depends on what ye ca' an 
 advantage," he continued ; " it's an advantage to hae 
 godly folk aboot ye, accordin' to my way o' thinkin' 
 that's what he'd hae at Morven, judgin' by the bit 
 screed they send." Then the old man read the letter 
 aloud, slowly, from the beginning to the end ; paus- 
 ing to make the necessary comments. 
 
 " That's a fine bit : ' We want you to come to us 
 in the power of the Gospel and we pray that such 
 may be your portion wherever you may exercise your 
 ministry ' isna that fair graund," demanded the old
 
 A HUMBLE RIVAL 173 
 
 man, with radiant face " that's the auld way o' put- 
 tin' thae things it minds me o' Samuel Rutherford's 
 letters. Did ye tak notice to the phraseology o' thae 
 men frae the city ? " 
 
 " No," said Reuben, smiling at his father's inten- 
 sity. " What did they say^? " 
 
 " ' Exercise yir ministry,' " his father mused, re- 
 peating the words upon which his forefinger lay 
 " that's fine that's what thae ither men was meanin' 
 when they said it took a smart man to run their kirk 
 ' run their kirk,' mind ye," he went on, looking 
 up at Reuben " ' run their kirk ' that's the new- 
 way they tell me they dae their coortin' noo wi' yin 
 o' thae clatterin' machines for writin' letters. Mair 
 o' their pole-ish, I suppose." 
 
 " You're thinking of those typewriting machines, 
 father they're going to get one at the store. But 
 what on earth have they to do with running a kirk ? " 
 Reuben answered, laughing. 
 
 " Machinnery ! " the elder responded vigorously 
 " it's a' machinnery these days they've got machin- 
 nery for the sacrament itsel' they and their indi- 
 veedual cups ! Machinnery everywhere ! And the 
 poor folk o' Morven has naethin' naethin' but the 
 Holy Ghost" he concluded, nodding toward the 
 letter from which the closing words were quoted. 
 
 " It certainly is a lovely, cordial letter," began 
 Reuben; "I'm sure they're kind-hearted people; a 
 minister would find " 
 
 " Licht the ither lamp, Reuben," his father sud- 
 denly broke in " and get the pen an' ink off the
 
 174 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 clock. I'll write to Stephen the nicht it's no* sae 
 late. Ye'll write it for me, Reuben ; an' I'll gie ye 
 the points my hand's ower shaky." 
 
 "What are you going to tell him, father ? How 
 will you advise him, I mean ? " his son asked, as he 
 prepared for the important ceremony. 
 
 " Ye'll mebbe be able to mak' that oot as we gang 
 alang," the old man replied with great gravity. 
 
 " All right, father I'm ready what'll I say ? " 
 
 " Tell him I'm livin' an' weel juist look aroon at 
 me as ye get it doon." 
 
 Reuben recorded this important initial fact. 
 
 " Tell him the crops is likely to be fine the 
 weather's no' been agreeable to a' the folks but it's 
 pleasin' to the Almichty get ye that doon ex- 
 actly." 
 
 " I have it down, father Stephen won't be partic- 
 ularly interested in that, though. Don't you think 
 we'd better get to the point? " 
 
 The old Scotchman set his lips, grimly smiling be- 
 hind Reuben's chair. " That's the introduction," he 
 retorted firmly " it'll prepare him. Tell him I broke 
 the iron bootjack his grandfaither made my boots 
 was wet wi' the rain but the smith mendit it as guid 
 as new. He'll find it refreshin' to hear o' thae com- 
 mon things again they'll be undressin' wi' machin- 
 nery i' the city. Hae ye got it doon ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the amanuensis, concealing his amuse- 
 ment ; " it's all down. Shall I tell him about the 
 groundhog you fired at and missed ? " 
 
 " Dinna be sae frivolous, Reuben. It's no' a time
 
 A HUMBLE RIYAL 175 
 
 for jokin' it's a serious maitter, choosin yir' place i' 
 the vineyard o' the Lord an' the powder was bad, 
 forbye that stuff they mak' nooadays is guid for 
 naethin'." 
 
 " I have it down, father. What next ? " 
 
 " Ye dinna mean aboot the grunhog that's a mait- 
 ter o' nae importance." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not the last important thing 
 I wrote was about the bootjack. What's next?" 
 Reuben asked, regulating his features by vicious 
 gnawing at the pen-handle. 
 
 " Tell him aboot thae men that cam' to ye at the 
 pleugh the day. Tell't yir ain way a' aboot how 
 they cam' to the hoose an' what they said to me 
 an' aboot their kirk. Ye ken it a' set it a' doon, 
 Reuben ; I'll wait till ye're through." 
 
 The earnest dictator flung two or three fresh 
 chunks of wood upon the fire, startled into sparkling 
 protest by the strange proceeding ; for, like those 
 who sought its cheery company, such an hour as this 
 usually found it blinking its way to the realm of 
 dreams. But it was soon as wide awake as ever, be- 
 guiled from its drowsy mood by the long familiar 
 hand. 
 
 Robert Wishart clapped the wood-dust from his 
 fingers, reached forth to the mantel for his an- 
 cestral pipe, and looked defiantly at the clock ; for 
 its heightening tone, taking advantage of the silence, 
 betokened that it too felt the same shock of wonder 
 and surprise as had agitated its more explosive com- 
 panion of the hearth. And the latter, catching the
 
 176 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 sympathetic note, broke into comment more fiery 
 than before. 
 
 For these were age-old friends the fire and the 
 clock each looking into the other's face while year 
 came slowly after year. And in each other's eyes 
 alone they found no sign of age or weariness, smiling 
 back the one to the other in unwrinkling freshness, 
 while face after face departed, stamped with the hand 
 of time and with the seal of care. 
 
 And many a colloquy had they had together 
 these trusted servants after their masters had sought 
 their rest. Many a long talk in the old kitchen no 
 other voice mingling with their own the shadows 
 having their recreation, too, playing hide and seek 
 about the room like happy school-boys, while these 
 two monitors held grave discourse upon the human 
 friends whose heavy breathing could be heard above 
 them. Their enterprises, their failures, their virtues, 
 their foibles too all these had they discussed, the 
 clock playing the senior part; for it had been old 
 when the new-born fire first saw the dark, hailing it 
 an enemy, as well-bred fires ever do. And, strange 
 to say, it was the younger that always tired first, the 
 older noting by and by how drowsily it answered ; 
 then would it chime its mellow lullaby, and go all 
 alone upon its vigil way. All alone for the shad- 
 ows were the children of the fire, and crept one by 
 one into their mother's bed. 
 
 " Hae ye that doon ? " resumed Reuben's father, 
 the scraping of the pen coming to a sudden si- 
 lence.
 
 A HUMBLE RIYAL 177 
 
 " Yes, father ; I've told it as well as I can the 
 pen's not good for much. What comes next ?" 
 
 " It'll dae my time tell him to read what the 
 Morven folk say to read it carefu' ; their letter'll be 
 inside his ain." 
 
 Another brief silence followed. The writer looked 
 around. 
 
 " Is that all ? " he said. 
 
 "No," responded his father; "ye tell't him a' 
 aboot thae men frae the city, did ye ? " 
 
 " Yes, I told him about their coming here and 
 about their church." 
 
 " Did ye tell him they call it the Kirk o' the Cove- 
 nant ? " he pursued. 
 
 " Yes, I mentioned it I suppose he likely knows 
 that already." 
 
 " Weel ; tell him I'm dootin' they think mair 
 aboot their kirk as they dae aboot the covenant." 
 
 " What's that, father ? " Reuben asked, in mild as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " It's what I'm tellin' ye. Yon's a great name 
 the covenant name it has martyr bluid. An' they're 
 playin' wi't, I'm dootin' " answered his father, no 
 sign of compromise in his voice. 
 
 " Very well ; I'll write what you say " and Reu- 
 ben recorded the opinion. 
 
 " Tell him the stipend they pay i' the city kirk 
 they mentioned it ten times or mair." 
 
 " I did tell him that," answered Reuben. 
 
 " Tell him to mind the rich fule an' tell him a 
 man's life is no' i' his pocketbook an' tell him what
 
 178 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 does it profit a man to gain the whole world an' lose 
 his ain soul." 
 
 " Tell him aboot their sacrament how ilka man 
 has a wee mug to himsel'. That'll settle Stephen, 
 I'm thinkin'. An' tell him Sandy Forsyth tell't 
 me he saw twa or three o' them kneelin' doon i' the 
 kirk they had wee cushions to keep the dust frae 
 their fine breeks, he said. An' the street cars was 
 dingin' and dongin' back an' furrit afore the kirk 
 door on the Lord's day dinna forget to tell him 
 that." 
 
 The scribe pressed on in silence, recording one by 
 one the grim details. 
 
 " That's finished, father. It's a pretty long letter 
 is that all ? " he said, presently. 
 
 " Not quite tell him their singers, the men bud- 
 dies, leastways, wears yin o* thae coats wi' tails that 
 droop like a turkey gobbler's i' the rain. An' they 
 wear them i' the kirk an' tell him they gie them an 
 awfu' heap o' money for their screechin' aboot a 
 shillin' a yelp, they tell me put ye that doon, Reu- 
 ben." 
 
 " All right, father I'll tell him they have paid 
 singers. He'll understand the rest he's surely heard 
 them himself. Shall I close the letter now ? " 
 
 " Juist ae word mair say as how they're a godly 
 folk at Morven ; an' tell him they hae a precentor 
 wi' the fear o' God in his heart an' a tunin' fork in 
 his hand an' a decent black coat on his back. 
 Noo, I'll sign it gie me the pen when ye get that 
 doon."
 
 A HUMBLE RIVAL 179 
 
 Which he straightway took in his rather shaky 
 hand, settling himself carefully in the chair, one foot 
 poised on tip-toe behind the backmost rung, his 
 tongue duly appearing, witness for fifty years to his 
 every signature. The operation was in time duly 
 performed, then lavishly attested by a subordinate 
 flourish, drawn with mathematical exactitude, and 
 knotted at the heart by two ponderous strokes. 
 
 Reuben-had folded the letter and enclosed it in the 
 envelope ; which he was about to seal when his father 
 interrupted : 
 
 " Reuben, is yin o' thae paste things ony harm, 
 think ye ? " 
 
 " One of what ? " asked Reuben, bewildered. 
 
 " Yin o' thae paste things they put at the hinner 
 end o' a letter. I dinna ken if onybody uses them 
 but wumman buddies. Brownie Barrie got yin o' 
 them frae a summer boarder, yon weedow buddy 
 wi* the lang veil an' the short face, ye mind. An* 
 Brownie tell't me it meant 'paste something' I 
 dinna mind exactly what." 
 
 " Oh, yes," laughed Reuben ; " of course it's 
 'postscript' you're thinking of. Yes, it's all right 
 if you want one." 
 
 " Aye, that's it scrapit,' Brownie ca'd it he said 
 'twas referrin' till the pen. It's a bonny way o' 
 feenishin' it's like haein' anither wee bit meat put 
 on yir plate after ye've been helpit." And the old 
 man smiled at the success of his homely illustration. 
 
 " That's about what it is, father. Let's have it, and 
 I'll scrape it down, as Brownie said," returned the
 
 i8o THE UNDERTOW 
 
 cheerful scribe, removing the letter from its en- 
 velope. 
 
 " Put it foment the name," said his father, pointing 
 to the hard-won signature. 
 
 " All right. What is it to be ? " 
 
 " Hae ye the twa letters set doon ? " 
 
 " Yes, they're both here P. S.,' see ? " 
 
 " Weel, put this after them : ' Yir mither's mebbe 
 watchin' ye.' " 
 
 Reuben wrote the words, a dim mist before him, 
 like to that which bedewed his father's eyes. 
 
 " Now, I'll seal the letter, shall I, father ? " 
 
 " There's nae hurry ; leave it till the morn," an- 
 swered the other. 
 
 When the morning came, Reuben again drove his 
 team afield, resuming the interrupted labour of the 
 day before. As soon as he had gone, his father took 
 down the old gun from the rack and burrowed in an 
 ancient chest till his quest was rewarded with a 
 powder horn that bore a Kelso name; then he 
 stealthily set forth across the fields. He returned 
 about noon and quietly replaced the gun. 
 
 He poised himself upon the chair, as previously 
 described, took the letter from its cover, glanced at 
 the postscript and shook his head. That was evi- 
 dently not the proper place. His eye roamed over 
 the manuscript until it fell upon a fairly generous 
 space at the top of the opening page. Whereupon, 
 with many a contortion, he inscribed : " My sicht's 
 as guid as ever. I kill't a grunhog at forty yard the 
 day. R. W."
 
 XV 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 
 
 THE week was drawing toward its closing 
 hours, that week whose crown and glory 
 was to be Hattie's solo at the army service. 
 Once during its course had Stephen met with her, a 
 long walk affording him a yet fuller glimpse of the 
 nature whose richness he found so grateful to his own. 
 
 For Hattie was ripening in the sunshine. " I feel as if 
 the spring-time had come to me," she had said as they 
 strolled along together, " and there's nothing makes 
 one so happy as not trying to be happy, but just try- 
 ing to help somebody else," which very words 
 Stephen was pondering as he prepared to set forth to 
 Poplar and to Poplar's song. 
 
 He was interrupted by a rap at the door, and two 
 letters were handed to him. Strangely enough, they 
 had arrived together, the communication from Ham- 
 ilton about the Church of the Covenant, and the ap- 
 peal from Morven, enclosed with his father's quaint 
 and sage epistle. Sudden rapture seized his heart as 
 it grasped the portent of the honour the city church 
 had done him, tempered but slightly by the claims of 
 the smaller congregation or by the admonitions of 
 his father. He will answer these letters soon, he said 
 to himself, the one to Hamilton to be written first. 
 
 181
 
 182 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 But meantime, his engagement at Poplar was draw- 
 ing nigh : and, within half an hour, he had presented 
 himself at the oft-opening door of the Army Home. 
 
 " You're in great good fortune," one of the soldiers 
 said to him as he presented his card " the General's 
 going through the Home this evening we just got 
 word of it a few minutes ago. We never know when 
 he may drop in, though he's the busiest man in Lon- 
 don and doesn't get around very often." 
 
 " The General ! " Stephen cried delightedly. " I'm 
 in luck sure enough will I meet him, do you 
 think ? " 
 
 " Certainly the Commander's with him ; shouldn't 
 wonder if she's the one that's bringing him down. 
 She seemed to take a great fancy to this lady friend 
 of yours." 
 
 At which point the conversation was interrupted 
 by the advent of this selfsame lady friend, who sud- 
 denly emerged from an inner room, carrying a huge 
 bowl of bread and milk. She smiled at Stephen. 
 " You're in good time," she said " and I'm so glad 
 you came. Just excuse me a moment till I take this 
 out to that big room there. It's a woman with a 
 little baby." 
 
 Stephen noted in amazement the change in Hattie's 
 appearance ; her former garb had been removed, and 
 in its place she had assumed the uniform of the great 
 army to whose midnight tent she had turned for 
 shelter. More fascinating than before, she appeared, 
 in this new guise she had adopted, its honest blue 
 according well with her delicate complexion, her
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR. 183 
 
 sunny hair showing fair against its darkness. The 
 significant letters were upon her shoulder, the little 
 steel chain still to be seen upon her neck, its ap- 
 pended burden hidden beneath her dress. 
 
 " Don't you want to come and see the baby ? " she 
 laughed, disappearing while Stephen waited, too em- 
 barrassed to reply. But a few moments had passed, 
 however, when he followed her into the large room 
 whither she had gone. A pretty sight greeted him. 
 The mother not more than eighteen years the senior 
 of her child was standing back a little, rapt in the 
 contemplation of her offspring, warmed to the heart 
 by the evidence of its comfort, especially enraptured 
 by this token of interest from one whose face and 
 mien bespoke the superiority of her station. For 
 Hattie had the baby in her arms ; or, at least, in her 
 left arm, the right disengaged for the service in which 
 it was employed. Her face shone as she watched the 
 hungry infant, so pathetically abandoned to the long- 
 lacked luxury of an abundant meal, careless alike as 
 to whence it came or the improbability of its being 
 soon repeated. It cared for nothing but the blissful 
 fact of present favour ; for which favour it seemed to 
 feel under obligation to nobody, smacking its lips in 
 complacent satisfaction, craning its neck to meet each 
 returning spoonful, sounding an initial note of pro- 
 test when the interval was accidentally prolonged. 
 
 When he regained the outer hall, high excitement 
 met him everywhere. Everything put to rights, 
 spickness and spanness on every hand, betokened ex- 
 pectation of some unusual guest.
 
 1 84 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " The General's here," announced his former in- 
 formant in an undertone. " There he is now com- 
 ing in with the Commander." 
 
 Stephen turned his gaze toward the door ; and it 
 fell upon one of the conspicuous figures of the cen- 
 tury. The General had just entered and was looking 
 genially about, his air that of one returning from a 
 far journey, who had left his house, and had given 
 authority to his servants, and to every man his work, 
 and commanded the porter to watch. His expression 
 was that of a proprietor, a kindly proprietor, it is 
 true but the ruling spirit of the institution he had 
 so animated by his advent. Eagle-eyed, there was yet 
 something in his face that betrayed the tenderness of 
 which his fame is born. 
 
 The glance which Stephen saw him cast about the 
 place seemed to fall like lightning on every part, 
 searching every corner, laying bare its every feature ; 
 yet it seemed to be altogether or almost altogether 
 centred on the unhappy mortals who had come 
 crouching to the door. His stalwart frame, borne 
 with the easy dignity that belongs only to the soldier 
 heart ; and his strong and rugged face more striking 
 because of the hair of iron-gray and the beard of 
 flowing white made it easier to understand how the 
 world had taken kindly to his military title, presump- 
 tuous and high sounding though it be. The true 
 soldier spirit an admixture of strength and gentle- 
 ness looked out from the picturesque face toward 
 which every eye was turned ; for he seemed to expect, 
 as he certainly received, the homage of every heart
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 185 
 
 that had come to receive his benefaction or hastened 
 to obey his word. Salute after salute was promptly 
 returned ; with some of those nearest to him he shook 
 hands in hearty greeting. 
 
 " There's the girl I was telling you about, father 
 there, that one with the fair hair just coming 
 through that door. Isn't she sweet ? " 
 
 The General smiled as his glance followed his 
 daughter's. Not over sanguine was the smile ; for 
 the old soldier was not easily beguiled by sunny looks 
 and winsome faces, so many of which had but 
 awakened his deeper pity. 
 
 " Is the grace of God in her heart, my child ? " he 
 asked ; and Stephen could just overhear the words. 
 He could not analyze the effect but he was im- 
 pressed and charmed by the reality of the tone, 
 though he could not have told what was so effective 
 about the simple speech. The General had asked this 
 information as a teacher might have enquired for his 
 pupil's standing, or a physician for his patient's 
 state. 
 
 He strained his ears to catch the Commander's an- 
 swer : 
 
 " Oh, yes, father, I'm sure she's all right that way. 
 I had a long talk with her ; we didn't speak much 
 about those things but she told me about her mother. 
 She said she sang to her when she was dying; and 
 some other " 
 
 " What did she sing ? " the General interrupted 
 abruptly, his piercing eyes fixed on Hattie rather 
 than on his daughter.
 
 186 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Really, I've almost forgotten oh, yes, it was < the 
 
 Wondrous Cross ' ; I remember now and " 
 
 The Commander went on with her story ; but the 
 General did not seem to hear. Far off and absorbed 
 was the look that suddenly came into the powerful 
 eyes, and a musing smile played on the warlike face. 
 
 " The Wondrous Cross," he murmured ; " there's 
 really nothing else to sing. What a marvellous ex- 
 pression, ' the Wondrous Cross ; the W T ondrous 
 Cross ' ! Bring the girl here, daughter she looks 
 confused," he said aloud. 
 
 As undoubtedly she did ; for poor Hattie had marked 
 that the General's eye was resting full upon herself. 
 That it saw her not, she might not know ; nor the 
 great reverie that explained its almost rigid gaze. 
 She felt the power of its spell, however, unconsciously 
 surrendering to the giant soul that looked out from it 
 like some hero from the window of a tower. She 
 half realized that one of earth's greatest was before 
 her ; for it is the pure in heart that are the quickest to 
 descry God's true lieutenants, as it is they who behold 
 Himself. 
 
 The Commander, beckoning, took a step or two 
 
 toward her : " Come away, miss I've forgotten 
 
 the name. But I don't need it anyway come here, 
 Hattie. I want to introduce you to the General." 
 
 Hattie stepped timidly forward, the empty bowl 
 still in her hand ; her very arm, bare to the elbow, 
 telling forth the embarrassment she could not hide. 
 The Commander presented her to the General, who 
 took her hand in his, nor released it while he spoke.
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 187 
 
 " Hattie, eh ? What is your other name ? ' Hattie 
 Hastie,' what a pretty name ! They'll be glad to 
 have it in the Book of life, won't they ? " he said 
 smiling, yet with nothing but earnestness in his voice. 
 " What's this ? " he enquired, looking at the empty 
 dish in Hattie's other hand. 
 
 " It's a bowl, sir," the girl answered, looking shyly 
 up at the beetling brow and the kindly eyes above 
 her " I was giving some bread and milk to a baby." 
 
 " That's a true soldier," the deep voice returned ; 
 "looking after the wounded and if a cup of cold 
 water gets its reward, what won't it be for a bowl of 
 bread and milk ? " he continued, as he released his 
 hold. 
 
 Hattie was about to press on with her burden, her 
 shyness retreating like mist before the sunshine of 
 those earnest eyes, when the Commander asked : 
 " Where is your friend, Hattie the one you were 
 going to bring to meet me, you know? " 
 
 " There he is," Hattie answered, pointing to where 
 Stephen stood beside a couple of the soldiers 
 " over there by the desk. May I present him now ? " 
 
 Which was immediately accomplished, the Com- 
 mander bidding him a gracious welcome, and the 
 General proceeding to further examination. 
 
 " What's the name, again ? " he asked. 
 
 " Wishart Stephen Wishart," answered the young 
 minister. Then he added a word or two. 
 
 " Oh, you're a clergyman ? Isn't that good ? 
 You're not very clerically dressed, are you ? " 
 
 " I'm on a holiday," answered Stephen, smiling.
 
 1 88 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 The General's eyes twinkled. " Dangerous things, 
 these holidays," he said ; " I never risk any myself 
 haven't for thirty years. Well, my boy, if you're less 
 clerical outside, try and be more clerical inside that 
 was my principle when I doffed the black and 
 donned the blue. You know I'm a minister even if 
 I'm not a reverend any more; that went with the 
 black, when the blue swallowed it up ' mortality 
 swallowed up of life,' eh ? " he suggested laughing. 
 
 " I don't know about that," ventured Stephen ; 
 " you see, I'm a minister of what's really the ancient 
 Church of Scotland. So I've more or less of the ec- 
 clesiastic in me." 
 
 " Never mind the ancient church," the General 
 broke in " London's heart is rotting while many 
 who should be her spiritual leaders are delving and 
 disputing, trying to make a coupling with the ancient 
 church and trying to uncouple everybody else. It's 
 all moonshine. Give me the living dog and they can 
 have their dead lion. If I can get a slice of apostolic 
 success, they're welcome to their apostolic succes- 
 sion are you settled over a church yet ? " he di- 
 gressed. 
 
 " No, I'm not," responded Stephen ; " but I've had 
 a couple of calls ; and I wish you'd give me your ad- 
 vice I'd like to tell you about them both." 
 
 " All right, I'll be glad to hear about them. But 
 meanwhile come away in with us and have a bite of 
 supper. I always dine with the officers at the differ- 
 ent branches when I get a chance come away." 
 
 Which Stephen was glad to do, following the Gen-
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 189 
 
 eral to an adjoining room where they found the 
 others already gathered, awaiting his arrival. 
 
 " Who's to do the speaking to-night at the women's 
 meeting, daughter ? " the General presently enquired. 
 " You're not going to put all the work on the old 
 man, are you ? " 
 
 " No, we're not," replied his daughter, " although 
 we always expect a few words from you, you know. 
 But we're to have an address from the Reverend 
 ./Emilius Cosgrove ; he's a Professor of Exegesis in 
 some college in Canada, and he brought a letter of 
 introduction from Commissioner Coombes. He 
 wanted to study the work, he said, and he said too 
 that he'd like to address the women. So we'll have 
 you both." 
 
 A few minutes later they arose and went all to- 
 gether to the spacious room, already nearly filled with 
 the picturesque congregation that was to form their 
 audience. Some were standing by in sullen misery ; 
 some, engrossed with ragged skirts they were dumbly 
 pretending to repair; some were arranging dishev- 
 elled locks ; while others were still greedily engaged 
 on the thick slices of bread and butter which had 
 been given them. A few more lightsome spirits 
 were employed in conversation, broken by the shrill 
 cacophony of heartless laughter. 
 
 But the most interesting of all and most redemp- 
 tive of the womanhood that seemed all bruised and 
 stained about them were those who had wandered 
 in, carrying infant children in their arms. Even the 
 most degraded of these, Stephen could not fail to
 
 190 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 notice, had tender softness in their faces ; and some- 
 thing like music in the voices that whispered the old 
 sweet nothings to the babes upon their breasts, sin- 
 begotten though they were. 
 
 And some were nourishing their offspring at their 
 bosoms, the hard and sin-stained faces bearing the 
 light of peace the while even of a fleeting purity 
 as though the baby lips were drawing the poison 
 from the wound. 
 
 Like blighted trees they seemed, lightning riven, 
 stark and bare and frowning amid wintry winds ; yet 
 with one redeeming blossom, significant of the salva- 
 tion with which they might be even yet redeemed. 
 For the light of heaven played upon the solitary 
 bloom, spreading its caress about the frowning 
 trunk, sweetly whispering that its spring-time too was 
 not forever past. 
 
 Stephen gazed long upon the unfamiliar spectacle, 
 his eyes wet with tears as he beheld the great passion 
 which sin and struggling poverty had been power- 
 less to destroy. His heart swelled with emotion as 
 he remarked how more than one of the poor wastrels 
 laughed with fond gladness as she looked into her 
 baby's face, or clasped it in a spasm of tenderness to 
 her heart. 
 
 He turned and looked at the General beside him. 
 The latter, too, was watching the scene intently ; and 
 an observer would have said that he had never wit- 
 nessed it before. For his eye was eloquent of pity 
 as he looked, even of fondness ; and the almost im- 
 perceptible quiver of the strong lip lit up the rugged
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 191 
 
 face with its great suggestion, as the gentle lightning 
 of the spring lights up some noble promontory. 
 
 The thought flashed swiftly through Stephen's 
 mind that he was beholding the secret of this great 
 man's power his helplessness before distress, his 
 chivalric pity for the wounded, his Godlike search for 
 outcast royalty, his sensitive perception of the ro- 
 mantic side that belongs even to the grossest sin and 
 the most despairing sorrow. 
 
 The General's eye met his own. " Isn't that 
 beautiful ? " he said, pointing in one or two direc- 
 tions ; " they often wonder why I don't get old," he 
 continued, " but they wouldn't wonder if they knew 
 all I see that keeps the heart young." And Stephen 
 marvelled at the absolute gentleness that was on 
 the rugged face as it looked out upon the motley 
 throng. 
 
 " If a man doesn't feel the spirit of Christ here, I 
 don't know where he will," the veteran concluded. 
 
 " You're right, sir," answered Stephen, his own 
 voice shaking a little ; " I'd love to be able to help 
 those poor creatures I pity them so." 
 
 " I love them," the other exclaimed abruptly ; " we 
 read of One who had compassion on the multitude 
 that doesn't mean mere pity, sir ; it means love, pure 
 love. And if you want to be a successful minister, 
 or a happy one which is the same thing pray for 
 love, love for souls and the most love for the worst 
 ones. When God wants to draw His servants very 
 close, He baits His hook with the vilest sinner He can 
 find. If you jump at that, you'll get your reward,
 
 192 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 my son bring God's worst rebels in alive and you'll 
 get your bounty." 
 
 " Some of the vilest seem to come in to you here," 
 suggested Stephen, glancing toward the women. 
 
 " Yes, they do, thank God," and the General's eye 
 is gleaming now. " But there's none so vile that 
 there's not some good about them see that woman 
 there ? " he said, nodding toward a poor outcast who 
 was inviting an admiring circle to feel a new discov- 
 ered tooth of her six-months-old, the proprietor 
 resenting the familiarity. " See the light on that 
 woman's face? Do you know what that reminds 
 me of ? " 
 
 " No," said Stephen, " I don't think I do." 
 
 " Well, sir, it reminds me of a noble vessel I once 
 saw in the St. Lawrence gulf. It was a wreck al- 
 most sunken and the waves were rolling over it, 
 celebrating their victory. But the poor ship had a 
 bell on its main deck and I heard it ring ; amid all 
 the shame and overthrow, that bell's music was as 
 sweet and clear as ever. It's the same with that poor 
 wreck yonder you'll find it the same in all your 
 ministry always some music left. You'll find 
 chimes in ruined steeples ask God to teach you 
 how to make them ring again He'll show you 
 how. " 
 
 As Stephen looked into the glowing face, he felt 
 the poverty of his own ideals in the life-work he had 
 chosen. How different this from the gilded vision of 
 success and distinction he had cherished, intensified 
 as it had been by the latest prospect of a rich and
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 193 
 
 cultured congregation. But after all, he thought, 
 do not the rich and fashionable need help unto their 
 souls as well as the poor and the degraded ? For 
 his heart was set on the Church of the Covenant, 
 and much thereunto pertaining, alien all ; though he 
 knew it not. 
 
 He followed the simple service with an intensity 
 of interest he had hardly ever felt before, eager to 
 discern, if discern he might, the secret of such power 
 over human consciences as this man seemed to have. 
 
 The whole service seemed to be of the utmost 
 simplicity but every life before him seemed to be 
 in the custody of his will. A few lively songs, with 
 refrains of almost grotesque variety, but all somehow 
 attuned to the melody of the Cross ; a few brief un- 
 conventional prayers, their familiarity grating on 
 Stephen's academic ear ; a few testimonies from the 
 latest salvage and it is time for the address. 
 
 Wherewith the Reverend .^Emilius Cosgrove came 
 forward, beginning his homily with those terms of 
 patronage and pity so exasperating to the poor. 
 
 " If it hadn't been for the grace of God, my 
 sisters, I might have been one of you to-night," he 
 gravely assured them, the keener-minded among the 
 women starting with surprise at his creative fancy, 
 the General taking shelter behind a hymn-book. 
 The details of his address need not be given ; but the 
 general drift of his discourse may be inferred from 
 the General's remarks, these being made after the 
 varied worshippers had sung a hymn. 
 
 " And now, comrades," the General began when
 
 194 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 the music ceased, " one sermon at a meeting is 
 enough. But I just want to add a word I'm not 
 like the last speaker, for I'm just the same as you, 
 just the same," he repeated, " and, owing to the love 
 of God, you and I stand even to-night for we're all 
 sinners saved by grace. And we'll be the same when 
 we get home. We're all miracles, every one and 
 speaking of miracles, my brother will let me say that 
 those scripture ones actually happened, every one of 
 them. They're happening yet," he went on ; " and 
 I've seen them myself," his passion heightening with 
 the words, " I've even seen Lazarus raised from the 
 dead, right here in Poplar. I've seen the grave- 
 clothes around his hands and feet, and the napkin 
 tied about his face, and the signs of death upon him 
 and I've seen him come forth and live. And I'm 
 sure the Master had as much power then as He has 
 now. Now I want you all to come to Him all to 
 come to Jesus just as you are ! Come to the cross 
 don't mind its example we've lots of example ; 
 more than we ever made use of. But we want a 
 Saviour. So come, just as you are ; come clinging 
 to the cross. That's what we use it for not for 
 looking at, but for clinging to that's been our way 
 here for all these years, and that'll be our way to the 
 end. 
 
 " Don't waste your time looking in looking for 
 the divine, or anything else. We're sick of all that's 
 in ourselves, aren't we? Let us look up, and out, 
 and on to Christ that'll refresh our poor weary 
 souls. And now, my brother," he said, turning to
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 195 
 
 the previous speaker, " there's one thing I must ask 
 my comrades to forget." He turned to his audience, 
 their eyes raptly fixed upon the speaker. " Don't 
 bother yourselves about the broken pinion. If the 
 One that made the world can't make a wing as good 
 as new, I'll not serve Him any longer. He fixed 
 Peter's wing all right and Paul's too he soared 
 pretty high again, if I know anything about dis- 
 tance; and He fixed the dying thief's enough to 
 fly to Paradise with it and He mended Augustine's 
 and John Bunyan's didn't flutter much. And I've 
 had some repairing done myself, bless His holy 
 name," he cried in fervent gladness ; " Thou hast 
 mended mine, oh Christ, till it's better far than ever," 
 he exclaimed in a sort of rhapsody; " and every 
 poor wounded one here to-night may prove Thy 
 healing power. Oh, come, come to Jesus now and 
 He will make you whole." 
 
 The General seemed all unconscious of the man 
 whose remarks had provoked his own, leaning over 
 with outstretched hands toward the listeners, who 
 leaned forward with almost equal eagerness toward 
 himself. His eyes were veiled with the vision of the 
 unseen things of God, yet shining with a great com- 
 passion, as he looked out upon the melted company. 
 
 " We'll have a hymn," he said presently, " and 
 after that, one of our new recruits will sing to us." 
 
 " Whiter than snow " was the one he chose ; and 
 the sullied lips sang it with pathetic fervour, the 
 chorus chanted again and again. 
 
 After they had finished, Hattie timidly advanced to
 
 196 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 the organ and soon began her song. A little ner- 
 vous, somewhat faltering at first, came the rich full 
 notes ; but she soon seemed to forget her audience, 
 her friend that the midnight had brought her, even 
 the General himself. 
 
 The uncultured poor may disport themselves the 
 most in those religious songs with which their senses 
 are led captive by chiming chorus and refrain of 
 witching melody; but they yield their deepest 
 homage to the sovereign power of the mighty hymns 
 that are destined to outlive the ages. The breath of 
 the uplands is alike precious to peasant and to king. 
 
 Wherefore when Hattie began her dying mother's 
 hymn : 
 
 " When I survey the wondrous cross 
 On which the Prince of Glory died," 
 
 the faces before her lighted up with a solemn joy that 
 neither of the preceding songs had been able to 
 evoke. Their souls, sodden as they were, responded 
 to its stately numbers, answering as to their native 
 tongue. Looking up, Hattie caught the inspiration 
 of their breathless interest ; and her soul poured it- 
 self into the words, itself aflame with their holy fire. 
 
 " See from His head, His hands, His feet 
 Sorrow and love flow mingled down," 
 
 she sang, her voice trembling with the passion-note. 
 Her face, too, is glowing, lit up with secret ardour to- 
 ward the Man of Sorrows, tender with fellow feeling 
 for the wanderers before her, suffused with grateful
 
 THE GENERAL And The WAR 197 
 
 joy for the redemption she knows is her own for- 
 ever. 
 
 As Stephen gazes, he thinks he has never seen a 
 face so beatific. All the surprise of it breaks upon 
 him with overpowering effect ; he tries in vain to re- 
 call different scenes with which that face had mingled, 
 and to review his hasty verdict. It eludes him. He 
 sees nothing but the golden tresses and the tear- 
 dewed eyes ; hears nothing but the wondrous voice, 
 the great words borne by it like golden treasure on 
 some shining stream ; feels nothing but the rapturous 
 thought that she is pure and fragrant, marked for 
 suffering loneliness it may be, but all the worthier 
 thereby to voice the De Profundis of the ages. He 
 feels vaguely that she has learned, in life's hard 
 school, the very truth she sings ; that she has drunk 
 at the fountain-head of sorrow ; that she has caught, 
 as he never has, the Secret of the Cross. 
 
 A new sensation fills his heart as it goes out, as 
 much in reverence as in love, to the girl before him. 
 He thrills anew as the purity of it all, the girlish 
 purity, breaks afresh upon him. And in that hour, 
 by his soul's great motion, he seeks to purify his 
 heart forever. The chamber wherein that image 
 dwells, must be chaste and pure. For he knows 
 he knows. Life's hour has struck at last ! 
 
 Gazing still, his eyes meet hers just as the hymn is 
 almost finished. They seem to clasp the girl's, his 
 spirit leaping toward her. And his heart throbs as 
 he sees how Hattie's eyes drop before his look. Her 
 gaze is averted, but her voice flows on :
 
 198 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Demands my soul my life my all," 
 
 and the words smite him with the sense of consecra- 
 tion on the part of her who sings them. 
 
 A great gulf seems to bid him back ; for he feels 
 that the life before him has a motive, and a surrender, 
 that his own has never known. Why, he knows not 
 but the spiritual has its own language to express 
 its life. And its rich tones were in the voice whose 
 thrall was on every listener's heart.
 
 XVI 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 
 
 " A ND had you really a message to a Duke ? " 
 /\ Yes, from my father to thank him for 
 
 X JL his gift, that I told you about," Stephen 
 answered, smiling at the eager face. 
 
 " And you can't see him after all. Aren't you 
 
 going to ? Where is it you said he lives ? Oh, 
 
 yes, at Kelso. Aren't you going there at all ? " 
 
 " No, he's in Italy, as I said, so of course I can't 
 see him. I'm not breaking my heart about it at 
 all." 
 
 Hattie's face, stamped with the reverence for dukes 
 and those of kindred station that had come down to 
 her through generations, still bore a puzzled look. 
 
 " I don't believe I ever knew any one before who 
 knew a great man like that," she averred after a long 
 pause. 
 
 " I don't know him," Stephen hastened to affirm. 
 " But where I'm going to live, there are lots of men 
 I consider just as great as he, even if they haven't 
 any titles. They're untitled dukes, a lot of them." 
 
 " Oh, you mean at that great Hamilton church 
 the Church of the Covenant. And you say you've 
 promised to be their minister ? " 
 
 " Yes, I've written them so." 
 199
 
 200 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " And what will that other place do, that country 
 congregation ? " 
 
 " Oh, Morven, you mean. I guess they'll soon for- 
 get about me. Which would you have taken ? " he 
 added, turning and looking into her face. 
 
 " I'd have gone to Morven," she answered fer- 
 vently. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, I suppose because I'm not used to rich 
 people and I wouldn't be happy. And then I 
 could do more good in a nice country place. Do you 
 know what I can't help thinking ? " 
 
 " No, what is it tell me ? " 
 
 " It seems so strange for me to be here with you, as 
 your your friend, with all thatyou are andthepeo- 
 ple you know and all that you're going to be. And 
 I nothing but a simple little country girl oh, listen," 
 she cried suddenly, her attention diverted by the 
 words, " isn't that fearful ? Do you hear what that 
 man's saying ? Let us go away." 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park, at which 
 time and place earth and heaven meet and all that 
 lies between. Stretched in verdant beauty, the great 
 park rang with conflicting voices, like some tower of 
 Babel, prostrate and shattered upon the sward, but 
 echoing and gesticulating still. The world's parlia- 
 ment of religions was revelling in its weekly session, 
 every chime of the exultant and every groan of the 
 disordered finding here unmuffled voice. 
 
 The words that had evoked Hattie's shuddering 
 protest were those of a high-browed orator, holding
 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 201 
 
 in his hand a Bible, which, with all its kindred, he 
 was committing to a fitting grave. 
 
 Hattie and Stephen lingered, listening as the des- 
 troyer went on his way, exceeding hot against the 
 volume whose lifeless form he held up again and again 
 before his listeners' eyes. 
 
 Stephen's face burned as he marked the varied 
 modes of attack; some covert, some ingenious, some 
 beguiling, some coarse and savage, but touched 
 with the man's evident ability, marked by consid- 
 erable grace of speech, all animated by a turbid as- 
 surance, simulated or sincere, that the Bible's reign 
 was at an end. 
 
 Even Homer nods ; happily for what was yet to 
 follow, the debater, amid much that was worthier, in- 
 dulged a swift and sneering reference to Jonah and 
 his adventures submarine. 
 
 Deeper burned the flame on Stephen's cheek and 
 brow as he noted the apparent grip the man pos- 
 sessed upon at least a section of the vast crowd that 
 was now massed about the portable platform from 
 which he launched his finished sentences; indig- 
 nation gathered in his heart as he noticed here and 
 there among the throng an unsophisticated youth, 
 his whole demeanour bespeaking the initial shock of 
 horror and surprise ; which, and here was the pity of 
 it, slowly vanishing before the derisive or destructive 
 of the man's appeal, turned at last into an attitude of 
 judicial wonder sometimes to one of smiling and en- 
 lightened approbation. 
 
 " And now," he said as he closed his fiery address,
 
 202 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " I pause to give any who may so desire an oppor- 
 tunity to refute my arguments. Does any gentleman 
 wish to take the platform ? " 
 
 There was a nervous pause, during which Stephen 
 turned and looked into Hattie's face. Two burning 
 coals sat on her cheeks ; poor child, she had never 
 heard the like of this before and the only Bible she 
 had known was her mother's, holy with its stain of 
 tears. 
 
 As Stephen looked into the flashing eyes, their 
 light seemed turned to language, and his heart leaped 
 to do their bidding. Neither spoke a word but the 
 crowd was swaying as if to break and scatter. 
 Whereat he held up his hand toward the platform, to 
 attract attention, pressing eagerly on through the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Ah, here's somebody to the rescue. Ladies and 
 gentlemen," cried the lecturer, flinging his voice to 
 the outskirts of the crowd, " here's a gentleman who 
 will try to answer me." 
 
 The multitude flowed together again, and Stephen 
 could feel his heart beat as he stood by the narrow 
 steps which the now silent orator descended to make 
 room for the newcomer. Their eyes met as Stephen's 
 foot was on the bottom step. 
 
 " Might I enquire your name, sir ? " Stephen asked, 
 pausing a moment. 
 
 " Certainly. My name is Harstone, Dr. Harstone 
 I'm a Doctor of Science." 
 
 " Thank you : my name's Wishart," and Stephen 
 ascended another step.
 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 203 
 
 The Doctor of Science, meeting his respondent's 
 eye, may have detected within it symptoms not par- 
 ticularly reassuring. In any case, he leaned forward 
 and touched Stephen on the arm. 
 
 " Five minutes is all I can allow you, sir ; I've 
 promised my platform to a colleague up nearer the 
 marble arch very sorry, but five minutes is all I can 
 afford." 
 
 Stephen looked at the man, answered nothing, and 
 stepped on to the platform. A sudden inspiration 
 seized him ; looking for a moment at the swaying 
 crowd, he began : 
 
 " I have not ascended this platform for the purpose 
 of answering Dr. Harstone for such he kindly in- 
 forms me is his name or of refuting his arguments. 
 On the contrary, I have taken my place here that I 
 may ask this great audience to join in what is proba- 
 bly a most unusual proceeding for a gathering such 
 as this. I shall ask you to unite with me in an ex- 
 pression of appreciation and gratitude toward the 
 gifted gentleman for the enlightenment he has just 
 afforded us." At which startling announcement, the 
 crowd suddenly grew still, then stirred in disappointed 
 movement, then became quiet again, eager for further 
 light. 
 
 That moment, a dapper youth tripped noiselessly 
 up the steps. Stephen turned. 
 
 " The Doctor says you may take your own time," 
 he intimated in a low tone, nodding genially the 
 while. 
 
 " Thank you," said Stephen, his face a little pale
 
 204 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 as he turned again to the waiting throng. He was 
 silent a moment or two, looking, still looking into 
 those more than ocean depths. 
 
 And, as he looked, a breeze from afar came and 
 stirred his soul as the night-wind awakes the placid 
 surface of the sea. For the soul of the true orator 
 moved within him, groping for its armour and its 
 sword. 
 
 The multitude seemed to turn their faces toward 
 him in entreaty, like men and women whose treasure 
 was involved in the trial under way, unconscious of it 
 though they themselves might be. Eager expecta- 
 tion, clouded now with dark surprise as his first 
 words floated down, still shone from the eyes that 
 had hoped to find a champion for their faith in the 
 man whose power of face and form had provoked 
 their eager interest as he rose. 
 
 And there swims before him a picture that fills 
 his soul with fire ; far away, beyond the separating 
 billows, he sees the stooped and tired form of one 
 but for whose life he had not been. The thin gray 
 locks are straggled about the furrowed neck ; the toil- 
 worn hands are holding in their reverent grasp a vol- 
 ume rich in sacred memories; the noble eyes are 
 glowing with the light of love as the trembling lips 
 move on their eager way. The light burns dim 
 in the old farmhouse kitchen and the clock ticks 
 solemnly as the moments fly. But to Stephen's rev- 
 erent vision the room is filled with light ; and the 
 aged worshipper is none other than one of the kings 
 and priests of God.
 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 205 
 
 The vision swiftly disappears as he beholds anew 
 the eager throng, waiting for the words his reverie 
 has deferred. 
 
 " Yes, fellow-listeners," he resumed, " shall we not 
 render our meed of praise unto this man who has so 
 helped and inspired us ? " 
 
 The faces of his auditors darkened before him. 
 
 " When I first heard his words this afternoon, I 
 was a firm believer in the Bible he has so relentlessly 
 exposed ; but who could fail to be converted to that 
 orator's position, now that he has heard the striking 
 and original reference to Jonah and the whale which 
 has just broken with such startling power from his 
 lips?" 
 
 The dawn of new hope began to play upon the 
 faces of the crowd ; and the high-browed lecturer 
 looked uneasily at the dapper youth who had borne 
 his message of extended time. 
 
 " Besides," Stephen went on, the inward fire kind- 
 ling, " he has not told us half that may be said in 
 praise of the noble cause to which he lends his high 
 abilities. His diffidence has sealed his lips. Why 
 has he not informed us as to the hospitals that have 
 been built, the asylums that have been provided, by 
 those who flout the authority of the Bible ? Why 
 has he not enumerated the lands in which philan- 
 thropy and generosity spring like a fountain, fed by 
 some other spring than that eternal Heart of which 
 the Bible tells ? Why has he, in the excess of his 
 modesty, concealed from us the fact that the men 
 who have blessed mankind have been those who
 
 206 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 owed nothing to the light and power of that book 
 which in our ignorance we have called the Word of 
 God ? Why has he not called to his aid the mighty 
 names of Scott or Gladstone, of Washington or Lin- 
 coln, of Kelvin or Carlyle ? Or why has he hidden 
 from us the kindred truth that those nations that de- 
 spise the Bible have won immortal vigour, while those 
 that own its fabled sway, like England and America, 
 have gone down the gulf of time ? 
 
 " Nor has he been boastful enough to declare that 
 the mightiest conceptions of art, or poetry, or music, 
 have been vouchsafed to minds that drank from 
 purer springs than the stagnant pools of the mythol- 
 ogy he has defined. He has refrained from the 
 crushing evidence of Handel's Messiah, and Da 
 Vinci's Last Supper, and Milton's Paradise Lost, on 
 all of which he might have laid his hand. 
 
 " Shall we not, ladies and gentlemen, acclaim this 
 heroic spirit who has so enriched our conception of 
 our destiny, who has in kindness quenched the will- 
 o'-the-wisp our fathers followed even to the grave, 
 who has plucked from our hands the last signal of 
 distress our fevered hands could wave, and filled with 
 honest brine the very vessels our deluded hearts had 
 hoped were the receptacles of living water to quench 
 life's cruel thirst ? " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, looking about him while a 
 strange tremor shook his frame. The owner of the 
 platform moved as if to ascend the stairs, but 
 Stephen stopped him. " I am not through," he said, 
 sternly.
 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 207 
 
 Then he turned again to his listeners, and a won- 
 derful softness was in his voice as he resumed. 
 
 " Why should I further pursue," he began in the 
 quietest of tones, " the unusual style of debate I have 
 thus far adopted ? I will not press it further. What 
 have I to do with motions, or mock votes of thanks ? 
 But I will tell you why I stand before you as I do 
 to-day ; " and, as he spoke, he drew his watch from 
 his pocket and opened it. " Even as I speak these 
 words, there sits, far across the sea, an aged man 
 whose life I have seen ripen in all truth and beauty. 
 And the failing eyes, the eyes that are often turned 
 toward the son who stands before you now, the eyes 
 that may soon be closed in death, are fixed this hour 
 upon that blessed Book whose unseen hands have 
 borne him through this vale of tears. 
 
 " And I will tell you more," he continued, his 
 voice broken and trembling now, " you are listening 
 to a weak and sinful man. How, or why, I need not 
 say. But if there be in him any lingering hope of 
 final victory, any germ of holier things, he owes it to 
 a mother who is now with God. Yes," he cried, 
 standing at full height again, his voice holding like a 
 bell of gold, " to a humble Christian woman who 
 reverenced the word of God, and loved it with a con- 
 suming love. And it was the pillow for her dying 
 head. And she drank from that golden fountain as 
 she passed through the valley with her Lord. And 
 her dear name is written in my Bible and I love its 
 every page." 
 
 He finished thus, athrill with the great emotion.
 
 208 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Still he stood, looking down upon the wondering 
 throng. His gaze searched their faces soon trans- 
 fixed it was on one alone. For it fell on Hattie, her 
 lips parted and panting, her bosom heaving, her won- 
 derful eyes lighted with the flame that clothed her 
 soul ardent, rejoicing, almost worshipful a flame 
 that told of coals from a far-off altar in the workshop 
 of the living God. 
 
 And Stephen saw it all in the great illumination 
 of that quick and burning hour, face to face though 
 hundreds stood between, his soul leaped toward her 
 own, both meeting in that holy light. And both 
 were unashamed, and unafraid, and unalone for One 
 was there, the Bridegroom that attendeth every true 
 festival of love. 
 
 Thrilled and gladdened, the great crowd burst into 
 a very frenzy of cheering and applause as Stephen 
 turned to descend the steps. When this subsided, 
 the self-satisfied youth afore referred to leaped to the 
 platform, fumbling in his breast pocket for a docu- 
 ment, plaintively appealing to the moving multitude 
 to tarry till he might produce evidence that an infidel 
 had recently given ten pounds to an infirmary. But 
 a laugh broke from the crowd as he announced his 
 outline of reply, followed almost immediately by a 
 rich baritone voice that broke forth with 
 
 " Sing them over again to me, 
 Wonderful words of life," 
 
 to the music of which the throng slowly scattered, 
 joining in the chorus as they went.
 
 The DUEL in HYDE PARK 209 
 
 Rejoining Hattie, Stephen said : " Let us go back 
 by the tube ; there's a station just outside the gate." 
 Toward which they walked in silence, Hattie's eyes 
 now and then stealing to her companion's face. 
 
 Tremblingly she took his arm as they passed 
 through the crowded arch, still clinging to it as they 
 gained the street without. Suddenly a degraded 
 figure placed herself before them, the face leering 
 up at Hattie. 
 
 " He's quite a horator, isn't he now ? " the un- 
 known woman flung at Hattie with a mocking laugh, 
 " but the public don't know 'im as well as me an' you. 
 Oh, you needn't be a turnin' up of yer noses : I seen 
 the both of you the night he picked you up, an' then 
 pushed you off on the 'ome. I went into the Harmy 
 'ome just behind you. Won't you take me out too, 
 mister, some nother afternoon? " and the poor creature 
 laughed at her jibing words. 
 
 Without a word, Stephen hurried the quivering 
 Hattie on, blanched and white as was her face. 
 What the girl was pondering need scarce be told, 
 nor what dread inference she was drawing, enlight- 
 ened as she was by the coarse and cruel words, con- 
 cerning the future portent of her relationship to the 
 man who now seemed so far beyond her. 
 
 But the silence of their remaining way to the 
 buried station was broken by her only once, and then 
 to say : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Wishart, let me go alone this should 
 not be ; oh, let me go." Which he chided in the 
 tenderest of tones, drawing closer to the shrinking
 
 210 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 form as they passed down through the semi-dark- 
 ness. 
 
 But as they entered the corridor of their car, she 
 walked swiftly on, Stephen wondering as he followed 
 why she did not take her seat. She gained the 
 farther platform just in time; for the last incoming 
 passenger was aboard and the guard's hand upon the 
 lever as Hattie flew swiftly past him, springing onto 
 the stone platform as the gate slammed shut be- 
 hind her. 
 
 Stephen was too late and the guard roughly pulled 
 him back as he shook the rattling gate. Then the 
 train bore him on past the last twinkling light, and 
 into the inpenetrable gloom.
 
 XVII 
 AN EDINBURGH VOICE 
 
 AS Stephen Wishart sat beside his half-packed 
 trunk, the day was as bright and beautiful 
 as his mood was dark and sorrowful. For 
 he was about to set forth for the Scottish Capital, and 
 London, his treasure hidden somewhere in its mighty 
 folds, was to be left behind. And abandoned, too, 
 must be the search for one whose motive in eluding 
 him lended only greater charm to the character whose 
 purity and goodness had so strangely touched 
 his life. 
 
 A new source of disquiet had arisen, in the shape 
 of a letter from his brother Reuben, which at that 
 very moment engaged his serious thought. It began 
 with a reference to his call to Hamilton, and abounded 
 in simple felicitations upon the distinction that had 
 come to him, full particulars of which, he said, would 
 have already reached him in the letter his father had 
 dictated. A passing reference to Morven, and his 
 father's preference for the field of labour there, was fol- 
 lowed by the annals of the neighbourhood, chief 
 amongst which was the story of a rare piece of good 
 fortune that had befallen Hiram Barker. 
 
 The letter went on to tell how Hiram had been left 
 a handsome competence by a far-off relative in Eng- 
 land, it being a condition of entail that the beneficiary 
 
 211
 
 212 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 should adopt the Roman Catholic faith. Which, 
 Reuben declared, Hiram had promptly done, being 
 more in need of money than religion, as he said him- 
 self. Indeed, the correspondent remarked, Barker's 
 new-found faith is more in the nature of an acquisi- 
 tion than a change ; as there was very little to dis- 
 place. " So Hiram has laid aside the tools of toil," 
 Reuben added, " and is going to live a gentleman's 
 life in the city says he thinks he'll go to Hamilton, 
 so he can be near one of the friends of his youth, be- 
 ing quite set up with the exalted place his old chum 
 is to occupy on his return. And now," the letter 
 concluded, " dear Steve, I've kept the best news to 
 the last. I'm the happiest man in the Province. You 
 know why, I guess but I'll tell you. I'm going to 
 be married soon at least before very long although 
 I can't get Bessie just to say when. She doesn't 
 want to leave the old folks just yet, she says, both of 
 whom are poorly. There, I've let the cat out of the 
 bag but I reckon you knew. I'm not much at go- 
 ing on over things, Steve but I'm so happy. She's 
 the dearest, truest girl in the world, as you know 
 and Steve, we want you to marry us. So hurry up 
 and come home to 
 
 " Your affectionate brother, 
 
 " REUBEN. 
 
 " P. S. Father's fine he killed another ground- 
 hog the first shot. Then he took a walk down to the 
 post-office. R." 
 
 At the news of Reuben's approaching marriage 
 and of Bessie's hesitation a mysterious riot began in
 
 AN EDINBURGH YOICE 
 
 Stephen's heart. He wondered why. A dark face, 
 only for an instant, stamped with pallid memory, 
 looked in at the window of his soul. Instantly dis- 
 missed it was, as the tide of his own chaste and rev- 
 erent love surged within him ; and a deep sense of 
 gratitude, almost of joy, accompanied the thought 
 of his brother's happiness, which brother's name he 
 breathed in blessing. 
 
 But this news about Hiram ! Not that the tidings 
 of the lucky windfall surprised him very much. 
 Hiram had often thrown out hints regarding possible 
 legacies from England reservedly enough, it was 
 true ; for the man was no boaster. But some prop- 
 erty or another that was entailed had been the basis 
 of his expectations. " The devil himself can't cheat 
 me out of it," he had told Stephen more than once, 
 " unless he calls me home before the other fellow." 
 Wherefore it was evident to Stephen that " the other 
 fellow " had outrun the tarrying Hiram, leaving the 
 property behind him, in that spirit of generosity 
 which so often comes with death. 
 
 " Yes, I got my training here in Edinburgh and 
 I finished in Germany. And I bless the memory of 
 my old professors it's all useful in its way. But 
 would you like me to tell you, Mr. Wishart, of one 
 little incident that went far to make me a pastor ? " 
 
 The speaker was one of Edinburgh's most famous 
 preachers. 
 
 " Yes," Stephen answered eagerly, " indeed I would.
 
 214 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 My old professor, Dr. Kingley, told me the pastoral 
 instinct was your ruling passion one reason, he said, 
 he wanted me to bring his letter to you. I would 
 like to hear the incident you refer to." 
 
 " Well, sir, it was a bootblack ; and he did more 
 than any other or as much as any other to give 
 me a pastor's heart. It happened on Lothian Road 
 just when my ministry was begun. He was giving 
 me a shine ; and I was in a hurry was cross and 
 nervous and he seemed dreadfully slow and ab- 
 stracted. 
 
 " Besides," and the preacher smiled at the reminis- 
 cence, " I had a corn and the urchin seemed bound 
 to polish that corn. So I lost my temper suddenly 
 and spoke to him about as sharply as I ever spoke to 
 a boy. I was pretending to read a paper and I hap- 
 pened to look down a moment later ; the poor little 
 fellow was brushing away for dear life and I saw 
 two or three big tears drop right on his blacking-box. 
 I had quite a time getting the little chap to tell me 
 what was the matter but he told me his story at last. 
 He lived in Stockbridge a poor quarter of Edin- 
 burgh and his mother had been buried the very 
 day before : ' Tarn an' me wheelt her oot to 
 Airthur's Seat four times in a chair,' the little fellow 
 said, ' for a change o' air but she got nae better. 
 An' we wadna let her gang till the Infirmary an' me 
 an' Tarn was wi' her when she dee't. An' Tarn an' 
 me's gaein' to pay the funeral oorsels. Tarn's my 
 little brither.' 
 
 " That was the simple story but it almost made a
 
 AN EDINBURGH ISQICE 215 
 
 minister of me. A true minister will always feel that 
 he is walking over Waterloo after the battle, trying to 
 help the fallen. It's a choice between the harrowed 
 heart and no heart at all. Pray for the capacity to suf- 
 fer, Mr. Wishart, if you want to enjoy your ministry." 
 
 " I see your meaning," Stephen answered enthusi- 
 astically ; " and I think it's beautiful. There's noth- 
 ing so really enjoyable as the cross that's the idea, 
 isn't it ? " he added buoyantly. 
 
 The older man cast at him a glance of curious 
 keenness. 
 
 " Yes, that's the idea the idea," he replied half 
 aloud, his emphasis full of meaning that was lost on 
 Stephen. " I guess we'll have to go our meeting 
 begins at eight." 
 
 The attendance at this mid-week service was not 
 large ; but Stephen was enthralled by the wonderful 
 words that fell from the preacher's lips. His subject 
 was Jacob how he had cheated his brother Esau ; 
 and how he himself had been cheated in return by his 
 Uncle Laban. 
 
 " He was cheated out of his wages ; and cheated 
 out of his wife, and cheated, and cheated, and cheated 
 again, ten times cheated, till cheating came out of 
 Jacob's nostrils and stank in his eyes and became 
 hateful as hell to Jacob's heart," and the preacher's 
 glowing eyes seemed fixed on Stephen as he spoke. 
 
 " We say that Greek meets Greek," he went on, 
 " we say that diamond cuts diamond. We calculate 
 the length of handle his spoon would need to have 
 who sups with the devil. We speak about the seller
 
 216 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 being sold. As a man soweth, so shall he reap, we 
 quote. Other little boys had been taking prizes in 
 the devil's sly school, besides Rebecca's favourite son. 
 And now that the stage is all ready, all the world is 
 invited in to see the serio-comedy of the Syrian biter 
 bit, or Rebecca's poor lost sheep shorn to the bone 
 by the steely shears of Shylock her brother. ' What 
 is this that thou hast done unto me ? Wherefore 
 hast thou so beguiled me ? ' Jacob remonstrates in his 
 sweet, injured, salad innocence. Jacob had never 
 seen or heard the like of it. It shocked terribly 
 Jacob's sense of right ; it almost shook down Jacob's 
 faith in the God of Bethel. And so still," went on 
 the preacher, and Stephen knows now that those 
 piercing eyes are fixed upon himself, " we never see 
 what wickedness there is in lies, and treachery, and 
 cheatery, and injury of all kinds till we are cheated 
 and lied against and injured ourselves. Then the 
 whole blackness and abominableness breaks out upon 
 us. As long as Esau lives, as long as that man or that 
 woman lives whom our son supplanted so long ago, 
 he will build his house over a volcano and will travel 
 home to it with a trembling heart." 
 
 Which very heart Stephen bore within his bosom 
 as he turned his footsteps homeward, or at least to- 
 ward the humble room on George Street which now 
 served him as a home. 
 
 For he somehow felt that Jacob's experience was 
 not far different from his own. The weeks he had 
 spent in Edinburgh had passed on leaden feet. Dis- 
 appointment, heart-hunger, loneliness, had been his
 
 AN EDINBURGH YOICE 217 
 
 portion. Was it to be his lot, he mused, as he walked 
 slowly on, to taste himself of the cup that others had 
 been compelled to drink through the foment of his 
 heart and the inconstancy of his soul ? 
 
 For his heart was hungering for the sight of that 
 dear face, for the sound of that rich and soulful 
 voice, both of which had so suddenly laid their spell 
 upon his life a new spell, unlike to those of earlier 
 days that had been so thoughtlessly avowed and so 
 lightly banished. All his efforts to find Hattie, or to 
 see her again before he left London for the North, had 
 been in vain. A brief note forwarded from his Lon- 
 don lodgings to Edinburgh, telling him that they must 
 not meet, had been all his eager heart was given. 
 
 " You will go your way and be a faithful servant of 
 the Master," she had said, " and I'll go mine, and try 
 to be a good soldier of the cross. For I've gone into 
 the war ; and I shall do all a weak girl can for Him 
 who loved me and saved me by His grace. He kept 
 my feet from the fearful pit and the miry clay 
 and He has kept my little cross bright and burnished 
 still. And I shall always pray for you and never 
 forget you I'll remember you more than I will any- 
 body else. Good-bye." 
 
 Thus the simple note had ended, and Stephen had 
 read it over and over again, knowing better every 
 time that at last he had learned to love. Learning 
 which, he had learned to suffer too. 
 
 One last appealing letter he had written, but it had 
 brought forth no response. Letters to the Army 
 Home elicited the information that she was on duty
 
 218 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 away from London and silence, deep and dark, 
 settled down about him. 
 
 The portentous phrases of the sermon he had 
 heard mingled with his thought as he walked along. 
 " The biter, bit ! The seller, sold ! " Was his own 
 punishment to come to him thus, he meditated? 
 " His house over a volcano ! " Could it be that he 
 too was reaping what he had sowed so recklessly ? 
 He thought of God and was troubled. After all, 
 does He think of justice, and retribution in detail? 
 The memory of the Lyceum theatre and the great 
 actor and his awful message flashed through his 
 mind. 
 
 The busy weeks and months flew by, filled with 
 ardent study, marked by much of fruitful thought 
 and more of deepening life. The spirit of penitence 
 and pleading, mingled with the sorrow of his lonely 
 heart, seemed to quicken Stephen Wishart's whole 
 intellectual life, devoted as it was in serious purpose 
 to his work in hand. With the result that his old- 
 time record of academic brilliancy was not only sus- 
 tained, but heightened, winning the highest eulogies 
 of his professors with the highest honours of the 
 term. 
 
 And now the time had come when Stephen, with 
 others of his class, was to be licensed as a preacher 
 of the Gospel. The ceremony was to be held in one 
 of the largest churches in Scotia's darling seat, 
 wherein Stephen and his fellows presented them- 
 selves for the solemn rite, which was duly performed,
 
 AN EDINBURGH VOICE 219 
 
 the great duty laid upon them, the great trust com- 
 mitted to their souls. Following this, the Moderator 
 led in earnest prayer, commending them to the great 
 Master whom they dared to serve. 
 
 From the platform where they stood, Stephen's 
 eye roamed carelessly over the multitude that filled 
 the church. Suddenly his attention was arrested ; 
 among all the forms of head-gear that crowned the 
 bended heads of kneeling women, he remarked one 
 that hurled his mind swiftly back to an association 
 from which it was never long detached. For the 
 bonnet was of one who had enlisted in the army of 
 the Lord and the flaming ribbon was upon its brow. 
 
 His burning eyes fastened themselves upon it, nor 
 were withdrawn till the closing petition released the 
 bending worshippers, and the hidden face was up- 
 turned with the rest. The other candidates for the 
 holy office quietly resumed their seats ; but Stephen, 
 oblivious to them and to all else but that on which 
 his eager eyes were resting stood where he was, his 
 gaze still rapt upon the now recognizable face. 
 
 It was the same face as had filled his waking 
 thoughts and troubled the spirit of his dreams. The 
 same chaste beauty sat upon it but lovelier ; for the 
 light of faith and trust, that comes with prayer, had 
 softened and enhanced its charm. Her eyes are cast 
 toward himself, the emotion that bedews them 
 plainly visible in the down-streaming light. 
 
 She must have felt that she was recognized ; for 
 her face is hidden in a moment, low-bowed again, 
 her confusion evident.
 
 220 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Take your seat, Mr. Wishart we're just about to 
 close," the presiding officer whispered to the man 
 who stood transfixed before him. 
 
 " Excuse me," faltered Stephen, " I thought I saw 
 the face of a friend excuse me, please; I'll just 
 step down." 
 
 " We'll be concluding in a moment all things 
 decently and in order, you know," and the Moderator 
 smiled his most amiable smile. 
 
 But his tact and his text were alike in vain; 
 Stephen had already descended from the platform 
 and begun his rapid way down the aisle. Too late 
 for the tall figure had begun her retreat as he de- 
 scended. He made the best of his way to the door 
 but she had vanished ; and in a few minutes he 
 reentered the church, his new commission all for- 
 gotten, his old thirst intensified a thousand fold 
 within his soul. 
 
 The end of his transatlantic sojourn was in sight ; 
 and the date for his homeward sailing was already 
 set. Stephen knew that what he would do must be 
 quickly done. That Hattie was, or had been until 
 now, in the same city with himself, was now plain ; 
 to ascertain her whereabouts and to meet her face 
 to face became the business of his life, or at 
 least, of so much of it as the few remaining days af- 
 forded him. His enquiries at official sources only 
 revealed an ignorance which in his bitterness he 
 branded as assumed ; or else it provoked the most
 
 AN EDINBURGH fOICE 221 
 
 laconic and evasive of replies, Wherefore he turned 
 again with renewed purpose to the only alternative 
 left him, haunting the accustomed battle-fields of the 
 army to which she had given her allegiance, scan- 
 ning every soldierly procession to detect, if detect he 
 might, the face he had sought so long. 
 
 The tardy twilight had at length fallen upon the 
 comely city as he bent his steps one evening through 
 the motley life that strews the Cannongate. He had 
 almost gained the foot of the street, the ancient 
 shadow of Holyrood coming forth to meet him, 
 grim in its reaction from centuries of revelry ; when 
 the gleam of a flaming torch and the sound of a 
 gospel hymn awoke him from his reverie. 
 
 He stands still, gazing eagerly. A man is in 
 charge of the meeting, if meeting it should be 
 called. He is praying now a loud hectoring 
 prayer emphasized by many a stamp of his heavy 
 foot and many a thump upon the drum beside him. 
 
 The lurid prayer is finished; and the suppliant 
 looks about him, peering into the faces of the 
 crowd, if haply he might discern how far it is likely 
 to be answered. 
 
 44 One of the soldiers is agoin' to speak to yez 
 now," he said, " and she'll tell yez about the picnic ; " 
 which the soldier thus announced proceeded to do 
 right heartily, intimating that all children who could 
 produce the credential of sufficient need would be 
 provided with tickets, on application at headquarters. 
 
 " I guess you all know about it the kiddies have 
 been dreaming about it for a fortnight. We're going
 
 222 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 to Kimlachie, hallelujah ! A gentleman has given us 
 his estate for the day. We don't have to pay any- 
 thing, but God'll settle with him. We're going to 
 have a heavenly time ! Remember, we'll leave the 
 Waverly Station at ten to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Now we're agoin' to have a word from one of 
 the new recruits fire a volley ! " he cried, turning to 
 the soldiers. 
 
 The volley was fired with boisterous enthusiasm, 
 and the new recruit stepped forth, the light from one 
 of the torches falling distinctly on her wavy hair, the 
 delicate pink and white of her tender skin apparent 
 beneath its glow ; her neck and face were bathed in 
 the gentle flow that suffused them both, attesting the 
 shrinking of a nature not yet accustomed to such 
 publicity. As she begins to speak, her right hand is 
 gracefully extended, showing clear in the ruddy light. 
 
 Stephen is on the outskirts of the group, and his 
 heart is throbbing wildly. For he can see her face, 
 himself half hidden behind a taller listener. And 
 she has begun to speak, the rich tones none other 
 than those he had yearned so long to hear. That her 
 voice was a wonderful gift, he had known for long ; 
 but to-night it seems more than wonderful for its 
 natural sweetness has an added charm that only sor- 
 row can impart, mingling with it the nobler note of a 
 soul's compassion. 
 
 That power it possessed, which no culture can ac- 
 quire, no art can simulate ; the power of a deep and 
 real spiritual experience. 
 
 " Dear friends, I want to give you another invita-
 
 AN EDINBURGH VOICE 223 
 
 tion," she began, Stephen trembling as the pure soul 
 breathed through the simple words. " And I want 
 you all to come. You're all tired, I'm sure, tired of 
 the muddy roads and the dusty streets. And your 
 feet are sore and your hearts are heavy. Oh, I 
 want you all to come and rest come to Jesus, and 
 He will give you peace. 
 
 " Oh, it's hard it's so hard," she went on eagerly, 
 holding out both hands now, her voice throbbing with 
 an emotion that none of her hearers save one could 
 understand " so hard to be wandering and homeless, 
 especially if you know you left your father's or your 
 mother's house ; so hard to feel you can't prevent it 
 getting dark; and to know there's nobody wants 
 you and no place to go and nothing to eat and 
 so hungry. Wouldn't it just break your heart if any 
 of your own children were wandering like that in the 
 slums of Edinburgh or London ? Well, God's your 
 father and He knows He cares and I want you to 
 come. Come in where it's warm, and where there's 
 bread to eat, and sweet rest for the weary. 
 
 " And there's no ticket no money no price ; for 
 the blessed Saviour has bought it all with His own 
 precious blood. Oh, come to-night come just as 
 you are, and Jesus will never let you wander any 
 more." 
 
 She stopped, the leader struck up the familiar hymn 
 her closing words suggested, and the procession be- 
 gan to wend its way to the barracks on Cameron 
 Street. 
 
 Stephen followed for a little, his whole frame
 
 224 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 thrilled with emotion. He longed to rush in yet 
 feared. A sort of awe possessed him. The gulf was 
 a moral one, though he did not so regard it. He 
 feared to press himself on her, as one might shrink 
 from rushing in upon some white-robed priest serv- 
 ing at his holy altar. Far beyond him, he felt vividly 
 enough, the girl's soul had passed ; though she was 
 but an exhorter of the street, while he was the min- 
 ister-elect of a proud and expectant people. 
 
 But the new power and grace that seemed to clothe 
 her, conspiring with the thrall in which her beauty 
 already held him, filled him with longing as never 
 before. He even thought of the uplift to his own 
 spiritual life, the assistance to his own work in the 
 ministry, with which this pure and devoted spirit 
 might provide him. And a swift prayer ascends that 
 this auxiliary might not be denied him. 
 
 His eyes are riveted upon the willowy form, lightly 
 clad, as she presses on in the middle of the highway. 
 She is at the rear, for her promotion is yet to come. 
 He can wait no longer, casts a quick glance about 
 him to be sure that his action will be unnoticed, then 
 plunges out into the street and takes his place beside 
 the girl, gracefully tapping a tambourine as she walks. 
 
 " Hattie," he said gently, "oh, Hattie ! " 
 
 She turns quickly; a swift pallor puts the flush 
 upon her cheek to flight as her glance falls upon his 
 face. She looks again, still looking as if she could 
 not believe her eyes then stands still an instant, emo- 
 tion and surprise almost overpowering her. 
 
 " Mr. Wishart is it you ? " she cries in a low
 
 AN EDINBURGH VOICE 225 
 
 voice. " Oh, why have you done this ? You knew, 
 you knew you must go away at once," she ex- 
 claimed, her feet mechanically taking up the march 
 again. 
 
 Her words were firm, evidently sincere, almost 
 stern but Stephen notes, seized with a joy he had 
 no time to analyze, that the voice is trembling, and 
 that beneath all the amazement is a note of gladness. 
 The tambourine, too, is thrust into her right hand, 
 the left going out involuntarily, withdrawn almost be- 
 fore he can seize it in his own. 
 
 " Hattie, Hattie you won't send me away. I've 
 been looking for you so long," he almost whispered, 
 a world of fondness in his voice. " I'll go per- 
 haps I'd better go," he added, " but tell me when I 
 can see you again, Hattie anywhere, any time 
 only tell me when." 
 
 The girl turned and looked into his face, indiffer- 
 ent to the curious glances that one or two in front 
 cast back at her. 
 
 " No, I won't ask you to go away," she said im- 
 pulsively after a moment, her voice low and earnest ; 
 " I want you to come. You're a soldier of the cross 
 too, and I don't want you to fall out. It was you 
 that enlisted me, you know," she pursued, turning 
 and smiling sweetly as she spoke ; " and I think it's 
 lovely for us to march together. We'll go on to the 
 Barracks and I'll ask the adjutant to have you speak 
 at the meeting." 
 
 " Yes, I'll go, Hattie," Stephen answered fervently, 
 her last words lost upon him in his eagerness ; for it
 
 226 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 was enough to him to know that he was beside her 
 again ; " and I've so much to tell you so much. I 
 saw you in the church the night I was licensed and 
 didn't you see me ? " 
 
 " We're not allowed to talk when we're marching, 
 and you're out of step, see. I want you to be a good 
 soldier, you know ; " and it was difficult to tell 
 whether there was more of mirth or seriousness in 
 the words. 
 
 Little of speech there was as they trudged along 
 the muddy street, Hattie's clear voice now and then 
 lending itself to the song that cheered the way. 
 
 Stephen was content to be silent, to feel that he 
 had found her, that he was near to her again, and 
 that his hunger of the heart was strangely satisfied in 
 simply knowing that she was by his side. 
 
 Their mutual relation had been strangely reversed 
 since that chilly night in London when they first 
 had met. For his admiration now was of the very 
 spirit he himself had coveted for long, but had not 
 the courage to acquire ; in every spiritual sense she 
 was now the protector, and his the soul that needed 
 shelter. 
 
 They are near the Barracks now, and the street on 
 which it stands is aflame with light. Looking about, 
 he notices, dismayed, that two familiar figures are 
 beneath the lamp. One is Mather, and the other a 
 mutual friend whom they had acquired in the social 
 life to which Edinburgh gives its student visitors so 
 free a welcome. 
 
 They are both looking toward the approaching
 
 AN EDINBURGH VOICE 227 
 
 procession ; an army on the march can never lose its 
 interest for the most cultured or contemptuous. 
 
 The struggle in Stephen's mind was brief. 
 
 " Hattie," he said quickly, the expedient suddenly 
 occurring to him, " I'm going to do a little skirmish 
 work I see a couple of loungers and I'm going to 
 invite them into the barracks you'll excuse me, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 " That's splendid," Hattie cried, her face beaming ; 
 " I'll command you. You see, I'm getting to be an 
 old soldier now I command you to go and compel 
 them to come in. And I want you to speak, re- 
 member." 
 
 He left her, crossing at right angles to the pave- 
 ment, remarking with satisfaction that his friends 
 were still absorbed with the head of the procession. 
 Gaining the sidewalk, he walked leisurely along till 
 he reached them, much reassured by their surprise at 
 tyis appearance. 
 
 " By Jove," he heard the other say to Mather, " I 
 haven't seen a prettier girl in Edinburgh than that one 
 there with the tambourine that one at the end. 
 Hello, Wishart, are you the marshal ? " as Stephen 
 suddenly appeared. 
 
 " Hello, you fellows," he rejoined ; " no, I'm the 
 commander-in-chief. Won't you fellows go in and 
 enlist ? " he added, genially. " I'll go in if you will 
 will you go ? " 
 
 The men promptly declined one of them laughed 
 at the witticism. But Mather's face was serious 
 enough : " might do a mighty sight worse," he
 
 228 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 mumbled. " I'd sooner be those fellows, if I meant 
 it, than be an actor in St. Giles." 
 
 " Then you won't go in ? " Stephen asked. " I 
 think you're making a mistake ; let's walk down to 
 Princes Street I haven't long in Edinburgh now 
 and there's only one other city with a street like 
 that." 
 
 " Where is it ? " his companions asked together. 
 
 " In the New Jerusalem," laughed Stephen ; 
 " come on, it's getting late."
 
 XVIII 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 
 
 STEPHEN had not forgotten the hour at which 
 the kind-hearted soldier had bidden the ex- 
 pectant children gather at Waverly Station. 
 And long before ten o'clock Stephen was there him- 
 self, a trifling fee securing him the ambush of the 
 baggage office and the outlook from its window. 
 From which he watched the moving scene with eyes 
 that were often blurred with tears. 
 
 On they came, in breathless haste, early, so early, 
 though they were. Mostly in twos and twos they 
 came, bare-headed some and all unshod their need 
 attested by a hundred fluttering tongues. Many had 
 their mothers with them, as excited as their offspring, 
 themselves barred from the excursion, but drinking 
 deep of their children's joy. Pitter-patter came the 
 little bare feet along the pavement in quick agitated 
 steps, the pilgrims glancing hither and thither in 
 nameless fear lest the train had gone, so used were 
 they to the elusiveness of all anticipated pleasures. 
 
 Brief and solemn salutations passed between hur- 
 rying mothers ; between their children, none at all. 
 And many of the motherless, or worse than mother- 
 less, were there, guarded by older sisters whose sense 
 of responsibility was pitiful to see. Tenderly they 
 clung to the tiny hands, plunging this way and that 
 
 229
 
 250 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 in their search for the coveted positions that long ex- 
 perience had made them think could scarce be theirs 
 without a savage struggle. Some were bearing tiny 
 mugs, others with the sad remains of ball or bat or 
 hoop or shovel, that they vaguely felt might find a 
 place in the Elysian fields beyond. 
 
 The crowd is thickening, the combat deepening ; 
 for they are being entrained. Stephen was almost 
 in despair. The face he longed to see had not ap- 
 peared but all of a sudden he descries it in the 
 distance, glowing with the high industry of love. 
 He breaks out from his hiding place ; then restrains 
 himself and returns for a new purpose has come 
 to him. 
 
 The green flag is flying, the whole train palpitat- 
 ing with a thousand organs of delight and the 
 wheels have begun to turn. 
 
 Then Stephen rushes out, thrusts a generous coin 
 into the hand of one of the attendants as he pulls 
 open the compartment door. 
 
 " It's for the children," he says, " and I'm going 
 with you I'll help amuse them ; " and he seats him- 
 self in the carriage, taking on his knee the grimy 
 traveller he had displaced. 
 
 It is a run of forty miles, but it takes little more 
 than as many minutes ; for such engines have human 
 hearts. And in an hour Stephen's soul is again in 
 tumult, as he sees the Arabs spilled into the fields, 
 overflowing them like quicksilver suddenly poured 
 forth. Tumult, we have said for there is no joy so 
 deep as that which springs from sorrow ; no pathos so
 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 231 
 
 plaintive as that which marks the joy, the simple and 
 unnatural joy, of those who come into the heritage 
 they should have never been denied, hearing at last 
 the provisions of their Father's will, marvelling at 
 the riches from which cruel executors have shut 
 them out. 
 
 Tears run down his face as he watches the en- 
 chanted waifs, now scampering in delirious glee, now 
 shouting in incredulous delight, now stooping to 
 pluck some brilliant flower, now leaving it half 
 plucked because of some richer bloom beyond. 
 
 The morning has died in laughter, and the long 
 dinner hour too has gone gone into the immortal 
 keeping of a thousand memories. Stephen has 
 watched it all from the shelter of a distant tree, mov- 
 ing back to the fringe of woodland whenever the ap- 
 proach of one particular form made it advisable to 
 retreat. 
 
 With what strong arms she flung forth the creak- 
 ing swing, echoing with childish shouts ! With 
 what tenderness he saw her bind the poor foot that a 
 thorn had pierced or a stone had wounded, bathing it 
 at the sparkling brook ! And what would he not 
 have given, could he but have heard that wondrous 
 story that could alone explain the breathless group 
 about her, looking up into the face that glowed with 
 the spirit of the tale ! And blessed, thrice blessed, 
 were those smudgy hands that had pinned that bunch 
 of violets upon her bosom ! 
 
 She must be tired now ; for Stephen can see her as
 
 232 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 she quietly withdraws from the group of children she 
 has just launched upon their game. 
 
 Slowly she walks along the wold, her face turned 
 toward the fringe of woods beyond him. He hides 
 behind an adjoining knoll, still watching as she bends 
 her way farther into the protecting shadows. The 
 violets are in her hand and she drinks of their fra- 
 grance as she walks. He follows stealthily how fool- 
 ish is the mind of love, affirming secretly that no 
 fabric ever fluttered so gracefully as does that yield- 
 ing muslin, tossing in the breeze, or pouting as it is 
 thrown this way and that by the hurrying feet. For 
 she is hurrying now, the sweet voice of the woods 
 calling her more quickly on, eager for their shelter 
 and caress. 
 
 She has thrown herself upon a sunlit couch of 
 richest green, drinking deep of the delicious sweet- 
 ness from the trees, gazing in delight at the beams 
 that fall aslant through the gleaming leaves. The 
 spirit of her early home is upon her, and the 
 dream of all its sylvan purity and innocence comes 
 back. Down the stream of memory her thoughts 
 quickly flow and soon he sees her hand go forth to 
 the soft folds of her dress, some white thing with- 
 drawn in its grasp. 
 
 The breeze is chattering among the leaves and he 
 can draw closer without being heard. He is almost 
 behind her now ; and his heart leaps wildly as he sees 
 that the letter she is reading is his own. 
 
 As she reads, her bosom heaves more violently, and 
 he can note the girl's emotion from where he stands.
 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 233 
 
 Again her hand goes to where the letter had been 
 hidden, this time bringing forth the tiny handker- 
 chief perhaps the very one he had seen that night 
 that now seemed so long ago. 
 
 His eagerness now is beyond all control. He 
 swears to himself that God is good that He has meant 
 her for him from all eternity. The summer wind 
 sweeps through the trees again, as with the sound of 
 triumph ; the embannered leaves cheer it with myriad 
 voice ; the sun breaks forth more brightly and all 
 things seem to speak of life's passing sweetness. He 
 moves, meaning her to hear but she is reading, still 
 absorbed and his movement is unnoticed. Then he 
 makes a distincter motion and in a moment Hattie 
 is upon her feet, trembling in every limb. 
 
 But never a sound she spoke gazing, gazing as if 
 he had risen from the dead. 
 
 " Hattie don't be so frightened, Hattie please sit 
 down again. I came out on the train with the chil- 
 dren. Let me sit down beside you." 
 
 His eyes, careless that she knew, were feasting on 
 the letter she still held in her hand. But she did 
 know, as her crimson face made clear ; and with a 
 quick motion she thrust it out of sight. 
 
 " Yes, it's yours of course it's yours," she said, 
 blushing ; " I always read letters over more than 
 once," she went on defiantly ; " I only read it because 
 I wanted to see what it said." 
 
 There was a long silence. Stephen said nothing, 
 holding the explanation in rapturous contempt. 
 
 " How did you get here ? " Hattie said at last.
 
 234 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Me I came on the train. I told you so." 
 
 " Why weren't you at the Barracks last night ? I 
 was looking for you ; I was so disappointed I wanted 
 you to speak to them," this last with sudden em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " I met a couple of fellows I knew and they 
 wouldn't go in," Stephen replied, " and I went along 
 to Princes Street with them." 
 
 " I'm so sorry ; we had such a lovely meeting. 
 And there were two conversions came right out into 
 the light, and everybody was so happy. When are 
 you going back to Edinburgh ? " 
 
 " I don't know with the others, I suppose. I'm 
 going away the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Going away ! Away where ? " and the colour 
 that left Hattie's face found its abode in Stephen's ; 
 " are you going back to London ? " 
 
 No I'm going home," he answered, watching 
 her closely. " I sail on Saturday." 
 
 " Sail ! Where for ? " the girl asked, her lip mov- 
 ing in the slightest quiver, " where will you sail to ? " 
 
 " To Montreal then I go home from there. And 
 then I'm going to Hamilton to be the minister of the 
 Church of the Covenant. I told you all about it that 
 afternoon in Hyde Park." 
 
 " Yes, you told me. I hope you'll be happy I 
 hope you'll have lots of conversions," she added 
 seriously. " I'm so happy in my work and I want 
 you to be happy too we're both soldiers of the 
 cross, you know," the delicate lips smiling bravely as 
 she spoke.
 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 235 
 
 " Hattie, where's that cross of yours ? " he asked 
 abruptly. She started and looked at him as if she 
 did not understand. 
 
 " Oh, my cross my mother's cross," she said in a 
 moment ; " it's here it's always here," and she drew 
 it forth with reverent touch. 
 
 He gazed at it as it lay upon her bosom. " Hattie 
 I'll try to be a good soldier of the cross. And I'll 
 never, never forget this one of yours I love it be- 
 cause you do." 
 
 " I do love it," she broke in eagerly, " oh, I do love 
 it and I want to be worthy of it and to tell its 
 power to everybody that needs it. If I weren't so 
 unworthy, I wouldn't love it so," she cried, the tears 
 standing in her eyes. 
 
 Stephen was struggling. The light of love, of pity, 
 of pure religion, was on her face, never so beautiful 
 as now when the sun's rays gently kissed the trans- 
 parent cheek, her sunny hair blending with the 
 golden glint. He can see the mist before her eyes, 
 and a strange union of compassion and reverence 
 wrings his heart. 
 
 " Yes, Hattie," he suddenly exclaimed, " I shall al- 
 ways love the cross because you wear it," and, stoop- 
 ing forward, he took the tiny symbol in his hands 
 and raised it gently to his lips. Her breath, in mad- 
 dening sweetness, is on his face. k 
 
 " I thought you were a Presbyterian," she said, the 
 witching smile playing again about her mouth. " I'll 
 tell that old lady that keeps John Knox's house on 
 the High Street."
 
 236 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 But there was no smile on Stephen's face. A 
 rapturous look instead, fastened on her till her eyes 
 retreated before the wondrous meaning she could not 
 fail to see. Nor did he turn his eyes away, still look- 
 ing with fervent eagerness. 
 
 " Let's go back," she cried faintly at last, " they'll 
 miss me." 
 
 But the billow had overswept him now. 
 
 " Yes, my darling," he cried, " yes, they'll miss you 
 they'll miss you. As I have done, Hattie, Hattie, 
 
 my darling. You know you know " and the 
 
 half fainting form is in his arms, weakly protesting as 
 she hears the fiery words. " Oh, Hattie, you are 
 mine you know you're mine," he cried; and the 
 breeze seemed to die away, great peace keeping guard 
 above them, the faint sound of childish cries betoken- 
 ing a distant world. " You've always been mine 
 and I shall never let you go mine, ever since that 
 night, my darling," and one hand strokes the burning 
 cheek while the other gently turns the lovely face 
 nearer to his own. 
 
 Reverently, his lips descend slowly upon hers, 
 moist with love's anointing and Stephen tastes the 
 new and nameless wine of a soul that has found its 
 own in pure and holy love at last. 
 
 Long, long they sat together, forgetting that 
 there was any waiting world or any duty or 
 any mystery, except the new found mystery of 
 love. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen," Hattie said at length, " we must 
 go back. It seems to me," she added, as her hand
 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 237 
 
 stole again into his, " that I said that same thing 
 years ago it seems like years ago." 
 
 " So long," Stephen asked, " what makes it seem 
 so long ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's like as if a lot of years had passed and 
 all winters all cold, cold winters. And this seems 
 like the first spring day. I'm so happy, dear and to 
 think it was for all this God led me out into the dark- 
 ness into the forest. But the sweetest flowers grow 
 in the forest we know that, don't we, dear ? " she 
 cried gayly as Stephen kissed the trembling laughing 
 lips. 
 
 They are almost beyond the woodland now, the 
 shout of the revellers growing more distinct. Hattie 
 suddenly turned and hid her face on Stephen's 
 shoulder ; a slight sob shook her frame. 
 
 " What's the matter, Hattie ; what's the matter, my 
 darling ? " 
 
 Only silence for a moment. He pleads again, 
 turning his ear, ravished by their breath, to the sweet 
 pouting lips. At length she whispers : 
 
 " It's about Saturday oh, Stephen, you won't go 
 away from me tell me you won't." 
 
 Gently he tried to comfort her, sinking to the 
 ground and drawing her down beside him. " I must, 
 my dear one I have to go. I have to take my 
 church, you know and they're waiting for me." 
 
 Still she remonstrated with sweet persuasiveness. 
 
 " I've had such a lonely life," she murmured, " and 
 now it'll be worse than ever. I'll be all alone again, 
 Stephen."
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 His eyes are fixed on unseen glades, peering back 
 Into the woods. They see nothing nothing out- 
 ward. But had any seen his face they might have 
 known that a great resolve was forming. Still he 
 gazes, still absorbed in some thought that had evi- 
 dently gripped his soul. 
 
 The girl ^feels the silence and nestles closer, as if 
 .she would provoke some response to her plaintive 
 words. His resolve is taken ; for his arms tighten 
 about her, and his face is bended low. 
 
 " Hattie, my darling you know I love you, don't 
 you ? God knows it ; knows my soul is yours and 
 His. And Hattie Hattie, it's to be till death, isn't 
 it, my darling ? " 
 
 The fluttering heart made answer. 
 
 " Then, Hattie, there's something I'm going to say 
 I say it before God and you and you shan't deny 
 me." Then he takes her anew into his arms, his lips 
 to her very ear, whispering slowly. She listens, 
 breathless. Trembling, she trembles closer. " Oh, 
 Stephen, don't," she falters, " don't oh, Stephen." 
 
 Whereat he insists afresh ; and renews his quest 
 with redoubled power and insistence. 
 
 The ill-matched struggle is soon over. " Stephen, 
 my darling oh, Stephen," she is sobbing fast 
 " don't force me let it be my will my wish. And 
 it is, Stephen I think it is. I will yes I will. 
 You really think God wants us to ? Oh, yes, I will 
 I will only let it be all over quick," she cried, the 
 tears flowing hot as she clung to him for some un- 
 known protection.
 
 PURSUING The PRECIOUS PEARL 239 
 
 Whereat he kissed her again and again, calling her 
 tender names, and soothing her as though she had 
 been wounded by some unseen shaft. 
 
 " You'll never be sorry, Hattie no, please God, 
 you'll never be sorry," he whispered as he caressed 
 her ; " come, let us be going the sun is sinking." 
 
 Together they started on through the angle of the 
 woods to where the hamlet could be seen in the 
 distance. 
 
 She waited in the churchyard while Stephen was 
 gone, her mind numb with a sort of singing joy. He 
 soon came back, the necessary errand over the 
 necessary warrant in his hand. 
 
 The aged minister, in his flowing gown, led the 
 way into the ancient church, his gentle wife and their 
 one faithful servant following in the rear. And as 
 the trembling hands were laid upon their heads in 
 blessing, committing these unknown to one another 
 and to God, the unbidden sun stole in and closed his 
 far flung labours of the day, kissing into beauty the 
 glistening drops that spoke the bridal joy. 
 
 " Stephen," she asked as they were walking slowly 
 back, and he could scarcely hear the words ; " are 
 you still going away ? " 
 
 " Yes, my darling," he replied with desperate 
 promptness for his mind had not been unbusied with 
 the thought. 
 
 " Away from me ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling I must go. Don't make it harder, 
 dear."
 
 240 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 A long pause followed. 
 
 " I shan't make it harder, Stephen." Then silence 
 once more. 
 
 Soon the voice spoke again, trembling pain- 
 fully. 
 
 " Stephen, are you going to take me with you ? " 
 
 In answer he poured his love and devotion at her 
 feet. All he said is not for us to know ; but all the 
 impossibility and unwisdom of it was laid bare, 
 the brave heart bearing it as best she could. 
 
 " Stephen, I'm your wife am I not, Stephen 
 anyhow always ? " 
 
 " My darling, my own," he murmured ; " and it 
 will not be long. And I'll tell them all tell them 
 all about you, and how I love you. And I'll soon 
 come back for you or send for you. But they 
 wouldn't understand now, as I explained to you 
 they're such sensitive people." 
 
 " I'll try to be bravs and strong. But you must 
 pray for me, Stephen you must help me, for you're 
 stronger than I am. And I'll always pray for you, 
 my my husband," she said, smiling sweetly up to 
 his bending face. 
 
 " Yes, my darling, I know you will and you'll go 
 on with your work, Hattie ; and I'll go on with mine. 
 And soon we'll begin our work together never, 
 never to part again, my dearest," he assured her, his 
 whole soul in the words. 
 
 " Hattie, I'm going to tell you something," he sud- 
 denly resumed " something I've always been afraid 
 of but it's all past now."
 
 PURSUING 'The PRECIOUS PEARL 241 
 
 " What ? " she asked hastily, herself alarmed ; 
 " what was it, Stephen anything about us two ? " 
 
 " No, my darling I'll tell you. I ought to tell 
 you anyhow. You know, Hattie, I've not always 
 been good." 
 
 " I don't believe it," she protested ; " all good 
 people say that." 
 
 " No, I'm serious, Hattie listen to me. I've been 
 far from good. I can't tell you how and I was al- 
 ways afraid God would punish me by teaching me to 
 love, and then letting me see I couldn't I couldn't 
 have the one I loved. And I was almost sure of it 
 when I thought I had lost you, my darling. But it's 
 all past now I never believed in the love of God as 
 I do now. I see He has forgiven me everything ; 
 what I feared is all past and gone and my life's hap- 
 piness is sure now, my darling." 
 
 " Yes, God is good," Hattie murmured happily ; 
 " nobody really knows it but me." 
 
 " And me, Hattie and me ! Yes, the cloud's all 
 gone now and I'll try to forget like God has for- 
 gotten ; " and his face shone with the peace he 
 thought was his forever. 
 
 For Stephen had forgotten that there are full twelve 
 hours in God's unhasting day.
 
 XIX 
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 
 
 O, it's not so beautiful perhaps but it's 
 their own." 
 
 The speaker, who was none other than 
 Stephen Wishart, felt a thrill of gladness such as the 
 stately homes, and the mighty oaks, and the rolling 
 hillsides of old England, had never started in his 
 heart by their beauty. 
 
 Past many a humble farmhouse, beautiful in its 
 contentment ; past many a whistling toiler, following 
 his horses on their homeward way ; past many a low- 
 ing herd with their faces seriously set toward home ; 
 past slowly darkening woods ; and over many an un- 
 resting stream, donning more sober garments for the 
 long journey of the night, the train bore him 
 quickly on. 
 
 " Aye, ye're richt there," replied the man in the 
 seat beside him, Richard Reynoldson by name ; 
 " aye, castles is graun i' their way, nae doot but I'd 
 raither hae a bit hoose I cud call my ain, as a castle 
 whaur I was little better as a slave. Yon man owns 
 his land an' yon man an' that's the widow Broon's. 
 She sent twa o' her sons to the college an' she was 
 a milkin' maid i' Scotland. It'll no' be lang noo till 
 ye can see yir faither's farm." 
 
 242
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 243 
 
 " I'll be right glad to see it again," said Stephen, 
 gazing far ahead out of the window ; " how's every- 
 thing going with them ? " 
 
 " Oh, graun fair graun. Did ye no' hear o' their 
 guid fortune ? " 
 
 No what ? Have they struck anything particu- 
 larly good ? " Stephen asked eagerly. 
 
 " I should say they hae. They've been findin' ile 
 near the village an' they're borin' for ile on yir 
 faither's farm. An' there's nae doot they'll find it 
 It's mair nor likely they hae it already." 
 
 " You don't mean to say so," Stephen cried ; 
 " isn't that splendid ? " 
 
 " That's no' a' timber's gone till a fearsome 
 price. An' yir faither, ye ken, aye keepit that bush 
 o' his he was aye a far seein' man, yir faither. An' 
 it's the best o' pine, as ye ken. Weel, a Syndicate's 
 been after it; an' they've offert him thoosands 
 thoosands mind, I'm tellin' ye for his bush. An' 
 he'll get mair yet. So he'll strike ile, the yin way or 
 the ither." 
 
 The conversation flowed on in various channels, 
 Stephen enquiring for sundry neighbours and ac- 
 quaintances of the old days. 
 
 " Aye, maistly a' the countryside's been weel, 
 thank God. It's a guid wholesome land to live in 
 the saddest thing was aboot the Burnetts ye ken 
 aboot them, nae doot." 
 
 Stephen started, turning toward the man with 
 more eagerness than he himself was aware of. 
 
 " No, what ? I've heard nothing, Mr. Reynold-
 
 244 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 son. Tell me quick, please nothing about about 
 Miss Burnett, is it ? " his face noticeably pale. 
 
 " Na, na, she's a' richt only sair pit aboot, as ye 
 micht expect. An' she's had to pit her mairrage aff, 
 nae doot. Ye ken aboot her an' Reuben, of 
 course ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes but what's she sore put about for ? 
 You haven't told me." 
 
 " Her faither went till his rest less than a month 
 past. I daurna say where he went for certain, nae 
 doot for that's wi' God. But I'm hopin' he had 
 dyin' grace, they say. I thocht ye kent it; they 
 wrote till ye." 
 
 " Yes," Stephen interrupted, his features showing 
 his agitation ; " but I sailed two weeks ago or so, and 
 the letter wouldn't be there by that time. How are 
 Bessie and her mother ? " 
 
 " Bessie's weel. An' her mither's better far, I'm 
 hopin' but it's no' for me to say," the man replied 
 gravely. 
 
 " Better far ! What do you mean ? You don't 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Aye, that's what I'm meanin', Stephen. She 
 wasna lang ahint him a week or thereaboots. It 
 was the will o' God and bad watter frae the well ; 
 ower close to the stable, they say. That was what 
 ailed them baith they drank frae the same well for 
 forty year. An' she had dyin' grace, they tell me 
 yon was a deeper spring they aye drank frae 
 thegither. I was a pall-bearer," he added, a touch 
 of pride in his voice ; " an' that maks thirty-five
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 245 
 
 that's yin guid turn as never gets anither." And the 
 strong Scotch face looked mournfully out upon the 
 fields, pursuing the sombre calculation. 
 
 " And Bessie where's Bessie now ? " his com- 
 panion urged ; " is she at the old farmhouse yet ? " 
 
 " Aye, that's where she is. The hoosekeeper's 
 wi' her the same kind o' body they hae at yir 
 faither's hoose. Mr. Shearer says she's bein' wun- 
 nerfu' upborne by the consolations o' the Gos- 
 pel." 
 
 " Those will never fail," said Stephen, minister- 
 elect of the Covenant Church. 
 
 " And she has ither consolations, forbye she disna 
 mourn like them as has no hope nor naethin' else 
 but hope. She gets the whole o't." And the good 
 man's face shows how unbounded is his confidence 
 in both these kinds of comfort; "she gets the farm 
 twa hunnert acres, maistly cleared; an' a guid 
 pickle o' money forbye. Bessie's got naethin' to 
 grieve aboot exceptin' her faither an" mither, of 
 course," he added, bent on accuracy. 
 
 A long silence ensued. " They'll be glad to see 
 ye hame again," his friend renewed. " We a' kenned 
 when ye was comin' that's why I was on the watch 
 for ye when I got on. A' the neebours kens they 
 ken the vera train. We're hopin' ye'll be preachin* 
 for us i' the kirk. Mr. Shearer'll be askin' ye, nae 
 doot." 
 
 " How is Mr. Shearer ? " Stephen enquired quickly, 
 for the last suggestion was lost on him. He was 
 thinking of something else of a fair and lovely face
 
 246 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 that seemed to pass before him now in the new-born 
 comeliness of grief. 
 
 " Mr. Shearer oh, he's fine. He wears graun. 
 He's been giein' us the old gospel wi' new power 
 an' the kirk's mair crowded as it was years syne. 
 The folk soon ken where there's a spring there'll 
 aye be a well worn path till a spring, Stephen. But 
 there's mony a bonny bowl that's dry as a whustle 
 when ye come thirstin' for a drink, ye ken." 
 
 " That's true," replied Stephen ; " do you have the 
 same old service you always had ? " he pursued. 
 
 " Aye, juist the same what for no' ? A spring 
 doesna change not if it's God's, onyway. Mr. 
 Shearer's nane o' yir changin' kind. What div ye 
 think some o' the new fangled folk was wantin' ? 
 The session settled them fine." 
 
 " I really couldn't imagine," said Stephen ; " what 
 was it, Mr. Reynoldson ? " 
 
 " They was for puttin' oot the auld hoods wi 1 the 
 lang stick at the end, that we tak up the collection 
 wi'. Ye'll mind them fine. They was wantin' 
 plates, siller plates, puir bodies. Siller plates ! Clat- 
 terin' wi' noise like hens pickin' aff a barn floor. 
 An' after we've had the ither for fifty year, mind 
 ye. An' wi' the plates, onybody can see what ye're 
 giein'. 'Twad be takin' their thochts awa' frae 
 the sermon. Naebody can tell what ye gie, wi' the 
 hoods. Yir left hand doesna ken what yir richt 
 hand's daein' an' that suits the Scotch folk fine. 
 Onyway, the session settled them." 
 
 They were now upon ground well known to them
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 247 
 
 both, recognizing every farmhouse as they passed. 
 Stephen's communicative friend was engaged with 
 a new-noticed acquaintance across the aisle, giving 
 forth his soul freely as before. 
 
 Of which Stephen was sincerely glad ; for with the 
 old familiar scenes there came echoes of the old fa- 
 miliar struggle in his heart. Rising, he takes his 
 place by a window on the other side of the car the 
 side on which he had sat when last he looked upon 
 these spreading acres. (Was it not poor Pliable, ac- 
 cording to Bunyan's master pen, who clambered out 
 of the slough " on the side nearest to his own 
 house " ?) 
 
 A strange unrest he felt, touched with something 
 that he thought was past forever. Great joy, great 
 love, great purpose all these he thought had joined 
 to strike it dead. And a sort of stern anguish came 
 over him as he felt the old struggle begin anew. 
 
 His face is pressed close against the window, while 
 the plunging train bounds on as if conscious of the 
 nearing goal. The far-spreading arms of a fence 
 that had been built of stumps, the first production of 
 the soil, breaks upon him. Giant roots, that strong 
 arms had torn from their hiding place, tangled in fan- 
 tastic fashion, spread hither and thither in pictur- 
 esque abundance. Nothing like this has he seen 
 since he went this way before. Then his soul catches 
 the fragrance of the thorn for he remembers he 
 remembers how he had mechanically noted this 
 same rude fence while his heart was still riotous with 
 the vanished picture. The blossoming thorn and the
 
 248 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 lifeless roots had lingered in his mind together. And 
 his eyes leap onward with the leaping train. 
 
 It is but a moment. Its foliage swims into his 
 view, gilded with the dying sun ; and a sensation of 
 dizziness seizes him as he beholds for he had not 
 hoped for it he would have prayed against it 
 beholds a maiden's form again beneath the tree. And 
 the tall figure is robed in black ; but he would know 
 it anywhere for the flowing tresses have no thought 
 of mourning, while the white hand that seeks to re- 
 strain their merriment, and the other that gently 
 waves a snow-white signal toward the train, tell the 
 trembling Stephen that there are certain things 
 against which death and grief are powerless. 
 
 Whereupon he clutches at the memory of Hattie. 
 And his love for his wife springs like a fountain in 
 his heart but the enemy's face, he marvels, does not 
 disappear. " I was here first," it seemed to mutter sul- 
 lenly ; and it called to its aid a score of loyal henchmen, 
 some bearing the livery of Memory, and some the in- 
 signia of Imagination till Stephen's chaster thought 
 lay among them all like that sacred tomb among the 
 Saracens of old. 
 
 " Oh, God, let my deliverance draw nigh," he cries 
 within him. Then he looks swiftly back and catches 
 but one swift glimpse of fluttering black then prays 
 again. " I must be quick about getting to my life- 
 work," he murmurs to himself ; " and then I'll have 
 peace at last." 
 
 Reuben's beaming face is the first he sees when he
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 249 
 
 alights at the station. The towering form seems 
 taller and straighter than ever. And the honest eyes 
 that look out at him are rilled with an honest joy that 
 had never been there before. 
 
 The hearty greeting is soon over and the brothers 
 driving homeward. " Isn't this a new carriage, 
 Reuben ? " 
 
 " Yes, just bought it yesterday we've struck oil, 
 Steve," and Reuben's face was jubilant. 
 
 " Have you really ? You thought I didn't know 
 but Mr. Reynoldson was on the train and he told me 
 about it ; only he didn't know if you had actually got 
 it. Tell me about it, Rube." And Stephen nestled 
 back in the luxurious first-fruits. 
 
 Nothing loath, Reuben entered on the wondrous 
 story, pointing to the numerous tripods that could be 
 seen in the distance. 
 
 " And we've been offered sixty thousand, Steve 
 sixty thousand dollars so that ought to mean a hun- 
 dred, when they offered sixty. And when these tires 
 get worn out we can get more," viewing the costly 
 upholstery with smiling satisfaction. 
 
 Their talk flowed on. " Everything's happy, 
 Steve," said Reuben. " I don't know anything in my 
 life I want that I haven't got. Except mother and 
 we've still got her ; she's more with me, anyhow, than 
 she ever was and more to me, too and I know 
 she's happy. And I'm just waiting for one thing, 
 Steve you know what that is," he added, a slight 
 colour showing through the tan. " Of course we 
 have to wait a while now. I don't see why I don't
 
 250 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 want to but Bessie insists on it. What do you 
 think yourself, Steve ? Do you think that's any rea- 
 son I mean about Bessie's father and mother why 
 we shouldn't get married ? " 
 
 " I don't know how could I know ? " Stephen an- 
 swered. Then, after a long silence : " But since 
 you've asked me, I think you ought not to wait 
 decidedly." 
 
 " I don't see why we should, either. You talk to 
 Bessie Bessie's coming over to-night. There'll just 
 be ourselves, all together see, there's father at the 
 gate." 
 
 Suddenly the gate is thrown wide, and the old 
 man strides forth more bent, more snowy, than 
 before. But the spring of youth is in his step. 
 
 His arms are about his son. "Welcome hame, 
 my laddie," he cries, " welcome back to yir faither's 
 hoose. Ye're lookin' brawly. Ye're mair an' mair 
 like yir mither, my laddie. Come ben the hoose; 
 come ben it's no been like itsel' sin ye went a\va'. 
 Ye've been in mony a graun hoose, nae doot but 
 there's nae place like hame." 
 
 Something like peace stole about his embattled 
 heart as the returning wanderer saw again the severe 
 and simple surroundings of the humble house. He 
 threw himself upon the couch, looking about the 
 room, unchanged since he had left. 
 
 " Aye, she's tickin' awa'," his father said as 
 Stephen's gaze fell upon the clock ; " she's a trusty 
 yin. I haena heard her ring sae blithesome sin that 
 nicht she stoppit," and a shade of sadness fell on the
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 25 r 
 
 strong features as he glanced quickly toward the little 
 room. " An' ilka time she chimes the hour, I say 
 ' I'm comin' ; aye, I'm comin', mither ' an' I dinna 
 doot she hears. An auld man like me has nae friend 
 like the clock." 
 
 " Don't talk that way, father," pleaded Stephen ; 
 " I hope you'll have long years with us yet." 
 
 " It's a' richt, Stephen. I'm no' complainin'. I 
 hae treasure baith here an' yonner but maistly 
 yonner. An' yir ain hame-comin' the nicht maks 
 me think o' the meetin' i' the better land it'll be fair 
 rapture, my laddie." 
 
 Then Stephen introduced the subject of the rich 
 fortune their land had so suddenly disclosed ; but he 
 found his father's pleasure chastened and subdued. 
 
 " It cam ower late," the old man said ; " it's ower 
 late. She should hae had a holiday. An' to think 
 the ile was there a' the time. But she's restin' noo," 
 he concluded, deep peace upon his face. 
 
 This was followed by a long stillness, broken at 
 last by his father's voice : 
 
 " Let's gang oot there's somebody at the gate. 
 It'll be Bessie ; she was comin' ower." 
 
 Bessie and Reuben were approaching; and the 
 girl's greeting was full of shy embarrassment as she 
 laid her hand in his. 
 
 His earnest words of consolation were fast followed 
 by faltering words of congratulation but they were 
 interrupted. " Which train did you come in on ? " 
 she asked. He gave some stammering answer, won- 
 dering the while ; but Reuben cried :
 
 252 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Why, Bessie, what a strange question I told you 
 only this morning the train Steve was coming on. 
 Besides, there isn't any other." 
 
 Little of speech passed between them as they sat 
 together. But Stephen was inwardly aware that the 
 girl's eyes were never withdrawn from his face. The 
 lamp is lighted presently for the darkness has crept 
 about them and Stephen starts as their eyes meet 
 at last 
 
 For Bessie looks older so much older and the 
 sweetness of her bloom seems to be touched with 
 something that was not there before, as though she 
 had struggled and not prevailed. 
 
 And as he looks once and again, and swiftly, into 
 her eyes, he feels how different is the message from 
 that which other, purer depths had given back. But 
 yet and herein was the bitterness of it, each, com- 
 ing, found something in him, and both in turn had 
 fleeting place as the ruling motive of his soul. 
 
 " Where is Hiram now ? " he asked his father ab- 
 ruptly, glad of the digression. " Reuben told me 
 about his coming into money." 
 
 " Hiram ! Ye may weel ask," his father answered 
 smiling ; " he's far above the likes o' us. Aboot this 
 time, Hiram'll be puttin' on yin o' thae coats wi' 
 the turkey-gobbler tails like the singers i' the city 
 kirks. Or mebbe he'll be tellin' the butler to open 
 anither crock o' champagne. Or it's mair nor likely 
 he'll be tellin' his gairdner to fling a palm ower the 
 fence an' get a new yin. Or he'll mebbe be bid- 
 din' his footman shove his gairter unner his trowser
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 253 
 
 knees. But I'll tell ye what he's likeliest to be 
 daein'." 
 
 " What will it be, father ? " Stephen asked laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " He'll be pickin' oot two or three bonny bit sins 
 to confess till the priest He's a Catholic noo, ye 
 ken Hiram gained the whole world an' lost his ain 
 soul 'twas a sair trade for Hiram," and the old man 
 shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " Well," Reuben said suddenly, " I don't know what 
 Hiram's doing now but I know what I'll have to be 
 doing, I'm sorry to say. I promised to meet a man 
 from Cleveland at the village to-night and I'm 
 afraid I'll have to be going. Hope you'll excuse me 
 for a little, Stephen." 
 
 " By all means, Rube certainly. I'm glad busi- 
 ness is so pressing. I suppose it's about the oil," 
 Stephen assented eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, it's about selling him a well. I won't be 
 long, Bessie not long at all ; I'll be back in lots of 
 time to walk home with you. You just chat away 
 till I get back." 
 
 Reuben is gone. Deep silence fells. Stephen's 
 eyes rest on her who had been almost forgotten till 
 this very day ; his thought is still beyond the sea. 
 
 Yet, as in many another dwelling-place, the secret 
 guest chamber of the soul may harbour to-night the 
 prophet of the living God ; and the succeeding night 
 some leprous face of sin will rest upon the selfsame 
 pillow. Thus came and went, in silent alternation, 
 the shadowy guests that had so often found their rest
 
 254 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 in Stephen's unhappy and impartial heart. He 
 thought of the face so far away, rosy now with the 
 kiss of slumber, smiling mayhap with the dream of 
 a loyal heart beyond the wave. Then he thought of 
 the face that was so near, its fevered light still leap- 
 ing out to his ; and Stephen's heart was now an am- 
 brosial arbour, now a jungle lair, each tenant trans- 
 forming it to its taste. 
 
 A quick resolve seizes him, ally to the absent one ; 
 and he turns toward his father, introducing some 
 topic of neutral interest. The conversation glides 
 pleasantly along, the girl having no share in it ; but 
 the old man feels that something, he knows not 
 what, but in which he had no part, has passed away ; 
 and he gives himself up to the exercise he loves so 
 well. 
 
 Not more than a few minutes have been so 
 employed when Bessie rises, beginning to adjust her 
 cloak. 
 
 " What's the maitter, Bessie ? Ye're no' gaein' ? " 
 
 " Yes," the girl answered in a husky voice ; " I 
 must attend to one or two things at home and I'll 
 have to go I can find my way alone," she added, 
 her eyes making their way again to Stephen's face. 
 
 The father remonstrated : " Reuben '11 be disap- 
 pointed he'll no' be lang, Bessie " but in vain ; a 
 quick word of farewell, and Bessie was gone, the door 
 left open behind her as the dark robed figure vanished 
 in the night. 
 
 A moment and Stephen's heart has resolved 
 again. He knew the motive that prompted her im-
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 255 
 
 pulsive action and he had resolved to remain with 
 his father. But the vision of the dark way gleamed 
 before him ; he persuades himself that the road is too 
 lonely for her to go unattended he wouldn't have 
 had Hattie go this way alone. 
 
 No, it is not right that she should go alone this is 
 Stephen's final warrant, holding fast to which he 
 flings a word of hasty explanation to his father and 
 hurries out exultant into the dark. 
 
 He will have to make haste, he fancies, if he would 
 overtake her for her step is fleet. But pressing on, 
 he has not got farther than the stile that leads from 
 the field to the familiar wood when he sees the move- 
 ment of a dress, not easily to be distinguished from 
 the surrounding gloom. 
 
 He is beside her in a moment. 
 
 " I knew you'd come, Steve I was waiting for 
 you," she said gently as she rose from the step on 
 which she had been sitting ; " help me down, Steve 
 it's dark." 
 
 Dark indeed it was as Stephen sprung to the other 
 side of the fence, turning to see the hand outstretched 
 to him. 
 
 He took her hand in his, soft and trustful as it 
 rested there, the girl standing on the second step 
 nearest to himself. 
 
 " Help me down, Stephen," she murmured, " it's so 
 dark ; " whereat he reached forth his arms, his hands 
 supporting her elbows, hers groping their way to his 
 shoulders. 
 
 The old thirst came back, as the traveller's thirst is
 
 256 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 started by the deadly winds of the desert. But his 
 promise to another and to God called loudly to him 
 to endure. 
 
 He helped her gently to the ground, as gently 
 withdrawing his hands and turning from the wood. 
 
 " Let us go round," he said ; " it's too dark to go 
 through." 
 
 " You've forgotten the path," she faltered ; " I 
 know it yet." Nevertheless she turned with him, and 
 they made their way along the edge of the bush, 
 silent as they went. Once he took her hand, to help 
 her over a murmuring stream that coaxed the cling- 
 ing grasses to let it go its way but he released it in 
 a moment. 
 
 Involuntarily he quickens his pace, though he 
 knows not why ; a broken prayer for strength mingles 
 with a blurred vision of the memory he prays may 
 be forgiven but the vision outlives the prayer. 
 
 He hurries on they will soon be past. And he 
 who has no wax to dullen inward ears to the siren's 
 voice must outrun death himself. 
 
 " Stephen, don't hurry so I'm tired." 
 
 " What, Bessie ? " 
 
 " Don't go so fast, Stephen. I'm tired I want to 
 rest let us sit down a minute. 
 
 " Here let us sit down here ; " and they took their 
 places on the little pile of wood, still undisturbed since 
 last they had rested there. And the wild free breath 
 of the forest bade them welcome as before. 
 
 Suddenly she moved, Stephen trembling as he felt 
 her coming nearer. " Oh, Steve," she murmured,
 
 OLD SCENES and OLD STRUGGLES 257 
 
 " I've been here often since often in the darkness. 
 I'm all alone " and she pressed nearer, following the 
 direction of the heart whose tumult could be felt. 
 "Oh, Steve " 
 
 The vision of Hattie and the holiness of another 
 hour swam far away, retreating and indistinct, cry- 
 ing out that it had never been. 
 
 He hears the roar of the soul-destroying cataract 
 toward which these silent waters are swiftly bearing 
 him ; and his heart, seized by a mighty impulse, turns 
 desperately toward the shore. It may have been the 
 withered prayers with which his life's pathway had 
 been strewn ; or it may have been the ministry of 
 mouldering lips that lay silent on the adjoining hill ; 
 or it may have been the sheer pity of his father's God 
 but he gained the shore, the sullen voice of the tor- 
 rent dying in the distance. 
 
 " Go, go, Bessie," he whispered hoarsely ; " and 
 God pity and help us both go I'm going home," 
 and he turned in the direction farthest from the tor- 
 rent's roar, nor looked ever back. Onward, he 
 pressed swiftly homeward a great belief in God 
 surging in his souL
 
 XX 
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 
 
 WHAT the outcome of his silence on the 
 subject of his secret marriage might yet 
 prove to be, Stephen Wishart could not 
 well surmise. 
 
 It was the morning after his ordination to the care 
 of the Church of the Covenant, and the varied scenes 
 of the great occasion were flitting before his mind as 
 he sat in the comfortably furnished room, one of a 
 suite that were now to be his home. 
 
 One scene there was to which his mind reverted 
 more often, and more gloomily, than to any other. 
 It had had its place at the social gathering of the con- 
 gregation, convened to bid him welcome, after the 
 solemn ceremony that preceded it had found its close. 
 
 There were, of course, varied speeches by varied 
 speakers. And the inevitably facetious man had 
 been in evidence, a brother minister from an outlying 
 town. 
 
 " And now," this facetious one had said, " I want 
 to ask you all, my friends, to be in your pews here 
 every Sabbath day. I know of nothing so discour- 
 aging as to look down from the pulpit into a lot of 
 vacant faces that is, I mean," he amended, " as to 
 look down and see a lot of absent faces that are not 
 there." 
 
 258
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 259 
 
 This poor repair produced a fresh stream of mirth, 
 and the good man, cheered therewith, went cheerily 
 on his way : " And there's another thing I want to 
 say. By and by your minister will find it isn't good 
 for man to be alone and he'll be looking around for 
 a helpmeet, making a choice among these beautiful 
 faces that I see in the choir and in the congregation 
 before me. And when he makes his choice, and 
 you're going to have a minister's wife. . . ." 
 
 Thus ran his speech, and Stephen sat through 
 it all and after and in silence, his burning face in- 
 terpreted by his people as a pledge of youthful 
 modesty. 
 
 Ah me! the peril of the unspoken word. For 
 speech itself is easier of recall, and poor awkward 
 hands may repair it not so ill. But silence ebbs with 
 an eternal speed, and no human tongue is fleet 
 enough to overtake the fugitive. 
 
 To the dear ones of his father's house, Stephen 
 had never written the tidings of his marriage he had 
 purposed the rather to tell them when he saw them 
 face to face. Face to face at length, he resolved to 
 wait till Bessie should be absent. Bessie in due time 
 gone, he had awaited a more convenient season, till 
 the very barrier existed that now confronted him in 
 relation to his church. 
 
 For he had been silent after the facetious man had 
 made an end, resolving swiftly that not to this public 
 crowd, but to the officers of his church, would he 
 make the first avowal. But this is the grim thought 
 that reflection brings him : how will he explain to
 
 260 'THE UNDERTOW 
 
 those same officers the silence that his later avowal 
 is to break, the silence that should have never been 
 necessary from the first ? 
 
 He can see no alternative but more silence ; for 
 a time, at least. 
 
 His perplexed and perplexing thought was sud- 
 denly interrupted by the intimation of a visitor, and 
 the name was about as little welcome as any Stephen 
 could have heard. 
 
 For his caller was none other than Mr. Hiram 
 Barker ; whom Stephen met at the door, greeting 
 him with all the cordiality and unconcern he could 
 command. 
 
 " Why, Hiram, is this you and looking so well. 
 It's a long time since I had a sight of you, isn't it ? 
 Although I had an idea I caught a glimpse of you 
 last night." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I was there last night, Mr. Wishart 
 never do to call you Steve, now that you're the min- 
 ister of the Covenant Church. I was there, all right ; 
 wouldn't have missed it for anything. Of course, I 
 suppose you know I've changed my religion. I've 
 flitted, so to speak wasn't much of a contract did 
 it all with a wheelbarrow," and Hiram Barker's hand- 
 some face ^was wreathed in gracious smiles. " But 
 I'm not above going to a Protestant meeting I'm no 
 bigot, you know. I'm like you in this, Mr. Wishart, 
 that I don't believe in taking religion too seriously. 
 Good servant, but a poor master, eh ? " 
 
 Stephen winced under the man's suggestive words. 
 " I'm glad you were there, Hiram it was good of
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 261 
 
 you to come. Yes, I did hear you had joined the 
 Catholic Church ; but if a man's sincere if a man's 
 sincere, I say it doesn't matter much to what church 
 he belongs. I hope you enjoyed the service last 
 night." 
 
 " Oh, immensely," Hiram answered blithely. " I 
 never saw a man set apart to the service of God be- 
 fore it was wonderfully solemn" he continued in 
 graver tone ; " but that was a knock-out question 
 they put to you, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Which one ? " Stephen asked ; " there were so 
 many." 
 
 " That there were ; most of them were run off like 
 an examination for insurance. But there was one 
 rum one about a fellow's motive in entering the 
 ministry ' love of souls, and zeal for the glory of 
 God ' something like that, they asked, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes," Stephen responded, " it certainly is a very 
 searching question and " 
 
 " But it did me good to hear you answer it. You 
 see, I wasn't sure before ; it was lovely to have it 
 from your own lips especially when you were being 
 settled over such a gilt-edged congregation. It's the 
 silk-hattest and kid-glovest congregation in the city 
 and you'll see more of them in the boxes at the 
 horse show than all the other churches put together. 
 The salary they pay would make most men have any 
 quantity of zeal for the glory of God," he concluded, 
 the bland smile upon his face again. 
 
 " What's your minister's name ? " Stephen asked 
 abruptly " your priest's, I should say ? "
 
 262 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Oh, I go to Saint Anne's O'Rourke's his name, 
 Father O'Rourke and he's a jewel, a perfect jewel 
 lots of love for souls and zeal for glory lots of it. 
 He's a damned good Christian excuse me, that's 
 mixing terms but he's good as gold ; and the best 
 preacher in Hamilton, bar none." 
 
 " I'd like to hear him," Stephen said, moving in 
 his seat. 
 
 " You just ought to hear him he often preaches 
 Friday nights and you could go then. He'd be the 
 very man for you ; he's great on the past always 
 dusting up the past ; that's his specialty and you 
 ought to have a treatment." Hiram's eyes were 
 giving forth a glint that tortured Stephen. 
 
 " Look here, Hiram," he began in a shaking voice, 
 " what's the use of this ? Is that what you came to 
 see me about? Isn't it about time we gave this 
 over ? I've nothing against you, Hiram." 
 
 The latter looked at him for a moment, and it was 
 difficult to say whether more of cruelty or of pity 
 was in the glance. But the keenest eye could not 
 have read his heart as he suddenly laid his hand on 
 Stephen's shoulder, his voice so changed from a mo- 
 ment before. 
 
 " All right, Steve, I won't plague you I won't. 
 You've got enough ; and I wouldn't add a straw, after 
 I heard those vows of yours last night not a straw ; 
 you've got enough. I'd rather help you play the 
 game blind man's buff, isn't it, eh? If I can help 
 you keep them from pulling the thing off, I'll do it. 
 What's more, I'll tell you what brought me here
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 263 
 
 to-day. I came to do you a good turn I did, 
 honest." 
 
 Stephen's face turned toward the man beside him. 
 
 " Thank you, Hiram, I knew your heart was right. 
 I knew you wished me well what was it you were 
 going to do for me ? I know you can be a great 
 help to me." 
 
 Hiram smiled. " Well, I'll tell you," he began, 
 " it's a good thing to have two strings to your bow. 
 Isn't there something like that in the Scriptures, 
 something about mammon and everlasting habita- 
 tions ? Our church isn't much on the Bible, you 
 know. Well, I'm speaking plain. You've got a 
 cursed rich congregation here ; and if you're going 
 to keep pace with them, you've got to have the 
 wherewithal. Anyhow, you might find it handy 
 some day you can never tell what might happen. 
 Do you see ? " 
 
 " Well, not exactly," Stephen said slowly ; " do you 
 mean money ? " 
 
 " Precisely, Mr. Wishart the very thing. I 
 wouldn't have thought, after last night, you would 
 have thought of it so quick. But you're quite right 
 you can't cash those love and glory things at the 
 bank, can you ? Well, I can put you next, as the 
 saying is. I know some stocks that are going up 
 twenty to forty points inside a month ; and you might 
 just as well have a slice of a good thing when it's 
 going. It doesn't take much to buy on margin. 
 See now, Steve ? " 
 
 " I think I do," Stephen answered quickly, " and I
 
 264 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 certainly appreciate your kindness. But I wonder if 
 it's right becoming a minister, you know. Wouldn't 
 the people be likely to hear about it ? And anyhow, 
 I haven't got the money you know what I got from 
 father ; and of course it's all gone." 
 
 " Don't bother about that I'll lend you the money. 
 You know the Bible says you're not to take to the 
 woods when a fellow wants a loan ; the modern ver- 
 sion is for the fellow that borrowed it to turn away 
 when you want it back. But I'll trust you, Steve 
 you can have any quantity, after those vows last 
 night; love and zeal ought to make good collateral, 
 I should say. And you may as well make a little ; 
 you'll be getting married some of these days and then 
 you'll need it." 
 
 Stephen felt the hot blood bathing his face, for the 
 unhappy secret was already beginning to fester in his 
 heart. 
 
 " All right, Hiram ; thank you more than I can 
 tell you. I'll think about it and I think I'll proba- 
 bly accept your offer. A fellow can do a lot of good 
 with money. I'll let you know to-morrow." 
 
 " Very good, I'll drop round and see you to-mor- 
 row evening. I'm glad we understand each other 
 better the past isn't easily forgotten, is it ? " the old 
 expression on his countenance as he held out his 
 hand. " And oh, before I forget, Father O'Rourke 
 told me to tell you he wants to call on you ; he said 
 he'd come on Saturday night if it's convenient for 
 you. You'll find him a jewel, as I said ; and I make 
 the prediction that you and he will be great cronies
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 265 
 
 you see if I'm not right. Good-bye till to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Good-night, Hiram. I'll be glad to see the father 
 Saturday night will suit all right. Good-night, and 
 thank you again." 
 
 When Saturday evening came, Stephen was seated 
 in his study, glad to escape from the fellow-boarders 
 who seemed desirous of closer acquaintance with so 
 conspicuous a figure in the city's life. 
 
 It was still early ; and he turned toward the care- 
 fully written sermon before him, already well re- 
 hearsed, whose delivery on the morrow was to mark 
 the beginning of his ministry in the Church of the 
 Covenant. 
 
 But he had hardly taken it in his hand when an 
 obsequious voice without announced the advent of 
 the expected visitor, and in a moment Stephen was 
 at the door, his hand outstretched in welcome. 
 
 " Is this Father O'Rourke I have the pleasure of 
 speaking to ? Come away in I was looking for you." 
 
 " That's who I be ; and I'm glad to mate you, Mr. 
 Wishart," replied a rich Irish voice. 
 
 The face of his new acquaintance was full of gen- 
 uine humanity, lit up with an almost boyish smile, 
 while the seriousness of deep spiritual life looked out 
 from the hazel eyes. 
 
 The marks of strife were there, secret and long 
 continued conflict against those principalities and 
 powers which unsheath their keenest swords for 
 worthy foemen, and for them alone.
 
 266 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 And upon his splendid brow the chastened banner 
 of the victorious was visible to all who have learned 
 the secret standards of that holy war. The sym- 
 pathy that shone from his tender eyes betokened him 
 a conqueror ; for they who have struggled and pre- 
 vailed will draw their swords the quickest for the van- 
 quished, and the nail-thrust hand that has endured 
 is ever laid the tenderest upon the sin-wounds of the 
 weak. 
 
 As Stephen looked upon him, as he heard his voice, 
 he felt that he might well deserve the place Hiram 
 had accorded him as the first preacher of his city. 
 For his whole bearing attested him a faithful servant 
 of the Church whose narrowness and ecclesiasticism 
 the largeness of his nature had outgrown. His first 
 indenture was to God. 
 
 And his voice was the voice of eloquence, with all 
 of love and sympathy and insight and power that the 
 great word implies. A strong Irish brogue marked 
 his speech when it voiced its lighter moods ; but, in 
 the glow of sermon and appeal, the whole city had 
 remarked the rich culture of his accent, his words 
 retaining only the delicious suggestion of his native 
 land. 
 
 Stephen led Father O'Rourke to a chair, and the 
 tw< > clergymen were soon engrossed in a conversation 
 that bade fair for the future intimacy of which Hiram 
 felt so sure. The far different Churches and their 
 historic antagonism to which they respectively be- 
 longed, seemed quite forgotten in the mutual pleas- 
 ure that their new-born acquaintance had provided.
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 267 
 
 The latest phases of religious thought ; the drift of 
 political opinion at home and across the sea; the 
 charm and prophecy of the opening life in their own 
 new and wonderful land amid such themes as these 
 their talk flowed on, each more and more convinced 
 that he had found in the other a congenial friend. 
 
 " I must be going," the priest said at length, " I've 
 got to see a man that's dying." 
 
 " Well," Stephen rejoined, " I reckon I'd better get 
 to work myself. I'm just getting in some final strokes 
 on my sermon for to-morrow." 
 
 The priest glanced at the manuscript upon the desk. 
 
 " I find a visit to the dying a fine preparation for a 
 sermon," he said. " It gives it the human touch ; 
 there's nothing in a sermon so fine as a face a face 
 looking out at the audience. I hope you'll have a 
 fine time to-morrow." 
 
 " Thank you," Stephen answered, " I'm just a little 
 nervous over it myself." 
 
 " Och, the mischief," the priest returned, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders ; " niver a bit ye nade to be. 
 You've got a swell lot o' people there but they're 
 only Jerusalem sinners like the rest of us. Wrap 
 the owld flag round ye, my boy, and give it to them 
 straight. But a lot depinds on your first sermon. 
 Don't try to grip them by the brains they're toired o' 
 that. And don't catch them by the poetry part o' 
 them and don't deafen them wid noise. I'm older 
 than you ; and I tell you, catch them by the heart. 
 Every minister of God should be a specialist ; and 
 his specialty should be the heart, always the heart,"
 
 268 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 he concluded, smiling at Stephen in a fatherly sort 
 of way. 
 
 " Thank you ; I'll try it. I believe you're right. 
 You're a priest of the Church of Rome and I'm a 
 minister of the Church of Scotland but I shall look 
 for your help and advice, Father O'Rourke. I feel 
 that you have helped me already." 
 
 " That's all roight I know we'll be frinds, foine 
 frinds," the priest responded heartily ; " there's not 
 such a gulf between us after all. A priest's a min- 
 ister; and a minister's a priest and they're both 
 poor sinful cratures. One word stick to the Cross, 
 my son. Hold you to the Cross. Let the modern 
 thought go to the divil if it stroikes at that. And I 
 hope ye'll be moighty happy here," he went on. 
 " Don't be long wid yere love-makin' ; get a wife to 
 yourself that's an owld priest's advice to ye. Every- 
 thing depinds on the kind you get. Why, yere 
 people are jabberin' away about it already. They've 
 got it all fixed. She's got to be refoined, and intilli- 
 gint, and blue-blooded to the quane's taste and illi- 
 gant for society purposes, togged up to knock the 
 spots aff anything in the city. That's their oidea. 
 But you tell them to go to Old Harry. Get ye the 
 kind ye want get a specialist, a heart-specialist, 
 mind ye." 
 
 He stopped, embarrassed ; for all of Stephen's self 
 control and all his rehearsal of deception, practised 
 at his father's house since his return were unavailing 
 against the torrent of confusion and dismay that 
 poured itself into his face.
 
 HIRAM'S PRIEST 269 
 
 For when he had slipped into the awful policy of 
 silence, he had not allowed for the trembling sense of 
 danger ; for the bitter upbraiding of a heart that still, 
 with all its ebb and flow, clung to his wife with a 
 love that tortured ; for the sickening sensation of 
 a double life, knowing that life a lie. And as he 
 listened to the priest's jaunty words, all of these smote 
 his heart in unison. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Wishart, excuse me please," 
 Father O'Rourke began apologetically. " It's not 
 for me to give advoice about the tinder passion. I 
 moight have known you have it all settled by this 
 toime. And what roight has an owld stag loike me 
 to be pratin' about such matters ? I was niver in 
 love myself but wanst wanst at a toime, that is. 
 I was only chaffin' ye don't think anny more 
 about it." 
 
 Stephen's composure was soon regained. " I don't 
 doubt you're well up in the theory, Father O'Rourke, 
 even if you haven't had the practice," he said, walk- 
 ing with him to the door and bidding him good-night 
 with cordial warmth. 
 
 When his visitor was gone, Stephen returned to 
 his study, his heart hot with its fiery tumult, but his 
 face blanched and pale. 
 
 He sat long, holding his head in his hands, the 
 shadows, unheeded all, closing in about him ; darker 
 shadows seemed groping with cruel hands about his 
 unhappy heart. Where now, he thought to himself, 
 is the unpoisoned happiness which so short a time 
 ago he felt was his forever? Where now, the joy
 
 270 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 and restfulness of love, the shelter built by unseen 
 hands in which their two nestling souls were to find 
 peace at last? Was there to be no end to this 
 strange tangle, this maddening maze of things ? Was 
 God bent on baffling him at every turn ? 
 
 Suddenly, obedient to an inward voice that seemed 
 to blend with the invitation of the dark, he slipped 
 on to his knees and began to pray. But his flounder- 
 ing soul could find no foothold for his flight ; the 
 voice of unreality seemed to mock him with its jeer- 
 ing laugh and in a moment he arose. 
 
 Then he called for a light, and gave himself with 
 desperate earnestness to the mastery of his morning's 
 sermon from the text : " and the truth shall make 
 you free."
 
 XXI 
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 
 
 THE busy months have passed, and Stephen 
 Wishart, minister of the Church of the 
 Covenant, is again seated amid the encir- 
 cling gloom ; again he holds his hands to his head, 
 crouching among the shadows, giving himself up to 
 the sombre thoughts that were now his abiding por- 
 tion. To-morrow is to see him started on the most 
 joyous journey of his life ; not with this, however, is 
 his thought engrossed, but with the weary way that 
 lies behind. Yes, these bygone months have come 
 wearily, and as wearily have gone, since he struck the 
 key-note of his ministry in his first sermon on " the 
 emancipating power of the truth." 
 
 For, to begin with, his first sermon had been a dis- 
 appointment. As an evidence of his great gifts, as a 
 pledge of his commanding eloquence, it had won the 
 applause of all. He had reaffirmed his reverent faith 
 in the Bible as the living word, proclaimed it with 
 the same eloquent originality as had marked his 
 Hyde Park oration this general view he em- 
 phasized. But he had seen fit to further elaborate 
 his theological position, and to acclaim the new light 
 that was banishing the extreme conservatism re- 
 garding the Scriptures. He had paid a generous 
 
 271
 
 272 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 tribute to the fruitfulness of criticism, in begetting a 
 spirit of challenge and research, and had repeated 
 twice that " there lives more faith in honest doubt, 
 believe me, than in half the creeds." 
 
 This opening sermon had been published in one of 
 the city papers under the headline of " The New 
 Theology " ; but, although it enhanced his fame as 
 an orator, it had brought forth little to encourage 
 him. 
 
 All of this had brought him little comfort. There 
 came a letter, too from his father. It told of the 
 continued lucrativeness of the oil wells ; of the 
 further adjournment of Reuben's wedding; of the 
 prosperity of their church under Mr. Shearer ; then 
 there was a postscript which read : 
 
 " I saw a screed i' the paper aboot yir openin' ser- 
 mon. Yon was a grand text ye had." 
 
 Many others, too, of the humble folk around Ste- 
 phen's early home had read eagerly the report of his 
 first discourse. And the next Sabbath day it was 
 gravely discussed by a group of farmers about the 
 door of their little church. 
 
 " I'm no' surprised," said one gray -bearded man, 
 " at the kind o' stuff he gave them. He stole twa o' 
 my watermelons when he was a laddie and I wasna 
 gaein' to say onything aboot it, till I saw yon screed 
 i' the papers." 
 
 " Noo that ye speak o't," contributed another, 
 " yin nicht I was walkin' hame i' the dark and he 
 fired a pistol frae behind a fence and the shot 
 banged aboot my lugs. I wasna gaein' to tell either.
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 273 
 
 He throwed the shot wi' his hand, I found oot lang 
 syne and I ran like a deer. Sae I wasna surprised 
 at yon bit i' the papers." 
 
 " I dinna think naethin' aboot yir melons, or yir 
 rinnin'," said a kindly elder of the kirk ; " a laddie's 
 aye a laddie. But yon new view aboot the auld 
 theology I canna forgie him that. What say ye, 
 Donald ? " He turned to a sweet-faced listener, the 
 minister's right-hand man. 
 
 Donald was silent for a moment, smiling sadly, 
 with his eyes on the ground. 
 
 " Puir laddie, muckle he kens aboot it." And the 
 others said no more. 
 
 Nor was this his only disappointment. He was 
 disappointed, bitterly so, in the people he had been 
 called to serve. 
 
 Proud, ambitious, frivolous for the most part, their 
 estimate of his worth had laid its strongest emphasis 
 upon various social functions which he was supposed 
 to assist and adorn, but which his soul had learned to 
 loathe. Once he had been urged to tarry at a dinner 
 party, summoned from its revel though he was to the 
 bedside of a dying child. " They do not belong to 
 our church," he had been reassured ; " and, besides, 
 nine chances to one it's some contagious disease ; you 
 must think of others, you know." But he had scorned 
 their counsel ; for, after all, he was Robert Wishart's 
 child. 
 
 More than this, a spirit of restlessness was 
 astir; he knew it; he could feel it. Besides, there
 
 274 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 was good reason for it, poor Stephen reflected to him- 
 self, sitting with his burning cheeks still resting on 
 his hands. 
 
 For to-morrow he was to set forth for New York 
 to meet his wife. Her steamer was due to land the 
 following day. And then what then ? 
 
 Not that his own love had lessened. Rather it had 
 deepened ; fanned by loneliness and longing, it had 
 broken into brighter flame. Her patience, her un- 
 selfishness, her heroic endurance of the long separa- 
 tion he had declared as wise and necessary, her sweet 
 and tender letters, aglow with love for him and with 
 eager enquiries for the progress of his noble work ; 
 her pathetic prophecies of the happiness and useful- 
 ness that he and she were to know together in their 
 toil for souls these had clothed her in spotless white 
 before his reverent gaze and had kept alive the pure 
 passion of his love. 
 
 But he would never forget the awkwardness the 
 agony indeed of the dreary time that had elapsed 
 since he and his secret had first entered the pulpit 
 which was his own at last. Many had lightly advised 
 him of his need of a helpmeet, unconscious of 
 the poison that the gayest shaft may bear. Others 
 had whispered to him that suspicion and mistrust and 
 jealousy would surely arise sooner or later among 
 the eligibles of his flock. And at last, wrung by the 
 distracting situation, he had thought it wise to tell a 
 few, who in turn thought it wise to tell the world, 
 that he was linked to a heart across the sea. 
 
 Whereupon the Church of the Covenant had seized
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 275 
 
 its inlaid fan in a flutter of excitement it had never 
 known before. Particulars were not forthcoming ; 
 details were denied their thirsty souls and the con- 
 gregational fan flew fast and furious. Five o'clocks 
 and even hospitality grew apace, these hurried 
 councils necessary to the crisis. 
 
 The past was ransacked, the future foreboded, with 
 desperate earnestness. Matrons, mathematically and 
 matrimonially inclined, disclosed to mutual hearts the 
 ghastly number of his entertainments at their homes, 
 the dark lightning of expense illumining the estimate. 
 Then they bewailed his faithlessness, entering into 
 solemn compact to risk no more the daughters of 
 their bosoms, which daughters were fervidly con- 
 gratulated upon the felicity of their escape ; and the 
 escaped responded with only moderate enthusiasm. 
 
 Debt added to his misery. He had accepted 
 Hiram's offer of a loan and invested its proceeds in 
 stocks that were so sure to rise. Hiram held his 
 note, acting as his broker. And the stock had 
 risen, then halted, then steadily declined. Stephen 
 had continued to cover for his investment was on 
 margin. This necessitated further loans from the 
 original source till he was deep in Hiram's debt. 
 The latter had eventually taken the stock off his 
 hands, buying at a fatal figure, after which it began 
 mysteriously to ascend. But the mischief had been 
 done ; the original and the accumulated debt was 
 still to be paid. 
 
 To make matters worse, Hiram had begun to throw
 
 276 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 out little hints as to the pleasure a settlement would 
 afford him. He had gone so far as to say, even 
 though he laughed as he said it, that love for souls 
 and zeal for the glory of God were no doubt good in 
 their way, but that the kind of religion which paid 
 ordinary business debts was good enough for him. 
 
 Of course, he had added, one would see things 
 differently if he had been called to the ministry of 
 the Word ; three day grace was a poor affair com- 
 pared to the large kind Stephen had to preach, he 
 knew! 
 
 But chief of all his torments was the secret gnaw- 
 ing of a conscience that was neither dead nor sleep- 
 ing. The truth is, he was striving desperately to 
 serve his God, unhallowed though the altar to which 
 he clung. In that service he had moments of peace, 
 even of fleeting joy. Swift gleams of sunshine fell 
 now and then upon the stream of his unhappy life, 
 when it would emerge from its swampy way, leaping 
 in the new-found light. But this was soon forgotten 
 in the dark morass into which it swiftly flowed again, 
 swallowed up of conquering shadows that lay in wait 
 beyond. 
 
 Wherefore these moments of transient light 
 sometimes in his pulpit; sometimes by the dying 
 bed ; sometimes in the thrill of new and holy reso- 
 lutions these had come to be the moments of his 
 keenest anguish. For he knew they were only a 
 soul's reprieve. And the waiting Valley of the 
 Shadow held them in utter scorn.
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 277 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, Stephen ! " 
 
 " Hattie, my darling my wife, my Hattie it's 
 been so long ; but it's all over now." 
 
 The sweet fragrance of spring, undenied even to 
 the great metropolis, is drifting in through the open 
 window of the New York hotel where two long- 
 sundered hearts are drinking deep of the old well- 
 spring of healing. 
 
 " I stood four hours on the pier, Hattie and I 
 saw the ship before any of the others. It fairly 
 seemed to creep ; but a man with a glass said it was 
 the Etruria oh, Hattie, Hattie, my darling ! " 
 
 " Why, Stephen, that's nothing to my wait. I 
 stood at the bow since early morning of course I 
 went down to dinner but I just thought I couldn't 
 wait. But I'm here and you're here, darling and 
 we'll never, never be parted any more, will we ? " 
 
 His answer was given not in speech. But the man 
 who held her so tenderly close to him was thanking 
 heaven for the love that he knew had made him in- 
 dependent of the world. The purity of the face he 
 caressed so gently, the sweet wholesomeness of the 
 graceful figure that lay well contented in his arms, 
 the artless speech that told the story of almost fool- 
 ish happiness that all these were his, and all this for 
 him, filled his heart with a calm it had not known for 
 long. 
 
 For the fear had seized him, and had clung to him 
 even on the pier, that his trial might come in this 
 heart hunger, never to be satisfied ; in a burning love 
 that was to torture him because it was denied.
 
 278 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 But it was not to be. God is love ; and in love He 
 glories ; and the fields of the evil and the unthought- 
 ful share His impartial rain. And she is his she is 
 in his arms ; and nothing but death can separate them 
 more. 
 
 It is toward evening now, and a peculiar stillness 
 has wrapped itself about them. 
 
 " Stephen, why don't you talk to me ? Take me, 
 my husband," she said, the pure colour that had en- 
 chanted him before flowing from neck to brow as she 
 stole into his arms. It was the same rich tide he had 
 first seen the very night they met. " Is anything 
 troubling you, darling ? Won't you tell your wife ? " 
 she pleaded. 
 
 Stephen waited a moment. " Yes, Hattie," his 
 voice hoarse and unsteady, " I want to tell you some- 
 thing. Did you ever hear of a Scotch marriage, 
 Hattie ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course my father and mother were 
 Scotch ; and they got married. Of course there 
 have been lots of Scotch marriages." 
 
 " Yes, I know, dear. But I mean the ancient Scot- 
 tish ceremony a man and a woman taking each other 
 as husband and wife just themselves, you know." 
 
 " Not before a minister? And not before any wit- 
 nesses ? " Hattie asked wonderingly. 
 
 " No just before their God. That's a marriage, 
 you know," Stephen answered, his eyes aflame as 
 they searched Hattie's face. 
 
 "Is it? It's a funny kind of a marriage. But I
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 279 
 
 think I have heard of it and I'm glad ours wasn't 
 that kind, aren't you ? I've got our marriage lines ; 
 I have them in here," she said, touching her bosom 
 with her hand, the wondrous eyes beaming up at him 
 in trust and happiness. 
 
 " Yes, darling, of course I am. But Hattie here, 
 let me whisper it ; I want us to have that kind of a 
 marriage now just us two before our God." 
 
 The girl started, trembling. " Stephen, oh, Stephen, 
 tell me quick what do you mean ? Aren't we mar- 
 ried, Stephen ? Aren't you my husband and I your 
 wife ? Oh, Stephen." 
 
 He drew her down closer, holding the fluttering 
 form, whispering long. The scarlet face emerged at 
 last. " Is that the reason, Stephen ? Just that we 
 can tell them we were married in New York with- 
 out telling a lie ? Oh, Stephen, you said you'd tell 
 them we were married as soon as you got to Hamil- 
 ton. Why didn't you ? Oh, why didn't you, 
 Stephen ? I didn't make any secret of it to anybody." 
 
 He repeated to her the considerations that had 
 prompted his silence, Hattie struggling hard to see 
 their wisdom. 
 
 "Yes, I think I think I understand," she said 
 slowly at length. " But I don't see why they should 
 look down on the Army. I tried to be a good 
 soldier ; and I'm sure that's what they'd want their 
 minister's wife to be. Oh, Stephen, I'll do anything 
 you want I'll marry you over again that way that 
 is, if you think it best. Oh, Stephen, Stephen," she 
 cried, her arms like a vise about his neck, the hot
 
 28o THE UNDER'JOIV 
 
 tears flowing fast, " let us get some other place some 
 nice congregation in the country, I love the country 
 so with green fields and sweet flowers and dear kind 
 people, where we can walk and drive and have each 
 other and live so near to God," she sobbed in a 
 burst of longing. " I don't want to go and live with 
 a lot of rich people. They'll want you all to them- 
 selves. And they'll they'll ask me where I met you. 
 And it doesn't matter where it doesn't matter; 
 you're my husband and I love you and it was God 
 gave you to me wherever I met you. He sent you 
 to me, my darling. But they wouldn't understand. 
 And I want to be happy, Stephen ; oh, I do want to 
 be happy for it's been nearly all sorrow, and I 
 thought it was all past now." 
 
 As best he could, he petted and caressed the sob- 
 bing girl, his lips straying among the golden strands 
 or pressed to the quivering lips, his whole soul brood- 
 ing over her in compassionate devotion. 
 
 Then he gently untwined her arms, groping rever- 
 ently for the little cross ; the idea had suddenly pos- 
 sessed him. 
 
 " You hold it, sweetheart," he murmured ; " and I'll 
 hold it too and we'll make our vows together. It's 
 all so holy, dear." 
 
 She smiled, laying her hand obediently beside 
 his own. And they repeated each to the other the 
 immortal promise that hurls defiance at everything 
 but death. Then all was still, their souls clinging in 
 a new embrace.
 
 A DOUBLE LIFE 281 
 
 The darkness has fallen, the noises of the mighty 
 city stealing in upon them with stealthier tread, as 
 these two sought to take up the past, struggling to 
 believe it as unstained as ever. 
 
 But the deepening night was not responsible for all 
 the darkness that reigned about them. A shadowy 
 something, undefined and undefinable but the more 
 darksome all for that seemed to mingle with the joy 
 they were striving to protect. Hattie's gaze was fixed 
 upon far distant lights, gravely wondering, question 
 after question coming and going in silent apparition. 
 
 Once or twice she laid her hand upon her heart as 
 if trying to locate some secret wound whose flow 
 must be quickly staunched. 
 
 " Hattie, my darling. Hattie." 
 
 " Yes, Stephen." 
 
 " Don't you love me, Hattie ? Don't you love me 
 just as well as you ever did, my darling ? " 
 
 " Why, Stephen, what a foolish question ! Yes, of 
 course I do ; you're my husband." 
 
 But the longing eyes, so familiar with the touch of 
 tears, resumed their quest of the far unknown.
 
 XXII 
 
 H ATT IE And HIRAM MEET 
 
 ING them ' The Rosary,' Mrs. Wishart ; 
 they've never heard you sing that and it's 
 your best. Will you let me turn the music 
 for you ? " 
 
 " Shall I ? Do you really like it, Father 
 O'Rourke?" 
 
 " Loike it ! Whin oi'm at my work, it's loike to 
 kill me, moindin' to forget it ; it's loike sippin' nectar 
 to hear it. Where's yere husband ? " 
 
 " He's busy in his study I was so sorry he couldn't 
 come to-night." 
 
 " If he wants to kape humble, he'd better kape 
 away when ye're singin' < The Rosary.' Shall I raise 
 the piano-stool up forninst, loike, a little ? " and 
 the genial priest twirled the ascending chair. 
 
 Beauty can never be complete till sorrow hath 
 contributed its magic part : and the soulful charm of 
 Hattie's face mingled well with the splendid plaint of 
 her thrilling voice, as the chastened strains of " The 
 Rosary" floated from her lips. 
 
 Nor did this fascinating shade disappear from eye 
 and lip as she returned to her seat in an embowered 
 corner of the room. Some one had taken her place 
 at the piano, turning from grave to gay, convulsing 
 every listener with the mirth that is ever thrice wel- 
 come after seriousness, like sunshine after rain. 
 
 282
 
 HAT'TIE And HIRAM MEET 283 
 
 But Hattie, after a momentary smile, was oblivious 
 to it all. Her thought seemed far away, as indeed it 
 was, busy with its retrospect of the path by which she 
 had been led, since she came to Hamilton as the wife 
 of its most prized minister. And more of thorn than 
 blossom was mingled with the view. She thought, 
 and sighed as she thought, of her rude awakening to 
 the necessity under which she had been laid of con- 
 cealing her former relations ; and she thought, with 
 a yet heavier heart, of the long series of subterfuges, 
 so alien to her nature, that necessarily had to follow. 
 
 Signs of suspicion, too, and jealousy, and even of 
 disdain, she fancied she could now and then detect ; 
 as was only natural, perhaps, considering the embar- 
 rassment of her position. In fact, she was beginning 
 to confess to herself that she was thoroughly unhappy 
 among these proud rich people or, at least, she 
 knew she would have been but for Stephen and his 
 glorious love. That was an unsetting sun. And yet 
 she lived in trembling dread lest she herself might be 
 the cause, innocent though she was, of staining his 
 proud position, of impairing the sway that his person 
 and his powers had secured him. 
 
 Another little sigh broke from her lips, lost in a 
 fluttering prayer for help and guidance, this the habit 
 of her simple life, when she noticed that her hostess 
 had taken a seat beside her. 
 
 " Well, my dear, you look sober enough to be still 
 at your rosary. Really, Mrs. VVishart, you have such 
 a lovely voice ; I should think you would never have 
 a pensive moment."
 
 284 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Hattie smiled. " Sometimes I think our pensive 
 moments are our happiest," she said ; " I like the 
 light best when it's sheathed if not too much. But 
 I'm sorry I was looking so sober." 
 
 " I daresay you often feel lonely enough among us 
 all," her kind-hearted hostess went on. " So far 
 from your girlhood's home. Oh, by the way, I'm 
 expecting a gentleman in this evening who came 
 originally from your dear old England. He's a little 
 late, but we look for Mr. Barker any time up to " 
 
 " What's his name, did you say ? " Hattie inter- 
 rupted, her voice under full control. 
 
 " Mr. Barker, Mr. Hiram Barker ; he's an English- 
 man, as I said. He's just home from three months 
 in California. Why, there he is at the portiere I 
 didn't hear the bell, did you ? He's looking for me : 
 just sit here a minute and I'll introduce him." 
 
 And as Hattie's gaze followed her hostess' out- 
 stretched hand, her thought flew back to the mur- 
 muring Dee, swiftly skimming the dim days that 
 were past. The young impressionable heart, the 
 youth's handsome face, the girlish infatuation, slight 
 and fleeting though it was, the sudden disappearance 
 of Hiram Barker and the tidings that he had gone to 
 America then her heart's swift repair, the quick 
 following movement of her motherless life, then Lon- 
 don and Stephen, the comfort and the crown of all. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour later the whole story 
 was whispered into Stephen's ear.
 
 H ATT IE And HIRAM MEET 285 
 
 " And tell me, darling did you know him as soon 
 as he came into the room ? " 
 
 " The very instant, Stephen and I was so sur- 
 prised. I couldn't believe my eyes ; and he stood 
 stock still for two or three minutes. Mrs. Harcourt 
 repeated my name once or twice and then he said 
 ' Hattie ' under his breath but Mrs. Harcourt heard 
 it. And he sat down on a chair right near the door ; 
 and she sat right down beside him and began pelting 
 him with questions. I didn't know what to do I 
 didn't want to stay. So I asked her if I might use 
 the telephone ; that was when I rung you up. And 
 then I told her you wanted me and I came away. 
 
 " And oh, Stephen, I wish you could have seen me 
 when I came back into the parlour. I was just 
 wicked enough to be proud of myself for your sake. 
 I stood up just as tall as ever I could " Hattie was 
 on tiptoe now " and I said ' I'll have to go, Mrs. 
 Harcourt, my husband wants me ; my husband wants 
 me,' I said, ' and I must hurry on ' and then I said 
 good-evening to them all and came right away." 
 
 " And did Mr. Barker say anything ; what did Mr. 
 Barker say ? " Stephen asked eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, he offered to walk home with me but, of 
 course, I wouldn't hear of it. And I thanked him. 
 And, oh yes, he said he would be glad to do any 
 service for the wife of such a friend as you. And, 
 Stephen, I know it's awful of me to say it ; but I saw 
 into his eyes I'm hardly ever mistaken and I just 
 believe he just hates you. I just know he does. 
 And if he does, I'll hate him," Hattie's eyes flashing
 
 286 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 with the words. " If anybody dares to hate you, 
 darling, I'll just hate them back, I will. And I'm 
 sure " 
 
 " Hush, sweetheart, hush," Stephen interrupted, 
 his arm twining in fond pride around her neck, draw- 
 ing the flushed face down to his own, " don't say 
 that, darling. Perhaps he's not as fond of me as 
 some people but perhaps he has some reason not to 
 like me." 
 
 " What reason could he have ? " cried Hattie, 
 " why shouldn't he like you do you know anything 
 particular ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you everything, Hattie but I knew 
 Hiram when he first came out from England. And 
 I may have injured him without meaning to," he 
 went on cautiously. " That is I made a mistake, I 
 think. I was very young and Hiram finds it hard 
 perhaps " 
 
 " I don't believe it," Hattie contradicted ; " you 
 have talked like that once before, Stephen ; and I 
 won't let you so there." 
 
 Stephen went on : " But I really think he's trying 
 to be a good friend of mine now, Hattie. He has 
 tried to befriend me in one or two ways ; and I want 
 you to do something for me, darling. I want you to 
 be nice to Hiram I want you to be nice to him. 
 You say there was nothing that left any scar between 
 you and him ; he was fickle and and mean and 
 you didn't care much. But that's what gave you to 
 me, my darling look up, Hattie kiss me. That 
 was what gave you to me, dearie. And he had a
 
 HATTIE And HIRAM MEET 287 
 
 disappointment here he was in love years ago, as I 
 told you." 
 
 " What was she like ? " cried the most feminine 
 Hattie, " tell me about her." 
 
 " She was short and had rather dark hair," 
 Stephen answered. 
 
 " What kind of eyes ? " 
 
 " Grey, I think I've forgotten since I saw 
 yours." 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Stephen. Why didn't he 
 marry her after all ? Why didn't he marry her ? " 
 
 Stephen's face was crimson. 
 
 " Why are you blushing so, Stephen Stephen, 
 your face is like a sunset. Don't look at me like 
 that were you in love with her yourself? Stephen 
 Wishart, were you in love with her ? " and she took 
 his face in both her hands, holding it straight in 
 front of her ; " tell me true now." 
 
 " No, darling, I never was." 
 
 " Then why didn't he marry her why won't you 
 tell me ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you, Hattie don't ask me. There 
 was a mistake a misunderstanding I can't explain 
 it to you. But he got angry he thought that is, 
 Hiram is a very passionate man, you know. I can't 
 tell you, Hattie let me think a moment." And an 
 undimmed drama rolled before his eyes, the dread 
 indelible that never fades, since it is kept so carefully 
 in the dark. 
 
 " No, Hattie, I can't tell you. Hiram is my 
 friend, you know," he went on, brightening sud-
 
 288 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 denly ; " and he's trying to be friendly, I think ; and 
 I want you to be nice to him, as I said. I owe a 
 great deal to him I can't just tell how but I'm 
 under great obligations to him. He can either help 
 or hurt me a great deal ; and you'll try to be pleasant 
 to him for your husband's sake, won't you, 
 Hattie?" 
 
 Hattie pondered. " I'd do anything for you, dear 
 yes, I'll try. And there really isn't any reason 
 why I shouldn't if he's nice to you," she added em- 
 phatically. Then silence. 
 
 " Hattie, what's the matter ? What makes this 
 plaintive mood that I notice so often lately about my 
 darling ? Tell me what's troubling you." 
 
 Softly he wooed her till the golden head was rest- 
 ing beside his, the quivering lips finally breaking 
 forth : 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, I will tell you. I'm not happy 
 here except for you, my darling. If it weren't for 
 my husband, I couldn't stand it another day. I be- 
 lieve some of those great people think I didn't win 
 you fairly and I did, I did," she exclaimed, the 
 lovely eyes dancing with the words. " You know I 
 tried to run away from you into the woods, 
 Stephen. You remember and you followed me. I 
 wouldn't run far now, would I, darling ? " she mur- 
 mured, as his lips fell softly on her own. 
 
 " But, Stephen, really, I'm not happy here," she 
 went on ; "I believe lots of them half suspect and 
 anyhow, I don't believe they really love the simple 
 Gospel. And I don't think they bring out the best
 
 HATriE And HIRAM MEET 289 
 
 that's in you, Stephen as a preacher, I mean. Your 
 sermons are so brilliant : of course, I suppose they 
 have to be, for people like them. But I do think, 
 darling, anybody could preach better to a congrega- 
 tion that felt they needed something, just what these 
 people don't feel. 
 
 " Stephen, do you remember that night-meeting 
 you and I attended at the Jerry McAuley mission in 
 New York ? Oh," she cried, her face all aglow, " I 
 did so want to hear you speak that night I thought 
 it was lovely there it was so real ; it was like saving 
 people from a wreck. I think about it nearly every 
 day. I'm sure we could be happy there or any- 
 where where they really felt their need of us. Oh, 
 Stephen," and his wife's arms are around his neck, 
 " I want to feel the reality of it, darling it makes you 
 so much dearer to me. And it's all so much like 
 playing church, with those rich proud people. Do 
 you know," she went on abandonedly, " I wish you 
 had gone to Morven I do I do; that dear old 
 elder that I met that Presbytery day was so sweet 
 and true. Can't we get some place like that, 
 Stephen, some nice country place, with a dear little 
 manse, and trees and flowers and simple souls 
 that really love the Gospel and " 
 
 But Stephen interrupted her. " You don't under- 
 stand, Hattie you don't understand at all. Why, I 
 would be wasted among people like that. You 
 know I'm not vain; but what good would all my 
 books, and all my education, and my scholarship ; 
 what good would they be for a simple congregation
 
 290 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 like that? There's a fitness in everything, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, I know," Hattie said ; " but poor people 
 have the same kind of sickness as rich people and 
 the same kind of hunger. And isn't it just the Bread 
 of Life everybody wants after all, the ignorant just 
 as well as the learned ? Everybody's soul has the 
 same kind of hunger, Stephen." 
 
 Her husband was fumbling in his pocket, his mind 
 on another quest. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " that's a beautiful thought of 
 yours, Hattie ; but I've got a little plan. You know, 
 you promised to go to father's in a month or two. 
 Well, I got a railway time-table to-day ; and I believe 
 I'll take you to Morven you can go on to the farm 
 the same day. And we'll have a look at Morven ; 
 it's a pretty country place, they say but I think my 
 little wife will realize it's hardly the place for us. Al- 
 though," taking her hand in his, " I could be happy 
 anywhere, my darling, if you were with me. It's 
 love that makes the wilderness blossom like the rose 
 and anyhow, we'll have a happy country day, and 
 we'll forget all our troubles and just remember that 
 we have each other." 
 
 And the close clinging form told him that they 
 who have the love and loyalty of one other life can 
 never be reckoned poor.
 
 XXIII 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 
 
 " TTSNT this lovely? Why, there really isn't 
 any Morven at all it's not a place, is it ? " 
 
 A But there was no shade of disappointment 
 upon the glowing face that looked out so eagerly on 
 the rich fields of green stretched before them on 
 every hand. The birds' sweet music mingled with 
 the droning sound of sauntering bees ; the call of the 
 plowboy to his lazy team came floating from afar ; 
 soft fleecy clouds drifted here and there across the 
 sky. For the day was not one of those boisterous 
 summer days that laugh out loud for very joy of 
 living ; but subdued and smiling, rather, smiling 
 gravely through its sunny veil of cloud, clothing all 
 the earth with its considerate light. 
 
 " Let us rest here, Stephen ; isn't it lovely on this 
 bank ? And what a splendid elm, it's like old Eng- 
 land," and Hattie's voice rang high with happiness. 
 " Let us take long breaths, Stephen. I just love to 
 think how sweet and lovely it is here, and how hot 
 and dusty it is in the city. You remember, don't 
 you, Stephen don't you remember under another 
 tree ? " and the still bridal face looked out laughingly 
 at her husband's. " I believe you've forgotten I 
 really do." 
 
 291
 
 292 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " No, dear," and his tall form is flung among the 
 flowers, " I have not and never will. But you 
 mustn't forget that it was one of those awful city 
 streets that first gave you to me, Hattie ; that's the 
 sacred place to me. What's that you're doing ? " 
 
 " I'm making a crown a May-queen crown, like 
 what we used to make in England. Isn't it sweet? 
 Go get me those flowers yonder." 
 
 Crowned and garlanded she sits, humming some 
 old familiar song and looking out upon the sweeping 
 valley, upon the cattle grazing on the rich hillsides or 
 resting under ample trees, upon the flowing river 
 gleaming far beneath them, upon the modest church 
 and the humble house that seems to sleep within its 
 shadow. 
 
 The hours have flown fast, fleet as flowery hours 
 ever are ; and Hattie suddenly springs to her feet. 
 
 " Stephen, I want to see the church and the 
 manse. Come on, my train goes in an hour." 
 
 "What for? "he asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; but it looks so cunning. Come 
 on I'll lift you up." And with mock effort she 
 takes his hand, lifting him ponderously to his feet. 
 
 " That's one thing I love about the country, you 
 can walk hand in hand," she said, as they sauntered 
 slowly toward the valley. 
 
 They wandered a few minutes around the old 
 graveyard, not in the best of repair, but strewed with 
 many a quaint epitaph and homely text. 
 
 " Look, Hattie, here's a specimen of the scholar- 
 ship in these parts. Their muse has been at work.
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 293 
 
 That little fellow's evidently buried beside his mother. 
 Read that verse there." 
 She leaned over : 
 
 " Farewell, my dear and loving pa, 
 God called me home to dwell with ma ; 
 And when you come we'll happy be 
 Won't ma be glad my pa to see ? " 
 
 " They must be a poetic people here," Stephen 
 said, smiling, when she had finished ; " how would 
 you like your husband to be preaching to talent like 
 that ? " 
 
 " I don't see anything very wrong about that," 
 Hattie defended ; " they believe it anyhow and 
 that's everything. Besides, they're not all like that. 
 I saw one over yonder there it is ; did you ever 
 read anything better than that ? " 
 
 He read it aloud. 
 
 " Behold what witnesses unseen 
 
 Encompass us around 
 Men once like us with suffering tried 
 But now with glory "crowned." 
 
 " Yes, that's very good," he said, " it's an old para- 
 phrase my father loves them." 
 
 They went silently around the corner of the church 
 and at a little distance saw the unpretentious manse. 
 
 The sight was a pretty one. For the ancient walls 
 of stone were almost hidden with the flowering vine 
 that clung to them ; the old rain barrels, relics of the 
 past, still kept their place beneath the spouts that
 
 294 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 marked every corner ; an ancient lightning rod kept 
 its lonely vigil far aloft. 
 
 But the spreading lawn before the house was full of 
 animation. Three children, of adjacent ages, were 
 striving to smother each other with the garlands that 
 were now in ruins ; tiring of this, they bedecked the 
 patient horse that frisked his tail lazily beneath the 
 shady apple tree, submitting to the coronation with a 
 meekness that spoke of long experience. And al- 
 most at his feet, sound asleep, a baby boy slumbered 
 sweetly, his pillow a sunbonnet that one of his 
 seniors had discarded. 
 
 Peering toward the window, they could just make 
 out the form of a man evidently the minister 
 poring over some book that engrossed his whole 
 attention. From what was evidently the kitchen, the 
 sound of singing came, mingling with the rattle of 
 dishes that explained the savoury odour floating out to 
 them ; once they saw the mother's comely face as she 
 stepped into the study for a moment and they saw 
 her bend an instant above the man with the book, 
 then disappear, her song more blithe and her face 
 more radiant than before. 
 
 Hattie's eyes were full of hunger. They lingered 
 long on the happy scene, taking in its every detail, 
 coveting the sweet simplicity. 
 
 " I'm afraid we'll have to go, Stephen," she said 
 presently ; " I'll just have time to get my train. But 
 oh, Stephen, doesn't it make you envious ? Only it's 
 wicked to be envious, I know."
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 295 
 
 " What," her husband exclaimed, " envious of 
 what ? " 
 
 " You know, Stephen oh, if we only had a church 
 and a dear little house like that and everything they 
 have ; isn't it the loveliest place for children, 
 Stephen?" she added, her eyes upon the ground. 
 " And on Sunday, to see them coming from all 
 around not rich or well dressed or anything but 
 true and sincere and good, really good. And we 
 could have the windows open in the church ; and 
 maybe a little bird would fly in sometimes they used 
 to in England and you could smell the flowers. 
 And everything would be so true so real. But we'll 
 have to hurry on, Stephen. What time will I get to 
 Rosehill ? " 
 
 Stephen told her ; and in a few minutes they were 
 at the rustic station. The approaching train could be 
 already seen flying across the verdant fields. 
 
 " Good-bye, Stephen don't work too hard." 
 
 " Good-bye, darling. Try and help Rube and 
 Bessie on a bit tell them what good time you and I 
 made. And be back in a week, remember. Good- 
 bye, Hattie." 
 
 Two days later, a half-bared arm was flinging a sun- 
 bonnet at the head of the giant figure on the verandah 
 of the old farmhouse. 
 
 " No, Reuben, I don't want it the sun is almost 
 down. And I'm going all alone; I don't even want 
 Collie with me. I'm going to roam over some of the
 
 296 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 scenes my husband used to visit when he was a boy 
 and I'm not going to think of anybody but him." 
 
 " If I had it as bad as you, I think I'd take some- 
 thing for it. Bessie and I are going to Hamilton 
 in a day or two. Shall we consult a heart specialist 
 for you ? " and Reuben's laugh shook the blossoms 
 hanging from the lattice. 
 
 " Tut, tut, Reuben ; let nature hae its course. Only 
 mind ye, lassie if it hadna been for me, ye wadna 
 hae had him at a'." 
 
 " All right, father, bless your dear heart. If he 
 only grows old just like you have, I'll be satisfied. 
 Good-bye, I'll help you with the milking when I 
 come back." 
 
 " She's a bonny yin, Reuben ; Stephen struck ile 
 aboot the same time we did oorsels," the old man 
 murmured happily as the tripping form disappeared 
 around the fringe of woods. 
 
 Hattie wandered on, the pure fragrance of all about 
 thrilling her with nameless joy, her heart singing back 
 its answer to the sweet twilight silence that chanted 
 the evening's ancient hymn. 
 
 By and by the woods, never so beguiling as in 
 the failing light, called her to their side. She 
 wandered in a little way, seating herself upon a moss- 
 grown log, her thoughts mingling with the whisper- 
 ing voices that joined the sylvan lullaby. 
 
 She is startled suddenly by a crackling footfall 
 and in a moment Hiram stood before her. Hattie 
 leaped to her feet. 
 
 " Where did you come from, Hiram ? What
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 297 
 
 brings you here ? " she cried, and her face is pallid in 
 its agitation. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, Hattie I just ran down 
 here for a little holiday having another look at the 
 old scenes and faces." Then followed a more detailed 
 explanation. 
 
 The gloom deepened about them as they sat, still 
 talking intently. Hattie is pleading for something. 
 
 " Oh, Hiram," she said, her voice full of entreaty, 
 " I thought you promised me before ; and I was get- 
 ting happy again. Don't, Hiram I implore you, 
 don't. You know I love him ; and if you do what 
 you say he'll be ruined. For my sake, Hiram." 
 
 The man's face darkened. " I've got him where I 
 want him now and if it weren't for you I'd crush 
 him like an egg-shell. Either one of those things 
 would settle him it's years ago now, but I don't for- 
 get. He ruined me, as well." 
 
 " Oh, Hiram, Hiram ! If God " 
 
 " And then he dared to come and preach the Gos- 
 pel right at my back door. And the fool took a hand 
 in with me at stocks stocks on margin at my ex- 
 pense, too ; there's his note for what he owes me ; too 
 bad that grace wouldn't pay it the kind he chatters 
 about from the pulpit. You're a fool to cry, Hattie 
 he's not worth it." 
 
 " He is, he is," poor Hattie cried desperately ; " I 
 know him better than you do and he wants to do 
 right ; he really does. And I don't believe what you 
 say about him ; and even if he had had gone astray, 
 he's trying I know he's trying. And we can save
 
 298 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 up and pay you that money and I believe in him 
 I love him so. And you shan't ruin him, you said 
 before you wouldn't. You couldn't. I'll save him 
 myself oh, God, help me." 
 
 Low and musical, with a wild melody of anguish, 
 her cry surged from her trembling lips, her face 
 turned wistfully toward her tormentor, the bitter tears 
 standing on her cheeks. Again and again the cry 
 broke from her lips ; " Poor Stephen, poor, poor 
 Stephen," rocking to and fro in her distress. A 
 shade of pity played on Hiram's face, mingling with 
 the power and passion that were written there. " I 
 have your letter, Hattie," he said at length. " I have 
 it in my pocket. And I'll admit it moved me a good 
 deal especially at the close, where you asked me not 
 to do it if I loved you if I loved you. Did you 
 mean that, Hattie ? " 
 
 Hattie pondered a moment. " Mean it ? Yes, of 
 course I meant it," she finally answered, turning and 
 looking full at the strong face above her. " You said 
 you did." 
 
 " Yes, by God," he answered passionately, moving 
 toward the white-robed figure beside him. She sprang 
 quickly beyond his reach. 
 
 " Don't you shan't, Hiram." Her tone sufficed. 
 He took his seat again. " Yes, you know I love 
 you," he continued. " I've always loved you though 
 I didn't know it once and I was a fool in England." 
 Then his voice grew softer. " Don't you love me at 
 all, Hattie ? Not the least bit like long ago just my 
 own place, Hattie--* " he urged, his turn to plead.
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 299 
 
 She glanced a moment at the powerful and hand- 
 some face turned down upon her. Something of the 
 old spell she could remember but it was only a 
 memory. 
 
 " No," she said resolutely, " no, Hiram ; I'm all my 
 husband's nobody has any place but Stephen. And 
 I don't want you to love me, Hiram you have no 
 right to. Nobody has any right, only Stephen. But 
 if you do," and the girlish voice is full of simple 
 earnestness, " if you do, I don't see how you could 
 carry out your threat that's what I meant, Hiram." 
 
 Neither spoke for long. The man was the first to 
 break the silence. 
 
 " Hattie, you can trust me you can trust me im- 
 plicitly." 
 
 Hattie made a quick movement of joy. 
 
 " What do you mean, Hiram ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " I mean what I say." 
 
 " Hush, what's that moving, Hiram ? Did you 
 hear anything ? I thought I heard a noise." 
 
 " No it's only the wind you can trust me, Hat- 
 tie. I will disclose nothing I promise you. But 
 it's only for your sake." 
 
 He had been drawing closer to her as he spoke ; 
 and, suddenly flinging forward in uncontrollable 
 eagerness, his lips just touched her cheek as she 
 leaped from him to her feet. 
 
 " Forgive me, Hattie," he cried a moment later as 
 she stood panting, her eyes burning in the dark. 
 
 There was a long silence, and Hattie's voice was 
 full of calm dignity when she answered :
 
 300 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Yes, I'll forgive you ; I'll forgive you. If you 
 never knew how much I'm Stephen's, you know it 
 now. And I know you'll believe in him yet. I shall 
 never forget your promise. And and we'll pray 
 for you. Good-night, I'm going back to father's." 
 
 Working in strange emotion was the cruel face 
 that turned silently toward the village. Hiram strode 
 swiftly on, his eyes upon the ground. 
 
 " By heaven," he muttered, " I can crush him with- 
 out telling anybody anything. He thinks every- 
 thing's forgotten but my memory's not so short as 
 God's." 
 
 And his hand wandered toward his pocket, sav- 
 agely clutching at a letter that he knew was there 
 " I was afraid she'd want it back," he mumbled. 
 
 And through the gathered gloom a rustling form 
 flew quickly homeward ; and a dimpled hand was 
 holding a tiny cross tight against a burning cheek ; 
 and trembling lips were saying half aloud : 
 
 " Oh, God, save Stephen save him for me, oh 
 God."
 
 XXIV 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 
 
 THE apartments which Stephen and his wife 
 had taken were more elaborate than those 
 he had occupied alone. Yet, richly fur- 
 nished though they were, they seemed desolate 
 enough as Stephen sat, forty-eight hours after his visit 
 to Morven, reading a letter from his wife. For he 
 was alone ; and he begrudged every hour that sep- 
 arated him from one in whom his whole life was cen- 
 tred now. Besides, the letter in his hand was redo- 
 lent of the sweet tenderness that her nature possessed 
 in such rich abundance toward him at least ; and he 
 smiled with happiness as he read over again the en- 
 dearing words. 
 
 Then he carelessly picked up another letter that 
 the same mail had brought ; it was addressed to his 
 wife. He examined it idly, wondering whether or 
 not he should send it on. But he noticed suddenly 
 that it bore " immediate " written over the left-hand 
 corner. The writing looked familiar and his curi- 
 osity is aroused. Undoubtedly it is something she 
 ought to know at once ; perhaps it has a message 
 that should be telegraphed. Besides, he feels sure 
 Hattie would wish him to open it ; he has often told 
 her to do the same with his when he was absent. 
 
 301
 
 302 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 A moment's hesitation ; then a quick resolve and 
 he tears the letter open. 
 
 How thin the veil between happiness and anguish ! 
 Between eternal day and eternal night ! " Thin as a 
 piece of paper," we often say, little recking the cruel 
 fitness of the illustration. A letter lies unopened ; 
 and life's current flows on in unconscious calm. Open 
 it, break through the wafer thinness ; and that same 
 stream flashes in the sunlight never more. The wafer 
 thinness was all that held back the billows, to beat 
 mercilessly now upon your head till it finds shelter in 
 the grave. 
 
 The warrant of your doom, it is true, was signed 
 and sealed all the while ; but it had never been ex- 
 ecuted, nor had you ever known it, but for that sim- 
 ple movement of the finger, that rustling page, that 
 quick eternal flash, followed by the blackness of dark- 
 ness that no earthly torch can banish. 
 
 The letter began, " My darling," and Stephen 
 smiled as his eye fell upon the words. Some hyster- 
 ical woman that's going to tell her what a glorious 
 voice she has, he thought, turning the page over to 
 see the signature. He gasped violently, his heart 
 bounded till he could hear it, and he felt the sweat 
 starting on his brow. The signature was Hiram's. 
 
 Could it be a joke ? Yet it is surely Hiram's writ- 
 ing. He will make sure ; he has more than one note 
 from him, reminding him of payments long past due. 
 He snatches his keys from his pocket and fumbles 
 desperately for the little one that opens his desk. 
 Why can he not find it ? And why must his hand
 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 303 
 
 shake so ? He has it now no, it's the wrong one ; 
 this is it and in a moment the object of his search 
 is shaking in his hand. Stern, contemptuous, threat- 
 ening, he had remembered it to be but its fangs are 
 drawn now ; all its poison is dead and gone. Into 
 insignificance and contempt all its former dread has 
 fallen a veriest trifle, as he holds the two together ; 
 and he is conscious, even amid his anguish, of a swift 
 wonder why the paltry thing had ever troubled him. 
 
 For the writing is the same. 
 
 " I have thought it over," the letter said among 
 other things, " and I believe you are right about your 
 letter to me. It's a little dangerous, as you said ; for 
 if anything should happen to me, there's no telling 
 whose hands your letter would fall into. But I would 
 sooner burn up the original of the Gospels than des- 
 troy one of your letters so I return it to you to do 
 what you think best with it. I'm only sending the 
 risky part I have torn it off, for I want to keep the 
 rest. I think you said the night before last (oh, 
 Hattie, I shall never forget that night), that you'd 
 likely be home to-morrow. You ought to get this 
 then ; and anyhow, S will most likely be out vis- 
 iting when this letter is delivered. So it ought 
 to be all right. I'll drop around soon. Mean- 
 time ..." 
 
 Where is her letter to him or the fragment of it 
 that he speaks of ? He tears the envelope apart, 
 shaking it over the floor but it does not appear. 
 Ah, here it is, lying at his feet ! He snatches at it 
 but it is hers to him and his eyes fall upon a tender
 
 304 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 phrase as he flings it from him, a half cry, half sob, 
 breaking from his lips. What is that white lying 
 yonder ? His fingers grope for it ; he recognizes the 
 familiar hand and he knows that his fate is there. 
 His eyes burn so that he can scarcely read. It is a 
 tiny piece of paper and he can see where it has been 
 torn from the rest. 
 
 . . . " If you love me, Hiram if you love 
 me, don't do what you said. You understand, you 
 know what I mean, though no one else would under- 
 stand." 
 
 Nothing but her first name is signed, but it is 
 enough the writing is his wife's. 
 
 And Stephen knows now that his life is done. He 
 walks dumbly from one part of the room to the 
 other, looks out on the busy street, marvelling at its 
 jostling throng, marvels as he sees an Italian passing 
 round his hat, smirking and grinning at his bene- 
 factors. Perspiration is standing wet on his forehead 
 he wonders why. Then the clock on the mantel 
 strikes ; and he thinks of the future, dark, hopeless, 
 alone, his life's treasure fallen and shattered on life's 
 stone floor, never to be repaired. 
 
 That it is forever forever ; this is the thought that 
 throbs through his brain. Whatever life may bring 
 to him of success or happiness or pleasure or friend- 
 ship or travel or influence, still it must be all dark, 
 all bitterness, all failure. 
 
 That happiness the thing everybody loves that 
 this can never be his again ; the thought filters slowly 
 through his mind, renewing its attack again and
 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 305 
 
 again, its channel smoother with each return. That 
 he has failed in the chiefest thing of all, the part on 
 which all depends, that he is wounded for life in the 
 very heart of him ; this, in shadowy outline, grows 
 clearer and clearer still. That there can be no real 
 healing ; that to-morrow, and the day after, and the 
 day after that, and all the days, can never give him 
 back what he had before. That other men will love 
 and marry and be happy and keep their happiness 
 fresh and pure to the last ; but his chance is past, his 
 joy is dead, his life, his real life is done ; and for him 
 nothing now but the ashes of disappointment and the 
 lash of memory ; all these pledges of his doom pass 
 one by one before his eyes. 
 
 The winds begin to rise within ; and soon they are 
 storming in great gusts about his heart. 
 
 His only hope is in getting free from her, from her 
 spell, from the fascination of her beauty and of what 
 he had thought was unmixed purity and grace. He 
 must break loose from the torture of love at any cost, 
 he declares bitterly to himself. He may lose much 
 but he will refuse to suffer. This he boisterously 
 repeats ; this awful cataract over which he has 
 plunged so suddenly may tear his treasure from him, 
 but it shall not leave him drenched and trembling 
 always. He will take life up again, love alone left out. 
 
 " No, thank you, I don't want any," he says sul- 
 lenly ; for a knock at the door calls him to the wait- 
 ing meal. 
 
 " Excuse me," he calls to the receding messenger, 
 " I have changed my mind ; I'll be down directly."
 
 306 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 He locks his door behind him, reopened ten or fif- 
 teen minutes later as the landlady says to the others 
 below : 
 
 " I never seen Mr. Wishart so noisy and funny be- 
 fore. He just seemed sot on makin" us all laugh ; he 
 wouldn't take no dinner himself and he wouldn't let 
 us eat our victuals neither he's a funny man." 
 
 Meanwhile their entertainer was restored to the 
 suspended storm. His former vows were violently 
 renewed. He would give himself to his work, his 
 books, his profession, and he would find his happi- 
 ness there thus ran his resolve of healing. He 
 would rise higher and higher and the increasing 
 gulf would be her punishment. 
 
 Deep bitterness soon mingled itself with his tum- 
 bling thoughts ; bitterness and self-pity, that go ever 
 hand in hand. She is not worthy of me, he thought 
 she is not worthy of me or of my love. And the 
 opinion pleased him well. Strange, passing strange, 
 he reflected, that this should be her return for all his 
 devotion, his fondness, almost idolatry, pouring its 
 love before her as he had, ever since that far-off pic- 
 nic day that now danced before him in its shroud. 
 
 A sense of hardness toward God comes over him. 
 Still walking, his eyes fall on his half-written sermon 
 on the desk. He picks it up how different life was 
 when I wrote those words, he murmured. Then he 
 reads the text. " Others were tortured, not accept- 
 ing deliverance, that they might obtain a better res- 
 urrection." 
 
 He tears the sheets in two, flinging them into the
 
 The GRIP of 'The UNDERTOW 
 
 basket at his side. Then he seems to relent. Yet 
 why has this befallen him, if God is just ? The old 
 instinct for prayer returns. 
 
 " Oh, God," he mumbles, bending above a couch, 
 " why hast Thou dealt thus with me ? Thy ways are 
 mysterious indeed. Can it be that whom Thou lov- 
 est Thou chastenest oh, God, have mercy on her." 
 
 Rising, he turns to the basket and picks up the 
 scattered sheets of his discourse, searching for a par- 
 agraph he could vaguely remember writing. Here 
 it is: 
 
 " The Heavenly Gardener knows best, my breth- 
 ren, which plants to put in the sunshine, and which 
 within the shade ; for some flower best in the sun- 
 shine, but others amid darksome shadows. There- 
 fore accept sorrow with reverent curiosity, even with 
 subdued and submissive joy." 
 
 He pondered long upon the words ; this must be 
 the purpose of this mysterious dispensation he 
 could conceive no other explanation. Yet, as he 
 pondered, the malproportion of it grew upon him till 
 his spirit was aflame again. While he was musing 
 the fire burned ; for his musing was of the final and 
 irreparable nature of his sorrow. This consoling 
 sentiment may last a week ; this sorrow for a lifetime. 
 This is not a tunnel, he muses, with healing light be- 
 yond ; but a tomb, where his dead hopes and he must 
 lie together. 
 
 A rap at the door suddenly interrupted him. 
 
 " If you please, Mr. Wishart, there's a couple of 
 people wants to see you," his landlady announced.
 
 308 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " The man said as it was your brother and Miss Bur- 
 nett. Will you see them in the parlour, sir ? " 
 
 " No," Stephen answered, " I'll be obliged if you'll 
 show them up here." 
 
 He struggled for the control he knew he would re- 
 quire ; and the face that greeted Reuben and Bessie 
 was full of tranquil welcome. 
 
 " Why, Rube, is this you ? and you, too, Bessie ? 
 don't know which I'm gladdest to see. Come away 
 in ; this is a pleasant surprise." 
 
 Entering, all three took their seats, the visitors evi- 
 dently restless and embarrassed. 
 
 " What makes you so serious, Rube ? " Stephen 
 felt constrained to ask after a brief and solemn silence. 
 " You look as if you'd lost your best friend. Noth- 
 ing the matter at the farm, I hope ? " 
 
 Reuben's eyes were still upon the ground. 
 
 " Tell him, Reuben," Bessie faltered. 
 
 Then the earnest eyes lifted themselves to Ste- 
 phen's face, and Reuben's lips began to slowly frame 
 the words : 
 
 " Well, Steve, I did have something to tell you. 
 Bessie and I came up to the city to do a little a little 
 shopping," Reuben flushing shyly as he spoke, " and 
 I honestly thought I ought to tell you what she told 
 me. It's more than hard to do it, Steve it seems 
 cruel but I do it because I love you, and " 
 
 " What can you mean, Rube ? Don't keep me in 
 suspense. Anything about money matters?" and 
 Stephen's voice betrays that he has had burden 
 enough already.
 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 309 
 
 " No, Steve, I wish it was ; no, it's about it's about 
 Hattie, Steve. About something Bessie saw; she 
 happened to be in that sugar-bush last Wednesday 
 night, just about dark, and she saw Hattie and she 
 was talking to to " 
 
 " To whom," Stephen urged, leaning over, " to 
 whom was Hattie talking ? " 
 
 " To Hiram, Steve ; to Hiram Barker," and even 
 Reuben started as he saw the pallor of death fling its 
 sheet over Stephen's face. 
 
 Bessie sat, shaking like a leaf, while Reuben's voice, 
 hoarsely whispering, told his tale as gently and hope- 
 fully as he could, the strong lips quivering with love 
 and sympathy as he watched his brother's anguish. 
 
 It was soon over : " But about that last thing, 
 Steve, Bessie says Hattie was trying to resist. I don't 
 blame Hattie at all, Steve. And oh, Steve, it's hard 
 to tell you ; but I think you ought to get her home 
 at once. And then I thought you could protect her 
 for the future. Don't let her ever meet that man 
 again ; I know Hiram hates you, and I believe he'd 
 like to wreck your life if he could, Steve." 
 
 There was a long silence, Stephen's face working 
 in a slight movement as he looked far out of the 
 window. Grief, and pride, were both visible there. 
 In a moment he stepped to his desk, thrust a couple 
 of letters within it and turned the key. 
 
 " You don't mistrust my wife ? " he asked in a 
 rather trembling voice as he turned about. " Hat- 
 tie's all right, you know," he said, looking appealingly 
 at Reuben.
 
 3io THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " You're right she is," and Reuben's voice is shak 
 ing more than Stephen's. " Good for you, Steve ; 
 it's because she's all right that I wanted you to save 
 her. Why, Bessie, where are you going ? " 
 
 " I have to go, Rube I've got an engagement at 
 the dressmaker's. Please don't ask me to stay ; 
 Steve'll want to see you alone," and as she reached 
 the door, she cast backward at the broken man a 
 glance that was full of pity and noble yearning and 
 sincerity of friendship, such as had not been there 
 for years. 
 
 As Reuben returned from seeing her to the door, 
 he saw his brother sitting where he had left him, his 
 face buried in his hands ; but now his breast is heav- 
 ing heavily, his whole frame quivering with his lonely 
 grief, while the tears crept slowly down, visible be- 
 tween the parted fingers. 
 
 Stooping with almost a woman's tenderness, 
 Reuben laid his arms about his brother, caressing 
 him in the strong gentleness of his heart. No word 
 he spoke, lingering thus till the gust of grief was 
 past. Then they sat long together, talking of many 
 things. 
 
 " Steve," Reuben said at length, " I've got to go 
 but I want to speak to you about something else. 
 It's something that's been bothering me a good deal 
 and it's about you, old fellow." 
 
 " About me ? " Stephen responded wearily. " What 
 have you been hearing about me ? " His voice was 
 unnaturally calm. For his thought was otherwhere, 
 busy with those letters in his desk of which Reuben
 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 311 
 
 knew nothing ; making up the dread account of evi- 
 dence, the letters and the news that Reuben brought, 
 each one such a dreadful confirmation of the other. 
 
 " Well, Steve, I may as well tell you straight. 
 They say it's rumoured all around the city and we've 
 heard it even where we live that you're in debt. 
 And, of course, Steve, it's bound to do you a lot of 
 harm ; it is doing you harm and I'm so afraid father 
 might hear of it, and it would finish him, I know." 
 
 " Father doesn't know anything about it, then, 
 does he?" Stephen interrupted earnestly. 
 
 " Not a thing ; he thinks you're the pride of 
 Hamilton. But I'll tell you what I came for, Steve. 
 I want to help you, and if I only knew how " 
 
 " Oh, Rube," and the moisture is gathering in 
 Stephen's eyes, " I wish to God I were worthy of 
 you I'll tell you who my creditors are, Rube, and 
 how much I owe and everything. Hiram, of 
 course " 
 
 But Reuben stopped him imperiously. " I won't 
 have it, Steve, I won't have it ; it's no business of 
 mine who your creditors are I knew you owed 
 Hiram. But all I want to know is how much it is. 
 I'm going to pay it, Steve." 
 
 The giant-framed, giant-hearted brother sat look- 
 ing shyly about the room, now and then turning his 
 kindly eyes full on his unhappy brother. 
 
 Distracted the latter was in very truth, as the 
 thought of all Reuben had been to him, all he still 
 wished to be, passed before him. And his requital ! 
 
 " But Rube, you know you know I've never paid
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 back that money father got from Scotland. And 
 I've no claim on the farm or any of its product my 
 share on the farm went for my education ; and a sad 
 lot of digging and delving you and poor father had 
 to do to finish it. Oh, Rube, I can't I can't take 
 money from you, Rube." 
 
 Reuben's face is grave. " Now look here, Steve, 
 you don't want to hurt me, do you ? Now don't, 
 don't, old fellow. I'm so happy every other way 
 no man ever was so happy ; and it'll spoil everything 
 for me and Bessie if you won't let us help. You'll 
 take it for Bessie's sake, Steve and mine, too. Now 
 tell me don't say anything, only just tell me how 
 much it is, how much will make you all clear." 
 
 Stephen was bended over in his chair, his face 
 hidden. Reuben's heavy hand, light as a woman's 
 now, went forth to his shoulder. 
 
 " Tell me, Steve ; I've got the money right in my 
 pocket." 
 
 Silence reigns a while ; then Stephen lifts his worn 
 face and his eyes fall on his brother with a glow of 
 fondness Reuben had never seen before. " I owe 
 twenty-seven hundred dollars altogether," he said in 
 a low despairing voice. 
 
 Reuben's hand is already in the breast pocket of 
 his coat, no sign of hesitation or even of surprise ap- 
 pearing. 
 
 " I've got more than that," he said calmly, " I got 
 it that night I went to meet the man from Cleveland 
 the night you walked home with Bessie, you re- 
 member." He is opening the wallet carefully, and
 
 The GRIP of The UNDERTOW 313 
 
 does not see the ashy wave that drifts across his 
 brother's face, knows nothing of the wild outcry in 
 the hunted heart beside him. 
 
 " Shut that window, Steve draughts are danger- 
 ous when you're counting bills," and he smiled to 
 relieve the embarrassment he feared his brother felt. 
 " Yes, I got it that night; and that was only for one 
 of the wells, for an interest in one. And I drew the 
 whole amount to-day, so I'd be sure to have enough. 
 . . . I think that's right, Steve you count it 
 and see." 
 
 Reuben rose after a few minutes, picking up his 
 hat and moving toward the door. 
 
 " Hold on, Reuben, hold on I've just finished. 
 Rube, you've make a mistake there's three thousand 
 here. Rube, hold on, I say, Rube ! " 
 
 But he hears the door opening below and a joyful 
 voice calls up : 
 
 " You never were any good at arithmetic, Steve- 
 good-bye."
 
 XXV 
 ASHES On The HEARTH 
 
 THE evening was spent in torpor. A hasty 
 note with its glad enclosure hurriedly 
 despatched to his arch-creditor ; a brief and 
 portentous telegram bidding his wife return at once, 
 were all that broke the drear monotony. The night 
 was passed in bitter musings, falling now and then 
 into troubled slumber, waking in feverish agitation. 
 Broken by the night, the morning found him less able 
 to resist the torment. The sense of wrong that had 
 been done him returned with greater vividness than 
 before. He sought feebly to resist the bitterness that 
 kept gathering in his heart but in vain. 
 
 Hattie's train was due in a couple of hours, and 
 Stephen gave himself anew to the accursed letters. 
 Their very touch wrung him with an increasing pain ; 
 but their cruel fascination seemed to grow. 
 
 He is sitting, wondering how he shall begin with 
 Hattie, when a servant announces that Father 
 O'Rourke has called ; and a moment later the well- 
 loved priest is sitting at his side. 
 
 But his demeanour is marked by a seriousness Ste- 
 phen has never previously observed. Without pre- 
 liminary, he drew his chair close to the minister's. 
 
 " I've got bad news for you, my boy. It's about 
 one of my parishioners he means mischief for you.
 
 ASHES On The HEARTH 315 
 
 It's Hiram Barker ; he's entered suit against you, and 
 it's going to go hard, I'm afraid. And I want to see 
 if I can't help you." 
 
 Then the priest went into details, telling of Hi- 
 ram's evident purpose to ruin him. " It's a gambling 
 debt, he says gambling in stocks. And he seems 
 delighted to death about it. Now I haven't got 
 much I'm only a poor priest but you can have it 
 all. Only Barker must never know it, mind. And 
 sure, you can borrow the rest," he urged. 
 
 Forgetting for the moment all other troubles, Ste- 
 phen joyfully informed his friend of what had hap- 
 pened ; of Reuben's visit, of his generous gift, of the 
 letter that had been sent to Hiram paying his claim 
 in full. 
 
 " Howly Moses," cried the delighted priest, " why 
 the divil didn't you tell me that before ? That's a 
 darlint av a brother you've got ; give him an owld 
 priest's benediction and tell him I'll dance at his wed- 
 din' and cry at his wake. And I'll kiss his broide for 
 him, begorra and drink both their hilths wid a wee 
 drap o' the cratur into the bargain. Now I'll have to 
 run away. Good-bye and God bless you, my boy." 
 And the loving-hearted priest went on his way re- 
 joicing. 
 
 The trembling hours have passed and Stephen is 
 waiting for his wife. As he hears the thunder of the 
 approaching train he tries in vain to control himself. 
 His hand is shaking violently as he holds it to his 
 eyes, scanning the faces of the alighting passengers. 
 
 There she is now, tripping merrily along the plat-
 
 316 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 form, glancing this way and that with eager eyes ; 
 and Stephen marvels as he notes the unconscious air, 
 strangely foreign to all that has been so bitterly re- 
 vealed. In a moment her gaze falls on her husband, 
 and with a quick cry of joy she runs impulsively 
 toward him. Her hands are full of little parcels, del- 
 icacies from the farm with which kind hands have 
 laden her, so she can but turn her lips up to his face, 
 waiting to be kissed. 
 
 Stephen's cold and repellent gaze meets her loving 
 eyes, and he turns his cheek to her, which the fra- 
 grant lips, pallid now, touch in quivering wonder. 
 
 " Stephen darling, what's the matter ? " she mur- 
 mured, glancing quickly around at the hurrying 
 throng ; " what makes you look that way, Stephen ? " 
 the wondering eyes looking out through gathering 
 mist. 
 
 Stephen was silent, looking sternly down at her. 
 " I guess you know," he said meaningly ; " let us go 
 home." 
 
 Hattie's cry of protest and amazement was stifled 
 as they hurried toward a cab, which they entered as 
 Stephen said : " Don't speak to me now ; let us have 
 silence till we get home." 
 
 Dread is the hour when husband and wife stand 
 alone and look into each other's faces, the one on 
 trial for life's honour, both on trial for life itself. Cru- 
 elty and piteous appeal, bitter censure and wistful 
 pleading, angry strength and crying helplessness ; all 
 these belong to that grim tribunal. And happiness,
 
 ASHES On rhe HEARTH 317 
 
 girded and sandaled, staff in hand, bids her old-time 
 friends look their last on her departing face. 
 
 All of these were gathered together ; and fear was 
 there, and love, pleading that the past be called in 
 witness ; and faith, wounded, but struggling hard to 
 speak ; and hope, most pitiful of all, fighting for her 
 life, crying for the portion she would not be denied. 
 Like wandered things on some bleak hillside, these 
 latter two withstood as best they could the cruel 
 storm, shuddering now and then before its lightning, 
 huddling together in the pelting rain. 
 
 The violence of it all is partly spent, Stephen 
 standing apart, the fierce flow of utterance checked 
 for a moment, the fatal letters crumpled in his hand. 
 Hattie is trying pitifully to come nearer to him, stretch- 
 ing out her hands in pleading. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen, forgive me if I have done wrong. 
 I didn't mean to God knows I didn't mean to. I 
 have explained what that letter meant ; surely, I have 
 explained it, Stephen. And about the other 
 about the woods, he did, he did do what you say. 
 But I couldn't help him and I thought of you at 
 once, darling; I was thinking all the time of those 
 other woods, that picnic day and I never loved you 
 more than then." 
 
 He flung some word of contempt concerning her 
 explanations. 
 
 " If I had acted as you have acted," he said, the 
 sense of injury growing on him as he spoke, " I 
 would tell the very same story that you tell any one
 
 318 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 who would do the one would do the other. And 
 why shouldn't they? " 
 
 He looked keenly at her a moment, then thrust a 
 fierce question from which she recoiled as though she 
 had been struck. 
 
 " You can answer or not, just as you please," he 
 cried hotly ; " I can't force your answer. I suppose 
 I'll go to my grave with this cloud of doubt about 
 me," he went on bitterly, " but there's one thing I'll 
 tell you I'd sooner be in my place than yours. I'd 
 sooner have my anguish, and have a clear conscience 
 than have the remorse you'll have to feel. If I have 
 to suffer, it's not for my sin I'm suffering and I can 
 bear it," he exclaimed, walking up and down the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen," she moaned," even if I had even 
 if I had done wrong ; and perhaps I did but I didn't 
 mean to. But even if I had, Stephen, couldn't you 
 forgive me ? Haven't you ever done any wrong too, 
 Stephen not now or nearly now but somewhere, 
 perhaps, sometime, can't you remember feeling that 
 we are all liable to do wrong sometimes look, 
 Stephen, look." 
 
 She had been fumbling in a little bag ; and now 
 she holds in her hand, smoothing it tenderly upon 
 her lap, a tiny garment, the bodkin still entangled 
 where she had left it one of those unstained gar- 
 ments, holy with the fragrance of new-born reverence 
 and love, a secret that only God, and the mother heart, 
 and the oncoming pilgrim, are privileged to share. 
 
 " See, Stephen, see," she sobbed, while the tears
 
 ASHES On The HEARTH 319 
 
 fell fast ; " this is what I was working on when 
 I was in the country. And I was so happy 
 oh, darling, I was so happy," she cried, clasping 
 it to the hungry bosom in a passion of tears; 
 " and I sang over it, and prayed over it and your 
 face was before me all the time I kept thinking of 
 you, Stephen, all the time. I did it on purpose, 
 Stephen, because because I was your wife; and 
 because I wanted, I wanted it to oh, Stephen, you 
 know what I wanted." And the sweet face, suffused 
 with tears, pleading with pitiful entreaty, is turned 
 upward as the trembling girl rises quickly to her feet. 
 Still holding the dainty fabric, her hands outstretched, 
 she tries again to come to him. But he moves aside 
 and resolutely draws his chair up to the desk. 
 
 " Don't, Hattie, don't," he said sternly, a wave of 
 tenderness sweeping across his face ; " don't make it 
 harder for us both. This only adds to the curse that 
 must blight our lives ; another will have to share it 
 with us, the innocent suffering for the guilty." 
 
 Then the poor broken thing crept away into the 
 shadow that seemed to hem her in on every hand. 
 
 In a numb and lifeless way he gave himself through 
 the day to the work in which he was to find his solace. 
 Once or twice the impulse seized him to take her 
 again to his heart, to forgive all the wrong that she 
 had done him, to bow with her in prayer, and begin 
 all over again the life that had till yesterday promised 
 so much of happiness to them both. But the old 
 maddening sense of injury returned with augmented 
 force ; and he felt that the only just course before
 
 320 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 God and man was that their lives, even if spent to- 
 gether, must henceforth be lived apart. 
 
 Once he arose and went into the room where she 
 lay flung upon the bed, his purpose fruitless though 
 it was, to insist on her going down to the belated 
 meal that was waiting for them both. The sun was 
 setting, the long day nearly past. 
 
 " Stephen," she murmured faintly, her face almost 
 hidden on the pillow, " aren't you going to let me 
 stay with you, Stephen ? " 
 
 A long silence. " Yes, I'm going to. We must 
 carry our secret in our hearts." Then he went out. 
 
 A couple of hours later a faint voice called him. 
 
 " Stephen, Stephen dear." 
 
 " What is it ? " he answered, holding the door 
 partly open. 
 
 " It's dark, Stephen aren't you coming ? It's so 
 dark, and I'm all alone and afraid. Come, Stephen." 
 
 She hears him sigh, but the door is closed. 
 
 Another hour goes by on lagging feet and the 
 same trembling voice is heard. 
 
 " Stephen, oh, Stephen." 
 
 " What is it, Hattie ? " the door slightly opened 
 again. 
 
 " Won't you say good-night to me, Stephen ? I 
 can't sleep. Stephen, won't you have a little prayer 
 with me ? It might help us, dear. I'm so lonely." 
 
 " Good-night," and his voice is trembling ; " I have 
 prayed ; we can pray apart apart, like other things 
 have been." 
 
 Then he closes the door again gently, wondering at
 
 ASHES On The HEARTH 321 
 
 the madness that stalls in his brain at the sound of 
 the distant sobbing. For life hath no tragedy and 
 torture like love, at anger's bidding, playing the alien 
 part of hate. 
 
 By and by he falls into a restless sleep. Suddenly 
 he awakes, helpless before the storm that has taken 
 advantage of his slumber, brewing in the silent dark. 
 The clock strikes two, lingering heavily on the 
 strokes. He arises, groping through the gloom, 
 fumbling for the door. She is on her elbow, her sleep- 
 less eyes fixed upon the opening door, her heart wild 
 with the uncertainty of what it means. 
 
 He stood at the threshold, his eyes blazing in the 
 dark, his parched lips hurling the delirious words that 
 he had kept at bay during the waking hours, but 
 which had crept to his tongue while he slept, the very 
 dew of the darkness that brooded in his heart. 
 
 Then he closed the door, retracing his steps to the 
 couch from which he rose. His anguish is com- 
 plete ; the corpse of joy, he knows, is bedfellow to 
 them both. And the deathlike sleep that so often 
 waits on anguish takes him to her bo'som, as the ocean 
 takes the hammocked shroud. 
 
 There came to him but one dream, passing before 
 him in ghostly silence ; he thought that the old pure 
 lips, purer than they had ever been, gently touched 
 his brow, hot and throbbing with some nameless pain. 
 
 Like that billowy sepulchre whose restless host 
 shall be one day reclaimed, the most unfathomed sleep 
 gives up her dead. From which the next morning
 
 322 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Stephen emerged, dazed and wandering, recalling 
 one by one the happenings of the day before. 
 
 Rising, he stumbled heavily toward his chair, tak- 
 ing his place mechanically at his desk. His eyes re- 
 turned again and again to the still closed door; it 
 reminded him of that door in the distant farmhouse, 
 toward which his father's gaze was cast while one lay 
 within, amid the pomp of the unbroken stillness. 
 
 In a moment he arose and went over to it, listen- 
 ing ; but no sound meets his ear. She is sleeping, 
 he conjectured but he could hear no heavy breath 
 of slumber. Returning to his desk, his eye fell upon 
 a stray piece of paper with a strange straggling hand- 
 writing on it. Uneven, spreading letters, who could 
 have written them ? One glance more, and a loud 
 cry escaped him as he rose and rushed toward the 
 room. The door was flung open, and the fevered 
 searcher stopped not till he was standing right above 
 the pillow, though his first glance told him the truth 
 he dreaded ; for the room was empty. 
 
 Still standing above the crumpled pillow, turned 
 and overturned as it had been in the long misery of 
 the night, he finished the letter whose opening 
 sentence had started the fear that was now so bitterly 
 confirmed. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen," it ran, " I want you to forgive me 
 but I'm going away. I'll be gone when you get 
 this, and I know you'll be happier without me after 
 what you said. And Stephen, my darling, I can't do 
 anything else; you were all I had in Hamilton ; now 
 my heart is broken and I could welcome nothing so
 
 ASHES On The HEARTH 323 
 
 much as death. But I love you, Stephen, I love you, 
 and I shall always love you, and I'll always be your 
 wife and will always be true to you. And I always 
 have been, dear, always have been true to you, though 
 I can't blame you so much for thinking what you do ; 
 for everything looks so strange. I'm writing this in 
 the dark, and it will look strange too, but you will be 
 able to read it when it gets light. And I shall always 
 pray for you, Stephen, always, always, that God will 
 bless you, and make you happy again, and make it 
 all up to us both for what we've suffered and per- 
 haps He'll give us back to each other in heaven. 
 Good-bye, Stephen, I'm going away for your sake. 
 " Your own broken-hearted 
 
 " HATTIE." 
 
 He started blindly to the door, looking pitifully up 
 and down the street as though he would discover the 
 way she took. But the awakening tides of traffic 
 were flowing indifferently on, and he went back to 
 the silent rooms, locking the door upon his anguish. 
 
 " Oh, God, why hast Thou dealt thus with me ? 
 Pity me and bring her back," he moaned beside the 
 deserted bed
 
 XXVI 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 
 
 WHAT power it was that held him to his 
 work for two long sorrow riven weeks, 
 Stephen himself could not have told. 
 Once and again he started, blindly plunging, striving 
 pathetically to discover some inkling of the direction 
 Hattie's flight had taken, all the while compelled to 
 explain her absence as naturally as he could to en- 
 quiring friends. His sense of duty to his Church, 
 his wounded pride, his purpose" of intenser toil, had 
 thus long held him to his post. 
 
 Not like the Stephen Wishart of noble carriage 
 and springing step was the sad-visaged man whom 
 the strollers noticed one placid evening as he slowly 
 pressed toward the secluding shade of a familiar park. 
 
 Though the passers-by could hardly fail to note 
 the weight of care that clouded the handsome, 
 thoughtful face, they could not know the agony of 
 tumult that raged within. For Stephen's thought 
 was of his absent wife, and strangely varied was its 
 strain. But the great opportunity that comes alone 
 with anguish was ripening no harvest in Stephen 
 Wishart's soul, except the baneful fruitage of self- 
 pity and half-embittered wrath. 
 
 The shadows were deepening about the spacious 
 3 2 4
 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 325 
 
 square as Stephen took his seat under a far-spreading 
 tree, his heart full of yearning for his vanished wife, 
 tossed and torn in its loneliness. 
 
 He noted the figure of a man who took his seat 
 not far from him, apparently watching him closely ; 
 but soon he dismissed all thought of the stranger 
 from his mind, occupied as it was with the medita- 
 tions that now absorbed him night and day. 
 
 Suddenly he leaped from his seat, startled by a 
 voice that was like to freeze his heart within him. 
 
 " Good-evening, Mr. Wishart ; enjoying the air ? 
 You seem to have plenty to think about." 
 
 It was Hiram. And Stephen, intent only on mak- 
 ing distance between them, seized the hat he had 
 thrown on the grass and started toward a distant light 
 that marked the entrance to the park. 
 
 " Wishart, come back come back, I say. I've got 
 something to tell you." 
 
 Whether it was the imperiousness of the man's 
 voice, or the strange fascination of what is most 
 painful and repellent, Stephen himself was probably 
 not aware. But he halted, then stood still, and finally, 
 retracing his steps, came back and stood before his 
 destroyer. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked huskily ; " I should think 
 you'd let me alone now, after wrecking my life as you 
 have." 
 
 ' Sit down, Steve, sit down I want to speak to 
 you. I've not wrecked your life, my boy ; you did 
 that yourself." 
 
 " Don't probe wounds," he cried, and the other
 
 326 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 started a little at the anguish in his voice ; " I'm 
 going away let me go ; I've got enough to bear." 
 
 But yet he did not move, standing as if rooted to 
 the ground, gazing into his enemy's face. 
 
 " Why didn't you keep her when you had her ? 
 What made you let her go?" Hiram's voice is low 
 and cruel. 
 
 " You know," the answer coming heavily. 
 
 " Yes, I know I know what you thought was the 
 reason ; it was that letter, wasn't it ? Well Steve, 
 I'm going to tell you something that's what I fol- 
 lowed you in here for. I guess I've got you, Steve. 
 Do you remember that morning in the barnyard at 
 the old farm ? You remember my wish for you, 
 don't you, that you should go on into the ministry 
 without the grace of God ? That was all the revenge 
 I wanted, for what you did for me. And I got it all 
 right," he cried, moving in his seat, the old fierce 
 light blazing from his eyes, " I got it, by God. You 
 went on, and you thought I'd forgotten, and God had 
 dropped the thing and everything was lovely till 
 the clock struck ; and then you saw I wasn't such a 
 fool at wishing after all." 
 
 " That's a matter between me and God vengeance 
 isn't yours ; is that what you had to tell me ? " and 
 Stephen's pale lips were trembling as he spoke. 
 
 " No, I've got something else, something interest- 
 ing it's about that letter ; she wrote that letter to 
 save you, that scrap I sent you and you bit at it 
 like I knew you would. She wrote it to save you, 
 because she knew I could crush you like that weed,"
 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 327 
 
 he went on, stamping his heel upon the ground ; 
 " but you wouldn't believe her, of course her ex- 
 planations were no good to you. Anybody with an 
 experience as irreproachable as yours couldn't im- 
 agine such a thing happening innocently. I've often 
 noticed it's the fellows that need forgiveness most 
 themselves, who can't believe anything good about 
 anybody else. They wonder what God's doing with 
 His time, when anybody they're interested in seems 
 to be allowed to do anything that hurts them some- 
 body they're not worthy to touch themselves. Here, 
 you can read the letter the part you didn't see." 
 Stephen took the letter, and, as he strained his eyes 
 to read it in the failing light, as he saw the love that 
 pleaded for her husband, his trembling hand could 
 scarcely hold the page, his face blanched and white. 
 
 " I've had my punishment," Stephen's voice could 
 be scarcely heard " but this but this," he moaned ; 
 '* oh, God, I should have known it all the time. Leave 
 me. Leave me to myself and my God." 
 
 " That's what I'm going to do, Wishart. I'm going 
 away where you'll never see me again but it'll al- 
 ways make me glad to think my little handiwork is 
 complete and will be bearing fruit, no matter how far 
 away I am. You're not worthy of her, Wishart; 
 you stung her into madness, and God never made a 
 truer heart than hers. Go home now home with 
 you," he cried in a rising voice, " and write that ser- 
 mon on your sin finding you out. You remember, 
 don't you, I asked you long ago to take that text, 
 that morning at the stable, after you had been too
 
 328 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 smart for poor Rube the night before. I've been 
 waiting a long time for that sermon. Good-night, 
 Mr. Wishart, minister of the gospel of the grace of 
 God ; sweet dreams to you." 
 
 Dark as the evening shadows that had fallen round 
 him were Stephen's meditations as he turned his 
 steps toward the haunted rooms that had once been 
 called their home. 
 
 A familiar voice, rolling now in the cadence 
 of public speech, broke in upon those meditations. 
 Looking up, he found himself before the imposing 
 portals of St. Anne's ; and the voice, he knows at 
 once, is that of Father O'Rourke, rich and musical 
 with tides of feeling. Almost unconscious of his 
 movement, Stephen turns his steps within, still under 
 the spell of the voice. 
 
 Unnoticed, he steals into the church. Early teach- 
 ing and prejudice had clothed every Catholic church 
 with unholy mystery or with the scarlet robe of sin. 
 But he had no sense of this as he pressed silently 
 within the dimly lighted building, beguiled by the 
 heart-tones of a man whose soul he felt would 
 shrive a heathen temple, flowing pure about its 
 walls. 
 
 Taking his place in the corner of the crowded 
 edifice, his eye roved over the assembled worshippers. 
 Rapt and earnest, in all the majesty of spiritual need, 
 their faces were toward the preacher ; theirs faintly 
 showing in the semi-darkness, his illumined by the 
 pulpit light that burned beside him, the changing 
 currents clear marked as they ebbed and flowed upon
 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 329 
 
 it. The flickering candles, mingling their feeble 
 lustre with the dying light of day, played upon the 
 upturned countenances of the congregation as upon 
 a single face. 
 
 The old were there, seeking to discern the evening 
 star that should replace the garish light so nearly 
 vanished ; the careworn, some with the pledges of 
 their care beside them, bowing before the preacher's 
 words as flowers greet descending rain ; some there 
 were, marked with the scars of inward conflict, wait- 
 ing for the terms of truce, mayhap of final peace ; 
 some, whose eyes were glistening through darksome 
 veils of widowhood ; some, sighing heavily as their 
 glances fell on childish forms around them ; some 
 emaciated and pale, and some stifling the suggestive 
 cough, their faces full of the pathetic peace that the 
 secret sentence of death so often brings. But it 
 seemed to Stephen, as he gazed, that there were none 
 but needed help, some openly claiming it in candid 
 pleading, some needing it the more because of hidden 
 wounds whose life-blood the sternest armour could 
 not hide. 
 
 He had not listened long before all others were 
 forgotten, the preacher's message transfixing his own 
 soul. It is of Jacob, Father O'Rourke is preaching, 
 of his mysterious struggle with the unseen wrestler 
 till the breaking of the day. 
 
 " Why then was Jacob thus held back ? " the 
 preacher asked, his tender glance seeming to pene- 
 trate to every heart, " when on the very eve of at- 
 taining his soul's desire ? Why was he thus balked
 
 330 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 and thwarted ? Listen, it was for this ; Jacob thought 
 he had outwitted the Almighty. Because of fraud, 
 years before, he had been exiled from the land he 
 now sought to reenter, meeting hostility with guile. 
 And Jacob is thus arrested that he may learn this 
 wondrous lesson, a lesson some of us may be learn- 
 ing this very night, that our sin will find us out ; that 
 we can't outrun God ; that penitence must precede 
 resistance ; that all our smartness and cunning, how- 
 ever they may deceive and outdo our neighbours, 
 must yet be pitted against a Nameless One, outcom- 
 ing from the darkness to challenge the victory we 
 had thought complete. How many a sturdy swim- 
 mer, victorious over angry waves, panting with de- 
 sire when he thinks the shore is won, has yet felt the 
 awful talons of the undertow seize upon him like a 
 living thing, drawing him back to the depths of dark- 
 ness and despair. Esteem no shore of human happi- 
 ness as fully won till you have reckoned with that un- 
 dertow, which teaches men their need of God. 
 
 " Every man who strives to prevail, while still un- 
 forgiven of his sin, must learn that in the last appeal 
 the struggle is with God; and every misfortune, 
 every disappointment, every strange scourging of af- 
 fairs that seem by accident to thwart and baffle us ; 
 nay, every cruel blow from unseen hands, every shock 
 of sorrow, every bitter enemy who lays our hopes 
 and lives in ashes, all these are but the varied move- 
 ments of that Antagonist who seems to have forgot- 
 ten, but whose shadowy hand, emerging from the 
 darkness, holds us back when our feet are already
 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 331 
 
 touching the long sought promised land, whatever it 
 may be. 
 
 " And oh, my brethren," the priest cried, his voice 
 athrill with tenderness, " the greatest lesson of this 
 ghostly tournament is this that a better victory may 
 be ours, a statelier Eden may be won. For it was thus 
 with Jacob, when struggle turned to prayer, when, 
 recognizing at last against whom he fought, he 
 ceased to wrestle and began to pray, the voice of 
 anger and ambition hushed in the noble threat : I 
 will not let thee go except thou bless me.' As 
 blessed he was ; never the same again ; to go halting 
 ever after, it is true, but walking humbly with his 
 God, chastened to a deeper peace than the joy of 
 triumph ever could have brought him, his heart's 
 deep gratitude now to be evoked at thought of the 
 great overthrow that had purified the stream of his 
 desire and filled his life with blessing. 
 
 " And many a man has lived to bless the hand 
 that smote him, even to thank God for some relent- 
 less enemy, when he has come to see that this very 
 enemy was God's minister to his soul. The very 
 man who has blighted his darling hopes, or laid his 
 hearth in ruins, or plunged his life in unrelieved 
 eclipse, is recognized as but the messenger of that 
 great Power who hurls us back from happiness that 
 He may lead us forth to it again by purer paths of 
 sorrow, who robs us of our rapture that He may save 
 our souls." 
 
 The priest's voice had fallen to the low tone of im-
 
 332 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 passioned pleading ; and as he closed, the organ in 
 the loft above poured forth some vesper melody, the 
 service blending with it according to the Romish 
 way. But Stephen heard it not, nor paid attention 
 to the succeeding ceremonies. 
 
 For the hour of his light had come at last ; and 
 his soul was engaged with God, doing homage in 
 that eternal ritual with which no priest can interfere, 
 before which cathedral rites are put to shame. 
 
 That his soul has been trifling with the Eternal, 
 and that the Eternal has been in earnest with his 
 soul these two mighty truths shine out from all the 
 storm of years. And with the great conviction his 
 refuge of lies vanishes like the mirage of the desert ; 
 all his dexterous efforts to serve God and mammon ; 
 his outward zeal and his secret infirmity ; his mad 
 attempt to foster holy love and unforgiving sin in the 
 selfsame heart all pass before him in the awful can- 
 dour of reality. His soul cries aloud for mercy as 
 they pass, wrapped in unconscious ecstasy that at 
 last it has given up its dead. 
 
 The faces of his fellow-worshippers are hardly dis- 
 tinguishable in the increasing darkness, their eyes 
 fastened on the altar lights before him. Some few, 
 recognizing him, turn curious glances where he 
 stands. But he heeds them not, nor knows that any 
 are beside him save alone that nameless Wrestler 
 whose name he has learned at last. 
 
 That this is a Catholic church, branded to him 
 from infancy, he remembers not. For it has become 
 to him the house of God, the very gate of heaven, as
 
 The BREAKING of The DAY 333 
 
 his lips move silently in the first true luxury of 
 prayer he has known since the sincerity of child- 
 hood. He thinks of the Publican ; but dares to lift 
 his eyes^toward heaven. 
 
 And lo ! They fall upon the central figure of the 
 ages ; looking down upon him, ineffable pity in the 
 dying eyes, was the face of the Crucified, His arms 
 wide outstretched upon the cross. Luminous in love 
 appeared the wistful gaze, finding him out amid the 
 throng, and calling him to the pardon and the peace 
 His passion had provided. In great and holy loneli- 
 ness that figure bended over him ; and Stephen's 
 melted heart acclaimed his Saviour, standing as he 
 was amid other sinful men, but beholding the great 
 Redemption as for him alone. 
 
 The baying voices of the past, of an accusing con- 
 science, of a threatening future, of a ruined life, are 
 all hushed in silence, as he looks, the tears rolling 
 down his cheeks at the mighty revelation, its new- 
 ness smiting him with overwhelming power. He 
 sees the crown of thorns, the wounded hands, the 
 pallid brow, the fragrance of welcome death ; and 
 his trembling soul crept into the great shelter of the 
 Sacrifice, without voice of praise or sound of vow, 
 with nothing but the blessed sense of need and guilt 
 and sorrow and refuge from them all.
 
 XXVII 
 "AND GO UNTO MY FATHER" 
 
 NATURES meant for greatness may be, 
 often are, capable of mysterious weakness; 
 but great occasions will reveal their latent 
 strength, in swift and decisive action. 
 
 Thus was it with Stephen Wishart, his soul's 
 awakening flowing into great resolve. The prowess 
 of noble natures is attested by their capacity to 
 choose, not between a right and a wrong but be- 
 tween two rights. Which two now laid claim to 
 Stephen's loyalty his duty to his sacred calling and 
 his duty to his departed wife. These rival claims 
 were soon adjusted. 
 
 For on the succeeding Sabbath day the spell-bound 
 worshippers heard his last sermon in the Church of 
 the Covenant. It was preceded by a brief and irrev- 
 ocable statement of the immediate severance of the 
 tie that bound them, for which he suggested no rea- 
 son and volunteered no explanation. Nor did they 
 suspect the truth, nor any part of it. Vaguely had 
 the impression spread, exciting no comment, that 
 their minister's wife was gone on a visit to distant 
 friends ; though who these were, or where they dwelt, 
 was wrapped in the uncertainty that had long baffled 
 the very curiosity it first aroused. 
 
 Reawakened though this was by his strange an^ 
 nouncement, it was soon lost in wonder as they fell 
 
 334
 
 "AND GO UNrO MY FATHER" 335 
 
 under the charm of his parting sermon. For the 
 chastened face, radiant with its great emotion, and 
 the rich voice, thrilled and thrilling with the new tide 
 of feeling in his soul, and the copious flow of speech, 
 strong, tender, eloquent even beyond his wont, breath- 
 ing a simplicity of faith and a strength of purpose 
 that found their other voice in the soulful eyes which 
 a holier vision than they knew had kindled all com- 
 bined to enhance a thrall the most careless were com- 
 pelled to own. 
 
 The following Monday morning, a committee called 
 upon him to remonstrate. Hastily organized, it was 
 almost as hastily dismissed, marvelling at an intensity 
 beyond their understanding. 
 
 And the lengthening shadows about his path were 
 cast by that same morning's sun, almost vanished 
 now, as Stephen hurried along the familiar way from 
 the station to his father's house. Not waiting to 
 knock, he opened the door and entered. 
 
 Warm and loving, subdued and reserved though the 
 voice that uttered it, was the welcome of Robert 
 Wishart to his son. An instant told him it was a 
 wounded fledgling that had crept back to the nest ; 
 and all that tender tact could do was soon availed to 
 learn the cause. 
 
 " Ye're the minister o' the Covenant Kirk, my son 
 but I'm yir faither ; aye mind ye that, laddie. I'm 
 yir faither an' ye canna suffer wi'oot I suffer tae," he 
 said in mother tones. " Licht the lamp, Reuben ; it's 
 ower dark." 
 
 " Please don't, father," Stephen interrupted, his
 
 336 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 voice low ; " I'd sooner talk in the gloaming. Sit 
 here beside me, Reuben, and I'll tell you and father 
 everything." 
 
 Reuben drew his chair nearer, and the three pro- 
 files, deep seriousness upon every face, were barely 
 v;sible in the deepening dusk. 
 
 Stephen began; and sometimes with faltering 
 words, sometimes with half-torrent speech, sometimes 
 with choking voice, sometimes with gusts of silence, 
 he told all the tragic, story. As he finished, the bitter 
 plaint of his loneliness, of his love for the pure spirit 
 that had fled from him, broke from his lips in a surg- 
 ing cry he tried in vain to stifle ; and slowly, with 
 the caress of an infinite compassion, his father's arm 
 stole about his neck, tightening, tightening in answer 
 to his soul's strong pity, as though he would shelter 
 him forever. And as Stephen leaned his face against 
 the great true bosom, with a trustfulness he had not 
 known since boyhood, a sense of warmth and com- 
 fort crept about him as he realized that a wounded 
 son hath no refuge like a father's love. 
 
 The father's quivering voice broke the stillness. 
 
 " My bairn, my mitherless bairn, I'm faither and 
 mither to ye baith. Oh, Stephen, my son, my son." 
 Then he stroked his hair, even touched his cheek 
 and the other hemisphere of his father's soul unfolded 
 itself in that moment as Stephen had never known it 
 before. 
 
 Soon the old man returned to his chair, all his old 
 control restored ; amid the now fallen night he talked 
 on, reviewing, estimating, comforting, counselling.
 
 "AND GO UNTO MY FATHER" 337 
 
 " Ye maun gang an' find her like a man, Stephen," 
 he said at length. " Ye maun follow till ye find her. 
 Ye did richt to gie up yir kirk ; an' ye maun start 
 the morn. ... It disna maitter where. I think 
 mysel' she'll hae made for her auld hame that's aye 
 the way wi' the fleein'. Aye, she maist likely struck 
 for the auld country. Did ye no' say it was Chester 
 she cam frae ? The money ye gied her afore she cam 
 doon to visit here toward a seal-skin coat, ye said 
 that wad be plenty to tak her hame. An' it's nat'ral 
 for onybody to gang hame." 
 
 This opened a new vein ; the conversation had 
 wound its way but a little farther when the father's 
 voice broke in again. 
 
 " Reuben, licht ye the lamp." 
 
 " Pardon me, father but why ? " Stephen ven- 
 tured. " It seems so much easier, for me at least, to 
 talk all this in the dark." 
 
 "We're through wi' talkin'," his father answered 
 a/most sternly; "the time for talkin's past. I'm 
 gaein' to dae something; Reuben, kindle ye the 
 lamp." 
 
 Which, duly lighted, the old man took from Reu- 
 ben's hand, passing straightway into the adjoining 
 room. They heard the click of a lock, the scraping 
 of a reluctant drawer, then the rustling of a hurried 
 search ; and in a moment the father was back again. 
 
 " Reuben's great for thae banks," he remarked, as 
 he set the lamp on the table, " but I aye keep a wee 
 pickle where I can pit my hands on't ; I dinna be- 
 lieve in sendin' a' the cream till the factory," he added
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 as he sat down beside Stephen, slowly beginning to 
 count out a roll of startlingly large bills. 
 
 " Here, Stephen," he said after a pause, " ye canna 
 gang to the auld country wi'oot siller nor hame 
 again and it's been botherin' me what wad I dae wi' 
 this ; this is the Lord's daein'. Tak it, my son ; 
 there's an extry pickle there to buy the lassie's ticket 
 back to bring the lassie back, mind ye. I'm thirstin' 
 for a blink o' her bonnie eyes. Na, na, ye maun tak 
 it, Stephen." 
 
 Stephen was trembling as his father thrust the rust- 
 ling notes into his hand ; the grandeur of this great 
 life, far more than the money he had just received, 
 overbore his wondering soul, towering before him like 
 a distant peak, more and more revealed as it came 
 nearer to the light of heaven. Rising with an im- 
 pulsive movement, he flung his arms about his father's 
 neck. 
 
 " Oh, father," he faltered, " I don't deserve it all 
 you and Rube have done for me. Oh, God, forgive 
 me. My father, my father ! " he sobbed, as he held 
 his father close, the bills now fluttering about his 
 feet. 
 
 Reuben stooped to recover them, and as he handed 
 them to his brother there was a wealth of sincerity in 
 his voice. 
 
 " Why, Steve, why shouldn't we both ? We'll all 
 work together, Steve, till everything comes right 
 again. I know you'll get her back." 
 
 Meantime the old man had found shelter at the 
 clock, winding away as though the sands of time
 
 "AND GO UNTO MY FATHER" 339 
 
 were sinking. As he closed the ponderous door he 
 turned his head toward his sons. 
 
 " There's juist ae thing I want ye to mind, 
 Stephen." 
 
 " Yes, father," came the subdued voice, " what 
 is it?" 
 
 " I want ye to mind there's mair where yon cam 
 frae there's mair when ye're needin' it. Now we'll 
 gang till oor rest."
 
 XXVIII 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 
 
 A LOITERING laggard, proudly defined as 
 greyhound though it was, seemed the vessel 
 that had borne Stephen again across the 
 sea. And as it steamed swiftly up the Mersey his 
 fellow travellers could not but note the stern earnest- 
 ness of the gaze with which he searched the ap- 
 proaching shore, though they knew not how great the 
 treasure he had come to seek. His had not been a 
 familiar form among the passengers ; for much of his 
 time had been spent after a fashion that was growing 
 sweeter to his taste, alone with that conquering 
 Wrestler who was now his friend, perfecting the 
 anguished convalescence of his soul. 
 
 Liverpool was soon left behind. An hour later, 
 the shadows lengthening about him as he walked, a 
 sad faced man was pressing slowly along the torpid 
 streets of Chester, little noting its claims to antiquar- 
 ian fame. For a far different past, and a throbbing 
 present, and an uncertain future, filled his mind. 
 This was the city whose name had been so often on 
 her lips in the endearing terms of home. 
 
 He found himself unexpectedly beneath the shadow 
 of the great cathedral ; he smiled as he recalled how 
 the iron Cromwell had once stabled his horse within 
 its walls, by way of demonstration that he was low- 
 
 34
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 341 
 
 churchman to the heart. Beguiling strains of music 
 called him, and he entered the noble portal, walking 
 toward the aisle with that ocean of loneliness about 
 him which only eventide, and twilight music, and a 
 shadowed heart can combine to furnish. 
 
 What would have given him a sort of peace in 
 other days seemed now but to probe and torture. He 
 soon turned again toward the light without, dim light 
 enough without cathedral shades. And, reappearing, 
 he suddenly realized how helpless was this aimless 
 wandering ; yet he knew not what else to do. He 
 wandered on. But a few minutes had passed when 
 he found himself crossing the park that leads to the 
 great cliff overhanging the placid Dee. He took a 
 seat in the little arbour at the very edge, pondering 
 how best he might begin the chase. Soon he noticed 
 that an old man with flowing beard had taken his 
 seat beside him. The stranger was the first to speak. 
 
 " That's a wonderful bit o' music, sir," he remarked 
 in a decidedly English voice, " the best bell in all 
 Hengland, sir," as the rich tones rolled from the ca- 
 thedral tower. 
 
 " It is," Stephen answered, " it's lovely music ; 
 what is it ringing for ? " 
 
 " It's the curfew, sir it's to call the wanderers 'ome. 
 That's the bell as Mr. Gray was a thinkin' of when he 
 wrote 'is helegy, sir. My great-grandfather knowed 
 Mr. Gray ; he wrote poetry 'imself, sir but he never 
 'appened to think of a helegy. It was a grand idea, 
 the idea of a helegy," he concluded, shaking his head 
 sagaciously at Stephen.
 
 342 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Have you lived long in Chester ? " the latter en- 
 quired, after a sufficiently respectful pause. 
 
 " All my life, sir that is, in the country near-by 
 I 'ad a little place in the country, sir. But I retired 
 to Chester ; came in when I 'card the curfew ring the 
 hevening, as I might say, sir that's my great-grand- 
 father in me ; did I tell you he was a poet, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think you did," Stephen answered ab- 
 sently, bent on different information. Which he pro- 
 ceeded to seek. 
 
 Concealing his errand, he began to cross-question 
 the old man ; for Hattie, too, had lived in the near-by 
 country. An eager quarter of an hour had passed 
 when Stephen rose to go. 
 
 " I think I can find the way. I'm sure I can but 
 you say there's none of them there now ? " 
 
 " No, of course there ben't any of them there now 
 the girl was the last to go, and she went to Lunnon 
 not long after her mother died. Her mother 'ad 
 some of the best blood of Haberdeen in her veins, 
 they say and the lassie looked it. She was the 
 prettiest they ever 'ad round here, sir you say you 
 knew her ? " 
 
 " Yes, I knew her." Stephen's voice was low and 
 lonely as he looked far out over the tranquil valley of 
 the Dee, the clatter of happy boaters floating up to 
 him, " and I thank you warmly, sir ; I'll go out to 
 Hazleside in the morning. I'll see the Hadleys, of 
 whom you speak I have the name in my notebook." 
 
 He walked with strange hurry back to the 
 quaint Westminster Inn, dear to all lovers of quiet
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 343 
 
 elegance. When he reached its hospitable portal he 
 was bathed in perspiration and he marvelled at his 
 haste ; for it could avail him nothing she was not 
 there. Through its dim halls, richly strewn with an- 
 cient treasure, he hurried to his room, where, seated 
 by the window, the subdued tumult of the classic city 
 floated up about him. He dreaded the waiting night 
 and knew not how he could get it past. What was 
 this that so worked like madness in his brain ? 
 
 Suddenly he sprang to his feet, obedient to a quick 
 resolve. No night for him, when perchance but an 
 hour's search lay between him and eternal day ! He 
 hurried to the street below ; five minutes later he was 
 driving swiftly past God's Providence House, and a 
 fiercer fever than any it had escaped was burning in 
 his heart. 
 
 Soon the blessed country air fanned his fevered 
 face. Enquiring, knocking, retracing the way, en- 
 quiring again, he at last found the cottage wherein 
 dwelt the Hadleys, to whom his earlier informant had 
 referred him. A light burned dimly in an upper 
 window, evidently the last ; Stephen flew to the door 
 and knocked. In a few minutes a middle aged man 
 appeared. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," Stephen began, " for disturbing 
 you so late ; but I am on important business." Then 
 followed his eager veiled enquiry, the enquirer thank- 
 ful for the dark. 
 
 The man blinked heavily, rubbing one foot against 
 the other. 
 
 " Aye, I know the name," he said reflectively, " the
 
 UNDERTOW 
 
 Hastie name used to be well-known round here ; the 
 Bostons are in their house now. I knew the girl, too 
 but we've lost all trace of her she left here about 
 the time you said. They're all gone now I was 
 speakin' to the missus about them to-day. The 
 burying-ground's a mile farther along the road, and 
 Jake Boston told me there's a new stone in their 
 plot. 
 
 " What's that you say ? Oh, yes, easy enough 
 it's about ten minutes' drive ; I see you've got a trap 
 it's on the right hand side. Good-night, sir, good- 
 night," for Stephen was already hurrying to his car- 
 riage. " Their plot's in the very centre, under the 
 highest elm in the place," the man called after him. 
 
 Half of the ten minutes were still unspent when 
 Stephen stepped from the cab. 
 
 " Drive on a little ways," he ordered the wonder- 
 ing man, " and wait till I come." 
 
 The moon was veiled as he groped his way through 
 the long grass, turning this way and that, to violate 
 no slumberer's bed. Soon he marked the tree, and 
 beneath it found the stone, its surroundings indi- 
 cating that it had been newly placed. A strange fear 
 seized him, full of unreasoning dread for it could 
 scarcely be and he sank down, heedless of the soak- 
 ing dew, upon the grave. The imperfect light was 
 just sufficient to let him see that there was lettering 
 on the stone. His eyes fastened themselves in a 
 rigid gaze upon the characters but in vain. 
 
 Yet what letter was that, that initial letter ? His 
 hand shook like an aspen as he fumbled in his pocket
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 345 
 
 for a match. He struck it violently and held it up in 
 a torment of fear ; the distant driver chided his rest- 
 less horse, and the hollow sound echoed about him 
 like a profane voice amid the stillness of the dead. 
 Then the match fell from his hand, faintly dying 
 among the glistening grass, and Stephen's head fell 
 forward on his arms, his hand resting on the gloomy 
 marble, a low groan gurgling from his lips. 
 
 " ' Hattie Hastie,' " he murmured to himself. " Oh, 
 God, Hattie Hattie." Yet even then a dim, dead 
 query floated through his mind as to who had dis- 
 charged the sacred trust. It vanished, and his head 
 sunk lower, despair clutching at his heart. 
 
 In sudden triumph the silvery moon swam forth 
 from behind the clouds, gilding every sepulchre with 
 light. Stephen started at the silent crash, raised him- 
 self up, turned his staring eyes again upon the stone. 
 The distant driver started in fear as he heard the sud- 
 den cry ; it was the cry of a sudden ecstasy. 
 
 " Hattie Hastie, wife of Alexander Hastie," the 
 inscription read, " in the forty-second year of her 
 age." 
 
 Stephen sprang to his feet, his face brighter than 
 the night, devouring the words again, glorying in the 
 tale of death. 
 
 The moon, still generous with her light, gilded the 
 two mounds that lay before him in majestic stillness. 
 Then his heart leaped within him as he sprang for- 
 ward, seizing a rich cluster of flowers that lay upon 
 the mother's grave; pale as the dead beneath, he 
 gazed at it, holding it out before him, even burying
 
 346 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 his face within it to taste its rich perfume. For the 
 flowers were fresh and new therefore was his face so 
 pale. Had he found the living among the dead ? 
 
 In a moment he was striding along the road, soon 
 coming up with the waiting driver ; the latter sprang 
 to the box as his passenger approached. Stephen 
 walked close up, his hand extended, a half sovereign 
 gleaming in it. 
 
 " You can go back to Chester," he said, " I shall 
 not need you further." 
 
 " Thank ye, sir ; goin' to stay 'ere ? " 
 
 " Yes," Stephen answered. 
 
 " Funny choice o' lodgin's," the man muttered, as 
 he wrapped his rug around him, " but there's lots as 
 does it lots o' them doesn't come back after you 
 drives 'em to the graveyard," he mused with grim 
 English humour. 
 
 The night went past ; and Stephen kept his vigil, 
 sometimes beside the silent forms that linked him to 
 the absent one, sometimes farther afield by many a 
 hill and brook and tree that the friendly moon, and a 
 harrowed memory, called to a clearness of outline he 
 could not fail to recognize. 
 
 Many a secret vow, and many a muffled prayer, 
 and many a gentle tide of love, coursed through his 
 heart, his now expectant heart, while the pulseless 
 mounds, and the sleeping vales, and the hills she loved 
 so well, were traversed in the silent light. Expectant, 
 we have said for what other hands could have laid 
 that fragrant tribute on the grave ?
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 347 
 
 The sun had called the peasants from their beds an 
 hour or so before Stephen turned in to the open door 
 of a thatched cottage that commanded a full view of 
 the little graveyard. A kindly faced woman, busy 
 with domestic tasks, bade him enter. 
 
 " You're early about, sir," she said. " Can I be of 
 any service to you ? " 
 
 For answer, Stephen craved the favour of an hour's 
 rest. " I couldn't find it in my heart to sleep last 
 night," he said. " This is my first visit to this dis- 
 trict I was at the cemetery ; and I found the graves 
 of some who were very dear to one who was who 
 is very dear to me," he concluded evasively, " and 
 the night was fine and I recognized some of the 
 spots, too ; but I'm feeling a little exhausted now, and 
 if you could let me stretch myself for an hour or 
 so " 
 
 The woman interrupted him. " Certainly I can. 
 There's a couch in that wee room yonder, and you're 
 welcome to it." As she spoke, she picked up a light 
 shawl that lay beside her, which she carried in and 
 threw at the foot of the couch. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," she said, as she returned, " but 
 are you not from America ? " 
 
 " Yes," Stephen answered wonderingly ; " how 
 could you tell ? Were you ever there ? " 
 
 " No," the woman responded, sighing as she spoke, 
 " but my heart's often there. I have a son there, sir, 
 and I haven't heard from him for over two years 
 now. I had another son, and he was buried from 
 his vessel lost at sea isn't it an awful expression,
 
 348 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 sir? But he doesn't seem as much lost to me as 
 Laban." 
 
 " Laban," Stephen repeated, " Laban who ? What 
 is his second name?" Something of eagerness 
 marked his tone, for the name was not a common 
 one. 
 
 " Laban Shortill his father got the name out of 
 the Bible. Why, sir, why ? " and the woman's cheek 
 was blanched as she drew nearer Stephen, roused by 
 the expression on his face. 
 
 " Laban Shortill," the latter repeated. " Has he 
 dark brown hair, with a lock of white just over the 
 left temple ? " 
 
 The woman sank into the chair, deathly pale. 
 " Oh, God," she faltered, " don't disappoint me yes, 
 sir, he was only ten when he got hurted there with a 
 horse." Then she stopped, her eyes appealing to him 
 to go on. 
 
 " I knew him," Stephen said quickly, steadying his 
 voice. " He's coachman for one of my friends in 
 Hamilton;" and as he spoke the woman rose and 
 seized him by the hands, as if she would wring out 
 information of the absent one. Which Stephen was 
 glad to give, all he could, finally writing down the 
 wanderer's address with the utmost care ; the next 
 half hour was full of glad emotion to them both, his 
 own loneliness filling his heart with pity for this fel- 
 low sufferer. 
 
 Then she insisted on his lying down, which he was 
 nothing loath to do, soon falling into a heavy slumber. 
 In his dream,he stood at the cottage door and saw, with
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 349 
 
 enchanted eyes, the graceful figure of a girl, her 
 golden tresses floating in the wind as she pressed 
 toward the towering elm, a rich cluster of flowers in 
 her shapely hands, the yearning of love and loneli- 
 ness upon her face. He moved uneasily where he 
 lay, and the woman stood over him exultantly, al- 
 most lovingly ; his lips moved, burning hot, and she 
 heard them murmur " home . . . together," 
 while a sweet smile played upon the weary, noble 
 face. She bent as if to kiss him, confusing him with 
 the wanderer he had found then refrained, and 
 turned to the room without. 
 
 A few minutes later Stephen appeared, walking 
 straight to the door and looking intently across the 
 fields. 
 
 " Did you get any rest, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, thank you, I had a sleep. Do you know 
 the graves in yonder cemetery ? " 
 
 " Some of them, sir I have a little girl there." 
 
 Stephen paused. " You don't know whose plot 
 that is at the foot of that great elm there, do you ? " 
 
 The woman came to the door. " Yes, sir, I do 
 that's the Hasties'. The father and mother lie there ; 
 their daughter Hattie she was the loveliest thing 
 you ever seen, sir she went to Lunnon a long time 
 ago and never came back since. Did you know 
 them, sir?" 
 
 " Are there any relatives here yet ? " Stephen pur- 
 sued, disregarding her question. 
 
 " No, sir, none that I know of. But I've noticed a 
 strange thing lately. Two or three times I've seen
 
 350 'THE UNDERTOW 
 
 some one, a young lady, going there in the early 
 morning ; and she had flowers. At least, as far as I 
 could see, I was sure it was flowers she was carrying. 
 I've often wondered if ... you're looking so 
 faint, sir I'm just going to get you a bite of break- 
 fast ; maybe some one done as much for Laban, poor 
 boy. What's the matter, sir ? " 
 
 For Stephen's face was ashen white, and he stood, 
 no word escaping the pale, trembling lips. His hand 
 was outstretched, rigid, pointing with the intensity of 
 death across the fields, his great eyes fixed and 
 shining. 
 
 She, too, looked and saw, the morning light glint- 
 ing on the golden hair, a woman's form slowly wind- 
 ing toward the stately elm. 
 
 She turned toward Stephen but he had started 
 on, silent, no word or sign coming from him, his 
 hand outstretched a moment longer as he swiftly 
 leaped the dyke and bent his way straight across the 
 fields. 
 
 Not once were his eyes withdrawn from the form 
 that was now at the foot of the tree. It was the same 
 he had seen in his dreams. Midway he came to a 
 stream six or seven feet in width and he leaped it 
 as though it had been the furrow of a passing plough. 
 His lips moved slightly as he walked, in praise and 
 prayer, invoking the aid of God, promising his soul 
 to the new life that would begin beneath yon near- 
 ing elm. 
 
 And in that hour he knew, as he had not known 
 before, how deep the wound from which his heart
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 351 
 
 was bleeding, riven by some knife that had been 
 whetted in Eternity. An infinite desire, pure and 
 holy, bore him on. That the wreck of time was to 
 be saved, that his reprieve had come at last, that the 
 long eclipse was over, that life's golden fruitage was 
 not to be torn and trampled after all these blessed 
 joys of love, love true and tender as the heart for 
 which it longed, flowed like a river in his soul. 
 
 As he stealthily descended the stile that led into 
 the little cemetery, he saw the object of his eager 
 gaze seated on the grave. Tenderly she untied the 
 cluster of flowers in her hands, proceeding to dis- 
 tribute them about the lowly mound, adjusting them 
 with reverent care. A swift fear flashed through 
 Stephen's heart as he crept softly toward her, the 
 torture of the thought that she might after all refuse 
 to return with him overwhelming him for a moment ; 
 only for a moment, for he felt assured that his pres- 
 ence there, his long journey, his loving search, would 
 convince her of the reality of his love. Closer, still 
 closer, he crept, her face still turned from him, her 
 hair a shade darker, he thought, than when he had 
 seen it last, the sunny hair that in sunnier days his 
 hands and lips had loved to fondle. 
 
 He made some trifling noise ; she turned her head 
 quickly. As the face swung around toward him, he 
 outheld his arms, making as if to run, for some dis- 
 tance still lay between. But the face turned fully on 
 his own and he stood as still as the sleepers at 
 his feet, his hands outstretched in horror, his face 
 pallid in its agony. Then slowly, indifferent to the
 
 352 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 stranger's wondering gaze, conscious only of empti- 
 ness and loss and the cruel weight of hopes that had 
 fallen dead, he sank down upon the ground, his 
 anguish gurgling like a hemorrhage through parched 
 and quivering lips. 
 
 The startled stranger rose and walked quickly to 
 where he sat, or knelt, upon the grass. She stood a 
 few paces away for a minute or two, then said 
 gently : 
 
 " Are you ill, sir ? Can I do anything for you ? " 
 He waited a moment, then turned his staring eyes 
 upon her, looking hungrily at her face, his gaze 
 deepening into darkness, almost resentment, as 
 though that face were counterfeit. Then he spoke 
 but the words could not be heard, and he buried his 
 face in his hands again. 
 
 " What's the matter, sir ? " she pleaded. " Do tell 
 me." 
 
 " It's the hand of God," he murmured, but the 
 words were meant for himself alone. " Oh, Hattie, 
 Hattie ! " 
 
 " Do you mean Hattie Hastie ? " the soft voice 
 asked timidly. But if the question had come from 
 mouldering lips beneath him, Stephen Wishart could 
 not have sprung more quickly to his feet, nor could 
 the banished blood have flown back more swiftly to 
 the quivering face. He leaped to the girl's side, seized 
 her arm, then as quickly released it, her eyes arrested 
 by his fiery gaze. 
 
 w Yes, Hattie Hastie that's what you said what 
 know you of Hattie Hastie ? In God's name tell me
 
 The PRODIGAL'S CRUSADE 353 
 
 what you know. Is she here ? Has she been here ? 
 Have you seen her ? " 
 
 He paused, his quick breath suspended till she 
 should make reply. 
 
 " I used to know her," the girl said quietly. " I 
 used to know her but she went away to London. 
 And I went to Liverpool soon after. I'm in service 
 there and this is the first time I've been back." 
 
 She paused. "Yes," Stephen urged; "well, go 
 on why did you come here to-day ? Was it you 
 who put the flowers on the grave yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was. I put those flowers on her mother's 
 grave to-day, too. I do it for Hattie's sake she 
 used to do it before she went away. She was so 
 good to us ; my own mother died a little while be- 
 fore she left and Hattie sat up with her four nights 
 before she died. And it was a catching disease, too 
 it was scarlet fever ; my little brother died of it 
 just before. And nobody came near us except Hat- 
 tie. She used to sing to mother and that's all I 
 can do for her now. There's my mother's grave, 
 that one with the rose-bush at the foot. And when 
 I bring flowers for mother I always bring them for 
 Hattie's, too." 
 
 The girl stopped, and the eyes that looked up to 
 Stephen were filled with tears. 
 
 He stood silent, listening to the story, touched by 
 its beauty, oppressed by the doom with which it 
 swept his hopes away. He walked mutely back and 
 picked up his hat. 
 
 " And have you never heard from her since ? " he
 
 354 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 asked in a frozen voice, half turning toward the 
 maiden as he spoke. 
 
 " No, I never did. And she never came back 
 you couldn't tell me anything about her, could you, 
 sir?" 
 
 " No," he said with averted face, for her fondness 
 touched him. " I can't tell you here, get some 
 little keepsake of her ; " he slipped a sovereign into 
 her hand, " and whenever you come back here I'll be 
 glad if you will always put flowers on the grave. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 The girl thanked him, and Stephen turned away, 
 beginning to retrace his steps toward Chester as 
 rapidly as his heavy heart allowed. He saw his 
 kind friend of the cottage gazing toward him as he 
 strode across the fields ; but he turned his face away 
 and walked heavily on. Had she been closer, the 
 woman would have seen a face like to the face of 
 one baptized for the dead. 
 
 Blessed is the ministry of sorrow, laying upon 
 the heart that bears it the burdens of another, 
 healers to the earlier wound. The soul that echoes 
 with its own cry is ever the first to catch the whisper 
 of another's grief, stifling the louder wail within. 
 
 Wherefore Stephen slackened not his pace till he 
 paused before the door of the telegraph office in the 
 ancient city, and the beads of perspiration that his 
 quick walk had started were still upon his brow as he 
 wrote a cable message to Laban Shortill : 
 
 " Your mother's suffering. Write at once."
 
 XXIX 
 LONDON And The CHASE 
 
 THAT very afternoon found Stephen on his 
 way to London. Past the richest scenes of 
 English beauty, past shrine after shrine of 
 historic interest, his train whirled him toward the 
 waiting city. Stratford, Warwick, Kenilworth, Ox- 
 ford, all marvelled at his contemptuous haste. He 
 had never visited them ; but the voice that called him 
 to tarry was faint and unavailing. Enough of drama 
 and tragedy and knightly war ; enough of discipline 
 and schooling too, deeper than the classic Oxford 
 could impart, were mingling in his life already. He 
 scarcely noticed the glory of the day, or the beauty 
 of the varied landscape, or the splendour of a hun- 
 dred mansions as he passed ; his gaze was backward 
 turned, fastened still upon two half-neglected graves 
 that owned the scanty decoration of a stranger's 
 hand ; for, beside jthem, invisible to every eye but 
 his, was yet another lowly mound above which his 
 heart bended in silent anguish. The deepest graves 
 are unseen of human eyes, nor have been digged by 
 human hands ; and toward these shadowy sepulchres 
 there winds the long procession of those who go to 
 weep, their wailing heard by the Eternal Heart alone. 
 The panting engine was sobbing out its story of 
 355
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 exhaustion as Stephen pressed slowly out of Padding- 
 ton station to the ampler spaces of the Edgeware 
 Road. Mounting a bus, he looked about him at the 
 tossing crowds. The whole spectacle struck him as 
 strangely familiar, as it does all returning travellers to 
 the mighty Babylon ; the separation of years dwindles 
 to the absence of a day. Yet his reverence for Lon- 
 don, his surrender to its magic thrall, seemed to be 
 no more. He recalled faintly the day-dreams of early 
 boyhood and the place that London ever had as an 
 enchanted city ; but now he found himself scanning 
 its living tide for the treasure that perchance was hid- 
 den in its bosom. 
 
 The omnibus rumbled on, and soon the resonant 
 voice of the guard announced the Marble Arch. 
 Starting quickly, Stephen's eye fell on the very spot 
 that had been the scene of his encounter with the in- 
 fidel, and, moved by an impulse he was careless to 
 examine, he descended to the street and walked 
 quickly to the very ground on which he and Hattie 
 had stood together. Musing, he sat down on an ad- 
 joining bench, memory flowing again around the 
 place ; but the graceful form and the earnest face 
 were wanting and he soon arose. For he had other 
 work on hand than brooding over paradises that were 
 lost ; his, rather, to regain that life without which 
 there could be no further paradise for him. 
 
 With this resolve he started on and had made his 
 way as far as Oxford Street, along which he hurried, 
 glancing indifferently now and then into its gorgeous 
 shops, but ever peering eagerly, yet almost hope-
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 357 
 
 lessly, into the faces of the passers-by. He knew 
 that this street would lead him into Holborn and 
 thence to Gray's Inn Road, near to which was the 
 Army home that had sheltered Hattie on that mo- 
 mentous night. Fired by the memory, upborne by 
 the hope, he was striding with swift pace when sud- 
 denly he leaped from the pavement, wheeling quickly 
 round ; for a strong arm was round his neck and a 
 familiar voice was saying : 
 
 " Howly Moses, if this isn't foinding a needle in a 
 haystack ! I followed ye half a block before I 
 struck." 
 
 " Father O'Rourke ! " Stephen gasped in astonish- 
 ment, the crowd dividing about them as they stood. 
 " What on earth are you doing here ? I thought you 
 were in Hamilton." 
 
 " It's not in Hamilton I am, my boy it's in Lon- 
 don, begorra ; and London's the place for me. I 
 came away a little suddint that was the last sermon 
 I preached, the toime I saw ye in St. Anne's. I saw 
 ye, my boy ye came in late, shame on ye. But ye 
 paid foine attintion, and I'll forgive ye. The loikes 
 of us, d'ye see, can get away widout askin' the lave 
 o' the congregation. My intintion was to go to 
 Rome, to see his Holiness, God bless him. But I've 
 just heard that poor ould Maloney is down wid paral- 
 ysis ; he's been care-taker of St. Anne's for over forty 
 years. And they say the ould sinner's askin' for me 
 noight and day. When will the father be back, he 
 keeps sayin' and they tell me there's an outbreak of 
 diphtheria in Lower Town three children dead al-
 
 358 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 ready. There's not been as much sickness in Hamil- 
 ton for years, they say. Come, let's be movin' 
 on." 
 
 " Well," Stephen said as the old priest paused, 
 " you're not going back, are you ? " 
 
 " That's the very thing I'm going to do. I'm 
 going to ould Ireland to see my sister first then 
 straight home. The Pope'll keep and Rome won't 
 vanish in a day. To tell you the truth, I belave ould 
 Maloney's dying blessing'll be just as good as the 
 Pope's. Duty, my boy; there's always blessing 
 there. Anyhow, I'll be glad to get back to wurrk ; 
 I was niver meant to be galivantin' round the globe. 
 Where moight ye be going now ? " 
 
 " I'm going to to ask for a friend," Stephen an- 
 swered hesitatingly. 
 
 " I'm afraid this'll be my last noight in London. 
 I tell ye, Wishart, come and take dinner wid me to- 
 noight let's dine at the Holborn ; there it is yonder, 
 across the street see the gold letters ? Mate me 
 there at siven-thirty. Sure it's Froiday, and I'll have 
 to lave the mate alone ; but I'll ate a couple o' whales. 
 We'll have some plain livin' and high thinkin'. 
 Siven-thirty, moind. Good-bye just now." 
 
 The noble hearted priest departed down Chancery 
 Lane, and Stephen hailed a hansom, ordering the 
 driver to hurry to the Army Refuge, the mention of 
 which stirred his heart to its profoundest depths. 
 
 One by one familiar places went flying past. Last 
 came the fountain, the tiny park, the bench on which 
 they had sat together in the morning sun. Then the
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 359 
 
 carriage stopped before the door and in a moment 
 Stephen was within. His first enquiry was for the 
 Commander. 
 
 " She's not here," he was informed briefly, she's in 
 America but we expect her home shortly now." 
 The informant wondered at the shadow that fell on 
 Stephen's face. He stood irresolute. Suddenly he 
 heard a voice that he had heard before. 
 
 " Why, Mr. what's the name now ? Oh, yes, Mr. 
 Wishart ! Aren't you Mr. Wishart ? I'm so glad to 
 see you again. It was you that came here with that 
 lovely girl. Come away in and sit down." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Yuill, is this you ? I'm just as glad 
 to see you no, thank you, I can't wait. But I 
 wanted to ask you about that very person. I wasn't 
 sure but she might be in London and I'm here my- 
 self as you see," he added, smiling, " so I thought I 
 would call and enquire." 
 
 He looked as carelessly as he could into the ma- 
 tron's kindly face ; a glance convinced him that she 
 knew more than he had allowed for. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Wishart," she began nervously and in 
 the gravest of tones, " why, Mr. Wishart, I thought 
 I thought . . . you know Miss Hastie was 
 sent on to Edinburgh after she enlisted here. And 
 . . . didn't you see her there afterward? And 
 we were all told that she . . ." The matron 
 stopped, embarrassed. 
 
 " Yes," Stephen assented, in a tone scarcely audi- 
 ble, " yes, I understand and she is not here ? " 
 
 " No," the woman averred delicately, taking the
 
 36o THE UNDERTOW 
 
 cue and avoiding further questions, " did you fancy 
 she might have returned to Army work ? " 
 
 " Yes," Stephen answered sadly, " I fancied per- 
 haps she had. But she is not here? No, you're 
 sure of that ? If she should be with the Army any- 
 where in London, how could I find it out ? " 
 
 The matron pondered a moment. " I don't think 
 it's likely," she said, " but the nearest to any exact 
 information, you could get at the Headquarters on 
 Victoria Street near the Mansion House, you 
 know." 
 
 Stephen turned toward the door. " I'll try there," 
 he said heavily ; " but the Commander's not in Lon- 
 don ? Nor the General ? " 
 
 Both enquiries were answered in the negative, the 
 Commander being in America, the General visiting 
 at a Scottish country-seat. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later Stephen was plying his 
 quest at Headquarters. But the result was as fruit- 
 less as before, and he trudged back with leaden heart 
 to keep his engagement with Father O'Rourke at the 
 Holborn Restaurant. 
 
 Whatever the altitude of the thinking, the living 
 was certainly plain that night ; for it was Friday to 
 them both. 
 
 " Come away and have a smoke," Father O'Rourke 
 said when they had finished, " it's only a step to the 
 Inns of Court where I have a room. You're toired 
 out, my boy. Come away and have a chat." 
 
 Gaining the hotel, but a few minutes had passed in
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 361 
 
 general conversation when Stephen introduced the 
 subject to which the priest had referred earlier in the 
 day, that of the former's visit to St. Anne's. Tim- 
 idly, yet with kindling emotion, he told the wonder- 
 ing priest of the influence his sermon had had upon 
 him, of the new vision of the Saviour that had been 
 given him in the failing light, of the awakening his 
 soul had experienced in the Romish temple. 
 
 The priest's face was aglow. " It's the Lord's doing, 
 my boy," he said in a thrilling voice, " and the Lord 
 works in all the churches sometimes in none. I'll 
 tell you something about myself. I was a poor stick 
 of a priest till I happened one night to hear that great 
 American preacher, Moody you know him. Well, 
 I got a blessing that night that'll last me till I die. By 
 the way, I heard a great Protestant preacher here last 
 Thursday. Be sure you go to hear him right down 
 here on the Viaduct ; were you ever there ? " 
 " No, I don't think so. What's his name ? " 
 " I can't just recall it but his church is called the 
 City Temple, and he preaches there Thursdays at 
 noon. A funny thing happened when I was going 
 in ; just as I got to the door, I met a chap I used to 
 know at Maynooth a priest too. Well, he was 
 making straight for the Temple door, but when he 
 saw me, he got ever so embarrassed. After we shook 
 hands, he said, ' Could you tell me where I'd find the 
 Brompton Oratory ? ' I knew what he was after, so 
 I winked at him. ' I'm not sure about Brompton,' I 
 told him, ' but if you're looking for oratory, come on 
 in with me.' And I tell you we found it. That man
 
 362 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 should be a Cardinal. It was great. And at the 
 close, if O'Gorman and I weren't standing up, both 
 holding on to one hymn book for dear life and sing- 
 ing away : 
 
 ' Just as I am without one plea.' 
 
 Then a lady sang a beautiful solo haven't heard any- 
 thing so sweet since I heard your wife." 
 
 The priest paused, looking keenly at Stephen ; for 
 the expression of pain upon his face could hardly go 
 unnoticed. Father O'Rourke walked to the door 
 and closed it. 
 
 " Wishart," he said as he came back, " there's some- 
 thing the matter. I knew it this morning on Oxford 
 Street." Then he sat down beside Stephen, his arm 
 about the bended shoulders as the burdened man 
 bowed low ; and gently, lovingly, he wooed the whole 
 sad story from the lonely heart. 
 
 True symptom of the chastened spirit, true pledge 
 of his redemption, Stephen's plaint was not more of 
 his later sorrow than of his early sin. Blood-relations 
 seemed the two. At long last Stephen said, " Do you 
 know, I've been wondering if I have any right to 
 continue in the ministry. Do you think such an one 
 as I should dare to preach to others ? " 
 
 The old priest fixed his eyes earnestly on the young 
 minister's face. " Don't give up your ministry, my 
 man. This is going to make you into a true priest 
 of God ; you've got your commission now," and his 
 voice, trembling with compassion, fell like music on 
 Stephen's troubled heart.
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 365 
 
 " But you know I'm not worthy," the latter began. 
 
 " Hush," interrupted Father O'Rourke, " that's for 
 the Master alone. You've got a great chance now, 
 my man a great chance, and don't you miss it. 
 There's nothing so sad as a wasted tragedy or a 
 wasted sin ; a wasted sin, I say. Do you know what 
 I can't forgive Judas for the only thing I can't for- 
 give him ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " No," said Stephen ; " his treachery, I suppose." 
 
 " Not that, my boy I could overlook that, I 
 think. But I can't forgive him this, that he didn't 
 turn at the last and show to the ages how great was 
 the grace that could save even Judas. He'd have 
 been the trophy of the centuries ; Paul wouldn't have 
 been a circumstance to Judas. And whenever a man 
 like you or me has his feet taken from the miry 
 clay, he owes God the new song that no man can 
 sing as it should be sung till he's had the same deliv- 
 erance. So go you on, my boy, and sing that song 
 every chance you get ; sing it as the angels can't, and 
 make the most of all God's done for you." 
 
 Gradually their talk turned to Hattie; and the 
 small hours of the morning had crept upon them be- 
 fore Stephen rose to go. Arm in arm they walked 
 a little way along the silent street. 
 
 " Well, I guess I'll have to say good-night and 
 good-bye," the priest said, " but I'll not forget you. 
 My heart will be searching with your own. From 
 what you told me, I think it's Edinburgh she'd make 
 for a woman's heart never forgets the grove where 
 she first heard the love-birds sing. I know more
 
 364 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 about that sort of thing than they imagine in St. 
 Anne's. Now cheer up, my boy. Remember, God's 
 a great detective ; leave the case with Him and He'll 
 find her for you yet." 
 
 Then they parted with mutual pledge of fidelity 
 and love, each going his priestly way and each a 
 priest unto the other nor by different hands or- 
 dained. 
 
 Early the next morning Stephen presented himself 
 again at the Army Headquarters on Victoria Street. 
 Recognized and admitted, he asked the officer who 
 received him for a note of introduction to the official 
 in command of the Army's forces at the Scottish 
 capital. This being provided, Stephen thanked the 
 Commissioner, adding : " Could you go with me 
 down to the Royal Bank of Scotland ? It's not very 
 far down at Bishopsgate Within." 
 
 The Commissioner complied with great alacrity. 
 " I could go right now," he said with a cheerfulness 
 worthy of their destination. Whereupon they set 
 forth together. Arriving at the bank, Stephen pre- 
 sented his letters of credit and identification. 
 
 " How much do you wish to draw ? " asked the 
 clerk. 
 
 "A hundred pounds," replied Stephen. Which 
 were soon handed out to him in spotless notes, mu- 
 sically crisp. 
 
 Stephen drew the wide-eyed Commissioner into 
 the waiting room. " I want you to take this money," 
 he said ; " and I want it spent on an outing in the
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 365 
 
 country for as many poor children as it will provide 
 for. The time and the place to be determined by 
 yourselves. I went with a lot of poor Edinburgh 
 children once for a day in the country," he added 
 softly. " It was the happiest day of my life and I 
 want to commemorate it this way." 
 
 The Commissioner was recovering as best he could. 
 " Hadn't you better make it a draft payable to the 
 General?" he suggested first, the business instinct 
 uppermost. " I'd sooner not take the money, sir 
 you can get the draft marked." 
 
 " All right," agreed Stephen, as he called a clerk, 
 handing him the notes and requesting him to frame 
 the document. 
 
 Then the Commissioner opened his lips, that the 
 avalanche of gratitude might flow. 
 
 Stephen stopped him. " I'm doing this for another 
 man," he said ; " it's trust money that was given me 
 by an old farmer in Canada he's my father and I 
 know he'd approve of the enterprise. Will you 
 kindly make out a receipt to Robert Wishart ? I'll 
 just mail it to him here." 
 
 When this had been effected, the clerk was back 
 with the draft, which the Commissioner reverently 
 deposited in a wallet that had abundant room. The 
 two men walked together out of the bank, parting on 
 Leadenhall Street, Stephen glad to escape from the 
 aforesaid avalanche which the gallant soldier seemed 
 powerless to repress. 
 
 The days came and went, but the now half-despair-
 
 366 T HE UNDERTOW 
 
 ing searcher still lingered amid sad familiar scenes. 
 Where they first had met the very spot ; the little 
 park, the fountain whose untiring stream flowed on, 
 the humble room in which he first had heard her 
 soul in song, the bench in Hyde Park on which they 
 had together rested all these were visited again with 
 aching heart, as though he were looking his last upon 
 them, even as mayhap he had looked his last on her 
 whose memory lent them their plaintive beauty. 
 
 The hope that finally began to languish in Lon- 
 don was turning on swift wing to Edinburgh, where 
 even now it had purposed to rebuild its nest. And the 
 north-bound train that leaped outward from King's 
 Cross one darksome night bore among its passengers 
 the unwearied man whose heart, now high with 
 hope, now sickened with despair, was still resolute 
 upon its sacred purpose. 
 
 Cramped and weary, the chill air of Scotia's cher- 
 ished city smote him as he alighted the next morning 
 at Waverly station. He shivered as he walked along 
 the platform ; for Edinburgh's climate was sent upon 
 it to wring from its idolatrous inhabitants the admis- 
 sion, reluctant though it be, that they who seek an- 
 other city, even a heavenly, have anything to gain. 
 
 Stephen was standing, intent upon the stream of 
 luggage from which he would extract his humble 
 share, when a hand was suddenly laid upon his shoul- 
 der, and a rich voice accosted him : 
 
 " Look here, aren't you on the wrong side of the 
 Atlantic ? " He turned to look into the strong face 
 of the great preacher, the same whose narrative of
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 367 
 
 the tearful bootblack and whose sermon on " The 
 outjacobed Jacob " had left so deep an impression 
 on Stephen's mind. Warmly he greeted the vener- 
 able orator, his very presence a strength and comfort 
 to the lonely man. 
 
 " I intended calling on you this very day," Stephen 
 exclaimed ; " are you still at Charlotte Square ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I'm sorry I won't be at home. I'm going 
 to Berwick ; my train leaves in a few minutes now. 
 But you're the very man I wanted to see. I've 
 something of importance to tell you step over 
 here." 
 
 They moved aside from the stream of hurrying 
 passengers. " Mr. Wishart, this seems nothing less 
 than providential. I was just wondering whom I 
 
 should ask to preach in side Free Church next 
 
 Sabbath; they're vacant and I'm the Moderator. 
 As you know, it's one of our strongest churches. 
 But the wonderful thing about it all is this they've 
 
 been enquiring for you. Professor , of the 
 
 New College, recommended you ; he remembered 
 your brilliant career. And stranger still, the very 
 last Sabbath you preached in your church at home, 
 two of their elders who were touring Canada hap- 
 pened to be there. And they brought back a great 
 report of the grapes of Eschol I shan't tell you 
 what they said. But the church has had its eye on 
 you ; they spoke to me about you. Of course I 
 presumed you were three thousand miles away 
 but here you are ! Now Mr. Wishart, you'll preach 
 to them next Sabbath ; it seems an open door,
 
 368 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 doesn't it ? I'll have to run just two minutes left. 
 But mark that down for next Sabbath and I'll 
 notify their session clerk; they'll be delighted. 
 Good-bye." And the master of assemblies hurried 
 to his train. 
 
 Stephen made his way out of the station up to 
 Princes Street, past Scott's monument, along the 
 comely thoroughfare to the side street that led up to 
 the lodging house that had been his home before. 
 Within which he found the selfsame landlady, who 
 welcomed him with delight, ushering him to the 
 very room he had occupied so long. 
 
 The tidings he had just received, grateful as they 
 would have been in other days, seemed strangely 
 unimportant now. Indeed, his mind speedily dis- 
 missed the matter, so utterly was it occupied with a 
 different quest. One hour later, he was closeted 
 with the commanding officer of the Scottish staff of 
 the Salvation Army. 
 
 " I've come to ask, sir, if you have in your ranks 
 or anywhere in your service a lady that I know 
 was once with you here. Her name is Hattie Hastie 
 or possibly, Mrs. Wishart, Mrs. Stephen Wishart; 
 you might look for both," he added earnestly. 
 
 " I think I should be able to let you know, sir," 
 the man rejoined ; " we keep a fairly exhaustive list. 
 Was your friend an officer ? " 
 
 " Yes, I'm almost sure she was one of the subor- 
 dinate officers I'm sure of it, in fact. I've heard 
 her say so." 
 
 The officer rang a bell, gave a brief order, and
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 369 
 
 soon a ponderous book was placed before him. Ad- 
 justing his glasses, he scanned it for several minutes, 
 turning from page to page. Suddenly he paused 
 and looked up, struck with the white rigid face 
 before him. 
 
 " Would you know her signature if you saw it ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 But Stephen made no answer except to rise, 
 almost spring, from his seat, bending over the book, 
 his lips trembling, his eyes leaping hither and thither 
 over the page. 
 
 " There, sir," said the man, " there in the right 
 hand corner," placing his finger on the name. 
 
 " Yes, yes," the other cried in feverish haste, " yes, 
 I see it that is her writing. Where can I find her, 
 sir of course she must be here. Where shall I find 
 her ? I wanted to to see her," he exclaimed with 
 passionate simplicity, no longer seeking to conceal 
 the flame that leaped from lip and eye. 
 
 " Please be seated, sir," the man urged, looking 
 keenly at him. " I'll try and find that out for you," 
 and he touched the bell again. 
 
 " Send Captain Latham to me," he ordered the 
 messenger. 
 
 " Would you please let me know, Captain," he said 
 a moment later, " where this lady is to be found ? 
 This gentleman wants to know. Look, here's the 
 name," and the two men bent over the book to- 
 gether. 
 
 Stephen stood a little apart, his hands tightly 
 clenched, his lip caught between his teeth, his whole
 
 370 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 soul in a ferment of longing. For she was here, 
 somewhere here that much was certain ; and he 
 would see her not to-morrow or some later day 
 but to-day, this very day! His brain, tired and 
 dazed, swam with the rapturous thought. 
 
 Suddenly there came a knell of words ; his eyes 
 closed and he sank dumbly into a chair. 
 
 " I knew there must have been a mistake some- 
 where," he heard Latham saying in a low tone to 
 the other ; " that's an old list you've got you didn't 
 look at the date. That name, Hattie Hastie, isn't to 
 be found over here," he added, turning over the 
 pages, their cruel rasping falling like the stroke of 
 fate on poor Stephen's tortured heart. 
 
 His first informant looked up in a moment " I'm 
 afraid we can't give you any information, sir. 
 There's no trace of her since she left us. It seems 
 Miss Hastie left for America more than why sir, 
 what's the matter ? You're white as death, sir. 
 Wait a minute till I ..." 
 
 But Stephen heard no more. Blind and broken, 
 he groped for the door and in a moment was out 
 upon the street, walking on, he knew or cared not 
 whither, struggling still to cling to God, now and 
 then clutching wildly toward the hope that had fled 
 shrieking from his heart. 
 
 It was the following Monday morning ; and Ste- 
 phen sat in his lonely room, his thoughts busy with 
 the days and nights of suffering that had passed since 
 his outstretched arms had been cheated of the treas-
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 371 
 
 ure he had thought so near. How they had passed, 
 he scarcely knew for his heart was numb. Yet the 
 despairing search had been maintained, in a drear 
 unconscious sort of way, so difficult was it to re- 
 nounce his confidence that she was somewhere 
 within his reach. 
 
 Then the Sabbath had come on; and he had 
 preached twice in side Free Church, to the en- 
 chantment and delight of its rich and cultured con- 
 gregation. A great throng had filled the splendid 
 edifice; but the vastness of his audience and the 
 grandeur of the church, and the splendour of the 
 music, had made but little impression on Stephen 
 Wishart. Unconscious of it himself, he had been 
 girded for his work by the hands of sorrow, his lips 
 touched by that living coal, his thought and speech 
 enriched by simplicity of motive and earnestness of 
 heart. He knew not with what power his eloquent 
 and burning words had thrilled his hearers, the 
 majesty of the gospel message captivating their hearts 
 as it possessed his own. 
 
 But he did know, this Monday morning, that the 
 echoing bell beneath announced the presence of a 
 committee from the church whose pulpit he had oc- 
 cupied the day before. They had informed him of 
 their intention to wait upon him. 
 
 The grave and responsible representatives of 
 
 side Free Church did not require long to inform 
 
 him of their mission. The congregation, so far as 
 they could learn, were a unit in his favour ; their pur- 
 pose was to ascertain whether or not they might pro-
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 ceed with the formality of a call. A noble church, 
 an ample stipend, a generous vacation, a loyal and 
 superior people, an inviting field for toil, were the 
 features they begged to submit for his consideration, 
 themselves urging that it might be favourable. 
 
 Stephen's response was as cordial as it was brief 
 and simple. A splendid independence, which his in- 
 terviewers could not fail to note, deepened the ear- 
 nestness of their appeal. To all of which Stephen's 
 answer was a quiet promise that he would give them 
 his decision in a few days at the longest. 
 
 His visitors departing, Stephen resumed the reverie 
 they had interrupted, this new claim upon him giving 
 it a wider range. Yet he himself was compelled to 
 note, and with no little wonder, how slightly he was 
 impressed by the mere attractiveness of the proposi- 
 tion that had just been made. He recalled, with a 
 pathetic sort of humour, how intoxicated he would 
 once have been by such a prospect as now seemed 
 powerless to allure. Professional distinction, social 
 rank, almost certain popularity, financial comfort 
 these had still a glittering light ; but he knew the dif- 
 ference now between the glittering and the golden. 
 How paltry seems the treasure, erstwhile precious, to 
 a man who is struggling for his life ! 
 
 Besides, his vision was growing clearer. Clarified 
 by sorrow's ministry, his eyes were coming to recog- 
 nize realities, his mind dimly groping toward the mas- 
 ter truth that duty, and not happiness, is the end of 
 life. The hope of happiness, the purpose to pursue 
 it till it could no more elude him, was fast ebbing
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 373 
 
 from his mind ; and in its place was welling up a tide 
 of noble longing, of high resolve to take up his cross 
 and bear it to the end. Even if his was to be a wid- 
 owed race, he would strive to run it patiently, re- 
 membering the Man of Sorrows, gleaning through his 
 tears an ampler harvest than the scant sickle of hap- 
 piness had ever reaped. 
 
 His reflections were disturbed by a gentle knock ; 
 a servant opened the door and handed him a letter. 
 He checked an exclamation of surprise as he remarked 
 the foreign stamp, quickly recalling that he had given 
 his father his old-time Edinburgh address. 
 
 To his amazement, he saw the Morven postmark 
 on the letter. Eagerly he tore it open and plunged 
 into its contents, a sense of awe upon him, as though 
 the Master of the harvest-field were standing in the 
 room. For the letter went on to say that, having se- 
 cured his address from his father, the elders of the 
 Morven congregation wished to inform him of the 
 vacancy that had suddenly fallen on their church ; 
 moreover, that their people had not forgotten their 
 former choice, and, knowing that he had resigned his 
 charge in Hamilton, were anxious to ascertain if they 
 might now hope to secure him as their minister. 
 They were conscious of the apparent presumption, 
 of the comparative obscurity of their church, etc., 
 etc. ; but the feeling was unanimous and strong, and 
 the leading of Providence would seem to indicate that 
 they at least should lay their case before him. Would 
 he be so kind as to reply at his earliest convenience ? 
 Should he entertain their proposal, might not arrange-
 
 374 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 ments for his settlement be completed in his absence ? 
 And more there was, of equally earnest tone. 
 
 Stephen read the letter again and again. It was 
 the same hand, he noted, as had penned the appeal 
 of so long ago, an appeal so condescendingly de- 
 clined. But how different the heart that hearkened 
 now to their reuttered call ! For Stephen felt almost 
 a transport of joy, as though he had been called to 
 the ministry anew. He remembered, too, sweet soft- 
 ness in the thought, the yearning of an absent one 
 for the very field of labour that was now within his 
 reach ; and the humble folk of the distant parish grew 
 precious in his sight. 
 
 No sense of sacrifice, no misgiving as to duty, no 
 rival claim of statelier church, shadowed the eager 
 gladness with which he took up his pen ; nor did he 
 lay it down till he had written the Morven session his 
 full acceptance of the call, promising them an un- 
 stinted ministry, asking their unstinted prayer. 
 
 As he posted the letter that was to gladden the 
 hearts beyond the sea, Stephen's mind reverted to the 
 visit he and Hattie had made to the placid country 
 scenes that were now to be mingled with his life. A 
 quick association of ideas called up before him a day 
 of kindred memories, sweet and rural, though more 
 sacred far. He stood still for a moment, looked at 
 his watch, then started hurriedly toward the Waverly 
 station. An uncontrollable impulse bore him on. 
 He was just in time to purchase a ticket to Kimlachie, 
 and board the train that steamed out of the crowded
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 375 
 
 station, as it had departed once before with its load 
 of raptured misery. 
 
 Soon he stood where he had stood long ago among 
 the boisterous children from the slums, the sunlit 
 woods still decking the noble hill, as on that golden 
 summer day that had poured the blessedness of heaven 
 into his brimming heart. 
 
 He walked reflective across the fields, so vivid when 
 he saw them last with their stream of happy waifs. 
 Once and again he caught the thrilling sight of a busy 
 flitting form, once and again he saw the wayward hair 
 and glowing face of her who had moved as queen 
 amongst them all. But the laughter died, and the 
 vision vanished, and the hills were bare. 
 
 Reverently he made his way into the woods. A 
 sort of awe possessed him, as though venturing 
 within some great cathedral whose paling grandeur 
 waits as vassal on the silent form before the altar, 
 vested in statelier pomp. Of a sudden, he felt that he 
 should walk no farther ; and, lifting up his eyes, he 
 saw the grassy mound that was now life's altar place 
 to him forever. 
 
 But no trembling form rested on it. The slanting 
 sun still kissed the quivering leaves ; the gentle wind 
 still went its whispering way ; the faithful flowers 
 still plied their lonely tack of love but the soul, 
 the soul of things, was gone. 
 
 Still standing, still with uncovered head, his broad- 
 ing heart gleaned the place of its every memory, 
 laying up treasure against the famine that must fall 
 when he went his way.
 
 376 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Timidly, faintly, he called her name. 
 
 " Hattie, my Hattie." But the cry was really 
 meant alone for God and no human voice made 
 answer. 
 
 Heavily, as men turn from the grave where their 
 children's mother lies, he began his way backward 
 to the open, the heartless sunbeams laughing about 
 him as he went. 
 
 He had barely emerged from the sheltering woods 
 when he heard the sound of voices. Looking 
 upward to the brow of the adjoining hill, he ob- 
 served two men walking arm in arm toward the dis- 
 tant mansion. The one nearest him, he knew at a 
 glance. That stalwart form would be recognizable 
 anywhere. It was no other than the General, his 
 uniform distinguishable from where Stephen stood. 
 The great soldier looked even younger, more martial, 
 more alert than when he had seen him last, that 
 memorable night on which he first had heard his 
 darling's voice in song. 
 
 Quickening his pace, he was soon sufficiently 
 close to attract the attention of the General and 
 his friend. The former's eye fell upon him first, 
 and Stephen raised his hat, advancing with out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 " Let me see," said the General as he returned the 
 salutation, " I surely know your face just a minute 
 now; don't tell me. Why, certainly, you're the 
 young minister I met once at our Poplar barracks ; I 
 remember you distinctly now. It was a lady friend 
 of yours that sang that night, and I don't know
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 377 
 
 when I have heard such a glorious voice. I'm glad 
 to see you. How goes the battle ? " 
 
 Stephen answered briefly, then enquired for the 
 General's health. 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right have no time for anything else. 
 Excuse me, I should have introduced you. This is 
 my friend and faithful ally, Sir Hector Sinclair he's 
 got a higher title than that too," he added, as the men 
 shook hands. " He's one of our best advisers ; and 
 he gives us the freedom of these heavenly fields every 
 summer for our waifs." 
 
 Stephen expressed his pleasure at making so 
 worthy an acquaintance ; the latter invited him to 
 accompany them to the arbour and join them in a cup 
 of tea. As they walked along, Stephen ventured to 
 enquire for the Commander, expressing his disappoint- 
 ment that she was in America. 
 
 " If you're spared to reach that summer-house 
 yonder, I expect you'll find her waiting there for us," 
 said the General laughing. " She landed at Glasgow 
 last night at Greenock rather and came on here 
 to meet me this morning. It doesn't take long to 
 trade continents nowadays." 
 
 Stephen concealed the emotion that he felt as he 
 looked again, which he did a few minutes later, upon 
 the winsome countenance that so vividly recalled 
 another. Presented to the gracious hostess, the 
 little company gathered about the table. 
 
 Presently the Commander began archly : 
 
 " Mr. Wishart, I've a little crow to pick with you." 
 
 " A very black one ? " responded Stephen.
 
 378 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " Yes, pretty black. Theft's a dreadful thing, Mr. 
 Wishart and however did you dare to steal away 
 that lovely girl they all admired so in Edinburgh ? 
 Oh, you needn't blush like that ; I know all about it." 
 
 Stephen's reply was inarticulate, and the blush was 
 paling fast. 
 
 " It would just serve you right," the Commander 
 went on, " if I wouldn't tell you the little bit of news 
 I have. Especially as youshould have brought her 
 with you were you afraid we'd keep her ? But I'll 
 forgive you a woman can't keep news anyhow. 
 Well, it's this I saw her in New York. I was driv- 
 ing on Broadway the day before I sailed, away down 
 near the City Hall, and I saw her from the carriage 
 window as plain as could be. I made the driver stop 
 at once she hadn't seen me and I got out and 
 hurried to where I saw her. But there was such a 
 crowd, and she had gone and . . ." 
 
 The Commander stopped, amazed for Stephen's 
 desperate struggle for control was over. He was 
 standing up, his arm half outstretched, while the cup 
 rocked in its saucer, the hot tea spilling unnoticed 
 on his hand. His face was blanched and his eyes 
 were staring at the Commander with glassy steadi- 
 ness. 
 
 " You saw her ? " he whispered in a ghostly voice, 
 " you saw her, did you say ? And are you sure it 
 was it was my wife ? " he added, coming closer 
 to her, his hand outstretched as before. 
 
 " Oh, do tell me . . ." began the Commander, 
 "what can there ?"
 
 LONDON And The CHASE 379 
 
 " Are you sure it was my wife ? " Stephen broke 
 in again, his voice loud, almost stormy. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Wishart," the other said quickly, the 
 colour retreating from her cheek ; " it was Hattie 
 Hastie isn't she your wife ? " 
 
 Stephen's smile was pitiful to behold, so strong, so 
 anguished was it. 
 
 " Yes, please God," he answered in a tone so low 
 that they could scarcely hear, " but you didn't find 
 her ? You didn't speak to her ? You don't know 
 where she is ? " he cried, the voice rising again, and 
 the questions spurting from his lips as if by no voli- 
 tion of his own. He laid his cup and saucer on the 
 tray, but his eyes never moved from the Commander's 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Wishart, I'm so sorry of course, I 
 don't understand ! No, I couldn't find her ; I've 
 told you all I know," and the words were gentle, full 
 of pity. " But I'm sure she is in New York at 
 least, I'm sure she was there ten days ago." 
 
 Then a dense silence fell upon them all. Stephen's 
 eyes were far away, fixed upon a distant fringe of 
 woods. Then they turned toward the now setting 
 sun, looking far beyond it, searching the farmost 
 west that held the treasure of his life. 
 
 Suddenly he turned to his silent company and 
 began to bid them a grave farewell. His host re- 
 monstrated gently ; " We would have been glad to 
 have you stay till morning," he said earnestly. 
 
 " Forgive me, my friends," answered Stephen, 
 looking toward them all, " I can't tell you what is
 
 380 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 in my heart. Perhaps you know. But you will 
 let me go without further words I shall not rest 
 anywhere till the morning comes." 
 
 Then they every one spoke some farewell word of 
 comfort except the General alone, whose quiver- 
 ing lips refused.
 
 XXX 
 By W A Y of The CROSS 
 
 THE next morning found Stephen in Liver- 
 pool, and at the booking office of the White 
 Star line. An intermediate passage was the 
 best he could secure on the crowded vessel, but this 
 mattered little, since the second cabin is not one whit 
 less fleet than the saloon. Neither the one nor the 
 other was swift enough for the silent traveller who 
 smiled with sad contempt at the boisterous eagerness 
 of the men who gambled daily on the mileage ; for 
 he knew the deeper hazard of one whose own soul's 
 happiness was the stake. 
 
 The first day at sea was spent in unbroken pon- 
 dering. Hope was reviving in his heart ; for had he 
 not met one who had certainly seen her face ? Per- 
 haps, too, the sense of homegoing upheld him more 
 than he realized. He found himself counting eagerly 
 on seeing Reuben and his aged father once again. 
 The thought of Reuben started a little stream of joy 
 in his troubled mind, and he took again from his 
 pocket the letter from Bessie that had reached him 
 but an hour before he left Edinburgh for the South- 
 ern port. It had had little consideration amid the 
 ensuing excitement, but now he pondered its con- 
 tents with subdued and thankful gladness. 
 
 For Bessie had written the momentous news that 
 she and Reuben were at last man and wife, quietly 
 
 381
 
 382 THE UNDERTOU/ 
 
 married by Mr. Shearer at the country church. 
 Stephen's heart melted within him, the tears refusing 
 to be bidden back, as he read Bessie's story of how 
 she had insisted on telling everything to Reuben, all 
 about her fickleness, her childhood's love for his 
 younger brother, her weakness in cherishing all that 
 she would now disclose. " Oh, Stephen," the letter 
 went on, " you should have seen Reuben at his no- 
 blest. I really don't believe there ever was another 
 man as good, as truly good, as Rube. He just took 
 me in his arms and kissed the words back even 
 when I wanted to say more and he said he wouldn't 
 hear any more ; he said it was only natural for any 
 one to care for you and a lot of other lovely things. 
 But what comforted me most was when he said he 
 knew I loved him the best in the whole world now, 
 or else I wouldn't have wanted to tell him everything. 
 And oh, Stephen, I love him more and more since 
 we got married ; and I'm going to give my life to 
 prove to him that my whole heart is his forever. 
 And we're going to live right here with father and 
 we're so happy. And Rube says all we want now is 
 you and Hattie." 
 
 Then followed some eager enquiries for the well- 
 loved fugitive, Stephen's fancy leaping to join the 
 chase. 
 
 The next day was a torture as it dragged its crawl- 
 ing way. A torment of impatience seized him but 
 relief came from an unexpected quarter. A steerage 
 passenger was reported to be dying. Stephen asked 
 to be shown to his quarters and for a time his soul
 
 By WAY of The CROSS 383 
 
 forgot its burden in its ministry to the suffering man. 
 This experience opened the door for a service he 
 found it the keenest joy to render to one and another 
 of the lowly travellers ; and when at last the vessel 
 rounded Sandy Hook the name oftenest upon the 
 lips of the poor foreigners, the sick, the friendless, 
 was that of the man whose transient ministry had 
 brought as much of comfort as it gave. 
 
 Stout indeed the heart would need to be that fain 
 would ply its search among the millions of New 
 York. Yet this was what Stephen had resolved to 
 do, unable though he was to form any plan as to how 
 it should be done. No sooner had he disembarked 
 than he hurried eagerly to lower Broadway, walking 
 up and down for nearly an hour in the neighbour- 
 hood that the Commander had described. The rest- 
 less crowds rolled about him, the roaring traffic never 
 ceased, the chime of overhanging bells mingled with 
 it all, as Stephen wandered to and fro himself pitying 
 the poor faint clue that held him to the spot. 
 
 Thus passed the days, seeking here and everywhere 
 his lost one, the search still unrewarded. Foiled and 
 despondent, one late afternoon found him in his room 
 at the St. Denis. The chimes of Grace church, im- 
 mediately opposite, sprinkled their sweet melody 
 about, somehow intensifying the loneliness that 
 settled round him like a cloud. His torture lay in 
 the assurance that his wife was in the same city as 
 himself, yet beyond his reach, hidden somewhere in 
 the billowy depths of an ocean he could not penetrate.
 
 384 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Suddenly the thought drifted in upon him that of 
 all the thousands of New York he knew no other one 
 but her. Half curiously, he fell to searching the ac- 
 curacy of this ; and suddenly remembered, his face 
 lightening a moment, that his old travelling compan- 
 ion and Edinburgh classmate, Ernest Mather, was 
 now a minister somewhere in the mighty city. He 
 had heard of him incidentally once or twice. 
 
 A moment later he summoned a servant and asked 
 for a directory of the city. A brief search yielded 
 him the name he sought, " Rev. Ernest Mather, 
 B.D " ; nothing the address, he set forth to find his 
 friend. 
 
 As he alighted from the car he noted with surprise 
 the humble character of the houses, nor was the one 
 at which he ultimately paused much superior to its 
 neighbours. A plate at the side of the door informed 
 him that this was a mission-house, the headquarters 
 of the workers. He felt a thrill of admiration for the 
 whole-souled Mather, whose gifts and culture he well 
 knew could win him a conspicuous place. Happy 
 Mather ! 
 
 Stephen rang the bell and the door was opened in- 
 stantly by an elderly woman, who answered his en- 
 quiry with the disappointing intelligence that Mr. 
 Mather was away from home. 
 
 " He's at a conference in Albany," she said, " gone 
 for three days." 
 
 Stephen had given her his hotel address and was 
 about to turn away, when a tiny voice rose from the 
 neighbourhood of his knees.
 
 By WAY of The CROSS 385 
 
 " Please, Totty wants some one to pray." 
 
 " What ? " said the matron in surprise. 
 
 " Totty 's worse, and mother sent me for a preacher. 
 Totty wants the lady but we don't know where 
 she is." 
 
 Very gently the kind-hearted housekeeper told the 
 child how helpless she was to aid her, not a single 
 worker being in the house. The poor urchin began 
 to sob broken-heartedly. 
 
 "Ain't there nobody to pray? Totty won't be 
 long." 
 
 Stephen stooped over and turned the tear-stained 
 face upward with his hand. 
 
 " Would you trust me, little one ? " he asked, almost 
 reverentially. " I'm a minister, my child." 
 
 The little waif dried her tears as she looked up 
 into the strong, loving face, hailing the pity that 
 shone from the eyes of her new-found friend. Her 
 answer was to slip her hand into the man's shel- 
 tering palm, leading him away. Ten minutes later 
 they halted at a sagging door, one of its panels 
 broken in. Pushing it back, they climbed the 
 rickety stairs and stole into the room of death. 
 
 Squalid and poverty-stricken though it was, the 
 Majesty was there ; for a child of eight short years 
 was awaiting her coronation at death's impartial 
 hands. The father and mother, sunken and de- 
 graded both, were sharing in the silent pomp that 
 clothes the humblest when they wait on this august 
 ceremony. Their faces, marked though they were 
 by signs of low indulgence, were lightened now with
 
 ^86 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 the glow of a tenderness that wantonness could not 
 destroy, and in each coarse and stainful palm there 
 rested a hand of their little girl, whitened by disease 
 and pain. 
 
 " Take out them rags, Sarah, and let in more air 
 she's worser." 
 
 The woman turned and plucked the obstruction 
 from the window, letting it fall upon the floor as 
 she sank on her knees beside the bed again. 
 
 " Don't be afeard, Totty," Stephen heard the 
 father say, the tears running down his grimy cheeks. 
 " Mind what the lady told you about that Jesus. 
 You mind she said He said there was lots of beautiful, 
 of beautiful apartments, in heaven. She said as 
 how He said if there hadn't 'a' been, He'd have, He'd 
 have have let us know. Wasn't that it, mother ? " 
 
 " Yes, Joe," and the broken woman laid her face 
 beside her child's on the soiled and crumpled pillow ; 
 " an' He'll come for you, Totty the lady said He'd 
 come an' get you. Keep a lookin' for Him, Totty, 
 till He comes." 
 
 The dying eyes turned toward her father. " Ain't 
 there nobody to pray ? " she murmured. 
 
 Stephen drew closer and touched the unobservant 
 man upon the shoulder. He started, looking ques- 
 tioningly into Stephen's face. 
 
 " I brung him," volunteered the guide, tiptoeing 
 toward the bed, " there wa'nt nobody else an' he's 
 a preacher." 
 
 Without another word Stephen bended over the 
 dying child, spoke a few words of heavenly comfort,
 
 By WAY of The CROSS ^87 
 
 then dropped on his knees beside the bed. And his 
 soul poured itself out in a prayer of simplicity and 
 power, the very peace of God seeming to descend in 
 answer upon the anguished hearts. 
 
 When he arose, the childish eyes were fastened on 
 him with an intensity before which he almost 
 quailed, for the challenge and searching of death 
 looked out from them. Suddenly they forsook his 
 face, roving downward toward the bed, then upward 
 to the mother. 
 
 " Where's the cross ? " she whispered. 
 
 The mother thrust her hand under the pillow 
 then withdrew it ; she groped a moment under the 
 scanty coverings. 
 
 " Here it is, darling, here it is," and she placed it 
 in the wasted hand, the tiny steel chain that was 
 attached lying on the clothes in a little coil. 
 
 Stephen glanced at it then glanced again ; and 
 his brain seemed to flame with fire. He half reeled 
 where he stood for he knew it, he knew it ! The 
 size, the material, the colour, especially the chain, 
 all these he marked with burning accuracy ; and a 
 vision of London, a glimmering street lamp, a 
 trembling girl, a faltering story, passed before him as 
 in a flash of midnight light. 
 
 " Where did you get that cross ? " he burst out, 
 forgetful of the decorum with which watchers wait 
 for death. 
 
 The startled look of the father and mother recalled 
 him to a sense of the occasion ; swiftly he passed 
 toward the door, beckoning the older girl to follow
 
 388 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 him. She did so, and Stephen drew her half way 
 down the creaking stair, repeating his enquiry in 
 hoarse, beseeching tones. 
 
 " It was a lady, sir, what came to see our Totty. 
 She seen the mother holdin' Totty at the window, 
 an' she heard her coughin'. I think she allus goes 
 in w'en she knows as there's sickness anywheres. It 
 was her that guv that little cross to Totty. She 
 was a speakin' a lot about the cross an' about Jesus ; 
 an' she showed it to Totty. She had it roun' her 
 neck, an' Totty took an awful fancy to it an' last 
 night she guv it to her, chain an' all. She didn't 
 want to give it at first but Totty cried; an' when 
 she guv it, she had to pry one of the links open to 
 get it off. She said as how it wasn't never off her 
 neck afore, since her mother fixed it on." 
 
 Stephen's eyes were flashing into the girl's. 
 " Where does she live ? Where does she work ? " 
 he asked in a tense whisper. 
 
 " She's at some mission," the girl answered promptly; 
 " I don't know nothin' about where it is only it's 
 called the Jerry Mission, or something like that. I 
 heard her say so ; I know mother said it was the 
 same name as our Jerry that works in Harlem 
 and . . ." 
 
 Stephen heard no more. Down the decrepit 
 stairs he strode, out into the street, turning to the 
 left in the direction he thought would lead to 
 Brooklyn Bridge. Looking at his watch, he saw 
 that it was but eight o'clock the very hour ! He 
 had gone not more than half a block, when he
 
 By WAY of The CROSS 389 
 
 suddenly stopped, stood still, pondered a moment a 
 moment of inward battle then turned and hurried 
 back to the poor tenement with flying feet. 
 
 A glow of shame burned on the mantled cheek. 
 " Forsaking a dying child," he muttered as he 
 scanned the shabby doors for the broken panel. 
 Resolutely he climbed the shabby stairs again and 
 stood once more beside the lowly bed. 
 
 " She was asking for you," the father whispered, 
 wondering at the hungry eyes that the stranger kept 
 fixed upon the little cross. 
 
 With infinite tenderness he soothed the pillow for 
 the dying head, quoting the sweetest promises, sing- 
 ing portions of gentle hymns, praying sometimes for 
 the children's Friend to come. 
 
 They were all standing above the struggling one 
 when suddenly the struggle turned to peace. A 
 holy radiance shed the light of joy upon her face, and 
 the little cross fell from the pallid hand, outstretched 
 in eager signal. 
 
 " Oh, mother," she cried faintly, " He's a comin' 
 He's a comin' now." 
 
 The eyes that Stephen softly closed were still the 
 homes of rapturous wonder. But the crying mother 
 saw it not, engulfed in the billows of a sorrow she had 
 never known before. Her husband knelt beside her, 
 his hand caressingly upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Don't cry that way, mother," he said, himself, 
 sobbing as he spoke. " I couldn't stand it neither 
 only it was Him as took our Totty. He come and
 
 390 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 took her, mother ; I know it for I seen our Totty's 
 face." 
 
 Kneeling beside them both, Stephen prayed ; and 
 all his prayer was to the One who had taken Totty 
 home. When he arose the mourners thought him 
 beautiful, for tears like to their own were upon his 
 cheeks. 
 
 He asked them, reverently, if he might have the 
 precious symbol their child had held in her dying 
 hands. It was reverently given ; and soon, with a 
 parting word of sympathy and love, Stephen resumed 
 the quest from which he had been recalled by the 
 same Voice as now bade him forth. 
 
 " Yes, this is Water Street and that's the Gospel 
 mill ye're lookin' for. See that bright light in the 
 next block ? No, the other side the street, the side 
 nearest the bridge yes, that's it." 
 
 " That's the McAuley Mission, the Jerry McAuley 
 Mission, is it ? " 
 
 " Right you are ; that's what it is never been 
 there myself, but some terrible bums get made over 
 there . . . when you get to the door just go 
 straight in ; they'll make you welcome. Good-night," 
 and the wayfarer was gone. 
 
 Warm indeed was the welcome Stephen received 
 as he stepped inside the narrow door of the famous 
 mission. This was extended to him by the janitor, 
 himself a beaming trophy of the place. Declining 
 to be shown forward, Stephen took a seat near the
 
 By WAY of The CROSS &i 
 
 door, thinking but little of the service that was in 
 progress, caring for nothing but the chance of rind- 
 ing his love again. 
 
 Soon, however, his curiosity and his emotion were 
 awakened. For the mightiest enterprise on which 
 mortal eyes can look was going on before him. 
 
 The address had evidently been already given ; for 
 the leading spirit of the place, successor to the great 
 McAuley, had left the platform and was moving 
 round among the men. Lame though he was, lean- 
 ing heavily upon his staff, the infirmity was scarcely 
 noticed when once the greatness and beauty of his 
 character were recognized, as they were sure to be by 
 any one who had the eyes to read them in his face, so 
 marked by suffering, so full of yearning and com- 
 passion, so tranquil with its distant peace. This 
 leader moved among the human derelicts, sitting 
 down beside one and another, casting his line hither 
 and thither like an eager fisher of men, wooing them 
 to decision, promising them the strength of God, 
 cheering them with visions of victory ; and, above 
 all else, plying the great advantage of his own rich 
 experience, whispering the story of his one-time 
 bondage to drunkenness and all its kindred vice, his 
 face glowing and his eyes moistening as the story 
 swelled into the song of the redeemed. 
 
 Then the testimonies began. One by one they 
 faltered forth from lips long familiar with far other 
 sorts of speech. The drunkard told his story, told 
 how the burning thirst was gone, acclaiming the 
 magic of grace Divine ; the outcast too, his soul once
 
 392 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 honeycombed with vice he might not name, chanted 
 the song of his deliverance. And Stephen noted, 
 his heart melted in pity as he saw, the faithful wives 
 that here and there, sobbing to themselves, listened to 
 the wondrous story, mutely praying that the summer 
 day might last, trembling lest even yet they might 
 be bidden forth from Paradise. 
 
 About the time the testifying had begun, a poor 
 wastrel from the street had stumbled in and taken 
 his seat beside Stephen on the bench near the door. 
 He struggled to shake himself from his drunken slum- 
 ber, blinking wearily as he looked upon the rejoicing 
 converts, their strange testimony filtering slowly in 
 upon his clouded brain. 
 
 He recognized as former boon companions, one or 
 two of those who had reached the shore ; and a 
 strange expression of surprise and wonder mingled 
 with his drunken torpor. A conflict of emotion 
 flashed across his sin-stained face. Suddenly he 
 arose, holding to the bench before him. 
 
 " I want to get what them fellows got I don't 
 know nuthin' about this Jesus Christ, but I want to 
 get what them fellows has," he cried, and his words 
 thrilled with the majesty of poverty and need. 
 
 In a moment the noble leader was beside him, 
 limping swiftly down the aisle ; a little later, a new 
 trophy limped back with him to take his place among 
 the penitent. The leader's face was radiant with the 
 joy of those who joy in harvest. 
 
 Soon the evangelist took his place upon the plat- 
 form, signalling to a stalwart man who stood beside
 
 By WAY of The CROSS 393 
 
 him. The latter, with a roll of music in his hand, moved 
 over to the organ and prefaced his song with a few 
 broken words of testimony. Three short months 
 ago, he had been grovelling at the muddy bottom of 
 Comic Opera, and, a little later, singing in any bar- 
 room that would give him whiskey for his hire. This 
 story he narrated, his eyes cast down as he told it ; 
 then he unfolded his music and began to sing " Grace 
 that opened Heaven to me," his face uplifted as the 
 words rolled on, till it was turned in wistful tender- 
 ness toward the struggling swimmers in the vortex 
 he had left behind. Stephen's heart was full to 
 bursting. 
 
 He longed to rise, to take his place at last among 
 the blood-besprinkled ones, his need as great as theirs ; 
 he longed to tell them that he, too, had been a 
 dweller in the slums, that no jail-bird among them 
 all had known an imprisonment more dark than his. 
 But the moment passed, and he heard the leader's 
 voice. 
 
 " Now, my brothers, we're going to close the meet- 
 ing. But remember I'll be praying for you all to- 
 night. And remember that He is faithful. It was 
 a dying sailor, a Christian tar, that said with his latest 
 breath : ' Mates, the anchor holds.' That's the word 
 I leave with you all to-night. The anchor holds ; 
 the anchor holds. Trust the Saviour and you'll find 
 Him true." 
 
 The leader turned a moment on the platform. 
 There was a pause and Stephen wondered why. 
 The next instant his heart stood still and everything
 
 394 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 grew dim and faint before him. For the first note of 
 the now gushing song took his soul into its grip as 
 in the hand of God. Rich, melodious, powerful , loving 
 it is Hattie's voice thrilling with eager passion, 
 sometimes quivering with tenderness as she sings : 
 
 " Christ receiveth sinful men," 
 
 pleading in every syllable that the wanderers might 
 come home. 
 
 She had almost finished before he raised his head ; 
 but just as the soulful voice lingered on the closing 
 chords 
 
 " Tell it o'er and o'er again, 
 
 Make the message clear and plain, 
 Christ receiveth, Christ receiveth, 
 Christ receiveth sinful men," 
 
 he slowly raised his eyes till they could see her face. 
 And the handiwork of the unseen was visible upon it ; 
 sorrow, loneliness, loyalty, yearning, mingling in 
 their toil, had crowned the always lovely face with 
 the beauty that is not of time and Stephen pleaded 
 with God to deny him not. 
 
 The motley throng was slowly filing out into the 
 street, and Stephen stood within the darkness, his 
 soul fixed in the eager gaze that never turned from 
 the outflowing light. 
 
 "No, thank you, it isn't far and Mrs. Cardiff al- 
 ways goes with me; her door is next to mine," he 
 heard the voice that rapt his heart in fire ; and, steal- 
 ing forth, he followed the dear form as it glided 
 swiftly homeward.
 
 By WAY of 'the CROSS 395 
 
 It was not far, as she had said ; and soon, bidding 
 her friend good-night, she tripped up a little flight of 
 stairs. Her companion disappeared, the door slam- 
 ming behind her, while Hattie, stooping slightly, tried 
 to adjust her latch-key to the lock. She had not 
 noticed Stephen, though he is now on the very 
 bottom of the steps. 
 
 " Hattie," he cried softly, " Hattie, wait." 
 
 Amazed, she retreated a step toward the pave- 
 ment, peering to discern the face ; for an over-hang- 
 ing lamp, swinging in the wind, suddenly darkened, 
 glimmering dimly. 
 
 He repeated the name again. 
 
 " Hattie, forgive me I've come back. Oh, my 
 darling, take me back, take me back. I want 
 you so my wife, my wife," holding his arms out to 
 her in the darkness. 
 
 No word of chiding, nor question, nor remon- 
 strance, nor sign of fear; nothing but the sweet 
 fragrance of love and trust and healing, as she stole 
 silently into the open arms, her own tightening about 
 his neck in the old clinging way, slowly tightening, 
 as they had done in the cruel dreams that had so 
 often mocked him since she went away. 
 
 They sank together upon the steps, the lamp still 
 dim at heaven's bidding ; and the noises of the night, 
 as once before, seemed dull and far away, shut out 
 by a wall of living fire. Then his lips sought her 
 own, upward turned, smiling, waiting, dewy with 
 gladness, thrilling out their story beneath the sacred 
 touch. His hand roved to her cheek, her hair, her
 
 396 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 neck, dumbly stroking them as though he were a 
 blind man longing to indentify his love. 
 
 " Come in," she murmured by and by, " I have just 
 a little room here it's a lodging house but come in. 
 Oh, Stephen, I have prayed for this so long. Last 
 night I had the sweetest dream I dreamed we were 
 at Morven, dear, you and I together in the 
 manse." 
 
 He said nothing, but passed with her into the long 
 hall, still holding her close as they walked along in 
 the semi-darkness. She paused before a door, 
 beneath which there flowed a gleam of light. 
 
 " All right, Mamie, you may run to your room now. 
 And thank you, dear." 
 
 In a moment a little girl came out, rubbing her 
 eyes. She looked up at Hattie, beginning to speak ; 
 but Hattie motioned to her to be still, and she passed 
 silently along the hall. They went in together, and 
 Hattie turned and locked the door. Then she held 
 her arms out to her husband, her face shining with 
 the purity of love, and he folded her with silent rap- 
 ture to his heart again. 
 
 " Stephen," she whispered, " you will never leave 
 me again, will you, darling ? " 
 
 He held her closer. 
 
 " Not even to-night nor ever ? You'll stay here 
 with us to-night, won't you, Stephen my husband, 
 my husband!" and the face is moist that rests 
 on his. 
 
 He started at the word. She drew herself gently 
 from his arms, taking his hand in hers.
 
 By WAY of The CROSS 397 
 
 " Come, Stephen," she said, her voice shaking. 
 " Come." 
 
 She led him to the bed, and they looked down to- 
 gether. 
 
 The room was warm ; and there lay, slumbering 
 sweetly, the chubby limbs all bare before them, one 
 dimpled hand thrown carelessly above the flaxen 
 hair, a baby face which the most careless eye could 
 tell was fashioned like the storm-swept face above it. 
 
 Slowly Stephen's arms crept about his wife, his 
 breast heaving stormily, his face wrung with this new 
 emotion of his soul. Long they gazed in silence, the 
 little sleeper stirring as they looked, Hattie's glance 
 turned now and then in eager pride upon her hus- 
 band. 
 
 "Look at his little feet, Stephen," she crooned, 
 "his toes and his wee fingers. Oh, just wait till 
 you see his eyes. They're yours, Stephen, they're 
 yours." 
 
 But he spoke no word, nor turned his gaze away, 
 looking through swimming eyes as though he could 
 never look enough. 
 
 After a little she drew him gently downward, till 
 their faces met above their child. The dimpled hand 
 moved restlessly, poised a moment, then rested on 
 Stephen's cheek ; the baby woke, his big eyes fixing 
 their startled gaze upon his mother, then wandering 
 to his father's face. Wondering, he took a long look 
 into the unfamiliar eyes, as if afraid ; then suddenly 
 the baby lips broke into a smile that seemed to 
 Stephen like the light of God.
 
 398 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Hattie lifted the little one up between them, his 
 fingers toying with his father's hair. Slowly she sank 
 down beside the bed, her husband kneeling with 
 her. 
 
 " Pray, Stephen," she said. 
 
 " I can't, Hattie, I can't you pray," his choking 
 voice replied. 
 
 And Hattie prayed, pleading her own before her 
 God.
 
 XXXI 
 
 THE NEW COVENANT 
 
 HURE 'twas a little bird that tould me the 
 christenin' was to-noight and I was bint on 
 givin' my blessin' to the boy ; and I've half 
 a moind to salute the bride." Father O'Rourke's 
 merry laugh rang through the old Rosehill farmhouse 
 as his eyes turned, first on the mite in Hattie's arms, 
 then on the blushing Bessie. 
 
 " Besoides, I wanted to see my curate again," he 
 went on jauntily. " I hadn't but a thimbleful of him 
 in London and that ould Maloney, that brought me 
 back wid his paralysis, is as hearty as a two-year-old 
 again ; the ould sinner, the next toime I go abroad, 
 I'll kill him wid a club before I go." 
 
 The priest's mirthful banter was interrupted by a 
 voice without. 
 
 Robert Wishart, still wreathed in smiles, opened 
 the door and admitted his well-loved minister. 
 
 " Come in, Mr. Shearer. We're a' ready for the 
 bapteezin' the bairn's fine, never a cheep oot o' 
 him. Tak the rockin' chair ; ye ken a' the folk." 
 
 Close beside his son stood Robert Wishart, his face 
 anointed with the oil of gladness as Stephen and 
 Hattie presented their first-born for the holy rite. 
 Mr. Shearer addressed to them a few words of ear- 
 nest counsel. 
 
 399
 
 400 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 " What is the child's name ? " he then enquired. 
 
 " Reuben," answered Stephen ; and as he spoke the 
 name, he turned, looking full upon his brother with 
 ineffable love and tenderness. Reuben saw the 
 glance, interpreting its great significance with silent 
 joy ; but he did not see another face, glowing with 
 reverent love, that looked on his with a devoted pride 
 which was to fill all his after life with blessing. For 
 she stood close beside him, close clinging in wifely 
 love. 
 
 The sacramental drops still bedewed the infant's 
 head when Father O'Rourke took him from his 
 mother's arms, looking long down on the unconscious 
 child. Gently he kissed the baby brow, and Stephen 
 heard him murmuring low : " The angel that redeemed 
 me from all evil bless the lad." 
 
 Happy beyond description was the little company 
 that gathered about the hospitable board, Robert 
 Wishart at the head, every word a safety-valve for 
 the joy that overflowed his heart. Stephen was be- 
 side Mr. Shearer. 
 
 " It's this day fortnight you're to be settled at 
 Morven, is it not ? " he asked the former ; " I hope to 
 be there." 
 
 " Yes," Stephen answered, " and by the way, the 
 elders have asked me to give their church a name. 
 It has always been called the Morven church ; but 
 they want something more distinctive, and they've 
 asked me to select it. I'm getting my friends to help 
 me. At least, I have asked my wife to suggest a 
 name and you might aid us both."
 
 THE NEW COVENANT 401 
 
 " Leave it to your wife," said Mr. Shearer, smiling 
 toward the lovely face, crowned now with the new 
 beauty of mother-love. 
 
 The evening had fallen when the company dis- 
 persed, and Robert Wishart was saying farewell to 
 Mr. Shearer at the gate. 
 
 " I shud be prayin', I suppose, that He'd let His 
 servant gang till his rest in peace, noo my cup o' joy 
 is full. But I dinna feel that way I'd sooner bide 
 a wee, and see wee Reuben a bit alang the path." 
 And Mr. Shearer blessed the noble heresy as he said 
 good-night. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Richly blessed did the Morven worshippers deem 
 themselves that Sabbath morning, two weeks later, 
 when their new minister's first sermon flowed about 
 them in rich tides of earnestness and love. 
 
 Beautiful was the face that looked out upon them 
 from the pulpit he was now proud to call his own. 
 For time is a wondrous workman, if he have but the 
 proper tools. Nor had these been spared on Stephen's 
 face; sorrow, remorse, loneliness, all-torturing love, 
 all-conquering hope with these ever favourite tools 
 had the untiring craftsman plied his silent toil, paus- 
 ing not to look upon the labour of his hands, leaving 
 the fruits of his industry to the great Taskmaster's 
 eye. In the fruitful night had he done his work, 
 without sound of hammer or blow of chisel, without 
 gleam of knife or glow of refiner's flame. But it had 
 been done, and all men saw its beauty save Stephen 
 only.
 
 402 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 Strength, tenderness, compassion, purpose, love, all 
 these spoke through the lips that burned now with a 
 new and chastened eloquence ; and the peace of God 
 was upon the hushed and rejoicing throng. 
 
 Before the benediction was pronounced, Stephen 
 glanced toward the choir in the old-fashioned gallery 
 at the end of the church. Then he quietly took his 
 seat and waited. 
 
 Deep silence reigned a moment; the next, rich 
 thrilling tones poured forth, the same he had first 
 heard in far-off London when his soul first awakened 
 at the voice of love. The same hymn, but farther on 
 in its deepening stream : 
 
 " See from His head, His hands, His feet, 
 Sorrow and love flow mingled down. 
 Did e'er such love and sorrow meet 
 Or thorns compose so rich a crown ? " 
 
 Rejoicing ones had detained him a few minutes at 
 the church. And as Stephen hurried across the soft 
 sward, peering eagerly toward the manse, the un- 
 clouded sun poured down on Hattie, her eyes bent on 
 little Reuben asleep in the hammock that swung 
 gently beneath the trees. 
 
 Her hand stole into her husband's as they stood 
 together looking down upon the slumberer's face. 
 
 " Oh, Stephen," she said eagerly, " I've thought of 
 a name ; I'm sure it's the right one. Let us call it 
 ' The Church of the NEW Covenant.' " 
 
 The strong note of a strong man's love was in his
 
 NEW COVENANT 403 
 
 voice as he took her in his arms. " Yes, darling, the 
 new covenant, new, my darling." 
 
 Which their lips sealed as they met in silentness 
 and song, blending in the hymn of praise that angels 
 cannot learn. 
 
 THE END
 
 A First Novel 
 
 A Parish Romance 
 
 St. Cuthberfs 
 
 By ROBERT E. KNOWLES 
 I2mo, cloth, $1.50 
 
 THE requisites of a novel of strength 
 involve, first, a setting; second, char- 
 acters of strength; and finally, and 
 all-important, the genius to weave into at- 
 tractive narrative the 
 joint product of set- 
 ting and character. 
 Given a most unique 
 spot for a setting 
 whither pen of author 
 had not yet wandered, 
 people sturdy and full 
 of force and character 
 and human passions, 
 Mr. Knowles has pro- 
 duced ST. CUTH- 
 BERT'S, a romance of 
 his parish. For a 
 first book yet to be discovered by the littera- 
 teur the reviewers have been kind, yet no 
 more kind than just. 
 
 " Reveals Mr. Knowles as a master of precise Eng- 
 lish." Canadian Baptist. 
 
 "Abundant evidences of literary power of no common 
 order." The Presbyterian. 
 
 " Permeated by a wholesome kind of ideals which it 
 is well to keep constantly before the public." The 
 Public Ledger. 
 
 " Too varied a community and too. versatile a humor 
 for any chapter to be dull." Chicago Tribune. 
 
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 has opened up." Albany Argus. 
 
 ST.CUTHBERT'S 
 
 R.E. KNOWLES
 
 jth Edition 
 
 Absorbingly 
 Interesting 
 
 The Lure of The 
 
 Labrador Wild 
 
 i 
 
 By DILLON WALLACE 
 
 ' I ^HE Story of the Exploring 
 J, Expedition conducted by 
 Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., the 
 tragic incidents of which are graph- 
 ically related by Dillon Wallace, 
 who accompanied Hubbard. 
 
 Illustrations and Maps. 8vo, 
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 " Possesses in its naked truth more of human interest than 
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 the wild country." The Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 " He has produced one of 
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 story tells itself, and is as 
 dramatic and devout as it is 
 pathetic. Here is a record 
 that holds one, as fiction 
 never would, of suffering 
 faced and heroism shown, for 
 an ideal that failed, by men 
 who did not fail each other." 
 N. Y. Evening Sun. 
 
 " The romance of explo- 
 ration hat, perhaps, seldom 
 been so fascinatingly pre- 
 sented." Review of Re- 
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 17 ILLUSTRATIONS 3 MAIS-
 
 Illustrated 
 
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 Sir Raoul 
 
 A Tale of The Theft of an Empire 
 
 By JAMES M. LUDLOW 
 Author of " Deborah," " Captain of Janizaries," etc. 
 
 A BOOK one reads twice. You 
 rush with Raoul through his 
 adventures, and when he is safe 
 home in his Schwartzwald Castle 
 with his Lady Renee, you are 
 haunted with a vague memory of 
 stores of fascinating information 
 about our crusading forefathers' 
 ways of life. So you read it twice. 
 
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 and j-atrigue with rare skill. A fine tale of chivalry is 
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 ture are excellently mingled. It absorbs the attention." 
 Newark Evening News. 
 
 "Depicts with vividness 
 and insight the barbarous 
 times in which an empire 
 was stolen. The action is 
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 end, the love story is strong 
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 iner. 
 
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 FU.U.J R R.v.11 C.. P .ny
 
 Pastoral 
 Sketches 
 
 Mostly of 
 Village Fofi 
 
 CT 
 
 The Village Artist 
 
 By ADELINE M. TESKEY 
 I2mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.00 
 
 PICTURES of her neighbors 
 by an artist whose canvas is 
 her village, whose brush is her pen, 
 and whose colors 
 are drawn from 
 a soul that sees 
 only purity and 
 whose perspec- 
 tive is her ideals. 
 
 The Village 
 
 Artist 
 > 
 
 ADELINE M.TJESKEY 
 
 " The artist conceives 
 likenesses of people as they 
 might become if they gave 
 their best qualities a chance 
 Mrs. Simon Slade tells her 
 experiences in a quaint, 
 simple manner, that is it- 
 self a rare delight. . . . 
 Altogether a delightful production." Washington Star. 
 
 AuntAbby*s Neighbors 
 
 By ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON 
 Author of " Fishin' Jimmy " 
 
 1 2mo, cloth, decorated, 5th edition, $1.00 
 
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 TIVO Striking 
 Pictures 
 
 of the Under-Side of 
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 By OWEN KILDARE 
 I2mo, cloth, $1.50 
 
 WHEN Owen Kildare's " My Mamie Rose " 
 came to the public it was given instant and 
 complete recognition, not only as a book but 
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 author writes about the 
 slum-life of New York 
 not as a fashionable 
 "slummer" but as one 
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 the people of the East 
 Side, indeed reared as he 
 was in the rough nursery 
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 is not remarkable that, 
 once his latent genius has 
 found expression, he 
 should write to his 
 theme with inimitable 
 
 power. 
 
 Saint Cecilia of the Court 
 
 By ISABELLA R. HESS 
 Illustrated, 12 mo, cloth, $1.25 
 
 " Shows rare skill of construction, well-sustained action, and 
 dramatic power. Pictures many sides of life in the whirling 
 metropolis where a little red-haired girl rises above the envi- 
 ronments of the alley. The pathos and humor are irresistible." 
 Boston Globe. 
 
 "Miss Hess will find many enthusiastic readers of her story, 
 besides she really has told a patheticallypretty story of a poor 
 little red-haired saint," so says The Times of New York; 
 but it is not all the story nor a fraction of it, for it is a keen, 
 true study of a phase of slum life revealed by a well-drawn 
 (ketch by a competent artist
 
 8vo, doth 
 
 Price, $1.75 net 
 
 Denizens of the Deep 
 
 By FRANK T. BULLEN 
 
 THERE is a new world of life and 
 intelligence opened to our knowl- 
 edge in Mr. Bullen's stories of 
 the inhabitants of the sea. He 
 finds the same fascinating interest in the 
 lives of the dwellers in the deep as 
 Thompson Seton found in the lives of 
 the hunted ashore, and with the keenness 
 and vigor which characterized his famous 
 book "The Cruise of The Cachalot" he 
 has made a book which, being based upon 
 personal observation, buttressed by 
 scientific facts and decorated by im- 
 agination, is a storehouse of infor- 
 mation an ideal romance of deep sea 
 folk and, as The 
 Saturday Times- 
 Review has said, 
 worth a dozen 
 novels. 
 
 Not the least 
 attractive feature 
 of an unusually 
 attractive volume 
 is the series of 
 illustrations by 
 Livingston Bull 
 and others. 
 
 DENIZENS OF 
 JHE DEEP 
 
 FRANK. 
 T. 
 
 BULLEN.
 
 T t H E WORKS OF 
 
 NORMAN DUNCAN 
 
 The Adventures of Billy Topsail 
 
 1 2 mo, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 It's a boy's book, but its "a book to be chum- 
 my with" that includes everybody. 
 A ripping story of adventure by sea a north- 
 ern sea, full of ice and swept by big gales 
 a tale that moves like a full-rigged ship with 
 all sail spread to a rousing breeze. 
 
 Second Edition 
 
 The Mother 
 
 A Novelette of New York Life. I2mo, cloth, 
 $1.25; de I/uxe, $-2.00 net. 
 
 "Another book quite unlike ' Dr. Luke ' in 
 environment, but very like it in its intuitive 
 understandings of the natures of the lowly and 
 obscure . . . holds the reader spellbound. " 
 
 Nashville American. 
 
 Twenty-fifth Thousand 
 
 Doctor Luke of the Labrador 
 
 I2mo, cloth, $1.50 
 
 "Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was ex- 
 pected of him in this story; it established him 
 beyond question as one of the strong masters 
 of the present day. ' ' Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 Fourth Edition 
 
 Dr. Grenfell's Parish 
 
 Illustrated. Cloth, |r.oo net. 
 "He tells vividly and picturesquely many of the 
 things done by Dr. Grenfell and his associates. 
 
 N. Y. Sun
 
 THE COMPLETE WORKS OF 
 
 Ralph Connor 
 
 The Prospector I2 s th thousand 
 
 A Tale of the Crow's Nest Country. 
 
 I2tno, $1.50 
 
 "A novel so intense that one grinds his teeth lest the sinews should 
 snap ere the strain is released." Chicago Tribune. 
 
 Gll?en 1 2th thousand 
 
 The Canyon Story from "The Sky Pilot" in Art Gift 
 Book Series, beautifully printed in two colors with many 
 illustrations and marginal etchings. 
 
 I2mo, art cover, 75C. net 
 
 "Black 'Rock 450th thousand 
 
 A Tale of the Selkirks, with an Introduction by Prof. 
 George Adam Smith. Illustrated by Louis Rhead. 
 
 I2mo Cloth, $1.25 
 
 "Ralph Connor has gone into the heart of the Northwest Canadian 
 mountains and has painted for us a picture of life in the lumber and 
 mining-camps of surpassing merit." St. Louis Globe Democrat. 
 
 The Sky Pilot 26oth thousand 
 
 A Tale of the Foothills. Illustrated by Louis Rhead. 
 
 I2mo. cloth, $1.25 
 
 " Ralph Connor's 'Black Rock' was good, but "The Sky Pilot* is 
 better. The matter which he gives us is real life ; virile, true, tender, 
 humorous, pathetic, spiritual, wholesome. The Outlook. 
 
 The Tlan From Glengarry *(*>* *"""* 
 
 A Tale of the Ottawa. I2mo. cloth, $1.50 
 
 "A legitimate successor to 'The Sky Pilot* and 'Black Rock,' which 
 secured him the swift fame that leaps to the author who strikes a new 
 and effective note." The Literary Digest. 
 
 Glengarry School Days jfoh thousand 
 
 A Story of early days in Glengarry. 
 
 I2mo. Illustrated, cloth $1.25 
 
 "More than that he has given us pictures of that little-known 
 Gentry which bring with them clear, cold breaths, the shadows of the 
 joods, the grandeur of the tall tree trunks, the strength and the free- 
 3m of this outdoor life." Chicago Journal. 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY, Publishers
 
 A 000118719 4