Playing With Fire Part 16

It would be dreadful not to bid you good-bye.

YOUR ADA.

Four o'clock! It was then a quarter after three; there was barely time to reach the station, but half-a-crown to the driver gave him five minutes in which to see his beautiful mistress in her new winter gown of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with sable fur. The small blue and brown toque above her brown, braided hair gave her quite a new look. She was so chic, so radiant, so loving. And, in some of the occult ways known to women, she managed in those few minutes to make him both happy and hopeful. Then the guard held open the door of her carriage, she was in the train, the door was shut, the cry of "All right" ran along the moving line and, with a heart feeling empty and forlorn, he returned to the Little House.

"Lady Cramer has gone to London," he said to Mrs. Caird, and she looked into her brother-in-law's face and understood.

There was nothing now for him but reading, and he took up the books waiting for him and tried to forget in Scientific Religion the pitiless aching and longing of love; and he was glad, also, that the minister who had been filling the pulpit of the Church of the Disciples during his month's rest proposed to come to Cramer and stay part of the last week with him. He hoped they might be able to talk over together some of the startling religious ideas he was then reading and, perhaps, receive help from his more advanced age and wider experience.

Mrs. Caird doubted it as soon as she saw the man. He had a handsome physical appearance with such drawbacks as attend a long course of self-indulgence. His stoutness reduced his height, he had become slightly bald, and he wore gla.s.ses; so Dr. Macrae's slim, straight figure, his fine eyes and hair, and his good, healthy coloring, moved the brother cleric to a moment's envy.

"I used to be as natty and bright as you, Macrae," he said, "but age, sir, age--the years tell on us."

Dr. Macrae met him at the railway station with the Victoria, and he admired the turnout very much. "That is a fine machine," he remarked; "it must have cost you a pretty penny."

"It is not mine," answered Dr. Macrae. "It belongs to Lady Cramer. I have, by her kindness, the use of it this summer."

"What an unusual kindness!"

"Also of her dower house, with all its beautiful furnis.h.i.+ngs. Very little you will see in it belongs to me."

"I have never fallen on such luck. My church is large, but poor--poor.

There are a few wealthy families--but--but they do not lift themselves above the ordinaries of collection--the plate and the printed lists."

"Yes."

"And, even so, I generally think scorn of their donations. I suppose you are on a very easy footing with Lady Cramer--friendly, I mean."

"Yes, we are good friends."

He was in a fit of admiration with everything he saw, the antique homeliness of the parlors, the lavender on the window sills, the Worcester china on the table. He looked critically at the latter, and said with a knowing air, "It belongs to the best period, having the square mark on it." The light shone on olives and grapes, on cut gla.s.s and silver, and specially on a claret jug of Worcester, with its exotic birds, its lasting gold, and its scale-blue ground like sapphire. He had the artistic temperament, and these beautiful things appealed to him in a way that astonished Dr. Macrae, whose temperament was of spiritual mold, and had not been dest.i.tute of even ascetic tendencies in his youth.

He had, therefore, little sympathy with his guest's enthusiasms; indeed, it rather pleased him to strip himself bare of all the beauty around him. "Not one of these lovely things is mine," he said. "I should not know what to do with them. I would rather have a few deal shelves full of good books."

"You don't know yourself, Macrae," was the answer. "The possession of artistic beauty develops the taste for it. When you are rich----"

"I shall never be rich."

"You have a fine income."

"I save nothing from it; a man who tries to save both his money and his soul has a task too hard for me to manage."

It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Caird took a dislike to the man, and she made Dr. Macrae feel that it was important he and his visitor should go to Glasgow on Thursday. "Take him to Bath Street," she said. "Maggie will provide for you; besides, I am sending Kitty down to-morrow, and he will be a hindrance to me here."

Wednesday was very wet and the two ministers had perforce to remain in the house, and in one of the exigencies of their prolonged conversations Dr. Macrae unfortunately referred to the pile of scientific religious books lying on his table. Then his visitor rose and looked at them.

"Yes," he said with a great sigh, "we are very scientific to-day, with our 'tendencies' and 'streams of influence' and our various 'thought movements.' They are all purely material."

"They cannot be that," replied Dr. Macrae, impetuously. "Streams of influence imply spiritual beings, and movements of thought must come from thinkers."

"Agreed," was the reply, "but you cannot call 'a stream of tendency,' or 'a power that makes for righteousness,' G.o.d. No, sir, you cannot, without striking at the very foundation of Theism. The next step would be to deny the supernatural guidance of the universe and of life. And the next? What would it be?"

"I know not. Such questions are mere spiritual curiosity. Keep your thumb down on them."

"I will tell you. The morality based on the supernatural would fail, and, unless a man had found a scheme of scientific morality based on the natural instead of the supernatural, he would be wrecked on the rock of his pa.s.sions. The question arises, then--is there such a scheme?"

"You must answer your own question, Dr. Scott. As far as I can see, if there is in scientific philosophy a rule of life that can take the place of the Bible and Christianity, it must be able to guide the ignorant and humble, and restrain and comfort men. Philosophy failed Cicero at the hour of trial, and who would offer to the mourner, or the outcast, a chapter of scientific philosophy? It would be feeding hunger on straw."

"See here, Macrae, you are going further than I have any desire to follow you. I am a licensed preacher of the Scotch Church. My articles stipulate that I shall preach the doctrines of Christianity as elucidated by the creed of John Calvin. That is the extent of my obligation--the full extent of it."

"No."

"Yes. I chose the profession of Divinity, as my brother chose that of the Law. Both are recognized means of business. I accepted Divinity as such. I agreed to preach Calvinism to those who chose to come to my church--to my place of business, really--and listen to me."

"Do you believe what you preach?"

"That is another question. Answer it yourself, Macrae. I can only say that, in preparing for the profession of Divinity at St. Andrews Divinity Hall, it was understood I would preach Calvinism. There was no specification concerning my belief or non-belief in it. I was licensed to be a preacher of Calvinism, and I have never preached anything else.

My brother has the authority of the courts to be a pleader for criminals. He pleads well for them, and he does not much care whether they are guilty or innocent. You see, Macrae, this preaching is a professional business. Men are qualified for it, as men are qualified for law or medicine. They serve--just as Divinity does--rich and poor, good and bad. I do not know but what they are as reputable and useful 'divines' as we are."

"Supposing you were a sceptic--as many now are--would you go on preaching?"

"Unquestionably. Pray, why not? What I believe is between my Maker and myself. My congregation have nothing to do with it. My belief or non-belief would not injure or improve my sermons. I should in either case preach a good Calvinistic sermon; that is what I qualified myself for. It is my business. If you have been in London you have seen in the great thoroughfares men in scarlet blouses, whose business it is to direct strangers to the places they wish to find. n.o.body asks them about their personal religion. If they are good guides to those seeking certain places, they fulfil their duty. I am in just such a position. So are you."

"If I thought so, I would leave it at once."

"If you had a wife and five children you would put their comfort before your own feelings. That stands to reason. All this talk about the higher criticism is like the sickly talk of the higher civilization; it is anemia in some form or other. Macrae, we have our duty to the Church. We are pledged and sworn to that. It is as much the work given us to do as plowing and sowing are the farmer's work."

"But the Truth--the Truth, Doctor!"

"What is Truth, Macrae? Who knows? The Truth of yesterday is the error of to-day."

"Then, it never was Truth, for Truth is unaffected by time, and remains a witness of the past, the present, and the future."

Then the visiting cleric struck the table heavily with his closed hand and, with a fierce intensity, whispered,

"O Man! Man! what if all this religion should be a dream!"

And Dr. Macrae answered, "Then, where is the Reality?"

Both men were silent, but in the eyes of both there was that look which is only seen in the eyes of men who are defrauding their own souls.

In a few moments there was the tinkle of a small silver bell, and Dr.

Macrae said, "Tea is ready," and they rose together. Pa.s.sing the parlor they heard Marion trying a new song, and they loitered a moment or two and listened, as very slowly and softly she asked:

"What says thy song, thou joyous thrush, Up in the walnut tree?"

"I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me."

A little sadly they entered the parlor, but the blazing fire threw warm gleams on the handsomely set table; and the tempting odors of young hyson, fresh bread, and a rook pie filled the room. Involuntarily everyone smiled and sat down gladly to the dainty, delicate food before them; and Dr. Macrae said to his friend: