A HUMAN FACE

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVII, Issue 48, 24 February 1906, Page 11

A HUMAN FACE

By SILAS K. HOCKING,

Autibw <rf Th e Flaming Sword," "Pioneers," "Thfe Heart of Man," "Glut's Outcast, "The Tempter's Powfer," etc

CHAPTER XVII. FACE TO FACE. Stephen reached the house of George There at five o'clock in the afternoon, d waa shown at once into the drawtffroom. He had come in response to fteleeram from Marcella, and he was on the dot of the time appointed. The Say was already beginning to fade, and the large and richly furnished room was jn semi-darkness. "Evidently people of wealth, he reflected, as he ran his eye up and down the room; then he went and stood by the fire-place and leaned on his elbow on the mantel-piece. Ho felt too restipgs too excited, to sit down. In a moment or two lie would be face to face with MarceUa. What would Ithat mean? He had asked her to be his wife and she had consented, but much had happened since then. When he proposed to her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But what noW ? Should he find her disfigured for lifef' He could no longer deny to himeelf that it was her beauty that had attracted him. If she had been plain, he would not have looked at her a second ■ time. Her charity, her good works, her devotion to the cause of the suffering, her noble courage, her self-denial, her patient endurance, these were not the things that attracted him; tbe.se were not the qualities that made him a.nxious to marry her. It was her face, and her face alone, that fascinated him. "And if—?" He turned uneasily a.nd looked out of the window. He had come prepared t» abide by liis offer. As an honourable man he could not go hack upon his void. As a Christian minister he was doubly bound to pursue the straight course. If it should turn out that his fears were unfounded he would be a proud and nappy man. Some of the old ecstasy would came back to him. The delight of the eye would atone for ayny sentimental feeling that might be absent; while companionship in sympathy and eadeavour would round his life into completeness and harmony. The door creaked at length, and then was pushed tejlowly open. There was a muffled footstep and the rustle of a. dress. Then a' lady, attired for the street, entered. A blue serge walking dress, jacket of the same material. A hat devoid of ornament, and a thick veil, ■which but dimly outlined her face. Stephen looked at her without moving. Surely this plainly attired figure tonld not be MarceUa. She advanced rapidlj and held out her hinds to Mm. "Aieyou MarceUa?" he gasped. "I am," she answered. "'Do you not lecogniee mc?" • "'Will you not remove your veil and M mc look at you?"' he questioned luski[y. "'Tmuld prefer not," she answered fiJoif/r. "It is better you should not see By face—at least, not just yet." He groaned audibly, and leaned heavii}' on the mantelpiece. "I—l—did not know it. was so bad is that," he gasped at length. "Yet I am the same/ she said alowly ■tad quietly. "Yes—yes, your soul remains un.ionched. I shall try not to forget tha-t. But—" then he hesitated, and dropped lis eyes to the floor. "You valued my good looks, Stephen?" she questioned naively. "Above everything.' , he gasped. "Martella Dacre without her—" then he hesitated again, and looked despairingly out •f the window. "Why do you leave your sentences unfinished?" she questioned at length. "Because I can find no words that express exactly what I feel," he said Nuntly. "Let us sit down and talk the matter ever quietly," she said after a moment ef silence. "So much has happened once .we plighted our troth." He winced visibly, and dropped slowly Into an easy chair. "The letter you wrote to mc the day yon were taken ill," he said at length, "was not posted until several days later. 1 read, it for the first time last evening." It was her turn to start now. That •Jus little fact changed the whole complexion of things. "Then you concluded that my silence meant a refusal?" she questioned. *o, Marcella, I did not. Let mc be ?nite frank and honest. You received toy proposal in such a way that I felt ,qnite confident what your fina-1 answer frould he." a»i '* s ' nce ™y answer was so long relayed you did not feel bound to mc ID any vrav?" He coloured slightly. She was readMg.nis heart more accurately than he tawed. Yet he was anxious to be flwe honest and candid. " do not say the thought never cross- *" my mind," he stammered after a. pause, '-you sec I was j n the toils of ecaesiastica.l superstition at the time. I «as m doubt if a minister should marry " all- Moreover, I had received a °v Whicb com P lct ely unnerved mc." *ou mean at the hospital?" le s- It almost drove mc mad. Then «mc the railway collision; after which * was haunted by a burning desire to i« away f rom everything, myself included." "And you deliberately hid yourself?" "o not blame mc for that beyond *w l deserve, I was not quite* myy °" WHnted to S et awa .V froiu tW "=• - yourself included, you mean k* fl • V ,°" l iar ticularly wanted to get •™ a y from mc?" You must not forget," he stamrner- > mat what I thought was you was you at all." fepli,! 6, ! UDders tand. The revulsion of "yg would be complete." eiearl '- 1 ' 1 J cannot explain myself more yourZu ■ said in low tones - " Put jyour h m my place - how fibre „, ,tv drilled every nerve and , ~-4°' n 'r bcin-." tottdiel t . hPl '. P ' 1otl " u S els e in mc that "%a s ". >' ,u ' r ' in ;>rt?" she questioned. •^JpseiT^w 0 "° P ° Or that * niy face tb f* *««"*«* Setter ovr i , ,s V ttm S to kno * 7™ %andirl «- : n ' *• ' ' warit to be quite live tn I ■ V ""' arc ella. We are to fcisunapr L f e^- and il is better tha t all

"So even now you are willing to take mc as I am?" "Of course I am, or I should not be here." "And you have come to this determination recently?" "Ah, Marcella, while I lay ill many things became f.lear to mc that were hidden before. I placed creed where I should have placed conduct, and observance eclipsed a larger duty." "Then it is duty that impels you?" "Why do you question rue so closely, Marcella? Do you doubt my sincerity?" "No, no. But we may be quite, sincere when -we are .doing- wrong. The Apostle Paul was sincere when he persecuted the Church." '"But I am not persecuting; you, Marcella." he said, with i\ pathetic smile. "I would guard you and screen you. and make your life as happy as possible."* "But do you love mc, Stephen?" He started and coloured to the roots of his hair. "Marcella," he said in a tone of reproach. "Would I have asked you to marry mc four months ago if I did not love you ?" "I am not speaking of four months ago, she said quietly. "Think of all that has happened since, and then look mc in the eyes, and tell mc that you love mc." "I can barely see your eyes," he said with a smile. She turned her head suddenly' with an impatient movement. "We must understand each other fully, Stephen/ she said, making a great effort to control her voice. "So much is at stake that we are bound to be honest with each other:*' "But we need not probe old wounds that will heal if let alone." "How do we know that they will heal « let alone? Some wounds grow worse and worse, and demand the surgeon's knife, if any cure is to be effected." "'Then let mc know candidly what it is that is troubling you?" ''I put a question to you just now which you evaded. Let mc put the same question in another way. If you had not proposed tq. mc four months ago, would you, in vi*w of all that has happened, do so to-day?" "Those hypothetical questions are •never easy to answer/ he said evasively- 'It is much like asking a man what he would do if he were another man." •I do not think so," she said. "You are not some other man, and I am not some other woman." *But you have changed, Marcella. ,, the face everything, Stephen?" I\o, no. And jet, if, the beautiful setting is marred or destroyed you cannot helpi grieving, thongh you va-lue the jewel still" For several moments there was silence, then Marcella said quietlyyou my letter still?" "I have it in my pocket," he replied. ''•Will you give it mc?" she questioned. Have you forgotten its contents?" "Not altogether." and she rose and took the letter from bis hand. Slowly she read it through while her face flushed red behind the veil. Then, •quick as thought, she tore it into fragments, and threw the pieces into the fire. "Marcolla!" he cried out in consternation. "Now we start afresh/ she said quietly. "You are no longer bound to mc, nor I to you. You admired mc once for my good looks, but you never loved mc." "You speak harshly, Marcella." ; "I speak the truth., nevertheless, and you do not attempt to contradict what I say." "I admit that your beauty was to mc beyond all price." "Then, on your own confession, you no longer value mc" "You have other qualities that I admire immensely." "But admiration U not love. It is well that you were disillusioned before you and I committed an irreparable mistake." "Why should it be a mistake? All niateriaJ beauty is transient. Time lays us blighting hand on all." "Stephen Window, you should not deal in sophisms. I admire your courage, m being ready to stand by a bad bargain. It was very magnanimous on your part; but none the less foolish on that account. Let us say good-bye and part as friends. I v et us forget, if we can, that we ever met." "Do you mean it.. Marcella?" 'How- can I mean aught else?* , she said proudly. "I have some self-respect, leit, some regard for my own happiness ! and yours."" " He stood before her for a. moment with bowed head. He had-no reply to make. She had read bis very soul -\ou will go away with a sense of relief? she questioned at length. les. and no," be answered slowly. if you were beautiful as when first I knew you nothing should drive mc from you.- . For a moment she hesitated. She was strongly tempted to fling her hat and veil aside. "But since I am as I am— ?" she questioned. "It is best we should go our separate ways," ho said frankly. "Some day you may learu to value a woman not for her good looks, but for the qualities of her heart and soul. Your experience should make you wise." "Yours has made you good," he said impulsively. "You are a nobler woman than when I first knew you." This is no time for compliments," she said proudly. "Good-bye." He took her extended hand and held it for a moment; then turned and left the room. CHAPTER XVni. FIRST COUSINS. Stephen walked away from George Dacre's house with a bent head and j slow and hesitating steps. He felt that I on the whole he had not come well out J of the interview. He bad made a preI tence of being perfectly frank and i honest, and straightforward; but habit? slowly acquired are hard to break. The ecclesiastical atmosphere and temper are not favourable to outspokenness. Like most men who give to the Church what is due to Christianity, he had become a casuist without knowing it. The turn of mind which, for want of a better name 16 termed Jesuitical, is in most instances fk growth* often slow and unsuspected,

Ethical niceties too often disappear in the dim light of ecclesiasticism. Evil may be an instrument of good. A lie may serve the ends of truth; the means are justified by the end. Push forward the ecclesiastical ark by honest and truthful methods if you can, but in any case push it forwardStephen had been growing in this direction for years. And it was not until he lay sick and at the point of death that a clearer and stronger light burst in upon his soul. But even yet, habits too frequently proved stronger than purpose. To search for an excuse when desire led in a certain direction had become almost an instinct. The ingenuousness of the child is rarely found in the priest. "I fenced as usual," lie said to himself, as he walked away into the crowded thoroughfare. "And she read mc like a book. I wonder what she thinks of mc now." In some respects he was inclined to congratulate himself that he had got out of a very difficult corner, especially as he believed his worst fears were more than realised, and the beauty he had worshipped had perished for ever. But his feeling of relief was more than counterbalanced by a keen sense of humiliation. To stand well in the estimation of our friends is one of the primal instincts of human nature-, it was a matter on which Stephen was keenly sensitive. "No," he kept repeating to himself, as he plunged into the thronging tide of life that surged up and down Oxfordstreet, "I have not come well out of it. She would have respected mc more if I had told her candidly all the truth. She will think the Jesuitical taint has got into my blood. I wonder if it has?" He climbed on to an omnibus at length. He would have been wiser had he got inside, for the wind was bitingly cold, but the force of habit was upon him, and his thoughts were in another place. "She is a very noble woman," he reflected, as the keen wind whistled past his ears. '"And she has the candour of those who have not learned the tricks of the casuist. I wonder if she is a Quaker or a dissenter of some kind. I fear in her heart she will despise mc. I really must get the taint out of my blood. What is ceremonial worth if honesty is absent? ,. He got off at Oxford Circus. He was feeling cold and hungry, and walked briskly down Regent-street. There were several restaurants near, at any one of which he could get a good dinner. "She might have asked mc to have a cup of tea/ , he reflected. "She. did not even tell mc that I looked weak and ill. She spoke of parting as friends, but 1 fear she will never want to see mc again. It must be a great blow to her." He sought a corner at the far end of the room, under the gallery and out of sight of the bnml. He liked to hear the music, but the sight of the performers irritated him. The big room was full of people. Many of the ladies and gentlemen were in evening dress. There was a low buzz of conversation wtih a ripple of laughter here and there. A grateful sense of warmth and luxury pervaded the place. The tables were nicely decorated with flowers. All this he took in at a glance. Then he picked up the menu card and looked at it with- | out seeing it. His thoughts were still back 'in George Dacre's drawing-room. "It's just as well she destroyed that letter," he said to himself. "She no longer believes what she wrote then. I was to her a kind of mediaeval saint and hero rolled into one, She must blush now when she thinks of it. Alas! I fear aped the priest and missed the man; for the future, God helping mc, I will try to be a man first. How the very atmosphere of ecclesTHsticism enervntes and saps." He helped himself to a sardine and some cucumber salad, with scarcely a thought of what he was doing. Overhead the band was playing a dreamy waltz, which the diners encored when it was done. At his right some people left their table, their places being instantly taken by others. In front a gentleman was drinking Turkish coffee, the perfume of which reached his nostrils with an agreeabie sense of something long forgotten. Yet he was only sub-conscious of all this. He could not drag away his thoughts from Marcella and their recent interview. "If her beauty had remained/ his thoughts ran on, "I am sure in time I should have loved her for herself alone. And she would have made mc a better man. I like her brave puritan spirit. That is a heritage (he dissenters may ■well be proud of. Better honesty in homespun than " "Hello, how like that man is to my cousin Sam. But, of course, he would not dine here unless he got somebody to treat him," "Thick soup or clear, sir?" said the waiter at his side. "Thick, please," and he strained his eyes toward the door, but the man who was so much like his cousin Sam had disappeared. Could he have got a nearer view he would have discovered that it was his cousin. Sam, having got the Jew's cheque the previous day, was now bent on enjoyin" himself. "The best dinners, the best wines, the best cigars," he said to himself. Those three things comprehended Sam's idea of enjoyment. He. had been in a, fever of anxiety lest Stepheu should turn up alive until'what Mr Jacobs called "the price of the reversion" was safe in bis pocket; them all his fears vanished., and he vowed it would be a most delightful joke if Stephen or bis ghost should revisit his former haunts. Having got the cheque, his first business was to turn it into bank notes. These he placed in a belt which he wore round his waist. " Now." he sadd to himself, " I'm safe whatever happens. Banks may go to smash and cheques may be dishonoured, but Bank of England notes will be accepted as legal tender anywhere. It was wiith the one idea of enjoyment that Sam strolled into one*« of the best of the West-end restaurants for his evening meal. He had often looked with longing eyes at its richly decorated vestibule, its coloured marbles, its elaborate electroliers, its tesselated floor. But he had never ventured inside. The waiter would expect a tip equal to what he could afford to spend on a. dinner. Such abodes of luxury were not for such a≤ he. Now. however, that his ample waist was surrounded with bank notes, he i could afford to play the gentleman, and ! he lost no time in calling for the wine J. last. The bottle, however, was left j' nunniftbed, and the waiter did not even get his tip, so eager was Sam to get out of the place. ,] It wae all through a lady who sat ' at an adjoining table moving her chair. | He looked up as she did so, and in a | moment Stephen' 6 face came into a direct line with hie own. " Great Scott!" he exclaimed imder ' pis breath, and he dropped Jxzs knife

and fork in a moment. Then he moved Ms own chair so that a lady's hat might block the line of vision. By lowering his head, however, he could see Stephens face, and every now and then he looked with eager, anxious eyes. At -first he was inclined to think that it was another case of "double," but he was very quickly convinced on the point. There were certain little peculiarities that belonged so exclusively to his cousin that he was quite s\ire no other man could have caught the trick of them, and nature never repeated herself in every detail. He tried his best to go on with his dinner. He would have to pay for it, and it was a part of his creed to get his moneys worth, but for some reason his appetite failed him completely. The sight of Stephen produced a curious sense of oppression. He was conscious of a painful choking in the throat. The room became insufferably dose and hot, and the band sounded feebly and far away. Gulping down half a glass of wine he staggered to his feet and made hurriedly for the door. He was delayed for some time over his bill, but ultihe got into the open air, and was able to open his lungs to the keen east wind that was whistling shrilly up the street. " Well, this is about the nearest squeak any man ever had," he said to himself as he strolled across Piccadilly Circus. "I wonder if it is in the papers. Old Jacobs will murder mc when he gets to know. Great Scott, another day's delay, and I should have been done for," and he felt at the belt underneath his waistcoat. Echo!' Last edition," called a boy almost under his nose. " Here, lad," and he gave the boy a penny, and rushed to the nearest lamp. He scanned the first page eagerly, and the second, but there was no allusion to the return of Stepheu. The third page was looked through with equal care, and the fourth, then he crumpled up the paper and threw it away. " It'll he in to-morrow, very likely,"' he said to himself. " I wonder what I had better do?" For an hour he walked the streets; then he returned to his lodgings and let himself in with a latch-key. Why he should feel so nervous and upsetwhy such a guilty feeling should haunt him—he could not understand. He had told himself that it would be a great joke if Stephen should turn up after he had g-ot the money. That it would serve old Jacobs right; that it would be a case of the biter being bitten; that it would mean the deal•ng r out of poetic jiistice to one of the worst rascals in London. Yet for some reason he was unablp to gloat over the transaction as he had hoped to do. . ft was in vain he argued that dt was a fair and square deal, that old Jacobs knew the risk and took it with his eyes open. It was in vain he pleaded that old Jacobs would have had no qualms of conscience, if it had so happened that Stephen was really dead, and the time came for the estate to be administered. Then why should he worry.' , " It is all because of the stupid way in which I wa-s brought up," he said to himself irritably. "It is curious hove those early superstitions stick. T thought I had got rid of every remnant of a conscience yeaxs ago. And here I am, fighting the battle over again as though I belonged to a V.M.C.A." Despite his qualms of conscience, however, Sam had no intention of giving up the money. He felt meaner than he had ever felt in his life before. He knew thaf the honourable and manly. thing would be to go to the old Jew and tell him tlrat his cousin had turned up on the very day the money was paid, and before any of it was spent, and that therefore as a man of honour he could not keep it. But Sam had let honour slip many years before, though conscience still lived in spite of all his efforts to kill it. "My old father would say that such money would carry a curse "with it," he said to himself. "But I'll risk the curse. Yes, I'll risk the curse, I'm not going to be such a fool as to give dt up when I've been to so much trouble to get it. But I'll get out of the Jew's way or heM murder mc," and with this reflection he >put out the lights and went to bed. (To be Continuel Next Saturday.)