A HUMAN FACE.

Evening Star, Issue 12749, 28 February 1906, Page 2

A HUMAN FACE.

By Silas K. Hocking (Author of ‘ The Flaming Sword,’ ‘ Pioneers,’ ‘The Heart of Man,’ ‘God’s CStcast,’ ‘The Tempter’s Power,’ etc.) CHAPTER XYH. FACR TO FACE. Stephen reached the house of George Dacre at fire o’clock in tio afternoon, and was shown at once into the drawing room. He had come in response to a telegram from Marcella, and he was on (he dot of the time appointed. The day was already beginning to fade, and the large and riehlvfurnished room was in semi-darkness. “ Evidently people of wealth,” be reflected, as he ran his eye up and down the loom. Then he went and stood by the fireplace and leaned on his elbow on the mantelpiece. He felt too restless, too excited, to sit down. In a moment or two he would ho face to face with Marcella, What would that mean? He had asked her to be bis wife, and she had consented ; hut much had happened since then. When he proposed to her she was the most beautifnl woman he had ever seen. But what now? Should he find her disfigured for life? He coukl no longer deny to himself 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, nor self-denial, her patient endurance—there were not the things that attracted him; these were not, the qualities that made him anxious to marry her. It was her face, and her face alone, that fascinated him. “ And if ?” He turned uneasily and looked out. of the window. He had come prepared to abid* by his offer. As an honorable man he could not go back upon his word. As a Christian minister he was doubly bound to pursue the straight course. If it snould turn ont that, his fears were unfounded, lie would be a proud and-happy man. Some of the old oestasr would come back to him. The delight of the eve would atone for any sentimental feeling that might be absent; while companionship in sympathy and endeavor’ would round his life into completeness and harmony. 'The door creaked at length, and then wa.s pushed slowly on*m. There was a muffled footstep and the rustle of a dress. Then a lady. att ; red for the street, entered. A blue serve 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. Rurelv this plainly-attired figure could not he 'Marcella. Sim advanced rapidly and held out her hands to him. “ Are you Marcella?” he gasped. “I am.” she answered. ‘‘Do von not recovnhe me ?” “W.ll yon not- remove your'veil and let me look at von?” he questioned, huskily. T ■ would prefer not.” she answered, slowly. “It is better you should not eee my face—at least-, not just yet.” He groaned audibly, ‘and leaned heavily on the mantelpiece. “I—l—did not know it was so bad as that.” he gasped at length. Act I a.m the some,” she said, slowly and quietly. “ A’es—yes, your ,‘onl remains untouched. I shall try not to forget that. But then he hesitated, and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Aou valued my good looks. Stephen?” she questioned, naively. “Above everything,” ho gasped. “Marcella Dacre without her ——” Then he hesitated again, a n d looked despairingly out of the window. ° do yon leave your sentences unfinrahedT she questioned at length. Because I can find no words that express exactly _what I feel,” he raid bluntly. “Lot us sit down and talk the matter Dvcr quietly,” ehe said, after a moment of silence “So much has happened since we plighted our troth.” . He winced visibly, and dropped slowly into an easy chair. J “The letter you wrote to me the day you were taken ill,” he said at length, _ was not posted until several days later! I rvid it for tho first time last evening.” It was her turn to start now. That one little fact changed the whole complexion of thIIKTS. “Then you concluded that my silonce mrant a refusal?” she questioned. • “No Marcella, I did not. Let me bo quite frank and honcot. You received mv -. in such a wav that I felt quTto confident what your final answer would ' be.” “But since my answer was so long de laved you did not feel bound to me in any ■ wav"’ - • , .Ho colored slightly. She was reading his heart more accurately than he desired Yet lie was anxious to he quite honest and candid. “I do not say the thought never crossed my mind,” ho stammered, after a pause lou see, I was in the toils of ecclesiariicil superstition at the time. I was in donbt if a minister should marrv at all. • Moreover, I had received a shock which ■ completely unnerved me.” “Yon mean at the hospital?” ' ** Ye f; 11 almost drove mo mad. Tlicn camo the railway colfoon; after which I was haunted by a burning desire to rct awray from everything, myself included.” “And yon deliberately hid yourself?” “ Do not blame me for that beyond what . ZT'*' y cot quite myself.” ‘ When you wanted to get away from everything, yourself included, you mean that you particularly wanted to vet away from me?” “ - y uZr w St T n t °u fo r ßet ’” ,le stammered. that what I thought was you was not you at all.” f JJ 05 ' 1 mderatand. The revulsion of feeling would be complete.” ’ ,i'lL f f. a v 1 Tl . not , myself more clearly, ho said m low tones. “Put vourself in 'my place. Remember how 'your beanty thrilled every nerve and fibre of my being. , “ thcr ? rK)th miT else in me that touched your heart?” she questioned. “Was - my soul so poor that my face eclipsed it’” first’K,n 7 ° Ur b *?- Uty that att nuited me first, but I was getting to know yon better BTery ay ’ J want to b© quite candid with i?’ 3XB to liv& together, and it is better that all misunderstandings . should be cleared away at the outset ” ; course I am, or I should not bo co “ a te ■‘ hb ... Marcella, while I lav ill many ; things became clear to me that were hidden before. I placed creed where I should have placed conduct, and observance eclipsed a larger duty.” «Twif n duty that impels you T’ ■ mjr W „y„ d ® y° u question me so closely, ■ '« I -vr ? Do you doubt my sincerity?” . _,y o ’ no ' we may be quite sincere when we are doing wrong. The Apostle Chm-cL” 5 KlDCer6 When he P erseca teothe p B » fc . 1 "P, persecuting you, Mar- . cella he said, with a pathetic smile. “I would guard you and screen you, and make - your life as happy as possible.” “But do you love me, Stephen?” He started and colored to the roots of his hair. “Marcella,” ho said, in a tone of reproach. “Would I have asked you to ’**• marry me four months ago if I did not love your “ I am not speaking of four months ago ” die said quietly. «Think of all that happened since, and then look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me.” “I can barely see your eyes,” ho 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 arc bound to.-b© honest with each other.” p “ But we heed not probe old wounds that ‘Trill heal if let alone.” v do wo know that theor uH heal

if let alone, Some wounds grow worse and worse, and demand the surgeon’s knife, if any cure is to be effected.’' “ Then let me know candidly what it is that is troubling you?” “ I put a question to you just now which you evaded. Let me put tho same question in another way. If you had not proposed to me four months ago, would you, in view of all that has happened, do so to-da}-?” “Those hypothetical questions are never easy to answer,” he said, evasively. “It is much like asking a man what lie 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.” “Is tho face everything, Stephen?” “ No, no. And yet. If the beautiful sotting is marred or destroyed you cannot help grieving, though you value the jewel still.” For several moments there was silence; then Marcella said, quietly: “Have you my letter still?” “I have it in my pocket,” ho replied. “ Will you give it me?” she questioned. “Have you forgotten its contents?” “ Not altogether,” and she rose and took the letter from his hand. Slowly she read it through, while her face flushed red behind the veil. Then, quick as thought, site tore it into fragments and threw the pieces into tho lire, “ !” he cried out iu consternation. “ Now- we start afresh,” she said, quietly. “A’ou are no longer bound to me, nor 1 to you. You admired mo once for my good looks, but you never loved me.” “You speak harshly, Marcella.” “ I speak the truth, nevertheless, and yon do not attempt to contradict what I say.” “I admit that your beauty was to me beyond all price.” “ Then, on your own confession you no longer value mo.” “ Yon have other qualities that I admire immensely.” “But admiration is not. love. It is well that you were disillurioi-od before you and ! committed an irreparable mistake.’’ “Why should it bo a mistake? All material beauty is transient-. Time lays its" blighting hand on all.” “ Stephen Winslow, you should not deal in sophisms. I admire your courage in being ready to stand by a bad bargain. It was very manna-pi— ous on your part, but none tho less foolish on that account. Let us say good-bye and part as friends. liet us forget, if we can, that we over met.” “Do you mean it, Marcella?” “Haw enn I mean aught else?” she said proudly. “ T have some self-respect left, 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 his very- soul. “ You will go away with a sense of relief?” she questioned at length. “A r es, and no,” he answered slowly. “If you were beautiful as when first I knew yon nothing would drive me 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 w-ays,” he said frankly. “Some day you may learn to value a woman not for her good looks, but for the qualities cf her heart and soul. Your experience should make you wise.” “Atoms has made you good,” he said impulsively. ‘‘You are a nobler woman than when first' I knew vou.” “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 XVIII. IIKST COUSINS. Stephen walked away from George Dacre’s house with bent head and slow and hesitating steps. He felt that on the whole he ; had not come well out of the interview, i He had made a- pretence of 'being perfectly I frank and honest and straightforward; but j habits slowly acquired are hard to break. The ecclesiastical atmosphere and temper are not favorable to outspokenness. Like most men who give to the Church what is ! due to Christianity, he had become a I casuist without knowing it. The turn of mind which, for want of a better name, is termed Jesuitical is in most instances n growth, often slow and unsuspected. Ethical niceties too often disappear in the dim light of ecclesiasticism. Evil may be an instrument of good. A He 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 forward. Stephen had been growing in this .direction for years. And it was not until he lay rick 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,” he said to himself, as he walked away into the crowded thoroughfare. “And she read me Wee a book. I wonder what she thinks of me now.” In some respects he Was inclined to congratulate himself that he had got out of a very difficult comer, especially as ho believed his worst fears were more than realised, and the beauty lie bad 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,” ho kept .repeating to himself, as he plunged into the thronging tide of life that- surged up and down Oxford street, “I have not come well out- of it. She would have respected me 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. Ho would have been wiser had ho 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 candor of those i 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 me. I really must get the tain tout of my blood. What is ceremonial worth if honesty is absent He got off at Oxford Oircus, He was feeling cold and hungry, and walked briskly down Regent street. There were .several restaurants near, at any one of which ho could get a good dinner. “ She might have asked me to have a cup of tea,” he reflected. “She did not even tell me that I looked weak and ill. She spoke of parting as friends, but I fear she will never want to s“e mo again. It must be a great blow to her.” He sought a comer at the far end of the room, under the gallery and out of sight of the band. He liked to hear the music, but the sight of the performers irritated him. The big room was full cf -people. Many of the ladies and gentlemen were in evening drees. There was a low buzz of conversation with 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 ho picked up the menu card, and looked at it without seeing it. His thoughts were still bad: 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 medieval saint and hero rolled into one. _ She must blush now when she thinks of it. Alas, I fear I aped the priest and missed the man; for the future, God helping roe, I will try to be a roan first. How the very atmospLere of ecclesiasticism. enervates and saps. He helped himself to a sardine and some ' cucumber salad, with scarcely a thought of what he was doing. Overhead the bant! 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 j limit » gentleman wan di-mlring Tuxkish i

coffee, the perfume of which reached his nostrils with an agreeable sense of something long forgotten. Yet he was only sub-conscious of all this. Ho 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 luivo loved her for herself alone. And she would have made me a bettor man. I like her brave Puritan spirit. That is a heritage tho dissenters may well > bo proud of. Better honesty in homespun than “ Hello, how like that man is to xny cousin Sam, But, of coarse, ho would not j dino hero unless ho got somebody to treat ' him.” j “Thick soup or clear, sir?” said the ' waiter at his side. “Thick, please,” and he strained his eyes , towards the door; but the man who was j so much like his cousin Sam had disappeared. Could he have got a nearer view I he would have discovered that it was his cousin. Sain, having pot the Jew’s cheque the previous day. was now bent on enjoying ' 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 Stephen should turn up alive until what : Air Jacobs called “ the price of the ; rovers on ” was safe in his pocket; then all i his fears vanished, and be vowed it would be a most delightful joke if Stephen or his ghost should revisit, his former haunts, j Having got the cheque, his finst business j was to turn it into bank notes. These lie placed in, a belt which lie wore round his waist. “Now,” lie said to himself, “I'm safe whatever happens. Banks may go to smash and cheques may be dishonored, but Bank of England notes will be accepted as legal tender anywhere. It was with the one idea of enjoyment that Sam strolled into one of the best of the West End restaurants for his evening meal. IL had often looked with longing eyes at its richly-deco rated vestibule, its colored marbles, its elaborate electroliers, ib tesrellated Moor. But lie 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 as he. Now, however, that his ample waist was surrounded with bank notes, he could afford to play the gentleman,- and bo lost no tiim in calling for the wine list. The bottle , however, was loft unfinished, and tie i waiter did not even get his tip, so ea-ci j was Sun to get out of the place. I Hqwras all through a lady who sat at an i adjoining table moving her' chair. He looked up as she did so, and in a moment Stephen’s face came into a direct lino with his own. “ Great Scott!” he exclaimed under his breath, and lie dropped hie knife and fork in a moment Then ho moved his own j chair so that a lady’s hat might block the j line of vision. ; By lowering his head, however, he could ; still see Stephen's face, and every now and ! riien be looked with eager, anxious eyes. | At first he was inclined to think that it j was another case of “double,” but he was quickly convinced on the point. There were certain little peculiarities that belonged so exclusively to his cousin that ho was quite sure no other uum could have caught the trick of them, and nature never repeated itself in every detail. Ho tried his beet to go on with his dinner. Ho. would have to pay for it, and it was a part of his creed to get his money s worth; but for some reason his appetite failed him completely. Tim sight of Stephen produced a curious sense of oppression. He was conscious of a painful choking in the throat. The room became inoifferably close 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 I for the door. He was delayed for some | time over his bill, but ultimately lie got i into the open air, and was able to open | bis lungs to the keen east wind that was whistling shrilly up tho street. Well, this is about the nearest squeak any man ever had,” he said to himself as |be strolled across Piccadilly Circus. I wonder if it is in the papek Old Jacobs j will murder me when he gets to know. Great Scott! Another day’s delay and J should have been done for.” and bo felt at tho belt underneath his waistcoat. Echo * 1 Last edition,” called a bov ahnost under his nose. Here, lad,’ and be gave the boy a" penny, and rushed away to the nearest lamp. He scanned the first page eagerly, and the second, but there was no allusion to the return of Stephen. The third page ■was looked through with equal care, and (ho fourth, then he crumpled up the caper and threw it away.” “It’ll be in to-morrow, very likely,” he said to himself. “ I wonder what I had better do? ” For an hour he walked tho streets; then he returned to his lodgings and let himself in with a latchkey. Why he should feel so nervous and upset—why such a guilty feeling should haunt him, he could not understand. He bad told himself that it would be a great joke if Stephen should turn up after lie had got the money. That it would serve old Jacobs right. That it would be a case of the biter being bitten; that it would mean tho dealing out of poetic justice to j one of tho worst rascals in London, Yet for some reason be was unable to gloat ovc-r the transaction as he had hoped to do. It was in vain he argued that it was a fair and square deal, that old Jacobs knew tho risk and took it with his eyes open. It was in vain ho 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 bo administered. Then whyshould be worry.” “It is all because of the stupid way in which I was brought up,” he said to himself irritably. “It is curious how those early superstitions stick. I thought I had go‘t rid of every remnant of a conscience years 1 ago. And here I am, fighting the battle over again as though I belonged to a. Y.M.C.A.” I Despite his qualms of conscience, bowever, Sam had no intention of giving up tho money. He felt meaner than he had ever felt in his life before. He knew that the 1 Honorable and manly thing would be to go back to the old Jew and tell him that his cousin had turned up on the very day tho money was paid, and before any of it was spent, and that therefore as a man of | honor he could not keep it. But Sam had let honor slip many yeans before, though conscience still lived in spite of all his efforts to kill it “My old father would ray that such money would carry a. curse with it,” he said to himself. “ But" I’ll risk the curse. Yes, I’ll risk tho curse, I’m not going to be such a fool as to give it up when I’ve been to so much trouble to get it. But Til get out. of the Jew’s way or 'he’ll murder me; ” and with this reflection he put out the lights and went to bed. (To he continued.)