A HUMAN FADE.

Evening Star, Issue 12761, 14 March 1906, Page 2

A HUMAN FADE.

By SrtAS K. Hocking <acntlwr<>r*Tbe Flaming Sword,' '■Pioneers,' "' "The Heart of Man,' 'God'® Outcast,' ' The Tempter's Power,' etc) CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW OF THK CLOCD. It was Grace M&ync who discovered Stephen. She had gone out to visit x. bedridden parishioner of her father's, and make her comfortable- for the Bight, and had to piss the church on the way. She noticed in going a light in ttocrvestry, and wondered whether Stephen was counselling inquirers, or whether he was meditating nlomx u How devoted he as!" she said to. herself, with a- smile, and hurried an her -way. No thought of her own devotion crcsscd her mind for a moment. She wis longer -with Mrs Tarbutt than usual, ii.nd -when she passed the church asptm it was growing late. The vestry was in darkness, ss she expected it would lie, and tho footpath thai led past the vestry door was deserted. She sometimes met Stephen and exchanged a friendly greeting, for since has long illness he had been m-nch less re served. Indeed, Stephen seemed to her a different man 'in many -ways. He was less of an ecclesiastic, less given to tho adoration of symbols, less troubled about ordinances and vestments, le?s dogmatic in the defence of creeds, less concerned about mere churdrism. Tlic.ro was also a breadth and charity in his preaching that she had never noticed in the old days. A sweet rea.s-onableji.ess that was wonderfully winning and inspiring. The medieval nrysticditn in which he once delighted gave place to a practical demonstration of tho frnits of Christianity. The ecclesiastic seemed gradually to evaporate, and the man came jwirc and more into view. This wiis a great comfort and satisfaction to Grace, though she had never talked about it. She disliked effeminacy in religion, as in cvcrylldiig else, and hud. a very genuine horror of the growth of pricstism. She was Protestant to her fingertips, and every movement that tended towards Rome she regarded with alarm. She had her fe;us respecting Stephen, at one time, but they were all gone now. The whole ton© ;ui<l character of his life and preaching were of a. robuster and more vigorous type. F,ven his conversation seemed more sincere, more simple, more direct. All this, however, without Iter knowing it, liad drawn her heart more and more towards him. These accidental Greetings, their moments of hurried conversation, their occasional talks over the tea-table at the vicarage all contributed to the same end. She did not expect to meet him, for she had remained so long with Tarbutt; but he was in her thoughts as sbo walked slowly past the church. One step beyond the vestry door, she paused suddenly and tamed quickly ronnd. " What a strong smell of gas," site said to herself. " I wonder where it comes from?' Slio moved nearer the vestry door, and then bent ber head toward the keyhole. " Why, there's an. escape in tho church," she said, to herself, excitedly. "This must be seen to at once." Her first impulse was to rush off to tho house of the sexton, two or three streets away. Tho next moment she seized the iron ring on tho door, gave it a twist, and discovered that tho door was unfastened. Witliout thinking of consequences she pnshed it open and entered. The next moment site was back in tho open air eoughing and gasping. Yert in that moment fhe had seen by the dim light coming through tho vestry wsndow the figure of Stephen in hia chair, with his head, resting on the table. As soon as she had recovered, her breath sbo cried out "Help! help! help!" Then shutting her teeth tightly, and trying not to breathe, she rashed back into the vestry and seized the chair in which Stephen eat, to drag it toward the door. What happened after that was never quite- clear to her. She felt a, choking sensation in her throat; there was a confused sound of voices in her cats. Strong hands caught her as she was falling, and dragged her somewhere. When she came to herseU again she was sitting on the cold floor with her head resting against a stone wall, and a yard away a crowd of people, including two policemen and a reporter, gathei-ed round a prone and unconscious figure. She struggled to her feet after a few moments, and elbowed herwayto Stephen's side. " Is be alive?' she asked, with a painful gasp. "I fear not, mks," was the answer. '■' We've boon trying to restore him, but it seems of no use." The reporter closed hk notebook and hurried away toward the city. Tho policemen consulted together for a few moments, and then one of them walked away for a >tr ichor. A doctors carriage pulled up ouL.side tho low boundary wall, and a moment or two later the doctor was bending over the unconscious figure. The crowd stood back to give more air space. -The doctor made his cscamrnation with great deliberation. Grace held her breath and watched him with dilating eyed, the doctor called to the policeman at length, and tho two set to work with great vigor to induce respiration. The crowd moved further back still and waited silently. The doctor and policeman worked with a will. Three more officers arrived hater with an ambulance. The crowd increased every minute. The doctor pulled off Ins coat at length and threw his hat upon tho ground. The discarded his helmet, and inwardly groaned Ho was nolf used to such hard work Co-ace cooked on silently, with her hand pressed tightly to her side. There waa a gurgle at length in Stephen's throat The doctor raised him to a srttine posture. Grace gave a fittlo crv, and sank unconscious to the ground. Then Mr Mayne came upon the scene, and after a few hurried words with the doctor, gave directions that Stephen should %U oOrr7t ' yed to the vicara £e, which was cioso at hand. Grace recovered herself after a few minutes, and was aible to walk home leaning on her father's arm. Then the crowd dispersed as silentlv as it came, leav mg two policemen in charge of the church." Stephen remained more or ksa unconscious during the whole of night. Tho first thing bo remembered clearly was Grace Mayne's 6weet and homely face bending over him. * ° She saw the light of recognition in his eyea in a moment, and her heart gave a great throb. "Don't try to talk just vet," she said K You have been ill." "But where am I?" he questaoned ieebly. "At the Vicarage. Yon were quite unconscious when they brought you here hst uight." "But why? How? I don't seem to remember " "There was an escape of gas in fixe vestry, and you were overcome by it." "An escape of gas—lei me think " and be closed his eyes. She watched Mm narrowly, but his face revealed naflnng. He felt Tike a man chasing shadows, vague, shapeless, unsubstantial, things, that danced away in front of him, but would not be caught. He opened bis eyea again after a while and looked up into the face of his eonv panion. He dad not speak. Asking questions was too great an effort. It -flag too much of an effort even to thank. But it was pleasant to feel the unspoken sympathy of Grace's presence. She seemed to cast a cooftjg jshadow on his hot and tisrobbmg brow. She was and peace, and shelter peraonified. He never thought <«f debating the question whether eho was pretty or plain. The only thing he was vividly eocscious of was that he lied to have her near him. She went away sometimes, and was away from him so long £ba£ he iroodeved in. a-vague way if she had left him attogjefber. What ailed himi he could not quite understand. ißtrjß«LjMhJS>ift aai- Tw*-d«,

sires ho had'*: the one to be left undis-' rurbed, the oTher to have Grace near him. report of hia death was contevaicted in two or three papers the next morning, but the contradiction had much less prominence, given to it- than the original statement. Moreover, Stephen was such a small unit among so many millions that to the great host of newspaper readers it was a matter of no moment whether this Bast End curate lived or died. Marcella was so concerned about Frank Priestley that she did not notice the brief ' and obscure paragraph which announced I that the\ asphyxiated clergyman had re- I covered consciousness. She would have I heaved a sigh of relief if she had seen it. Would have offered a prayer for his recovery. But she could never worry hercelf about him any mote. In one of the morning papers there was c long article devoted' to Frank Priestley and his work. His tragic fate had brought !r----name into prominence. Science had ita martyrs as well as religion, and it seemed likely that Dr Priestley's name would lie added to the roll. Marcella read the article with shining eyes and trembling hps. So mtmy things were, told that she 'had never heard of before. He was too modest a man, and too great a man, to speak of his own achievements. Among the poor mainly his work had been done—done unostentatiously and without hope of reward. And what a work it was! Work that tried the nerve and brought, into play every element of 'moral and physical courage. How often be had risked his life—risked it calmly and . deliberately—that he might prolong the lives of others no one knew until now, and even now only a fragment of the story had been told. Marcella felt her heart throbbing tnmulr tnonsly as she read. Had he been some stranger whom eho had never seen her pnlse would have been quickened by such u story. How could anyone read a tale of such splendid heroism without feeling better and nobler? And this man had been her friend, and moro than her friend, and she had spurned liini. Tho tears that overflowed her eyes when she had iinifhed the article were not only these of grief, but also of contrition. How bitterly she repented only God knew. She ought to liave known better, and judged him with a justcr judgment.' Had he not been the best friend she ever had? Did ilic not owe to hrrn what at one time she valued almost as much as life itself? Had she not heard words from his lips that j should have turned any woman's heart to pity? Now she was paying the penalty. She repented sineereiv enough, but repentance brought no relief. Repentance altered nothing, restored nothing. If j-lie could only be sure that Frank Priestley for. gave her it would lighten her Cross immeasurably. But even forgiveness would not restore what 'had been lost. She never realised until now how stern' were the laws of God and how inflexible tho moral osder. Nay, it- seemed to lier that the law was not only inflexible but almost revengefuL There wag a grim irony in the situation. What power or influence wag it that compelled her, in spite of herself, to love Frank Priestley—the man site hud spumed and insulted? Was there some grinning, spiteful, mischievous fate that took a- delight in human suffering: She had not tried to love Dr Priest-ky, She had tried to forget him. She had let her heart and her thoughts go oat to another. Ifc was not propinquity. Sho had not seen his face for months. Absence, instead of weakening the bond, had strengthened it. And now the papers said he was dying, and she could pass no message to him and get no word of comfcrt from his lips. She spent more money in newspapers than she had ever been in the habit of doing before, and every paper she bought she was almost afraid to open. So anxious was she that her own special work was neglected. She could not go with words of hope to others when her own heart was breaking with grief and anxiety. The days seemed interminable. The suspense was becoming unbearable. She tried to hope that no news was good news. She | told herself that, being a medical man of distinction— ■a, man of whom great things had been hoped and expected—he would fct the best medical advice and attention in London, and that, being young and strong, lie would stand a much better chance than an older man'; but nothing could shut her eyes to the fact that his case was one of grave and extreme peril. " Oh, if I could see him but for a minute," she would say to herself sometimes, with a look of anguish on her face. " I impugned his honor, and threw doubt upon Iris motives. If I could withdraw the words I think he would forgive me." The tension became so great after awhile that fche felt she could risk everything. [What mattered it what people thought or I said? What need she care about people's praise or blame? To get peace of mind she I j was prepared to 'defy the world. j " T can bnt be refused," she said, " ancT I I shall have tho satisfaction of knowing I that I tried." It wa.s not without a hard struggle that she came to this resolution, but when her mind was made up nothing could turn ber from her purpose. CHAPTER SXII. THE LAST DESIRE. Frank Priestley lay waiting with perfect calmness the approach of the last enemv. He was sorry lor many things t-e have to leave the world and pass out into the great silence, and yet he did not regret doing what he had done. A doctor who rightly appreciated the greatness of his profession lived and died for his fellows. He undertook the risk, knowing all the peril he ran. Ho hoped, of course, that he would suffer no harm—hoped that the experiment would prove successful—-not only in the case of the patient, but in his own immuiiily from contagion. It was not. to be so, Luwevfr. He had saved the patient's Hfe, but the price he had paid was the greatest tlat mortal man could pay. Well, it could not be .helped. He had done his duty. He had not only saved a life, bat he had contributed somethingbow much he did not know—to the sum total of human knowledge. It might l<e true that the life he had saved was of no great value as far as the world was concerned. Humanly speaking, his own life was worth a hundred such. But human measurements _ were often at fault. Only God could rightly appraise the relative value of men. Moreover, by sacrificing his own life, a a he had done he might in the days to come save a thousand. So that ho was not disposed to give way to regrets on that score. It was only natural that he would like to live. He was on the threshold of a great career. He was already spoken of in the, profession as.one of the c»ming men. Several of his experiments had led to very valuable discoveries, and ho had seen opening up before him illimitable vistas of usefulness. There were plenty of other men, however, who would take up and carry on his work. No man was essential. The wisest and greatest, when he dropped out of the ranks, was only missed for a day—the ranks closed up, the race mached forward to its inevitable destiny. Ho sometimes looked with wondering eyes into the future. What lay beyond the shadows? When his heart had ceased to beat, what then? "If a num. die shali he live again?" The eternal question haunted him now and then as it haunta every thinking individual. He shrank instinctively frem the thought of falling into an eternal sleep—- " Asleep which no propitious power -dispels, Nor changing seasons norrevolvingyears." He was greedy of life. He had only just begun to live, and life seemed such a' beautiful thing that he wanted it to continue. He would have been innnitely thankful for some sure vision of another world where he might pursue the hopes and dreams that inspired him here. He listened sometiiaes,. hoping that somo voice, the authority of which he could not doubt, might speak to him out of the silence and tell him that the "fife he longed for was awaiting hini—that beyond the shadow was a new land rijfrnitely more beautiful than that he- was leaving. In the main, how-ovex, he was quite content to leara the future with God. The snnpls faith of his childhood remained with him still. He had no elaborate creed. The eternal fatherhool of God, the atoning *esffit -of Christj, the comiort and insffiia-

tion of the Spirit summed up his religions beliefs. Tho things that ecclesiastics wrangled about seemed infinitely trivial to him now. What mattered it to, a dying man whether a priest faced the cast or the west, whetlier he was in what he called the apostolical succession or out of it, whether ne mixed water with tho wine or did without the wine altogether, whether bo baptised by sprinkling or immersion, whether he wore vestments of a certain shape J .•aid material or whether he discarded them entirely, or whether ho intoned tho psalms or reiKi t hem m a natural, common-sense way? Tho trappings and millinery of ecclesiasticism seemed so vain and pitiful. The hair-splittings of metaphysicians, what didi they amount to? The iron creeds that men formulated, what were they worth? A dying man wanted something different—something nearer, stronger, simpler. To know that he was a child of God, loved and cared for in his last hours, tliat was all his heart desired, and that was tho sum and substance of Frank Priestley's creed. While he had strength he took careful n&te of each symptom, and marked with curious interest tho development of the disease. He know well enough tho phases through which ho would pass, and measured tho probable limit of his strength. He discussed with his brother physicians tho probable complications that would arise, and suggested experimental measures that might be tried. But there cam© a time when he ceased to take interest in his physical condition. The disease had entered upon its last ?nd final stage, but he was too weak to concern himself about phases or symptoms. " I aan in no pain, Blandford," he said to tho doctor who was standing by lus bedside, " but I am so tired. It will be very sweet to rest." ' " You must not give up hope yet," Br Blandford answered. "You have a wonderful amount of vitality." "I have neither hope nor fear," ho ?n----swered, with a wan smile. "I just want to lie still." " Oh, well, we have no intention of distarrbing you at present, bnt don't give up the struggle before you are compelled." Frank answered him with a smile, bnt did not speak. "Is there anyone you wonld like to see?" Dr Blandford questioned ; but Frank only shock his head. There was one he would like to see—one for a sight of whose face he had pined ever since he was stricken down. But he had never mentioned his desire to anyone. What was the good ? She hau, told him that she hoped he would never cross her path again, and he had done his best to fulfil her desire. Since the day she drove away from the hospital he had never seen her, and yet-, curiously enough, never a day had passed that she had not been more or less in his thoughts. He had never tried verv hard to forget her. In his heart he did not want to forget her. He would have forgotten, if he could, the one painful episode in their life, but for the rest it was very pleasant to think of the long hours of delightful intercourse they had with each other. She was the only woman he had ever loved, and she seemed to him still one of tho sweetest and noblest women that everbreathed. He hod never been angry with her. He had felt hurt and pained, that was all. For the outcome of their last interview he acknowledged to himself that he was more to blame than she. There was justification, no donbt, for the course he took. He was right in his estimate of Stephen Winslow. Events had proved that ho had' never really loved Marcella; he had only been fascinated by her face! Still, the honorable course is ever the straight course. The modern gospel that in love and war wrong may be right and deceit a virtue he could never subscribe to. He had been brought up in a home in which honor was regarded as the keynote of religion, and he was quite prepared to admit—and he had repented of it ever since—that in hiding the truth from Stephen he had yielded to-his worst self. That the penalty was out of all proportion to the offence he could not help feeling. Marcella and he had been the best of friends, and if he had learned to love her it was not altogether his own fault. She h»d shown a preference for his company in many little ways, and it seemed hardly just that for one failure in his struggle after the ideal he should be doomed to perpetual banishment from her presence. It was not for him, however, to plead for a mitigation of the- sentence. It was her will, and she had shown no sign of relenting. Daring the days of his illness his heart turned toward her constantly. He felt that he .had a right to think of her without treason to his friend. That Stephen had received his dismissal was clear enough. Stephen had not told him in s<3 many words; but reading between the lines during their conversation it was not at all difficult to get at the exact truth. He had not been able to repress a smile when Stephen told him that during the whole of their interview she - had never once lifted the veil from her face. It was clear she was determined to get hold of the whole truth. " And you let her know fair and sqnare that it was her face that had fascinated you?" Frank questioned. * " Well, I am not sure that I was quite as frank as I ought to have been," Stephen said, hesitatingly; "but then, you see, slie is very discerning, and she read me like a book." " Nevertheless, you were prepared to stand by your offer?" "Oh, yes; I told her that honestly enough, though I felt a bit mean, for, as you know, I'm not much of a catch for anybody.* - " Well, that, of course, may be a debatable point," Frank said, with a laugh. " She thought a tremendous deal of you at one time." "I believe she did —yes, I believe she did," .Stephen renlied, musingly. "The fact is, I thought a good deal of myseli at one time. I was rather puffed up because I was a ' priest/ as I called myself, and fancied myself a good deal better than the ordinary individual." "The Dissenter, for instance?" " Don't taunt mo with that, Priestley. God has humbled me since. 'There is no respect of persons with Him." "You have learnt a good many tilings during the last few months," Frank said, after a pause. ' f T3tings I should have learned years ago if J had not been blinded by bigotry and spiritual pride" "And 1 what about Marcella now J " " And she will find her own mate in time, and someone worthy of her." " But her face T 1 " "Don't taunt me, Prieitlcy. When Marcella is truly loved it will be for the bcauty of Ler life ami character." Then you own that you never truly loved her? " "I waa fascinated, intoxicated, bewildered, if you like; and when ghe w;is smitten down it seemed to me as though everything were lost." " And is she fretting, do you think? " ""Over the destruction of an ideal! Oh, | Priestley, it is very humbling, but ehc discovered that I had not only feet of clay,' but a heart of day.-' "Now, you are too hard upon yourself," Frank said, with ar smile. I "I am trying to be a better man," Stephen answered, as he put on his hat and went out into the street. Frank thought of that conversation for a good many days after, and wondered if Marcella. would show any sign of relenting. But no sign was given. She had proved wow that he was right in what he had said about Stephen, but that clearly had not j changed her attitude toward himself. He I was-still an. outcast from her presence. ' , During his iUneas a greaft many people cafled and left their cards. One or Wo , very special friends he 9wd seen.' The list of names was read over to him each ev?ning so long as ho was able to take any inter^t; but MarceDa's name was never amoag them. Not that it mattered. Nothing could matter very much now«; When life is ebbing swiftly to its[close,r things that once seemed vastly important become of no value whatever.. ! Yet it was not without a feeling -. of surprise that he discovered that the desire to see Marcella's face outlived every other earthly wish. Long after be ceased to take any interest in his .Tanfrreatnw. in iu» ioendk, ia v 4&e

the world generally,-thc-desiTo to see Marcella was as intense as ever-. He would he still for hours with closed eyes and ears, deaf to all outward sounds, and all the while his thoughts would be of Maroella. _ The passion for life was gradually losing its hold. The fear of death wis passing mto a great longing to be at rest; but he had a fancy that rest would be sweeter and sleep more profound if he could only see Marcella once more ere the light faded for , ever. She had been his friend. Ho had enjoved the light of her eyes a hundred times'before he realised what it meant. Her smile had given him hope and encouragement when difficult tasks confronted him, audi it seemed to him like a false note in music that he should pass out of Hfe unreconcifcd and unforgiven. "Is there anyone you would like to see?" Dr Blandford had questioned, little dreaming what was in his heart. And he had shaken his head. Marcella's wish must be respected, though bis heart broke. She had used the word "never."

She meant it then-; she : evidently meant it stall. So he went sjteodily deeper among the shadows, uncheered by that smile •wiHch, next to the smile of God, would have been his, greatest.solace. His friends, the doctors,, were a little disappointed that he let the world slip so easily. So much depends- on a man's willpower whether bo.sinks or survives, and Frank was not making the desperate fight for life that was necessary if he. -wag to tide himself over the crisis. The world had lost its alluring power. The one thing thatcould awaken within him an intense and dominant passion for existence was absent. Life without love -loses most of its charm. (To be continued.)