In His Steps - New Abridged Editon Page 8

  Virginia left the organ, went to her, looked into her face and caught her hands in her own. The other girl trembled, then fell on her knees sobbing, with her head down upon the back of the bench in front of her, still clinging to Virginia. And Virginia, after a moment's hesitation, kneeled down by her and the two heads were bowed close together.

  When the people had crowded in a double row around the platform, most of them kneeling and crying, a man in evening dress, different from the others, pushed through the seats and came and kneeled down by the side of the drunken man who had disturbed the meeting when Maxwell spoke. He kneeled within a few feet of Rachel Winslow, who was still singing softly. And as she turned for a moment and looked in his direction, she was amazed to see the face of Rollin Page.

  For a moment her voice faltered. Then she went on.

  "Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,

  Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;

  Because Thy promise I believe,

  O Lamb of God, I come, I come."

  And the Rectangle, for the time being, was swept into the harbor of redemptive grace.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  IT WAS nearly midnight before the services at the Rectangle closed. John Gray stayed up long into Sunday morning, praying and talking with a little group of converts who, in the great experiences of their new life, clung to the evangelist with a personal helplessness that made it as impossible for him to leave them. Among these converts was Rollin Page.

  Virginia and her uncle had gone home about eleven o'clock, and Rachel and Jasper Chase had gone with them as far as the avenue where Virginia lived. Dr. West had walked on a little way with them to his own home, and Rachel and Jasper had then gone on together to her mother's.

  Jasper began to speak to Rachel just at that point on the avenue where, a few days before, he had met Rachel walking with Rollin Page. He had wondered at the time what Rollin was saying.

  "Rachel," Jasper said, and it was the first time he had ever spoken her first name, "I never knew till tonight how much I loved you. Why should I try to conceal any longer what you have seen me look? You know I love you as my life. I can no longer hide it from you, if I would."

  The first intimation he had of a repulse was the trembling of Rachel's arm in his. She allowed him to speak, and neither turned her face toward him nor away from him. She looked straight on and her voice was sad but firm and quiet when she spoke.

  "Why do you speak to me now? I cannot bear it -- after what we have seen tonight."

  "Why ... what..." he stammered, and then was silent.

  Rachel withdrew her arm from his, but still walked near him. Then he cried out with the anguish of one who begins to see a great loss facing him where he expected a great joy.

  "Rachel! Do you not love me? Is not my love for you as sacred as anything in all of life itself?"

  She walked silent for a few steps after that. They passed a street lamp. Her face was pale and beautiful. He made a movement to clutch her arm and she moved a little farther from him.

  "No," she replied. "There was a time ... I cannot answer for that ... you should not have spoken to me tonight."

  He saw in these words his answer. Nothing short of a joyous response to his own love would ever have satisfied him. He could not think of pleading with her.

  "Some time -- when I am more worthy?" he asked, but she did not seem to hear, and they parted at her home, and he recalled vividly the fact that no goodnight had been said.

  He had not reckoned on Rachel's tense absorption of all her feeling in the scenes at the tent, which were so new in her mind. But he did not know her well enough to understand the meaning of her refusal.

  It was now striking midnight, and Jasper Chase sat in his room staring at the papers on his desk and going over the events of the evening with painful persistence.

  He had told Rachel Winslow of his love for her, and she had not given him her love in return. He had yielded to his feelings without any special thought of results to himself, because he had felt so certain that Rachel would respond to his love.

  Never had her beauty and her strength influenced him as tonight. While she was singing, he saw and heard no one else. The tent swarmed with a confused crowd of faces and he knew he was sitting there hemmed in by a mob of people, but they had no meaning to him. He felt powerless to avoid speaking to her.

  Now that he had spoken, he felt that he had misjudged either Rachel or the opportunity. He knew, or thought he knew, that she had begun to care something for him. It was no secret between them that the heroine of his first novel had been his own ideal of Rachel, and the hero in the story was himself, and they had loved each other in the book. Rachel had not objected. No one else knew. The names and characters had been drawn with a subtle skill that revealed to Rachel, when she received a copy of the book from Jasper, the fact of his love for her, and she had not been offended. That was nearly a year ago.

  When the clock in the First Church struck one, he was still sitting at his desk staring at the last page of manuscript of his unfinished novel.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  RACHEL had gone up to her room and faced her evening's experience with conflicting emotions. Had she ever loved Jasper Chase? Yes. No. One moment she felt that her life's happiness was at stake over the result of her action. Another, she had a strange feeling of relief that she had spoken as she had.

  The response in the tent to her singing, the swift, powerful, awesome presence of the Holy Spirit had affected her as never in all her life before. The moment Jasper had spoken her name, and she realized that he was telling her of his love, she had felt a sudden revulsion for him, as if he should have respected the events they had just witnessed. She felt as if it was not the time to be absorbed in anything less than the divine glory of those conversions.

  All the time she was singing, with the one passion of her soul to touch the conscience of that tent full of sin, Jasper Chase had been unmoved by it except to love her for herself The thought gave her a shock as of irreverence on her part as well as on his.

  She could not tell why she felt as she did, only she knew that if he had not told her tonight she would still have felt the same toward him as she always had. What was that feeling? What had he been to her? Had she made a mistake? She went to her bookcase and took out the novel which Jasper had given her. Her face deepened in color as she turned to passages which she had read often and which she knew Jasper had written for her. She read them again. Somehow they failed to touch her strongly.

  She closed the book and let it lie on the table. Her thought was busy with the sights she had witnessed in the tent. Those faces, men and women, touched for the first time with the Holy Spirit's glory, kneeling down to give themselves to a life of purity and Christ-likeness. And the face of Rollin Page by the side of that miserable wreck out of the gutter! She could recall as if she now saw it: Virginia crying with her arms about her brother just before she left the tent, and the Rev. John Gray kneeling close by -- and the girl Virginia had taken into her heart while she whispered something to her before she went out.

  All these pictures stood out in Rachel's memory, a memory so recent that her room seemed for the time being to contain all the actors and their movements.

  "No! No!" she said aloud. "He had no right to speak after all that! He should have respected the place where our thoughts should have been. I am sure I do not love him -- not enough to give him my life."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE PEOPLE of Raymond awoke Sunday morning to a growing knowledge of events which were beginning to revolutionize many of the regular, customary habits of the town. Alexander Powers' action in the matter of the railroad frauds had created a sensation not only in Raymond but throughout the country.

  Edward Norman's changes of policy in the conduct of his paper had startled the community and caused more comment than any recent political event. Rachel Winslow's singing at the Rectangle meetings had made a stir in society and excited the wonder of a
ll her friends.

  Virginia's presence every night with Rachel, her absence from the usual circle of her wealthy, fashionable acquaintances, had furnished a great deal of material for gossip. In addition, there had been all through the city in many homes and in business and social circles strange happenings. Nearly one hundred persons in Henry Maxwell's church had made the pledge to do everything after asking: "What would Jesus do?" and the result had been, in many cases, unheard-of actions.

  The city was stirred as it had never been before. As a climax to the week's events, had come the spiritual manifestation at the Rectangle, and the announcement which came to most people before church time of the actual conversion at the tent of nearly fifty of the worst characters in that neighborhood, together with the conversion of Rollin Page, the well-known society and club man.

  It is no wonder that the First Church of Raymond came to the morning service sensitive to any large truth. Nothing had astonished the people more than the change that had come over the minister since he had proposed to them the imitation of Jesus in conduct.

  The dramatic delivery of his sermons no longer impressed them. The self-satisfied, contented, easy attitude of the fine figure and refined face in the pulpit had been replaced by a manner that could not be compared with the old style of his delivery.

  The sermon was brought to them with a love, an earnestness, a passion, a humility that poured its enthusiasm about the truth, and made the speaker no more prominent than he had to be as the living voice of God.

  The minister's prayers were unlike any the people had heard before. They were often broken, even once or twice they had been actually ungrammatical in a phrase or two. When had Henry Maxwell so far forgotten himself in a prayer as to make a mistake of that sort? He had often taken as much pride in the diction and delivery of his prayers as of his sermons. His great longing to voice the needs and wants of his people made him unmindful of an occasional mistake. He had never prayed so effectively as he did now.

  Henry Maxwell had never in the course of his ten years' pastorate mentioned the saloon as something to be regarded in the light of an enemy, not only to the poor and tempted, but to the business life of the place and the church itself. He spoke now with a freedom that seemed to measure his complete sense of conviction that Jesus would speak so.

  At the close, he pleaded with the people to remember the new life that had begun at the Rectangle. The regular election of city officers was near at hand. The question of license would be an issue in the election. What of the poor just beginning to feel the joy of deliverance from sin? Was there one word to be said by the Christian disciple, businessman, citizen, in favor of continuing the license to crime and shame-producing institutions?

  The most Christian thing they could do was to act as citizens in the matter, fight the saloon at the polls, elect good men to the city offices, and clean the municipality. How much had prayers helped to make Raymond better, while votes and actions had really been on the side of the enemies of Jesus?

  How much had the members of the First Church ever suffered in an attempt to imitate Jesus? Where did the suffering come in? Was it necessary to go up Calvary as well as the Mount of Transfiguration in order to follow Jesus' steps?

  His appeal was stronger at this point than he knew. The spiritual tension of the people reached its highest point right there. The imitation of Jesus, which had begun with the volunteers in the church, was working like leaven in the organization. Henry Maxwell would have been amazed if he could have measured the extent of desire on the part of his people to take up the cross.

  While he was speaking, many a man and woman in the church was saying, as Rachel had said so passionately to her mother, "I want to do something that will cost me something in the way of sacrifice."

  The service was over, the great audience had gone, and Maxwell again faced the company gathered in the lecture room, as on the two previous Sundays. He had asked all to remain who had made the pledge of discipleship, and any others who wished to be included. The after-service seemed now to be a necessity.

  As he went in and faced the people there, his heart trembled. There were at least one hundred present. The Holy Spirit was never before so manifest. He missed Jasper Chase, but all the others were present.

  He asked Milton Wright, the city merchant, to pray. The very air was charged with divine possibilities. What could resist such a baptism of power? How had they lived all these years without it?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  DONALD MARSH, president of Lincoln College, walked home with Henry Maxwell. "I have reached one conclusion, Maxwell," said Marsh, speaking slowly. "I have found my cross, and it is a heavy one, but I shall never be satisfied until I take it up and carry it."

  Maxwell was silent and the college president went on.

  "Your sermon today made clear to me what I have long been feeling. 'What would Jesus do in my place?' I have asked the question repeatedly since I made my promise. I have tried to satisfy myself that Jesus would simply go on as I have done, attending to the duties of my college work, teaching the classes in Ethics and Philosophy. But I have not been able to avoid the feeling that He would do something more, something that I do not want to do. It will cause me genuine suffering to do it. I dread it with all my soul. You may be able to guess what it is."

  "Yes, I think I know. It is my cross too. I would almost rather do anything else."

  Donald Marsh looked surprised, then relieved. Then he spoke sadly but with great conviction. "Maxwell, you and I belong to a class of professional men who have always avoided the duties of citizenship. We have lived in a little world of literature and scholarly seclusion, doing work we have enjoyed, and shrinking from the disagreeable duties that belong to the life of the citizen. My plain duty is to take a personal part in this coming election, go to the primaries, throw the weight of my influence, whatever it is, toward the nomination and election of good men, and plunge into the very depths of the entire horrible whirlpool of deceit, bribery, political trickery and saloonism as it exists in Raymond today. I would give almost anything to be able to say, 'I do not believe Jesus would do anything of the sort.' But I am more and more persuaded that He would."

  "You have spoken for me also," replied Maxwell, with a sad smile. "Why should I, simply because I am a minister, shelter myself behind my refined, sensitive feelings, and like a coward refuse to touch, except in a sermon possibly, the duty of citizenship? I could go and live at the Rectangle the rest of my life and work in the slums for a bare living, and I could enjoy it more than the thought of plunging into a fight for the reform of this city. It would cost me less. But, like you, I have been unable to shake off my responsibility. Marsh, as you say, we professional men have avoided the sacred duties of citizenship, either ignorantly or selfishly. Certainly Jesus in our age would not do that. We can do no less than take up this cross, and follow Him."

  The two men walked on in silence for a while. Finally Marsh said, "We do not need to act alone in this matter. With all the men who have made the promise we certainly can have companionship, and strength even, of numbers. Let us organize the Christian forces of Raymond for the battle against corruption. We certainly ought to enter the primaries with a force that will be able to do more than enter a protest. Jesus would use great wisdom in this matter. He would make large plans. Let us do so. If we bear this cross, let us do it bravely."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  DONALD MARSH and Henry Maxwell talked over the matter a long time and met again the next day in Maxwell's study to develop plans. The city primaries were called for Friday. The Crawford system of balloting for nominations was not in use in the State, and the primary was called for a public meeting at the court house.

  The citizens of Raymond will never forget that meeting. It was so unlike any political meeting ever held in Raymond before. The special officers to be nominated were mayor, city council, chief of police, city clerk and city treasurer.

  The evening News in its Saturday editio
n gave a full account of the primaries. In the editorial columns Edward Norman spoke with a directness and conviction that the Christian people of Raymond were learning to respect deeply, because it was so evidently sincere and unselfish. A part of that editorial is also a part of this story:

  It is safe to say that never before in the history of Raymond was there a primary like the one in the courthouse last night. It was, first of all, a complete surprise to the city politicians who have been in the habit of carrying on the affairs of the city as if they owned them, and everyone else was simply a tool or a cipher. The overwhelming surprise of the wire-puller last night consisted in the fact that a large number of the citizens of Raymond, who have heretofore taken no part in the city's affairs, entered the primary and controlled it, nominating some of the best men for all the offices to be filled at the coming election.

  It was a tremendous lesson in good citizenship. President Marsh of Lincoln College, who never before entered a city primary, and whose face was not even known to the ward politicians, made one of the best speeches ever made in Raymond. It was almost ludicrous to see the faces of the men who for years have done as they pleased, when President Marsh rose to speak. Many of them asked, "Who is he?" The consternation deepened as the primary proceeded and it became evident that the old-time ring of city rulers was outnumbered. Rev. Henry Maxwell of the First Church, Milton Wright, Alexander Powers, Professors Brown, Willard and Park of Lincoln College, Dr. West, Rev. George Main of the Pilgrim Church, Dean Ward of the Holy Trinity, and scores of well-known businessmen and professional men, most of them church members, were present, and it did not take long to see that they had all come with the one direct and definite purpose of nominating the best men possible.

  As soon as it became plain that the primary was out of their control, the regular ring withdrew in disgust and nominated another ticket. The News simply calls the attention of all decent citizens to the fact that the line is sharply and distinctly drawn between the saloon and corrupt management such as we have known for years, and a clean, honest, capable, business-like city administration, such as every good citizen ought to want.