Jennette Lee

“ They were very common people—many of them—waiting in the side seats under the arches for a blessing. For as the weeks went by and dark whispers gathered about the rector, the number of those who came to wait upon his words grew as a mighty cloud. He no longer spoke comfortable things. It was the cry of the modern world—full of unrest and sin, and stern, despairing faith. . . . Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.
The minister had borne the burden of them all, on his way to church in the clear light—those who distrusted and waited, covertly, and those who prayed. ”

“ And mingled with them was Eric Bancroft's face—the boy he had wronged—the soul that had gone away to sin. The soul that sinneth, it shall surely die, and Eric had sinned, and he and Eric were one. . . . He raised his face to the spring sky. The breath of budding leaves in trim yards came to him out of the earth.
The great church was filled to the doors. Music was on the air and the mellow light of windows, and through it came the voice of the priest, lifting high the sacred cup before the congregation. . . . ”

“ The worn face had lifted itself from the pillow to put it aside. "Let it go, Norman! It was nothing. . . . But the night when I wrote our bond-song—You remember? We sat till daylight! I think the day is coming now . . .?" He turned a little toward the window, and the gray light had shifted in while they talked. . . . They would not part again . . . Eric should grow strong. In the winter they would go away—go south . . . The rector of the Church of the Ascension had planned it all, and the dark smile had met his and flashed a little, and lain quiet, as if it would not miss a word. ”

“ They had hired no mere professional organist. The man was a genius! . . . He dwelt on the thought, turning it in his mind, and his breath grew easier. He closed the window and sat down, still looking out. . . . He would not go to bed till he had set his house in order. . . . He had been thrown off from himself—frightened . . . but it was nothing— It was really nothing. Eric was always a disturbing person. It was so in the old days—a kind of happy unrest. But full, day and night—of courage and sorrow and delight. ”

“ The organist had been absent for over a week. No word had come from him, and no one knew where he was. . . . Eric must be protected at any cost. The boy whom he had wronged should go free in this last trial. For weeks the rector had watched him passing to and fro, his strange face thinner and paler and more lighted from within. A kind of peace had seemed to come to the haunted eyes that followed one but did not speak. . . . The boy should be protected. . . .
A member of the church leaned forward, speaking rapidly. ”

“ He grew to wait upon the voluntary as a man fallen in the desert waits upon the rain. He had walked steadfast and sure—telling men where to set their feet if they would be saved . . . and now his landmarks were swept away. But he was alive—as never before in the years of preaching. It had been easy to guide men along the wooden path—the brick-and-mortar way to heaven. But this . . . life—stirring everywhere . ”

“ The minister stirred a little. "You forget— It has been a long time."
"Yes, a long time." The dark man seemed lost in thought. He looked up with his curious, broken smile, half sinister. "And we did not work . . ." he said. "We played."
"We played," assented the other. "What is it I can do?"
"I want pupils—piano—organ." He spread out the thin hands. "I am a good teacher—when I choose." He laughed a little, but it was half lost under his breath. ”

“ There was no reason why Eric Bancroft should not act as organist. Shelborne would return, no doubt, in a few weeks—or months. The trouble with his lungs was not permanent, the doctor had said. The church was really fortunate in securing so competent a substitute. The only drawback was a personal one—a little uneasiness lest Eric should presume on their relations, should become troublesome and familiar—but he could control that. He had always been the stronger. ”