Playing With Fire

Tuesday he was physically weary and when he opened the book he was considering, Hugh Miller's "Red Stone," he could not read it. The words passed before his eyes, but his mind refused to notice them, and he threw down the volume and resigned himself to religious reverie. His eyes were on his closed Bible, and he was recalling in a regretful mood the power and splendor of its promises and assurances. He was "feeling after God, if haply he might find Him," trying to call up arguments for his existence, his personality, His loving and constant interflow into the affairs of men. But he had lost the habit of Faith, and was continually finding himself face to face with the incomprehensible problems which Science may propound but can never answer: Whence come we? Whither do we go? Why was man created? Why does he continue to exist? What has become of the vast multitudes of the dead? What will become of the vaster multitudes that may yet tread the earth?

But ever when he reached the outermost rim of this useless thought, these awful and sacred questions still called to his soul for an answer. Indeed, he felt acutely that he had not gained from Science any intelligible religious system; nor yet any belief which he could profess, or which he could defend from an assailant. He could find in it nothing that a man could have recourse to in the hour of trouble, or the day of death; and, when Mrs. Caird came into his study about the noon hour, he felt compelled to speak to her. With a quick, nervous motion he laid his hand upon some books at his side and complained wearily:

"All they say about God is so terribly inadequate, Jessy."

"Of course it is inadequate," she answered. "When men know nothing, how can they teach, especially about Him,

… 'Who, though vast and strangeWhen with intellect we gaze,Yet close to the heart steals inIn a thousand tender ways.'"

"O my dear sister, I am so miserable!"

"My dear Ian, when we withdraw ourselves from that circle within which the Bible is a definite authority, we must be miserable."

"Why?"

"We have then only a negative religion, and pray what is there between us and the next lower down negation? And I assure you it would become easy to repeat this descending movement again and again. Indeed, there could be no reason for making a stand at any point, until – "

"Until?"

"The end!"

"Then?"

"There might come the dread of sliding away toward the brink – and over the brink – of the precipice."

"Then what help is there for a man who has taken this road ignorantly and innocently?"

And Jessy, with the light and joy of perfect assurance on her face, answered, "There is the breadth, the depth, the boundless length, the inaccessible height of Christ's love, which is the love of God."

Ian did not answer immediately and, Mrs. Caird, walking to the window, saw the Cramer carriage at the gate.

"Lady Cramer is coming," she said. "I will go and meet her."

Then Ian saw Lady Cramer fluttering up the garden walk, a lovely vision in pink muslin and white lace, carrying a dainty basket of ripe apricots in her hand. He thought he had not been looking for her visit, but Mrs. Caird could have told him a different story. She knew by the care bestowed on his morning toilet that he was expecting her, but she was a considerate woman and made an excuse to leave them alone a few minutes.

"I have come for Marion," she said. "I am going to do a little shopping, and she has such good taste – and I thought you would like the apricots – I expected you yesterday – I looked for you even Sunday. You did not come – I was unhappy at your neglect."

He stood gravely in front of her, looking down at her pretty, pleading face, her beautiful hair, her garments of rose and white. He did not speak. He was trying to recall the words he had resolved to say to her, but, when she lifted her eyes, they hastened out of his memory; and when she had laid her hand on his and asked, "Have I grieved you, my dear Ian? Have you forgotten that you loved me?"

"My God, Ada!" he cried in a low, passionate voice, "My God! I love you better than my own soul."

"You will dine with me this evening?"

"This evening, yes, yes, I will come."

"If you have any scruples – if you do not wish – if – "

"Oh, you know well, Ada, that I am dying to come to you, to taste again the sweetness of your embrace, to know the miraculous joy of your kiss. You know, Ada, that you hold my heart in your small, open hands."

"Ian, you are the greatest man in Scotland," she answered. "The Earl says you have the eloquence of Apollo and the close reasoning of Paul."

"And you, Ada?"

"I have wanted to be good, Ian, ever since Sunday. Help me, dear one. I am so weak and foolish."

Then he took her in his arms and kissed his answer on her lips; and, in a few moments, Mrs. Caird and Marion came laughing into the room. And it is needless to say that in the evening Dr. Macrae took dinner as usual with Lady Cramer. The hours they were together were really what Dr. Macrae said they were, the happiest hours in all his life.

They were indeed so mutually happy that Lady Cramer began this night to take herself seriously to task after them. She dismissed her maid early, saying, "I am sleepy," but she did not go to sleep. She wrapped herself in a down coverlet and took an easy chair by an open window. The secret silence of the night was what she wanted. It was the fifth day of the moon, and its crescent moved with a melancholy air in the western heavens, while the exquisite perfume of the double velvet rose scented the cool air far and near. This rose is forgotten now, but then its leaves were kept among a lady's clothing, and imparted to it an ethereal fragrance far beyond the art of the perfumer. It was Lady Cramer's first reflection.

"The roses are in perfection," she thought, "the leaves must be gathered to-morrow. They give my dresses the only scent I can endure. Ian always notices it. He says it is so delicate and delicious that too much of it would make him faint with pleasure. Heigho! I have had a few hours that I dare not repeat. I am so susceptible – so foolish. This affair must be stopped. I will not allow it to go further. I dare not. I should become a Minister's wife if I did. Could I think of that? Decidedly not. I love him, yes. I love him, but I cannot sacrifice my life to make his life sweeter. Should I make it sweeter? I am sure I would not. Religion is very well on a Sunday morning, nice and ladylike, and I generally enjoy it; but every day in your life is too much. I endured eight years with an old noble that I might get entry into his caste. I cannot throw that privilege away for love. No, I must marry a duke – good-bye, my handsome Ian! We have had some happy hours together – but it is now time to part."

She sat discussing this subject with what she called her "heart" till long after midnight; then the still, sweet atmosphere was invaded by the sudden impetuous trample of a ghostly wind. The moon had set, and the sky was bending darkly over a darker world.

"Those clouds terrify me," she whispered. "They seem to look angrily at me. I shall have bad dreams if I do not go to bed" – and as she did so she nervously continued her soliloquy. "I dare say this is the hour that liberates ghosts; such a wind would open all the old doors in this old house, and the old joys and sorrows would come out. It is not cannie. I will sleep now, and to-morrow – I will get ready for London."

Dr. Macrae had lingered long on the moor. He had refused the carriage, feeling that physical motion was the imperative craving of the hour. But he was in such a miraculous state of rapture that his walking was not walking; he trod upon the air, the earth was buoyant under his feet. He knew not, he asked not, whether he was in the body or out of the body. The exquisite Adalaide loved him. She had promised to be his wife. With a little cry of joy he recalled that ecstatic moment when she had kissed on his lips the one little word which made all things sure.

"This is love!" he cried joyfully, lifting his face to the heavens, "and I have blamed and punished those who have fallen through love! O man foolish and ignorant of the great temptation!"

He did not sleep. He had neither the wish to sleep nor the need of it. Never in all his life had he been so keenly alive, so stubbornly awake. With a face of rapt expectancy he recalled the looks and words and motions of Adalaide. She had said they would have a year's honeymoon among the storied cities and churches of the Mediterranean, and he began to consider what this proposal meant. Certainly it implied his resignation from the pulpit of the Church of the Disciples. Could he bear that? Would he like to sit and listen to other men preaching the Word, while he sat silent? On the previous Sabbath he had shown forth that irresistible ordination which comes through the call and Hand of God. Could he deny this great honor and stand like a dumb dog in the courts of the Lord?

Was love indeed the greatest thing in the world? He was too honest a thinker to admit this fallacy. In his own congregation he had seen love set aside for duty, for gold, for power, and he knew young men and women who had put love behind them in order to remain with helpless parents and succor them. They had received from their fellow creatures no particular praise nor indemnity, they had quietly resigned love for the nobler virtue of duty. Women without number were constantly making this sacrifice, and should he resign the helpfulness and honor of his God-given office to this pretender of supreme earthly power? Positively he refused to entertain for a moment the possibility of casting away the work God had given him to do.

When he came to this decision the day was sullenly breaking, and he heard his sister-in-law's voice and the tinkle of the breakfast china. Then came the call for coffee and he said: "It is just what I wanted, Jessy. Are we not earlier than usual?"

"Yes," she answered, "but I knew you were awake, and thought your coffee would be welcome."

"It is. Thank you, Jessy"; and the words were said so pleasantly she met them with a smile and, as he seemed wishful to talk, she responded readily to his desire.

"Where is Marion?" he asked.

"In the Land of Sleep and Dreams, wherever that is."

"Nobody knows that, Jessy. There is so much we do not know, and never can know, that striving for Truth is discouraging."

"Yes, but when we cease striving for Truth we begin striving for ourselves."

"You reason well, Jessy. Have you studied logic?"

"What would a woman want with the mere faculty of logic? It belongs to lawyers and men educated in Edinburgh. I can draw an inference from anything reasonable, but logic is beyond the straight-forwardness of women and, also, the will of genius. When you were preaching last Sunday your words were arrows of the Almighty, they did not fly according to the rules of logic; if they had would they have found the hearts of the people? I think not. When are we going back to Glasgow, Ian? I am wearying for it all day long and, sitting alone at night, I would rather hear the melancholy human noises of the street than the song of the nightingale."

"For two more Sabbaths, Jessy, there is a minister in my place. After that we will go home."

"What kind of a minister?"

"A Free Church minister."

"That stands to reason and goes without saying. I mean is he sure on Moses and reverent with the Gospels? Is he a believer or a doubter? That is what I mean."

"Who can tell? If a good man doubts, he does not babble his doubts from the pulpit."

"What are you doing now, Ian?"

"I am bringing dogmas to Scripture and trying to make Scripture agree with them. People read too much now. When I was a lad, Joseph Milner's 'Church History,' and Newton on the 'Prophecies' were in every house. They were good books, fragrant with home piety, and with their Bible were all men and women wanted."

"And now it is even fashionable to have a book against the Bible lying on the parlor table. It is not a good change, Ian."

"The change is the spirit of our era, Jessy, but God is directing it. We can do nothing. We are only clay in the hands of the potter."

"Even so, but the potter does not make vessels for the express purpose of breaking them, and I am sure it is wrong to say, 'We can do nothing.' Our influence, be it good or bad, has had a commencement, and it will never have an end. I heard Dr. Wardlaw say that, and, also, that what is done is done, and it will work with the working universe, openly or secretly, forever. When Jethro, the Midianitish priest and grazier, hired an Hebrew outlaw as his herdsman, he doubtless thought little of the circumstance; but Moses still lives, and busies himself in the daily business of all nations. Your work has been set you, Ian; hold fast your faith in it, and do not dare to desert it."

"I was thinking your thought an hour ago, Jessy. My will is to finish the work given me to do. If I allowed my will to be overpowered by any circumstance, I should be the sport of Fate. I should indeed be then Not Elect." With these words he rose, straight and strong, full of confidence in his own will to do right and, with an encouraging smile to Jessy, he went to his study.

It was a chill, dull day without sunshine, but Dr. Macrae carried his own sunshine. The morning would get over, and Ada would be sure to send a close carriage for him in the afternoon. Then he would bring to a clear understanding the fact that marriage could not separate him from his spiritual work. He was dressed and waiting long before he could reasonably expect the carriage, but at three o'clock it had not arrived, and he was so wretched he resolved to take the Victoria and drive over to the Hall. As this intention was forming in his mind a servant from Cramer brought him a letter. He opened it with anxious haste, and read the following lines:

Dear, dear Ian – I received this morning a most astonishing and peremptory letter from my lawyer, directing me to come to London by the next train. It is a purely business letter, dear, but you know we cannot neglect business, especially as our contemplated year's travel will draw deeply on our resources. I shall not forget you; that would be impossible! I shall be at the railway station at four o'clock; be sure to meet me there. It would be dreadful not to bid you good-bye.

Your Ada.

Four o'clock! It was then a quarter after three; there was barely time to reach the station, but half-a-crown to the driver gave him five minutes in which to see his beautiful mistress in her new winter gown of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with sable fur. The small blue and brown toque above her brown, braided hair gave her quite a new look. She was so chic, so radiant, so loving. And, in some of the occult ways known to women, she managed in those few minutes to make him both happy and hopeful. Then the guard held open the door of her carriage, she was in the train, the door was shut, the cry of "All right" ran along the moving line and, with a heart feeling empty and forlorn, he returned to the Little House.

"Lady Cramer has gone to London," he said to Mrs. Caird, and she looked into her brother-in-law's face and understood.

There was nothing now for him but reading, and he took up the books waiting for him and tried to forget in Scientific Religion the pitiless aching and longing of love; and he was glad, also, that the minister who had been filling the pulpit of the Church of the Disciples during his month's rest proposed to come to Cramer and stay part of the last week with him. He hoped they might be able to talk over together some of the startling religious ideas he was then reading and, perhaps, receive help from his more advanced age and wider experience.

Mrs. Caird doubted it as soon as she saw the man. He had a handsome physical appearance with such drawbacks as attend a long course of self-indulgence. His stoutness reduced his height, he had become slightly bald, and he wore glasses; so Dr. Macrae's slim, straight figure, his fine eyes and hair, and his good, healthy coloring, moved the brother cleric to a moment's envy.

"I used to be as natty and bright as you, Macrae," he said, "but age, sir, age – the years tell on us."

Dr. Macrae met him at the railway station with the Victoria, and he admired the turnout very much. "That is a fine machine," he remarked; "it must have cost you a pretty penny."

"It is not mine," answered Dr. Macrae. "It belongs to Lady Cramer. I have, by her kindness, the use of it this summer."

"What an unusual kindness!"

"Also of her dower house, with all its beautiful furnishings. Very little you will see in it belongs to me."

"I have never fallen on such luck. My church is large, but poor – poor. There are a few wealthy families – but – but they do not lift themselves above the ordinaries of collection – the plate and the printed lists."

"Yes."

"And, even so, I generally think scorn of their donations. I suppose you are on a very easy footing with Lady Cramer – friendly, I mean."

"Yes, we are good friends."

He was in a fit of admiration with everything he saw, the antique homeliness of the parlors, the lavender on the window sills, the Worcester china on the table. He looked critically at the latter, and said with a knowing air, "It belongs to the best period, having the square mark on it." The light shone on olives and grapes, on cut glass and silver, and specially on a claret jug of Worcester, with its exotic birds, its lasting gold, and its scale-blue ground like sapphire. He had the artistic temperament, and these beautiful things appealed to him in a way that astonished Dr. Macrae, whose temperament was of spiritual mold, and had not been destitute of even ascetic tendencies in his youth.

He had, therefore, little sympathy with his guest's enthusiasms; indeed, it rather pleased him to strip himself bare of all the beauty around him. "Not one of these lovely things is mine," he said. "I should not know what to do with them. I would rather have a few deal shelves full of good books."

"You don't know yourself, Macrae," was the answer. "The possession of artistic beauty develops the taste for it. When you are rich – "

"I shall never be rich."

"You have a fine income."

"I save nothing from it; a man who tries to save both his money and his soul has a task too hard for me to manage."

It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Caird took a dislike to the man, and she made Dr. Macrae feel that it was important he and his visitor should go to Glasgow on Thursday. "Take him to Bath Street," she said. "Maggie will provide for you; besides, I am sending Kitty down to-morrow, and he will be a hindrance to me here."

Wednesday was very wet and the two ministers had perforce to remain in the house, and in one of the exigencies of their prolonged conversations Dr. Macrae unfortunately referred to the pile of scientific religious books lying on his table. Then his visitor rose and looked at them.

"Yes," he said with a great sigh, "we are very scientific to-day, with our 'tendencies' and 'streams of influence' and our various 'thought movements.' They are all purely material."

"They cannot be that," replied Dr. Macrae, impetuously. "Streams of influence imply spiritual beings, and movements of thought must come from thinkers."

"Agreed," was the reply, "but you cannot call 'a stream of tendency,' or 'a power that makes for righteousness,' God. No, sir, you cannot, without striking at the very foundation of Theism. The next step would be to deny the supernatural guidance of the universe and of life. And the next? What would it be?"

"I know not. Such questions are mere spiritual curiosity. Keep your thumb down on them."

"I will tell you. The morality based on the supernatural would fail, and, unless a man had found a scheme of scientific morality based on the natural instead of the supernatural, he would be wrecked on the rock of his passions. The question arises, then – is there such a scheme?"

"You must answer your own question, Dr. Scott. As far as I can see, if there is in scientific philosophy a rule of life that can take the place of the Bible and Christianity, it must be able to guide the ignorant and humble, and restrain and comfort men. Philosophy failed Cicero at the hour of trial, and who would offer to the mourner, or the outcast, a chapter of scientific philosophy? It would be feeding hunger on straw."

"See here, Macrae, you are going further than I have any desire to follow you. I am a licensed preacher of the Scotch Church. My articles stipulate that I shall preach the doctrines of Christianity as elucidated by the creed of John Calvin. That is the extent of my obligation – the full extent of it."

"No."

"Yes. I chose the profession of Divinity, as my brother chose that of the Law. Both are recognized means of business. I accepted Divinity as such. I agreed to preach Calvinism to those who chose to come to my church – to my place of business, really – and listen to me."

"Do you believe what you preach?"

"That is another question. Answer it yourself, Macrae. I can only say that, in preparing for the profession of Divinity at St. Andrews Divinity Hall, it was understood I would preach Calvinism. There was no specification concerning my belief or non-belief in it. I was licensed to be a preacher of Calvinism, and I have never preached anything else. My brother has the authority of the courts to be a pleader for criminals. He pleads well for them, and he does not much care whether they are guilty or innocent. You see, Macrae, this preaching is a professional business. Men are qualified for it, as men are qualified for law or medicine. They serve – just as Divinity does – rich and poor, good and bad. I do not know but what they are as reputable and useful 'divines' as we are."

"Supposing you were a sceptic – as many now are – would you go on preaching?"

"Unquestionably. Pray, why not? What I believe is between my Maker and myself. My congregation have nothing to do with it. My belief or non-belief would not injure or improve my sermons. I should in either case preach a good Calvinistic sermon; that is what I qualified myself for. It is my business. If you have been in London you have seen in the great thoroughfares men in scarlet blouses, whose business it is to direct strangers to the places they wish to find. Nobody asks them about their personal religion. If they are good guides to those seeking certain places, they fulfil their duty. I am in just such a position. So are you."

"If I thought so, I would leave it at once."

"If you had a wife and five children you would put their comfort before your own feelings. That stands to reason. All this talk about the higher criticism is like the sickly talk of the higher civilization; it is anemia in some form or other. Macrae, we have our duty to the Church. We are pledged and sworn to that. It is as much the work given us to do as plowing and sowing are the farmer's work."

"But the Truth – the Truth, Doctor!"

"What is Truth, Macrae? Who knows? The Truth of yesterday is the error of to-day."

"Then, it never was Truth, for Truth is unaffected by time, and remains a witness of the past, the present, and the future."

Then the visiting cleric struck the table heavily with his closed hand and, with a fierce intensity, whispered,

"O Man! Man! what if all this religion should be a dream!"

And Dr. Macrae answered, "Then, where is the Reality?"

Both men were silent, but in the eyes of both there was that look which is only seen in the eyes of men who are defrauding their own souls.

In a few moments there was the tinkle of a small silver bell, and Dr. Macrae said, "Tea is ready," and they rose together. Passing the parlor they heard Marion trying a new song, and they loitered a moment or two and listened, as very slowly and softly she asked:

"What says thy song, thou joyous thrush,Up in the walnut tree?""I love my Love, because I knowMy Love loves me."

A little sadly they entered the parlor, but the blazing fire threw warm gleams on the handsomely set table; and the tempting odors of young hyson, fresh bread, and a rook pie filled the room. Involuntarily everyone smiled and sat down gladly to the dainty, delicate food before them; and Dr. Macrae said to his friend:

"Life is full of emotions. Such a variety of them, too!"

"And all good – or, at least, pretty much so. A rook pie! That is a luxury indeed! I suppose there is a rookery at Cramer."