London's Heart: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and contempt on the one side, and of harsh and bitter condemnation on the other.

      There stood the delicate girl, whose nerves during the last few days had been strung to the highest point of which her nature was capable. A pure and tender lily indeed, as graceful as the flower from which she derived her name, and whose white bells, as they arch among the vivid leaves of green, tremble in the lightest breath from zephyr's mouth. It was so with Lily at this time. A harsh word would have caused her to quiver with pain. The effect which the suddenness of her mother's death, and the terrifying dreams that followed, had produced upon her had not passed away. Like the lily she stood there, dependent upon surrounding things almost for very life itself; kind looks and sweet words gladdened her and helped to make her strong, as kind sunshine and sweet breezes gladden and make strong the flower. And like the flower, the light in which she stood seemed to come from inward brightness and purity.

      Her brother Alfred stood by her side. What was stirring in his mind? Well, it was the day on which the Northumberland Plate was run for at the Newcastle-upon-Tyne races. The race was over by this time. Had Christopher Sly won? He trembled to think that it might have been beaten-had come in second, perhaps; had lost "by a head." If it had, there was woe in store for him. If he were in London, he would know; this uncertainty was torturing. Now he was in the depth of misery: Christopher Sly had lost, and he had to pay money, and to make money good, out of an empty purse. Now he was in the height of gladness: the horse could not lose-every one of the prophets had said so; Christopher Sly had won, and everything was right. It was like a reprieve from death.

      Lastly, the grandfather. What his thoughts were will be shown in words. A strange and unexpected trouble had been added to his grief, and his handsome thoughtful face showed traces of perplexed anxiety.

      When Felix had offered Lily a chair, the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell had killed the proffered courtesy with an irritable wave of his hand, which expressed, "You will not presume to sit in my presence." In everything that Felix did he found cause for anger, and he believed that his son was animated by a distinct wish to thwart and oppose him; this very proffered courtesy to one of these persons was another argument in his mind against Felix. Marble in the hands of a sympathetic worker was more capable of tenderness and gentleness than was the face of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell as he sat in his arm-chair and waited for the intruders to speak.

      "My name, sir, is Verity," commenced the old man, in a humble and respectful voice.

      "So I understand," said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, in a hard and cold voice.

      Lily shivered as the harshly-spoken words fell upon her ears.

      "These are my grandchildren," indicating Lily and Alfred.

      "A gentleman," thought Felix, as he followed the courteous action of the old man.

      The Reverend Emanuel Creamwell received the intimation with a scarcely perceptible nod, and a colder chill came upon Lily's sensitive spirit as she raised her eyes to the dark face of the minister.

      "They are the children of my dead daughter," continued the old man, "who before she died expressed a wish to be buried in the place which had been familiar to her in her younger and happier days."

      "These details are scarcely necessary, I should say. What are you here for?"

      The old man's agitation was so great that he was compelled to pause before he answered; but strength seemed to come to him as he looked at the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell's stony face.

      "The mother of these children is waiting in the churchyard to be buried."

      "You received my message, I have no doubt."

      "Some words were spoken to me as coming from you."

      "Were not they sufficient?"

      "I could not believe, sir, that the words which were delivered to me came from the lips of a minister of God."

      A flash of something very like anger lighted up the small eyes of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.

      "And so you come here to revile His minister?"

      "I come here in all humility, sir," replied the old man.

      "Do you wish me to repeat the message?"

      "I wish to know, sir, that I have been mistaken. I cannot believe that what I have been told is true."

      "It is the evil of the ungodly that they cannot answer straight. Do you wish me to repeat the message?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "It is very simple. My intimation was to the effect that I cannot perform any service over the deceased woman."

      "The prayers for the dead – " exclaimed the old man imploringly.

      "Are not for her!" said the minister, finishing the sentence sternly.

      At these dreadful words Felix started forward to Lily's side; the young girl was trembling, and he feared she was about to fall. Indeed she would have fallen, but for his helping hand. Inward fire possessed the soul of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell at the action of his son and his wrath was expressed in his face. Felix saw it, but did not heed it; his lips were firmly set as he yielded Lily to her grandfather's arms, who, as he bent over her, murmured,

      "I would have spared you the pain, my darling! But I thought that your helplessness and your innocent face would have pleaded for us."

      Then he turned to the minister. "Why do you refuse to perform the last rites over the body of my daughter?"

      "I am mistaken if you have not been informed. Her parents were members of the Wesleyan Methodist body, and the woman was not baptized in the Church of England. Therefore I cannot say prayers over her."

      "Is that God's law?"

      "It is mine!" replied the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, with inconsiderate haste. If, when he heard the rejoinder, he could have caused the old man to fall into dust at his feet, he would have done so.

      "You say truly, sir," said the old man, in a tone of bitter calmness. "It is not God's law; it is yours."

      The Reverend Emanuel Creamwell shaded his face with his hand; he did not choose that the feeling there expressed should be seen. He knew, by his son's sympathetic movement towards Lily, that Felix had gone over to the enemy, and a consciousness possessed him that Felix was not displeased at his discomfiture. Still it was his duty to assert himself, and he did so accordingly in severe measured terms, and in tones utterly devoid of feeling.

      "I have already told you that you came here to revile-to revile God through His minister. It is such as you who set men's minds afire, and drive them into the pit."

      But the old man interrupted him with,

      "Nay, sir, do not let us argue; I at least have no time. A dead woman is waiting for me. I must go and seek a minister who will say prayers over the poor clay. Come, my children."

      "To seek a minister!" echoed the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell. "What minister?"

      "A Methodist minister, as that is your will."

      "Presumptuous!" exclaimed the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, in wrath so pious that a colour came to his usually pale face. "No Methodist minister can be allowed to pray in my churchyard!" – with a protecting look and motion of his fingers towards the ground where the dead lay-a look which said, "Fear not! My lips have blessed you; СКАЧАТЬ