A Second Coming. Marsh Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ all's over, and everything's to begin again, the sooner a beginning's made the better.' A sort of rage came into her voice-a note of hysteric pain. 'If you're to take me, take me as I am, in what I stand. I dare say he'll send my clothes on after me-and my jewels, perhaps.'

      It seemed as if her tone troubled him, as if he endeavoured to soothe her.

      'Don't talk like that, Doris. Everything that you want I'll get you- all that your heart can desire.'

      'Except peace of mind!'

      'I trust that I shall be able to get you even that. Only come!'

      'Don't I tell you that I am ready? Why don't you start?'

      He appeared to find her manner disconcerting. He searched her face, as if to discover if she were in earnest, then looked at his watch.

      'If we make haste across the park, we shall be able to catch the express to town.'

      'Then let's make haste and catch it.'

      'Come!'

      They began to walk quickly, side by side. As they passed round the bend they came on the two children sitting, with the Stranger, beside the lake. The children, scrambling to their feet, came running to them.

      'Mamma,' they cried, 'come and see the friend of little children!'

      At sight of them the woman drew back, as if afraid. The man interposed.

      'Don't worry, you youngsters! Your mother's in a hurry-run away! Come, Doris, make haste; we've no time to lose if we wish to catch the train.'

      He put his arm through hers, and made as if to draw her past them. She seemed disposed to linger.

      'Let me-say good-bye to them.'

      He whispered in her ear:

      'There'll only be a scene; don't be foolish, child! There's not a moment to lose!' He turned angrily to the boy and girl. 'Don't you hear, you youngsters! – run away!' As the children moved aside, frightened at his violence, and bewildered by the strangeness of their mother's manner, he gripped the woman's arm more firmly, beginning by sheer force to hurry her off. 'Come, Doris,' he exclaimed, 'don't be an idiot!'

      The Stranger, who had been sitting on the grass, stood up and faced them.

      'Rather be wise. There still is time. What is it you would do?'

      The interruption took the pair completely by surprise. The man stared angrily at the Stranger.

      'Who are you, sir? And what do you mean by interfering in what is no concern of yours?

      'Are you sure that it is no concern of Mine?'

      The man endeavoured to meet the Stranger's eyes, with but scant success. His erect, bold, defiant attitude gave place to one of curious uncertainty.

      'How can it be any concern of yours?'

      'All things are My concern, the things which you do, and the things which you leave undone. Would it were not so, for many and great are the burdens which you lay upon me. You wicked man! Yet more foolish even than wicked! What is this woman to you that you should seek to slay her body and soul? Is she not of those who know not what is the thing they do till it is done? It is well with you if this sin, also, shall not be laid to your charge, – that you are a blind leader of the blind!'

      The Stranger turned to the woman.

      'Your eyes shall be opened. Look upon this man to see him as he is.'

      The woman looked at the man. As she looked, a change came over him. Before her accusatory glance he seemed to dwindle and wax old. He grew ugly, his jaw dropped open, his eyes were full of lust, cruelty was writ upon his countenance. On a sudden he had become a thing of evil. She shrank back with a cry of horror and alarm, while he stood before her cowering like some guilty creature whose shame has been suddenly made plain. And the Stranger said to him:

      'Go! and seek that peace of which you would have robbed her.'

      The man, shambling away round the bend in the path, presently was lost to sight. The Stranger was left alone with the children and the woman. The woman stood before Him trembling, with bowed form and face cast down, and she cried:

      'Who are you, sir?'

      The Stranger replied:

      'Look upon Me: and as you knew the man, so, also, you shall know Me.'

      She looked on Him, and knew Him, and wept.

      'Lord, I know You! Have mercy upon me!'

      He answered:

      'I am the friend of little children, and of the mothers that bare them; for the pains of the women are not little ones; and because they are great, so also shall great mercy be shown unto them. For unto those that suffer most, shall not most be forgiven? for is not suffering akin to repentance?'

      And the woman cried:

      'Lord, I am not worthy Thy forgiveness!'

      And to her He said:

      'Is any worthy? No, not one. Yet many are those to whom forgiveness comes. There are your children, that are an heritage to you of God. Take them, and as you are unto them, so shall God be unto you, and more. Return to your husband; say to him what things have happened unto you, and fear not because of him.'

      And the woman went, holding a child by either hand. And the Stranger stood and watched them as they went. And when they had gone some distance, the woman turned and looked at Him. And He called to her:

      'Be of good courage!'

      And after that she saw Him no more.

      CHAPTER V

      THE OPERATION

      The students crowded the benches. Some wore hats and gloves, and carried sticks or umbrellas; they had the appearance of having just dropped in to enjoy a little passing relaxation. Others, hatless and gloveless, wore instead an air of intense pre-occupation; they had note-books in their hands, and spent the time studying anatomical charts in sombre-covered volumes. Many were smoking pipes for the most part; the air was heavy with tobacco smoke. Nearly everybody talked; there was a continual clatter of voices; men on one side called to men on the other, exchanging jokes and laughter.

      In the well below were the tables for the operator and his paraphernalia. Assistants were making all things ready. The smell of antiseptic fluids mingled with the odour of tobacco. Omnipresent was the pungent suggestion of carbolic acid. A glittering array of instruments was being sterilised and placed in order for the operator's hand. The anæsthetists were busy with their preparations to expedite unconsciousness, the dressers with their bandages to be applied when the knives had made an end.

      There was about the whole theatre, and in particular about the little array of men upon the floor in their white shrouds, who were occupied in doing things the meaning of which was hidden from the average layman, something which the unaccustomed eye and ear and stomach would have found repulsive. But in the bearing of those who were actually present there was no hint that the work in which they were to be engaged had about it any of the elements of the disagreeable. They were, taking them all in all, and so far as appearances went, a careless, lighthearted, СКАЧАТЬ