The Damnation of Theron Ware
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第110章

"But then later, as I grew up," the sick man went on, "I learned that it was not altogether certain.Some of the authorities, I found, maintained that it was doubtful, and some said openly that there must be salvation possible for good people who lived in ignorance of the truth through no fault of their own.Then I had hope one day, and no hope the next, and as I did my work I thought it over, and in the evenings my father and I talked it over, and we settled nothing of it at all.Of course, how could we?""Did you ever discuss the question with your sister?"it occurred suddenly to Theron to interpose.He was conscious of some daring in doing so, and he fancied that Michael's drawn face clouded a little at his words.

"My sister is no theologian," he answered briefly.

"Women have no call to meddle with such matters.

But I was saying--it was in the middle of these doubtings of mine that you came here to Octavius, and I noticed you on the streets, and once in the evening--I made no secret of it to my people--I sat in the back of your church and heard you preach.As I say, I liked you.

It was your face, and what I thought it showed of the man underneath it, that helped settle my mind more than anything else.I said to myself: "Here is a young man, only about my own age, and he has education and talents, and he does not seek to make money for himself, or a great name, but he is content to live humbly on the salary of a book-keeper, and devote all his time to prayer and the meditation of his religion, and preaching, and visiting the sick and the poor, and comforting them.

His very face is a pleasure and a help for those in suffering and trouble to look at.The very sight of it makes one believe in pure thoughts and merciful deeds.I will not credit it that God intends damning such a man as that, or any like him!"Theron bowed, with a slow, hesitating gravity of manner, and deep, not wholly complacent, attention on his face.

Evidently all this was by way of preparation for something unpleasant.

"That was only last spring," said Michael.His tired voice sank for a sentence or two into a meditative half-whisper."And it was MY last spring of all.I shall not be growing weak any more, or drawing hard breaths, when the first warm weather comes.It will be one season to me hereafter, always the same." He lifted his voice with perceptible effort."I am talking too much.

The rest I can say in a word.Only half a year has gone by, and you have another face on you entirely.

I had noticed the small changes before, one by one.I saw the great change, all of a sudden, the day of the picnic.

I see it a hundred times more now, as you sit there.

If it seemed to me like the face of a saint before, it is more like the face of a bar-keeper now!"This was quite too much.Theron rose, flushed to the temples, and scowled down at the helpless man in the chair.

He swallowed the sharp words which came uppermost, and bit and moistened his lips as he forced himself to remember that this was a dying man, and Celia's brother, to whom she was devoted, and whom he himself felt he wanted to be very fond of.He got the shadow of a smile on to his countenance.

"I fear you HAVE tired yourself unduly," he said, in as non-contentious a tone as he could manage.

He even contrived a little deprecatory laugh.I am afraid your real quarrel is with the air of Octavius.

It agrees with me so wonderfully--I am getting as fat as a seal.But I do hope I am not paying for it by such a wholesale deterioration inside.If my own opinion could be of any value, I should assure you that I feel myself an infinitely better and broader and stronger man than Iwas when I came here."

Michael shook his head dogmatically."That is the greatest pity of all," he said, with renewed earnestness."You are entirely deceived about yourself.You do not at all realize how you have altered your direction, or where you are going.

It was a great misfortune for you, sir, that you did not keep among your own people.That poor half-brother of mine, though the drink was in him when he said that same to you, never spoke a truer word.Keep among your own people, Mr.Ware! When you go among others--you know what I mean--you have no proper understanding of what their sayings and doings really mean.You do not realize that they are held up by the power of the true Church, as a little child learning to walk is held up with a belt by its nurse.

They can say and do things, and no harm at all come to them, which would mean destruction to you, because they have help, and you are walking alone.And so be said by me, Mr.Ware!

Go back to the way you were brought up in, and leave alone the people whose ways are different from yours.

You are a married man, and you are the preacher of a religion, such as it is.There can be nothing better for you than to go and strive to be a good husband, and to set a good example to the people of your Church, who look up to you--and mix yourself up no more with outside people and outside notions that only do you mischief.

And that is what I wanted to say to you."Theron took up his hat."I take in all kindness what you have felt it your duty to say to me, Mr.Madden," he said.

"I am not sure that I have altogether followed you, but Iam very sure you mean it well."

"I mean well by you," replied Michael, wearily moving his head on the pillow, and speaking in an undertone of languor and pain, "and I mean well by others, that are nearer to me, and that I have a right to care more about.

When a man lies by the site of his open grave, he does not be meaning ill to any human soul.""Yes--thanks--quite so!" faltered Theron.He dallied for an instant with the temptation to seek some further explanation, but the sight of Michael's half-closed eyes and worn-out expression decided him against it.

It did not seem to be expected, either, that he should shake hands, and with a few perfunctory words of hope for the invalid's recovery, which fell with a jarring note of falsehood upon his own ears, he turned and left the room.

As he did so, Michael touched a bell on the table beside him.