The black pearl
“I am not at all surprised,” says my uncle, teasingly; “since the day
I saw a certain portrait wherein Jeanne depicted her ideal, I expected
it would end thus.” My menacing frown prevents further disclosures....
Mr. Deslandes, in the exuberance of his joy, is quite unable to keep
the secret. Soon the whole station shares it.
I am overwhelmed with congratulations, for Hector is loved by all these
honest souls who have known him from childhood.
Mac comes last, and draws me aside in a mysterious manner. Since I am
now an important personage, he gives me his confidence.
“Sure, our parson is very lucky to find such a pretty colleen,” he
says, sighing dolorously.
“Well, Mac, why don’t you follow his example and look for one too?”
“There is no need to look far, Miss Mam’selle, you know who it is. Ah!
if she would only take me as you are taking Master Hector, it would be
better for everybody.”
“Including little Bahloo?”
“Yes; Bahloo, too. Though I should set him a shocking example
sometimes, I know,” shaking his head with a naive complaisance towards
his pet delinquency.
“Well, Mac, you had better go and speak to her at once.”
“I dare not, Miss Mam’selle, she intimidates me just awful.”
I laugh at the picture of my old bushman, six feet high and
proportionately broad, trembling with emotion before Meg’s dour face.
But love has opened my eyes, and awakened depths of feelings which I
did not suspect. So placing my hand affectionately on my old friend’s
arm, I say, “Come, Mac, courage. If you succeed--and I hope you
will--we will give you a fine wedding.”
And the big-hearted old man, so weak against himself, squeezes my hand
with such vigour that I nearly cry out.
* * * * *
I cannot sleep to-night.
Seated at my open window, I murmur my happiness to the stars which gaze
down upon me from their radiant heights.
Hector loves me. Joy, sweet, calm and profound pervades my whole being.
This, then, is love--real love!
There is nothing in it of the wild agitation and excitement I felt
under Allan Russell’s strange gaze. When Hector presses my hand my
blood keeps its wonted flow. When he kissed me this evening I remained
as cool as though it had been a paternal embrace from my guardian.
Nevertheless, I love him. I am sure of it. The thought of passing my
life with him is sweet. All my aspirations towards the Good, the
Beautiful and the Infinite attract and draw me closer to him. I am
happy at the idea of confiding my future to his care. He will be an
ideal husband--the friend and brother of my soul.
How glad I am to be able to pay the debt of gratitude which I owe these
generous friends who have taken me to their hearts so warmly.
There will be no more danger of seeing the enthusiast start forth on a
foolish mission of self immolation. I recall my uncle’s words:
“You have clipped his wings, little girl; he is bound to the old home
now, and our two children will remain near us always.”
X
The
Spirit
and
the
Letter
Une seule chose est nécessaire, d’après l’Évangile. La voici:
L’homme pécheur et misérable est aimé de Dieu pour le temps et pour
l’Éternité.
C. WAGNER (Justice).
Hector has returned to the Murray after some halcyon days, spent
together. Golden hours, whose minutes are counted by the emotions,
sweet confidences wherein soul communes with soul, and words are but
the gross envelope of feelings which they reveal.
The separation is hard, so soon after our _fiançailles_. But he will
write every day, and I have promised to consider myself an Australian
“fiancee,” and write in return.
He must not expect poetic effusions. Words of love lose their fragrance
when written. The sound of the beloved voice, the magnetism of the
living presence are necessary to give them their true value. My letters
will consist only of prosaic details of the station life and of my
studies ... for I have a great project in view of which I have not yet
said a word.
I am going to study THEOLOGY!
The wife of a minister ought to share the religious beliefs of her
husband, I suppose. This is a point I have never dared discuss with
Hector for fear that we should clash; but now I long to know something
of those dogmas which mould his inner life. My own religion, one of
sentiment only, has never been troubled with any vexed doctrinal
questions. Protestant in name, it is true, but educated in a State
_Lycée_ with Catholics and even Jewesses, where the teaching imparted
was moral and altruistic, I conformed to an ideal of life lofty enough,
but absolutely outside all creeds and dogmas.
I am quite prepared to share a life of self-denial with Hector. Before
he left he asked me if I would consent to devote a part of his income
to certain good works which he has in view, necessitating a very simple
life for ourselves.
“To lead the ‘Simple Life’ of my dear Pasteur Wagner has always been my
dream,” I replied, smiling. “It will be scarcely necessary, will it? My
guardian is rich, and he will help us.”
“You must not count on uncle’s wealth, Jeanne; the station is not
prospering, in spite of appearances. Moreover, he speculates, and with
his sanguine temperament and ignorance of mining affairs generally, I
am afraid, very much afraid....”
“He ought to reduce his expenditure, discharge some of the hands, sell
the motor....”
“I have thought of it often, and spoken to him, but without result.
Fortunately, I have my father’s small fortune, and whatever happens he
and my mother are secure of a home with US,” pressing my arm lovingly.
* * * * *
This very day I am going to begin my theological education. Comfortably
ensconced in a corner of the verandah shut off by a huge screen so as
not to be disturbed, my little table piled with frowning tomes taken
from Hector’s private library, I attack the bull by the horns.
The Thirty-nine Articles of the Anglican Faith.
After several hours’ steady perusal, I let the book fall.
Predestination. The Redemption of Sin by the blood of Jesus Christ.
Eternal Salvation obtained by Faith alone, irrespective of deeds.
Belief in an Eternal Hell!
Are these doctrines, which seem to me reminiscent of a long past day,
still really taught in the Anglican Church? Oh, Jesus, gentle Prophet
of Nazareth, You who journeyed through Judea, preaching to the lowly
your Gospel of Love, what has been made of your teaching?
I carry my difficulties to my uncle, but he pooh-poohs them.
“Why bother your head about it at all, little girl? Leave Theology to
others, and come for a walk with me.”
“But, uncle, I must try to understand. It can’t be possible that Hector
teaches....”
“Tut, tut! That won’t concern you. Your role will be to cut out little
frocks for the kiddies, distribute soup to the old people, and port
wine to the invalids--which reminds me to stock your cellar forthwith
for that purpose.”
I take refuge in silence. I will write to Hector. He will not find my
scruples childish. He will understand and explain matters to my full
satisfaction.
* * * * *
Meg and Mac have asked for a day’s leave.
They want to go to Strathalbyn to get married by the Presbyterian
Minister.
I wonder who put the fateful question!
Did Mac muster sufficient courage, or--did Meg take the initiative?
“Meg, why didn’t you wait a day or two? Mr. Hector would have been
back, and we could have had a fine wedding feast.”
“Nae, nae; Maister Hector is guid enow to preach on the Sabbath, Miss
Joan, but we maun hae a true minister to marry us. Maister Hector is
nae sound enow in doctrine.”
Not sound enough!
If Hector’s views are too liberal for her, surely there is hope for me!
Mr. Deslandes lends them the motor for the great event, and we witness
their departure in grand style.
Meg and Mac are truly superb!
But Bahloo!!!
Words fail to do justice to his elaborate splendour.
For he is going also. As best man, I suppose.
The dusky mite holds himself painfully rigid in the resplendent ruby
velveteen suit Meg has made for the occasion.
And how in the world has she procured here the sailor hat with “Nelson”
in gilt letters around it, which is perched jauntily on his mop of
frizzy hair? Would not the word “Cupid” suit better the circumstances?
In truth, has not our picaninny played the part of a little black “Deus
in Machina”?
Mrs. Deslandes is a little hurt that Meg should leave her _service
personnel_ without a word of regret. It has all been done so hurriedly
that we have had no time to replace her. But it will be a pleasure to
take Meg’s duties upon myself for a while.
After the usual Bridge, I accompany my aunt to her room to render her
the little services which her weakness necessitates.
But, behold the faithful handmaiden at her post as usual!
“Meg, you here?” exclaims her mistress.
“You surely didn’t think I was going to abandon you?” comes the calm
reply.
“But what will your husband say?” I question wonderingly, opening my
eyes at this startling development in honeymoon etiquette, “and who is
going to keep house for him and Bahloo?”
“Oh, I can easily manage that if the mistress will let me off for
an hour or two in the morning.... Noo, Miss Joan,” lapsing into the
vernacular, “gang to bed yer ain sel’. Ye can sleep quite peacefully,
the mistress will want for naught.”
I make my exit, leaving the two old friends--friends in sooth, despite
the difference of their station--to resume the even tenor of their
ways, which no incident so frivolous as Meg’s marriage could interrupt.
XI
The
Letter
Kills
D’où viennent l’intolérance, les haines religieuses, la polémique et
le fanatisme? Ils tiennent tous à une fausse conception de l’essence
et du but de la Religion.
C. WAGNER (Justice).
The inquisitor was sometimes conscientious when he racked and burned
his brother man for the glory of God and the salvation of the souls of
others who might be inclined to follow that heretical brother; he
acted with a clear conscience, honestly believing himself to be doing
service both to God and to man.
ANNIE BESANT.
* * * * *
His letter has arrived....
A cold chill has passed over my heart. Can it really be Hector who,
ignoring the spirit of the Gospel, has written these words, with their
sophistry and fanatical respect for the letter of the Jewish Bible?
“... If you deny Revelation everything crumbles under your feet.... It
is your duty to accept and believe the truth taught by the Church. Has
not the Saviour promised that He will always be with his Church even to
the end of the world, to guide it in the path of Truth?... The Bible is
the directly inspired word of God, and we must bow before its teaching
without presuming to judge it.... All Faith rests on the doctrine of
the Redemption, of Predestination, of the Day of Judgment.... Many
of our clergy themselves ignore these subjects. They are spiritual
heretics, freethinkers under the garb of the Church....”
Then follows an exhortation:
“Beloved, cease your doubts. Prostrate yourself before the Cross,
stained with the blood of Christ, that blood shed in order to efface
the sins of the world. Come, before the justice of an angry God bars
the way.”
He finishes with these words, which in his sincere but blind faith he
believes must touch me:
“Pray for the Light! Oh, my life, may our Saviour enlighten you with
his Grace!”
* * * * *