University of Virginia Library

41. CHAPTER XLI.
AN ACT OF GRACE.

We have left our hero for some time in deep
disgrace. The punishment was not entirely
undeserved, but we trust our readers have faith
in that justice which is tempered with mercy.
His offense was great, but it does not require
absolute immolation. We hope, therefore, that
the most austere of our lady readers will pardon
a momentary lapse from the high moral plane
which a hero of romance should occupy in this
most virtucus half of the nineteenth century.

I have said that Mr. Gray was punished. Let
it not be inferred, however, that he incarred no
other punishment than being dropped for a time
out of these pages. The circle he had unintentionally
invaded was one which repels with various
exasperating weapons any approach which
seems unmindful of its immaculate character.
The audacity of the lawyer, in raising his eyes
to the daughter of their pastor, was astonishing.
For three days the diseraceful affair was spoken
of in a whisper. The whisper grew longer. It
was caught up in circles that were not immediately
affected, but which, nevertheless, deemed
it a duty always to speak on the side of morality.
It penetrated the profane world and inspired
a laugh. There only the young lawyer
found apologists and defenders. If the girl was
willing to be entertained, Mr. Gray could not
be censured if he entertained her. The responsibility
of error was divided in this world between
the party who proposed and the party who consented.

The lady in this case had an advantage. Her statement
of the affair met no contradiction. It differed
somewhat from the facts, but Mr. Gray had sufficient
manliness to let it pass unquestioned.

The following Saturday afternoon Mr. Gray was
surprised at receiving a call from Miss Shaw. He had
not met that young lady during the week, and naturally
supposed that he was crossed out of the list of
friends.

Miss Shaw paused on the threshold of the inner
office.

“May I come in?” she asked. “Will I disturb
you?”

“Yes, to both questions. I want to be disturbed.”

She entered and took a seat at the table beside Mr.
Gray.

“Do you ever get real tired of living?” she asked. “So
tired that you don't know what to do with yourself?”

“Sometimes. I was somewhat in that condition of
mind when you appeared.”

“That's odd. I've had the blues for a week. What
shall I do?”

“Seek a change of associates.”

“That's what I'm doing. Have you anything you
must attend to this afternoon?”

“Nothing—unless you will let me attend to you.”

“How kind you are. I was going to ask you to take
me somewhere. You haven't been very good of late.”

“Isn't it a little your fault?”

“It isn't my example. I've been dreadful good.
How tiresome it is! But, perhaps you don't know—
perhaps you have not had much experience.”

“Don't be satirical, Miss Shaw.”

“Don't call me Miss Shaw!—not to day. I want to
be confidential; I want to talk to you as I used to talk
to my father. But first let us decide what to do.”

“Tell me what you would like to do.”

“I think I would like to drive out to the Cliff. We
won't stop—there's too many people there Saturdays.
After the drive—”

“Well, after the drive?”

“You shall come home with me to dinner. Mamma
is away. You are not in favor with her just now. In
the evening we will go to the theatre. We have not

been to the theatre together since Mliss was with
us.”

“It has been so difficult to find you disengaged.”

“Not difficult, but you have not tried very hard.
Poor, dear Mliss. I didn't know how fond I was of
her.”

“I'm afraid we shall never see her again.
The city and country has been searched, and I get no
clue.”

“Do you know, Mr. Gray, I think Mliss is living?”

“Why do you think so?”

“The spirits say so.”

“But you don't think so because the spirits say
so?”

“I believe it because I cannot help it. The impression
grows stronger every day.”

“I wish I could think so.”

“Have you no faith in spirits?”

“None whatever. The more I read and think, the
less reason I find to believe in them. I believe there
is not a well authenticated case on record where intelligence
of public importance has been first transmitted
to the public through spiritual agencies. There
have been battles in Europe which we heard of by
mail weeks after they were fought. There have been
changes of dynasty, deaths of distinguished men,
and yet these spirit mediums never tell of these things
until we have heard of them through other sources.
Now, if the spirit of Mliss's father can follow Mliss
and tell where she is, why cannot other spirits tell us
when a great battle is fought in Europe—when there
is a government crisis, a fall or rise in cotton, or
some one great fact that would command public attention.
Let them tell us of one great event in advance
of telegraph and mail, and they will then convince
the world.”

“But you know, Mr. Gray, it has also been asked
why Christ did not publicly appear in Jerusalem after
his crucifixion and thus convince the world that he
had risen.”

“True, and no good reason has been given why he
did not.”

“But we do not infer from the fact that he did not,
that he did not rise.”

“Many do, and the inference is fair. If Christ had
really risen and wished to convince the world that he
was in a peculiar sense the Son of God, he had only to
appear, after death, publicly in Jerusalem, and all
Judea would have knelt at his feet. Now, after
eighteen hundred years, some of the best minds in
Christendom doubt if he possessed miraculous
powers.”

“But it was not a part of God's plan that the world
should be convinced in this sudden way.”

“It was a part of God's plan, as revealed in the
Bible, that the world should be convinced. The
Apostles of Christ were bidden to go to all lands and
preach of Christ's risen from the dead. Now, don't
you think they could have preached more successfully
if they could have carried with them indubitable evidence
of the main fact they related?”

“But the Apostles had seen him after he had risen.

“The Apostles were in appearance men like those
they addressed. They had no especial claim on the
reason and judgment of mankind at large. They promulgated,
an astounding statement—that a man had
risen from his grave. Now, when such statements
are made, the most convincing proof is required to
command belief. The Apostles said they had seen
Christ risen. The Apostles were Christ's chosen followers
and, in that capacity, not competent as witnesses
before unbelievers. If they could have added
to the evidence of their senses the testimony of the
thousands before whom Christ had preached, but before
whom he did not appear after death, they would
have convinced the world of the truth of their statement.
As it is, the world is unconvinced at this day,
and even the part of the world we call Christendom is
more infidel than Christian. Reasoning minds demand
of the so-called spiritualists of the present day evidence
of a like nature to that required of the Apostles.
If these communications really come from spirits,
they can give us indisputable evidence of the fact. In
the absence of such evidence, the solid, substantial
minds that in the end determine the truth or falsity
of a claim, will reject the theory of spirit communications
as not proven.”

“But these spirits certainly tell us things unknown
to us.”

“Things unknown to us individually, but not things
unknown to all individuals. I do not know of a pretended
fact yet communicated that was not already
known to some person or persons composing the community.
There are portions of the world to which the
telegraph does not yet reach—portions which are ten
or twenty days distant from the centres of news. In
these distant lands events are constantly occurring—
the death of a ruler—the arrival of a ship—the birth of
a prince. Let the spirits communicate some two or
three of these events—with the date accurately given—
and thinking men will believe. For instance, let us
suppose the date of the arrival of the “Sea Nymph” at
Valparaiso should be correctly given immediately upon
her arrival, and as there is no telegraphic communication
with Valparaiso, they will establish a strong claim
to belief. Of course there is such a thing as a happy
guess, but three or four such statements preclude the
possibility of chance.”

“Perhaps they will,” said Regina.

“I doubt it. They will tell us things which we cant
not prove or disprove, but it will be something new in
spirit manifestations if they tell us of an importanevent
happening at a distance, giving dates with ordinary
exactness.”

“I see,” said Regina, petulantly, “you are obstinate
as you always are. Papa was right—you were cut out
for a lawyer.

“And you, Regina, are somewhat imaginative,
somewhat impressible, and inclined to believe what
seems fair on the face. But I don't want you to be
carried away with this delusion.”

“I am glad you feel a little interest in me,” said
Regina. “To encourage you, I'll let you think for
me. Only I will believe Mlies still lives.”

“I will hope she does. The poor child has as yet
known little but shame, suffering and sorrow.”

“I don't know about that,” replied Regina, gravely.
“We don't measure happiness by time.”

“True; but in her happiest days a cloud was always
over her. In childhood, a drunken father, a poor, neglected

little outcast, yet with a heart sensitive to
shame, and a pride so intense that every jeering word
wrung her soul with agony. Later in life, the victim
of scheming villains who are yet unpunished.”

“But she found one friend, one who loved her. I
never more than half liked you until I knew how kind
you had been to Mliss.”

“Mliss was grateful. It is a genial error to exaggerate
the services rendered by a friend.”

“The error of a noble nature, such as Mliss has'
with all her fauls of temper. But our programme of
enter ainment is not yet complete. You have been so
gallant so far that I am tempted to go farther.”

“Take care not to go farther than you are willing I
should follow you.”

“There is no danger of that. You may come to-morrow
and take me to church.”

“To church! Heaven pardon me, but I am not popular
now in church circles.”

“Because they don't know you as I do. Will you
come?”

“Have you thought of Mrs. Shaw? What will she
say?”

“Mrs. Shaw, I dare say, would prefer to have me
go with Mr. Hopp. But I prefer to go with you.”

“Mr. Hopp seems to be quite a favorite with Mrs.
Shaw.”

“Yes; mamma wants me to marry. I cannot blame
her, for, as you very well know, we have no fortune,
and the wants to provide for the future.”

“But I very well know that you need not marry for
a home. Our business is prosperous and increasing
every day.”

“But this cannot last forever. It seems as if we
were living on your bounty.”

“O, Regina Don't speak so. What you have is
yours as fairly as if it was derived from houses and
lands. It will always be yours as long as I live.”

“I know it will, but I am not sure it is quite right.
Mr. Hoop says—”

“What does Mr. Hopp say?”

“I don't know that I ought to tell. But he tells
mamma that we have no legal right to the earnings of
the firm.”

“It is not manly in Mr. Hopp to tell you this. Your
father gave me an equal interest in his business when
I was poor and unknown. In return for this I was to
render an equivalent in labor to the best of my ability.
Mr. Shaw died, but he had not placed me in this
position that I might rob his widow and children.
Don't speak of this again, please.”

“Thank you, I won't. I believe you are quite as
likely to be correct as Mr. Hopp in a question of law,
and a good deal more likely in the finer questions of
the proprieties. But we are talking the afternoon
away. I had no idea I had so much to say to you.”

“I confess I thought your confidences were bestowed
in another quarter.”

“Since papa died I have had no confidante. I used
to tell him everything. When I was only ten years
old and was just beginning to have beaux, I would
tell him who was number one, who number two, who
number three, and so on. And he, as much a child as
I, would make me promise not to marry one of these
young gentlemen without his consent. How absurd!”

The young girl tried to laugh, but the tears gathered
in her eyes, and she turned and walked to the
window.

Mr. Gray sent Tim for a carriage, and soon after
they were whirling gayly over the Cliff House
road.