Interrupted

by Pansy

  CHAPTER XXV.

  DANGERS SEEN AND UNSEEN.

  IT was this man, then, to whom Harry Matthews' eyes often wanderedduring that morning service. The look of profound amazement which hadsettled on his uncle's face after the first sweeping glance which hegave the little church, had caused Harry the keenest satisfaction.The more so that during the morning he had been addressed after thisfashion:

  "The only regret I had, when I found that I could drop off at SouthPlains and spend a day or two, was that it was Saturday, and theSabbath would have to be spent in that forlorn little box where you goto church. I have vivid recollections of the day I spent with you ayear ago. Harry, my boy, I don't like to think of your Sabbaths beingpassed amid such unpleasant surroundings. I shall be glad when yourengagement here closes. You don't think of renewing it, I hope? I haveplans which I want to talk over with you to-morrow?"

  But Harry had been too full of the surprise in store, to make any replyto these questionings, other than to say:

  "Come on, uncle Harold; I sing in the choir, and I promised to be therein good time."

  None the less was he watching for that first look, and it satisfiedhim. He wanted to laugh outright, but of course he did no such thing;instead, he seated his amazed relative in one of the best pews, thentook his place in the choir, all of his face save his eyes in decorousrepose.

  All the bright Sabbath afternoon they sat together, uncle and nephew;the one an eager narrator, the other an attentive listener. Every stepof the colossal plan, as it appeared to others, and was matured andcarried out by the unfaltering zeal of Claire Benedict, was detailedfor the uncle's benefit. And certainly Claire's reputation did notsuffer in the young man's hands. He could not help glorifying her. Noneknew better than he, what she had been to him; but of this more sacredstory he as yet said nothing. Its time was to come.

  "Why, uncle Harold, you remember Bud," he burst forth afresh after amoment's silence, "that queer fellow who worked for the Ansteds; hecame down here that night you spent here last spring, with papers, youknow, for Mr. Ansted, and you talked with him a little, and laughed soover his queer notions. Remember?

  "Well, sir, that fellow is simply made over! It is a great deal morewonderful than the church! We used to think he was not more thanhalf-witted. I'll tell you what it is: I shouldn't wonder if it turnedout that he was double-witted. You didn't recognize his name to-day,of course; it is a wonder that he did himself. Hubbard Myers, that'sthe boy. Yes, sir, he has joined the church; and a help he will beto it, too. Uncle Harold, you ought to hear him pray! He says queerthings even in prayer; at least, they sound queer; but in spite ofyourself you can not help wondering sometimes whether it is not becausehe has gotten ahead of all the rest, and sees things that they don'tunderstand. I believe he thinks Miss Benedict is an angel sent herefrom heaven to help him. That's no wonder, though; perhaps she is;anyhow, she has helped him as well, and perhaps better than a realangel could have done; and she is the first one who ever took anynotice of him, or remembered that he had a soul."

  It is no special wonder that the uncle was deeply interested in thisstory. It told more than Harry suspected. How came this gay youngnephew, who had cost him many sleepless nights, to be sufficientlyfamiliar with a prayer-meeting to know who prayed, or how? He studiedthe bright face before him most attentively. It was changed, certainly;he had felt the change in the boy all day. What was it? How much did itmean? There had certainly been need for change. It made his heart beatfast to think of Harry's mother, and the possibility of news for hersuch as would make her feel young again.

  "Harry," he said gently, "do you know, I half hope that I have notheard the best yet of this wonderful story; that there has been another'making over.' How is it, my boy?"

  A bright flush mantled Harry's face as he bent his eyes closer over thepaper on which he was scribbling his own and his uncle's names with allsorts of flourishes.

  Suddenly he raised his head, and looked full into the kind eyes bentwistfully on him, and smiled:

  "I don't know why I should hesitate to tell you that, I am sure," hesaid, speaking in a firm, manly tone. "It is true enough. I have beenmade over, I believe. Certainly nobody ever needed it more, and nobodyever struggled harder against it, as you very well know. At least, youknow part; but I have been lower down than you think, uncle Harold.Talk about angels! I know that I don't see how any angel can ever domore for me than Miss Benedict has done! I've engaged for life as aservant of the Lord Jesus Christ. And I owe more to Miss Benedict, thisminute, than I do to any human being, not excepting even you and mymother."

  The uncle was out of his chair by this time, one hand on the shoulderof his dear boy, while he held out the other, which was promptlygrasped; but he could not speak yet, and he could not see for thetears. This young fellow was very dear to him, and the waiting had beenlong.

  "God bless you!" he said at last, his lips quivering, and unable toutter another word.

  When he could speak again he said:

  "My dear boy, have you told your mother?"

  "Not yet," said Harry, his eyes shining, "but you can be sure that I amgoing to. You see, Uncle Harold, the articles of surrender were onlysigned, sealed and delivered, night before last in the middle of thenight. Since then I have not had a moment's time that belonged to me;but I'll write her such a letter as she has never had from me."

  While the uncle walked the parlor of the boarding-house, and waited forhis nephew to make ready for evening service, he had some questions tosettle which were personal. He became aware of the fact that he hadcertainly jumped to conclusions regarding some of the workers in theMaster's vineyard which were apparently without foundation. Here wasthis Miss Benedict. He had heard her name mentioned frequently in thedays gone by, and always as one of the dependences of the church towhich she belonged; and yet he had always thought of her with curlinglip. "Workers!" he had told himself, being mentally very sarcastic,"yes, didn't all the initiated know what that meant when applied to afashionable young lady who lived in an elegant home and mingled withthe fashionable world? It meant that she helped at the fancy fairs, andfestivals, and bazaars, and what not? Worked them up, probably, withall their accompanying train of evils. It meant that she was a districtvisitor, perhaps, and left a tract on 'Redeeming the Time' in a homewhere they were starving for lack of employment, and needed a loaf ofbread." He had seen workers of that sort, and he found it difficult tofeel for them anything but contempt. The thing for which he was now totake himself to task was the fact that he had classed Claire Benedictamong these, knowing nothing of her, meantime, save that she was amember of a fashionable up-town church; and that, too, after knowingher father, and singling him out as a man among thousands. The simpletruth was, that he had imagined a character of which he disapproved,and named it Claire Benedict, and then let himself disapprove of herheartily.

  "The sole thing that I know about the young woman is that she was oncewealthy, and on this account I have judged her as I have; and I findthat it is what I am apt to do." This is what he told himself ashe walked the length of that little parlor, and waited. He was muchashamed of himself. "It is an excellent standpoint from which to judgecharacter," he said, severely. "If there is any justice in it I must bea worthless person myself. I wonder how many people are setting me downas one who merely plays at Christian work, because my father left meone fortune and my old aunt another!"

  I am glad that this man had this severe talk with himself. He neededit. The truth is, he was very apt to judge of people in masses; asthough they were specimens, and belonged to certain types.

  The conclusion of his self-examination at this time was, that hedeclared that if one third of what Harry thought about this youngperson was true, it had taught him a lesson. He went to church thatevening apparently for the purpose of studying the lesson morethoroughly; at least, he gave some attention to the organist. He hadrecognized her in the morning, because she had eyes like her father;and this evening he decided that her head was shaped like hi
s,and that she had the firm mouth and yet sweet set of lips that hadcharacterized the father, and he told himself that he might have knownthat the daughter of such a man would be an unusual woman.

  After service was concluded, he walked deliberately forward and claimedacquaintance with Sydney Benedict's daughter. The glow that he broughtto her face, and the tender light which shone in her eyes, when hementioned that dear father's name, gave him a glimpse of what thedaughter's memories were.

  Harry came up to them eagerly, having been detained by the pastor for amoment.

  "You have introduced yourself, Uncle Harold, I see. Miss Benedict, Iwanted my Uncle Harold to know you for very special reasons."

  Uncle Harold was unaccountably embarrassed. What a strange thingfor that boy to say! and what did he propose to say next? ButClaire relieved the embarrassment, and plunged him into a maze ofquestioning, by the sudden, eager interest which flashed in her facewith the mention of his name.

  "Are you Harold Chessney?" she asked as though a new thought came toher with the union of the two names, "and are you going to the RockyMountains?"

  "I am Harold Chessney," he said, smiling, "and I have in mind a tripto the Rocky Mountains, if I can make my plans in that directionwhat I wish. But why this should be of interest to you passes mycomprehension." Of course this last he thought.

  She did not leave him long in doubt.

  "Is Louis Ansted going with you?"

  "He is if I can prevail upon him to do so. That is part of my errandhere at this time, and has to do with the plans I mentioned." And nowhis face plainly asked the question: "Why do _you_ care?"

  She seemed to answer the look.

  "He needs to go, Mr. Chessney. He needs help; such help as perhaps youcan give him. I don't know. Something must be done for him, and thatsoon. Mr. Chessney, I _hope_ you will succeed."

  There was no time for more. Alice Ansted came up, and claimed thestranger as an acquaintance, and stood talking with him for a momentand expressed extreme anxiety that he should find her brother in thecity the next day.

  "He is somewhere in town, but we never know where. Still, I could giveyou a dozen addresses, at any one of which you might find him. I hopeyou will not return without seeing him."

  "I shall not," Mr. Chessney said, decidedly. "Is he inclined toaccompany me, do you think? Has he mentioned to you my designs?"

  "Yes, and would go if it were not for--Mr. Chessney, if you could makemamma understand. No one seems able to. Claire Benedict has tried andfailed; and what she fails in, perhaps can not be done. I don't know,but something must be done, and that speedily."

  Almost Claire Benedict's words repeated. The newcomer walked home inalmost silence. As they neared Harry's door, he said:

  "What is young Ansted about just now?"

  "Drinking hard, sir; he is running down hill very fast. If you don'tget him away with you, I am afraid he will go to the dogs in a hurry."

  "Is he still on terms of special intimacy with the VanMarters?"

  "Well, as to that, I do not know. Things look mixed. He rails againstWillis VanMarter once in a while, when he has been taking enough tomake him imprudent, and Miss Alice seems to have broken with themaltogether; at least, Willis does not come out any more, I think,and Miss Alice is not in town often; but Mrs. Ansted seems to be asintimate with them as ever, and Louis goes there with his mother. Idon't know anything about it, but it looks like a house divided againstitself. If I had such a mother as Louis Ansted has, I don't believe Iwould try to be anybody."

  "Mothers don't seem to count for much sometimes, my boy."

  "You mean with their sons, and I dare say you mean me, Uncle Harold;but it is not true. My mother always counted for ten times more thanyou think. It was she who held me back. If Louis Ansted had a tenthpart of the craving for liquor that I have, with his mother to pushhim, he would have been gone long ago, beyond reach. I don't know buthe is now. He has been going down very fast in the last few weeks."

  "What is the accelerating cause?"

  "That I don't positively know. Partly, it is the natural result ofa bad habit indulged, I suppose; but there are other influences atwhich I can guess. Still, it is pure guesswork. I am not in any one'sconfidence, except when Louis has been drinking too much, he says to methings that he would not want me to know if he were sober, and those,of course, I don't repeat. I think that his mother is bent on thisunion of the two houses, VanMarter's and theirs, and I think neitherLouis nor Miss Alice are of her mind in the matter; and I think,moreover, that Louis would rather have an hour of Miss Benedict'ssociety than a lifetime of Miss Eva VanMarter's, and I don't think hecan get what he wants. Now, isn't that an interesting little romancefor a young fellow like me to think out, especially when I don't know athing about it? The only fact is that Louis Ansted is in great danger,and nobody seems to have much influence over him--at least, nobody whouses it in the right direction."

  "His sister seems to be roused. I was surprised to hear her speak asshe did."

  "His sister is not the woman she was when you saw her last. She hasbeen under Miss Benedict's influence all winter."

  "Evidently you incline to the belief that Miss Benedict is a remarkablewoman," his uncle said, with a slight laugh. "Why has she not beenexerting her influence to help poor Louis?"

  "She has tried as hard as a woman can. But, Uncle Harold, she is notthe sort of woman to promise to marry a man merely to save him frombecoming a drunkard."

  "I should hope not," Mr. Chessney answered promptly.