Playing With Fire

"In the Land of Sleep and Dreams, wherever that is."

"Nobody knows that, Jessy. There is so much we do not know, and never can know, that striving for Truth is discouraging."

"Yes, but when we cease striving for Truth we begin striving for ourselves."

"You reason well, Jessy. Have you studied logic?"

"What would a woman want with the mere faculty of logic? It belongs to lawyers and men educated in Edinburgh. I can draw an inference from anything reasonable, but logic is beyond the straight-forwardness of women and, also, the will of genius. When you were preaching last Sunday your words were arrows of the Almighty, they did not fly according to the rules of logic; if they had would they have found the hearts of the people? I think not. When are we going back to Glasgow, Ian? I am wearying for it all day long and, sitting alone at night, I would rather hear the melancholy human noises of the street than the song of the nightingale."

"For two more Sabbaths, Jessy, there is a minister in my place. After that we will go home."

"What kind of a minister?"

"A Free Church minister."

"That stands to reason and goes without saying. I mean is he sure on Moses and reverent with the Gospels? Is he a believer or a doubter? That is what I mean."

"Who can tell? If a good man doubts, he does not babble his doubts from the pulpit."

"What are you doing now, Ian?"

"I am bringing dogmas to Scripture and trying to make Scripture agree with them. People read too much now. When I was a lad, Joseph Milner's 'Church History,' and Newton on the 'Prophecies' were in every house. They were good books, fragrant with home piety, and with their Bible were all men and women wanted."

"And now it is even fashionable to have a book against the Bible lying on the parlor table. It is not a good change, Ian."

"The change is the spirit of our era, Jessy, but God is directing it. We can do nothing. We are only clay in the hands of the potter."

"Even so, but the potter does not make vessels for the express purpose of breaking them, and I am sure it is wrong to say, 'We can do nothing.' Our influence, be it good or bad, has had a commencement, and it will never have an end. I heard Dr. Wardlaw say that, and, also, that what is done is done, and it will work with the working universe, openly or secretly, forever. When Jethro, the Midianitish priest and grazier, hired an Hebrew outlaw as his herdsman, he doubtless thought little of the circumstance; but Moses still lives, and busies himself in the daily business of all nations. Your work has been set you, Ian; hold fast your faith in it, and do not dare to desert it."

"I was thinking your thought an hour ago, Jessy. My will is to finish the work given me to do. If I allowed my will to be overpowered by any circumstance, I should be the sport of Fate. I should indeed be then Not Elect." With these words he rose, straight and strong, full of confidence in his own will to do right and, with an encouraging smile to Jessy, he went to his study.

It was a chill, dull day without sunshine, but Dr. Macrae carried his own sunshine. The morning would get over, and Ada would be sure to send a close carriage for him in the afternoon. Then he would bring to a clear understanding the fact that marriage could not separate him from his spiritual work. He was dressed and waiting long before he could reasonably expect the carriage, but at three o'clock it had not arrived, and he was so wretched he resolved to take the Victoria and drive over to the Hall. As this intention was forming in his mind a servant from Cramer brought him a letter. He opened it with anxious haste, and read the following lines:

Dear, dear Ian – I received this morning a most astonishing and peremptory letter from my lawyer, directing me to come to London by the next train. It is a purely business letter, dear, but you know we cannot neglect business, especially as our contemplated year's travel will draw deeply on our resources. I shall not forget you; that would be impossible! I shall be at the railway station at four o'clock; be sure to meet me there. It would be dreadful not to bid you good-bye.

    Your Ada.

Four o'clock! It was then a quarter after three; there was barely time to reach the station, but half-a-crown to the driver gave him five minutes in which to see his beautiful mistress in her new winter gown of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with sable fur. The small blue and brown toque above her brown, braided hair gave her quite a new look. She was so chic, so radiant, so loving. And, in some of the occult ways known to women, she managed in those few minutes to make him both happy and hopeful. Then the guard held open the door of her carriage, she was in the train, the door was shut, the cry of "All right" ran along the moving line and, with a heart feeling empty and forlorn, he returned to the Little House.

"Lady Cramer has gone to London," he said to Mrs. Caird, and she looked into her brother-in-law's face and understood.

There was nothing now for him but reading, and he took up the books waiting for him and tried to forget in Scientific Religion the pitiless aching and longing of love; and he was glad, also, that the minister who had been filling the pulpit of the Church of the Disciples during his month's rest proposed to come to Cramer and stay part of the last week with him. He hoped they might be able to talk over together some of the startling religious ideas he was then reading and, perhaps, receive help from his more advanced age and wider experience.

Mrs. Caird doubted it as soon as she saw the man. He had a handsome physical appearance with such drawbacks as attend a long course of self-indulgence. His stoutness reduced his height, he had become slightly bald, and he wore glasses; so Dr. Macrae's slim, straight figure, his fine eyes and hair, and his good, healthy coloring, moved the brother cleric to a moment's envy.

"I used to be as natty and bright as you, Macrae," he said, "but age, sir, age – the years tell on us."

Dr. Macrae met him at the railway station with the Victoria, and he admired the turnout very much. "That is a fine machine," he remarked; "it must have cost you a pretty penny."

"It is not mine," answered Dr. Macrae. "It belongs to Lady Cramer. I have, by her kindness, the use of it this summer."

"What an unusual kindness!"

"Also of her dower house, with all its beautiful furnishings. Very little you will see in it belongs to me."

"I have never fallen on such luck. My church is large, but poor – poor. There are a few wealthy families – but – but they do not lift themselves above the ordinaries of collection – the plate and the printed lists."

"Yes."

"And, even so, I generally think scorn of their donations. I suppose you are on a very easy footing with Lady Cramer – friendly, I mean."

"Yes, we are good friends."

He was in a fit of admiration with everything he saw, the antique homeliness of the parlors, the lavender on the window sills, the Worcester china on the table. He looked critically at the latter, and said with a knowing air, "It belongs to the best period, having the square mark on it." The light shone on olives and grapes, on cut glass and silver, and specially on a claret jug of Worcester, with its exotic birds, its lasting gold, and its scale-blue ground like sapphire. He had the artistic temperament, and these beautiful things appealed to him in a way that astonished Dr. Macrae, whose temperament was of spiritual mold, and had not been destitute of even ascetic tendencies in his youth.

He had, therefore, little sympathy with his guest's enthusiasms; indeed, it rather pleased him to strip himself bare of all the beauty around him. "Not one of these lovely things is mine," he said. "I should not know what to do with them. I would rather have a few deal shelves full of good books."

"You don't know yourself, Macrae," was the answer. "The possession of artistic beauty develops the taste for it. When you are rich – "

"I shall never be rich."

"You have a fine income."

"I save nothing from it; a man who tries to save both his money and his soul has a task too hard for me to manage."

It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Caird took a dislike to the man, and she made Dr. Macrae feel that it was important he and his visitor should go to Glasgow on Thursday. "Take him to Bath Street," she said. "Maggie will provide for you; besides, I am sending Kitty down to-morrow, and he will be a hindrance to me here."

Wednesday was very wet and the two ministers had perforce to remain in the house, and in one of the exigencies of their prolonged conversations Dr. Macrae unfortunately referred to the pile of scientific religious books lying on his table. Then his visitor rose and looked at them.

"Yes," he said with a great sigh, "we are very scientific to-day, with our 'tendencies' and 'streams of influence' and our various 'thought movements.' They are all purely material."

"They cannot be that," replied Dr. Macrae, impetuously. "Streams of influence imply spiritual beings, and movements of thought must come from thinkers."

"Agreed," was the reply, "but you cannot call 'a stream of tendency,' or 'a power that makes for righteousness,' God. No, sir, you cannot, without striking at the very foundation of Theism. The next step would be to deny the supernatural guidance of the universe and of life. And the next? What would it be?"

"I know not. Such questions are mere spiritual curiosity. Keep your thumb down on them."

"I will tell you. The morality based on the supernatural would fail, and, unless a man had found a scheme of scientific morality based on the natural instead of the supernatural, he would be wrecked on the rock of his passions. The question arises, then – is there such a scheme?"

"You must answer your own question, Dr. Scott. As far as I can see, if there is in scientific philosophy a rule of life that can take the place of the Bible and Christianity, it must be able to guide the ignorant and humble, and restrain and comfort men. Philosophy failed Cicero at the hour of trial, and who would offer to the mourner, or the outcast, a chapter of scientific philosophy? It would be feeding hunger on straw."

"See here, Macrae, you are going further than I have any desire to follow you. I am a licensed preacher of the Scotch Church. My articles stipulate that I shall preach the doctrines of Christianity as elucidated by the creed of John Calvin. That is the extent of my obligation – the full extent of it."

"No."

"Yes. I chose the profession of Divinity, as my brother chose that of the Law. Both are recognized means of business. I accepted Divinity as such. I agreed to preach Calvinism to those who chose to come to my church – to my place of business, really – and listen to me."

"Do you believe what you preach?"