There was no question in Virginia's mind that she had done the right thing. If she had made a mistake, it was one of judgment and not of the heart. When the bell rang for tea, she went down, and her grandmother did not appear. She sent a servant to her room, and the servant brought back word that Madam Page was not there.
A few minutes later, Rollin came in. He brought word that his grandmother had taken the evening train for the South. He had been at the station to see some friends off, and had by chance met his grandmother as he was coming out. She told him her reason for going.
"Rollin," said Virginia, and for the first time almost since his conversion she realized what a wonderful thing her brother's change of life meant to her, "do you blame me? Am I wrong?"
"No, I cannot believe you are. This is very painful for us. But if you think this poor girl owes her safety and salvation to your personal care, it was the only thing for you to do. Oh, Virginia, to think that we have all these years enjoyed our beautiful home and all these luxuries selfishly, forgetful of the multitude like this woman. Surely Jesus in our places would do what you have done."
Of all the wonderful changes that Virginia was to know on account of her great pledge, nothing affected her so powerfully as the thought of her brother's change in life. Truly, this man in Christ was a new creature. Old things were passed away. Behold, all things in him had become new.
Dr. West came that evening at Virginia's summons, and did everything necessary for the outcast. She had drunk herself almost into delirium. The best that could be done for her now was quiet nursing and careful watching, and personal love.
So in a beautiful room, with a picture of Christ walking by the sea hanging on the wall, where her bewildered eyes caught daily something more of its hidden meaning, Loreen lay, tossed she hardly knew how into this haven. And Virginia crept nearer the Master than she had ever been, as her heart went out towards this wreck which had thus been flung, torn and beaten, at her feet.
Chapter Thirty
THE RECTANGLE awaited the issue of the election with more than usual interest. John Gray and his wife wept over the pitiable creatures who, after a struggle with surroundings that daily tempted them, like Loreen, threw up their arms and went whirling into the boiling abyss of their previous condition.
The after-meeting at the First Church was now regularly established. Henry Maxwell went into the lecture room on the Sunday following the week of the primary, and was greeted with an enthusiasm that made him tremble for its reality. He noted again the absence of Jasper Chase the novelist, but all the others were present, and they seemed drawn close together by a bond of common fellowship that demanded and enjoyed mutual confidences.
It was the general feeling that the Spirit of Jesus was a Spirit of very open, frank confession of experience. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Edward Norman to be telling all the rest of the company about the details of his newspaper.
"The fact is, I have lost a good deal of money during the last three weeks. I cannot tell how much. I am losing a great many subscribers every day."
""What do the subscribers give as their reason for dropping the paper?" asked Henry Maxwell.
The rest in the after-meeting were listening eagerly.
"There are a good many different reasons. Some say they want a paper that prints all the news; meaning by that, the crime details, sensations like prize fights, scandals and horrors of various kinds. Others object to the discontinuance of the Sunday edition. I have lost hundreds of subscribers by that action, although I have made satisfactory arrangements with many of the subscribers by giving them even more in the extra Saturday edition than they formerly had in the Sunday issue.
"My greatest loss has come from a falling-off in advertisements, and from the attitude I have felt obliged to take on political questions. This last action has really cost me more than any other. The bulk of my subscribers are intensely partisan. I may as well tell you all frankly that, if I continue to pursue the plan which I honestly believe Jesus would, in the matter of political issues and their treatment from a non-partisan and moral standpoint, the News will not be able to pay its operating expenses, unless one factor in Raymond can be depended on."
He paused a moment, and the room was very quiet. Virginia seemed specially interested. Her face glowed with the interest of a person who had been thinking hard of the same thing that Edward Norman went on now to mention.
"That one factor is the Christian element in Raymond. The News has lost heavily from the dropping-off of people who do not care for a Christian daily, and from others who simply look upon a newspaper as a purveyor of all sorts of material to amuse and interest them. As I understand the promise we made, we were not to ask any questions about 'Will it pay?' but all our action was to be based on the one question, 'What would Jesus do?' Acting on that rule of conduct, I have been obliged to lose nearly all the money I have accumulated in my paper. As it is now, unless the Christian people of Raymond will support the paper with subscriptions and advertisements, I cannot continue its publication on the present basis."
Virginia had followed Edward Norman's confession with the most intense eagerness. "Do you mean that a Christian daily ought to be endowed with a large sum, like a Christian college, in order to make it pay?"
"That is exactly what I mean. I have laid out plans for putting into the News such a variety of material, in such a strong and truly interesting way, that it would more than make up for whatever was absent from its columns in the way of un-Christian matter. But my plans call for a very large outlay of money. I am confident that a Christian daily such as Jesus would approve, containing only what He would print, can be made to succeed financially if it is planned on the right lines. But it will take a large sum of money to work out the plans."
"How much do you think?" asked Virginia quietly.
Edward Norman looked at her keenly, and his face flushed a moment as an idea of Virginia's purpose crossed his mind. He had known her when she was a little girl in the Sunday school, and he had been on intimate business relations with her father.
"I should say a half a million dollars, in a town like Raymond, could be well spent in the establishment of a paper such as we have in mind," he answered.
"Then," said Virginia, speaking as if the thought were fully considered, "I am ready to put that amount of money into the paper, on the one condition, of course, that it be carried on as it has been begun."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Henry Maxwell softly. Edward Norman was pale. The rest were looking at Virginia. She had more to say.
"Dear friends," she went on, "I do not want any of you to credit me with an act of great generosity or philanthropy. I have come to know lately that the money which I have called my own is not my own, but God's. I have been thinking of this very plan for some time. The fact is, dear friends, that in our coming fight with the whiskey power in Raymond -- and it has only just begun -- we shall need the News to champion the Christian side. What can Mr. Gray do with his gospel meetings when half his converts are drinking people, daily tempted and enticed by the saloon on every corner? What have I done with God's money all these years but gratify my own selfish, physical, personal desires? What can I do with the rest of it but try to make some reparation for what I have stolen from God? That is the way I look at it now. I believe it is what Jesus would do."
No one spoke for a while. Henry Maxwell standing there, where the faces lifted their intense gaze into his, felt what he had already felt before -- a strange stepping out of the nineteenth century back into the first, when the disciples had all things in common, and a spirit of fellowship must have flowed freely between them, such as the First Church of Raymond had never known.
Before they went away, some of the young men told of the loss of places owing to their honest obedience to their promise. Alexander Powers from the railroad spoke briefly of the fact that the Commission had promised to take action at the earliest date possible. He was already at his old work of telegraphy.
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It was a significant fact that since his action in resigning his position, neither his wife nor daughter had appeared in public. No one but himself knew the bitterness of that family estrangement, and misunderstanding of the higher motive. Yet many of the disciples present in the meeting carried similar burdens. These were things which they could not talk about. Who could measure their influence at the end of the year?
One practical form of this fellowship showed itself in the assurances which Edward Norman received in support of his paper. The value of such a paper in the homes and in behalf of good citizenship, especially at the present crisis in the city, could not be measured. It remained to be seen what could be done now that the paper was endowed so liberally. But it still was true, as Edward Norman insisted, that money alone could not make the paper a power. It must receive the support of the Christians in Raymond before it could be counted as one of the great Christian forces of the city.
Chapter Thirty-One
WHEN SATURDAY, the Election Day came, the excitement rose to its height. An attempt was made to close all the saloons. It was partly successful, but there was a great deal of drinking going on all day. The Rectangle boiled and heaved and cursed, and turned its worst side out to the gaze of the city. John Gray had continued his meetings during the week, and the results had been even greater than he had dared to hope. When Saturday came, it seemed to him that the crisis in his work had been reached.
The Holy Spirit and Satan seemed to rouse up to a desperate conflict. The more interest in the meetings, the more ferocity outside. The saloon men no longer concealed their feelings. Open threats of violence were made. Once during the week John Gray and his little company of helpers were assailed with missiles of various kinds as they left the tent late at night.
The police sent down special protection, and Virginia and Rachel were always under the protection of Rollin or Dr. West. Rachel's power in song had not diminished. Rather, with each night, it seemed to add to the intensity and reality of the Holy Spirit's presence.
Gray had, at first, hesitated about having a meeting that night. But he had a simple rule of action, and was always guided by it. The Holy Spirit seemed to lead them to continue the meeting, and so on Saturday night he went on as usual.
The excitement all over the city had reached its climax when the polls closed at six o'clock. Never had there been such a contest in Raymond. The issue of license or no license had never been an issue. Never before had such elements in the city been arrayed against each other. It was an unheard-of thing that the president of Lincoln College, the pastor of the First Church, the dean of the Cathedral, the professional men living in the fine houses on the boulevard, should come personally into the wards to represent the Christian conscience of the place.
The ward politicians were astonished at the sight. However, their astonishment did not prevent their activity. The fight grew hotter every hour, and when six o'clock came neither side could have guessed at the result with any certainty. Everyone agreed that never had there been such an election in Raymond, and both sides awaited the announcement of the result with the greatest interest.
It was after ten o'clock when the meeting at the tent was closed. It had been a strange and, in some respects, a remarkable meeting. Henry Maxwell had come down again, at Gray's request. He was completely worn out by the day's work, but the appeal from Gray came to him in such a form that he did not feel able to resist it.
Donald Marsh, president of Lincoln College, was also present. He had never been to the Rectangle, and his curiosity was aroused from what he had noticed of the influence of the evangelist in the worst part of the city. Dr. West and Rollin had come with Rachel and Virginia. Loreen, who had stayed with Virginia, was present near the organ, in her right mind, sober, with a humility and dread of herself that kept her close to Virginia.
All through the service Loreen sat with bowed head, weeping a part of the time, sobbing when Rachel sang the song, "I was a wandering sheep," clinging with almost visible yearning to the one hope she had found, listening to prayer and appeal and confession all about her like one who was a part of a new creation, yet fearful of her right to share in it fully.
The tent had been crowded. As on some other occasions, there was disturbance on the outside of the tent. This had increased as the night advanced, and Gray thought it wise not to prolong the service. Once in a while a shout as from a large crowd swept into the tent. The returns from the election were beginning to come in, and the Rectangle had emptied every lodging house, den and hovel into the streets.
In spite of the distractions, Rachel's singing kept the crowd in the tent from dissolving. There were a dozen or more conversions. Finally, the crowd became restless, and Gray closed the service, remaining a little while with the converts.
Rachel, Virginia, Loreen, Rollin, and the doctor, President Marsh, and Henry Maxwell, went out together, intending to go down to their usual waiting-place for their streetcar.
As they came out of the tent they became aware that the Rectangle was trembling on the edge of a drunken riot, and as they pushed through the gathering mobs in the narrow streets they began to realize that they themselves were objects of great attention.
"There he is, the bloke in the tall hat. He's the leader!" shouted a rough voice.
President Marsh, with his erect, commanding figure, was conspicuous in the little company. "How has the election gone? It is too early to know the result yet, isn't it?" He asked the question aloud.
A man answered, "They say second and third wards have gone almost solid for no license. If that is so, the whiskey men have been beaten."
"Thank God! I hope it is true," exclaimed Henry Maxwell. "Marsh, we are in danger here. Do you realize our situation? We ought to get the ladies to a place of safety."
At that moment a shower of stones and other missiles fell over them. The narrow street and sidewalk in front of them were completely choked with the worst elements of the Rectangle.
"This looks serious," said Maxwell.
With Marsh, Rollin and Dr. West, he started to go forward through the small opening, with Virginia, Rachel and Loreen following close, sheltered by the men who now realized something of their danger. The Rectangle was drunk and enraged. It saw in Donald Marsh and Henry Maxwell two of the leaders in the election contest who had perhaps robbed them of their beloved saloon.
"Down with the aristocrats!" shouted a shrill voice.
A shower of mud and stones followed. Rachel remembered afterwards that Rollin jumped directly in front of her and received on his head and chest a number of blows that would probably have struck her if he had not shielded her from them.
And then, just before the police reached them, Loreen darted forward pushed Virginia aside, looking up and screaming. It was so sudden that no one had time to catch the face of the one who did it. But out of the upper window of a room over the very saloon where Loreen had come out a week before, someone had thrown a heavy bottle. It struck Loreen on the head, and she fell to the ground.
Virginia turned and instantly kneeled down by her. The police officers by that time had reached the little company.
Donald Marsh raised his arm and shouted over the howl that was beginning to rise from the wild beast in the mob, "Stop! You've killed a woman! "
The announcement partly sobered the crowd.
"Is it true?" Henry Maxwell asked it, as Dr. West kneeled on the other side of Loreen, supporting her.
"She's dying," said Dr. West briefly.
Loreen opened her eyes and smiled at Virginia. Virginia wiped the blood from her face, and then bent over and kissed her. Loreen smiled again, and the next moment her soul was in paradise.
Chapter Thirty-Two
THE BODY of Loreen lay in state at the Page mansion on the avenue. It was Sunday morning, and the clear, sweet air swept over the casket from one of the open windows at the end of the grand hall. The church bells were ringing, and the people on the avenue going by to service turned inquiring l
ooks up at the great house and went on, talking of the recent events which had so strangely entered into and made history in the city.
At the First Church, Henry Maxwell, bearing on his face marks of the scene he had been through the night before, confronted an immense congregation, and spoke to it with a passion and a power that came so naturally out of the profound experiences of the day before, that his people felt for him something of the old feeling of pride they once had in his dramatic delivery. Only, this was a different attitude. And all through his impassioned appeal this morning there was a note of sadness and rebuke and stern condemnation that made many of the members pale with self-accusation or with inward anger.
Raymond had awakened that morning to the fact that the city had gone for license after all. The rumor at the Rectangle that the second and third wards had gone for no license proved to be false. It was true that the victory was won by a very meager majority, but the result was the same as if it had been overwhelming. Raymond had voted to continue the saloon another year. The Christians of Raymond stood condemned by the result.
More than a hundred Christians, professing disciples, had failed to go to the polls, and many more than that number had voted with the whiskey men. If all the church members of Raymond had voted against the saloon, it would now be outlawed instead of crowned king of the municipality. For that had been the fact in Raymond for years. The saloon ruled. No one denied that.
And the young woman who had been brutally struck down by the very hand that had assisted so eagerly to work her earthly ruin, what of her? Was it anything more than the logical sequence of the whole horrible system of license, that for another year the saloon that received her so often and compassed her degradation, from whose very spot the weapon had been hurled that struck her dead, would by the law which the Christian people of Raymond voted to support, open its doors perhaps tomorrow, and damn with earthly and eternal destruction a hundred Loreens before the year had drawn to its bloody close?
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