"He preaches tomorrow," said Felicia. "Perhaps he will tell us something about it."
There was silence for a minute. Then Felicia said abruptly, as if she had gone on with a spoken thought to some invisible hearer, "And what if he should propose the same pledge to the Nazareth Avenue Church?"
"Who? What are you talking about?" asked her father a little sharply.
"About Dr. Bruce. I say, what if he should propose to our church what Mr. Maxwell proposed to his, and ask for volunteers who would pledge themselves to do everything after asking the question, 'What would Jesus do?'"
"There's no danger of it," said Rose, rising suddenly from the couch as the tea-bell rang.
"It's a very impracticable movement, to my mind," said Mr. Sterling.
"I understand from Rachel's letter," said Felicia, "that the church in Raymond is going to make an attempt to extend the idea of the pledge to the other churches. If they succeed, they will certainly make great changes in the churches and in people's lives."
"Oh, well, let's have some tea first," said Rose, walking into the dining room.
Her father and Felicia followed, and the meal proceeded in silence. Mrs. Sterling had her meals served in her room. Mr. Sterling was preoccupied. He ate very little and excused himself early, and although it was Saturday night he remarked as he went out that he would be downtown late on some special business.
"Don't you think father looks very much disturbed lately?" asked Felicia, a little while after he had gone out.
"Oh, I don't know. I hadn't noticed anything unusual," replied Rose. After a silence she said, "Are you going to the play tonight, Felicia? Mrs. Delano will be here at half-past seven. I think you ought to go. She will feel hurt if you refuse."
"I'll go. I don't care about it. I can see shadows enough without going to the play."
"That's a doleful remark for a girl nineteen years old to make," replied Rose. "But then you're strange in your ideas anyhow, Felicia. If you're going up to see mother, tell her I'll run in after the play, if she's still awake."
Felicia went up to see her mother, and remained with her until the Delano carriage came. Mrs. Sterling was worried about her husband. She talked incessantly, and was irritated by every remark Felicia made. She would not listen to Felicia's attempt to read even a part of Rachel's letter, and when Felicia offered to stay with her for the evening she refused the offer with a good deal of positive sharpness.
Chapter Forty-Three
FELICIA started off to the play not very happy, but she was familiar with that feeling, only sometimes she was more unhappy than at other times. Her feeling expressed itself tonight by a withdrawal into herself. When the company was seated in the box and the curtain was up, Felicia was back of the others, and remained for the evening by herself. Mrs. Delano, as chaperone for a half-dozen young ladies, understood Felicia well enough to know that she was "strange," as Rose so often said, and she made no attempt to draw her out of the corner.
The play was an English melodrama, full of startling situations, realistic scenery, and unexpected climaxes. There was one scene in the third act that impressed even Rose Sterling. It was midnight on Blackfriars Bridge. The Thames flowed dark and forbidding below. St. Paul's rose through the dim light, imposing, its dome seeming to float above the buildings surrounding it.
The figure of a child came upon the bridge and stood there for a moment peering about as if looking for someone. Several persons were crossing the bridge, but in one of the recesses a woman stood, leaning out over the parapet with a strained agony of face and figure that told plainly of her intentions. Just as she was stealthily mounting the parapet to throw herself into the river, the child caught sight of her, ran forward with a shrill cry more animal than human, and seizing the woman's dress, dragged back upon it with all her little strength.
Then there came suddenly upon the scene two other characters who had already figured in the play, a tall, handsome, athletic gentleman, dressed in the fashion, attended by a slim-figured lady who was as refined in dress and appearance as the little girl clinging to her mother was mournfully hideous in her rags and repulsive poverty.
These two, the gentleman and the lady, prevented the attempted suicide, and after a tableau on the bridge, where the audience learned that the man and woman were brother and sister, the scene was transferred to the interior of one of the slum tenements in the East End of London.
Here the scene painter and carpenter had done their utmost to produce an exact copy of a famous court and alley well known to the poor creatures who made up a part of the outcast London humanity.
The rags, the crowding, the broken furniture, the horrible animal existence forced upon creatures made in God's image, were so skillfully shown in this scene that more than one elegant woman in the theatre, seated like Rose Sterling in a sumptuous box surrounded with silk hangings and velvet-covered railing, caught herself shrinking back a little, as if contamination were possible from the nearness of this piece of painted canvas.
It was almost too realistic, and yet it had a horrible fascination for Felicia, as she sat there alone, buried back in a cushioned seat and absorbed in thoughts that went far beyond the dialogue on the stage.
From the tenement scene, the play shifted to the interior of a nobleman's palace, and almost a sigh of relief went up all over the house at the sight of the accustomed luxury of the upper classes. The contrast was startling. It was brought about by a clever piece of staging that allowed only a few minutes to elapse between the slum and the palace scenes. The dialogue continued, the actors came and went in their various roles, but upon Felicia the play made but one distinct impression.
In reality, the scenes on the bridge and in the slum were only incidents in the story of the play, but Felicia found herself living those scenes over and over. This was not the first time she had felt the contrast thrust into her feeling between the upper and the lower conditions of human life. It had been growing upon her until it had made her what Rose called "strange," and the other people in her circle of wealthy acquaintances called "very unusual."
"Come, Felicia, aren't you going home?" said Rose.
The play was over, the curtain down, and people were going noisily out, laughing and gossiping, as if The Shadows of London was simply good diversion put on the stage so effectively.
Felicia rose and went out with the rest quietly, and with the absorbed feeling that had actually left her in her seat oblivious of the play's ending. She was never absent-minded, but often thought herself into a condition that left her alone in the midst of a crowd.
"Well, what did you think of it?" asked Rose, when the sisters had reached home and were in the drawing-room. Rose really had considerable respect for Felicia's judgment of a play.
"I thought it was a pretty fair picture of real life."
"I mean the acting," said Rose, annoyed.
"The bridge scene was well acted, especially the woman's part. I thought the man overdid the sentiment a little."
"Did you? I enjoyed that. And wasn't the scene between the two cousins funny when they first learned that they were related? But the slum scene was horrible. I think they ought not to show such things in a play. They are too painful."
"They must be painful in real life too," replied Felicia.
"Yes, but we don't have to look at the real thing. It's bad enough at the theatre, where we pay for it."
Rose went into the dining room and began to eat from a plate of fruit and cakes on the sideboard.
"Are you going up to see mother?" asked Felicia, after a while. She had remained in front of the drawing-room fire.
"No," replied Rose from the other room. "I won't trouble her tonight. If you go in, tell her I am too tired to be agreeable."
So Felicia turned into her mother's room. As she went up the great staircase and down the upper hall, the light was burning there, and the servant who always waited on Mrs. Sterling was beckoning Felicia to come in.
"Tell Clara to go out," e
xclaimed Mrs. Sterling, as Felicia came up to the bed and kneeled by it.
Felicia was surprised, but she did as her mother bade her, and then inquired how she was feeling.
"Felicia," said her mother, "can you pray?"
The question was so unlike any her mother had ever asked before, that Felicia was startled. But she answered, "Why, yes, mother. What makes you ask such a question?"
"Felicia, I am frightened. Your father -- I have had such strange fears about him all day. Something is wrong with him. I want you to pray."
"Now? Here, mother?"
"Yes, pray, Felicia."
Felicia reached out her hand and took her mother's. It was trembling. Mrs. Sterling had never shown much tenderness for her younger daughter, and her demand now was the first real sign of any confidence in Felicia's character.
The girl still kneeled, holding her mother's hand, and prayed. It was doubtful if she had ever prayed aloud before. She must have said in her prayer the words that her mother needed, for when it was silent in the room the invalid was weeping softly, and her nervous tension was over.
Felicia stayed some time. When she was assured that her mother would not need her any longer, she rose to go.
"Goodnight, mother. You must let Clara call me if you feel bad in the night."
"I feel better now." Then, as Felicia was moving away, Mrs. Sterling said, "Won't you kiss me, Felicia?"
Felicia went back and bent over her mother. The kiss was almost as strange to her as the prayer had been. When Felicia went out of the room, her cheeks were wet with tears. She had not cried since she was a little girl.
* * *
Sunday morning at the Sterling mansion was generally very quiet. The girls usually went to church at eleven o'clock service. Mr. Sterling was not a member but a heavy contributor, and he generally went to church in the morning. This time he did not come down to breakfast, and finally sent word by a servant that he did not feel well enough to go out. So Rose and Felicia drove up to the door of the Nazareth Avenue Church and entered the family pew alone.
When Dr. Bruce walked out of the room at the rear of the platform, and went up to the pulpit to open the Bible as his custom was, those who knew him best did not detect anything unusual in his manner or his expression. He proceeded with the service as usual. He was calm, and his voice was steady and firm.
His prayer was the first intimation the people had of anything new or strange in the service. It is safe to say that the Nazareth Avenue Church had not heard Dr. Bruce offer such a prayer during the twelve years he had been pastor there.
No one had any idea that the Rev. Calvin Bruce, D.D., the dignified, cultured, refined Doctor of Divinity, had within the past few days been crying like a small child, on his knees, asking for strength and courage to speak his Sunday message.
In the hush that succeeded the prayer, a distinct wave of spiritual power moved over the congregation. The most careless persons in the church felt it. Felicia, whose sensitive nature responded swiftly to every touch of emotion, quivered under the passing of that supernatural power.
And she was not alone. There was something in the prayer and the result of it that stirred many and many a disciple in Nazareth Avenue Church. All over the house, men and women leaned forward; and when Dr. Bruce began to speak of his visit to Raymond, there was an answering response in the church that came back to him as he spoke, and thrilled him with the hope of a spiritual baptism such as he had never during all his ministry experienced.
Chapter Forty-Four
"I AM just back from a visit to Raymond," Dr. Bruce began, "and I want to tell you my impressions of the movement there."
After a brief pause he told the story of his stay in Raymond. The people already knew something of that experiment in the First Church. The whole country had watched the progress of the pledge as it had become history in so many lives.
Felicia listened to every word with strained attention. She sat there by the side of Rose, like fire beside snow, although even Rose was as alert as she could be.
"Dear friends," Dr. Bruce said, and for the first time since his prayer the emotion of the occasion was revealed in his voice and gesture, "I am going to ask that Nazareth Avenue Church takes the same pledge that Raymond Church has taken. I know what this will mean to you and me. It will mean the complete change of very many habits. It will mean, possibly, social loss. It will mean very probably loss of money. It will mean what following Jesus meant in the first century -- suffering, loss, hardship, separation from everything un-Christian. But what does following Jesus mean? The test of discipleship is the same now as then. I want those of you who volunteer to do as Jesus would do, simply to promise to walk in His steps, as He gave us commandment."
The pastor of Nazareth Avenue Church paused, and now the result of his announcement was plainly visible in the stir that went over the congregation. He added in a quiet voice that all who volunteered to make the pledge to do as Jesus would do, were asked to remain after the morning service.
Instantly he proceeded with his sermon. His text was from Matthew 7:19, "Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest."
It was a revelation to the people of the definition their pastor had been learning; it took them back to the first century of Christianity; above all, it stirred them below the conventional thought of years as to the meaning and purpose of church membership. It was such a sermon as a man can preach once in a lifetime, and with enough in it for people to live on through a lifetime.
The service closed in a hush that was slowly broken. People rose here and there a few at a time. There was a reluctance in the movements of the people that was very striking.
Rose, however, walked straight out of the pew, and as she reached the aisle she turned her head and beckoned to Felicia. By that time the congregation was rising all over the church.
Felicia instantly answered her sister's look. "I'm going to stay," she said.
Rose had heard her speak in the same manner on other occasions, and knew that Felicia's resolve could not he changed. Nevertheless, she went back into the pew two or three steps, and faced her. "Felicia," she whispered, and there was a flush of anger on her cheeks, "this is folly. What can you do? You will bring disgrace upon the family. What will father say? Come."
Felicia looked at her, but did not answer at once. Her lips were moving with a petition that came from a depth of feeling that measured a new life for her. She shook her head. "No, I am going to stay. I shall take the pledge. I am ready to obey it. You do not know why I am doing this."
Rose gave her one look, and then turned and went out of the pew and down the aisle. She did not even stop to talk with her acquaintances. Mrs. Delano was going out of the church just as Rose stepped into the vestibule.
"So you are not going to join the Doctor's volunteer company?" Mrs. Delano asked, in a tone that made Rose redden.
"No, are you? It is simply absurd. I have always regarded the Raymond movement as fanatical. You know Cousin Rachel keeps us posted about it."
"Yes, I understand it is resulting in a great deal of hardship in many cases. For my part, I believe Dr. Bruce has simply provoked a disturbance here. It will result in splitting Nazareth Avenue Church. You see if that isn't so. There are scores of people in the church who are so situated that they can't take such a pledge and keep it. I am one of them," added Mrs. Delano, as she went out with Rose.
When Rose reached home her father was standing in his usual attitude before the open fireplace, smoking a cigar.
"Where is Felicia?" he asked, as Rose came in alone.
"She stayed to an after-meeting," replied Rose shortly. She threw off her wraps and was going upstairs when Mr. Sterling called after her.
"An after-meeting? What do you mean?"
"Dr. Bruce asked the church to take the Raymond pledge."
Mr. Sterling took his cigar out of his mouth and twirled it nervously between his fingers. "I didn't expect that of Dr. Bruce. Did many of the members stay?"
"I don't know; I didn't," replied Rose, and she went upstairs, leaving her father standing in the drawing-room.
After a few minutes he went to the window and stood there looking out at the people driving on the boulevard. His cigar had gone out, but he still fingered it nervously. Then he turned from the window and walked up and down the room. A servant stepped across the hall and announced dinner, and he told her to wait for Felicia.
Rose came downstairs, and went into the library. And still Mr. Sterling paced the drawing-room restlessly.
He had finally wearied of the walking, apparently, and throwing himself into a chair, was brooding over something deeply when Felicia came in.
He stood and faced her. Felicia was evidently much moved by the meeting from which she had just come. At the same time, she did not wish to talk too much about it. Just as she entered the drawing-room, Rose came in from the library.
"How many stayed?" asked Rose. She was curious. At the same time, she was skeptical of the whole movement in Raymond.
"About a hundred," replied Felicia.
Mr. Sterling looked surprised. Felicia was going out of the room, and he called to her. "Do you really mean to keep the pledge?" he asked.
Felicia colored. Over her face and neck the warm blood flowed as she answered, "You would not ask such a question, father, if you had been present at the meeting." She lingered a moment in the room, then asked to be excused from dinner for a while, and went up to see her mother.
No one ever knew what that interview between Felicia and her mother was. It is certain that she must have told her mother something of the spiritual power that had awed every person present in the company of disciples from Nazareth Avenue Church who faced Dr. Bruce in that meeting after the morning service. It is also certain that Felicia had never known such an experience, and never would have thought of sharing it with her mother if it had not been for the prayer the evening before.
When she finally joined her father and Rose at the table, she seemed unable to tell them much about the meeting.
In His Steps - New Abridged Editon Page 14