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Page 22
"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before
Him."
And in the little church was silence as if all the earth obeyed. The
collect for the day came next, and a bit of jubilant Easter service, and
then his mind seemed to drift back to the sentences with which the
prayer-book opens.
"This is the day which the Lord hath made," the ringing voice announced.
"Let us rejoice and be glad in it." And then, stabbing into the girl's
fevered conscience, "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever
before me." It was as if an inflexible judge spoke the words for her.
"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, and doeth that
which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive," the pure,
stern tones went on.
She was not turning away from wickedness; she did not mean to turn away;
she would not do that which was lawful. The girl shivered. She could not
hear this dreadful accusal from the very pulpit. She must leave this
place. And with that the man, as if in a sudden passion of feeling, had
tossed his right hand high above him; his head was thrown back; his eyes
shone up into the shadows of the roof as if they would pierce material
things and see Him who reigned; he was pleading as if for his life,
pleading for his brothers, for human beings who sin and suffer.
"O Lord," he prayed, "spare all those who confess their sins unto Thee,
that they whose consciences by sin are accused, by Thy merciful pardon
may be absolved; through Christ our Lord." And suddenly he was using the
very words which had come to her of themselves a few minutes before.
"Deal not with us according to our sins--deal not with us," he repeated,
as if wresting forgiveness for his fellows from the Almighty. "Deal not
with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to our
iniquities." And while the echo of the words yet held the girl
motionless he was gone.
* * * * *
Down by the road which runs past the hotel, sunken ten feet below its
level, are the tennis-courts, and soldiers in scarlet and khaki, and
blue-jackets with floating ribbons, and negro bell-boys returning from
errands, and white-gowned American women with flowery hats, and men in
summer flannels stop as they pass, and sit on the low wall and watch the
games. There is always a gallery for the tennis-players. But on a
Tuesday morning about eleven o'clock the audience began to melt away in
disgust. Without doubt they were having plenty of amusement among
themselves, these tennis-players grouped at one side of the court and
filling the air with explosions of laughter. But the amusement of the
public was being neglected. Why in the world, being rubber-shod as to
the foot and racqueted as to the hand, did they not play tennis? A girl
in a short white dress, wearing white tennis-shoes and carrying a
racquet, came tripping down the flight of stone steps, and stopped as
she stood on the last landing and seemed to ask the same question. She
came slowly across the empty court, looking with curiosity at the bunch
of absorbed people, and presently she caught her breath. The man who was
the centre of the group, who was making, apparently, the amusement, was
the young clergyman, Norman North.
There was an outburst, a chorus of: "You can't have that one, Mr.
North!" "That's been used!" "That's Mr. Dennison's!"
A tall English officer--a fine, manly mixture of big muscles and fresh
color and khaki--looked up, saw the girl, and swung toward her. "Good
morning, Miss Newbold. Come and join the fun. Devil of a fellow, that
North,--they say he's a parson."
"What is it? What are they laughing at?" Katherine demanded.
"They're doing a Limerick tournament, which is what North calls the
game. Mr. Gale is timekeeper. They're to see which recites most rhymes
inside five minutes. The winner picks his court and plays with Miss
Lee."
Captain Comerford imparted this in jerky whispers, listening with one
ear all the time to a sound which stirred Katherine, the voice which she
had heard yesterday in the church at St. George's. The Englishman's
spasmodic growl stopped, and she drifted a step nearer, listening. As
she caught the words, her brows drew together with displeasure, with
shocked surprise. The inspired saint of yesterday was reciting with
earnestness, with every delicate inflection of his beautiful voice,
these words:
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