"Tera," he muttered faintly, "dear, I love you."
"I am sorry! I cannot----"
"Wait! wait!" Johnson lightly touched her arm with his hot hand. "Do not speak. Hear me! I love you! I have always loved you: I always shall. I brought you here in the hope that you would learn to love me. My passion is stronger than my life! Many waters cannot quench it. Dear, I am but a man as other men. For months I have fought against this love, but in vain. Give me your heart; marry me. We will return to your island; we will bring your countrymen into the fold of the Good Shepherd. Let me comfort you, guide you, lead you as my earthly bride to the foot of the Cross. See! See! I am no stern guardian, no minister of the Gospel, but a man--a man whose life lies in your hand."
"No!" said Tera, firmly, although his passion made her pity him; "my heart is not my own to give. You are a good man, but--Jack!"
"You--you love him then?"
"With all my soul!"
Johnson gave an hysterical sob. "'And this also is a sore evil,'" he quoted under his breath, "'that in all points as he came, so shall he go.'"
"May I leave the room?"
"Woman," he seized her wrist, "you shall love me!"
"No!"
"You are a snare--a sorceress; you have beguiled my soul to its undoing! I was happy once; I walked in pleasant ways, but you have turned aside my feet to iniquity. God help me! How can I preach His Word with this raging fire in my breast! You shall love me! I forbid you to think of Finland. You are mine--mine--mine!"
With a dexterous twist Tera released her hand and flew out of the room, closing the door behind her. Johnson started in headlong pursuit, but stumbling blindly against the door, struck his forehead on the panels, and fell half stunned on the floor. There he lay and moaned, with his head spinning like a teetotum, until the sound of approaching steps made him rise and get into the desk chair. Then his mother, a commonplace type of her sex, much occupied with domestic affairs, entered to say that supper was ready.
"I don't want supper to-night, thank you, mother," said the minister, keeping his face turned away that she might not see the swelling on his forehead; "have it yourself, and go to bed."
"I can't find Bithiah, my son."
"She has retired, mother."
"Ah!" the old woman wagged her head like a mandarin, "she is no doubt meditating on the beautiful discourse of Brother Korah."
"No doubt, mother. Please go away; I am busy."
"There is cold meat and pickles, George."
"I am not hungry."
"I want you to say grace."
Johnson laughed bitterly. "I am not in the mood to say grace, mother."
The old lady, who was somewhat querulous, lifted up her voice in reproof of his irreligious speech; but Johnson cut her short, and persuaded her to leave the room. Then he looked the door and threw himself into his chair with a groan.
"I am only a man--a man. It is past all bearing. Oh, what a life--what a life! No money, no love--and a faith that fails me at need. Yet I was wrong to lose my temper. 'A fool's wrath is presently known; but a prudent man covereth shame.'"
The minister was shaking as a blown reed, and his nerves racked him with pain. There was a French window opening on to a plot of grass, and this he flung wide to the night air. But the calm failed to soothe him, although he walked rapidly up and down the sward trying to forget the girl. He had done all he could; he could do no more. "Bithiah! Tera!" he cried. Then he was silent. He re-entered the room, and sat down resolutely at his desk. "I must try and forget her," said he. "Work! work! Anything to distract my mind."
From a drawer he took a number of bills, and with these, many unpleasant letters insisting upon payment. They were evidence of his youthful folly at college, before he had been called to grace--five hundred pounds of disgrace and self-indulgence which had hung round his neck these many years. Some he had paid, but many remained unsettled. During his two years' absence in the South Seas, these records of sin--as he regarded them--had never troubled him; but since his return to Grimleigh his creditors had found him out, and were persecuting him daily. He was threatened with imprisonment, with bankruptcy, and public shame--he, a minister of the Gospel. If the truth became known he would lose his position; he would be cast without employment on the world. Yet how to conceal his difficulties he did not know. Five hundred pounds he owed, and his stipend was two hundred a year.
"If the pearls were only mine!" he murmured.
With a sigh he took from another drawer a bag of chamois leather, tied at the neck with red tape. Opening this, he shook out on the blotting-pad a number of smooth shining pearls, some large, some small, all of rare colouring and great value. These belonged to Tera. They had been given to her by Buli before she left Koiau, for the purpose of buying goods and clothes to take back when she returned. Tera, as yet, had not sold them, and for safe keeping had given them to her guardian. But the time was at hand when she would go back to Koiau with Brand; and this treasure would be turned into money, and exchanged for value, in accordance with her father's wish.
"Three thousand pounds' worth!" said Johnson, handling the glistening gems, "and if Bithiah married me the money would be mine. But God knows I do not care for these things, tempting as they are. It is she alone whom I desire for my wife, though to gain her I risk the pearl of great price. For a man's soul is as a pearl, and she with her beauty would thieve----"
He stopped suddenly, for it seemed to him that he heard a soft and stealthy footstep outside. Cowardice formed no part of the young man's character, and hastily replacing the pearls in the bag, and the bag in the drawer, he crossed the room and stepped out of the window. To right and left of him he looked, but saw nothing. Overhead shone the quiet stars; underfoot he trod the dewy sward; but there was no sign of any human being. Yet Johnson felt convinced that some eye had been on him whilst he counted the pearls, and he felt glad that he had locked the drawer which contained them. To verify his suspicions, he stepped through the iron gate, and walked some way up the street. All was silent under the glimmer of the gas-lamps, and he could hear only the echo of his own steps, hollow on the asphalt pavement. With a sigh of relief, half convinced that his ears had played him false, he returned to the house and his study. There was no doubt that some one had been at the desk during his ten minutes' absence. The bills were gone!
The bills were gone! His secret was in the keeping of some other person. Who had done this? Why had he been watched? Why had the bills, of all things, been taken by this unknown thief? The minister ran wildly out again into the darkness; he hunted up and down the street; he looked over his neighbours' fences; but in spite of the closest search he could find neither the bills nor the person who had taken them. The door leading from the study to the interior of the house was locked--no one could have entered in that way. No member of his own household could have stolen them. No! the thief must have come in by the window during his absence. But why had the miscreant taken the bills and not the pearls? An examination assured him that these were safe. But the list of his debts, his name, his honour, were in the hands of some person unknown.
"It is some horrible dream--a nightmare!" gasped the unfortunate man. "Oh God! what am I to do?"
There was nothing to be done. The strictest search had failed to find the thief, and he did not dare to summon assistance lest his dishonour might become the sooner known. With a prayer for help on his lips, he locked the window. Perplexed and anxious, he retired to rest--but not to his room. Fearful lest the thief should return, he lay down on the sofa. In vain were all efforts to sleep, and he passed the night in agony, until dawn burned redly along the ocean line. Then he rose to play his part of the godly young minister of the Grimleigh Bethesda.
With the passing of the night went a portion of Johnson's