“Yes,” but she had to say stiffly,
“I don’t know.”
Flora Jane lifted her chin.
“Well, Mrs. Bell, I only asked because every one thinks it is strange he doesn’t — and an elder, of all people. It looks as if he didn’t think himself a Christian, you know. Of course, we all know better, but it LOOKS that way. If I was you, I’d tell him folks was talking about it. Mr. Bentley says it is hindering the full success of the meetings.”
Mrs. Bell turned on her tormentor in swift anger. She might resent her husband’s strange behavior herself, but nobody else should dare to criticize him to her.
“I don’t think you need to worry yourself about the elder, Flora Jane,” she said bitingly. “Maybe ‘tisn’t the best Christians that do the most talking about it always. I guess, as far as living up to his profession goes, the elder will compare pretty favorably with Levi Boulter, who gets up and testifies every night, and cheats the very eye-teeth out of people in the daytime.”
Levi Boulter was a middle-aged widower, with a large family, who was supposed to have cast a matrimonial eye Flora Janeward. The use of his name was an effective thrust on Mrs. Bell’s part, and silenced Flora Jane. Too angry for speech she seized her sister’s arm and hurried her into church.
But her victory could not remove from Mary Bell’s soul the sting implanted there by Flora Jane’s words. When her husband came up to the platform she put her hand on his snowy arm appealingly.
“Oh, David, won’t you get up tonight? I do feel so dreadful bad — folks are talking so — I just feel humiliated.”
David Bell hung his head like a shamed schoolboy.
“I can’t, Mary,” he said huskily. “‘Tain’t no use to pester me.”
“You don’t care for my feelings,” said his wife bitterly. “And Mollie won’t come out because you’re acting so. You’re keeping her back from salvation. And you’re hindering the success of the revival — Mr. Bentley says so.”
David Bell groaned. This sign of suffering wrung his wife’s heart. With quick contrition she whispered,
“There, never mind, David. I oughtn’t to have spoken to you so.
You know your duty best. Let’s go in.”
“Wait.” His voice was imploring.
“Mary, is it true that Mollie won’t come out because of me? Am I standing in my child’s light?”
“I — don’t — know. I guess not. Mollie’s just a foolish young girl yet. Never mind — come in.”
He followed her dejectedly in, and up the aisle to their pew in the center of the church. The building was warm and crowded. The pastor was reading the Bible lesson for the evening. In the choir, behind him, David Bell saw Mollie’s girlish face, tinged with a troubled seriousness. His own wind-ruddy face and bushy gray eyebrows worked convulsively with his inward throes. A sigh that was almost a groan burst from him.
“I’ll have to do it,” he said to himself in agony.
When several more hymns had been sung, and late arrivals began to pack the aisles, the evangelist arose. His style for the evening was the tender, the pleading, the solemn. He modulated his tones to marvelous sweetness, and sent them thrillingly over the breathless pews, entangling the hearts and souls of his listeners in a mesh of subtle emotion. Many of the women began to cry softly. Fervent amens broke from some of the members. When the evangelist sat down, after a closing appeal which, in its way, was a masterpiece, an audible sigh of relieved tension passed like a wave over the audience.
After prayer the pastor made the usual request that, if any of those present wished to come out on the side of Christ, they would signify the wish by rising for a moment in their places. After a brief interval, a pale boy under the gallery rose, followed by an old man at the top of the church. A frightened, sweet-faced child of twelve got tremblingly upon her feet, and a dramatic thrill passed over the congregation when her mother suddenly stood up beside her. The evangelist’s “Thank God” was hearty and insistent.
David Bell looked almost imploringly at Mollie; but she kept her seat, with downcast eyes. Over in the big square “stone pew” he saw Eben bending forward, with his elbows on his knees, gazing frowningly at the floor.
“I’m a stumbling block to them both,” he thought bitterly.
A hymn was sung and prayer offered for those under conviction. Then testimonies were called for. The evangelist asked for them in tones which made it seem a personal request to every one in that building.
Many testimonies followed, each infused with the personality of the giver. Most of them were brief and stereotyped. Finally a pause ensued. The evangelist swept the pews with his kindling eyes and exclaimed, appealingly,
“Has EVERY Christian in this church tonight spoken a word for his Master?”
There were many who had not testified, but every eye in the building followed the pastor’s accusing glance to the Bell pew. Mollie crimsoned with shame. Mrs. Bell cowered visibly.
Although everybody looked thus at David Bell, nobody now expected him to testify. When he rose to his feet, a murmur of surprise passed over the audience, followed by a silence so complete as to be terrible. To David Bell it seemed to possess the awe of final judgment.
Twice he opened his lips, and tried vainly to speak. The third time he succeeded; but his voice sounded strangely in his own ears. He gripped the back of the pew before him with his knotty hands, and fixed his eyes unseeingly on the Christian Endeavor pledge that hung over the heads of the choir.
“Brethren and sisters,” he said hoarsely, “before I can say a word of Christian testimony here tonight I’ve got something to confess. It’s been lying hard and heavy on my conscience ever since these meetings begun. As long as I kept silence about it I couldn’t get up and bear witness for Christ. Many of you have expected me to do it. Maybe I’ve been a stumbling block to some of you. This season of revival has brought no blessing to me because of my sin, which I repented of, but tried to conceal. There has been a spiritual darkness over me.
“Friends and neighbors, I have always been held by you as an honest man. It was the shame of having you know I was not which has kept me back from open confession and testimony. Just afore these meetings commenced I come home from town one night and found that somebody had passed a counterfeit ten-dollar bill on me. Then Satan entered into me and possessed me. When Mrs. Rachel Lynde come next day, collecting for foreign missions, I give her that ten dollar bill. She never knowed the difference, and sent it away with the rest. But I knew I’d done a mean and sinful thing. I couldn’t drive it out of my thoughts. A few days afterwards I went down to Mrs. Rachel’s and give her ten good dollars for the fund. I told her I had come to the conclusion I ought to give more than ten dollars, out of my abundance, to the Lord. That was a lie. Mrs. Lynde thought I was a generous man, and I felt ashamed to look her in the face. But I’d done what I could to right the wrong, and I thought it would be all right. But it wasn’t. I’ve never known a minute’s peace of mind or conscience since. I tried to cheat the Lord, and then tried to patch it up by doing something that redounded to my worldly credit. When these meetings begun, and everybody expected me to testify, I couldn’t do it. It would have seemed like blasphemy. And I couldn’t endure the thought of telling what I’d done, either. I argued it all out a thousand times that I hadn’t done any real harm after all, but it was no use. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own brooding and misery that I didn’t realize I was inflicting suffering on those dear to me by my conduct, and, maybe, holding some of them back from the paths of salvation. But my eyes have been opened to this tonight, and the Lord has given me strength to confess my sin and glorify His holy name.”
The broken tones ceased, and David Bell sat down, wiping the great drops of perspiration from his brow. To a man