Roland Graeme: Knight. A Novel of Our Time

by Agnes Maule Machar

Nobody ever heard Mr. Alden dealing with any abstract "plans" or "systems," or with purely commercial considerations of future "rewards and punishments"; or with a so-called "salvation," uncomprehended as to its real nature, to be procured by a certain vague assent to an equally uncomprehended formula. He gave his people, not scholastic theology, but religion, as he found it in the Bible, warm, concrete, throbbing with the human heart. He showed them the Infinite as he saw Him in every page of his Bible, but especially in the Man of Nazareth; not as the cold, stern Law-giver, ready to make His creatures suffer for even intellectual shortcomings and mistakes, but as the infinitely loving—infinitely righteous Father, seeking to raise all His children to their highest possibilities; while, at the same time, he laid down the irreversible laws of spiritual and moral life and health, with the faithful candor of a true physician. And he was perpetually seeking, first to call out in the hearts of his people a grateful and loving response to that Infinite Love, so divine yet so human; and, next, to show how the truth of that response lay in real turning from sin, a willing and faithful obedience to the voice of God in duty, in every relation of life, and that duty nothing less than that of "loving our neighbor as ourselves." No one ever left his church without feeling more strongly impressed with some point of his duty to his brother man—without having had another lesson in the truth that "love is the fulfilling of the law." Some critics, especially clerical ones, who missed a certain familiar terminology, and a well-worn conventional way of putting things, shook their heads over what seemed to them "superficial" and "latitudinarian," but Mr. Alden only smiled quietly to himself. He knew that he was not superficial; that what he taught people went to the very root of the matter; that, if he sought to be "broad as God's love," he sought also to show, in its divine distinctness, the sharp line of demarcation between good and evil, love and selfishness. And he knew that, in the real and quickened life of many, his ministry was not without its fruit.

But Roland Graeme, with the best will in the world, could not find much material for a striking "report," as he sat next morning, note-book in hand, anxious to do Mr. Alden some justice in the Minerva. There were no high imaginative flights, like those in which Mr. Chillingworth indulged; though now and then there would be a burst of real eloquence, struck out of the tense emotion of a tender heart, yet almost impossible to summarize in a sentence. All Roland could do was to give the outline of the clear, practical teaching addressed to the heart and conscience, the appeals to do battle with the demon of selfishness, the close analysis of the base substratum of so many current usages and maxims, and the condemnation of them by a simple comparison of them with the teachings and example of Christ.

Miss Blanchard's quick eye soon noticed the young man, though he sat at some distance on the opposite side of the church. She recognized, at once, the slightly upward poise of the head, the clear candid eyes, the earnest, kindling look, as the preacher warmed to his subject. She observed, also, his pencil and note-book, and wondered if he were taking notes for his own benefit. For no one ever thought of "reporters" in Mr. Alden's church. Once Roland's eye caught the graceful figure and spirituelle face that he had by no means forgotten, and saw by its expression, that he too was recognized. Nora fancied that his glance wandered frequently, from the preacher to the sweet childlike face of Grace Alden, sitting with a troop of little ones in the minister's pew near the pulpit. She did not wonder at it, for she, herself, loved to look at Gracie, of whom she had grown very fond. There was in her fair face, such a heavenly purity, combined with a sunny brightness, of which the golden wavy hair seemed the natural outward expression, that she attracted Nora's eyes as if by a magnetic influence. And Nora knew, too, that the outward beauty was only a symbol of the genuine goodness and sweetness of a nature of rare gentleness and purity. Kitty was as fair in all external points—more exquisite and finished indeed; but her face could never "hold" Nora as did that of this child of sixteen.

As Miss Blanchard passed out, Grace pressed up to her as she usually did, for the affectionate greeting they always exchanged.

"Father wants you to come, to-morrow evening, to a private meeting of the 'Helping Hands,'" she said. "He's going to make arrangements for a Christmas festival. He wants you on the programme for a song or two, and you are to come to tea, of course, he says."

"You can depend on my coming, then," was Nora's ready reply. Few people lingered when Mr. Alden said "Come!"

That afternoon, Nora prepared for a visit to Lizzie Mason, with a little nervous trepidation. She had been accustomed from childhood to visiting among her poor friends in Rockland, and loved to do it. But, much as she was interested in Lizzie, she felt shy about going in among a set of strange faces, and into such a home as she could but dimly picture, with the formidable figure of "Jim" in it, too, as a subject for her exhortations. However, the thing must be done, and she braced herself to do it, accordingly.

It was not so hard, after all as she found when she reached the poor street, with the dingy unattractive houses, and stopped at the door to which Roland Graeme had guided her. Lizzie was on the lookout for her, and showed her into a little family sitting-room, where everything was poor and shabby enough, but yet clean and tidy. No one was there but "Jim," a rather good-looking young fellow, with a somewhat sullen brow and weak mouth and chin, who sat reading a newspaper, quite unconscious of the various little wiles whereby Lizzie had managed to detain him indoors till her expected visitor should arrive. He rose and saluted Miss Blanchard awkwardly, with evident surprise at her appearance, and then retreated into the background, where he could look at her at leisure without being observed. The children were out at Sunday-school, Lizzie explained, "and mother had gone in to see a neighbor." She herself looked rather better and much brighter than she had done the day before.

"After you were gone, yesterday afternoon," she said, "the nurse came in, and thought I wanted a tonic, so she went and got me one from the dispensary, and I declare I feel quite set up by it already; and she talked a good deal to us, too. My! it was just beautiful! it brightened me up ever so much to see her and you!"

Of course, thought Nora, the poor girl needed a tonic; she wondered she had not thought of it. Certainly Janie Spencer was cut out for a nurse. But it was not the tonic alone which had done Lizzie good; the kind sympathy and cheering talk had been quite as effectual.