Roland Graeme: Knight. A Novel of Our Time

by Agnes Maule Machar

Nora tried to draw "Jim" out a little, but it was hard work. He replied by monosyllables, chiefly negatives. He didn't care for reading; he didn't go to church, he didn't think it would do him any good if he did. As for approaching the special subject of Lizzie's dread, it would, of course, have been impossible without something to lead up to it. Nora was rather relieved when the door opened, and Nelly stepped in, very much "got up" for a Sunday walk, and looking prettier and more pert than ever. She was really a good deal taken aback at seeing Miss Blanchard seated there, but she nodded familiarly, and answered in a tone meant to assert the dignity and independence of one who felt herself "as good as anybody."

Nora did her best to try to get at the girl's real self—talked to her patiently and gently, overlooking the pertness that offended her fastidious sense of the fitness of things. At last she asked her if she ever went to church with her friend Lizzie.

"No," said Nelly, "I guess I've got enough of big stuffy rooms full of people, all the week! I want some gayer kind of a picnic than that!"

Jim laughed, and even Lizzie smiled a little. They evidently thought this a clever speech of Nelly's. Nora made no reply, indeed she was at a loss what to say; and presently Nelly rose, remarking that she must go on for her walk, as the afternoon was nearly over. Jim, of course, accompanied her. Nora could not help thinking of the tender-hearted, dreamy Pippa of the poem; and wondered what could be done with such a hard and frivolous specimen as this. Yet, had she only known it, her grace and gentleness and culture had had their effect on this girl, under all her insouciance; had set her vaguely longing for something that as yet she only dimly felt, something better and nobler than anything she yet knew. We are not, as a rule, ready to show outwardly when our self-satisfaction has been upset, and more than half of the elevating influences of life arise out of mere contact of the higher with the lower; far more out of what we are, than out of what we say.

Nora remained a little longer with Lizzie, gently trying to raise her mind to the ideal that had so cheered herself in thinking about the poor overweighted life. The girl did, evidently, lay hold of it to some extent. She had that in her already, which prepared her for it, even if she could not yet comprehend the words in which the poet had put the truth, that:

"All service ranks the same with God."

But the anxious, loving little heart could at least grasp and hold something of the "best love of all."

After waiting to see and greet the mother—a tired-looking woman, prematurely broken down by ceaseless toil, Nora bade Lizzie good-by, putting into her hand Ruskin's touching little "Story of Ida," of which she herself was very fond, and which she thought Lizzie might be able to appreciate. Later, she was thankful that she had followed the impulse to do it—one of those instincts that are quicker and often truer than reason.

Mr. Chillingworth's evening sermon was the one on which he was wont to "lay himself out." Strangers often came to hear it, and it was frequently reported. Roland Graeme was there as usual, as reporter; and Miss Blanchard again, from her seat in the gallery, caught a glimpse of the young man scribbling away in his note-book. It was odd, she thought, how often he had seemed to cross her path since their accidental meeting. The sermon was one of Mr. Chillingworth's most eloquent ones, full of grand ideals, with no lack of fine and forcible expressions; here and there, Roland thought, somewhat too rhetorical for a thoroughly cultivated taste. There were touches in which Nora could recognize traces of the Browning reading, the evening before, for Mr. Chillingworth could hardly refrain from bringing into his sermons anything which had strongly impressed him. But, however fine Mr. Chillingworth's ideals might be, there was always a gap between these and the realities of common life, which he seemed unable to fill up. Their uplifting influence did not, in general, last longer than the concluding words, except in the case of the few who could supply what he failed to give them. In that of most of his audience, there was a period of transient exaltation, followed by a collapse of the artificial wings, and a sudden descent to the commonplace flats of average life and feeling. Neither did his hearers, in general, connect these ideals with the humble details of daily life; especially as his presentation of good and evil was often drawn with such melodramatic intensity of light and shade, that his hearers failed utterly to connect either with themselves. It never occurred to Mr. Pomeroy, for instance, that the "self-surrender" so glowingly advocated implied that he should devote time, thought and sacrifice to the interests of his work-people. To Mrs. Pomeroy the idea meant only increased devotion and generosity to her favorite "missionary enterprise." It never occurred to her that it might mean, also, a loving, motherly interest in the many comparatively friendless girls, whose toil was helping to gather in for her the wealth she had to bestow, but for which she "neither toiled nor spun." As for young Pomeroy, he never once even thought of any reason why he should ever put himself out for anybody. Miss Pomeroy was perhaps beginning to think a little, though she was naturally neither responsive nor expansive; but it was not Mr. Chillingworth who had made her begin.

As the seat occupied by the Pomeroy family was not far from that occupied by the Farrells, Harold Pomeroy joined Nora and Kitty as they moved out. When they reached the foot of the stair, they encountered, in the full light of the vestibule, Roland Graeme, coming from the opposite side. Not being of the order of girls who can carelessly pass, without sign of recognition, a person with whom they have conversed, because they may not have been formally introduced, or because he or she may not be in "their set," Nora was glad of the opportunity of giving him a courteous salutation, and a pleasant "Good-evening," which was as courteously returned.