The minister was an unusual man. He knew Scripture by heart, chapter after chapter. When he read the lesson he scarcely looked at the page, but repeated the words as if it were something he had seen happen, or had heard spoken, and about which he was merely telling in clear, convincing tones. His sermon was rich in quotations. The quotations clinched every statement which he made. Murray heard for the first time about the great white throne, and the books to be opened, and the other book that was to be opened, wherein were written names, the Lamb’s Book of Life. And whoever’s name was not found written there was to go away into everlasting punishment.
Everlasting punishment! That was what he was under now. Life as himself, the Murray Van Rensselaer that he had started out to be, was done with so far as this life was concerned. His punishment could only end with death, and now this that the preacher was saying made it pretty sure that it would not end even then. He had somehow felt all along ever since the accident, that if he could only die, all this trouble would be over, and he would have a square deal, as he called it, again, but it seemed not. It seemed things of this life were carried over into the next. If what this preacher said were true, all this about the books and the dead, small and great, being judged out of what was written against them, why then there was no chance for him. The preacher further stated that those whose names were written in that other book, who were not to be punished, were the “born again ones.” That was what that “born again” meant that he had been hearing about so much. Or what was it, after all? Nobody had said. The “born again ones.” He had been trying to be born again, and had taken a new name, but what were the chances that Allan Murray any more than Murray Van Rensselaer would be a born again one? Well, pretty good, if all they said about him were true, only if he was dead he would be over there himself, and would preëmpt his own name, and besides, Murray had a sudden realization that there would be no chance of deception over there in the other world.
The preacher’s words were very clear, very simple, very convincing. The words he repeated from the Bible were still more awesome. Murray walked silently back to the house beside Mrs. Summers with a deep depression upon him. He felt that he had borne out from that church the heavy burden of an unforgiven sin—that there was no place of repentance, though he might carefully seek it with tears, and that he must bear the consequences of his sin through all eternity.
He could not understand his feeling. It was not at all like himself, and he could not shake it off. He sat in his room for a few minutes looking into the red glow of the coals on his hearth and thinking about it, while Mrs. Summers put the dinner on the table. It somehow did not seem fair. When you came to consider it, he had not meant to be a murderer. There was not any one he would have protected sooner than Bessie. He was just having a good time. It was not quite fair for him to bear unforgivable punishment the rest of his life for a thing he had not meant to do. Of course the law of the land was that way. It had to be to protect everybody. But the law had no right to you after you were dead. You had satisfied it. But if, after having escaped punishment in this life, he had yet to meet the judgment seat of an angry God, what hope had he?
He dwelt for a moment upon those whose names were written in the other book, the “born again” ones. Mrs. Summers was likely one of those, if there was any such thing. Yes, and Mrs. Chapparelle. She read the Bible and believed it. He remembered the stories she read them Sunday afternoons. And was Bessie? Yes, she must have been. It must have been that which gave her that look of set-apartness, that sort of peace in her eyes—well, these were queer things he was thinking about. Strange they never came his way before. He had never really taken it in before what it would be to die—to be done with this earth forever! Bessie was gone! And he would be judged for it! Even if he escaped a court of justice, he would be judged. What was the use? Why not go home and take his chances? But no, that would drag his mother and his father through all that muck—Bah! He would stay where he was—a while.
The little tinkling bell broke in upon his thoughts, and he found he was tremendously hungry, in spite of his serious thoughts. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes, and gravy over delicately browned slices of toast! A quivering mould of currant jelly! Little white onions in a cream dressing; a custard pie for dessert. It all had a wonderful taste that seemed better than anything he knew, and he really enjoyed sitting there with her eating it. It seemed so cosey and pleasant. Even the blessing at the beginning was rather a pleasant novelty. She had asked him again to take the head and ask the blessing, but he had looked at her with a most engaging smile, and said: “Oh, you say it, won’t you? I like to hear you.” And she had smiled and complied, so now he was not any more worried about that. If ever he were asked, he had learned what words were used. He could get away with it, though somehow he did not like to be faking a thing like that. It was queer, but he did not. He never felt so before about anything. He wondered why.
He helped Mrs. Summers carry the dishes out to the kitchen, and while he was doing it the door-bell rang, and Jane presented herself. She announced that she had come as a representative of her class to ask Mr. Murray to be their teacher. She flattered him with her beseeching eyes while she pleaded with him not to say no.
“Class? What class?” he asked blankly, wondering what doggone thing he was going to run into now.
“Why, our Sunday-school class. There are twelve of us girls. You know, our teacher was Miss Phelps, and she’s gone away for the winter to California. Perhaps she won’t ever come back. Her sister lives out there. She resigned the class before she went away, and we haven’t elected any one else to fill her place. We were sort of waiting to see if you wouldn’t take it. I hope nobody else has got ahead of us. I tried to see you this morning, but there were so many people speaking to you. Now, you will be our teacher, won’t you?”