If Arthur Golding had his days of uneasy expectation, followed by the momentary sickness of hope deferred, when Helen Norman appeared to have renounced all interest in him and his, Helen herself was but little less hurt at the repulse she had received upon her visit, the result, as she could not but believe it, of Arthur’s direct instructions. Hurt she was, in the true sense of the word, and not merely distressed, as she had told her guardian, at the apparent folly with which Arthur had thrown aside his best chances of attaining to eminence in the path to which his genius had directed him. In the communings with herself which followed her return home, and the short conversation with Mr. Gresham, she would fain have persuaded herself that it was the latter feeling alone which influenced her; but that sincerity of self-examination to which she had long been accustomed told her that she suffered an emotion quite distinct from this. She was pained at the indifference to her displayed by Arthur, grieved that she had not been allowed the opportunity of expressing to him her sincere sympathy in his misfortunes. Subsequently she learned from her guardian that Arthur had renounced the benefits he might have received from her father’s will, and this made her anxious with regard to his future subsistence. Nevertheless she was in no wise tempted to neglect Mr. Gresham’s injunctions and pay another visit to Charlotte Place. Despite her loftiness of character, Helen Norman was still a woman, and instinct preserved her from exposing herself to still further slights.
But she too, like Arthur, had her refuge from painful reflections in determined application to her daily work. The path she had chosen for herself was no flowery one, and, though never daunted in her onward progress, she not unfrequently came to obstacles against which she had to struggle with unutterable sadness, or pity, or disgust in her heart. To begin with, wherever she went among the destitute poor, she was almost always met with the most open feelings of distrust and suspicion. She found at the very entrance to her work how terribly deep and wide was the gulf set between the class to which she belonged by birth and these poor wretches whom her heart was set on benefiting. Too often her kind words met with surly and ungracious replies, and sometimes her benefits were repaid with the basest indifference or even ingratitude. This subject was the occasion of numerous long and earnest conversations between her and Mr. Heatherley. One such took place on the day after Arthur’s introduction to the “It always does me good to hear you talk, Mr. Heatherley,” she said, as she sat in the arm chair by the table, and the clergyman on an ottoman in front of the window. “I have seldom felt so dreadfully exhausted as when you met me, but now I could almost go over my morning’s work again, though it has not been very pleasant. You never seem tired. There is always a healthy freshness in your words which does one good.”
Mr. Heatherley reddened slightly, and laughed, a low but clear and genial laugh.
“I am heartily glad my conversation has such tonic properties,” he replied. “Let us hope I lose none of it when I am in the pulpit. But you say your morning’s work has not been pleasant, Miss Norman. Where have you been today?”
“To some of the worst places you permit me to venture into. But I spoke more particularly of some people I have never mentioned to. you before. To tell you the truth I was very doubtful of what I had done for them, and wished to see the result. I find that I was not mistaken in my fear.”
“Indeed? What do you refer to?”
“It is a family, named Crick, living in a cellar kitchen in an unspeakably foul alley. When I first visited them I found the man lying asleep on the floor, and his wife with three little children sitting about the room in a state of absolute idleness. Not a particle of furniture of any kind was to be seen in the place. The woman told me that none of them had tasted food for several days, that they had long ago sold all their furniture and spare clothing to keep themselves alive, and that her husband had just found work of some kind but was unable to begin because he had not a decent coat to appear in. I did not much like the appearance of the people at the time, for the man seemed a great strong fellow who ought long ago to have found some sort of occupation, and I felt sure that the cellar smelt strongly of spirits. But I could not refuse to do something for them, if only to see what effect my efforts would have, and to earn experience. So I gave the woman a few shillings to buy food, and then went with her to a shop close by and bought her a few articles of the cheapest furniture I could find, and also a suit of clothes which she said would fit her husband. She seemed extremely thankful, and when I went away I promised to call again in a very few days. Well, I went again, and this time only found the three children at home. They said their. father had not been at home since I was last there, and that their mother was out looking for work. I noticed, however, that one or two of the articles of furniture had disappeared, and I had many misgivings with regard to the state of affairs. This morning I called again, and once more found the whole family at home, but. this time the woman was asleep on the floor, the man was sitting in a state of. drunkenness on the cellar steps, and the children were quarreling for a jug of beer which the eldest of them was just drinking out of as I entered. All the furniture had once more disappeared, and the man was wearing the same clothes I had first seen him in. It was impossible for me to do any more, for they seemed hopeless people, so I went away with a heavy heart.”
“I have known only too many such cases,” said Mr. Heatherley. “As you say, Miss Norman, you acquire experience from them; but I should advise you to be very careful not to waste your money where there appears but slight hope of its doing good. After all, we have but very little power, except where the recipients of our charity come half way to meet us. Happily there are many such instances, and, as a rule, it is not very difficult to discern between honest distress and a true anxiety to take advantage of help.”
“But the other poor wretches? Must we then let them perish in their dreadful life? Have we no means of raising them?”
“We individually have, I am afraid, none. The most we can do is to lose no opportunity of lending our aid in all reforms for the good of the poor generally. The spread of education will do a very great deal, it is to be hoped. But at the best, we cannot hope for perfection in this life.”
“It is only when you speak so, Mr. Heatherley, that you are discouraging,” said Helen, with a smile. “You then make me feel that, spite of all your activity and hopefulness, you in reality despair of the world. It is not this poor earth of ours on which your highest hopes are fixed, after all, and in looking forward to that shadowy future world I cannot but think that you must at times lose interest in the present.”
The clergyman looked at Helen with a slight surprise. It was the first time since their first meeting that she had alluded to religion, even in the most distant manner.
“You are right, in a certain sense, Miss Norman,” he replied. “I can never hope for the perfection of this world, but that does not, I trust, in the least dishearten me in my work here. The certainty of a future life of perfection is rather an inestimable incitement to me. How much more glorious to know that I am doing my best to prepare souls for eternal bliss, than to be actuated by a mere desire to lessen pain for a few fleeting years. I know you will forgive me the comparison, Miss Norman.”
“Most certainly,” replied Helen, smiling. “Will you permit me, in return, to ask you a question relative to your religious beliefs, Mr. Heatherley? Pray do not have any hesitation in refusing if you think me impertinent.”
“I shall have the utmost pleasure in answering any question, Miss Norman,” replied the clergyman, who heard Helen enter upon these subjects with a pleasure he could scarcely conceal.
“It is this then. Do you believe in the doctrine of eternal punishment?”
“What means an all-powerful and an all-merciful God may, in His wisdom, adopt for the purification of all souls and rendering them worthy of everlasting life, I am unable to say, Miss Norman; but that all souls will ultimately be likened in purity to their Creator and live for ever in His presence, I firmly believe. So you see that the doctrine of eternal punishment has no place in my creed.”
“You relieve me,” replied Helen. “Shall I confess it? I always feel a little uncomfortable in the presence of those who I know are possessed with this idea of the damnation of their fellow-creatures.”
“Had you,” asked Mr. Heatherley, “any other object in asking the question besides the desire of relief?”
“Merely that I might more thoroughly understand the spirit in which you labour among the depraved and the wicked. Under such circumstances as these, why weary yourself in efforts to bring about an end which is already predetermined?”
“How do I know, Miss Norman, that I, humble creature as I am, may not be an indispensable instrument in the hand of the Almighty? I work in obedience to the spirit which most distinctly pervades the revealed will of God, to do good to others, even as I would that others should do unto me. But I fear you do not comprehend my religion. It is not a matter of calculation and reasoning to me, but an unmistakable conviction. I follow an impulse which irresistibly actuates me, an impulse which I feel to be the will of my Creator. I do so because I cannot do otherwise.”
“And I am afraid, Mr. Heatherley,” replied Helen, “that it is just as impossible for you to understand the hopes and fears which actuate us who look to no other home but this present one. You can have no idea of the intense desire to be doing which possesses one who is firmly convinced that, if this life and its opportunities are neglected there will be no other chance. If you regard each one of these wretched beings as an immortal soul, and work to render them worthy of immortality, I for my part regard them as lives which are burning away like a candle, being extinguished for ever, losing day by day the million glorious possibilities which humanity sees before it, perishing without having ever known one noble thought, one worthy impulse, one hour of human happiness. Is not that a prospect capable of exciting sympathy, the deepest that can be born of human heart? Are there not here motives — frightfully urgent motives, for action? But I grant that you have the advantage over me in sources of consolation when you feel your weakness. It is dreadful to me to see that I can do so little! Can you not advise me, Mr. Heatherley, some better way of winning the confidence of these poor? That is what I want, their confidence. They will not trust me. My speech, my dress, perhaps, revolts them. They think that I do not belong to their class, and, though they take my money, it is with suspicion of my motives. I have made my dress as plain as it possibly can be, to be respectable. If I could, I would even speak in their uncouth tongue. There is always that horrible difference of caste between us. Can it ever be removed? Will they ever learn to look upon me as a human being like themselves?”
Mr. Heatherley’s eyes had remained fixed on the girl’s face as she spoke, and they involuntarily expressed admiration as all her lineaments glowed with a richer beauty begotten of enthusiasm. When he replied, it was after hesitation, and in a low voice.
“You ask me, in effect, Miss Norman,” he said, “to do what you have forbidden me to do — to impress you with the truth of my religion. I fear there is much reason in what you say. I fear you find your superior position a sad obstacle. It is necessarily so. There is but one thing — the influence of Christianity — sufficiently strong to remove this obstacle; and of that you are unable to avail yourself. I grieve profoundly that it should be so.”
The emphasis with which he pronounced these last words impressed Helen. She looked into his face, and, meeting the full gaze of his earnest eyes, averted her head again.
“I cannot think you are right, Mr. Heatherley,” she replied, after a moment’s pause. “Have these people so utterly lost the reasoning powers of human beings as to be unable to see that all men are necessarily born equal, though wealth may make them different as far as attainments and outward appearance go? Are they so degraded as to consider themselves hopelessly inferior? Have they not sufficient insight to discern kindred hearts even in those whom the world exalts?”
“Possibly what you imagine to be an overwhelming sense of their own superiority,” replied Mr. Heatherley, “is rather a proud and obstinate assertion of their equality. We must blame the dreadful social errors which have so long forced them to live the life of beasts, even whilst they felt and knew themselves to be men. No; they have not sufficient powers of insight to distinguish one wealthy person from another. It is their hereditary belief that the rich are their enemies, and how can we expect them to be suddenly converted from it? They will much rather attribute any extravagant motive to your charity than surrender the traditions of their lives by attributing it to true benevolence.”
“And do you seriously believe, Mr. Heatherley, that your religion materially assists you in gaining their confidence?”
“I do, Miss Norman. When I speak to them of God and their Saviour, when I tell them that one great Being has created all men alike, and that one Christ came down to earth to die for all; when I point to the future life, and tell them that there we shall all live again in the sight of our Father, no one of us superior or inferior to the rest, then indeed they see that I am only a man such as themselves, and they are willing to trust me. As well try to make their minds comprehend a metaphysical problem, as to put before them the fact of the equality and brotherhood of men as you understand it, Miss Norman, and expect it will aid you to win their confidence.”
Helen rose to depart, and held out her hand to the clergyman.
“I thank you for your frankness with me, Mr. Heatherley,” she said. “It shows that you rate my independence at its true value. What you have said will afford me matter for thought.”
“If your reflection led you to see the truth of what I have said, Miss Norman,” returned the clergyman, as he took her hand, “and to enter into the spirit of the faith which is my support, it would be the richest blessing of my life that God had made me the instrument to so great an end.”
Helen thought, on her way home, that the more thoroughly she came to know Mr. Heatherley, the further removed from him did she feel in all the most essential of the principles by which her life was guided. If possible, she respected him more than ever after every conversation she held with him, as she came more fully to recognise his consistency, his sincerity, his powers of sympathy. But, great as were the latter powers, she felt that they were insufficient when applied to her own philosophy, and felt that in the nature of things it must be so. Mr. Heatherley did not even understand her motives, much less truly sympathise with them. All the more, however, did she respect his tolerance, and wonder at it. This, indeed, was the one feature of his character which greatly influenced her.
In listening to him, she herself became more tolerant. Hitherto she had taught herself to look upon the Christian religion as a gigantic mistake, every sign of which must be swept away from the earth as soon as possible. For individual Christians her good sense had already made her entertain the widest charity; but for the faith they professed she had been unable to preserve the slightest. Fresh from the study of ecclesiastical history, with all its hideous barbarities, its ghastly beliefs, its brutal condemnations of what is noblest in man, it was but natural that her young and enthusiastic mind should look upon Christianity as an enemy to be combated with and destroyed, of no possible use to the world, but rather of unutterable harm. But e............