Part 9

Athalia gave a little gasp--“WHAT!”

“I am not sure yet,” he said.

“You said Shakerism was unhuman!” Athalia protested, with a thrill of panic in her voice.

“Ah!” he cried, his voice suddenly kindling, “you know what Nathan is always saying?--‘That’s not against it’? Athalia, its unhumanness, as you call it, is why I think it may be of God. The human in us must give way to the divine. ‘First that which is natural; then that which is spiritual.’”

“I--don’t understand,” she said, faintly; “you are not a Shaker?”

“No,” he said, “not yet. But perhaps some day--I am trying to follow you, Athalia.”

She caught her breath with a frightened look. “Follow--ME?” Then she burst out crying.

“Why, Tay!” he said, bewildered; “what is it, dear?” But she had left him, stumbling blindly as she walked, her face hidden in her hands.

Lewis went back into his house, and, lighting his lamp, sat down to pore over one of Brother Nathan’s books. He was concerned, but he smiled a little; it was so like Athalia to cry when she was happy! He did not see his wife for several days. The Eldress said Sister ‘Thalia was not well, and Lewis looked sorry, but made no comment. He was a little anxious, but he did not dwell upon his anxiety. In the next few days he worked hard all day in Brother Nathan’s herb-house, where the air was hazy with the aromatic dust of tansy and pennyroyal, then hurried home at night to sit down to his books, so profoundly absorbed in them that sometimes he only knew that it was time to sleep because the dawn fell white across the black-lettered page.

But one night, a week later, when he came home from work, he did not open his Bible; he stood a long time in his doorway, looking at the sunset, and, as he looked, his face seemed to shine with some inner light. The lake was like glass; high in the upper heavens thin golden lines of cloud had turned to rippling copper; the sky behind the black circle of the hills was a clear, pale green, and in the growing dusk the water whitened like snow. “‘Glass mingled with fire,’” he murmured to himself; “yes, ‘great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are Thy ways, Thou King of Saints!’” And what more marvellous work than this wonder of his own salvation? Brought here against his will, against his judgment! How he had struggled against the Spirit. He was humbled to the earth at the remembrance of it; “if I had my way, we wouldn’t have walked up the hill from the station that morning!”...

The flushing heavens faded into ashes, but the solemn glow of half-astonished gratitude lingered on his face.

“Lewis,” some one said in the darkness of the lane--“LEWIS!” Athalia came up the path swiftly and put her hands on his arm. “Lewis, I--I want to go home.” She sobbed as she spoke.

He started as if she had struck him.

“Lewis, Lewis, let us go home!”

The flame of mystical satisfaction went out of his face as a lighted candle goes out in the wind.

“There isn’t any home now, Athalia,” he said, with a sombre look; “there’s only a house. Come in,” he added, heavily; “we must talk this out.”

She followed him, and for a moment they neither of them spoke; he fumbled about in the warm darkness for a match, and lifting the shade, lighted the lamp on the table; then he looked at her. “Athalia,” he said, in a terrified voice, “I am--I am a Shaker!”

“No--no--no!” she said. She grew very white, and sat down, breathing quickly. Then the color came back faintly into her lips. “Don’t say it, Lewis; it isn’t true. It can’t be true!”

“It is true,” he said, with a groan. He had sunk into a chair, and his face was hidden in his hands. “What are we going to do?” he said, hoarsely.

“Why, you mustn’t be!” she cried; “you can’t be--that’s all. You can’t STAY if I go!”

“I must stay,” he said.

There was a stunned silence. Then she said, in an amazed whisper:

“What! You don’t love me any more?”

Still he was silent.

“You--don’t--love--me,” she said, as if repeating some astounding fact, which she could not yet believe.

He seemed to gather his courage up.

“I have--” he tried to speak; faltered, broke, went on: “I have--the kindliest feelings toward you, ‘Thalia”--his last word was in a whisper.

“Stop!” she protested, with a frightened look--“oh, stop!--don’t say THAT!” He did not speak; and suddenly, looking at his fixed face, she cried out, violently: “Oh, why, why did I go up to the graveyard that day? Why did you let me?” She stared at him, her forget-me-not eyes dilating with dismay. “It all came from that. If we hadn’t walked up the hill that morning--” He was speechless. Then, abruptly, she sprang to her feet, and, running to him, knelt beside him and tried to pull down the hands in which he had again hidden his face. “Lewis, it’s I--Tay! You don’t ‘feel kindly’ to ME? Lewis, you haven’t stopped loving me?”