第172章 Mors Janua Vitae (5)

"Had you argued with me in former years, you would never have convinced me, your books and tracts could never have altered my firm convictions.All my life I have had tracts and leaflets showered down upon me with letters from pious folks desiring my conversion.I have had innumerable letters telling me that the writers were praying for me.Well, I think they would have done better to pray for some of my orthodox opponents who are leading immoral lives; but, insofar as prayers show a certain amount of human interest, I am very willing that they should pray for me though they would have shown better taste if they had not informed me of their supplications.But don't mistake me; it is not in this way that you will ever prove the truth of your religion.You must show justice to your opponents first.You must put a different spirit into your pet word, 'Charity.' I don't think you can do it.

I think your religion false.I consider that it is rooted in selfishness and superstition.Being convinced of this when I was still young, I had to find some other system to take its place.

That system I found in secularism.For thirty years I have lived as a secularist and have been perfectly content notwithstanding that my life has been a very hard one.As a secularist I now die content."Mr.Fane-Smith shuddered.This was of course inexpressibly painful to him.He could not see that what had disgusted Raeburn with religion had been the distortion of Christ's teaching, and that in truth the secularist creed embodied much of the truest and loftiest Christianity.

Once more he reiterated his arguments, striving hard to show by words the beauty of his religion.But Christianity can only be vindicated by deeds, can only be truly shown forth in lives.The country, the "Christian Country," as it was fond of styling itself, had had thirty years in which to show to Raeburn the loving kindness, the brotherhood, the lofty generosity which each professed follower of Christ ought to show in his life.Now the time was over, and it was too late.

The dying man bent forward, and a hard look came into his eyes, and a sternness overspread his calm face.

"What has Christianity done for me?" he asked."Look at my life.

See how I have been treated."

And Mr.Fane-Smith was speechless.Conscience-stricken, he knew that to this there was no reply that HE could honestly make, and a question dawned upon his mind Was his own "Christianity" really that of Christ?

As evening drew on, Raeburn's life was slowly ebbing away.Very slowly, for to the last he fought for breath.All his nearest friends were gathered round him, and to the end he was clearly conscious and, as in life, calmly philosophical.

"I have been well 'friended' all my life," he said once, looking round at the faces by his bedside.

They were all too broken-hearted to respond, and there were long silences, broken only by the laboring breath and restless movements of the dying man.

Toward midnight there was a low roll of distant thunder, and gradually the storm drew nearer and nearer.Raeburn asked to be raised in bed that he might watch the lightning which was unusually beautiful.It was a strange, weird scene the plainly furnished hotel room, sparsely lighted by candles, the sad group of watchers, the pale, beautiful face of the young girl bending over the pillow, and the strong, rugged Scotchman with his white hair and keen brown eyes, upon whose face death had already set his pale tokens.From the uncurtained window could be seen the dark outline of the adjacent houses and the lights lower down the hill scattered here and there throughout the sleeping city.Upon all this the vivid lightning played, and the distant thunder followed with its mighty crash, rolling and echoing away among the surrounding hills.

"I am glad to have seen one more storm," said Raeburn.

But soon he grew weary, tired just with the slight exertion of looking and listening.He sighed.To a strong, healthy man in the very prime of life, this failing of the powers was hard to bear.

Death was very near; he knew it well enough knew it by this slow, sure, painless sinking.

He held Erica's hand more closely, and after that lay very still, once or twice asking for more coverings over his feet.The night wore on.After a long silence, he looked up once more and said to Tom:

"I promised Hazeldine a sovereign toward the fund for--" he broke off with a look of intense weariness, adding after an interval "He'll tell you.See that it's paid."The storm had passed, and the golden-red dawn was just breaking when once more the silence was broken.

"Come nearer, Eric," he whispered "nearer!"Then came a long pause.

There was stillness that fearful stillness when the watchers begin to hush their very breath, that they may catch the last faint breathings.Poor Tom could stand it no longer; he just buried his face in his hands and sobbed.Perhaps Erica envied him.Violent grief would surely have been more endurable than this terrible sinking, this dread of not keeping up to the end.Was she falling with him down those horrible steps? Was she sinking with him beneath the cold, green waves? Oh, death cruel death! Why had he not taken them together on that summer day?

Yet what was she saying? The death angel was but God's messenger, and her father could never, never be beyond the care of One who loved him infinitely eternally.If He the Father were taking him from her, why, she would trust Him, though it should crush her whole world.

"Nearer, Eric nearer." How those last words rang in her ears as she waited there with her hands in his.She knew they would be the last for he was sinking away into a dreamily passive state just dying because too tired to live.

"Nearer, nearer!" Was this agony indeed to heal the terrible division between them? Ah, mystery of evil, mystery of pain, mystery of death! Only the love of the Infinitely Loving can fathom you only the trust in that Love give us a glimpse of your meaning.

She felt a tightening of the fingers that clasped hers.He was still conscious; he smiled just such a smile as he used to give her when, as a little thing, she had fretted about his leaving home.

She pressed her quivering lips to his, clung to him, and kissed him again and again.There was a sigh.A long interval, and another sigh.After that, silence.