"It's just a week," I said, three days later, to Arthur, "since weheard of Lady Muriel's engagement. I think I ought to call,at any rate, and offer my congratulations. Won't you come with me?"

A pained expression passed over his face.

"When must you leave us?" he asked.

"By the first train on Monday."

"Well--yes, I will come with you. It would seem strange and unfriendlyif I didn't. But this is only Friday. Give me till Sunday afternoon.I shall be stronger then."

Shading his eyes with one hand, as if half-ashamed of the tears thatwere coursing down his cheeks, he held the other out to me.It trembled as I clasped it.

I tried to frame some words of sympathy; but they seemed poor and cold,and I left them unspoken. "Good night!" was all I said.

"Good night, dear friend!" he replied. There was a manly vigour in histone that convinced me he was wrestling with, and triumphing over,the great sorrow that had so nearly wrecked his life--and that, on thestepping-stone of his dead self, he would surely rise to higher things!

There was no chance, I was glad to think, as we set out on Sundayafternoon, of meeting Eric at the Hall, as he had returned to town theday after his engagement was announced. His presence might havedisturbed the calm--the almost unnatural calm--with which Arthur metthe woman who had won his heart, and murmured the few graceful words ofsympathy that the occasion demanded.

Lady Muriel was perfectly radiant with happiness: sadness could notlive in the light of such a smile: and even Arthur brightened under it,and, when she remarked "You see I'm watering my flowers, though it isthe Sabbath-Day," his voice had almost its old ring of cheerfulness ashe replied "Even on the Sabbath-Day works of mercy are allowed.But this isn't the Sabbath-Day. The Sabbath-day has ceased to exist."

"I know it's not Saturday," Lady Muriel replied; "but isn't Sundayoften called 'the Christian Sabbath'?"

"It is so called, I think, in recognition of the spirit of the Jewishinstitution, that one day in seven should be a day of rest.But I hold that Christians are freed from the literal observance ofthe Fourth Commandment."

"Then where is our authority for Sunday observance?"

"We have, first, the fact that the seventh day was 'sanctified',when God rested from the work of Creation. That is binding on us asTheists. Secondly, we have the fact that 'the Lord's Day' is aChristian institution. That is binding on us as Christians."

"And your practical rules would be--?"

"First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way, and to makeit, so far as is reasonably possible, a day of rest. Secondly, asChristians, to attend public worship."

"And what of amusements?"

"I would say of them, as of all kinds of work, whatever is innocent ona week-day, is innocent on Sunday, provided it does not interfere withthe duties of the day."

"Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?"

"Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?"

"I have a letter somewhere," said Lady Muriel, "from an old friend,describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days.I will fetch it for you."

"I had a similar description, viva voce, years ago," Arthur said whenshe had left us, "from a little girl. It was really touching to hearthe melancholy tone in which she said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with mydoll! On Sunday I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't digin the garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hatingSunday!"

"Here is the letter," said Lady Muriel, returning."Let me read you a piece of it."

"When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning,a feeling of dismal anticipation, which began at least on the Friday,culminated. I knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word,was 'Would God it were evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day oftexts, of catechisms (Watts'), of tracts about converted swearers,godly charwomen, and edifying deaths of sinners saved.

"Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned byheart till 8 o'clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast,which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone,and partly from the outlook I dreaded.

"At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into theclass with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by somemistake of mine, I should be put below them.

"The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered init, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the squarefamily-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowingthat, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottingsof the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had anytext but its own, and to stand or fall by the result.

"This was followed by a, cold dinner at 1 (servants to have no work),Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6.The intervals were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts Ihad to make, to be less than usually sinful, by reading books andsermons as barren as the Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in thedistance, all that day: and that was 'bed-time,' which never could cometoo early!"

"Such teaching was well meant, no doubt," said Arthur; "but it musthave driven many of its victims into deserting the Church-Servicesaltogether."

"I'm afraid I was a deserter this morning," she gravely said. "I hadto write to Eric. Would you--would you mind my telling you somethinghe said about prayer? It had never struck me in that light before."

"In what light?" said Arthur.

"Why, that all Nature goes by fixed, regular laws--Science has provedthat. So that asking God to do anything (except of course praying forspiritual blessings) is to expect a miracle: and we've no right to dothat. I've not put it as well as he did: but that was the outcome ofit, and it has confused me. Please tell me what you can say in answerto it."

"I don't propose to discuss Captain Lindon's difficulties," Arthurgravely replied; "specially as he is not present. But, if it is yourdifficulty," (his voice unconsciously took a tenderer tone)"then I will speak."

"It is my difficulty," she said anxiously.

"Then I will begin by asking 'Why did you except spiritual blessings?'Is not your mind a part of Nature?"

"Yes, but Free-Will comes in there--I can choose this or that; and Godcan influence my choice."

"Then you are not a Fatalist?"

"Oh, no!" she earnestly exclaimed.

"Thank God!" Arthur said to himself, but in so low a whisper that onlyI heard it. "You grant then that I can, by an act of free choice,move this cup," suiting the action to the word, "this way or that way?"

"Yes, I grant it."

"Well, let us see how far the result is produced by fixed laws.The cup moves because certain mechanical forces are impressed on it bymy hand. My hand moves because certain forces--electric, magnetic,or whatever 'nerve-force' may prove to be--are impressed on it by mybrain. This nerve-force, stored in the brain, would probably betraceable, if Science were complete, to chemical forces supplied to thebrain by the blood, and ultimately derived from the food I eat and theair I breathe."

"But would not that be Fatalism? Where would Free-Will come in?"

"In choice of nerves," replied Arthur. "The nerve-force in the brainmay flow just as naturally down one nerve as down another.We need something more than a fixed Law of Nature to settle which nerveshall carry it. That 'something' is Free-Will."

Her eyes sparkled." "I see what you mean!" she exclaimed."Human Free-Will is an exception to the system of fixed Law.Eric said something like that. And then I think he pointed out thatGod can only influence Nature by influencing Human Wills.So that we might reasonably pray 'give us this day our daily bread,'because many of the causes that produce bread are under Man's control.But to pray for rain, or fine weather, would be as unreasonable as--"she checked herself, as if fearful of saying something irreverent.

In a hushed, low tone, that trembled with emotion, and with thesolemnity of one in the presence of death, Arthur slowly replied"Shalt he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? Shall we'the swarm that in the noontide beam were born,' feeling in ourselvesthe power to direct, this way or that, the forces of Nature--of Nature,of which we form so trivial a part--shall we, in our boundless arrogance,in our pitiful conceit, deny that power to the Ancient of Days?Saying, to our Creator, 'Thus far and no further. Thou madest, butthou canst not rule!'?"

Lady Muriel had covered her face in her hands, and did not look up.She only murmured "Thanks, thanks!" again and again.

We rose to go. Arthur said, with evident effort, "One word more.If you would know the power of Prayer--in anything and everything thatMan can need try it. Ask, and it shall be given you. I--have tried it.I know that God answers prayer!"

Our walk home was a silent one, till we had nearly reached thelodgings: then Arthur murmured--and it was almost an echo of my ownthoughts--"What knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thyhusband?"

The subject was not touched on again. We sat on, talking, while hourafter hour, of this our last night together, glided away unnoticed.He had much to tell me about India, and the new life he was going to,and the work he hoped to do. And his great generous soul seemed sofilled with noble ambition as to have no space left for any vain regretor selfish repining.

"Come, it is nearly morning! Arthur said at last, rising and leadingthe way upstairs.

"The sun will be rising in a few minutes: and, though I have baselydefrauded you of your last chance of a night's rest here,I'm sure you'll forgive me: for I really couldn't bring myself to say'Good night' sooner. And God knows whether you'll ever see me again,or hear of me!"

"Hear of you I am certain I shall!" I warmly responded, and quoted theconcluding lines of that strange poem 'Waring' :--

"Oh, never starWas lost here, but it rose afarLook East, where whole new thousands are!In Vishnu-land what Avatar?"

"Aye, look Eastward!" Arthur eagerly replied, pausing at the stair-casewindow, which commanded a fine view of the sea and the eastwardhorizon. "The West is the fitting tomb for all the sorrow and thesighing, all the errors and the follies of the Past: for all itswithered Hopes and all its buried Loves! From the East comes newstrength, new ambition, new Hope, new Life, new Love! Look Eastward!Aye, look Eastward!"

His last words were still ringing in my ears as I entered my room, andundrew the window-curtains, just in time to see the sun burst in gloryfrom his ocean-prison, and clothe the world in the light of a new day.

"So may it be for him, and me, and all of us!" I mused. "All that isevil, and dead, and hopeless, fading with the Night that is past!All that is good, and living, and hopeful, rising with the dawn of Day!

"Fading, with the Night, the chilly mists, and the noxious vapours,and the heavy shadows, and the wailing gusts, and the owl's melancholyhootings: rising, with the Day, the darting shafts of light,and the wholesome morning breeze, and the warmth of a dawning life,and the mad music of the lark! Look Eastward!

"Fading, with the Night, the clouds of ignorance, and the deadly blightof sin, and the silent tears of sorrow: and ever rising, higher,higher, with the Day, the radiant dawn of knowledge, and the sweetbreath of purity, and the throb of a world's ecstasy! Look Eastward!

[Image...'Look eastward!']

"Fading, with the Night, the memory of a dead love, and the witheredleaves of a blighted hope, and the sickly repinings and moody regretsthatnumb the best energies of the soul: and rising, broadening, rollingupward like a living flood, the manly resolve, and the dauntless will,and the heavenward gaze of faith--the substance of things hoped for,the evidence of things not seen!

"Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!"