The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (2.1894)

By Charlotte M. Mew 137

one who had trusted me, but I forgot it. Not many days later
the same sunlight that turned my life to laughter shone on the
saddest scene of mortal ending, and, for one I had forsaken, lit the
ways of death. I never dreamed it might. For the next morn-
ing the tragedy of the past night was a distant one, no longer in-
tolerable.

At twelve o'clock, conscience suggested a search. I acquiesced,
but did not move. At half-past, it insisted on one, and I obeyed.
I set forth with a determination of success and no clue to promise
it. At four o'clock, I admitted the task hopeless and abandoned
it. Duty could ask no more of me, I decided, not wholly dis-
satisfied that failure forbade more difficult demands. As I passed
it on my way home, some dramatic instinct impelled me to re-
enter the unsightly church.

I must almost have expected to see the same prostrate figure,
for my eyes instantly sought the corner it had occupied. The
winter twilight showed it empty. A Service was about to begin.
One little lad in violet skirt and goffered linen was struggling to
light the benediction tapers, and a troop of school children pushed
past me as I stood facing the altar and blocking their way. A
grey-clad sister of mercy was arresting each tiny figure, bidding it
pause beside me, and with two firm hands on either Shoulder,
compelling a ludicrous curtsey, and at the same time whispering
the injunction to each hurried little personage,—" always make a
reverence to the altar." "Ada, come back! " and behold another
unwilling bob ! Perhaps the good woman saw her Master's face
behind the tinsei trappings and flaring lights. But she forgot His
words. The saying to these little ones that has rung through
centuries commanded liberty and not allegiance. I stood aside
tili they had shuffled into seats, and finally kneeling stayed tili the
brief spectacle of the afternoon was over.

Towards