Any book

It was Sunday night and the great city was hushed in silence. A thick mist hung over streets and houses through which numerous lights endeavoured to force their rays. Few people were astir and all traffic had ceased. Presently the chimes from a hidden church tower pealed forth their sweet message to the world. A man standing alone within the shadow of the church started and turned his face upwards. The musical sounds seemed to fascinate him, and he listened as one entranced. He gave no heed to the men and women hurrying by phantom-like on their way to the evening service.

Not until the last note had died upon the air did the man abandon his listening attitude. Then his head drooped, his tense body relaxed, and he stepped back a few paces as if fearful of being observed. Twice he started forward, moved by some inner impulse, but each time he shrank back deeper within the shadow. His strong form trembled convulsively, telling plainly of a mighty fire of emotion raging within.

The man at length left his place of concealment and paced rapidly up and down outside the church, with his head bent forward. This he did for some time. He at last paused, stood for a while in an undecided manner, and then with a stealthy step approached the door. His hand was raised to the large iron latch when strains of music fell upon his ears. Then he heard the sound of numerous voices lifted up in the closing hymn. His courage almost deserted him, and he half turned as if to leave the place. But some irresistible power seemed to stay his steps and force him to open the door and enter.

The church was warm, brightly lighted, and well filled with men and women. No one heeded the stranger as he slipped quietly into a back seat and looked around. The trained voices of the white-robed choir thrilled his soul. Every word of the hymn was familiar to him, for he had often sung it in days gone by. The congregation, too, was singing, and ere long he distinguished one voice from the rest. He had not heard it at first, but now it fell upon his ears with a startling intensity. It was a woman's voice, sweet, clear, and full of mingled tenderness and pathos. The man's firm white hands clutched hard the back of the seat in front of him, and his face underwent a marvellous transformation. His eyes shone with eagerness, and his bosom lifted and fell from the vehemence of his emotion. He leaned forward until he could see the singer and watched her intently. Then when the hymn was finished, and ere the congregation dispersed, the stranger, having cast one more longing look upon the woman with the sweet voice, slipped noiselessly out of the building.

Upon reaching the street he stepped aside and waited for the people to come forth. It was not long ere the big door was thrown wide open, and as the men and women passed by he scrutinised them as closely as possible. He was watching for one person alone, and presently he saw her walking by herself. When she had gone a short distance he followed after, and never once let her out of his sight until she came to a large house, the door of which she opened and entered.

For some time the man stood outside, keeping his eyes fixed upon the building. A policeman passing by noted the man, and, mistaking him for a vagrant, ordered him away. The stranger's pale face flushed, and his hands clenched as he obeyed the command. Slowly he walked along the street with his eyes fixed upon the pavement. At length he paused, retraced his steps, and stood once more before the house into which the woman had entered. Here he remained until the clock of a nearby church struck the hour of eleven. Then, drawing himself together, the man hurried away with rapid steps. Reaching a house on a side street, he opened a door with a latch-key, and passed within. Up three flights of stairs he moved till he came to a little room on the top floor. Groping around in the dark, he lighted an oil lamp fastened to the wall.

It was a humble and scantily furnished garret he had entered. In one corner was a narrow cot. At its foot stood a wash-stand, over which hung a small cracked mirror. A rough worn table occupied the centre of the room, upon which rested a well-kept violin lying by its open case. Opposite the door was an open fire-place, and as the night was chilly the man lighted a fire from several dry sticks, and threw on some soft coal. Soon a cheerful blaze was curling up the chimney, before which the man sat on the one rickety chair the room contained and warmed his numbed hands.

For over half an hour he remained thus, gazing down intently into the fire. But hotter than the coals before him seemed the eyes which burned in his head. At last he aroused from his reverie and, crossing the room, opened a small grip and brought forth a carefully-folded newspaper clipping. This he unwrapped, spread it out upon the table, and drawing up his chair sat down. He fixed his eyes upon an article with the big headline, "Deposed by His Bishop." A deep flush mantled his cheeks and brow as he read for more than the thousandth time that story of disgrace and degradation. He had really no need to read it over again, for every word was seared upon his soul as with a red-hot iron. But the printed words seemed to fascinate him. The tale was all there in black and white, and the newspaper had made the most of it.

But there were things which were not recorded in cold type, and ere long his eyes drifted from the printed page far off into space. He beheld again the white-haired bishop sitting in his library, and heard his voice tremble as he uttered the words which deposed him forever from the Ministry. Then he recalled his own hot invectives hurled against the Church, and the vow that he would banish it and its teaching entirely from his heart and mind, and free himself from its influence. He remembered his scornful laugh when the bishop told him that such a thing was impossible. "Martin Rutland," he had said in an impressive voice, "you know not what you are saying. Do you imagine that you can cut yourself off from the influence of the Church of your childhood? I tell you that you are mistaken, for such a thing is utterly impossible. The Church and her teaching will follow you to the grave, no matter to what part of the world you go." He had laughed at the bishop's words then, thinking them to be only an old man's empty threat.