New Name (30 page)

“You’re the right stuff, all right,” he said. “Some fellows I know would have been too angry to speak to me for what I had done. But say, you’re all wrong about nobody thinking about you. There’s one. There’s a girl. She wanted to know how you were. Her name is Anita. I don’t know the rest of it. She went to school with your sister, and she was interested enough to ask me to find out about you and let her know. She’ll be down to see you someday, or I’ll miss my guess. And say, she’s a good sport! She knew I wasn’t you all the time. She remembered you had red hair. And she never told.”

“She
is
a good sport,” smiled the sick man. “You tell her I remember who she was. She played tennis with the champions and wouldn’t take a handicap. And she gave up her place in a crowded hall once that a little lame girl might see! I wish she would come and see me. It would remind me of my little sister, Betty, who used to love her dearly.”

“Yes,” said the minister, rising and coming to the front, “Anita is a good sport. She’s the best girl in the town of Marlborough. I could tell you a whole lot more things about her, but I haven’t time now. I’ve got to get back to my evening service. The question is, how soon can we hope to be able to move you to Marlborough, where we can look after you personally? There’s a whole churchwaiting to welcome you. I know, for look at the way they welcomed the man who came in your place! We love him, and we’re going to love you just as much.” He put his arm lovingly around Murray’s shoulder.

“It looks to me as though I shall have a hard time keeping up with the pace you’ve set,” said the sick man, trying to smile.

“No, you won’t. Oh no! Don’t you think it for a minute. You were born to it, but I’ve just been a great big bluff. Well, good-bye. You don’t know how much easier you’ve made the rest for me, now that I know you don’t hold this against me. I’ll think of you in my room and teaching my class. I’m glad you’re the kind of fellow you are. I shan’t be jealous of you. I shall like to think about it.”

“Nonsense! Man! Don’t talk that way. You’re coming to see me soon again, and we’ll work things out together. I’ve a fancy you and I are going to be awfully good friends.”

“I wish I could,” said Murray wistfully, “but I’ve got an entirely different proposition to face. I’m going back home and give myself up for getting a young woman killed in an automobile accident, and I don’t expect to see freedom again this side of heaven. But sometimes you think of me and work a little harder just for my sake, because I can’t.”

“Look here, brother,” said Allan Murray, raising himself on one elbow and looking earnestly at Murray, “don’t you talk like that! The Lord never saved you just to see you imprisoned for life. I’m going to get well in a few days now, and I’m going to spend time seeing you through. I’ll begin right now by praying, and don’t you give up!”

But Murray looked up with a bright smile.

“It’s all right, you know, buddy. I belong to the Lord Christ now, and
what He wants is to go, from now on
, with me. I’m ready to face it all if that’s what He wants for the honor of His name. That kind of living makes even dying worthwhile.”

When they were gone and the nurse came in to turn on the lights and give him his medicine, Allan Murray was lying with wide-open eyes and an eager expression on his face.

“Nurse, how soon can I get up? I’ve a great deal to do, and it ought to be done soon.”

The nurse looked up with a knowing smile.

“I don’t know,” she said brightly, “but I’ll ask the doctor in the morning. I knew the best tonic in the world for you was to get in touch with the world again.”

“It isn’t the world,” said Allan Murray contradictorily. “It’s something better this time.
I’m needed
.”

Chapter 26

M
urray Van Rensselaer had never held such sweet conversation with a man as he held with the minister on that ride home. Murray had never supposed there could be such a man as that minister, so strong and fearless, yet so tender and gentle, so wise and far-seeing, yet able to laugh and see a joke quicker than most: so wholly given up to the will of God. That was the secret of it all, really. He recognized that, untaught in holy things though he was.

And the minister on his part had conceived a great love for the young man who had come into their church under such peculiar circumstances. Somehow it seemed as though the Lord Himself had sent him and was caring for him in a special way. For it was no one’s fault that Murray Van Rensselaer was taken into the church of God without the usual formalities and without knowledge of what he was doing. Not that there are not many thousandsof young people swept into the church without any adequate idea of what they are doing, but they at least know enough to know that they are, as they call it, “joining the church.” Murray did not know by that name that was what he himself was doing, but in heart he belonged to the Savior, body and soul. The work had been done in preparation wholly by the Holy Spirit Himself. Murray was in every sense begotten of the Spirit. Born anew.

As they rode along in the early dusk of the mid-winter afternoon, the minister marveled at this newborn Christian and the simple, childlike way in which he had grasped great truths and accepted them, which even scholars found difficult to believe. Taught of God, that was what he was. Not with the knowledge of men, but of the Spirit.

They rode into Marlborough five minutes before the evening service and stopped only long enough to pick up Mrs. Summers and move on to the church.

The news of Murray’s confession had spread throughout the town that day, and the church was crowded. After the service the minister came down among the audience to speak to one and another, and happening to stand near Murray for a moment, he leaned over and whispered: “What a pity! See, Murray, all these people, and how you might influence them—
if you only hadn’t to leave us
!”

“I know,” said Murray, and his eyes drooped sadly; then, lifting his gaze anxiously, he said, “Do you suppose that heaven will have any way to make up for all the opportunities I’ve wasted here?” Mrs. Summers and Murray sat by the fire a long time that night and talked after Mr. Harper had left.

Mr. Harper had come to say to Murray that he had entire confidence in him and felt that all would still be well in every way for his position in the bank, but he advised him to say no more about his past. One confession was enough. He needn’t be telling it all the time. It would soon be forgotten, and everything would be as before.

Murray waited until he was all through, and then he looked him straight in the eye.

“That’s all very kind of you, Mr. Harper. I know you’re saying that for my sake. But I don’t want it to be as it was before. It couldn’t be. I’ve found out I was all wrong, and I’ll have to be telling what God has done for me the rest of the time I have to live. As for the bank, I’ve
got
to leave you. You’re very kind to ask me to stay after the way I’ve treated you and deceived you. I’m sorry to have to go away right off without waiting till you get a temporary person in my place, but you see it’s just this way. I’m wanted by the state to answer a criminal charge, and there are some things that I must do to make right a cowardly thing I did, before I’m put where there is no chance for me to make anything right. Now that there are so many people who know who I am, there is no guarantee that I may not be arrested any minute, or else I would wait till you can fill my place. But I was with Allan Murray this afternoon, and he thinks he will soon be able to come to you, if you still want him. He is a better man than I am. And everything will be all right for you when he comes.”

But Mr. Harper was not to be appeased. He had taken a liking to this young man. He fit perfectly in with his schemes for the bank. The other might be all right, but he wanted this one. He was under no obligation to Allan Murray, since he did not come at the time arranged, and besides, there was room in the bank for another person if it came to that, of course. It was with great reluctance that he finally withdrew and left Mrs. Summers and Murray to have their last talk together.

It was then that Murray told her about Bessie and Mrs. Chapparelle. Told of his own home and his lonely childhood, though that was merely seen between the lines, not put into words. Told of the brightness of the little cozy home around the corner, and of the little girl who had been so sweet and cheerful a friend, then of the years between, and finally of his finding her that afternoon and taking her for a ride. He did not tell of their visit to Grevet’s. He did not realize himself what part that incident had played in the tragedy of the fateful afternoon. But he told of his long wait in the hospital and finally of the approach of the nurse with the sad news, and his flight.

As he put it all into words, his own disloyalty and cowardice arose before him in their true light, and his shame and sorrow came upon him so powerfully that once he put his head down on the little tea table and groaned aloud. Then the little warmrose-leaf hand of the woman was laid upon his head tenderly, and he felt the comfort of her loving spirit.

They read together for the last time the precious fourteenth chapter of John, which has been the stay and comfort of so many saints in trouble throughout the ages, and then they knelt and prayed together. Mrs. Summers prayed for Murray, and finally Murray lifted a sorrowful voice and prayed, “Oh, God! Bless her—and help me!” Just a whisper of a prayer, but it must have reached the throne.

In the morning he drove away in the minister’s car. The minister would only have it so.

“You are not safe in the train, son. They might get you arrested before your work is done.”

The minister would have gone along, but Murray said no.

“I must face the music alone, you know. It was I who ran away from it, not you. And I’m not going to take you away from your busy days. But I’ll send the car back safely, and I’ll let you know how it turns out. I’ll let you both know.”

So he drove away.

Chapter 27

M
rs. Chapparelle was in the kitchen making pancakes again when Mr. Van Rensselaer came to the front door. She had to push the griddle back just as she had done once before, lest it burn.

The caller said he would like to see Miss Elizabeth, and she showed him into the pretty little living room, with its small upright piano and its few simple furnishings. He sat down and looked around him while he waited for the girl, for her mother said it was almost time for her to arrive home. Mrs. Chapparelle had gone back to her kitchen. She knew who the visitor was, although he had not given his name, and she had no desire to talk with him until Bessie came. She had little patience with Murray’s parents. She thought they were to blame for what he was. Also she had not approved of Bessie’s visit at the big house. She thought it had been unnecessary. Very likely that aristocrat had come to offer Bessie money or something, for her information, or else to bribe her notto say anything. She shoved the griddle back over the flame with a click and stirred her batter vigorously. The less she had to do with wealthy aristocrats the better!

Then the bell rang again, and she hurried to the door. Bessie must have forgotten her key.

Mr. Van Rensselaer had been looking over everything most carefully and approving of it all. There was taste in every article in the room. The one oriental rug before the couch was a fine old piece, and the couch itself was covered with pretty, comfortable-looking pillows. There was a tall reading lamp gracefully shaded over the chair where he sat, and there were books and magazines and a few fine photographs. It all had a homelike look, as if the room was used and loved.

A frown of annoyance gathered on his brow when the bell rang. He had hoped there would be no other visitor. Perhaps he could get the girl to take him out in the kitchen, where they could talk uninterrupted. He would like to see that kitchen. But then perhaps this was the girl herself.

Mrs. Chapparelle opened the door, and someone stepped in from the shadow of the front porch. She glanced at him, astonished.

“Why,
Murray
! Is it you?”

He looked so white and tired she felt sorry for him. But why should he come here after all these weeks? Had he then really been ill somewhere?

“Yes, Mrs. Chapparelle, it’s Murray. But I’m afraid you don’t want to see me.”

“You look so white! Have you been ill?” she evaded.

“No, Mrs. Chapparelle, I’ve only been a fool and a coward and—a murderer—” he added bitterly.

“Murray!” She spoke in a startled voice.

“Yes, I know that’s what you’ve been calling me, and coward, too, and I deserve it all and more. But thank God, He stopped me and brought me back. I’m going down now to give myself up and confess. But I had to stop here first to tell you and ask you to forgive me. I don’t suppose you’ll find it easy, and perhaps you won’t give me that comfort. But I knew you were a Christian woman, and I thought perhaps—Well, anyway, I wanted you to know that God has forgiven my sins, and I belong to Him now. I thought that might make some difference to you. You were good to me when I was a kid—!”