XIII
BROWN'S TRIAL BY FLOOD
At nine o'clock that night, feeling a little as if he were in some sortof familiar dream, Brown, wearing evening dress for the first time inmore than a year, sat looking about him. He was at Mrs. Brainard's righthand, in the post of the guest of honour, for Mrs. Brainard was playinghostess for her bachelor friend, Webb Atchison, in the apartment of theprincely up-town hotel which was his more or less permanent home.
About the great round table were gathered a goodly company--the companyof Brown's old friends among the rich and eminent of the city. Not onlymen of great wealth, but men distinguished in their professions, notedfor their achievements, and honoured for their public services, wereamong those hurriedly asked to do this man honour. They had all beenmore or less constant members of his congregation during the years whenhe was making a name as the most forceful and fearless young preacher whoever ventured to tell the people of aristocratic St. Timothy's what hethought of them.
And they were gathered to-night to tell him what they thought of him.They were sparing no pains to do so. More than once, while he parriedtheir attacks upon his resolution to leave them permanently, parried themwith a smiling face, with a resolute quiet voice, with the quickness ofreturn thrust for which he was famous in debate, he was inwardly sendingup one oft-repeated, pregnant petition: "_Lord, help me through this--forThy sake_!"
They were not men alone who combined against him with every pressure ofargument; there were women present who used upon him every art ofpersuasion. Not that of speech alone, but that subtler witchery of lookand smile with which such women well know how to make their soft blowstell more surely than harder ones from other hands. Among these, all ofwhom were women of charm and distinction after one fashion or another,was one who alone, though she seemed to be making no direct attack, waswaging the heaviest war of all against Donald Brown's determination.
Atchison, in arranging the places of his guests, had put Helena Forrestat Brown's right, at the sacrifice of his own pleasure, for by thisconcession she was farthest from himself. Whether or not he understoodhow peculiarly deadly was the weapon he thus used against his friend, heknew that Helena was capable of exerting a powerful influence upon anyman--how should he himself not know it, who was at her feet? He had nocompunction in bringing that influence to bear upon Brown at this moment,when the actual word of withdrawal had not yet been spoken.
Yet as from time to time Atchison looked toward these two of his guestshe wondered if Helena were doing all she could in the cause in which hehad enlisted her. She was saying little to Brown, he could see that; andBrown was saying even less to her. Each seemed more occupied with theneighbour upon the farther side than with the other. Just what this meantAtchison could not be sure.
The dinner, an affair of surprising magnificence considering the briefhours of its preparation, drew at length to its close. It seemed to Brownthat he had been sitting at that table, in the midst of the oldenvironment in which he had once been carelessly happy and assured, forhours upon end, before the signal came at last for the departure of thewomen. And even then he knew that after they had gone the worst wasprobably to come. It came. Left alone with him, the men of the partyredoubled their attacks. With every argument, renewed and recast, theyassaulted him. He withstood them, refusing at the last to argue, merelylifting his head with a characteristic gesture of determination, smilingwearily, and saying with unshaken purpose: "It's no use, gentlemen. I'vemade up my mind. I'm sorry you think I'm wrong, but I can't help that,since I believe I'm right."
They could not credit their own failure, these men of power, soaccustomed to having things go their way that they were unable tounderstand even the possibility of being defeated. And they were beingdefeated by a man whom they had never admired more--and they had madehim, as Sue Breckenridge had said, the idol of the great church--than nowwhen he refused them. But they, quite naturally, did not show him that.They showed him disappointment, chagrin, cynicism, disbelief in hisjudgment, everything that could make his heart beat hard and painfullywith the weight of their displeasure.
Suddenly he rose to his feet. A hush fell, for they thought he was goingto speak to them. He was silent for a minute, looking down at these oldfriends who were so fond of him; then he opened his mouth. But not tospeak--to sing.
It was a powerful asset of Donald Brown's, and it had never been morepowerful than now, this voice which had been given him of heaven. Theyhad often heard him before but now, under these strange circumstances,they listened with fresh amazement to the beauty of his tones. Every wordfell clean-cut upon their ears, every note was rich with feeling, asBrown in this strange fashion made his plea, took his stand with GeorgeMatheson's deathless words of passionate loyalty:
"Make me a captive, Lord, And then I shall be free;Force me to render up my sword, And I shall conqueror be.I sink in life's alarms When by myself I stand;Imprison me within Thy arms, And strong shall be my hand."
When they looked up, these men, they saw that the women of the party hadcome back to the doors, drawn by an irresistible force.
In a strange silence, broken only by low-spoken words, the whole companyreturned to the living-rooms of the apartment. Here Brown himself brokethe spell he had laid upon them.
Speaking in the ringing voice they knew of old, and with a gesture ofboth arms outflung as if he threw himself upon their friendship, hecried blithely:
"Ah, give me a good time now, dear people! Let me play I'm yours and youare mine again--just for to-night."
That settled it. Webb Atchison brought his hand down upon his victim'sshoulder with a resounding friendly blow, calling:
"He's right. We've given him a bad two hours of it. Let's make it up tohim, and let him have the right sort of send-off--since he will go. Hewill--there's no possible question of that. So let's part friends."
"I don't know," said Brown, smiling in the midst of the faces which nowgave him back his smile, "but that if you are kind to me you'll test myendurance still more heavily. But--we'll risk it."
The scene now became a gay one--gay, at least, upon the surface. Brownwas his old self again, the one they had known, and he was the centre ofthe good-fellowship which now reigned. So, for a time. Then came thesupreme test of his life--as unexpectedly as such tests come, when a manthinks he has won through to the thin edge of the struggle.