Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1895-12-01

SutLl, DuJ Cdus pity lubHl, lOI uOu I
believe they know how wretched they
are"
Don't you think there may be roses
even In this mire? Yes, though they
look only fit for the mire, little fra
GRANGE still turks in some Of them
around the folded inner heart, But
only those who can pity them will ever
find it out"
Marian felt the fatherly reproof in
the words, but there was not time to
say more, for his friend had come into
the hall and was vigorously shaking
them all by the hand.
Follow me, and I'll give the ladies'
seats at the sides kept for visitors.
But l wish, ThOrne, that you and DR..
LarTemore would come on the platform.
We have mighty poor showing there
tonight"
He ushered them into q narrow, low
ceiled room, with benches down the
center, and to a corner 7<nere a row Of
chairs were raised above these. But
there was no room for Hugh, and, obey
Ing a gesture from Mark, he found him
self on a small platform, gazing at the
preachers back as he stood up facing
the congregation, and with a wave Of
his hands inviting them all to pray.
Mrs. Larremore bowed her head with
the air of a deyotee. Mrs. Ventnor half
covered her eyes with er gloved fingers
and slyly peered through them. Ma
rian alone made no feint at praying.
She lowered her head a little, her
deep, dark eyes sweeping thoughtfully
over the place on lingering on every
detail. It was q scene she was never
to forget. Those of the women who
were inmates Of the mission sat in
front. They were bareheaded and
wore clean white aprons while those
who had strayed IN that night IN their
rags and misery kept near the door.
Here and there among the crowd a fig
ure abjectly kneeling could be seen.
A hymn was sung, and during it
Mark and the preacher went among the
crowd and talked to the newcomers,
who for the most part answered them
only in sullen whispers.
One woman who sat just below Ma
rian soon attracted her attention Who'll
ly. She was young and decently dress
ed, pretty, too, in q dark, bold style, de-
spite the sinister lines on her face.
Presently Mark found his way to her.
She listened to his whispered admOni-
ton, then slowly turned her bright
eyes on him and shook her head.
IT'S too late, mister"
"Kneel down and let us pray togeth-
err"
Quit prayin' for me. It's an old
story. 'Tain't any USE she said dis
tinctly in a harsh voice that still had a
trace Of culture lingering in it. IT'S
too late for prayer, 1 tell you"
But It's not too late" pleaded Mark,
Since you come here. It's never too
late II you feel the need
And If you don't feel the need?"
came to Marian's ears in the same level
tones. IF you try to and can't and
wonder why you cant, what are you
going to do then?'
It was an unansWerable question.
Even Mark was silent. When he went
back to tho platform, he prayed aloud
and fervenuy for that woman, and the
outcast. listening, smiled.
Marian had watched this failure close
". For the first time a strenuous feel
ing stirred her heart in a new way. The
women. kneeling in their rags, sending
up choking prayers, had held no mean
ing for her beyond the revolving picture
they presented. but this woman, who
felt nothing. who knew her yileness,
vet could summon up no shadow Of re-
gret for It, she somehow understood,
with a faint trembling horror through
all her blood.
This was moral shipwreck. This was
what it meant to be lost-though l!v-
ing, to be dead. A nervous adherence
Of the woman and the place swept over
her, a longing to get away and forget 1t
all.
Mrs. Ventnor's hand upon her arm
startled her.
Look Mr.. Thorne is asking DR.. Lar
remore to speak. can tell he doesn't
want to. I wish he would just for fun.
Marian looked over. She saw Hugh
with his head inclined toward Mark, his
usually pale cheeks slightly flushed.
For my sake, Mark was saying,
"iust say something to comfort them,
as If they were some of your poorest
patients. You can do i. Forget It's a
mission. know this IS different from
talking about social economy to work
men and the ethics Of personal cleanlt-
ness to newsbOys, but you'll never, In
ell probability, be here again. Some Of
these women are go young, and you are
so young. That little girl in the sailor
hat has scarcely taken her eyes of you
since you came In. Speak to her,
Hugh, Just q few words.
IF you put it that way, Of course
but I am unfit, unaccustOmed. Still, If
YOU think it will do any good, l Will,
and his heart began to beat nervously.
The thought Of Marian watching him
with a critical smile made his face groW
hot. She had laughed at him last night
after leading him on to speak OF his
creed. She would probably laugh now.
Let her. then, he thought; let her
laugh" and when he heard Mark
speaking his name he stood up.
The lights danced oddly just at first,
out after a few words his self possession
returned.
Then the charm Of his rich, sweet
voice unmindful of what words he
said. fixed the attention of that unhap-
DIV little congregation. 1t was neither
loud nor brilliant, that simple plea for
repentance, right living and clean NOR
ais. But it was terribly earnest, and
the strong, persuasive sentences filed
the mean little place with harmony,
stirring pure memories that had slept
for years. Marian leaned forward in a
strained attitude, her hands like ice
and fiercely clasped, her eyes fastened
on Hugh. His stalwart figure, his i'm
pulsively extended hands and young,
glowing face touched some chord whose
vibrations swept her soul.