God Forsaken, etc

Front matter

God Forsaken By the Same Author. "R Heroine in Homespun." The Athenæum says : "The author evidently knows his ground; the descriptions ring true: the Hallowe'en dance and several ofthe crofters' dialogues may have been studied from life." The Saturday Review says: "'A Heroine in Homespun' is as sensational as the ' Gentleman of France ' . . . . There is power as well as pathos in the novel and the local colouring is excellent." The Guardian says: "A story out of the common, a tale of humble life, full of passion and poetry, of strong local character and serious interest. . . . The novel is much above the average." The Pall Mall Gazette says: "The book possesses two merits. The interest increases as the tale proceeds ; and it is free from that stilted word painting which so painfully encumbers much modern fiction. ...

A pleasant and readable story. .... We are not preached at, but we feel that the writer looks out upon the world with earnest eyes." The Morning Post says: "Mr. Breton's pen, always picturesque, is often powerful, and is natural as well as effective." The Glasgow Her a Id says: "There is much strange and weird superstition in the tale ; but apart altogether from its folk-lore, it is remarkable. No better tale of the North has come under our notice for a long time." The Daily Telegraph says: "The book undoubtedly shows power." The Standard says: "It is evident from reading this book that Mr. Breton is an artist." Vanity Fair says: "A cleverly written and fascinating story of the Western Hebrides, and of their primitive inhabitants. There is in the book evidence of a real knowledge of the lives of the crofter folk."

The Academy says: "There is a real Hebridean flavour abotithe book — m its people, their curious beliefs, and their manners of speech and conduct." The Idler says: "Mr. Breton has gone to the island of South Uist for the scene of his sombre and powerful story. The result is strikingly successful. The "moral murder" and the awakening of the soul of Seonaid are both very original, whilst the final catastrophe betokens a fine sense ef restraint in handling a situation, which in less practised hands might easily have become pure melodrama." C^jOD Forsaken SHOVEL FREDERIC BRETON of .^Heroine, ic Horce-c^-pocTelc. I IMI I Mil III I !■ Mil— I II ■IIIIIIIIMIIIU I I MI ■■ ■_ J| aSI9 LONDON" hMcbiD^or?^(o 34sJfers?Q4?Row. PRINTED AT NIMEGUEN (HOLLAND) BY H. C. A. THIEME OF NIMEsiUEN (HOLLAND AND TALBOT HOUSE, ARUNDEL STREET, LONDON, W.C. " Ere yet the radiant torchlight blazes, Throw not the taper to the ground !

Chapter I. Professor And Pilgrim

With a symmetry not often found in the somewhat ragged disposition of human affairs, Professor Calvin Mortimer first met Christina Mostyn at a wedding. He was then a young doctor eight-and-twenty years of age, she a mere child of ten or eleven. He naturally paid little heed to the casual encounter, but the girl remembered it all her life, because it marked the beginning of that process of disillusion against which she always fought with such passionate, but futile energy. The occasion of the meeting was the breakfast given in honour of her elder sister's marriage, to which Calvin Mortimer was invited as a friend of the bridegroom, Everard Ince, heir to the old Roman Catholic baronetcy of that name. Wedding feasts are not necessarily festive and most people were thankful for the presence of the bride's uncle, Father Mordaunt, the priest who had per formed the nuptial ceremony.

He was a genial Jesuit, at least as well versed in the affairs of this world as he was presumed to be in those of the other, and, by his incorrigible cheerfulness and amusing if antique anecdotes, prevented any drooping of the lips even on the part of the bride's mother. Mortimer enjoyed the ecclesiastic's fine crusted humour as much as anybody and great was his amazement, when, after the departure of the newly wedded couple, little Christina, who was one of the bridesmaids, came up to him in the drawing-room and asked in a whisper if her uncle were not a bad priest. "A bad priest!" exclaimed the doctor. " What on earth put such an idea into your head ? " " He drank champagne ! " answered the child, with so shocked an expression that Mortimer could not forbear laughing. " The world would be a wickeder place than it is, if every priest who tasted wine were necessarily bad !

" was his reply. " Father Mordaunt is not different from other priests, so why should you think he is wicked ? " The girl shook her little head with the severity of innocence. "I don't know," said she, " but he smoked a cigar in the conservatory, and that can't be right. Priests ought to be more mortified than to drink champagne and smoke cigars." "Perhaps he did both just for mortification," suggested Mortimer. "He may detest wine and tobacco. " " Perhaps ! That never struck me ! But I'm sure you don't think so yourself. I see a twinkle in your eye which shows you're only laughing at me. " " I admit it ; I am laughing at you. You will have to stop in the convent where you are at school, for good and all, if you think every poor man who drinks wine or smokes is bad." "I shall never stop in the convent," answered Christina, a trifle wistfully.

"I have no vocation, you see. I'm far too frivolous and fond of pleasure — that is, I don't mean amusement you know, but beautiful things like music and books. I went to the chapel at the Carmelite Convent the other day. The nuns are only allowed to sing on three notes for mortification, you know; but it sounded like the wailing and gnashing of teeth in the Bible. If I were really good, I should be glad to give up the pleasure of hearing nice music, but as it is — well, it would drive me mad to have to Usten long to those nuns." Mortimer frowned to himself at the idea that any child should be allowed to grow up with such twisted notions of goodness, but, being beckoned to the other side ofthe room by a lady of his acquaintance, could not improve the occasion as he would have wished. He contented himself by saying, " Let me give you one piece of advice, Christina.

Don't believe everything just because a priest or a nun tells you. Try to find out for yourself! Whatever is true we can discover for ourselves. The false things don't matter." The girl looked up with an awed expression. The words were quite foreign to her, but they lodged in her mind like winged seeds, and, Hke them, one day burst their sheaths and came to maturity. Such was the first meeting between Calvin Mortimer and Christina Mostyn. For the second, we must jump ten years and travel from London to another and a different place of pilgrimage. In his twenty-eighth year Calvin Mortimer had been spoken of as a rising man. In his thirty-eighth he was a risen man, with the title of professor to boot. But, just at this very time, there came to him one of the reactions with which nature avenges herself upon those who are over-bold in lifting the veil that hides her secrets.

" Brains are like other arable soil," said a metaphor loving colleague who was consulted by Mortimer. " You must let them lie fallow every now and then if you wish to ensure a continuance of fertility." So it came to pass that one fine spring morning saw the Professor in the North Wales express speeding away as fast as a compound high pressure locomotive could convey him in search of a brief respite from speed and pressure. Taking a languid interest in archæology he left the train at Holywell with the intention of visiting the famous shrine of St. Winifride and inspecting the ruins of Basingwerk Abbey which he saw by his guide-book were not far from the railway-station. He also entertained the idea of going over one of the coal-mines at Bagillt or the Point of Aire with a view to testing a theory held by him in regard to fire-damp.

This latter was quite a vague project not crystallised into an intention, however, and was merely due to the disinclination of Mortimer's scientific conscience to reconcile itself to the prospect of complete idleness. The Professor had been pushing forward for too many years easily to accommodate himself to standing still. When he talked, as he was fond of talking, of the growth of knowledge and the giant strides of modern science, you would have seen by the way in which his eyes lighted up that progress claimed no disciple more ardent than Calvin Mortimer. But his very ardour had made progress temporarily repugnant to his physical sense, and he felt that he needed rest, if only it could be combined with pursuit. Having dined at his hotel, Mortimer walked down the steep hill, half way up which stands the grey old chapel built by the pious mother of King Henry VII, over the spot where the severed head of the British virgin is reputed to have struck the earth and, like the wand of Moses, to have called into existence the sacred spring which gives the town of Holywell its name.

On the way down Mortimer noticed a large build ing on the right, bearing over the door the word Hospilium. "What's that for?" he asked ofa passing labourer. "For poor pilgrims," was the answer. "Those who come to the well to be cured can get board and lodging there for a shilling a day, or for nothing, if they can't afford to pay. "You mean pilgrims still come here — in these days ?" " Indeed they do. Three hundred came over from Manchester last week, and there's a party here now from Shrewsbury, with the bishop at the head." Mortimer was amused. When he reached the iron gate giving admittance to the chapel and well, he was asked if he were a pilgrim. "Why?" he enquired, with some surprise, ofthe old woman who kept the gate and used the small lodge alongside as a shop for the sale of photographs of the well, pictures of the saint, rosaries and other devotional objects.

"Because you go in for nothing, with the rest, if you are a pilgrim," said the toll-taker. "But if you're only a visitor there's twopence to pay, please, sir ! " "I thought the place was free. What does the gate-money go to defray? The so-called restoration?" " No, sir ! It would spoil a place like this to tamper with it ! But the building belongs to the parish and the chapel up above the well is used as a school for the Church of England. The fathers only rent the well for the use of the Catholics and the two pences help to pay the rent. It would be a shame for such a holy place to fall into other hands." "I see," said Mortimer good humouredly, paying the fee and descending the worn steps, leading to the well and bathing pool. It was a fine evening and the last of the sunset lingered in crimson on the trees above the old church, but twilight had already entered the chapel beneath.

Yet the gray arches and clustered shafts gleamed in the yellow radiance of many candles and the bubbling water intermittently reflected stray gleams into the dusty corners of the roof, lighting up, here a mouldy crutch, there a decaying litter, left by the halt and lame whom this new pool of Siloam was supposed to have cured of their infir mities. The flagged floor surrounding the well was crowded with people of all ages and degrees, from the well-dressed gentleman in the prime of life to the old blind beggar telling his beads in a corner, from the school children, clad in white and holding lighted tapers in their hands, to the fashionably attired matron who, for once, seemed to forget that her neighbour was merely a daughter of toil. Mortimer had some difficulty in finding a place, and when he did so, could not feel sure whether he were dreaming, or had accidentally gone to Spain or some other such country where superstition still rears an undaunted head.

In one corner was an altar bearing a statue of the Virgin Martyr sur rounded by many candles and vases of flowers. In front of the altar knelt a priest and his attendant acolytes. A litany was being recited and the re iterated responses: 'Have mercy on us! Pray for us ! ' struck a chord of memory, recalling tb Morti mer's mind boyish days, when he also had asked for mercy with the same unthinking fervour as those around him. But the recollection was enfeebling, and he shook it off, knowing that his nerves were rather unstrung and more liable to sensuous impressions than usual. Yet he owned that the scene was calculated to impress emotional people, — the shifting candle-light on the faces of the people; their various attitudes and expressions; the calm figure of the aged ecclesiastic in his white surplice ; the black-robed nuns among the muslin-attired school girls; the dark vaulted roof above, the gurgling pool below, and beyond the shadow ofthe shrine, the irregular architecture of an old mill or factory stand ing out in warm shadow against a pale, lemon sky.

The litany being ended, one of the nuns played a harmonium and the pilgrims sang the hymn of Saint Winifride: "Nature had blest the British maidea With grace beyond what tongue can tell, And heaven with choicer gifts had laden The virgin saint of Holywell. " Oh ! many a crutch its witness bearing, And many a litter high uphung, Tell of sick crowds her favours sharing, And put to shame the scoffer's tongue." The effect of the blended voices was not unpleasing, and the melody of the hymn was so singular that it ran in Mortimer's head for many days, and, rather to his annoyance, he used to surprise himself hum ming or whistling the air at odd moments long afterwards. After the hymn, the priest presented a relic of the 'British Maiden' for veneration by the pilgrims. This ceremony over, the ecclesiastic took his stand by the side of the iron railings round the well, where a can was suspended to draw up the water. ' A nun and a kindly-faced old lady came forward, half carrying a girl between them.

"Ah! Poor Miss Mostyn ! " said a woman standing near Mortimer. " It must be better for her to suffer, or she would have been cured long ago, they've brought her so often to the well. But it is wonderful how they persevere! Look at the poor girl crossing herself! " With her left hand, the girl lifted her right arm and made the sign of the cross with it on her fore head, breast and shoulders. Her right side was evidently paralysed. The priest recited some prayers and the nun dipping her fingers in a can of well water, sprinkled it over the girl's side. " What a cruel mockery ! " thought Mortimer. The cruelty of course was a mere matter of opinion, but the mockery to Mortimer's view was self-evident, for no result followed the application of the water and the girl was carried back to her place unhealed of her infirmity.

The lights on the altar were then extinguished and the pilgrims began to disperse. Mortimer lingered to the last, examining the architecture and endeavouring to compute the number of gallons per minute gushing from the spring which was the object of so much veneration. As he was looking into the water, he was accosted by the priest who h^td said prayers for the pilgrims, a short, genial looking man with white hair and youthful eyes. " Calvin Mortimer ? " said the priest interroga tively. " Father Mordaunt ? " replied the other. " I thought I recognised you at the altar, but the light was so dim, I was not sure. How did you know me? I must have altered more than you. It is nearly eight years since we met! " " The face of a public man is naturally better known than that of a simple priest, but, anyhow, trust a wily Jesuit not to forget anybody whom he has once conversed with."

Mortimer smiled. " A terrible waste of force here ! " he remarked, pointing to the well. " You might have the whole town lighted by electricity for next to nothing." " The stream supplies motive power to about five mills before it enters the Dee, and all the lower portion of the town uses the water for drinking purposes. " "Ah! I didn't think you would allow that. Isn't it sacrilege ? " The priest laughed merrily. " That only shows what narrow ideas you advanced men credit us poor superstitious Papists with entertaining. We don't despise natural utility, because we do not despise supernatural utility. Both have their place. But what brings you to Holywell? You're not exactly a pilgrim ! " "Mere curiosity! I thought I should like to see the place. I'm on my way to Carnarvonshire in search of mountain air, ozone and that sort of thing!

" " Overwork ? " Mortimer nodded, and as if the subject were distasteful, asked abruptly, " Who was that paralysed girl that was brought to the well to be cured? Isn't it rather cruel to buoy up the poor child with false hopes?" He regretted having asked the latter question, when Father Mordaunt answered, " That was my niece, Mrs. Mostyn's youngest daughter Eileen. You remember Mrs. Mostyn? Weren't you at Lady Ince's wedding? Eileen's sister, Christina, was only asking the other day if you were identical with the Professor Mortimer who read a paper at the Royal Society on the continuity of germ-cells. She did not know what germ-cells were but she remembered your name very well. But here she is, come to chide me for being such a laggard, I expect. I'm staying with my sister on a brief holi day, but I'm going back to Saxonhurst before the week's out.

Well, Christina, is your mother angry with me for keeping supper waiting? Here is an old friend of yours, — Professor Mortimer! " Mortimer was rather annoyed than otherwise at the meeting and had humiliating visions of the knickerbockered, tweed-clad tourist, talking of climb ing mountains and meanwhile dancing attendance on ladies in fairy glens and other sylvan retreats. But he was pleased by the frank, unaffected man ner in which Miss Mostyn held out her hand, saying, " I am pleased to meet you again, Mr. Mortimer ! " The Mr. especially gratified him, for he had a really vicious objection to 'being professor-ed', as he termed it. Professor was such an invidious term, meaning anything from a German philosopher to a conjuror or a quack at a country-fair. Lady, professor and priest left the well in com pany, and walked up the hill together as far as the Pantasaph Road.

" I'm sure my sister will be charmed to see you, if you will call to-morrow," said Father Mordaunt, before they parted. " Yes ! Do come ! " said Christina, seconding her uncle. "It is not very complimentary to you, but we are really glad of anyone to make a break in the family monotony. We came here for Eileen's health and have been here nearly six months, during which I don't think we've had half-a-dozen visitors. Deeside is our house, about half a mile along this road. It has a turret with a broken weathercock." " That sways to every wind of doctrine, " added the girl's uncle with a smile. " That's meant for a cut at me, " explained Christina, " because I have been reading some books on Buddhism, and asked uncle if we were not allowed to believe in the transmigration of souls. It is a fascinating idea!

I should like to become a bird after I die." " The topic offers possibilities ! " said Mortimer. " Perhaps the conventional angel is an evolved bird. " The priest tried to frown, but only succeeded in laughing. The merriment was infectious, and Mortimer walked back to his hotel, feeling quite mirthful. But the coffee-room proved more lonely than hehad anticipated, and he surprised himself actually looking forward to his visit to Deeside on the morrow. When he came to close his eyes to sleep, however, he was somewhat annoyed to find the darkness picturing a girl's face with dark eyes that seemed to be Professor and Pilgri??i. 13 perpetually asking a question. The experience was so unexpected that he regarded it as a symptom that his nervous system must be in a more abnormal condition than he had suspected.

He had been suffering from insomnia, it was true, but other forms of tissue had occupied his sleepless brain than the soft, living flesh of a woman's face. Nevertheless he was as interested as he might have been in an obscure professional case, and felt the same desire either to cure the patient or to be permitted to hold a post mortem examination to investigate the cause of the disease. He foresaw a mild recreation for himself in being able to examine at first hand the working of nature's mysterious law of sexual attraction.

Chapter II. The Modern Miracle- Worker

In the course of a conversation which took place some days later between Mrs. Mostyn and her brother, the latter referred to Calvin Mortimer as a stumbling block in the way of those Christians who maintained that a high standard of morality was not compatible with a lack of religious belief. "Do you think it is, yourself, Charles?" enquired the old lady. " Certainly I do. Pride of intellect is a far stronger force than the lust of the flesh, and the non-religious but not therefore irreligious man cuts the ground away from beneath his own feet if he gives cause for scandal. Of course, the average person whose intellect is nothing to be proud of, needs the restraining influence of religion, but the really intellectual man respects his own nature too much to lower it." " What of poets then ? " " Poets are creatures of intense emotion rather than acute intellect.

You rarely find the two things combined in one man. And you will notice, moreover, that poets are far more susceptible than scientists to religious influences. Every poet has a religion — of a sort. No, as long as a man can be appealed to through his emotions, I never despair of his con version. It is only when a person takes his stand on pure reason, in a materialistic sense of course, that I regard the case as almost hopeless." The Moder?? Miracle- Worker. 15 "Isn't that giving away your case, rather, and making religion purely an emotional matter ? " " It is very largely an emotional matter as far as its manifestations go. But I don't see that it gives away the case. Why should a knowledge of material facts be rated higher than a susceptibility to material emotions, any more than a proposition in Euclid should be considered greater than a work of art ?

" " But what has all this to do with Professor Mortimer? Do you think he can be appealed to through his emotions and that Christina . . . ? " "I don't think anything definite, but it seems to me that Christina might be an influence for good. She has no vocation for the convent, but may it not be that that is because she is called to do good in the world? I know it is a grief to you and that you always hoped to see her take the veil, but still, my dear, think what a triumph of grace it would be if through her human affection, a leading man like Mortimer were brought to see the truth! So many people fall into the mistake of thinking that grace is only manifested in prayers and such things which are clearly sanctified, but in reality it per meates everything, even evil, if we could only recognise it.

It is like the ether which Professor Mortimer would tell you, passes through the universe like the wind through a grove of trees, conveying light, heat, sound and possibly even the very principle of life." "You are very eloquent," said the priest's sister with a smile, which was nevertheless quickly followed by a sigh, as she added, " But suppose instead of Christina influencing Professor Mortimer, he were to influence her. You know, Christina is very daring in her speculations." "Yes! But not in Mortimer's way! Not in his way ! I have no fear at all of her ever becoming a materialist ! " God Forsake??. 16 But still Mrs. Mostyn sighed as if the mere fact of her material maternity gave her a prevision of dangers invisible to the spiritual fatherhood of her brother. Nor did she hesitate to express her fears, albeit in a deprecatory manner and seeking to justify herself by quoting the text which ascribes more wisdom in their generation to the children of this world than to the children of light.

Meanwhile Calvin Mortimer remained at Holywell almost against his will, and came every day to Deeside House to the great pleasure of both Christina Mostyn and her crippled sister Eileen. The latter's case aroused both the sympathy and professional interest of the man, and he conceived the idea of performing an act of humanity and proving the superiority of science to superstition by effecting a cure which no amount ot pious prayers or appli cations of Holywell water had apparently brought a day nearer. The girl was supposed to be suffering from partial paralysis, but Mortimer hazarded the theory that Eileen's ailment was merely of a hysterical character and had been encouraged and developed by the anxious fondness of her mother. " Believe me, " said he to Mrs. Mostyn, one day, " if you were to induce her to get about a little more and not be so careful lest she should over exert herself, she would be all the better for it.

This constant lying down is weakening and positively induces the very thing you intend it to overcome. The girl believes she is an invalid, and has conse quently lost faith in her own strength. Our object ought to be to restore that faith before anything else. She wants to be taken out of herself, to be given outside interests and pursuits, cheerful society and all that sort of thing. To my mind it was a mistake to bring her to this out-of-the-world place where she can do nothing but concentrate her attention on her own ailments. And, if you won't The Modern Miracle-Worker. ■1 be offended, all this church business, this teaching of resignation and so forth is wrong from a physical point of view. It lowers her vitality ! And instead of water from St. Winifride's well, I should apply a Faradic battery !

" " Didn't I always says so, mother ? " said Christina, who was present. " You are so dreadfully resigned yourself, that you think everyone else ought to be likewise. But if one doesn't fight against obstacles how will one ever overcome them? Of course," added the girl, seeing a reproachful look in her mother's eyes. " I don't mean that resignation isn't a good thing in its way when there is nothing else left, and, of course, prayer is an excellent thing, but even uncle says it is often not answered in the manner we ask or expect, and perhaps if we take Mr. Mortimer's advice, it will be answered, in a more natural way, too! We can't expect miracles till we've tried all the other remedies. Anyhow if Eileen gets better, it will be all we want ! " Though afraid that to have recourse to natural means of cure would seem to argue want of faith in the supernatural intervention which she had been so perseveringly seeking, Mrs. Mostyn yielded to the persuasions of Mortimer and Christina.

The new treatment was commenced at once and in a very few days Eileen's condition showed so marked an improvement that the girl's mother was almost frightened. " It really looks almost as if God were playing into the enemy's hands," she wrote to her brother the priest, who had returned to Saxonhurst, the Jesuit college at which he was professor of natural sciences. But Father Mordaunt replied: "The laws of nature are the laws of God and science is natural theology ! " Mrs. Mostyn was comforted, and from that time did not discourage the growing friendship between God Forsaken. Christina and Calvin Mortimer. These two were brought constantly together in the work of curing Eileen. It was they who planned the drives and picnics, which had practically replaced the visits to the Church and the well.

It was they who devised the games and conceits which kept the girl amused in the evenings. Mrs. Mostyn merely looked on and prayed that " all might be for the best ! " At length came a day when she no longer doubted that her prayers were being heard. Eileen was sufficiently recovered to walk out without assistance. " Where will you go first ? " asked Mortimer. "The Strand woods are not too far! You could rest there and enjoy the view over the Dee ! " Eileen looked at her mother, but Mrs. Mostyn was silent, though her expression was almost plaintive. "I think, Mr. Mortimer," said the girl, "that my first walk ought to be a visit to the church to return thanks for my recovery ! " The look of relief that passed over the mother's face was so noticeable that even Mortimer could not fail to perceive it, and having seen it, to re spect it.