Dr Heidenhoffs Process | Page 2

up at the clock, and,
again facing the people, observes, with the air of communicating a
piece of intelligence, "There are yet a few moments."
In fact, and not to put too fine a point upon it, there are five minutes left,
and the young men on the back seats, who attend prayer-meetings to go
home with the girls, are experiencing increasing qualms of alternate

hope and fear as the moment draws near when they shall put their
fortune to the test, and win or lose it all. As they furtively glance over
at the girls, how formidable they look, how superior to common
affections, how serenely and icily indifferent, as if the existence of
youth of the other sex in their vicinity at that moment was the thought
furthest from their minds! How presumptuous, how audacious, to those
youth themselves now appears the design, a little while ago so jauntily
entertained, of accompanying these dainty beings home, how weak and
inadequate the phrases of request which they had framed wherewith to
accost them! Madeline Brand is looking particularly grave, as becomes
a young lady who knows that she has three would-be escorts waiting
for her just outside the church door, not to count one or two within,
between whose conflicting claims she has only five minutes more to
make up her mind.
The minister had taken up his hymn-book, and was turning over the
leaves to select the closing hymn, when some one rose in the back part
of the room. Every head turned as if pulled by one wire to see who it
was, and Deacon Tuttle put on his spectacles to inspect more closely
this dilatory person, who was moved to exhortation at so unnecessary a
time.
It was George Bayley, a young man of good education, excellent
training, and once of great promise, but of most unfortunate recent
experience. About a year previous he had embezzled a small amount of
the funds of a corporation in Newville, of which he was paymaster, for
the purpose of raising money for a pressing emergency. Various
circumstances showed that his repentance had been poignant, even
before his theft was discovered. He had reimbursed the corporation,
and there was no prosecution, because his dishonest act had been no
part of generally vicious habits, but a single unaccountable deflection
from rectitude. The evident intensity of his remorse had excited general
sympathy, and when Parker, the village druggist, gave him employment
as clerk, the act was generally applauded, and all the village folk had
endeavoured with one accord, by a friendly and hearty manner, to make
him feel that they were disposed to forget the past, and help him to
begin life over again. He had been converted at a revival the previous

winter, but was counted to have backslidden of late, and become
indifferent to religion. He looked badly. His face was exceedingly pale,
and his eyes were sunken. But these symptoms of mental sickness were
dominated by an expression of singular peace and profound calm. He
had the look of one whom, after a wasting illness, the fever has finally
left; of one who has struggled hard, but whose struggle is over. And his
voice, when he began to speak, was very soft and clear.
"If it will not be too great an inconvenience," he said; "I should like to
keep you a few minutes while I talk about myself a little. You
remember, perhaps, that I professed to be converted last winter. Since
then I am aware that I have shown a lack of interest in religious matters,
which has certainly justified you in supposing that I was either hasty or
insincere in my profession. I have made my arrangements to leave you
soon, and should be sorry to have that impression remain on the minds
of my friends. Hasty I may have been, but not insincere. Perhaps you
will excuse me if I refer to an unpleasant subject, but I can make my
meaning clearer by reviewing a little of my unfortunate history."
The suavity with which he apologized for alluding to his own ruin, as if
he had passed beyond the point of any personal feeling in the matter,
had something uncanny and creeping in its effect on the listeners, as if
they heard a dead soul speaking through living lips.
"After my disgrace," pursued the young man in the same quietly
explanatory tone, "the way I felt about myself was very much, I
presume, as a mechanic feels, who by an unlucky stroke has hopelessly
spoiled the looks of a piece of work, which he nevertheless has got to
go on and complete as best he can. Now you know that in order to find
any pleasure in his work, the workman must be able to take a