In the Wilderness | Page 7

he had already begun to move up the aisle, and she was obliged to
follow him to a pew close to the pulpit, in which were seated a smartly

dressed woman with a vague and yet acute expression, pale eyes and a
Burne-Jones throat; and a thin, lanky and immensely tall man of
uncertain age, with pale brown, very straight hair, large white ears,
thick ragged eyebrows, a carefully disarranged beard and mustache,
and an irregular refined face decorated with a discreet but kind
expression. These were Mrs. Willie Chetwinde, who had a wonderful
house in Lowndes Square, and Mr. Esme Darlington, bachelor, of St.
James's Square, who was everybody's friend including his own.
Rosamund just recognized them gravely; then she knelt down and
prayed earnestly, with her face hidden against her muff. She still heard
the little bell's insistent "Ping, ping, ping!" She pressed her shut eyes so
hard against the muff that rings of yellow light floated up in her
darkness, forming, retreating, melting away.
The bell ceased; the first notes of the organ sounded in a voluntary by
Mendelssohn, amiable and charming; the choir filed in as Rosamund
rose from her knees. In the procession the two last figures were Mr.
Limer and Mr.--or, as he was always called in Liverpool, Father--
Robertson.
Mr. Limer was a short, squat, clean-shaven but hairy dark man, with
coal-black hair sweeping round a big forehead, a determined face and
large, indignant brown eyes. The Liverpool clergyman was of middle
height, very thin, with snow-white hair, dark eyes and eyebrows, and a
young almost boyish face, with straight, small features, and a luminous,
gentle and yet intense look. He seemed almost to glow, quietly,
definitely, like a lamp set in a dark place, and one felt that his glow
could not easily be extinguished. He walked tranquilly by the side of
Mr. Limer, and looked absolutely unselfconscious, quietly dignified
and simple.
When he went into the pulpit the lights were lowered and a pleasant
twilight prevailed. But the preacher's face was strongly illuminated.
Mr. Robertson preached on the sin of egoism, and took as the motto of
his sermon the words--"/Ego dormio et cor meum vigilat/." His method
of preaching was quiet, but intense; again the glow of the lamp. Often

there were passages which suggested a meditation--a soul communing
with itself fearlessly, with an unyielding, but never violent,
determination to arrive at the truth. And Rosamund, listening, felt as if
nothing could keep this man with the snow-white hair and the young
face away from the truth.
He ranged over a wide field--egoism being wide as the world--he
exposed many of the larger evils brought about by egoism, in
connexion with the Arts, with politics, with charity, with religious work
in great cities, with missionary enterprises abroad; he touched on some
of the more subtle forms of egoism, which may poison even the sources
of love; and finally he discussed the gains and the losses of egoism.
"For," he said, "let us be honest and acknowledge that we often gain, in
the worldly sense, by our sins, and sometimes lose by our virtues."
Power of a kind can be, and very often is, obtained by egoists through
their egoism. He discussed that power, showed its value and the glory
of it. Then he contrasted with it the power which is only obtained by
those who, completely unselfish, know not how to think of themselves.
He enlarged on this theme, on the Kingdom which can belong only to
those who are selfless. And then he drew to the end of his sermon.
"One of the best means I know," he said, "for getting rid of egoism is
this: whenever you have to take some big decision between two courses
of action--perhaps between two life courses--ask yourself, 'Which can I
share?'--which of these two paths is wide enough to admit of my
treading it with a companion, whose steps I can help, whose journey I
can enliven, whose weariness I can solace, and whose burden I can now
and then bear for a little while? And if only one of the paths is wide
enough, then choose that in preference to the other. I believe
profoundly in 'sharing terms.'"
He paused, gazing at the congregation with his soft and luminous eyes.
Then he added:
"/Ego dormio et cor meum vigilat/. When the insistent /I/ sleeps, only
then perhaps can the heart be truly awake, be really watchful. Then let
us send the insistent I to sleep, and let us keep it slumbering."

He half-smiled as he finished. There had been something slightly
whimsical about his final words, about his manner and himself when he
said them.
Silence and the fog, and Rosamund walking homewards with her hands
deep in her muff. All those bodies and