In the Wilderness | Page 7

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 minds and souls which had been in the church had evaporated into the night. Mrs. Chetwinde and Esme Darlington had wanted to speak to Rosamund, but she had slipped out of the church quickly. She did not wish to talk to any one.
"/Ego dormio et cor meum vigilat/."
What an odd little turn, or twist, the preacher had given to the meaning of those words! "Whenever you have to take some big decision between two life courses, ask yourself, 'Which can I share?' and if you can only share one, choose that."
Very slowly Rosamund walked on, bending a little above the big muff, like one pulled forward by a weight of heavy thoughts. She turned a corner. Presently she turned another corner and traversed a square, which could not be seen to be a square. And then, quite suddenly, she realized that she had not been thinking about her way home and that she was lost