The Weavers | Page 7

for self-control.
Another heretofore silent Elder, sitting beside John Fairley, exchanged
words in a whisper with him, and then addressed them. He was a very
small man with a very high stock and spreading collar, a thin face, and
large wide eyes. He kept his chin down in his collar, but spoke at the
ceiling like one blind, though his eyes were sharp enough on occasion.
His name was Meacham.
"It is meet there shall be time for sorrow and repentance," he said.
"This, I pray you all, be our will: that for three months David live apart,
even in the hut where lived the drunken chair-maker ere he disappeared
and died, as rumour saith--it hath no tenant. Let it be that after
to-morrow night at sunset none shall speak to him till that time be come,
the first day of winter. Till that day he shall speak to no man, and shall
be despised of the world, and--pray God--of himself. Upon the first day
of winter let it be that he come hither again and speak with us."

On the long stillness of assent that followed there came a voice across
the room, from within a grey-and-white bonnet, which shadowed a
delicate face shining with the flame of the spirit within. It was the face
of Faith Claridge, the sister of the woman in the graveyard, whose soul
was "with the Lord," though she was but one year older and looked
much younger than her nephew, David.
"Speak, David," she said softly. "Speak now. Doth not the spirit move
thee?"
She gave him his cue, for he had of purpose held his peace till all had
been said; and he had come to say some things which had been
churning in his mind too long. He caught the faint cool sarcasm in her
tone, and smiled unconsciously at her last words. She, at least, must
have reasons for her faith in him, must have grounds for his defence in
painful days to come; for painful they must be, whether he stayed to do
their will, or went into the fighting world where Quakers were few and
life composite of things they never knew in Hamley.
He got to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. After an
instant he broke silence.
"All those things of which I am accused, I did; and for them is asked
repentance. Before that day on which I did these things was there
complaint, or cause for it? Was my life evil? Did I think in secret that
which might not be done openly? Well, some things I did secretly. Ye
shall hear of them. I read where I might, and after my taste, many plays,
and found in them beauty and the soul of deep things. Tales I have read,
but a few, and John Milton, and Chaucer, and Bacon, and Montaigne,
and Arab poets also, whose books my uncle sent me. Was this sin in
me?"
"It drove to a day of shame for thee," said the shrill Elder.
He took no heed, but continued: "When I was a child I listened to the
lark as it rose from the meadow; and I hid myself in the hedge that,
unseen, I might hear it sing; and at night I waited till I could hear the
nightingale. I have heard the river singing, and the music of the trees.

At first I thought that this must be sin, since ye condemn the human
voice that sings, but I could feel no guilt. I heard men and women sing
upon the village green, and I sang also. I heard bands of music. One
instrument seemed to me more than all the rest. I bought one like it, and
learned to play. It was the flute--its note so soft and pleasant. I learned
to play it--years ago--in the woods of Beedon beyond the hill, and I
have felt no guilt from then till now. For these things I have no
repentance."
"Thee has had good practice in deceit," said the shrill Elder.
Suddenly David's manner changed. His voice became deeper; his eyes
took on that look of brilliance and heat which had given Luke Claridge
anxious thoughts.
"I did, indeed, as the spirit moved me, even as ye have done."
"Blasphemer, did the spirit move thee to brawl and fight, to drink and
curse, to kiss a wanton in the open road? What hath come upon thee?"
Again it was the voice of the shrill Elder.
"Judge me by the truth I speak," he answered. "Save in these things my
life has been an unclasped book for all to read."
"Speak to the charge of brawling and drink, David," rejoined the little
Elder Meacham with the high collar and gaze upon the ceiling.
"Shall I