the mansion-第7章

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everything　that　you　sent　us。　　This　is　the　mansion　prepared　for

you。〃



As　he　spoke；　his　look　grew　deeper　and　more　searching；　like　a

flame　of　fire。

John　Weightman　could　not　endure　it。　　It　seemed　to　strip　him　naked



and　wither　him。　　He　sank　to　the　ground　under　a　crushing　weight　of

shame；

covering　his　eyes　with　his　hands　and　cowering　face　downward　

upon　the　stones。　　Dimly　through　the　trouble　of　his　mind　he　felt

their

hardness　and　coldness。



〃Tell　me；　then；〃　he　cried；　brokenly；　〃since　my　life　has　been　so　

little　worth；　how　came　I　here　at　all？〃



〃Through　the　mercy　of　the　King〃the　answer　was　like　the　soft

tolling　of　

a　bell。



〃And　how　have　I　earned　it？〃　he　murmured。



〃It　is　never　earned；　it　is　only　given；〃　came　the　clear；　low

reply。



〃But　how　have　I　failed　so　wretchedly；〃　he　asked；　〃in　all　the

purpose　of　

my　life？　　What　could　I　have　done　better？　　What　is　it　that　counts

here？〃



〃Only　that　which　is　truly　given；〃　answered　the　bell…like　voice。　　

Only　that　good　which　is　done　for　the　love　of　doing　it。　　

Only　those　plans　in　which　the　welfare　of　others　is　the　master

thought。　

Only　those　labors　in　which　the　sacrifice　is　greater　than　the

reward。　　

Only　those　gifts　in　which　the　giver　forgets　himself。〃



The　man　lay　silent。　　A　great　weakness；　an　unspeakable　despondency

and

humiliation　were　upon　him。　　But　the　face　of　the　Keeper　of　the

Gate　was

infinitely　tender　as　he　bent　over　him。



〃Think　again；　John　Weightman。　　Has　there　been　nothing　like　that

in　

your　life？〃



〃Nothing；〃　he　sighed。　　〃If　there　ever　were　such　things；　it　must

have　been

long　agothey　were　all　crowded　outI　have　forgotten　them。〃



There　was　an　ineffable　smile　on　the　face　of　the　Keeper　of　the

Gate；　

and　his　hand　made　the　sign　of　the　cross　over　the　bowed　head　as　he



spoke　gently：



〃These　are　the　things　that　the　King　never　forgets；　and　because　

there　were　a　few　of　them　in　your　life；　you　have　a　little　place

here。〃



The　sense　of　coldness　and　hardness　under　John　Weightman's　hands　

grew　sharper　and　more　distinct。　　The　feeling　of　bodily　weariness

and

lassitude　weighed　upon　him；　but　there　was　a　calm；　almost　a

lightness；　

in　his　heart　as　he　listened　to　the　fading　vibrations　of　the　

silvery　bell…tones。　　The　chimney　clock　on　the　mantel　had　just

ended　

the　last　stroke　of　seven　as　he　lifted　his　head　from　the　table。　　

Thin；　pale　strips　of　the　city　morning　were　falling　into　the　room

through

the　narrow　partings　of　the　heavy　curtains。



What　was　it　that　had　happened　to　him？　　Had　he　been　ill？　　Had　he

died　and

come　to　life　again？　　Or　had　he　only　slept；　and　had　his　soul　gone

visiting

in　dreams？　　He　sat　for　some　time；　motionless；　not　lost；　but

finding　himself

in　thought。　　Then　he　took　a　narrow　book　from　the　table　drawer；　

wrote　a　check；　and　tore　it　out。



He　went　slowly　up　the　stairs；　knocked　very　softly　at　his　son's

door；　

and；　hearing　no　answer；　entered　without　noise。　　Harold　was

asleep；　

his　bare　arm　thrown　above　his　head；　and　his　eager　face　relaxed　in

peace。　

His　father　looked　at　him　a　moment　with　strangely　shining　eyes；　

and　then　tiptoed　quietly　to　the　writing…desk；　found　a　pencil　and　

a　sheet　of　paper；　and　wrote　rapidly：



〃My　dear　boy；　here　is　what　you　asked　me　for；　do　what　you　like

with　it；　

and　ask　for　more　if　you　need　it。　　If　you　are　still　thinking　of　

that　work　with　Grenfell；　we'll　talk　it　over　to…day　after　church。　



I　want　to　know　your　heart　better；　and　if　I　have　made　mistakes〃



A　slight　noise　made　him　turn　his　head。　　Harold　was　sitting　up　in

bed　

with　wide…open　eyes。



〃Father！〃　he　cried；　〃is　that　you？〃



〃Yes；　my　son；〃　answered　John　Weightman；　〃I've　come　backI　mean　

I've　come　upno；　I　mean　come　inwell；　here　I　am；　

and　God　give　us　a　good　Christmas　together。〃








End