Chapter XII: An Empty Shrine

"A humble knowledge of thyself is a surer way to God than a deep search after learning."

"DEAR DR. VERNON,

"I have been thinking over what you said to me last night, and I have come to the conclusion that I am unfit for my position, so will you release me from it? I cannot do what you ask me. You must get someone else who will be able to carry out your wishes. I cannot pretend to be what I am not, nor teach what I do not practise myself.

"Yours truly,

"AUDREY HUME."

It was at luncheon time that Dr. Vernon received this note. He knitted his brows after reading it, slipped it into his pocket, and went through his daily routine of work as if he had not received it.

Audrey waited all that day for his reply, but did not get it. She was shy of a personal interview, and hoped he would write his answer. Her work also occupied her. The weather was stormy and cold. After evening preparation, the little boys were allowed half an hour's play before going to bed. They were clamorous this evening for Audrey to join them in a game of "blind man's buff," and, feeling restless and ill at ease, she threw herself into the game with unusual zest. The clamour was at its height, the schoolroom in darkness and confusion—and fourteen boys' throats can make no slight noise when raised in excitement—when the door suddenly opened and the doctor's voice was heard:

"Is Miss Hume here?"

The electric light was turned on, and Audrey, who was "blind man," tore her bandage off in consternation. Her hair was most dishevelled, her cheeks flaming, her skirt was tucked up high above her petticoat. Never had she been taken so by surprise.

"I am afraid I have interrupted some fun," said the doctor, smiling at the small boys, who stood mute and awed at the appearance of their headmaster.

"Our time is just up," said Audrey, with an effort to speak calmly. "Bobby and Frank, you must come to bed. Will you give me a few minutes' grace, doctor? For these little wretches have been pulling me to pieces."

She left the room with the two smallest boys.

Dr. Vernon sat down and began chatting in his easy, happy fashion to the boys who remained.

When Audrey returned five minutes later, she found a little group surrounding the doctor, listening with delighted faces to a stirring story of adventure and experience of the doctor's boyhood.

"Oh, Miss Hume, do listen!" exclaimed one of them. "You would love to hear this; he was almost as bad as you and your brother used to be."

"Shut up, you rotter!" was the whispered reproof of another. "The doctor isn't a he!"

Audrey and the doctor laughed in unison. Then he got up from his seat.

"Can you give me a little of your time, Miss Hume? I came over after dinner, as I thought these youngsters would be in bed, but I am a little early."

"I fancy we are a little late," said Audrey. "Will you come into the drawing-room?"

She led the way, feeling rather nervous of the prospect in front of her. The room was empty. Dr. Vernon wasted no time.

"I thought I would like to answer your note in person. It surprised me, though I quite understand your point of view. Shall we sit down and talk about it?"

"I am afraid that is just what I cannot do," said Audrey in a very subdued tone. "I only know that I cannot train your small boys in the way that you desire. I wish I had known before I came what your principles were. But you did not give me much chance of refusing."

"Perhaps I did not. But, Miss Hume, I do not want to lose you. You are not an irreligious girl, and I am sure you have thinking powers. Have you no ideals yourself? Don't you expect to do good and lasting work as you go through life? Are you one of those who are satisfied with second best? I want you to use your opportunities. If you do not, you will assuredly look back to this time with bitter remorse and regret. Half the world is reaching out or waiting for opportunities that will never come. The other half have the opportunities, but are not using them. Why can't you seize yours, and make the best of them?"

"Why?" said Audrey slowly. "Because you must know before you can teach."

"Is it faith that is lacking? Or disinclination to use the faith that is in you?"

"Oh, I don't know—that I have any at all," said Audrey, looking up sadly.

All her usual vivacity and sparkle had disappeared. There was a pathetic droop to her figure that reminded him of the time he saw her in London.

"May I ask you if you believe in the existence of the Trinity?"

Audrey was silent for a moment, then she said:

"Yes—with my head I believe in the Trinity. I believe my Bible. I read it every night, but it does not make any practical difference in my life. I asked myself last night whether I should live any differently if I were convinced there was no God—and I really am afraid I should not."

"You are so little concerned in One Who is so wonderfully concerned in you?"

"I am only a unit," said Audrey, remembering Miss Vernon's words and applying it to her case.

"But the whole teaching of the New Testament is to show that Christ deals with units."

There was a pause. Then Dr. Vernon suddenly pointed to a picture on the wall. It was called "The Empty Shrine," and depicted a little roadway scene in Brittany, where a group of disappointed peasant pilgrims are gathered round a shrine which is tenantless.

"I always think that that is a picture of ourselves before we realise our purpose in this world. We are not containing what we should, and are a bitter disappointment to those who look to us for help. We fail when others need us."

"Oh, I know—I know," said Audrey passionately. "I have thought it all out. I am a failure—a dead certain failure. And, being so, I will stay here no longer."

"But do you mean to continue one?" said Dr. Vernon. "Why should you not bring success into your life? Do you always wish to be an empty shrine?"

"What do you mean?"

"May I give you a simple illustration that I heard a clergyman use once? It just describes the work of the Trinity as far as we ourselves are concerned.

"Three men were walking up a street.

"The first one came to a corner house.

"'That is my house,' he said with a nod of possession."

"The second man passed the house.

"'That is "my" house,' he said.

"The third one came up to it.

"'That is "my" house,' he said emphatically—and he went into it."

"What a funny illustration! I don't understand it one bit," said Audrey.

"May I add the explanation?

"The first man said, 'That is "my" house, for I built it.'

"The second said, 'That is "my" house, for I bought it.'

"The third man said, 'That is "my" house, for I live in it.'

"God the Father says of your soul, 'That is My soul, for I made it.'

"God the Son says, 'That is My soul, for I redeemed it.'

"God the Holy Ghost says, 'That is My soul, for I have the right to
live in it.'"

Audrey made no response for a few moments, then she said slowly:

"You have hit the nail on the head, Dr. Vernon. I am an empty shrine, and I never knew or realised it so deeply as I do now."

"Well," said Dr. Vernon, rising and speaking more briskly, "you must forgive me if I don't accept your notice to leave me. In any case, you must stay out this term. By the time Christmas comes, you may think very differently from what you do now. Work the subject out with your Bible before you, and you will find light. Only don't be content with half measures. And look up, Miss Hume."

He left her. And for a moment, Audrey felt dazed.

"He takes my breath away!" she exclaimed to herself. "Oh, what an illustration! Made, and bought to live in, and yet I know I am tenantless. What a failure I am!"

She searched her Bible that night as she had never searched it before. Her whole soul was stirred and alive with passionate unrest and yearning. But light and comfort did not seem to come. Her perplexities and despondency rather increased, and as days went by, her voice lost a little of its merry ring, and her lighthearted gaiety and enthusiastic fervour seemed to be fading away.

Mr. Oates was still pertinacious in his attendance upon her, and at last, one afternoon, when he sauntered across the playing fields to her, she turned upon him.

"Look here, Mr. Oates, I am very sorry, but I would rather you kept away. It's very ridiculous, of course, but I find that even in a boys' school tongues will wag. I have my province, and you have yours. I have to walk very warily."

"It is indeed ridiculous," he said indignantly, "that we cannot have a little conversation together. I have brought you this new book. Have you read it? It is by a new author. It isn't a library book. The doctor is a little old-fashioned in his notions of books, but, of course, he has boys to consider. I saw this advertised, and bought it. You know what a temptation new books are to me."

Audrey took it into her hand and looked at it rather absently. The title, "Life from My Outlook," attracted her.

"Thank you," she said. "I shall like to look at it, and I will return it as soon as I have done with it. No, don't say you will come and fetch it, for that is just what you mustn't do."

"Neither you nor I need be in such bondage!" he said hotly. "Who has been talking? You don't care for women's spite, do you?"

Audrey shook her head at him.

"I am not my own mistress," she said, "and my work here demands my constant and undivided attention. Look at those imps! What are they doing?"

She darted forward to extricate the smallest boy from a medley of arms and legs in a writhing mass on the muddy ground. Six bigger boys were trying to wrest a football from him, and he was decidedly the worse for their efforts.

Mr. Oates shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

But he did not heed her warning, and Audrey soon began to dread the sight of him.

As time passed and the Christmas holidays drew near, she began to wonder where she could go. The school was virtually going to be closed. Dr. Vernon and his sister were going up to Scotland to spend Christmas with some relations. The Tates were going to London. Mr. and Mrs. Ross were the only ones left, and they had one or two Indian boarders who wanted a home. Mrs. Bonar was going to her married daughter.

Audrey asked what would become of two of their small boys who had no home to which they could go.

"Well," said Mrs. Bonar, "the doctor was speaking to me about them the other day. He said, of course, you would be wanting to go to your friends. But he will arrange for Mrs. Ross to take them into her house and look after them."

"Hadn't I better stay?"

"Oh, no, my dear. Why should you? I don't think the doctor would like to leave you alone here. You are very young, you know."

"I don't feel so," said Audrey, laughing.

But she was perplexed and troubled at the prospect in front of her. Her old home was still let. Lodgings in London did not sound attractive after her recent experience there. She was too proud to hint to Pauline in her frequent letters to her that she was wanting a home.

And then one morning came a letter from Mrs. Daventry.

"MY DEAR AUDREY,

"I am sure it is nearly holiday time. Now, will you come to me and cheer me up this Christmastide? All your old friends are wanting to see you. I shall be very quiet, for I have no guests coming to me. But I don't want to lose touch with you, and letters are a poor substitute for your fresh young voice and eager personality.

"Tell me what day to expect you, and I shall give you a warm
welcome.—Your affectionate old friend,—

"MYRA DAVENTRY."

Audrey thankfully and gratefully accepted this invitation. She had an intense longing to revisit her old "backwater," and the prospect of long talks with Pauline filled her heart with content. She went about with such a bright air that Dr. Vernon, meeting her in the quadrangle one day, said, smiling:

"Your school time will soon be over now. I suppose you, like the rest of us, are going to enjoy your time of leisure?"

"I don't think I am very fond of leisure at present," said Audrey, sobering at once. "Of course, I am glad to see old friends again. But I love a busy life. I hate idleness."

Then she added, with a world of wistfulness in her grey eyes:

"I may not come back, you know. I have not forgotten our talk."

"But you must not fail me if you can help it," Dr. Vernon said earnestly. "Be what you are meant to be, and what you profess to be. I only want sincerity in my workers. You are a Christian by profession; don't rest till you are a genuine one."

"But," said Audrey impatiently, "you might as well tell one of your boys to be the Prime Minister. I can't make myself a genuine Christian."

"No, but you know that simple little verse I often repeat to the boys:

"'Without Me ye can do nothing.'

"That is the locked gate. The key that opens it is:

"'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'"

He said no more, but Audrey sighed deeply when he left her.

"I can't get hold of it," she said mournfully.

And it was in this spirit that she left the college and went to Mrs. Daventry.