xt7m901zdb20 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7m901zdb20/data/mets.xml Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman, d. 1936. 1910  books b92-165-30098685 English Charles Scribner's Sons, : New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Lifted bandage  / by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. text Lifted bandage  / by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. 1910 2002 true xt7m901zdb20 section xt7m901zdb20 
           THE

LIFTED BANDAGE

             By
Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
     Author of "The Perfect Tribute," etc.



    NEW YORK
Charles Scribner's Sons
       1910

 





Copyright, 1910, by Charles Sribner's Song

         Published March, 1910


 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE

T HE man let himself into his
       front door and, staggering
       lightly, like a drunken man,
as he closed it, walked to the hall
table, and mechanically laid down
his hat, but still wearing his over-
coat turned and went into his library,
and dropped on the edge of a divan
and stared out through the leaded
panes of glass across the room facing
him. The grayish skin of his face
seemed to fall in diagonal furrows,
from the eyes, from the nose, from
the mouth. He sat, still to his
finger-tips, staring.
  He was sitting so when a servant
slipped in and stood motionless a
               [ 1]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



minute, and went to the wide window
where the west light glared through
leafless branches outside, and drew
the shades lower, and went to the
fireplace and touched a match.
Wood caught and crackled and a



cheerful orange



flame



flew noisily



up the chimney, but the man sitting



on the divan did not notice.



The



butler waited a moment, watching,
hesitating, and then:



" Have you had lunch,



sir  " he



asked in a' tentative, gentle voice.



The staring eyes moved with



an



effort and rested on the servant's



"Lunch"



he repeated,



parently trying to focus on the mean-



ing of the word.



know, Miller.
thing."



With



" Lunch 



I don't



But don't bring any-



a great anxiety
       [2]



in his face



face.



ap-

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



Miller regarded his master. " Would
you let me take your overcoat,
Judge -you'll be too warm," he
said.
  He spoke in a suppressed tone as
if waiting for, fearing something, as
if longing to show sympathy, and the
man stood and let himself be cared
for, and then sat down again in the
same unrestful, fixed attitude, gaz-
ing out again through the glittering
panes into the stormy, tawny west
sky. Miller came back and stood
quiet, patient; in a few minutes the
man seemed to become aware of him.
  "I forgot, Miller. You'll want to
know," he said in a tone which went
to show an old bond between the
two. "You'll be sorry to hear, Mil-
ler," he said-and the dull eyes
moved difficultly to the anxious ones,
               [3]

       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
and his voice was uninflected-
"you'll be sorry to know that the
coroner's jury decided that Master
Jack was a murderer."
  The word came more horribly
because of an air of detachment
from the man's mind. It was like a
soulless, evil mechanism, running
unguided. Miller caught at a chair.
  "I don't believe it, sir," he gasped.
"No lawyer shall make me. I've
known him since he was ten, Judge,
and they're mistaken. It's not any
mere lawyers can make me believe
that awful thing, sir, of our Master
Jack." The servant was shaking
from head to foot with intense re-
jection, and the man put up his hand
as if to ward off his emotion.
  "I wish I could agree with you,"
he said quietly, and then added,
               [4]

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
"Thank you, Miller." And the old
butler, walking as if struck with a
sickness, was gone.
  The man sat on the edge of the
divan staring out of the window,
minute after minute; the November
wind tossed the clean, black lines of
the branches backward and forward
against the copper sky, as if a giant
hand moved a fan of sea-weed be-
fore a fire. The man sat still and
stared. The sky dulled; the deli-
cate, wild branches melted together;
the diamond lines in the window
blurred; yet, unmoved, unseeing,
the eyes stared through them.
  The burr of an electric bell sound-
ed; some one came in at the front
door and came to the door of the
library, but the fixed figure did not
stir. The newcomer stood silent a
               [5]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



minute, two minutes; a young man
in clerical dress, boyish, with gray,
serious eyes. At length he spoke.
  "May I come in It's Dick."
  The man's head turned slowly and
his look rested inquiringly on his



nephew.



said, as if



It was a minute before he



recognizjng



him,



"Dick.



Yes." And set himself as before to the
persistent gazing through the window.
  "'I lost you at the court-house,"



the younger man said.



""I didn't



mean to let you come home alone."



"Thank you, Dick."



as if neither



It seemed



joy nor sorrow would



find a way into the quiet voice again.



The wind roared;



rustled



the boughs



against the glass; the fire,



soberly settled to work, steamed and



crackled; the clock ticked



indiffer-



ently; there was no other sound in
               [6]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



the room; the two men were silent,
the one staring always before him,
the other sitting with a hand on the
older man's hand, waiting. Minutes
they sat so, and the wintry sky out-
side darkened and lay sullenly in
bands of gray and orange against the
windows; the light of the logs was
stronger than the daylight; it flick-
ered carelessly across the ashiness
of the emotionless face. The young
man, watching the face, bent for-
ward and gripped his other hand on
the unresponsive one in his clasp.
  "Uncle," he asked, "will it make
things worse if I talk to you"
  "No, Dick."
  Nothing made a difference, it
seemed. Silence or words must sim-
ply fall without effect on the rock
bottom of despair. The young man
               [7]

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
halted, as if dismayed, before this
overpowering inertia'of hopelessness;
he drew a quick breath.
  "A coroner's jury isn't infallible.
I don't believe it of Jack-a lot of
people don't believe it," he said.
  The older man looked at him
heavily. "You'd say that. Jack's
friends will. I've been trained to
weigh evidence-I must believe it."
  "Listen," the young man urged.
"Don't shut down the gates like
that. I'm not a lawyer, but I've
been trained to think, too, and I
believe you're not thinking squarely.
There's other evidence that counts
besides this. There's Jack-his per-
sonality.'
  "It has been taken into considera-
tion."
  "It can't be taken into considera-
                118]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



tion by strangers-it needs years of
intimacy to weigh that evidence as I
can weigh it-as you- You know
best of all," he cried out impulsively,
"if you'll let yourself know, how im-
possible it was. That Jack should
have bought that pistol and taken it
to Ben Armstrong's rooms to kill
him-it was impossible-impossi-
ble!" The clinched fist came down
on the black broadcloth knee with the
conviction of the man behind it. The
words rushed like melted metal, hot,
stinging, not to be stopped. The judge
quivered as if they had stung through
the callousness, touched a nerve. A
faint color crawled to his cheeks; for
the first time he spoke quickly, as if
his thoughts connected with some-
thing more than gray matter.
  "You talk about my not allowing
               [9]

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
myself to believe in Jack. You
seem not to realize that such a belief
would-might stand between me
and madness. I've been trying to
adjust myself to a possible scheme
of living-getting through the years
till I go into nothingness. I can't.
All I can grasp is the feeling that a
man might have if dropped from a
balloon and forced to stay gasping in
the air, with no place in it, nothing
to hold to, no breath to draw, no
earth to rest on, no end to hope for.
There is nothing beyond."
  "Everything is beyond," the young
man cried triumphantly. "'The
end,' as you call it, is an end to
hope for-it is the beginning. The
beginning of more than you have
ever had-with them, with the people
you care about."
               [101

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
  The judge turned a ghastly look
upon the impetuous, bright face.
"If I believed that, I should be even
now perfectly happy. I don't see
how you Christians can ever be
sorry when your friends die-it's
childish; anybody ought to be able
to wait a few years. -But I don't
believe it," he said heavily, and went
on again as if an inertia of speech
were carrying him as an inertia of
silence had held him a few minutes
before. "When my wife died a
year ago it ended my personal life,
but I could live Jack's life. I was
glad in the success and honor of it.
Now the success-" he made a gest-
ure. " And the honor-if I had
that, only the honor of Jack's life
left, I think I could finish the years
with dignity. I've not been a bad
               [ 11 ]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



man-I've done my part and lived
as seemed right. Before I'm old the
joy is wiped out and long years left.
Why  It's not reasonable-not logi-
cal. With one thing to hold to,
with Jack's good name, I might live.
How can I, now What can I do 
A life must have a raison d'Xere."
  "Listen," the clergyman cried
again. "You are not judging Jack
as fairly as you would judge a com-
mon criminal. You know better
than I how often juries make mis-
takes-why should you trust this
jury to have made none"
  " I didn't trust the jury. I watched
as I have never before known how
to watch a case. I felt my mind
more clear and alert than common."
  "Alert!" he caught at the word.
"But alert on the side of terror-
              [ 12 ]

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
abnormally clear to see what you
dreaded. Because you are fair-
minded, because it has been the
habit of your life to correct at once
any conscious prejudice in your
judgment, you have swayed to the
side of unfairness to yourself, to
Jack. Uncle,"   he  flashed  out,
"would it tear your soul to have me
state the case as I see it  I might,
you know-I might bring out some-
thing that would make it look dif-
ferent."
  Almost a smile touched the gray
lines of his face. "If you wish."
  The young man drew himself into,
his chair and clasped his hands
around his knee. "Here it is. Mr.
Newbold, on the seventh floor of the
Bruzon bachelor apartments, heard
a shot at one in the morning, next
               [13]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



his bedroom, in Ben Armstrong's
room. He hurried into the public
hall, saw the door wide open into
Ben's apartment, went in and found
Ben shot dead. Trying to use the
telephone to call help, he found it
was out of order. So he rushed
again into the hall toward the ele-
vator with the idea of getting Dr.
Avery, who liveK below on the second
floor. The elevator door was open
also, and a man's opera-hat lay
near it on the floor; he saw, just in
time, that the car was at the bottom
of the shaft, almost stepping inside,
in his excitement, before he noticed
this. Then he ran down the stairs
with Jack's hat in his hand, and got
Dr. Avery, and they found Jack at
the foot of the elevator shaft. It
was known that Ben Armstrong and
               [ 14 ]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



Jack had quarrelled the day before;
it was known that Jack was quick-
tempered; it is known that he
bought that evening the pistol which
was found on the floor by Ben,
loaded, with one empty shell. That's
the story. "
  The steady voice stopped a mo-
ment and the young man shiv-
ered slightly; his look was strained.
Steadily he went on.
  "That's the story. From that
the coroner's jury have found that
Jack killed Ben Armstrong that he
bought the pistol to kill him, and
went to his rooms with that purpose;
that in his haste to escape, he missed
seeing that the elevator was down,
as Mr. Newbold all but missed see-
ing it later, and jumped into the
shaft and was killed instantly him-
               [ 1o ]

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
self. That's what the jury get from
the facts, but it seems to me they're
begging the question. There are a
hundred hypotheses that would fit
the case of Jack's innocence why is
it reasonable to settle on the one that
means his guilt This is my idea.
Jack and Ben Armstrong had been
friends since boyhood and Jack,
quick-tempered as he was, was warm-
hearted and loyal. It was like him
to decide suddenly to go to Ben and
make friends. He had been to a
play in the evening which had more
or less that motif; he was open to
such influences. It was like the pair
of them, after the reconciliation, to
set to work looking at Jack's new
toy, the pistol. It was a brand-new
sort, and the two have been inter-
ested always in guns-I remember
               [16]

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
how I, as a youngster, was impressed
when Ben and Jack bought their
first shot-guns together. Jack had
got the pistol at Mellingham's that
evening, you know-he was likely to
be keen about it still, and then-it
went off. There are plenty of other
cases where a man has shot his
friend by accident-why shouldn't
poor Jack be given the benefit of
the doubt The telephone wouldn't
work; Jack rushed out with the
same idea which struck Mr. Newbold
later, of getting Dr. Avery-and fell
down the shaft.
  " For me there is no doubt. I
never knew him to hold malice. He
was violent sometimes, but that he
could have gone about for hours
with a pistol in his pocket and mur-
der in his heart; that he could have
              [17]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



planned Ben Armstrong's death and



carried  it out deliberately  it's



a



contradiction in terms.
sible, being Jack. Yo,



  It's impos-
u must know



this you know your son-you know
human nature."
  The rapid resume was but an im-



passioned appeal.



Its answer came



after a minute; to the torrent



of



eager words, three words:
  "Thank you, Dick."
  The absolute lack of impression on
the man's judgment was plain.
  "Ah!" The clergyman sprang to
his feet and stood, his eyes blazing,
despairing, looking down at the bent,



listless figure.



How could he let a



human being suffer as this one was



suffering 



Quickly



shifted their basis.



his thoughts
He could not



affect the mind of the lawyer;
               [18]



might

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



he reach now, perhaps, the soul of
the man He knew the difficulty,
for before this his belief had crossed
swords with the agnosticism of his
uncle, an agnosticism shared by his
father, in which he had been trained,
from which he had broken free only
five years before. He had faced the
batteries of the two older brains at
that time, and come out with the
brightness of his new-found faith
untarnished, but without, he re-
membered, scratching the armor of
their profound doubt in everything.
One could see, looking at the slender
black figure, at the visionary gaze
of the gray wide eyes, at the shape
of the face, broad-browed, ovalled,
that this man's psychic make-up
must lift him like wings into an
atmosphere outside a material, out-
               [19]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



side even an intellectual world. He
could breathe freely only in a spirit-
ual air, and things hard to believe to
most human beings were, perhaps,
his every-day thoughts. He caught
a quick breath of excitement as it
flashed to his brain that now, pos-
sibly, was coming the moment when
he might justify his life, might help
this man whom he loved, to peace.
The breath-he caught was a prayer;
his strong, nervous fingers trembled.
He spoke in a tone whose concen-
tration lifted the eyes below him,
that brooded, stared.
  "I can't bear it to stand by and
see you go under, when there's help
close. You said that if you could
believe that they were living, that
you would have them again, you
would be perfectly happy no matter
               [!20 ]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



how many years you must wait.
They are living as sure as I am here,
and as sure as Jack was here, and
Jack's mother. They are living still.
Perhaps they're close to you now.
You've bound a bandage over your
eyes, you've covered the vision of
your spirit, so that you can't see;
but that doesn't make nothingness
of God's world. It's there-here-
close, maybe. A more real world
than this-this little thing." With a
boyish gesture he thrust behind him
the universe. "What do we know
about the earth, except effects upon
our consciousness It's all a matter
of inference-you know that better
than I. The thing we do know be-
yond doubt is that we are each of
us a something that suffers and is
happy. How is that something the
               [ 21 ]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



same as the body-the body that
gets old and dies-how can it be 
You can't change thought into mat-
ter-not conceivably-everybody ac-
knowledges that. Why should the
thinking part die then, because the
material part dies  When the organ
is broken is the organist dead  The
body is the hull, the covering, and
when it has grown useless it will fall
away and the live seed in it will
stand free to sunlight and air-just
at the beginning of life, as a plant is
when it breaks through earth in the
spring. It's the seed in the ground,
and it's the flower in the sunlight,
but it's the same thing-the same
life-it is-it is."  The boy's inten-
sity of conviction shot like a flame
across the quiet room.
  "It is the same thing with us too.
               [922  

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
The same spirit-substance underlies
both worlds and there is no separa-
tion in space, only in view-point.
Life goes on it's just transfigured.
It's as if a bandage should be lifted
from our eyes and we should sud-
denly see things in whose presence
we had been always."
  The rushing, eager voice stopped.
He bent and laid his hand on the
older man's and stared at his face,
half hidden now in the shadows of
the lowering fire. There was no re-
sponse. The heavy head did not lift
and the attitude was unstirred, hope-
less. As if struck by a blow he sprang
erect and his fingers shut hard. He
spoke as if to himself, brokenly.
  "He does not believe-a single
word-I say. I can't help him I
can't help him."
               [28]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



   Suddenly the clinched fists flung
out as if of a power not their own,
and his voice rang across the room.
   " God! " The word shot from him
as if a thunderbolt fell with it.
"God! Lift the bandage!"
  A log fell with a crash into the
fire; great battling shadows blurred
all the air; he was gone.
  The man, startled, drew up his
bent shoulders, and pushed back a
lock of gray hair and stared about,
shaking, bewildered. The ringing
voice, the word that had flashed as
if out of a larger atmosphere-the
place was yet full of these, and the
shock of it added a keenness to his
misery. His figure swung sideways;
he fell on the cushions of the sofa
and his arms stretched across them,
his gray head lying heedless; sobs
               [.24]

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
that tore roots came painfully; it
was the last depth. Out of it, with-
out his volition, he spoke aloud.
  "God, God, God!" his voice said,
not prayerfully, but repeating the
sound that had shocked his torture.
The word wailed, mocked, re-
proached, defied-and yet it was a
prayer. Out of a soul in mortal
stress that word comes sometimes
driven by a force of the spirit like
the force of the lungs fighting for
breath and it is a prayer.
  "God, God, God!" the broken
voice repeated, and sobs cut the
words. And again. Over and over,
and again the sobbing broke it.
  As suddenly as if a knife had
stopped the life inside the body, all
sound stopped. A movement shook
the man as he lay face down, arms
               [925]

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
stretched. "Then for a minute, two
minutes, he was quiet, with a quiet
that meant muscles stretched, nerves
alert. Slowly, slowly the tightened
muscles of the arms pushed the
shoulders backward and upward;
the head lifted; the face turned out-
ward, and if an observer had been
there he might have seen by the
glow of the firelight that the features
wet, distorted, wore, more than all
at this moment, a look of amaze-
ment. Slowly, slowly, moving as if
afraid to disturb something-a dream
-a presence-the man sat erect as
he had been sitting before, only that
the rigidity was in some way gone.
He sat alert, his eyes wide, filled
with astonishment, gazing before him
eagerly-a look different from the
dull stare of an hour ago by the
               [26]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



difference between hope and de-
spair. His hands caught at the stuff
of the divan on either side and
clutched it.
  All the time the look of his face
changed; all the time, not at once,
but by fast, startling degrees, the
gray misery which had bound eyes
and mouth and brow in iron dropped
as if a cover were being torn off and
a light set free. Amazement, doubt-
ing, incredulous came first, and with
that eagerness, trembling and afraid.
And then hope-and then the fear
to hope. And hunger. He bent
forward, his eyes peered into the
quiet emptiness, his fingers gripped
the cloth as if to anchor him to a
wonder, to an unbelievable some-
thing; his body leaned-to some-
thing-and his face now was the
               [ 297]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



face of a starved man, of a man
dying from thirst, who sees food,
water, salvation.
  And his face changed; a quality
incredible was coming into it-joy.
He was transformed. Lines softened
by magic; color came, and light in
the eyes; the first unbelief, the
amazement, shifted surely, swiftly,
and in a flash the whole man shone,
shook with rapture. He threw out
before him his arms, reaching, clasp-
ing, and fromn his radiant look the
arms might have held all happiness.
  A minute he stayed so with his
hands stretched out, with face glow-
ing, then slowly, his eyes straining
as if perhaps they followed a vision
which faded from them slowly his
arms fell and the expectancy went
from his look. Yet not the light,
               [28]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



not the joy. His body quivered;
his breath came unevenly, as of one
just gone through a crisis; every
sense seemed still alive to catch a
faintest note of something exquisite
which vanished; and with that the
spell, rapidly as it had come, was
gone. And the man sat there quiet,
as he had sat an hour before, and the
face which had been leaden was
brilliant. He stirred and glanced
about the room as if trying to adjust
himself, and his eyes smiled as they
rested on the familiar objects, as if
for love of them, for pleasure in
them. One might have said that
this man had been given back at a
blow youth and happiness. Move-
ment seemed beyond him yet-he
was yet dazed with the newness of a
marvel-but he turned his head and
               [29]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



saw the fire and at that put out his
hand to it as if to a friend.
  The electric bell burred softly
again through the house, and the
man heard it, and his eyes rested in-
quiringly on the door of the library.
In a moment another man stood
there, of his own age, iron-gray,
strong-featured.
  "Dick told me I might come., he
said. "Shall I trouble you May
I stay with you awhile "
  The judge put out his hand friend-
lily, a little vaguely, much as he had
put it out to the fire. "Surely," he
said, and the newcomer was all at
once aware of his look. HIe started.
  "You're not well," he said. "You
must take something-whiskey-
Miller "
  The butler moved in the room
               [30]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



making lights here and there, and he
came quickly.
  "No," the judge said. J"I don't
want anything-I don't need any-
thing. It's not as you think. I'll
tell you about it."
  Miller was gone; Dick's father
waited, his gaze fixed on the judge's
face anxiously, and for moments no
word was spoken. The iudge gazed
into the fire with the rapt, smil-
ing look which had so startled his
brother-in-law. At length:
  "I don't know how to tell you,"
he said. "There seem no words.
Something has happened, yet it's
difficult to explain."
  " Something happened  " the other
repeated, bewildered but guarded.
"I don't understand. Has some one
been here  Is it about-the trial "
               [ 31 ]

        THE LIFTED BANDAGE
   "No." A slight spasm twisted the
smiling lines of the man's mouth, but
it was gone and the mouth smiled still.
  A horror-struck expression gleamed
for a second from the anxious eyes
of the brother-in-law, but he con-
trolled it quickly. He spoke gently.
"Tell me about it-it will do you
good to talk."
  The judge turned from the fire,
and at sight of his flushed cheeks and
lighted eyes the other shrank back,
and the judge saw it. "You need-
n't be alarmed," he said quietly.
" Nothing is wrong with me. But
something has happened, as I told
you, and everything-is changed."
His eyes lifted as he spoke and
strayed about the room as if consid-
ering a change which had come also
to the accustomed setting.
               [32]

 
       THE LIFTED BANDAGE
  A shock of pity flashed from the
other, and was mastered at once.
" Can you tell me what has hap-
pened" he urged. The judge, his
face bright with a brightness that
was dreadful to the man who
watched him, held his hand to the
fire, turning it about as if enjoying
the warmth. The other shivered.
There was silence for a minute. The
judge broke it, speaking thought-
fully:
  "Suppose you had been born
blind, Ned," he began, "and no one
had ever given you a hint of the
sense of vision, and your imagination
had never presented such a power to
your mind. Can you suppose that "
  "I think so-yes," the brother-in-
law answered, with careful gentle-
ness, watching always the illumined
               f 33]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



countenance.



"Yes, I can



it."
  "Then fancy if you will



suppose



that all



at once sight came, and the world



flashed



before you.



you'd be able



Do you think



to describe



such



experience  "
  The voice was normal, reflective.
Many a time the two had talked to-
gether of such things in this very



room, and the naturalness of



the



scene, and of the judge's manner,
made the brother-in-law for a second
forget the tragedy in which they were
living.



of course,"



he answered.



"If one had never heard of such a
power one's vocabulary wouldn't take
in the words to describe it."
  " Exactly," the judge agreed.
"That's the point I'm making. Per-
               [ 34 ]



an



" Why,

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



haps now I may tell you what it is
that has happened. Or rather, I
may make you understand how a
definite and concrete event has come
to pass, which I can't tell you."
  Alarm suddenly expressed itself
beyond control in the brother-in-
law's face. "John, what do you
mean  Do you see that you dis-
tress me Can't you tell clearly if
some one has been here-what it is,
in plain English, that has hap-
pened "
  The judge turned his dreamy,
bright look toward the frightened
man. "I do see-I do see," he
brought out affectionately. "I'll try
to tell, as you say, in plain English.
But it is like the case I put-it is a
question of lack of vocabulary. A
remarkable experience has occurred
               [35 ]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



in this room within an hour.



can no more describe it



than the



man born blind could describe sight.



I can only call it by



which
tion."



may startle you.



one name,
A revela-



  "A revelation!" the tone expressed
incredulity, scarcely veiled scorn.
  The judge's brilliant gaze rested



undisturbed on the speaker.
derstand-none better. A



"I un-



day ago,



two hours ago, I should have an-



swered in that tone.



We have been



trained in the same school, and have



thought alike.



Dick was here a



while ago and said things-you know



what Dick would say.



You know



how you and I have been sorry for
the lad-been indulgent to him-
with his keen, broad mind and that



inspired



self-forgetfulness of his-
      [36]



I

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



how we've been sorry to have such
qualities wasted on a parson, a re-
ligion machine. We've thought he'd
come around in time, that he was too
large a personality to be tied to a
treadmill. We've thought that all
along, haven't we Well, Dick was
here, and out of the hell where I
was I thought that again. When he
talked I thought in a way-for I
couldn't think much-that after a
consistent voyage of agnosticism, I
wouldn't be whipped into snivelling
belief at the end, by shipwreck. I
would at least go down without sur-
rendering. In a dim way I thought
that. And all that I thought ther.,
and have thought through my life, is
nothing. Reasoning doesn't weigh
against experience. Dick is right."
  The other man sat before him,
               [37]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



bent forward, his hands on his knees,
listening, dazed. There was a qual-
ity in the speaker's tone which made
it necessary to take his words seri-
ously. Yet-the other sighed and
relaxed a bit as he waited,. watched.
The calm voice went on.
  "The largest event of my life
has happened in the last hour, in
this room. It was this way. When
Dick went out I-went utterly to
pieces. It was the farthest depth.
Out of it I called on God, not know-
ing what I did. And he answered.
That's what happened. As if-as
if a bandage had been lifted from my
eyes, I was-I was in the presence
of things indescribable. There was
no change, only that where I was
blind before I now saw. I don't
mean vision. I haven't words to
               [838 ]

 
THE LIFTED BANDAGE



explain what I mean. But a world
was about me as real as this; it had
perhaps always been there; in that
moment I was first aware of it. I
knew, as if a door had been opened,
what heaven means-a condition of
being. And I knew another thing
more personal-that, without ques-
tion, it was right with those I thought
I had lost and that the horror which
seemed blackest I have no need to
dread. I cannot say that I saw them
or heard or touched them, but I was
with them. I understand, but I
can't make you understand. I told
Dick an hour ago that if I could be-
lieve they were living, that I should
ever have them again, I should be
perfectly happy. That's true now.
I believe it, and I am-perfectly
happy."
               [39]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



  The listener groaned uncontrol-
lably.
  "I know your thought,9' the judge
answered the sound, and his eyes
were like lamps as he turned them
toward the  man. "But you're
wrong-my mind is not unhinged.
You'll see. After what I've gone
through, after facing eternity with-
out hope, what are mere years
I can wait. I know. I am-per-
fectly happy."
  Then the man who listened rose
from his chair and came and put a
hand gently on the shoulder of the
judge, looking down at him gravely.
"I don't understand you very well,
John," he said, " but I'm glad of
anything-of anything "-his voice
went suddenly. "Will you wait for
me here a few minutes I'm going
              [40]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



home and I'll be back. I think I'll
spend the night with you if you don't
object."
  " Object!  Wait!"  The   judge
looked up in surprise, and with
that he smiled. "I see. Surely.
I'd like to have you here. Yes, I'll
certainly wait."
  Outside in the hall one might have
heard the brother-in-law say a low
word or two to Miller as the man
helped him on with his coat; then
the front door shut softly, and he
was gone, and the judge sat alone,
his head thrown back against his
chair, his face luminous.
  The other man swung down the
dark street, rushing, agitated. As
he came to the corner an electric
light shone full on him and a figure
crossing down toward him halted.
               [ 41 ]

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



" Father! I was coming



to find



you. Something extraordinary



happened.
you."



I was coming



to find



  " Yes, Dick."
waited.



The older



" I've just



left Charley



Owen at



the house-you remember Charley
Owen "
  "No."9  
  "Oh, yes, you do-he's been here
with-Jack. He was in Jack's class
in college-in Jack's and Ben Arm-



strong's.



He used to go on shooting



trips with them both-often."
  "I remember now."
  "Yes, I knew you would."



young voice rushed



on.



" He has



been away just now-down in Flor-
ida shooting-away from civilization.
He got all his mail for a month in
              [492]



has



man



The

 THE LIFTED BANDAGE



one lump just now-two days ago.
In it was a letter from Jack and



Ben Armstrong,
written together.
that means "



"'What! "



written that night,
Do you see what



The word was not



a question, but an exclamation.
" What-Dick! "



" Yes-yes.



There were newspa-



pers, too, which gave an account
of the trial-the first he'd heard of
it-he was awa