160
PARTISAN REVIEW
wonder deepened, the wonder even more than the scorn. His mother
pled with him to come down; she was even crying; and he was awful–
ly sorry for her; but he shook his head slowly and, smiling gently,
told her: "No, Mother, I deeply repent for making you cry, and
feel so bad, but mine hour is not yet come." She collapsed with
sobbing and the women of the place crowded around her; they
took her arms and helped her as she walked away, all bent over.
Some day you'll understand, he told her within himself, and you'll
thank me for it; and he knew the happiness that comes only of re–
turning evil with good. Willard Rivenburg's deep dark jaw hung
open and Richard could overhear his whisper, to Bennett, "Jesus
that kid's got guts." George Fitzgerald, scarcely able to contain his
tears, held up a sponge soaked in vinegar, which Richard for–
givingly refused; and Hobe Gillum and Jimmy Toole and Parmo
Gallatin and Keg Head Hodges and the others looked at him, glum
but respectful; even if it was no more than politeness, he realized,
he would never be last again, when they chose up sides. Through
the half-open Chapel door he could still hear the voice of the
Three Hour Sermon, Father Ogle's voice, and he realized that the
service had no more than an hour, at the outside, to go; but the
voice sounded half-hearted and sailed hollowly around the almost
empty Church; nearly everyone in the community was gathered here
in the vestibule, and there were some even from nearby towns, and
suddenly a photographer climbed on the sandstone font and aimed
at
him
and flashed a bulb.
STRANGE RITES AT MOUNTAIN SCHOOL,
he
read: and, as blood broke scalding upon his nape, sank his face
into his hands and prayed, in despair, 0
God forgive me! forgive me
if you can stand to!
For, musing upon his past vamtIes with affectionate scorn or
even as with a scornful wonder, the scorn, the living vanity, of one
who has put aw.ay childish things, and dwelling upon them in remem–
brance, he had dwelt once more within them (within Thy Wounds
hide me), ensnaring himself afresh. For these later imaginations were
not wholly remembrance; some were newly his, and only now, even
in the very hour of Christ's own passion, he had yet again seduced
his soul.
If
others,
if
any other in the world, should know those
absurd imaginations of
his
heart: by his dread and horror in the
