theorthodox
apologists
?
'
Robert
shrugged
his
shoulders
.
'
It
often
seemed
to
me
,
'
he
said
drearily
,
'
I
might
have
got
through
,
but
for
the
men
whose
books
I
used
to
read
and
respect
most
in
old
days
.
The
point
of
view
is
generally
so
extraordinarily
limited
.
Westcott
,
for
instance
,
who
means
so
much
nowadays
to
the
English
religious
world
,
first
isolates
Christianity
from
all
the
other
religious
phenomena
of
the
world
,
and
then
argues
upon
its
details
.
You
might
as
well
isolate
English
jurisprudence
,
and
discuss
its
details
without
any
reference
to
Teutonic
custom
or
Roman
law
!
You
may
be
as
logical
or
as
learned
as
you
like
within
the
limits
chosen
,
but
the
whole
result
is
false
!
You
treat
Christian
witness
and
Biblical
literature
as
you
would
treat
no
other
witness
,
and
no
other
literature
in
the
world
.
And
you
cannot
show
cause
enough
.
For
your
reasons
depend
on
the
very
witness
under
dispute
.
And
so
you
go
on
arguing
in
a
circle
,
ad
infinitum
.
'
But
his
voice
dropped
.
The
momentary
eagerness
died
away
as
quickly
as
it
had
risen
,
leaving
nothing
but
depression
behind
it
.
Mr.
Grey
meditated
.
At
last
he
said
,
with
a
delicate
change
of
tone
,
—
'
And
now
—
if
I
may
ask
it
,
Elsmere
—
how
far
has
this
destructive
process
gone
?
'
'
I
ca
n't
tell
you
,
'
said
Robert
,
turning
away
almost
with
a
groan
;
'
I
only
know
that
the
things
I
loved
once
I
love
still
,
and
that
—
that
—
if
I
had
the
heart
to
think
at
all
,
I
should
see
more
of
God
in
the
world
than
I
ever
saw
before
!
'
The
tutor
's
eye
flashed
.
Robert
had
gone
back
to
the
window
,
and
was
miserably
looking
out
.
After
all
,
he
had
told
only
half
his
story
.
'
And
so
you
feel
you
must
give
up
your
living
?
'
'
What
else
is
there
for
me
to
do
?
'
cried
Robert
,
turning
upon
him
,
startled
by
the
slow
deliberate
tone
.
'
Well
,
of
course
,
you
know
that
there
are
many
men
,
men
with
whom
both
you
and
I
are
acquainted
,
who
hold
very
much
what
I
imagine
your
opinions
now
are
,
or
will
settle
into
,
who
are
still
in
the
Church
of
England
,
doing
admirable
work
there
!
'
'
I
know
,
'
said
Elsmere
quickly
—
'
I
know
;
I
cannot
conceive
it
,
nor
could
you
.
Imagine
standing
up
Sunday
after
Sunday
to
say
the
things
you
do
not
believe
,
—
using
words
as
a
convention
which
those
who
hear
you
receive
as
literal
truth
,
—
and
trusting
the
maintenance
of
your
position
either
to
your
neighbour
's
forbearance
or
to
your
own
powers
of
evasion
!
With
the
ideas
at
present
in
my
head
,
nothing
would
induce
me
to
preach
another
Easter
Day
sermon
to
a
congregation
that
have
both
a
moral
and
a
legal
right
to
demand
from
me
an
implicit
belief
in
the
material
miracle
!
'
'
Yes
,
'
said
the
other
gravely
—
'
yes
,
I
believe
you
are
right
.
It
ca
n't
be
said
the
Broad
Church
movement
has
helped
us
much
!
How
greatly
it
promised
!
—
how
little
it
has
performed
!
For
the
private
person
,
the
worshipper
,
it
is
different
—
or
I
think
so
.
No
man
pries
into
our
prayers
;
and
to
cut
ourselves
off
from
common
worship
is
to
lose
that
fellowship
which
is
in
itself
a
witness
and
vehicle
of
God
.
'
But
his
tone
had
grown
hesitating
,
and
touched
with
melancholy
.
There
was
a
moment
's
silence
.
Then
Robert
walked
up
to
him
again
.
'
At
the
same
time
,
'
he
said
falteringly
,
standing
before
the
elder
man
,
as
he
might
have
stood
as
an
undergraduate
,
'
let
me
not
be
rash
!
If
you
think
this
change
has
been
too
rapid
to
last
—
if
you
,
knowing
me
better
than
at
this
moment
I
can
know
myself
—
if
you
bid
me
wait
a
while
,
before
I
take
any
overt
step
,
I
will
wait
—
oh
,
God
knows
I
will
wait
!
—
my
wife
—
—
'
and
his
husky
voice
failed
him
utterly
.
'
Your
wife
!
'
cried
Mr.
Grey
,
startled
.
'
Mrs
.
Elsmere
does
not
know
?
'
'
My
wife
knows
nothing
,
or
almost
nothing
—
and
it
will
break
her
heart
!
'
He
moved
hastily
away
again
,
and
stood
with
his
back
to
his
friend
,
his
tall
narrow
form
outlined
against
the
window
.
Mr.
Grey
was
left
in
dismay
,
rapidly
turning
over
the
impressions
of
Catherine
left
on
him
by
his
last
year
's
sight
of
her
.
That
pale
distinguished
woman
with
her
look
of
strength
and
character
,
—
he
remembered
Langham
's
analysis
of
her
,
and
of
the
silent
religious
intensity
she
had
brought
with
her
from
her
training
among
the
northern
hills
.
Was
there
a
bitterly
human
tragedy
preparing
under
all
this
thought-drama
he
had
been
listening
to
?
Deeply
moved
,
he
went
up
to
Robert
,
and
laid
his
rugged
hand
almost
timidly
upon
him
.
'
Elsmere
,
it
wo
n't
break
her
heart
!
You
are
a
good
man
.
She
is
a
good
woman
.
'
What
an
infinity
of
meaning
there
was
in
the
simple
words
!
'
Take
courage
.
Tell
her
at
once
—
tell
her
everything
—
and
let
her
decide
whether
there
shall
be
any
waiting
.
I
cannot
help
you
there
;
she
can
;
she
will
probably
understand
you
better
than
you
understand
yourself
.
'
He
tightened
his
grasp
,
and
gently
pushed
his
guest
into
a
chair
beside
him
.
Robert
was
deadly
pale
,
his
face
quivering
painfully
.
The
long
physical
strain
of
the
past
months
had
weakened
for
the
moment
all
the
controlling
forces
of
the
will
.
Mr.
Grey
stood
over
him
—
the
whole
man
dilating
,
expanding
,
under
a
tyrannous
stress
of
feeling
.
'
It
is
hard
,
it
is
bitter
,
'
he
said
slowly
,
with
a
wonderful
manly
tenderness
.
'
I
know
it
,
I
have
gone
through
it
.
So
has
many
and
many
a
poor
soul
that
you
and
I
have
known
!
But
there
need
be
no
sting
in
the
wound
unless
we
ourselves
envenom
it
.
I
know
—
oh
!
I
know
very
well
—
the
man
of
the
world
scoffs
,
but
to
him
who
has
once
been
a
Christian
of
the
old
sort
,
the
parting
with
the
Christian
mythology
is
the
rending
asunder
of
bones
and
marrow
.
It
means
parting
with
half
the
confidence
,
half
the
joy
,
of
life
!
But
take
heart
,
'
and
the
tone
grew
still
more
solemn
,
still
more
penetrating
.
'
It
is
the
education
of
God
!
Do
not
imagine
it
will
put
you
farther
from
Him
!
He
is
in
criticism
,
in
science
,
in
doubt
,
so
long
as
the
doubt
is
a
pure
and
honest
doubt
,
as
yours
is
.
He
is
in
all
life
,
in
all
thought
.
The
thought
of
man
,
as
it
has
shaped
itself
in
institutions
,
in
philosophies
,
in
science
,
in
patient
critical
work
,
or
in
the
life
of
charity
,
is
the
one
continuous
revelation
of
God
!
Look
for
Him
in
it
all
;
see
how
,
little
by
little
,
the
Divine
indwelling
force
,
using
as
its
tools
—
but
merely
as
its
tools
!
—
man
's
physical
appetites
and
conditions
,
has
built
up
conscience
and
the
moral
life
;
think
how
every
faculty
of
the
mind
has
been
trained
in
turn
to
take
its
part
in
the
great
work
of
faith
upon
the
visible
world
!
Love
and
imagination
built
up
religion
,
—
shall
reason
destroy
it
!
No
!
—
reason
is
God
's
like
the
rest
!
Trust
it
,
—
trust
him
.
The
leading
strings
of
the
past
are
dropping
from
you
;
they
are
dropping
from
the
world
,
not
wantonly
,
or
by
chance
,
but
in
the
providence
of
God
.
Learn
the
lesson
of
your
own
pain
,
—
learn
to
seek
God
,
not
in
any
single
event
of
past
history
,
but
in
your
own
soul
,
—
in
the
constant
verifications
of
experience
,
in
the
life
of
Christian
love
.
Spiritually
you
have
gone
through
the
last
wrench
;
I
promise
it
you
!
You
being
what
you
are
,
nothing
can
cut
this
ground
from
under
your
feet
.
Whatever
may
have
been
the
forms
of
human
belief
,
faith
,
the
faith
which
saves
,
has
always
been
rooted
here
!
All
things
change
,
—
creeds
and
philosophies
and
outward
systems
,
—
but
God
remains
!
'
"
Life
,
that
in
me
has
rest
,
As
I
,
undying
Life
,
have
power
in
Thee
!
"
'
The
lines
dropped
with
low
vibrating
force
from
lips
unaccustomed
indeed
to
such
an
outburst
.
The
speaker
stood
a
moment
longer
in
silence
beside
the
figure
in
the
chair
,
and
it
seemed
to
Robert
,
gazing
at
him
with
fixed
eyes
,
that
the
man
's
whole
presence
,
at
once
so
homely
and
so
majestic
,
was
charged
with
benediction
.
It
was
as
though
invisible
hands
of
healing
and
consecration
had
been
laid
upon
him
.
The
fiery
soul
beside
him
had
kindled
anew
the
drooping
life
of
his
own
.
So
the
torch
of
God
passes
on
its
way
,
hand
reaching
out
to
hand
.
He
bent
forward
,
stammering
incoherent
words
of
assent
and
gratitude
,
he
knew
not
what
.
Mr.
Grey
,
who
had
sunk
into
his
chair
,
gave
him
time
to
recover
himself
.
The
intensity
of
the
tutor
's
own
mood
relaxed
;
and
presently
he
began
to
talk
to
his
guest
,
in
a
wholly
different
tone
,
of
the
practical
detail
of
the
step
before
him
,
supposing
it
to
be
taken
immediately
,
discussing
the
probable
attitude
of
Robert
's
bishop
,
the
least
conspicuous
mode
of
withdrawing
from
the
living
,
and
so
on
—
all
with
gentleness
and
sympathy
indeed
,
but
with
an
indefinable
change
of
manner
,
which
showed
that
he
felt
it
well
both
for
himself
and
Elsmere
to
repress
any
further
expression
of
emotion
.
There
was
something
,
a
vein
of
stoicism
perhaps
,
in
Mr.
Grey
's
temper
of
mind
,
which
,
while
it
gave
a
special
force
and
sacredness
to
his
rare
moments
of
fervent
speech
,
was
wont
in
general
to
make
men
more
self-controlled
than
usual
in
his
presence
.
Robert
felt
now
the
bracing
force
of
it
.
'
Will
you
stay
with
us
to
dinner
?
'
Mr.
Grey
asked
when
at
last
Elsmere
got
up
to
go
.
'
There
are
one
or
two
lone
Fellows
coming
—
asked
before
your
telegram
came
,
of
course
.
Do
exactly
as
you
like
.
'
'
I
think
not
,
'
said
Robert
,
after
a
pause
.
'
I
longed
to
see
you
,
but
I
am
not
fit
for
general
society
.
'
Mr.
Grey
did
not
press
him
.
He
rose
and
went
with
his
visitor
to
the
door
.
'
Good-bye
,
good-bye
!
Let
me
always
know
what
I
can
do
for
you
.
And
your
wife
—
poor
thing
,
poor
thing
!
Go
and
tell
her
,
Elsmere
;
do
n't
lose
a
moment
you
can
help
.
God
help
her
and
you
!
'
They
grasped
each
other
's
hands
.
Mr.
Grey
followed
him
down
the
stairs
and
along
the
narrow
hall
.
He
opened
the
hall
door
,
and
smiled
a
last
smile
of
encouragement
and
sympathy
into
the
eyes
that
expressed
such
a
young
moved
gratitude
.
The
door
closed
.
Little
did
Elsmere
realise
that
never
,
in
this
life
,
would
he
see
that
smile
or
hear
that
voice
again
!
CHAPTER
XXVIII
In
half
an
hour
from
the
time
Mr.
Grey
's
door
closed
upon
him
,
Elsmere
had
caught
a
convenient
cross-country
train
,
and
had
left
the
Oxford
towers
and
spires
,
the
shrunken
summer
Isis
,
and
the
flat
hot
river
meadows
far
behind
him
.
He
had
meant
to
stay
at
Merton
,
as
we
know
,
for
the
night
.
Now
,
his
one
thought
was
to
get
back
to
Catherine
.
The
urgency
of
Mr.
Grey
's
words
was
upon
him
,
and
love
had
a
miserable
pang
that
it
should
have
needed
to
be
urged
.
By
eight
o'clock
he
was
again
at
Churton
.
There
were
no
carriages
waiting
at
the
little
station
,
but
the
thought
of
the
walk
across
the
darkening
common
through
the
August
moonrise
had
been
a
refreshment
to
him
in
the
heat
and
crowd
of
the
train
.
He
hurried
through
the
small
town
,
where
the
streets
were
full
of
summer
idlers
,
and
the
lamps
were
twinkling
in
the
still
balmy
air
,
along
a
dusty
stretch
of
road
,
leaving
man
and
his
dwellings
farther
and
farther
to
the
rear
of
him
,
till
at
last
he
emerged
on
a
boundless
tract
of
common
,
and
struck
to
the
right
into
a
cart-track
leading
to
Murewell
.
He
was
on
the
top
of
a
high
sandy
ridge
,
looking
west
and
north
,
over
a
wide
evening
world
of
heather
and
wood
and
hill
.
To
the
right
,
far
ahead
,
across
the
misty
lower
grounds
into
which
he
was
soon
to
plunge
,
rose
the
woods
of
Murewell
,
black
and
massive
in
the
twilight
distance
.
To
the
left
,
but
on
a
nearer
plane
,
the
undulating
common
stretching
downwards
from
where
he
stood
rose
suddenly
towards
a
height
crowned
with
a
group
of
gaunt
and
jagged
firs
—
landmarks
for
all
the
plain
—
of
which
every
ghostly
bough
and
crest
was
now
sharply
outlined
against
a
luminous
sky
.
For
the
wide
heaven
in
front
of
him
was
still
delicately
glowing
in
all
its
under
parts
with
soft
harmonies
of
dusky
red
or
blue
,
while
in
its
higher
zone
the
same
tract
of
sky
was
closely
covered
with
the
finest
network
of
pearl-white
cloud
,
suffused
at
the
moment
with
a
silver
radiance
so
intense
that
a
spectator
might
almost
have
dreamed
the
moon
had
forgotten
its
familiar
place
of
rising
,
and
was
about
to
mount
into
a
startled
expectant
west
.
Not
a
light
in
all
the
wide
expanse
,
and
for
a
while
not
a
sound
of
human
life
,
save
the
beat
of
Robert
's
step
,
or
the
occasional
tap
of
his
stick
against
the
pebbles
of
the
road
.
Presently
he
reached
the
edge
of
the
ridge
whence
the
rough
track
he
was
following
sank
sharply
to
the
lower
levels
.
Here
was
a
marvellous
point
of
view
,
and
the
rector
stood
a
moment
,
beside
a
bare
weather-blasted
fir
,
a
ghostly
shadow
thrown
behind
him
.
All
around
the
gorse
and
heather
seemed
still
radiating
light
,
as
though
the
air
had
been
so
drenched
in
sunshine
that
even
long
after
the
sun
had
vanished
the
invading
darkness
found
itself
still
unable
to
win
firm
possession
of
earth
and
sky
.
Every
little
stone
in
the
sandy
road
was
still
weirdly
visible
;
the
colour
of
the
heather
,
now
in
lavish
bloom
,
could
be
felt
though
hardly
seen
.
Before
him
melted
line
after
line
of
woodland
,
broken
by
hollow
after
hollow
,
filled
with
vaporous
wreaths
of
mist
.
About
him
were
the
sounds
of
a
wild
nature
.
The
air
was
resonant
with
the
purring
of
the
night-jars
,
and
every
now
and
then
he
caught
the
loud
clap
of
their
wings
as
they
swayed
unsteadily
through
the
furze
and
bracken
.
Overhead
a
trio
of
wild
ducks
flew
across
,
from
pond
to
pond
,
their
hoarse
cry
descending
through
the
darkness
.
The
partridges
on
the
hill
called
to
each
other
,
and
certain
sharp
sounds
betrayed
to
the
solitary
listener
the
presence
of
a
flock
of
swans
on
a
neighbouring
pool
.
The
rector
felt
himself
alone
on
a
wide
earth
.
It
was
almost
with
a
start
of
pleasure
that
he
caught
at
last
the
barking
of
dogs
on
a
few
distant
farms
,
or
the
dim
thunderous
rush
of
a
train
through
the
wide
wooded
landscape
beyond
the
heath
.
Behind
that
frowning
mass
of
wood
lay
the
rectory
.
The
lights
must
be
lit
in
the
little
drawing-room
;
Catherine
must
be
sitting
by
the
lamp
,
her
fine
head
bent
over
book
or
work
,
grieving
for
him
perhaps
,
her
anxious
expectant
heart
going
out
to
him
through
the
dark
.
He
thinks
of
the
village
lying
wrapped
in
the
peace
of
the
August
night
,
the
lamp
rays
from
shop-front
or
casement
streaming
out
on
to
the
green
;
he
thinks
of
his
child
,
of
his
dead
mother
,
feeling
heavy
and
bitter
within
him
all
the
time
the
message
of
separation
and
exile
.
But
his
mood
was
no
longer
one
of
mere
dread
,
of
helpless
pain
,
of
miserable
self-scorn
.
Contact
with
Henry
Grey
had
brought
him
that
rekindling
of
the
flame
of
conscience
,
that
medicinal
stirring
of
the
soul
's
waters
,
which
is
the
most
precious
boon
that
man
can
give
to
man
.
In
that
sense
which
attaches
to
every
successive
resurrection
of
our
best
life
from
the
shades
of
despair
or
selfishness
,
he
had
that
day
,
almost
that
hour
,
been
born
again
.
He
was
no
longer
filled
mainly
with
the
sense
of
personal
failure
,
with
scorn
for
his
own
blundering
impetuous
temper
,
so
lacking
in
prescience
and
in
balance
;
or
,
in
respect
to
his
wife
,
with
such
an
anguished
impotent
remorse
.
He
was
nerved
and
braced
;
whatever
oscillations
the
mind
might
go
through
in
its
search
for
another
equilibrium
,
to-night
there
was
a
moment
of
calm
.
The
earth
to
him
was
once
more
full
of
God
,
existence
full
of
value
.
'
The
things
I
have
always
loved
,
I
love
still
!
'
he
had
said
to
Mr.
Grey
.
And
in
this
healing
darkness
it
was
as
if
the
old
loves
,
the
old
familiar
images
of
thought
,
returned
to
him
new-clad
,
re-entering
the
desolate
heart
in
a
white-winged
procession
of
consolation
.
On
the
heath
beside
him
the
Christ
stood
once
more
,
and
as
the
disciple
felt
the
sacred
presence
he
could
bear
for
the
first
time
to
let
the
chafing
pent-up
current
of
love
flow
into
the
new
channels
,
so
painfully
prepared
for
it
by
the
toil
of
thought
.
'
Either
God
or
an
impostor
.
'
What
scorn
the
heart
,
the
intellect
,
threw
on
the
alternative
!
Not
in
the
dress
of
speculations
which
represent
the
product
of
long
past
,
long
superseded
looms
of
human
thought
,
but
in
the
guise
of
common
manhood
,
laden
like
his
fellows
with
the
pathetic
weight
of
human
weakness
and
human
ignorance
,
the
Master
moves
towards
him
—
'
Like
you
,
my
son
,
I
struggled
and
I
prayed
.
Like
you
,
I
had
my
days
of
doubt
and
nights
of
wrestling
.
I
had
my
dreams
,
my
delusions
,
with
my
fellows
.
I
was
weak
;
I
suffered
;
I
died
.
But
God
was
in
me
,
and
the
courage
,
the
patience
,
the
love
He
gave
to
me
,
the
scenes
of
the
poor
human
life
He
inspired
,
have
become
by
His
will
the
world
's
eternal
lesson
—
man
's
primer
of
Divine
things
,
hung
high
in
the
eyes
of
all
,
simple
and
wise
,
that
all
may
see
and
all
may
learn
.
Take
it
to
your
heart
again
—
that
life
,
that
pain
,
of
mine
!
Use
it
to
new
ends
;
apprehend
it
in
new
ways
;
but
knowledge
shall
not
take
it
from
you
;
and
love
,
instead
of
weakening
or
forgetting
,
if
it
be
but
faithful
,
shall
find
ever
fresh
power
of
realising
and
renewing
itself
.
'
So
said
the
vision
;
and
carrying
the
passion
of
it
deep
in
his
heart
the
rector
went
his
way
,
down
the
long
stony
hill
,
past
the
solitary
farm
amid
the
trees
at
the
foot
of
it
,
across
the
grassy
common
beyond
,
with
its
sentinel
clumps
of
beeches
,
past
an
ethereal
string
of
tiny
lakes
just
touched
by
the
moonrise
,
beside
some
of
the
first
cottages
of
Murewell
,
up
the
hill
,
with
pulse
beating
and
step
quickening
,
and
round
into
the
stretch
of
road
leading
to
his
own
gate
.
As
soon
as
he
had
passed
the
screen
made
by
the
shrubs
on
the
lawn
,
he
saw
it
all
as
he
had
seen
it
in
his
waking
dream
on
the
common
—
the
lamplight
,
the
open
windows
,
the
white
muslin
curtains
swaying
a
little
in
the
soft
evening
air
,
and
Catherine
's
figure
seen
dimly
through
them
.
The
noise
of
the
gate
,
however
—
of
the
steps
on
the
drive
—
had
startled
her
.
He
saw
her
rise
quickly
from
her
low
chair
,
put
some
work
down
beside
her
,
and
move
in
haste
to
the
window
.
'
Robert
!
'
she
cried
in
amazement
.
'
Yes
,
'
he
answered
,
still
some
yards
from
her
,
his
voice
coming
strangely
to
her
out
of
the
moonlit
darkness
.
'
I
did
my
errand
early
;
I
found
I
could
get
back
;
and
here
I
am
.
'
She
flew
to
the
door
,
opened
it
,
and
felt
herself
caught
in
his
arms
.
'
Robert
,
you
are
quite
damp
!
'
she
said
,
fluttering
and
shrinking
,
for
all
her
sweet
habitual
gravity
of
manner
—
was
it
the
passion
of
that
yearning
embrace
?
'
Have
you
walked
?
'
'
Yes
.
It
is
the
dew
on
the
common
,
I
suppose
.
The
grass
was
drenched
.
'
'
Will
you
have
some
food
?
They
can
bring
back
the
supper
directly
.
'
'
I
do
n't
want
any
food
now
,
'
he
said
,
hanging
up
his
hat
.
'
I
got
some
lunch
in
town
,
and
a
cup
of
soup
at
Reading
coming
back
.
Perhaps
you
will
give
me
some
tea
soon
—
not
yet
.
'
He
came
up
to
her
,
pushing
back
the
thick
disordered
locks
of
hair
from
his
eyes
with
one
hand
,
the
other
held
out
to
her
.
As
he
came
under
the
light
of
the
hall
lamp
she
was
so
startled
by
the
gray
pallor
of
the
face
that
she
caught
hold
of
his
outstretched
hand
with
both
hers
.
What
she
said
he
never
knew
—
her
look
was
enough
.
He
put
his
arm
round
her
,
and
as
he
opened
the
drawing-room
door
holding
her
pressed
against
him
,
she
felt
the
desperate
agitation
in
him
penetrating
,
beating
against
an
almost
iron
self-control
of
manner
.
He
shut
the
door
behind
them
.
'
Robert
,
dear
Robert
!
'
she
said
,
clinging
to
him
,
'
there
is
bad
news
,
—
tell
me
—
there
is
something
to
tell
me
!
Oh
!
what
is
it
—
what
is
it
?
'
It
was
almost
like
a
child
's
wail
.
His
brow
contracted
still
more
painfully
.
'
My
darling
,
'
he
said
;
'
my
darling
—
my
dear
dear
wife
!
'
and
he
bent
his
head
down
to
her
as
she
lay
against
his
breast
,
kissing
her
hair
with
a
passion
of
pity
,
of
remorse
,
of
tenderness
,
which
seemed
to
rend
his
whole
nature
.
'
Tell
me
—
tell
me
—
Robert
!
'
He
guided
her
gently
across
the
room
,
past
the
sofa
over
which
her
work
lay
scattered
,
past
the
flower-table
,
now
a
many-coloured
mass
of
roses
,
which
was
her
especial
pride
,
past
the
remains
of
a
brick
castle
which
had
delighted
Mary
's
wondering
eyes
and
mischievous
fingers
an
hour
or
two
before
,
to
a
low
chair
by
the
open
window
looking
on
the
wide
moonlit
expanse
of
cornfield
.
He
put
her
into
it
,
walked
to
the
window
on
the
other
side
of
the
room
,
shut
it
,
and
drew
down
the
blind
.
Then
he
went
back
to
her
,
and
sank
down
beside
her
,
kneeling
,
her
hands
in
his
.
'
My
dear
wife
—
you
have
loved
me
—
you
do
love
me
?
'
She
could
not
answer
,
she
could
only
press
his
hands
with
her
cold
fingers
,
with
a
look
and
gesture
that
implored
him
to
speak
.
'
Catherine
,
'
he
said
,
still
kneeling
before
her
,
'
you
remember
that
night
you
came
down
to
me
in
the
study
,
the
night
I
told
you
I
was
in
trouble
and
you
could
not
help
me
.
Did
you
guess
from
what
I
said
what
the
trouble
was
?
'
'
Yes
,
'
she
answered
,
trembling
,
'
yes
,
I
did
,
Robert
;
I
thought
you
were
depressed
—
troubled
—
about
religion
.
'
'
And
I
know
,
'
he
said
with
an
outburst
of
feeling
,
kissing
her
hands
as
they
lay
in
his
—
'
I
know
very
well
that
you
went
upstairs
and
prayed
for
me
,
my
white-souled
angel
!
But
Catherine
,
the
trouble
grew
—
it
got
blacker
and
blacker
.
You
were
there
beside
me
,
and
you
could
not
help
me
.
I
dared
not
tell
you
about
it
;
I
could
only
struggle
on
alone
,
so
terribly
alone
,
sometimes
;
and
now
I
am
beaten
,
beaten
.
And
I
come
to
you
to
ask
you
to
help
me
in
the
only
thing
that
remains
to
me
.
Help
me
,
Catherine
,
to
be
an
honest
man
—
to
follow
conscience
—
to
say
and
do
the
truth
!
'
'
Robert
,
'
she
said
piteously
,
deadly
pale
,
'
I
do
n't
understand
.
'
'
Oh
,
my
poor
darling
!
'
he
cried
,
with
a
kind
of
moan
of
pity
and
misery
.
Then
still
holding
her
,
he
said
,
with
strong
deliberate
emphasis
,
looking
into
the
gray-blue
eyes
—
the
quivering
face
so
full
of
austerity
and
delicacy
,
—
'
For
six
or
seven
months
,
Catherine
—
really
for
much
longer
,
though
I
never
knew
it
—
I
have
been
fighting
with
doubt
—
doubt
of
orthodox
Christianity
—
doubt
of
what
the
Church
teaches
—
of
what
I
have
to
say
and
preach
every
Sunday
.
First
it
crept
on
me
I
knew
not
how
.
Then
the
weight
grew
heavier
,
and
I
began
to
struggle
with
it
.
I
felt
I
must
struggle
with
it
.
Many
men
,
I
suppose
,
in
my
position
would
have
trampled
on
their
doubts
—
would
have
regarded
them
as
sin
in
themselves
,
would
have
felt
it
their
duty
to
ignore
them
as
much
as
possible
,
trusting
to
time
and
God
's
help
.
I
could
not
ignore
them
.
The
thought
of
questioning
the
most
sacred
beliefs
that
you
and
I
'
—
and
his
voice
faltered
a
moment
—
'
held
in
common
was
misery
to
me
.
On
the
other
hand
,
I
knew
myself
.
I
knew
that
I
could
no
more
go
on
living
to
any
purpose
,
with
a
whole
region
of
the
mind
shut
up
,
as
it
were
,
barred
away
from
the
rest
of
me
,
than
I
could
go
on
living
with
a
secret
between
myself
and
you
.
I
could
not
hold
my
faith
by
a
mere
tenure
of
tyranny
and
fear
.
Faith
that
is
not
free
—
that
is
not
the
faith
of
the
whole
creature
,
body
,
soul
,
and
intellect
—
seemed
to
me
a
faith
worthless
both
to
God
and
man
!
'
Catherine
looked
at
him
stupefied
.
The
world
seemed
to
be
turning
round
her
.
Infinitely
more
terrible
than
his
actual
words
was
the
accent
running
through
words
and
tone
and
gesture
—
the
accent
of
irreparableness
,
as
of
something
dismally
done
and
finished
.
What
did
it
all
mean
?
For
what
had
he
brought
her
there
?
She
sat
stunned
,
realising
with
awful
force
the
feebleness
,
the
inadequacy
,
of
her
own
fears
.
He
,
meanwhile
,
had
paused
a
moment
,
meeting
her
gaze
with
those
yearning
sunken
eyes
.
Then
he
went
on
,
his
voice
changing
a
little
,
—
'
But
if
I
had
wished
it
ever
so
much
,
I
could
not
have
helped
myself
.
The
process
,
so
to
speak
,
had
gone
too
far
by
the
time
I
knew
where
I
was
.
I
think
the
change
must
have
begun
before
the
Mile
End
time
.
Looking
back
,
I
see
the
foundations
were
laid
in
—
in
—
the
work
of
last
winter
.
'
She
shivered
.
He
stooped
and
kissed
her
hands
again
passionately
.
'
Am
I
poisoning
even
the
memory
of
our
past
for
you
?
'
he
cried
.
Then
,
restraining
himself
at
once
,
he
hurried
on
again
:
'
After
Mile
End
you
remember
I
began
to
see
much
of
the
squire
.
Oh
,
my
wife
,
do
n't
look
at
me
so
!
It
was
not
his
doing
in
any
true
sense
.
I
am
not
such
a
weak
shuttlecock
as
that
!
But
being
where
I
was
before
our
intimacy
began
,
his
influence
hastened
everything
.
I
do
n't
wish
to
minimise
it
.
I
was
not
made
to
stand
alone
!
'
And
again
that
bitter
,
perplexed
,
half-scornful
sense
of
his
own
pliancy
at
the
hands
of
circumstance
as
compared
with
the
rigidity
of
other
men
descended
upon
him
.
Catherine
made
a
faint
movement
as
though
to
draw
her
hands
away
.
'
Was
it
well
,
'
she
said
,
in
a
voice
which
sounded
like
a
harsh
echo
of
her
own
,
'
was
it
right
for
a
clergyman
to
discuss
sacred
things
—
with
such
a
man
?
'
He
let
her
hands
go
,
guided
for
the
moment
by
a
delicate
imperious
instinct
which
bade
him
appeal
to
something
else
than
love
.
Rising
,
he
sat
down
opposite
to
her
on
the
low
window
seat
,
while
she
sank
back
into
her
chair
,
her
fingers
clinging
to
the
arm
of
it
,
the
lamplight
far
behind
deepening
all
the
shadows
of
the
face
,
the
hollows
in
the
cheeks
,
the
line
of
experience
and
will
about
the
mouth
.
The
stupor
in
which
she
had
just
listened
to
him
was
beginning
to
break
up
.
Wild
forces
of
condemnation
and
resistance
were
rising
in
her
;
and
he
knew
it
.
He
knew
,
too
,
that
as
yet
she
only
half
realised
the
situation
,
and
that
blow
after
blow
still
remained
to
him
to
deal
.
'
Was
it
right
that
I
should
discuss
religious
matters
with
the
squire
?
'
he
repeated
,
his
face
resting
on
his
hands
.
'
What
are
religious
matters
,
Catherine
,
and
what
are
not
?
'
Then
,
still
controlling
himself
rigidly
,
his
eyes
fixed
on
the
shadowy
face
of
his
wife
,
his
ear
catching
her
quick
uneven
breath
,
he
went
once
more
through
the
dismal
history
of
the
last
few
months
,
dwelling
on
his
state
of
thought
before
the
intimacy
with
Mr.
Wendover
began
,
on
his
first
attempts
to
escape
the
squire
's
influence
,
on
his
gradual
pitiful
surrender
.
Then
he
told
the
story
of
the
last
memorable
walk
before
the
squire
's
journey
,
of
the
moment
in
the
study
afterwards
,
and
of
the
months
of
feverish
reading
and
wrestling
which
had
followed
.
Half-way
through
it
a
new
despair
seized
him
.
What
was
the
good
of
all
he
was
saying
?
He
was
speaking
a
language
she
did
not
really
understand
.
What
were
all
these
critical
and
literary
considerations
to
her
?
The
rigidity
of
her
silence
showed
him
that
her
sympathy
was
not
with
him
,
that
in
comparison
with
the
vibrating
protest
of
her
own
passionate
faith
which
must
be
now
ringing
through
her
,
whatever
he
could
urge
must
seem
to
her
the
merest
culpable
trifling
with
the
soul
's
awful
destinies
.
In
an
instant
of
tumultuous
speech
he
could
not
convey
to
her
the
temper
and
results
of
his
own
complex
training
,
and
on
that
training
,
as
he
very
well
knew
,
depended
the
piercing
,
convincing
force
of
all
that
he
was
saying
.
There
were
gulfs
between
them
—
gulfs
which
,
as
it
seemed
to
him
,
in
a
miserable
insight
,
could
never
be
bridged
again
.
Oh
,
the
frightful
separateness
of
experience
!
Still
he
struggled
on
.
He
brought
the
story
down
to
the
conversation
at
the
Hall
,
described
—
in
broken
words
of
fire
and
pain
—
the
moment
of
spiritual
wreck
which
had
come
upon
him
in
the
August
lane
,
his
night
of
struggle
,
his
resolve
to
go
to
Mr.
Grey
.
And
all
through
he
was
not
so
much
narrating
as
pleading
a
cause
,
and
that
not
his
own
,
but
Love
's
.
Love
was
at
the
bar
,
and
it
was
for
love
that
the
eloquent
voice
,
the
pale
varying
face
,
were
really
pleading
,
through
all
the
long
story
of
intellectual
change
.
At
the
mention
of
Mr.
Grey
Catherine
grew
restless
;
she
sat
up
suddenly
,
with
a
cry
of
bitterness
.
'
Robert
,
why
did
you
go
away
from
me
?
It
was
cruel
.
I
should
have
known
first
.
He
had
no
right
—
no
right
!
'
She
clasped
her
hands
round
her
knees
,
her
beautiful
mouth
set
and
stern
.
The
moon
had
been
sailing
westward
all
this
time
,
and
as
Catherine
bent
forward
the
yellow
light
caught
her
face
,
and
brought
out
the
haggard
change
in
it
.
He
held
out
his
hands
to
her
with
a
low
groan
,
helpless
against
her
reproach
,
her
jealousy
.
He
dared
not
speak
of
what
Mr.
Grey
had
done
for
him
,
of
the
tenderness
of
his
counsel
towards
her
specially
.
He
felt
that
everything
he
could
say
would
but
torture
the
wounded
heart
still
more
.
But
she
did
not
notice
the
outstretched
hands
.
She
covered
her
face
in
silence
a
moment
,
as
though
trying
to
see
her
way
more
clearly
through
the
mazes
of
disaster
;
and
he
waited
.
At
last
she
looked
up
.
'
I
cannot
follow
all
you
have
been
saying
,
'
she
said
,
almost
harshly
.
'
I
know
so
little
of
books
,
I
cannot
give
them
the
place
you
do
.
You
say
you
have
convinced
yourself
the
Gospels
are
like
other
books
,
full
of
mistakes
,
and
credulous
,
like
the
people
of
the
time
;
and
therefore
you
ca
n't
take
what
they
say
as
you
used
to
take
it
.
But
what
does
it
all
quite
mean
?
Oh
,
I
am
not
clever
—
I
cannot
see
my
way
clear
from
thing
to
thing
as
you
do
.
If
there
are
mistakes
,
does
it
matter
so
—
so
—
terribly
to
you
?
'
and
she
faltered
.
'
Do
you
think
nothing
is
true
because
something
may
be
false
?
Did
not
—
did
not
—
Jesus
still
live
,
and
die
,
and
rise
again
?
—
can
you
doubt
—
do
you
doubt
—
that
He
rose
—
that
He
is
God
—
that
He
is
in
heaven
—
that
we
shall
see
Him
?
'
She
threw
an
intensity
into
every
word
,
which
made
the
short
breathless
questions
thrill
through
him
,
through
the
nature
saturated
and
steeped
as
hers
was
in
Christian
association
,
with
a
bitter
accusing
force
.
But
he
did
not
flinch
from
them
.
'
I
can
believe
no
longer
in
an
Incarnation
and
Resurrection
,
'
he
said
slowly
,
but
with
a
resolute
plainness
.
'
Christ
is
risen
in
our
hearts
,
in
the
Christian
life
of
charity
.
Miracle
is
a
natural
product
of
human
feeling
and
imagination
;
and
God
was
in
Jesus
—
pre-eminently
,
as
He
is
in
all
great
souls
,
but
not
otherwise
—
not
otherwise
in
kind
than
He
is
in
me
or
you
.
'
His
voice
dropped
to
a
whisper
.
She
grew
paler
and
paler
.
'
So
to
you
,
'
she
said
presently
in
the
same
strange
altered
voice
.
'
My
father
—
when
I
saw
that
light
on
his
face
before
he
died
,
when
I
heard
him
cry
,
"
Master
,
I
come
!
"
was
dying
—
deceived
—
deluded
.
Perhaps
even
,
'
and
she
trembled
,
'
you
think
it
ends
here
—
our
life
—
our
love
?
'
It
was
agony
to
him
to
see
her
driving
herself
through
this
piteous
catechism
.
The
lantern
of
memory
flashed
a
moment
on
to
the
immortal
picture
of
Faust
and
Margaret
.
Was
it
not
only
that
winter
they
had
read
the
scene
together
?
Forcibly
he
possessed
himself
once
more
of
those
closely
locked
hands
,
pressing
their
coldness
on
his
own
burning
eyes
and
forehead
in
hopeless
silence
.
'
Do
you
,
Robert
?
'
she
repeated
insistently
.
'
I
know
nothing
,
'
he
said
,
his
eyes
still
hidden
.
'
I
know
nothing
!
But
I
trust
God
with
all
that
is
dearest
to
me
,
with
our
love
,
with
the
soul
that
is
His
breath
,
His
work
in
us
!
'
The
pressure
of
her
despair
seemed
to
be
wringing
his
own
faith
out
of
him
,
forcing
into
definiteness
things
and
thoughts
that
had
been
lying
in
an
accepted
,
even
a
welcomed
,
obscurity
.
She
tried
again
to
draw
her
hands
away
,
but
he
would
not
let
them
go
.
'
And
the
end
of
it
all
,
Robert
?
'
she
said
—
'
the
end
of
it
?
'
Never
did
he
forget
the
note
of
that
question
,
the
desolation
of
it
,
the
indefinable
change
of
accent
.
It
drove
him
into
a
harsh
abruptness
of
reply
.
'
The
end
of
it
—
so
far
—
must
be
,
if
I
remain
an
honest
man
,
that
I
must
give
up
my
living
,
that
I
must
cease
to
be
a
minister
of
the
Church
of
England
.
What
the
course
of
our
life
after
that
shall
be
is
in
your
hands
—
absolutely
.
'
She
caught
her
breath
painfully
.
His
heart
was
breaking
for
her
,
and
yet
there
was
something
in
her
manner
now
which
kept
down
caresses
and
repressed
all
words
.
Suddenly
,
however
,
as
he
sat
there
mutely
watching
her
,
he
found
her
at
his
knees
,
her
dear
arms
around
him
,
her
face
against
his
breast
.
'
Robert
,
my
husband
,
my
darling
,
it
cannot
be
!
It
is
a
madness
—
a
delusion
.
God
is
trying
you
,
and
me
!
You
cannot
be
planning
so
to
desert
Him
,
so
to
deny
Christ
—
you
cannot
,
my
husband
.
Come
away
with
me
,
away
from
books
and
work
,
into
some
quiet
place
where
He
can
make
Himself
heard
.
You
are
overdone
,
overdriven
.
Do
nothing
now
—
say
nothing
—
except
to
me
.
Be
patient
a
little
,
and
He
will
give
you
back
Himself
!
What
can
books
and
arguments
matter
to
you
or
me
?
Have
we
not
known
and
felt
Him
as
He
is
—
have
we
not
,
Robert
?
Come
!
'
She
pushed
herself
backwards
,
smiling
at
him
with
an
exquisite
tenderness
.
The
tears
were
streaming
down
her
cheeks
.
They
were
wet
on
his
own
.
Another
moment
and
Robert
would
have
lost
the
only
clue
which
remained
to
him
through
the
mists
of
this
bewildering
world
.
He
would
have
yielded
again
as
he
had
many
times
yielded
before
,
for
infinitely
less
reason
,
to
the
urgent
pressure
of
another
's
individuality
,
and
having
jeopardised
love
for
truth
,
he
would
now
have
murdered
—
or
tried
to
murder
—
in
himself
the
sense
of
truth
for
love
.
But
he
did
neither
.
Holding
her
close
pressed
against
him
,
he
said
in
breaks
of
intense
speech
:
'
If
you
wish
,
Catherine
,
I
will
wait
—
I
will
wait
till
you
bid
me
speak
—
but
I
warn
you
—
there
is
something
dead
in
me
—
something
gone
and
broken
.
It
can
never
live
again
—
except
in
forms
which
now
it
would
only
pain
you
more
to
think
of
.
It
is
not
that
I
think
differently
of
this
point
or
that
point
—
but
of
life
and
religion
altogether
.
I
see
God
's
purposes
in
quite
other
proportions
as
it
were
.
Christianity
seems
to
me
something
small
and
local
.
Behind
it
,
around
it
—
including
it
—
I
see
the
great
drama
of
the
world
,
sweeping
on
—
led
by
God
—
from
change
to
change
,
from
act
to
act
.
It
is
not
that
Christianity
is
false
,
but
that
it
is
only
an
imperfect
human
reflection
of
a
part
of
truth
.
Truth
has
never
been
,
can
never
be
,
contained
in
any
one
creed
or
system
!
'
She
heard
,
but
through
her
exhaustion
,
through
the
bitter
sinking
of
hope
,
she
only
half
understood
.
Only
she
realised
that
she
and
he
were
alike
helpless
—
both
struggling
in
the
grip
of
some
force
outside
themselves
,
inexorable
,
ineluctable
.
Robert
felt
her
arms
relaxing
,
felt
the
dead
weight
of
her
form
against
him
.
He
raised
her
to
her
feet
,
he
half
carried
her
to
the
door
,
and
on
to
the
stairs
.
She
was
nearly
fainting
,
but
her
will
held
it
at
bay
.
He
threw
open
the
door
of
their
room
,
led
her
in
,
lifted
her
—
unresisting
—
on
to
the
bed
.
Then
her
head
fell
to
one
side
,
and
her
lips
grew
ashen
.
In
an
instant
or
two
he
had
done
for
her
all
that
his
medical
knowledge
could
suggest
with
rapid
decided
hands
.
She
was
not
quite
unconscious
;
she
drew
up
round
her
,
as
though
with
a
strong
vague
sense
of
chill
,
the
shawl
he
laid
over
her
,
and
gradually
the
slightest
shade
of
colour
came
back
to
her
lips
.
But
as
soon
as
she
opened
her
eyes
and
met
those
of
Robert
fixed
upon
her
,
the
heavy
lids
dropped
again
.
'
Would
you
rather
be
alone
?
'
he
said
to
her
,
kneeling
beside
her
.
She
made
a
faint
affirmative
movement
of
the
head
,
and
the
cold
hand
he
had
been
chafing
tried
feebly
to
withdraw
itself
.
He
rose
at
once
,
and
stood
a
moment
beside
her
,
looking
down
at
her
.
Then
he
went
.
CHAPTER
XXIX
He
shut
the
door
softly
,
and
went
downstairs
again
.
It
was
between
ten
and
eleven
.
The
lights
in
the
lower
passage
were
just
extinguished
;
every
one
else
in
the
house
had
gone
to
bed
.
Mechanically
he
stooped
and
put
away
the
child
's
bricks
,
he
pushed
the
chairs
back
into
their
places
,
and
then
he
paused
a
while
before
the
open
window
.
But
there
was
not
a
tremor
on
the
set
face
.
He
felt
himself
capable
of
no
more
emotion
.
The
fount
of
feeling
,
of
pain
,
was
for
the
moment
dried
up
.
What
he
was
mainly
noticing
was
the
effect
of
some
occasional
gusts
of
night-wind
on
the
moonlit
cornfield
;
the
silver
ripples
they
sent
through
it
;
the
shadows
thrown
by
some
great
trees
in
the
western
corners
of
the
field
;
the
glory
of
the
moon
itself
in
the
pale
immensity
of
the
sky
.
Presently
he
turned
away
,
leaving
one
lamp
still
burning
in
the
room
,
softly
unlocked
the
hall
door
,
took
his
hat
,
and
went
out
.
He
walked
up
and
down
the
woodpath
or
sat
on
the
bench
there
for
some
time
,
thinking
indeed
,
but
thinking
with
a
certain
stern
practical
dryness
.
Whenever
he
felt
the
thrill
of
feeling
stealing
over
him
again
,
he
would
make
a
sharp
effort
at
repression
.
Physically
he
could
not
bear
much
more
,
and
he
knew
it
.
A
part
remained
for
him
to
play
,
which
must
be
played
with
tact
,
with
prudence
,
and
with
firmness
.
Strength
and
nerves
had
been
sufficiently
weakened
already
.
For
his
wife
's
sake
,
his
people
's
sake
,
his
honourable
reputation
's
sake
,
he
must
guard
himself
from
a
collapse
which
might
mean
far
more
than
physical
failure
.
So
in
the
most
patient
methodical
way
he
began
to
plan
out
the
immediate
future
.
As
to
waiting
,
the
matter
was
still
in
Catherine
's
hands
;
but
he
knew
that
finely
tempered
soul
;
he
knew
that
when
she
had
mastered
her
poor
woman
's
self
,
as
she
had
always
mastered
it
from
her
childhood
,
she
would
not
bid
him
wait
.
He
hardly
took
the
possibility
into
consideration
.
The
proposal
had
had
some
reality
in
his
eyes
when
he
went
to
see
Mr.
Grey
;
now
it
had
none
,
though
he
could
hardly
have
explained
why
.
He
had
already
made
arrangements
with
an
old
Oxford
friend
to
take
his
duty
during
his
absence
on
the
Continent
.
It
had
been
originally
suggested
that
this
Mr.
Armitstead
should
come
to
Murewell
on
the
Monday
following
the
Sunday
they
were
now
approaching
,
spend
a
few
days
with
them
before
their
departure
,
and
be
left
to
his
own
devices
in
the
house
and
parish
,
about
the
Thursday
or
Friday
.
An
intense
desire
now
seized
Robert
to
get
hold
of
the
man
at
once
,
before
the
next
Sunday
.
It
was
strange
how
the
interview
with
his
wife
seemed
to
have
crystallised
,
precipitated
,
everything
.
How
infinitely
more
real
the
whole
matter
looked
to
him
since
the
afternoon
!
It
had
passed
—
at
any
rate
for
the
time
—
out
of
the
region
of
thought
,
into
the
hurrying
evolution
of
action
,
and
as
soon
as
action
began
it
was
characteristic
of
Robert
's
rapid
energetic
nature
to
feel
this
thirst
,
to
make
it
as
prompt
,
as
complete
,
as
possible
.
The
fiery
soul
yearned
for
a
fresh
consistency
,
though
it
were
a
consistency
of
loss
and
renunciation
.
To-morrow
he
must
write
to
the
bishop
.
The
bishop
's
residence
was
only
eight
or
ten
miles
from
Murewell
;
he
supposed
his
interview
with
him
would
take
place
about
Monday
or
Tuesday
.
He
could
see
the
tall
stooping
figure
of
the
kindly
old
man
rising
to
meet
him
;
he
knew
exactly
the
sort
of
arguments
that
would
be
brought
to
bear
upon
him
.
Oh
,
that
it
were
done
with
—
this
wearisome
dialectical
necessity
!
His
life
for
months
had
been
one
long
argument
.
If
he
were
but
left
free
to
feel
,
and
live
again
!
The
practical
matter
which
weighed
most
heavily
upon
him
was
the
function
connected
with
the
opening
of
the
new
Institute
,
which
had
been
fixed
for
the
Saturday
—
the
next
day
but
one
.
How
was
he
—
but
much
more
how
was
Catherine
—
to
get
through
it
?
His
lips
would
be
sealed
as
to
any
possible
withdrawal
from
the
living
,
for
he
could
not
by
then
have
seen
the
bishop
.
He
looked
forward
to
the
gathering
,
the
crowds
,
the
local
enthusiasm
,
the
signs
of
his
own
popularity
,
with
a
sickening
distaste
.
The
one
thing
real
to
him
through
it
all
would
be
Catherine
's
white
face
,
and
their
bitter
joint
consciousness
.
And
then
he
said
to
himself
,
sharply
,
that
his
own
feelings
counted
for
nothing
.
Catherine
should
be
tenderly
shielded
from
all
avoidable
pain
,
but
for
himself
there
must
be
no
flinching
,
no
self-indulgent
weakness
.
Did
he
not
owe
every
last
hour
he
had
to
give
to
the
people
amongst
whom
he
had
planned
to
spend
the
best
energies
of
life
,
and
for
whom
his
own
act
was
about
to
part
him
in
this
lame
impotent
fashion
?
Midnight
!
The
sounds
rolled
silverly
out
,
effacing
the
soft
murmurs
of
the
night
.
So
the
long
interminable
day
was
over
,
and
a
new
morning
had
begun
.
He
rose
,
listening
to
the
echoes
of
the
bell
,
and
—
as
the
tide
of
feeling
surged
back
upon
him
—
passionately
commending
the
new-born
day
to
God
.
Then
he
turned
towards
the
house
,
put
the
light
out
in
the
drawing-room
,
and
went
upstairs
,
stepping
cautiously
.
He
opened
the
door
of
Catherine
's
room
.
The
moonlight
was
streaming
in
through
the
white
blinds
.
Catherine
,
who
had
undressed
,
was
lying
now
with
her
face
hidden
in
the
pillow
,
and
one
white-sleeved
arm
flung
across
little
Mary
's
cot
.
The
night
was
hot
,
and
the
child
would
evidently
have
thrown
off
all
its
coverings
had
it
not
been
for
the
mother
's
hand
,
which
lay
lightly
on
the
tiny
shoulder
,
keeping
one
thin
blanket
in
its
place
.
'
Catherine
,
'
he
whispered
,
standing
beside
her
.
She
turned
,
and
by
the
light
of
the
candle
he
held
shaded
from
her
he
saw
the
austere
remoteness
of
her
look
,
as
of
one
who
had
been
going
through
deep
waters
of
misery
,
alone
with
God
.
His
heart
sank
.
For
the
first
time
that
look
seemed
to
exclude
him
from
her
inmost
life
.
He
sank
down
beside
her
,
took
the
hand
lying
on
the
child
,
and
laid
down
his
head
upon
it
,
mutely
kissing
it
.
But
he
said
nothing
.
Of
what
further
avail
could
words
be
just
then
to
either
of
them
?
Only
he
felt
through
every
fibre
the
coldness
,
the
irresponsiveness
of
those
fingers
lying
in
his
.
'
Would
it
prevent
your
sleeping
,
'
he
asked
her
presently
,
'
if
I
came
to
read
here
,
as
I
used
to
when
you
were
ill
?
I
could
shade
the
light
from
you
,
of
course
.
'
She
raised
her
head
suddenly
.
'
But
you
—
you
ought
to
sleep
.
'
Her
tone
was
anxious
,
but
strangely
quiet
and
aloof
.
'
Impossible
!
'
he
said
,
pressing
his
hand
over
his
eyes
as
he
rose
.
'
At
any
rate
I
will
read
first
.
'
His
sleeplessness
at
any
time
of
excitement
or
strain
was
so
inveterate
,
and
so
familiar
to
them
both
by
now
,
that
she
could
say
nothing
.
She
turned
away
with
a
long
sobbing
breath
,
which
seemed
to
go
through
her
from
head
to
foot
.
He
stood
a
moment
beside
her
,
fighting
strong
impulses
of
remorse
and
passion
,
and
ultimately
maintaining
silence
and
self-control
.
In
another
minute
or
two
he
was
sitting
beside
her
feet
,
in
a
low
chair
drawn
to
the
edge
of
the
bed
,
the
light
arranged
so
as
to
reach
his
book
without
touching
either
mother
or
child
.
He
had
run
over
the
book-shelf
in
his
own
room
,
shrinking
pain
fully
from
any
of
his
common
religious
favourites
as
one
shrinks
from
touching
a
still
sore
and
throbbing
nerve
,
and
had
at
last
carried
off
a
volume
of
Spenser
.
And
so
the
night
began
to
wear
away
.
For
the
first
hour
or
two
,
every
now
and
then
,
a
stifled
sob
would
make
itself
just
faintly
heard
.
It
was
a
sound
to
wring
the
heart
,
for
what
it
meant
was
that
not
even
Catherine
Elsmere
's
extraordinary
powers
of
self-suppression
could
avail
to
check
the
outward
expression
of
an
inward
torture
.
Each
time
it
came
and
went
,
it
seemed
to
Elsmere
that
a
fraction
of
his
youth
went
with
it
.
At
last
exhaustion
brought
her
a
restless
sleep
.
As
soon
as
Elsmere
caught
the
light
breathing
which
told
him
she
was
not
conscious
of
her
grief
,
or
of
him
,
his
book
slipped
on
to
his
knee
.
'
Open
the
temple
gates
unto
my
love
,
Open
them
wide
that
she
may
enter
in
,
And
all
the
posts
adorn
as
doth
behove
,
And
all
the
pillars
deck
with
garlands
trim
,
For
to
receive
this
saint
with
honour
due
That
cometh
in
to
you
.
With
trembling
steps
and
humble
reverence
,
She
cometh
in
before
the
Almighty
's
view
.
'
The
leaves
fell
over
as
the
book
dropped
,
and
these
lines
,
which
had
been
to
him
,
as
to
other
lovers
,
the
utterance
of
his
own
bridal
joy
,
emerged
.
They
brought
about
him
a
host
of
images
—
a
little
gray
church
penetrated
everywhere
by
the
roar
of
a
swollen
river
;
outside
,
a
road
filled
with
empty
farmers
'
carts
,
and
shouting
children
carrying
branches
of
mountain-ash
—
winding
on
and
up
into
the
heart
of
wild
hills
dyed
with
reddening
fern
,
the
sun-gleams
stealing
from
crag
to
crag
,
and
shoulder
to
shoulder
;
inside
,
row
after
row
of
intent
faces
,
all
turned
towards
the
central
passage
,
and
,
moving
towards
him
,
a
figure
'
clad
all
in
white
,
that
seems
a
virgin
best
,
'
whose
every
step
brings
nearer
to
him
the
heaven
of
his
heart
's
desire
.
Everything
is
plain
to
him
—
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
round
cheeks
and
marvellous
curls
and
jubilant
airs
,
Mrs.
Leyburn
's
mild
and
tearful
pleasure
,
the
vicar
's
solid
satisfaction
.
With
what
confiding
joy
had
those
who
loved
her
given
her
to
him
!
And
he
knows
well
that
out
of
all
griefs
,
the
grief
he
has
brought
upon
her
in
two
short
years
is
the
one
which
will
seem
to
her
hardest
to
bear
.
Very
few
women
of
the
present
day
could
feel
this
particular
calamity
as
Catherine
Elsmere
must
feel
it
.
'
Was
it
a
crime
to
love
and
win
you
,
my
darling
?
'
he
cried
to
her
in
his
heart
.
'
Ought
I
to
have
had
more
self-knowledge
?
could
I
have
guessed
where
I
was
taking
you
?
Oh
,
how
could
I
know
—
how
could
I
know
.
'
But
it
was
impossible
to
him
to
sink
himself
wholly
in
the
past
.
Inevitably
such
a
nature
as
Elsmere
's
turns
very
quickly
from
despair
to
hope
;
from
the
sense
of
failure
to
the
passionate
planning
of
new
effort
.
In
time
will
he
not
be
able
to
comfort
her
,
and
,
after
a
miserable
moment
of
transition
,
to
repair
her
trust
in
him
and
make
their
common
life
once
more
rich
towards
God
and
man
?
There
must
be
painful
readjustment
and
friction
,
no
doubt
.
He
tries
to
see
the
facts
as
they
truly
are
,
fighting
against
his
own
optimist
tendencies
,
and
realising
as
best
he
can
all
the
changes
which
his
great
change
must
introduce
into
their
most
intimate
relations
.
But
after
all
can
love
and
honesty
and
a
clear
conscience
do
nothing
to
bridge
over
,
nay
,
to
efface
,
such
differences
as
theirs
will
be
?
Oh
to
bring
her
to
understand
him
!
At
this
moment
he
shrinks
painfully
from
the
thought
of
touching
her
faith
—
his
own
sense
of
loss
is
too
heavy
,
too
terrible
.
But
if
she
will
only
be
still
open
with
him
!
—
still
give
him
her
deepest
heart
,
any
lasting
difference
between
them
will
surely
be
impossible
.
Each
will
complete
the
other
,
and
love
knit
up
the
ravelled
strands
again
into
a
stronger
unity
.
Gradually
he
lost
himself
in
half-articulate
prayer
,
in
the
solemn
girding
of
the
will
to
this
future
task
of
a
recreating
love
.
And
by
the
time
the
morning
light
had
well
established
itself
sleep
had
fallen
on
him
.
When
he
became
sensible
of
the
longed-for
drowsiness
,
he
merely
stretched
out
a
tired
hand
and
drew
over
him
a
shawl
hanging
at
the
foot
of
the
bed
.
He
was
too
utterly
worn
out
to
think
of
moving
.
When
he
woke
the
sun
was
streaming
into
the
room
,
and
behind
him
sat
the
tiny
Mary
on
the
edge
of
the
bed
,
the
rounded
apple
cheeks
and
wild-bird
eyes
aglow
with
mischief
and
delight
.
She
had
climbed
out
of
her
cot
,
and
,
finding
no
check
to
her
progress
,
had
crept
on
,
till
now
she
sat
triumphantly
,
with
one
diminutive
leg
and
rosy
foot
doubled
under
her
,
and
her
father
's
thick
hair
at
the
mercy
of
her
invading
fingers
,
which
,
however
,
were
as
yet
touching
him
half
timidly
,
as
though
something
in
his
sleep
had
awed
the
baby
sense
.
But
Catherine
was
gone
.
He
sprang
up
with
a
start
.
Mary
was
frightened
by
the
abrupt
movement
,
perhaps
