Page images
PDF
EPUB

"Thank you," said Richard, in a strange voice. "Now I know where I stand."

Again he went to the window looking out on the dreary landscape before him, his head leaning on his hand as he rested his elbow on the woodwork of the frame; and again he came back to her whose love had once made his happiness as her defection now made his despair.

"Do not be afraid, old love," he said gently; "I will not trouble you again with a fondness that has grown unwelcome to you. Only believe and know that I am the same to you as I was in the beginning, and have been all through. When you want me you will find me."

He held out his hand and pressed hers tenderly, looking into her face with a long long look as one bidding an eternal farewell. Then he left the room hurriedly, and in a few moments was out in the driving snow, ploughing his way-whither?

137

CHAPTER VI.

FOOT TO FOOT.

THE wind blew keen and the snow fell fast, but Richard, unconscious of all things outward and without the sense of personal discomfort, knew nothing of either as he walked hurriedly onward. The pain at his heart overpowered all other feelings, and what the day was like was as much a matter of indifference to him, writhing under his intolerable anguish, as it is a matter of indifference to the tortured wretch at the stake whether it is in the gloom of the night, or under the glory of the noonday sun, that his limbs are racked and his flesh burned-as it is to the dying whether it is in the morning or the evening when the eternal farewell is given. He knew only these two things, which in fact were one :—that his life as it had been-that life of peace and love and honour-had come suddenly to an end; and that his wife and child had withdrawn themselves from him at the instance of a stranger in whom they believed more than they believed in him. He confessed bitterly that his

enemy had been stronger than he, and had carried the citadel of that dear wife's faith, that child's sweet reverence, which until now he had held as his own, impregnable against the whole world.

And now, what could he himself do?—poor crownless king whom love had once anointed, and whose dominion fanaticism and falsehood had taken from him! What could he do?—how recover what he had lost ?—keep what he still held? Not knowing where he went nor how he walked, he ploughed his way mechanically onward; turning over scheme after scheme of action in his mind, and never striking on reasonable possibilities, never coming to satisfaction in any. Certainly he could leave the place; break away from his work; delegate to an agent his duties; and make a new life for himself and his family elsewhere; but what good would come from that? Those fatal ecclesiastical nets were spread on all sides; and wherever he turned he saw the same deadly influences besetting those who were dearest to him. East or west, there stood the priest between him and his honour, him and his happiness-there rose up the Church, the grim shadow of which hung like a cloud over his home and shut out the light of the sky. It was not to be supposed that all this change in Hermione and Virginia depended

on Mr. Lascelles and Sister Agnes only; though they had undoubtedly been the prime movers in the "conversion" of which they made so much account, and were still the central points round which the rest revolved. Yet Richard could not hope that, even if he took them away from Crossholme, these dear blinded enthusiasts of his would unchristianize themselves and go back to their old attitude of toleration and indifference-tolerant to his atheism because indifferent to Christianity. To go abroad, say, and break the chain of continuity here, might be of use so far as interrupting the special influence of one man went; but it would not destroy their belief in the creed nor loosen the grip of the accredited professors of that creed. Therefore it would not restore the

old order of life.

And again, if he decided to go and they refused? Influenced by Mr. Lascelles, who held her conscience in the hollow of his hand, Hermione well might so refuse both for herself and her daughter; and how could he compel them by main force? If they resisted quietly— passively said they would not-made no arrangements -opposed simply the resistance of inertia-could he have them carried by men's arms to this carriage, that hotel, and treat them as refractory prisoners are treated by their gaolers?

What indeed could he do? Should he speak to Mr. Lascelles?-defy him?-forbid him?-argue with him dispassionately on the social inexpediency, the personal indelicacy of thus interfering in a man's house? Should he forget his own pride and dignity, and stoop to a pitiful plea for compassion?-a whining prayer, as of a conquered slave, suing the stronger master for mercy and forbearance? Should he place the matter on the ground of elemental right and wrong?-on the sacredness of the marriage tie, the inalienable rights of the father, the iniquity of filial disobedience, and the danger of conjugal estrangement? Let him lay out the ground as he would, he saw no chance of good or profit. The vicar would join his long white hands together by the finger tips a little spread, lower his thin eyelids, put on his bland superior smile; then in his smooth, artificial voice would say, with the correctest enunciation, that it was his painful duty to cause the unfaithful sorrow; as a testifying minister of the Word he must draw the sword which his Divine Master, the Prince of Peace, had brought into the world, and use it against those ungodly ones for whose chastisement it had been sent and sharpened. It was his pastoral obligation, part of his ordination vows, to save from perdition those precious souls which agnosticism and modern science were

« PreviousContinue »